‘Toshio Saga doesn’t own a word processor.’
Yanagi reported in a few days later. The troublemaker was off the list, then, leaving only the misfit Atsushi Mitsui. Shindo left Yanagi with instructions to continue looking into it but he felt more anxious than ever when he hung up.
How had Yanagi learned that Saga didn’t own a word processor? Had he paid him a visit and found a chance moment to look around? That wouldn’t be enough to support such a definitive conclusion. A frightening legal term came to mind. Trespass. Saga lived at home. Once he’d left for work, the house would be empty, apart from his bedridden mother. He could do it. He would do it. This was Yanagi.
Fuck.
Yanagi was still investigating Sone and Yaeko Kato. Shindo realised he wouldn’t put it past the man to install a bug – perhaps in the bar, or Yaeko’s apartment – if it meant making progress. That would be a hassle, but Shindo had more to worry about. The case had caught Futawatari’s attention. If Shindo lost control, if he let Yanagi go too far, he might end up paying for it with his career. He picked up the phone. Don’t do anything stupid. He would spell it out for the man.
It was Yanagi’s sister who answered. She told him her brother was out and that she didn’t know where he had gone. Shindo was starting to panic.
Maybe I should go today.
His plan had been to visit Mumu in a few days but his current state of agitation told him he should perhaps bring the reconnaissance forwards. He hurried by taxi to City P and within thirty minutes was in the red-light district. He pushed his way past a collection of hawkers before he saw the bar’s bright neon sign.
It was busy despite it being only eight in the evening. There were five booths inside, all of different sizes, and six seats along a counter. Three Southeast Asian women in skimpy, bikini-like clothing were draped over a group of sweaty men. Shindo guessed there might be more than alcohol on the menu.
‘My my, a new face.’
A plumpish woman in a kimono appeared to greet him. She looked to be in her mid-forties and was oddly imposing. If he hadn’t already seen the photos of Yaeko Kato, Shindo would have pegged her as the mama-san. She led him arm in arm to one of the seats at the counter and sat him down. They chatted for a while and he told her he was in town for three days to sell exercise equipment.
Yaeko Kato was in a bright-red dress. When she came into the room it was from under the noren which hung over the entrance to the kitchen; she was fiddling with her fringe.
‘Welcome.’
She was just as beautiful in the flesh. Shindo suspected the bar had no need for the fawning girls, that men would flock in droves just to see her. The woman in the kimono gave a flick of her eye and Shindo was surrounded by dark, tanned skin. His ears were subjected to a stream of broken Japanese and hot air. The perfect time, perhaps. Yaeko was standing in front of him, mixing a glass of whisky on the rocks. Making it look as though he’d just remembered something, Shindo took out his mobile. He dialled the number of his apartment.
‘Hey, it’s me. Has Sone called yet?’ Shindo kept an eye on Yaeko as he listened to the ringtone on the other side. ‘You know who I mean. So. Ne.’
There was no reaction. Not even a twitch. The letter had been bogus. Sone had been a customer but Yaeko did not recognise his name. The only conclusion to draw was that Sone had used an assumed identity. It followed that he’d also hidden the fact that he was police. He hadn’t played on his status as chief. Which made him the same as all the other customers – just another man here to see Yaeko. He couldn’t have seduced her, not like that. His looks, too plain to attract a woman of her calibre, would end up becoming his saving grace.
Still, I’d bet the bastard gave it a good shot.
‘Here. A token of our meeting.’ Yaeko handed Shindo the glass and tapped her own against it.
‘Thanks.’
Shindo put the whisky to his lips. His stomach lurched a little but he wanted, at least tonight, to drink a little in Sone’s honour.