East is East Page 8

  “And were you alone in the coatroom?”

  “I was.”

  Rick Iwamoto and Don Hodiak told virtually the same story, but it required laborious thought to determine the order of their visits.

  “Yeah, I remember now,” Hodiak decided at last. “Rick was already waiting outside the meeting room when I got back.”

  There was nothing uncertain at all about Mr. Arai’s statement. In a thin, precise voice, he declared that he had been emerging from the coatroom when the typist began screaming in the hallway. Mr. Arai had entered the office to assure himself that the victim was beyond medical assistance.

  After listening respectfully to this testimony, Hayakawa reverted to his earlier line of questioning and asked about the time of everyone’s return to MITI.

  “Let’s see,” said Kruger. “We came in a bunch—that is, Thatcher and Don Hodiak and Pamela Webb and myself. We were in the conference room one or two minutes before starting time.”

  Mr. Arai had been moving with his usual convoy of attendants. “I entered the coatroom with my staff as Mr. Kruger’s party was leaving,” he said impressively.

  “That’s when I came in—alone,” said Iwamoto with gentle irony, as if to point the contrast.

  Hayakawa’s glance swept over the remaining guests. “And Miss Webb, you of course left your coat elsewhere.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “I used the women’s coatroom at the other end of the floor.”

  Ali Khan had been frowning in thought. “I got back long before everyone else, because I didn’t know Mr. Matsuda changed the time of the meeting. Then I had to help get the room set up. I was in and out, seeing about the projector and the models, but that was in the opposite direction. I never went back to the coatroom.”

  During the silence that followed, Bennet Alderman seemed startled to find everyone looking at him.

  “Oh, I got here early too,” he said hastily. “I was in the conference room by five before two.”

  “And remained there for twenty minutes?” Hayakawa asked patiently.

  “Well, I was in and out,” Alderman explained. “I kept going into the hall to see if anyone else was coming, but not far enough to do you any good.”

  “Thank you. You have all been most responsive. We have taken care of the period after lunch. Now if we could be more precise about your later visits?”

  This, of course, proved far more difficult, but the inspector, with impeccable courtesy, persisted. Ali Khan demonstrated total recall of the order in which he had presented his topics, but it soon became clear that this aide-mémoire was useless.

  John Thatcher led the way to clarification by abandoning the text and referring to the pictures.

  “There was a schematic for an electronic circuit being shown when I slipped out,” he recalled.

  Ali brushed this contribution aside.

  “I showed a number of circuits.”

  “This was the first,” said Thatcher, sinking the fact that one complex circuit had been quite enough to drive him from the room.

  The others were prompt to follow his lead. Kruger had left when Khan started freezing frames, and Iwamoto had given up hope when three MITI technicians embroiled Ali in controversy.

  Hayakawa was pleased with these results, particularly when Ali Khan agreed to produce a rough timetable.

  “If Mr. Khan would stay behind, I see no need to detain the rest of you. I can only thank you all for your cooperation and regret the inconvenience you have endured.”

  The words were scarcely out of his mouth before he was sucked into a brisk skirmish with Matsuda. Rick Iwamoto, who had come to rest by Thatcher, was grimly amused.

  “Poor Matsuda really is the perfect bureaucrat. He wants to go on with our session,” he translated, “in spite of the fact

  that neither Khan nor the area will be available for some time.”

  “It’s not surprising he’s upset,” Thatcher remarked. “This is scarcely the image that MITI is in the habit of projecting.”

  “No, it isn’t. But then,” Iwamoto said with a Mephistophelian smile, “I’m not at all sure it isn’t in Shima’s best interests to have MITI’s routine shaken up a little. I wasn’t all that crazy about the way things were going.”

  Noriko Iwamoto was absolutely right, Thatcher decided. Almost anything that interrupted Lackawanna’s greased ride to victory was a good thing for Shima.

