Gaijin Cowgirl (11): Q&A
"This is Tokyo metropolitan police. Please open your door."
(Previous chapter or start at the beginning.)
Fred Benson called Val just as she approached the ryokan.
“It’s been arranged,” he said.
“Where are you? It sounds noisy there.”
“Pay phone. Do you have your tickets?”
“We’ll get them at the airport.”
“There’s a Cathay Pacific flight to Hong Kong tomorrow at two-fifteen. I had Lucy call the airline and there are still seats available. I’ll have her secure two tickets. Is that all right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” he said, “meet me here tomorrow at ten, time enough for a coffee before we have a car take us to Narita. Handling you is easy enough, I just have to flash my diplomatic credentials when you show your passport, and you’re through.”
“What about Suki?”
“There are some intelligence people here I’ve worked with before. They’re cooking up something. Your friend will have to go with the flow, but if something goes wrong, I’ll deny any knowledge. Tomorrow morning there’s going to be a locker at Tokyo Station with a Brazilian passport with her photo on it.” He gave her quick instructions.
“How risky are we talking?”
“This could create an incident. A real honest-to-God incident.”
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He’s really doing this. Putting his job, his reputation, everything on the line, for her. She could see spots of color flash before her eyes. But she kept her voice cool. “Got it.”
“She can’t be seen with you. Tell her to take the bus or the train.”
“Okay, Daddy…thanks.”
“Are you going to be all right tonight? You should stay at the embassy.”
“No,” she said more by habit than anything – still wary of getting close to him, despite everything he was doing. “I’ll be fine.”
Val called Suki. It rang endlessly. When Suki finally picked up, Val heard rustling, and then Suki, out of breath: “Moshe moshe.”
“It’s me.”
“Oh! Val!”
Val told her about the airport.
“First we go to Hong Kong…”
“Yes, and then Thailand.”
There was another pause, more rustling.
“Suki, are you all right?”
Another pause, then Suki returned. “Yes, uh, yes, Val, I’m fine. Actually I was going to suggest we go to Thailand myself.”
“Really?”
Then it struck Val. Of course: the English kickboxer. That might explain why Suki was acting so strangely on the phone. Val couldn’t resist a little smile.
“Val, I must go now. Can we meet at the bank at nine?”
“Yeah, that’s fine, Suki. So it’s going well with Simon?”
There was another pause. “With who?” Suki asked innocently.
“Come on, share.”
Suki giggled, then whispered, “He’s here.”
“I know.”
“And he’s gorgeous.”
“Good night.”
“Good night!”
Val switched off the phone as she entered the inn, momentarily distracted by Suki’s adventure. It was making it easier for Suki to leave Japan. Val sympathized. Running away from your home, as unwelcome a place as it may become, wasn’t simple. Besides, it might be useful to be friends in Thailand with someone who could throw a punch.
Inside the foyer, a maid bowed while Val exchanged her shoes for a pair of slippers by the door. She let the old lady guide her to her room, wishing she had something to look forward to, a little romantic adventure to take the edge off her fear. But all she had was a Charlie gone missing and an upset stomach…and a father who had delivered one surprise after another.
The maid chatted in friendly Japanese as she poured a cup of tea for Val. “Bath?” the maid asked, trying her English.
Val nodded. Okay, bath.
The maid slid a wall panel to reveal the rolled-up futon and a yukata robe. Val sat against cushions in the middle of the room as the maid babbled on, oblivious to Val’s ignorance of the language.
Somewhere outside, the floor creaked.
The maid’s fingers tightened around the yukata as she offered it to Val, and for a second the old lady froze.
An icy shock raced up Val’s spine. The hairs on the back of her neck stood. It wasn’t safe here anymore. She reached for her cell phone.
The maid bowed. “Sumimasen,” she apologized, backing toward the door. “Sumimasen.”
“No! Don’t open it!”
A thin, accented voice from outside: “Miss Benson? This is Tokyo metropolitan police. Please open your door.”
The maid, seeing Val’s distress, paused with a hand at the sliding door.
The reedy voice again: “Miss Benson, please.” It sounded like ‘prease’. “This is urgent. The body of your boyfriend, Charles Kwok, has been found. May we please come in and ask you some question.”
She lost the ability to stand. “Oh my God.”
“I am assistant deputy inspector Eiichiro Kanegae. With me is inspector Masaharu Tohno. Please open this door now.” Then a brief tirade in Japanese, and the maid promptly opened the door and with a quick bow hurried out of sight.
