A young American in a pinstripe suit was standing in front of the table and saying, "Now, if you will direct your attention to Rider C, the summary statement of assets and– "
Connor came into the room first. I was right after him.
Ishiguro looked up, showing no surprise. "Good afternoon, gentlemen." His face was a mask.
Richmond said smoothly, "Gentlemen, if this can wait, we're in the middle of something rather complicated here– "
Connor interrupted him. "Mr. Ishiguro, you are under arrest for the murder of Cheryl Lynn Austin," and then he read him his Miranda rights, while Ishiguro stared fixedly at him. The others in the room were entirely silent. Nobody moved at the long table. It was like a still life.
Ishiguro remained seated. "This is an absurdity."
"Mr. Ishiguro," Connor said, "would you please stand?"
Richmond said softly, "I hope you guys know what you are doing."
Ishiguro said, "I know my rights, gentlemen."
Connor said, "Mr. Ishiguro, would you please stand?"
Ishiguro did not move. The smoke from his cigarette curled up in front of him.
There was a long silence.
Then Connor said to me, "Show them the tape."
One wall of the conference room consisted of video equipment. I found a playback machine like the one I had used, and plugged the tape in. But no image came up on the big central monitor. I tried pushing various buttons, but couldn't get a picture.
From a rear corner, a Japanese secretary who had been taking notes hurried up to help me. Bowing apologetically, she pushed the proper buttons, bowed again, and returned to her place.
"Thank you," I said.
On the screen, the image came up. Even in the bright sunlight, it was clear. It was right at the moment we had seen in Theresa's room. The moment where Ishiguro approaches the girl and holds the struggling body down.
Richmond said, "What is this?"
"It's a fake," Ishiguro said. "It's a fraud."
Connor said, "This is a tape taken by Nakamoto security cameras on the forty-sixth floor Thursday night."
Ishiguro said, "It's not legal. It's a fraud."
But nobody was listening. Everybody was looking at the monitor. Richmond's mouth was open. "Jesus," he said.
On the tape, it seemed to take a long time for the girl to die.
Ishiguro was glaring at Connor. "This is nothing but a sensational publicity stunt," he said. "It is a fabrication. It means nothing."
"Jesus Christ," Richmond said, staring at the screen.
Ishiguro said, "It has no legal basis. It is not admissible. It will never stand up. This is just a disruption– "
He broke off. For the first time, he had looked down to the other end of the table. And he saw that Iwabuchi's chair was empty.
He looked the other way. His eyes darted around the room.
Moriyama's chair was empty.
Shirai's chair.
Yoshida's chair.
Ishiguro's eyes twitched. He looked at Connor in astonishment. Then he nodded, gave a guttural grunt, and stood. Everyone else was staring at the screen.
He walked up to Connor. "I'm not going to watch this, Captain. When you are through with your charade, you will find me outside." He lit a cigarette, squinting at Connor. "Then we will talk. Kicchiirito na." He opened the door and walked onto the terrace. He left the door open behind him.
I started to follow him out, but Connor caught my eye. He shook his head fractionally. I remained where I was.
I could see Ishiguro outside, standing at the railing. He smoked his cigarette and turned his face to the sun. Then he glanced back at us and shook his head pityingly. He leaned against the railing, and put his foot on it.
In the conference room, the tape continued. One of the American lawyers, a woman, stood up, snapped her briefcase shut, and walked out of the room. Nobody else moved.
And finally, the tape ended.
I popped it out of the machine.
There was silence in the room. A slight wind ruffled the papers of the people at the long table.
I looked out at the terrace.
It was empty.
By the time we got out to the railing, we could hear the sirens faintly, on the street below.
Down on ground level, the air was dusty and we heard the deafening sound of jackhammers. Nakamoto was building an annex next door, and construction was in full swing. A line of big cement trucks was pulled up along the curb. I pushed my way through the cluster of Japanese men in blue suits, and broke through to look down into the pit.
Ishiguro had landed in a wet concrete pouring. His body lay sideways, just the head and one arm sticking above the soft concrete surface. Blood ran in spreading fingers across the gray surface. Workmen in blue hardhats were trying to fish him out, using bamboo poles and ropes. They weren't having much success. Finally a workman in thigh-high rubber boots waded in to pull the body out. But it proved more difficult than he expected. He had to call for help.
Our people were already there, Fred Perry and Bob Wolfe. Wolfe saw me and walked up the hill. He had his notebook out. He shouted over the din of the jackhammers. "You know anything about this, Pete?"
"Yeah," I said.
"Got a name?"
"Masao Ishiguro."
Wolfe squinted. "Spell that?"
I started to try to spell it, talking over the sound of the construction. Finally I just reached in my pocket and fished out his card. I gave it to Wolfe.
"This is him?"
"Yeah."
"Where'd you get it?"
"Long story," I said. "But he's wanted for murder."
Wolfe nodded. "Let me get the body out and we'll talk."
"Fine."
Eventually, they used the construction crane to pull him out. Ishiguro's body, sagging and heavy with concrete, was lifted into the air, and swung past me, over my head.
Bits of cement dripped down on me, and spattered on the sign at my feet. The sign was for the Nakamoto Construction Company, and it said in bold letters: BUILDING FOR A NEW TOMORROW. And underneath, PLEASE EXCUSE THE INCONVENIENCE.
¤
It took another hour to get everything settled at the site. And the chief wanted our reports by the end of the day, so afterward we had to go down to Parker to do the paperwork.
It was four o'clock before we went across the street to the coffee shop next to Antonio's bail bond shop. Just to get away from the office. I said, "Why did Ishiguro kill the girl in the first place?"
Connor sighed. "It's not clear. The best I can understand it is this. Eddie was working for his father's kaishaall along. One of the things he did was supply girls for visiting dignitaries. He'd been doing that for years. It was easy – he was a party guy; he knew the girls; the congressmen wanted to meet the girls, and he got a chance to make friends with the congressmen. But in Cheryl he had a special opportunity, because Senator Morton, head of the Finance Committee, was attracted to her. Morton was smart enough to break off the affair, but Eddie kept sending her in private jets to meet him unexpectedly, keeping the thing alive. Eddie liked her, too: he had sex with her that afternoon. And it was Eddie who arranged for her to come to the party at Nakamoto, knowing that Morton would be there. Eddie was pushing Morton to block the sale, so Eddie was preoccupied with the Saturday meeting. By the way, on the news-station tape you thought he said 'no cheapie' to Cheryl. He was saying nichibei. The Japanese-American relationship.