Hiroshi walked out of the Ministry of Finance building thinking over what Watanabe had told him. The appointment with the judge overseeing the divorce was in a half-hour, and the judge’s secretary told Hiroshi to be on time or the judge wouldn’t see him. The office was not far, near the Tokyo District Court. A short walk through Hibiya Park, one of the first Western-style parks in Japan, would clear his head.
He turned into the side entrance. Even with the sun out, it was cold in the park. He took the path around the copper statue of a crane with open wings, the stream of water shooting up from the crane’s mouth toward the sky.
Patrick was managing a lot of wealth in Wyoming, so maybe he got ahead of himself, became involved with someone, or simply needed a change. Sometimes a short time apart was enough to reveal the problems in a marriage. Or in household finances. Or life plans.
Patrick returning to Japan, killing his boss, driving to his apartment, killing his mother-in-law, beating up the babysitter, and taking his daughters was a scenario that connected the ugly dots, but Hiroshi couldn’t see it. That was a lot of violence for reasons that were too well hidden. It wasn’t coincidence, but it wasn’t clearly connected, either.
For that matter, Patrick could hire someone to snatch his girls and sneak them out of the country. They had no proof that he was even in Japan. Ueno was checking with immigration, but getting away with the daughters was too neat of a scenario. Between all the ugly dots in this case would be ugly lines. Or worse, no lines at all.
Hiroshi’s cellphone buzzed. It was Takamatsu.
“Aren’t you smoking on the beach in Enoshima?” Hiroshi asked.
“I’m smoking in the car. Much better. The chief’s ordered us to help you.”
Hiroshi stopped. “Where are Sugamo and Osaki?”
“I thought they were with you.”
“I’m in Hibiya Park. Alone.”
“We’re just pulling off the Shuto Expressway now. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll be at the Kasumi Gate.”
Several ginkgos with long, straight branches dropped bright yellow fan-shaped leaves that turned the walkways golden. Hiroshi thought of the missed walks under the ginkgos with Ayana. She’d left her camera by the front door, unused for weeks already.
He took photos of the ginkgo trees and sent them to her. Then, he called.
“Wait a minute. Let me sit down.” Hiroshi heard her office door click shut. “I’m so tired this morning. You left early.”
“You were snoring away on the sofa.”
Ayana chuckled. “I don’t snore.”
“OK, call it purring.”
“You called me to talk about my sleeping noises?”
“No, I wanted to share the ginkgos with you. I’m in Hibiya Park, and they are stunning.”
“Describe them to me.”
“Did you see the photos I sent?”
“Yes.”
“Nice?”
“Very nice. But not as good as the real thing.”
“We’ll go soon. Also, well, I don’t know when I’ll be home tonight.”
“So, you can’t help me with my wedding speech.” Ayana sounded irritated. “That’s why you called.”
“I’m calling to apologize.”
“I’m going to kendo practice.”
“Tell sensei I’ll be back soon.”
“He won’t believe me, you’ve been away so long.”
Hiroshi saw the car at the stoplight, Ishii driving and Takamatsu smoking. “I’ve got to go.”
“Be careful.”
“You too. Those dangerous library shelves.” Hiroshi hung up and hurried to the front gate. The car pulled up and Hiroshi got in the back.
Takamatsu turned around and rolled his eyes toward Ishii.
Hiroshi ignored him.
Ishii pulled out into traffic and headed toward Uchibori Dori Street, the wide six-lane road that ran by the park. Traffic was light, or seemed so with the well-timed lights and extra wide lanes.
Ishii looked back at Hiroshi in the rearview. “Where’s the judge’s office?”
“Head straight to the moat and turn left, then left again. On the other side of the Justice Ministry.”
“Half a cigarette away.” Takamatsu lit up and blew the smoke out the window.
Like the Tax Agency, the office building wouldn’t win any architectural design contests. It was bland and functional, its function being to make better designs stand out.
Ishii opted to stay in the car. Hiroshi and Takamatsu hurried in.
The judge’s outer office was walled in by gray metal cases lined with brown and maroon law books.
The secretary stood up with a polite bow. “Court is in thirty minutes, so he won’t have long to answer your questions.” She knocked on the door and slipped inside, leaving the detectives standing.
Takamatsu shook his head. “They know we’re coming, and they ask us to wait anyway.” He stared at the law books that lined the room. “All these words are not the law.”
“What are they then?” Hiroshi frowned. “It’s where authority comes from.”
“Does it?” Takamatsu tapped on the glass. “Do you use big, fancy, foreign legal words when tracking down someone who’s stolen a pensioner’s life savings?”
“That doesn’t mean it’s pointless to write it all down.”
Takamatsu growled. “Everyone knows what’s right or wrong without it being written down in minute detail.”
Hiroshi sniffed. “You smell like tobacco.”
“Every time we go into an office, you lecture me. That’s what makes me smoke so much.”
The secretary stepped out, held the door open, and ushered them inside with a stiff hand.