Val’s will to flee had evaporated. The body of your boyfriend Charles Kwok. She looked around the small room. There was a tiny window overlooking a garden, too small to squeeze through. Was there a point to this game anymore? The body of Charles Kwok.
The policemen bowed slightly and entered, leaving their slippers outside. Two cops: a slender young man in a dark suit and his paunchy, disheveled superior wearing an incongruous bucket hat. The older one muttered “O-jama shimasu,” a politesse for disturbing her, and she recognized him as the Inspector Tohno from yesterday’s television news.
“What happened to him?”
Tohno growled something as he handed her a card. The thin young man, deputy inspector Kanegae, slid the door shut as he translated: “We are very sorry to disturb you, Miss Benson. Inspector Tohno has some very sorry news.”
“What happened to him?”
“Tonight we found the body of an American named Charles Kwok,” Kanegae said. “We understand he was your boyfriend.”
Tohno’s gaze covered the room. He seemed barely aware that Val was there. He reeked of cigarettes.
“Please,” she said, “just tell me what happened to him.”
Kanegae translated Tohno’s response, which sounded more like a couple of grunts than speech. “Somebody shot him. His body was found in Tokyo Bay, not too far from Rainbow Bridge.”
Val covered her mouth with her hand. Charlie, what have I done to you?
Tohno moved to the low table and calmly made two fresh cups of green tea. Through Kanegae, he asked, “What was your relationship to Charles Kwok?”
“You already know,” she said.
The inspector handed her a cup of tea. She shook her head, but she could see softness in his eyes. “Dozo,” he said. She accepted the offer and they sipped. She accepted his gesture that the two men join her sitting on the cushions.
“Why are you at this ryokan?” Kanegae asked.
“We had an argument. I left him.”
“About what?”
“Do you know who killed him?”
Tohno grunted and Kanegae repeated, “Your argument. About what?”
“It was personal. There’s nothing to say.”
Tohno shook his head: “Iie, iie, iie.” Through Kanegae, he said, “Miss Benson, tell us your relationship with Charles Kwok…and with Takahashi Shigeru.”
“Takahashi?”
“Please. Do not play a game.”
“I’m not playing a game. You come in here and tell me Charlie’s been murdered and…oh God, and…”
“Please. Miss Benson. Dozo. Please. Calm down.”
She didn’t cry. She didn’t feel it was possible. She felt hollow and drained, like this wasn’t happening, as if she was having an-out-of-body experience, and that she could be rational, even intellectual, about it.
Tohno’s translator relayed, “We are the Tokyo metropolitan police. You are a foreigner so maybe you do not understand. Police always solve their crime, Miss Benson. We know what happens. People tell us everything. Japanese citizens cooperate.” A pause, a hiss from Tohno, then more translation of his rapid-fire utterances. “We believe the case of Charles Kwok and the case of Takahashi are related, because we know you had a relationship with both men. Now one man is dead and one man is almost dead in the hospital.”
“Well then,” she retorted, “maybe you should be asking your friend Yoshino. He’s the Colonel’s old buddy. He was there when Takahashi got shot.”
The officers exchanged glances, and she saw Tohno’s face weigh itself down. Slowly, Kanegae translated his growls. “Benson-san, you have raised something that is very difficult.”
“I’ll bet it is. Yoshino’s a gangster. What do you call them here – yakuza. He’s one of them, isn’t he? So how about you guys – have any tattoos to show me?”
She spoke too fast and with too much anger for Kanegae to get all of it, but Tohno heard enough to understand, and he muttered a response and his junior officer said, “You know many things. It is true that Detective Yoshino is a friend of the Yamaguchi-gumi, and an associate of Takahashi. But he is not yakuza. He is a policeman. He is my…” Kanegae struggled for the word. “My nemesis. Yes, Inspector Tohno’s nemesis.”
Tohno continued through his assistant’s voice. “I have been aware of Detective Yoshino’s relationships for many years. At first it was tolerated. Maybe encouraged. It is sensible to have good relationships with yakuza gangs, especially the Yamaguchi-gumi. But we have been concerned for the past year or two year that Detective Yoshino’s relationship became incorrect.”
The younger man searched for words.
“In normal times this conversation would be impossible. Do you understand? But this is not a normal time, and I believe that you can help me. The other night at Takahashi’s house. It is obvious that the report filed by Detective Yoshino is not the truth. It is no difficulty making the journalists say what we tell them. But this was not routine.”