  An hour later, the situation had improved, from Matsuda’s point of view. Instead of dealing with a mere inspector, he was closeted with one of Hayakawa’s loftier superiors.

  “Nothing could be further from our wishes than to occasion the slightest unnecessary embarrassment to MITI,” that experienced and tactful individual murmured.

  Matsuda inclined his head graciously. “Thank you.”

  “It is of course unfortunate that your distinguished guests should have been allowed to see the body itself.”

  The commissioner waited for agreement.

  “Extremely unfortunate,” Matsuda conceded. “It is therefore doubly essential to minimize any further intrusion on their time.”

  “Certainly. We must, however, remember that they are all men acquainted with the workings of government. Given the distressing nature of events, they understand the need for official action.”

  “As does MITI,” Matsuda responded stoutly. “Under no circumstances would we suggest any abridgment of your usual activities. We ask only that they be conducted with discretion.”

  They were in total accord. The prospect of headlines about these people and these issues made both men shudder.

  “As to that, I am happy to say that Inspector Hayakawa,

  immediately upon being informed of the address to which he was called, acted responsibly and efficiently. Except for the first patrol car, all police entering the building were in plain clothes, and the ambulance attendants were instructed to say that there had been an accident.”

  Matsuda could think of a further improvement.

  “It is of the utmost importance that this investigation be brought to a rapid conclusion.”

  “You may rest assured that we will bend every effort to do so. To that end, it would be helpful to know as much as possible about the victim.”

  “What is there to know? He was a junior clerk who seems to have brought his sordid affairs to the office.” At this point Matsuda became almost human. “Why not someplace else? Anywhere else!”

  The commissioner could think of a very good reason, but he was master of the incremental approach.

  “You believe he was involved in something discreditable?”

  “I know nothing about Ushiba’s personal life but obviously it had its faults,” Matsuda rejoined. “Otherwise he would not have been murdered.”

  Soothingly the commissioner agreed. “But unfortunately your reception desk tells my men that no strangers were ushered to this floor, which would indicate that someone on the premises killed him—either a member of the staff or an official visitor.”

  Matsuda was perfectly capable of looking facts in the face.

  “The only official guests on this floor were those participating in the Midland Research hearings. And we can surely eliminate Mr. Arai or Mr. Iwamoto, or even Mr. Kruger for that matter.” In his zeal for the cause, he went too far. “Businessmen do not run around committing crimes.”

  Even as he spoke, he remembered Recruit.

  “I was referring to crimes of violence,” he amended.

  “That goes without saying,” the commissioner replied ambiguously.

  “Besides, Ushiba was far too low-level to have any interaction with principals.”

  “That is exactly the kind of thing we wish to ascertain. I would be grateful for anything more you could tell us about him.”

  “Ushiba was a man with a slovenly mind!”

  The commissioner had not expected much, but this was worse than useless. It was time to say what he had come to say.

  “If Ushiba had no personal c
ontact with your guests, it is unavoidably necessary to pursue his relationships with your other employees.”

  Again Matsuda bowed to logic.

  “Naturally.”

  With a sigh of relief, the commissioner began his departure. “I am sure you will forgive me if I now leave these details to Inspector Hayakawa. It is necessary that I convey the latest intelligence of this situation to your minister and assure him of our diligence.”

  “I rather enjoy calling on ministers these days,” the commissioner confessed later. “They are always so relieved that my appearance has nothing to do with their peccadilloes that they are abnormally reasonable. And how are things over at MITI? Are they really cooperating?”

  “Oh, yes,” Hayakawa reassured him. “We’ve been given free run of the staff and the whole floor.”

  The commissioner devoted a moment to silent appreciation of MITI’s being turned upside down by his men.

  “What have you found out?”

  “Nothing much, I’m afraid. Ushiba had been in his present assignment only six months. The people in his section claim they didn’t know much about him. If he was chasing somebody’s wife, or running up gambling debts, he didn’t talk about it.”