The office was taken up by a wooden table that could sit a dozen people if they didn’t try to go in or out at the same time. Bookcases fronted by locked glass doors lined the walls. Inside, rows of neatly labeled folders for years of cases formed a history of the judge’s work.
At the end of the table sat Judge Yamanaka, still talking to three thirty-something law clerks, two men and a woman in crisp white shirts. The judge had a broad face with gray hair that sprang out of control. His chin jutted like the ukiyo-e woodblock print of a wild aragoto character from kabuki.
The three law clerks finished taking notes. They nodded to Yamanaka before resting their hands on top of their notebooks and turning to the detectives. The room was warm and stuffy, making it harder to breathe through their masks.
Judge Yamanaka invited them to sit down. “You don’t mind if my clerks listen in, do you? It can be instructive what detectives ask, and how they ask it.”
Takamatsu scooted the chair and dropped down in the same way he did when interrogating a suspect. Hiroshi thought he better take the lead.
Hiroshi looked the judge straight in the eye. “In your decision about Miyuki and Patrick Walsh, you planned on awarding custody of the children to the mother, correct?”
The judge nodded.
“And what about visitation rights for the father?”
The judge folded his arms over his chest. “I didn’t decide yet. I wanted to meet him first.”
“Under what circumstances do you deny rights to the father?”
“Most circumstances. In cases like this, the father’s more likely to remove the children from Japan, where they belong.”
“Did he suspect you were going to decide that way?”
Judge Yamanaka cocked his head to the side. He didn’t like being questioned. “The possibility was included in some papers sent by the wife’s lawyer.”
“That may be the provocation.”
The judge scowled. “Provocation for what?”
“The father may have abducted the two girls.”
“So I was right. He couldn’t be trusted.”
“Being denied visitation might have encouraged him to take action.” Hiroshi waited for an answer.
Judge Yamanaka leaned forward over the table with his hands clasped. “I routinely award custody to the mother in international marriages for this very reason. Japanese mothers take better care of their children. Japan’s a safe country. And the husband was absent for nearly a year.”
“He was posted abroad for his job. Tanshin funin is basic Japanese corporate practice too, isn’t it?”
“There were issues of infidelity.”
“Another Japanese corporate practice,” Takamatsu chimed in.
The judge looked at him.
Hiroshi tried to redirect. “Infidelity?”
“Japanese women have good instincts in that regard.”
“But you didn’t see proof?”
The judge frowned. “Her lawyer said there was proof.”
“Isn’t that what lawyers say?”
The judge’s square jaw stuck forward.
“Were there other issues in this case, violence, abuse?”
“Not that I recall.” Judge Yamanaka nodded the clerks toward the shelves. “C8 or so, custody cases, ‘W’ something.”
One of the male law clerks hopped up, unlocked the case, fingered the files, and handed one to Yamanaka with two hands.
Yamanaka pulled open the file and put on his reading glasses. He flipped through several pages, scanning the text. After a minute or two, he shrugged. “Very straightforward. The American husband left. The wife wanted a divorce and protection for the children. Done.” He handed the file back to the clerk.
“Can we get a copy of that?”
Yamanaka nodded for the clerk to take care of it. “I’ll have it sent to homicide by the end of the day.”
“What about any investigation into where the husband went and why?” Hiroshi could sense Takamatsu fidgeting and didn’t want to leave an opening for him to enter in and mess things up.
“Beyond the scope of the filing, there wasn’t any need.” Yamanaka’s grey bushy eyebrows turned to a sharp ‘V’. He was used to staring people down.
Hiroshi decided he’d get nothing more from him. “If the husband does ask for custody, what’s the likely outcome?”
Yamanaka checked his watch. “In international divorce cases, visitation rights cause confusion. There’s the language and cultural differences, and in this case, there’s now the abduction.”
“That’s not confirmed yet.”
“I set restrictive conditions for the safety of the children. The problem is typically with the non-Japanese spouse, usually the man.”
Takamatsu stood up, his chair scraping the floor.
Judge Yamanaka waved at the other door of his office. “I’ve got a deposition in ten minutes on a complex case, and we’re not finished reviewing the details.”
Hiroshi offered his appreciation in polite but curt Japanese.
Takamatsu walked out ahead of Hiroshi. He said nothing until the elevator reached the lobby. “That judge wasn’t telling us everything, but I agree with him about the case.”
“Didn’t she file for divorce a bit too quickly? Hardly a year and he was over there for work. Divorce cases often stretch on for years. Especially if there’s enough money to keep everyone happy.” Outside the building, they looked for Ishii.
Takamatsu pulled his lighter out. It was a heavy model with an engraving on the side. Some gift from some passing affair, Hiroshi guessed.
Takamatsu flicked the flint wheel, and the flame sprang up. “Unless there isn’t as much money as it seems.” He blew his smoke straight up into the air like the crane fountain in Hibiya Park. “Or much more money.”