“No,” she said, “it wasn’t.”
“It was easy to find you. It was well known that Takahashi visited that nightclub you work. We asked the people there. They say you visited Takahashi that night. We know why. We were told you are friends with Yamauchi. Her apartment is empty but there is a rented car parked nearby whose tire treads that match the marks at Takahashi’s house. It is all very obvious. The nightclub gave us the address of your residence. It belonged to Mr. Kwok who has become a murder victim. We canvassed all hotels in the city. It does not take long for us. We can find anyone and you are easy to identify. But at Takahashi’s house there was a second car. There was shooting, much shooting. You were there. But it was not you who did the shooting.”
“Three Americans,” she said softly. “I don’t know anything about them. American gangsters.”
This surprised the policemen, who spoke rapidly to each other. Kanegae asked, “What did they want?”
“I don’t know. There was a lot of shooting, and these Americans killed one of Takahashi’s men. They overpowered Yoshino, who was there, and Odama, the owner of Cowboy. Then they shot Takahashi. I ran away with Suki – with Miss Yamauchi.”
Tohno grilled her for several minutes, trying to get more details, but Val declined to provide many. She just wanted to get out of Japan. She wanted to believe these policemen were honest, but even they knew they had been compromised.
Kanegae said, “Benson-san, who killed your boyfriend?”
“I don’t know.”
Finally, when she had enough of Tohno’s repeated questions, she said, “My boyfriend has been murdered. I’m tired. I think I’d like to be alone now.” She also realized that this inn was not safe. If these policemen had tracked her down so quickly, it would be easy for Yoshino to do so, too.
As if reading her mind, Tohno said through his junior, “I have taken the precaution of telling no one you are here. Yoshino does not know. But he will find out soon. You must come with us for your protection. It is not acceptable to have another murder in Tokyo. You are an illegal alien, working without a visa, and you must be deported.”
“So am I under arrest?”
“We would like to question you further. Where is your passport?”
“Not here,” she lied. “Stored in a safe at a bank.”
“Do you want to see the body?”
“No.”
“Will you handle the funeral arrangements?”
“I think it’s better if his office does it. Stephen Gould, that’s his boss.”
“You should come with us.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You are an illegal.”
She paused, wondering if he really knew that to be true. “I’m legal,” she said. “I have a valid tourist visa. I liked to go to Cowboy, yes, but I didn’t work there. Check for yourself.”
Tohno’s face reddened. “Don’t be a foolish girl,” Kanegae said. “We know what you do.”
“Prove it.”
Tohno looked unhappy, but he was thinking it over.
“I don’t feel safe because of Yoshino,” she added, trying to give Tohno room to maneuver.
The inspector nodded. Through Kanegae, Tohno said, “You have my card. Contact us if you require our assistance.” Then: “We will be back tomorrow to talk some more.”
“That’s fine.”
“Do not leave Tokyo.”
“Of course not.”
At the door he turned to her. In English, Tohno said, “You okay?”
Val sensed his sincerity, even if his expression remained wooden. She smiled and gave a slight bow. “No, Inspector Tohno, but thanks for asking.”
He grunted and reached for his pack of cigarettes. The two cops ambled toward the stairs.
She immediately packed a small bag after they left. She went to the foyer and looked out the window. The street was empty. None of the parked cars looked occupied. Maybe the policemen really were gone.
Just to be safe, she only took one bag with her, leaving most of her clothes and the large suitcase in the room. The maid’s fear when the policemen arrived suggested she had expected them; the staff was probably spying on her for Tohno, and she wanted them to think she was still around.
She ran out and caught a taxi. She had to disappear for a few more hours, just get some sleep, be alone for a while. She was still not letting herself think about Charlie. She had to keep him at bay for just a little longer.
Val gave the driver a street in Ikebukuro lined with love hotels. She had never stayed in one before, but knew it was the most anonymous place a foreigner could go.
She called Suki, but only got voice mail. “Suki,” she said, “it’s me. Something bad has happened. If you get this, call me, okay?”
She looked behind her as the taxi pulled onto a major street. No one followed from the direction of the inn.
Her phone rang: Stephen.
“Val,” he said, and she could tell from his choked voice that he knew Charlie was dead. “The police called me, and, ah, I don’t know how to say this, Val.”
“Charlie never stood a chance,” she said.