  “No matter how stupid, the man presumably had some sense.”

  “Yes, but it means the digging will take time.”

  The commissioner abandoned his relish for terrorizing the

  high and mighty. “Just what we don’t have. The papers will find out about the murder within a day or two,” he predicted. “That will not be a problem if we can announce an arrest at the same time. Have they finished the medical examination?”

  “No, but the autopsy may not be decisive. If Ushiba was comatose for a while, the time of death will not coincide with the time of attack.”

  “And what about these exalted witnesses who do not traffic with mere mortals?”

  Pessimistically, Hayakawa reported that they were too inexact to be much help.

  “Then the most immediate task is to question the workers at Ushiba’s last posting. They may know something about him.”

  “I have already assigned a man to that, but Ushiba was there only eight months.”

  The commissioner was beginning to find the late Mr. Ushiba as unsatisfactory as everyone else had. “The longer it takes to find an intimate, the longer it takes to make progress on the case. Our forty-eight hours are looking very inadequate.”

  A wise subordinate lets his superior run out of valuable suggestions before advancing his own. Hayakawa waited, then took the initiative.

  “There is one promising area,” he said diffidently. “Ushiba’s desk was in disarray when we arrived. There were even papers on the floor. But the messenger who was there at twelve-thirty reports it was very orderly then.”

  “Ah, you think the killer was searching for something— love letters, IOUs, a list of gambling debts?”

  “It’s possible. And with all that activity nearby, the murderer would not have lingered. If Ushiba had any documents hidden away, they may still be there.”

  The commissioner was nodding approval. “And someone is searching now?”

  “They have orders to tear the place apart. It is possible,” the inspector said, “we may find something that will produce results soon.”

  “If so,” said the commissioner, brightening, “we may yet be spared undue publicity.”

  He was in for a rude surprise.

  Chapter 9

  When an American ambassador is scheduled to host the Prime Minister of Japan, it takes more than the death of a clerk to interrupt these plans. Furthermore, John Thatcher believed that nothing ever canceled an occasion requiring formal attire. In New York he could usually flit from his apartment into a taxi. Tonight he was doomed to expose himself to an entire hotel.

  In the lobby, however, he found himself upstaged. The usual mob of businessmen and tourists had been transfixed by the spectacle of Pamela Webb and Ali Khan loping toward the elevators, just back from a jogging session. In a silver-and-blue running suit, Pamela was radiant from exercise, her blond hair now a disheveled aureole. Beside her, Khan was all glistening dark skin and rippling muscles in shorts and a T-shirt.

  “They’re a real showstopper, aren’t they?” said a voice at Thatcher’s side.

  Don Hodiak, like everybody else, was watching his colleagues.

  “Does this happen every day?” Thatcher inquired. “How can I have missed them?”

  “Pamela usually does her running before breakfast. This is just an extra she’s squeezing in.”

  “Well, she’s getting plenty of PR mileage out of it,” said Bennet Alderman, who had drifted over. “Let’s hope Carl does as well at the embassy.”

  After the apparition in the Hilton lobby, the embassy crowd seemed elderly and arthritic. Thatcher had to remind himself that these were men of achievement. Youth provides the vitality that starts a man along the road. By the time he arrives, the dewy look is usually gone.

  Of course certain skills take its place. With experience comes the ability to display, not real feelings, but those that are useful.

  Noriko Iwamoto was a prime example. Calling Thatcher over to his group, he acted like a man without a trouble in the world. Midland Research was never mentioned. Instead Iwamoto enlarged on his plans for Alaska.

  Thatcher decided to make hay while the sun shone.

  “It’s a genuine pleasure for the Sloan to handle the arrangements when the interests of both parties mesh. Ridgeway’s holdings of timberland made him a natural when Shima started looking for a substantial supply of wood pulp.”

  Everybody agreed that Japan’s need for pulp was increasing daily.

