Ota had been following Miyuki Walsh all day on simple errands. It was confusing trying to connect the law office in Akasaka with the small lane in Kokubunji, but following anyone through Tokyo when you didn’t know what they were doing was confusing.
Ota was Shibutani’s best private investigator. Shibutani, who had worked with Takamatsu in homicide for years, coordinated from the office while Ota put shoes on the street and eyes on the suspect.
Ota’s deafness occasionally presented a hurdle, but he and Shibutani worked fine with it. A plain leather jacket, which held everything he needed, good walking shoes, and neat but longish hair allowed Ota to blend in anywhere. Being deaf, he saw more and was seen less. For most work, he didn’t need to hear. He needed to watch.
Miyuki walked out of the building. He’d waited outside her apartment all night, dozing on a bench and reading all afternoon with nothing happening. He took a couple chances going to a convenience store to pee and restock onigiri rice balls and bottled tea. At last, he could move.
Ota slipped a telephoto lens on his cellphone and tested the resolution, taking a few shots and deleting them. Miyuki was dressed in black funeral clothes with low heels. She was very beautiful, like a model for funeral outfits.
When she headed to the subway, Ota had to move quickly to stay with her. He guessed she was heading to make funeral arrangements for her mother, but it was getting late, and he wondered if the funeral parlor would still be open. He’d been briefed on the story from Shibutani.
He was about to follow her down the steps to the subway when a tall man cut in front of him. He’d seen him somewhere. Ota hung back and let the guy get ahead so he could move parallel and squeeze off photos of the man’s face.
As the man turned down the stairs after Miyuki, Ota took a few more shots and had to hurry to get on the same train. Once he got on, he stored the telephoto attachment in a pocket—he had a pocket for everything—and sent the photos to Shibutani in his Akabane office.
Shibutani wrote back telling Ota to get a better shot.
He couldn’t do it on the train, so he waited until she and the man got out at the stop nearest Zoshigaya Cemetery. He wore all black, too, as if in mourning himself.
Upstairs, the exit led to a busy road between the Gokokuji Temple and the cemetery. The surrounding lanes were lined by wooden buildings selling flowers, incense, and brooms for cleaning graves. One or two stone-carver workshops remained, but most were converted to showrooms, the actual carving done elsewhere. To Ota, the cars whizzing by, their rush-rush, high-speed vibrations, felt like a violation of the sacred area.
Miyuki entered a brownish-beige, two-story box of windowless concrete. Ota assumed it was the cemetery office. He took a photo to make sure. “Sato” was the name of the funeral service.
The man in black walked to the corner. He wore a shiny maroon tie against a black shirt, covered by a black jacket and black overcoat. He probably had black underwear.
Ota walked halfway up the stairs of the overpass to get a better angle. He slipped the finger-sized telephoto back on and pretended to be looking at the cemetery grounds while pointing the camera at the man. He caught the man’s face—pale and concave—from different angles.
Ota stopped to look at the photos. He was one of the men harassing the woman in Kokubunji when he’d followed Miyuki there. How did he get so close to Miyuki? Ota thought back to whether he’d been followed. In Kokubunji, they’d driven off in their car.
Ota sent these better shots to Shibutani. He still couldn’t figure anything out and neither could Shibutani, but they made a record of it all, as Takamatsu asked.
Miyuki came out of the building and strode up the overpass, walking right past the man in black without noticing him.
Ota sent a quick message to Shibutani, asking about limits, something he always did before going over them. Shibutani told him to go ahead. Takamatsu would sort it out later.
The pale-faced man followed Miyuki from a few paces behind, much closer than Ota would have. Ota waited patiently until they got across and then hurried across the overpass after them.
Shibutani texted Ota. “Nothing in the database from that photo. Try another angle.”
Ota texted as he walked. “If they split up, do you want me to follow the guy or Miyuki?”
Shibutani texted back. “Stick with Miyuki. Don’t let her out of your sight until she’s safely back in her apartment.”
Ota sent back an OK emoji and hustled to keep them in view.
Miyuki went down to the subway and Ota hurried to catch up. He hustled down the escalator and got to the platform as the Yurakucho Line train pulled in. They got on three separate cars, Miyuki in the middle and Ota and the pale-faced guy on either side.
Miyuki switched to the Hibiya Line and got off at Hiroo Station. On the street, she turned in the opposite direction of her apartment, the guy still following her. Ota followed them down a narrow, winding street with a railing dividing the pedestrian and car lanes.
Miyuki stopped in front of a new-looking building so narrow the stairs were on the outside. She climbed up to the top floor and entered without knocking.
