“Have you still got it?”
“Yes—I’ve always kept it. Here, have a look.” And he delved into his wallet and finally fished out a scrap of paper. “There, if you don’t believe me!” His voice and his motions betrayed his drunkenness. Shinji took the paper and read it.
“Be sure to come at 9 p.m. the day after tomorrow. Don’t forget—I’ll be waiting for you. Kyoko.” It was written in pencil but was still legible. Down the side, she had drawn a crude map showing the way to Alibaba.
Nine p.m. on the nineteenth of December last. Another coincidence? Looking at the paper, he was reminded of the printed messages that call girls leave on parked cars—name, telephone number, and some message such as: “Lonely tonight? Give me a ring.”
“So you went there?” He handed the scrap of paper back to Tanikawa.
“Of course I did. And it was marvelous. You should have seen how she performed! And like a bloody fool, I thought she was interested in me! Why, she even refused a tip! She just said, ‘Please come again.’ So I went back the next day, but she was gone.” He screwed the slip of paper into a ball and hurled it onto the floor of the car.
“What kind of a woman was she?”
“Oh, she was nice! And how she gazed at me with her large eyes with their double lids! It was enough to make you swoon!”
“Big eyes; double eyelids. Was that all? Was there nothing else special about her? So that you could recognize her again, I mean.”
“Oh yes, she had a big mole at the base of her nose. It was really sexy! Could you really find her for me?” he cried in a maudlin fashion and then slumped over Shinji’s knees and began to snore.
Shinji picked the ball of paper up off the floor and slipped it into his pocket. The car turned off the Koshu Kaido and into the Suido-doro.
Who could that woman have been? She had stood drinks to a stranger in a bar; although a Turkish bath girl, she turned down a tip. And then she vanished into thin air. Why? What had she been up to?
Ahead, the road, illuminated in the headlights of the car, seemed to rush toward him. He had better report this to the old man as quickly as possible. The car swung left down the edge of Inokashira Natural Park, whose thick groves were the last remains of the forests that had once covered Tokyo, and then turned down a gravel path that ran along the edge of the Mitaka Brook. Soon he would be there.
He would drop the drunk off, and then go to the apartment of Sada, the cosmetics salesman.
It was on his way, anyhow.
The coffee shop, Dakko, was located at the end of a shopping arcade. It was a tiny place built on the corner of the row, having no more than two box seats; five customers would be enough to fill it, and tonight it was overfull with men wearing clogs and light cotton kimonos who seemed to have nowhere in particular to go. A glance at the towels and soap containers that they all were holding revealed that they were all on their way back home from the public bath. Amongst this group, one man stood out, for he was wearing a summer suit and was tall for a Japanese—at least five feet seven. When Shinji entered, he spotted him immediately, for he seemed to be talking to himself, moving his large limbs in an exaggerated manner the while. He seemed to be rehearsing a sales pitch, and his soft, well-modulated voice betrayed him for what he was—a cosmetics salesman who made his living from women. The moment Shinji opened the door, their eyes met. Sada came over to Shinji, glancing at him shrewdly, and they sat down together in a seat that had just become vacant. Sada bowed slightly.
“Hello. Sorry, but I forget your name.”
Shinji handed him a reporter’s card. “I went to your apartment, but your wife told me you would be here, so…”
“Yes, she phoned me and told me.” Sada proffered his card, his face set with his business smile.
“Thanks for coming,” he went on. “As you can see, I’m ready for business twenty-four hours a day.” He oozed politeness.
“Well, to be honest, it isn’t that. I came in search of facts on blood donation. Have you given recently?”
“Well, there’s been no call for it for quite some time. Rather a waste really—I’m a full-blooded fellow and have more than I need.” Sada laughed at his weak joke.
“What about the fifteenth of January last?” he said, mentioning the date of Mitsuko Kosugi’s murder. But Sada assured him that he had not given blood for at least a year. It seemed that Shinji’s visit was wasted, and he decided to leave. However, having come so far, perhaps he should question Sada a little on his private life. It seemed that Sada was a man who liked to talk, and he was awaiting Shinji’s further questions, moistening his underlip the while.
“The nature of your business must bring you into contact with all sorts of people. Have you got any interesting stories to tell me?”
“Not really. My life is pretty dull, really.”
“Honestly?”
“Yes. The life of a cosmetics salesman consists of wearing down shoe leather, no more. I know there are a lot of stories about us, but they are not true, at least not in my experience.”
“What about the jewelry business, then?” Shinji only said this in a spirit of light sarcasm, but it struck home. Sada’s slimy eyes, which bulged as if he suffered from Basedow’s disease, suddenly ceased their motion. He lowered his voice and leaned toward Shinji, plainly anxious not to be overheard.
“Detective, are you? I know what you are talking about, but we can’t speak here, so let’s move on somewhere else. There’s a sushi shop called ‘Kawagen’ a few doors up; go and wait for me there.” His tone was friendly but insistent.
Shinji decided to fall in with his plans. Leaving his coffee more or less untasted, he went out of Dakko.
He was sitting at the counter of Kawagen, wiping his hands with a cold flannel, when Sada came in. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” He gave a few orders to the cook behind the counter and turned to Shinji again. “I had quite a difficult time with the lady, and it really wasn’t my fault,” he began.
“Go on,” said Shinji, his curiosity aroused.
“Well, she rang me at home—must have got my number from another customer, I suppose. Anyway, she said she wanted to see some jewelry. Well, it’s only a side business of mine, you understand, but anything to oblige… Anyway, she said she wanted to see some jewelry and asked me to meet her at a coffee shop downtown. So, as I said, what the customer wants is always right, and I went to see a fellow I know who lets me have stock on consignment when I need it.”
At this point, he broke off and ordered a tuna sushi, offering one to Shinji, too.
“Well, I went to the coffee shop, but on the way I had second thoughts. I mean, I was carrying a small fortune in gems, and I didn’t know the woman from Adam. What if I was drugged and robbed? So I put my briefcase in a station locker and just took two pieces with me—the cheapest diamond in the batch and an opal. Why did I go at all in that case, you may ask. Well, there was something suggestive in the woman’s manner that attracted me. Anyway, I got to the coffee shop in Yurakucho and there she was, waiting for me, wearing a kimono. Quite a beauty, and immaculately turned out.
“I was going to show her the jewelry, but she said the coffee shop was too public. We ought to go somewhere very private, she said to me archly, and I began to feel I wouldn’t mind being cheated out of my jewelry if she would first give me a little bit of pleasure in return. As I say, she was beautiful. Anyway, we went to an inn in Sendagaya by taxi. When we got there, it was still before noon, but there were several other couples there already. It seems that those places have business twenty-four hours a day, you know. Makes you think, doesn’t it?”