“No one else from the 405th lists Cedar City as their home. But here’s the kicker.” Elton leaned in closer, both hands on Doctor K’s desk. “Howard just told me his wife left him before he even got home from Afghanistan.”
Krishnamurti shrugged. “What difference does that make?”
“She’s on the infected list in Cedar City.” Elton slapped the flat of his hand against the clipboard. “Something else is making these people sick. I say you get on the horn to your people in… wherever your people are… and have them get to the bottom of this.”
CHAPTER 58
The tattooed woman flicked her fingers dismissively at Goro, ignoring the cotton towel that had fallen away when she’d rolled toward her cell phone. The little man sat leering at her over his ugly glasses. He jumped as if he’d been shot when he realized she’d caught him looking and scuttled out of the room, tripping over his own feet. She was certain he covered her with small towels while he worked in order to get a better look. It did not matter. If he wanted to ogle, she didn’t care. He was small and ugly and probably never got within ten meters of a woman unless he had a tattoo needle in his hand. To be such a gifted artist, she would have thought he’d be more at ease with the sight of a female body.
Sitting naked on the cool tatami mat, she clutched her knees to her chest and let the phone chime in her hand. The doleful temple bells stopped for a moment. She held her breath, waiting, hoping, but it started again almost immediately.
Oda knew she had failed. Not once, but twice. There would be consequences for that.
She reached down to touch the warmth of blood that oozed from the tender skin over her hipbone. It was barely visible against the shining black ink. She wiped it away with the palm of her free hand, oblivious to the fact that her flesh was raw from thousands of jabs with Goro’s inked needles. Pain, she’d learned, was a most natural thing. It was something she could feed on, whether it was someone else’s or her own.
The temple chimes began again. She transferred the phone to her blood-smeared hand and pressed it to her ear.
“Hello, Father,” she said. “You have a job for me?”
CHAPTER 59
Deputy Bowen still knew very little about Detective Susumu Hase of the Fukuoka Police Organized Crime Squad. He was a careful driver, consistently keeping his hands at ten and two o’clock on the wheel of his unmarked blue Nissan sedan as if he were taking a driving test. He seemed content to travel in silence, staring intently ahead as he drove, keeping any thoughts to himself and happy to let the miles roll by without a word.
Bowen was no lover of mindless chatter, but he liked to learn a little about the people he worked with, especially if that person would be watching his back when he went up against a killer with Jericho Quinn’s skill set. Whatever his reasons, there was a substantial body count piling up in Quinn’s wake.
“How long have you been on the job?” Bowen asked, looking out the passenger window at the needle-like Fukuoka Tower building as they passed through the city.
“On the job?” Hase mused, trying to work out the translation in his mind.
“Sorry,” Bowen said. “How long have you been with the police department?”
“Ah,” Hase said, understanding. “Fourteen years. I was at Munakata Precinct before I became a detective. It is a little to the northeast of here, on the water.” He took his eyes off traffic long enough to shoot a glance at Bowen. “And you? How long have you been… on the job?”
“I was in the Army for four years after college. I’ve been with the Marshals Service for ten years now.”
Hase nodded slowly, looking at least informed if not impressed.
“I wasn’t allowed to bring my sidearm into Japan,” Bowen said, making sure Hase knew he wouldn’t be much help in a gunfight.
“Guns are not as much of an issue in Japan.” Detective Hase shrugged. “Our society is much less violent than America, I suppose.”
“Mind if I ask what you carry?”
“Guns are not as prominent here in Japan as they are in the U.S.” The detective shoulder-checked as he spoke, then took a left lane. “On patrol I carried a New Nambu five-shot revolver. As a detective who deals with yakuza and other organized crime groups on a regular basis I am allowed to carry a Sig Sauer.”
“Good weapon,” Bowen said. “Which one?”
“The P230 in .32 ACP.” Hase shot a glance toward the passenger seat, gauging the American lawman’s reaction. “As I said, guns are not as prevalent in this country.”
“Ah.” Bowen smiled politely, but he couldn’t help thinking that with that tiny caliber, for all practical purposes they were both unarmed.
He grabbed the edge of his seat when Hase made a right-hand turn into what looked to be oncoming traffic, then remembered they drove on the left in Japan. Hase took the on-ramp to some sort of expressway, then crossed a bridge to exit among a tumble of mismatched buildings and random shops that looked like concrete blocks dumped out of a sack. Streets ran at odd angles and disappeared into blind alleys with no apparent reason or order.
Hase had apparently spent plenty of time in the area and knew exactly where he was going. He parked the Nissan in an open space at the end of a narrow block, backing in over some sort of fold-up barrier underneath.
Bowen raised an eyebrow. “The police have to pay to park?”
“Why should we not pay to park?” Detective Hase dropped his keys in his jacket pocket. “I am a policeman, not the emperor.”
Bowen took a quick look around, trying to memorize where they’d left the vehicle, but the tangled streets and chicken scratches that comprised Japanese signage provided him little to go by. The sounds, the sights, everything was as foreign as if it had been from another planet. It was like trying to navigate using a map drawn by some impressionist painter. If anything happened to Hase, Bowen realized he would have no idea where they were, or how to contact the cavalry.
By the time he turned around from trying to orient himself, Hase was halfway down the block.
“You know Ayako Shimizu very well?” Bowen asked after trotting to catch up.
“I do,” Hase said. “She is my…” He turned his head, brow creased. “I am not sure of the word.”
“Informant?”
“That is it.” Hase nodded, working through the vocabulary. “Informant… because she informs me about criminal actions.”
“She’s supposed to have a place around here?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Hase said. “She works at several of the hotels in this area. One in particular is her favorite. We will try there first.”
“I see,” Bowen said. A girl in a short skirt and tall heels rode by on a bicycle, reminding Bowen of an album cover from his youth. She parked the bike in front of a white tile building called the Excalibur and shuffled inside, looking like Bambi on ice in the tall stiletto heels. Bowen nodded at the sign out front as they walked by. REST: 4400 YEN, STAY: 7900 YEN. “These are that kind of hotel. Rooms by the hour?”
“Something like that,” Hase answered. “They are used by prostitutes like Shimizu to be sure, but these love hotels also fill a certain need. In this country many generations of families often live under the same small roof with very thin walls. Sometimes a couple needs to get away.”
“Have you ever been to one?”
Hase gave a noncommittal grin. “I am not married.”
Bowen smiled back. “And that’s not what I asked.”
“Come,” Hase said, still avoiding the question. “That is the one, down the street.” He pointed to a red brick hotel with a matching privacy wall out front at the end of the crooked block. A life-size statue of Cleopatra reigned in naked glory beside the entrance. The sign above her said this love hotel was called THE LUXOR.