Chapter 52

Sanjay jumped up. “How did you get in here?”

“It’s unfortunate the security guards are mindful only of fans,” Hiro said. “It’s not difficult to look like a member of the crew.”

Sanjay balled his hands into fists, then took a deep breath. “I can’t have these distractions right now. Hiro, what are you doing here? And how did you get out of police custody in the first place? Don’t tell me you broke out with lock picks hidden inside your cheek.”

“I was only being interviewed,” Hiro said, “not arrested. Yoko doesn’t wish to dishonor me by charging me with theft of the diary, so I’ve committed no crime. The police had no choice but to let me go.”

“Then I’m sure you won’t mind if we call them to confirm that,” Sanjay said.

Hiro bowed and held out his cell phone for Sanjay to take.

Sanjay’s shoulders deflated. “Put that away.”

“I know it’s unforgivable that I lied to you all.” Hiro gave the lowest bow I’d ever seen. “I never wanted to lie to my friends. I truly only wished to learn how to expose Akira’s dangerous deception. But when I realized the diary led to valuable netsuke—”

“Wait. Aren’t you talking about Casper Van Asch’s treasure?”

“Netsuke are miniature sculptures. They were popular decorative objects on the ends of cords used by people wearing kimonos to secure pouches or small boxes—whatever people needed to hold things without pockets. They were popular during the Edo period.”

“Like the new exhibit at the art museum and the figurines at the cooking museum,” I said, remembering the humorous carvings made of ivory and wood. “But what do they have to do with the Dutchman of Dejima’s diary and his gold pagoda treasure?”

“Gold? Netsuke can be worth a great deal of money. Many of them are in museums, like the ones you saw. Van Asch had a collection of them.”

“That’s what he spent his gold on,” I said. Of course he wouldn’t have hoarded his pagoda coins. He spent the gold he possessed.

Hiro nodded. “I hope you can forgive a poor man…After the lawsuit Akira filed against me, I lost everything. I was barely able to keep my home. Like Sébastien, I teach young magicians, but my students are much younger than his.” He gave a sad smile as he raised his hand to the height of a child.

“I don’t have much left,” Hiro continued. “I had hoped to have a family, but it’s not possible for me to do so with my current finances and prospects. I’m not telling you this for pity, but so you’ll understand why I acted as I did. When I had the whole diary in my possession, I read about the things Casper Van Asch acquired here in Japan. His collection of netsuke could be worth a lot of money. Especially if it contains one particular piece.”

“The famous missing piece of the museum’s netsuke collection,” I said.

“I’m not certain. But I had hoped…”

“Wasn’t most of the diary in Dutch?” I asked. “And you didn’t dare show the diary to anyone after Akira was killed.”

“The internet,” he said simply. “I translated the Dutch online.”

Tamarind patted me on the back. “Jaya’s brain is wired for historical and cultural accuracy. Our own online translation of the single page we had wasn’t helpful. But Jaya, I think in your quest for perfection you’re missing the important point.”

“You’re correct that much of what I translated didn’t make sense,” Hiro said. “But I could read enough to understand he collected netsuke with his wealth. Even a modest amount of money would help me more than you can imagine.”

“Why do you think you can find his collection?” I asked. “What makes you think it’s not already in someone’s possession and that you can find it?”

“I’ve got an even more important question,” Sanjay said, his arms crossed over his chest. “Why are you all wasting my time when the diary thief is already long gone, in search of this treasure that might or might not exist?”

“Um,” Tamarind said, “he kinda killed someone. Not cool.”

“The police are handling it,” Sanjay said.

“I wish it were that simple, Houdini-san,” Hiro said. “But I fear I have something he needs to find the netsuke.”

Sanjay sank back into his chair and put his head in his hands.

“This,” Hiro said, holding up a slip of aged paper in the shape of an oversize bookmark, “is what the killer is after.”

The faded red stamp on the worn sheet of paper looked vaguely familiar. It had been created hundreds of years before I was born, but I recognized the style of marking. “Is that a receipt?” I asked.

Hiro nodded. “One that reveals where the Dutchman of Dejima’s treasure is.”