Ota ducked behind a concrete planter for a large tree set below a curved wall. The guy in black stopped on the opposite side in front of an apartment building fronted by maple trees and thick ivy.
They both waited, on opposite sides, for Miyuki to emerge.
After a half hour, Miyuki came down the steps talking with a handsome man in loose-fitting pants and a retro paisley shirt. He had collar-length hair and kept his glasses on top of his head. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs with a hand on her arm, nodding at everything she said.
Ota squeezed off several nice, clean shots.
They gave each other a hug and kiss on the cheek, just a bit closer than with a client, and closer than most relatives. Miyuki headed downhill, and the man stood there watching her walk away.
Ota hurried over to snap a photo of the company names on the building. “Sato” again, but there were millions of Sato’s in Tokyo. He turned back, but the pale-faced guy in black had disappeared. That was not a good sign.
He waited until Miyuki turned at the big street ahead and then hurried after her with one eye out for the guy and one on Miyuki. He texted Shibutani the company names.
Shibutani texted back that it was probably a client of hers from the bank. Ota wrote back that it was something more, but he’d missed a photo of their embrace.
Miyuki headed back to her apartment, thankfully, where it was easier to keep an eye on her. He needed a break and didn’t want to sleep on the bench another night. He texted Shibuta to ask if the police were still in the apartment.
Shibutani texted he didn’t know. “Just follow her to the door.”
Ota waited until she put the code into the small password panel. The automatic glass doors slid shut behind her. The guy in black didn’t seem to be anywhere around. Ota searched in all directions, waiting for him to emerge.
Ota turned toward the convenience store down the street, but a sudden blur of motion from the apartment lobby caught his eye. He hurried to the automatic doors and pressed his face to the glass. Two men, one on each side, were pulling Miyuki into the elevator.
He looked at the password panel in frustration and texted Shibutani.
Shibutani texted to wait while he called Takamatsu.
A couple arrived, arm in arm. The man put in the security code, and Ota slipped in after them, holding his phone to his ear like half the people in Tokyo did, acting like a resident.
Ota rode the elevator to Miyuki’s floor and ran down the hall to her door. With one hand, he banged on the door, and with the other unzipped the pocket in his leather jacket for what he needed. If the police were still there, they’d answer right away.
They didn’t, so he pounded again, in short, hard bursts, ready. He couldn’t hear if they said anything, so he pounded again.
The door opened a crack. It wasn’t police. Ota jammed his shoe in and reached his arm toward whoever was on the other side.
His handheld stun gun connected and the door loosened. He shoved his shoulder into the door and stepped past a young guy clutching his chest and trying to breathe.
Ota kneed him on the side of his knee and he spun backward.
Miyuki was on her knees on the floor with the other guy standing over her.
Ota charged forward and jammed the stun gun into his back before he could turn around. The guy bucked, spun, and dropped to the floor.
As he turned to help Miyuki, Ota felt hands on his shoulders. He jammed his elbow back, hard and square, spun around, and rammed the stun gun into the guy’s gut. He fell over and flailed like a harpooned fish.
Before he recovered, Ota kneeled down and slipped zip ties around the guy’s ankles. He rolled him over, the guy still shaking from the zap, and zip-tied his wrist.
The first guy started crawling. Ota put his boot on his back and flattened him to the floor. He dropped both knees onto his back and held the stun gun so he could see it to get him to stop wiggling. When he stopped, he zip-tied him.
Ota stood up slowly.
Miyuki looked at him, confused.
Ota tried reading her lips, but she ignored him and swung her purse down on the head of the guy at her feet, landing it again and again until he curled up. She started on the other guy worming his way toward the wall, but she was crying too hard to land a solid blow.
When she slowed down, wobbling, Ota caught her arm and held his hand up for her to stop and calm down.
Miyuki spoke to Ota.
He couldn’t read her lips because she was breathing so hard and her lips were trembling.
“I’m deaf,” Ota said in slurred speech.
Miyuki blinked at him.
Ota pointed at his ears. “I’m deaf.” He’d been through this a thousand times. He pulled out his cellphone and gestured for her to read what he was going to write on his cellphone.
“My name’s Ota. I’m deaf.” He showed her the message, and she nodded at him. “I was sent to watch you.”
“By who? Patrick?”
“No, not him. But I’m sure he’d approve.”
Miyuki nodded, trying to compose herself, wiping her face. She took his cellphone from him and typed, “Thank you.”
Ota typed. “Do you know these guys?”
“They’re hosts from Taiga’s former club,” she typed. She pulled back her foot to kick the guy in the ribs but Ota held his hand up to stop her.
He handed her the stun gun. There was plenty of charge left.