  “I have not yet met Mr. Ridgeway,” Iwamoto said, sticking to the theme, “but we have spoken on the phone frequently, and I’m sure there will be no difficulty with the final details.”

  His companions envied him the opportunity to see Alaska.

  “I’m ashamed to say how often I’ve taken the polar route through Anchorage and never gone further than the airport,” he confessed.

  Thatcher was able to tell him that more than Anchorage lay in store for them.

  “Ridgeway has planned a field trip to the proposed site in Bethel. It will give us a chance to see something of the country.”

  Without a break, the conversation flowed on smoothly to the outrage of oil spills and the need to protect Mother Nature’s wonderful legacy.

  Suppressing the thought that wilderness areas would be quite safe if it were not for the forces gathered here, Thatcher moved on.

  Carl Kruger was also fine-tuning his public response to the MITI hearing. For once he and his Japanese partner were appearing together, and they were drawing a crowd. The combination of the reclusive Fumitoshi Arai and the much-publicized Kruger was hard to beat. What’s more, the two inveterate actors were playing it just right. Mr. Arai, taking advantage of age and disability, occupied an entire settee. Kruger, at his side, remained standing.

  Thatcher, when he joined them, was amused to hear the president of Lackawanna breaking new ground as an admirer of things Japanese.

  “They’ve written a lot about the advantages both our companies could receive from this deal,” Kruger was saying soberly, “but they’ve left one factor out. By having Yonezawa handle our distribution and servicing, Lackawanna can study your methods and incorporate them into our system back home.”

  Thatcher liked Carl Kruger as earnest student, itching for instruction.

  And when the discussion turned to a speech just made before the Chamber of Commerce in Los Angeles, Kruger remained muted.

  “I was sorry to read that but not very surprised,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “But you’ve got to understand the senator’s predicament. Ohio’s filled with companies that are sore as hell at being barred from overseas markets. After all, an elected official can take just so much heat.”

  Nodding sagely, Arai took the lofty position that cooperation between Y
onezawa and Lackawanna might be the first step in averting the calamity of an all-out trade war and then, turning courteously to the newcomer, asked his opinion.

  As Thatcher had feared at Narita Airport, here he was simply one of the spear carriers in Kruger’s little opera. In this capacity, he produced some bromides about open markets, then confirmed the creditors’ enthusiasm for Lackawanna’s plans. But bankers are adept at submitting bills for services rendered, and Thatcher was no exception. During the first pause in the conversation, he said artlessly:

  “Isn’t that Mr. Watanabe of the Izuma Bank over there? I’ve been hoping to have a word with him about one of our projects.”

  Mr. Arai was a prompt payer.

  “Ah, yes,” he murmured. “Shima has had the benefit of your bank’s counsel for its latest joint venture. You must have much to discuss with Mr. Watanabe.”

  “Only a few final arrangements. Our Mr. Fleming has already done the important groundwork,” Thatcher replied.

  Under Arai’s adroit direction, the next five minutes centered on Fleming’s sympathetic understanding of the requirements of Japanese investors.

  By the time Thatcher slipped away for the now-mandatory exchange with Watanabe, he felt his time had been well spent. But he soon discovered there was more work to be done.

  “John, you remember Stan Zaretski,” Fleming said, emerging with a companion. “We’ve been doing a rundown of who’s here.”

  Thatcher’s earlier meetings with the commercial attaché had taken place during office hours, so he regarded the burly figure with some appreciation. No tailoring in the world could make that barrel chest look as if it belonged to the diplomatic corps. Instead Zaretski’s appearance suggested that the embassy had hired a private bouncer for the evening.

  But Zaretski was all business. “You’ve probably already talked to most of the people you should meet.”

  After reviewing their list, Thatcher realized how much he had accomplished. The Sloan had already discharged two thirds of its obligations.

  “Then let’s get on with it,” he suggested, foreseeing a brisk conclusion to this work.

  Before they could proceed, however, an embassy aide materialized.