“Oh, dear. What’s that all about?”
“A job transfer I don’t want to take. My becoming a murderer’s mistress. A variety of things.”
“Not your garden variety.” Mrs. Chapman pressed her lips together. “Maybe it’s a message from God.”
“God?” I repeated dumbly. Then I remembered she was a church-goer, devout enough to seek out the English-speaking congregation in Omotesand.
“God sometimes gives us a message that it’s time for a change in our lives. Maybe it’s time for you to go home to the States,” she said.
“I hope not,” I said, standing up and collecting my bags. “And God knows I’m going to be late! I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
I dragged my feet as I approached St. Luke’s that afternoon, was slow enough that a photographer was able to nicely frame her picture of me. I stopped dead to look at her—she was the first camerawoman I’d seen in Japan and looked considerably tidier in her vest and khakis than the men in blue jeans who had pursued me earlier in the week. Caught off guard, she bowed to me almost in apology for what she had to do. I bowed back. A camera shutter clicked as I came up. Good. Princess Masako couldn’t have behaved more demurely.
At the nurses’ station on the surgery ward, I was told Hugh had changed rooms. “The publicity problem,” whispered the young nurse who had begged to shave him the day before. She insisted on accompanying me to the high security floor, keying in a code before we were admitted to the long hall. I spotted a tall figure in a blue robe loping along on crutches.
“Hugh?” I called out and he swung around, losing his balance and wiping out on the floor.
“I’m so sorry!” I apologized in English and Japanese as nurses shrieked and orderlies converged on the sprawled body.
“I was just clumsy. I’m not hurt,” Hugh protested, although a scratch on his arm was bleeding.
It took half-a-dozen staffers to settle Hugh properly in bed and elevate his leg. When we were finally alone Hugh took my face in his hands and kissed me long enough that I almost forgot where we were.
“I have really bad news,” I whispered.
“Let me eat first,” he said. “You brought a peculiar aroma with you. Indian?”
“From Moti,” I confirmed, setting it up on the swing-arm tray and sliding it into place before him. “I’ve brought you their best spinach curry with a side order of naan.”
“Between you and the hospital dietitian, I’ll be a vegetarian by the time I get out,” he grumbled. Still, he ate ravenously, asking me belatedly if I wanted some.
“No, I ate a big breakfast. You’ll never guess who bought it for me.” I told him about Mrs. Chapman.
“She’s a dodgy one, isn’t she, still in Tokyo after all this time?” He raised his right eyebrow, and I stretched out a finger to nudge it down.
“Seeing her has been a great comfort to me.”
“Why, Rei?” He drew me close again. “What upset you so much?”
“Captain Okuhara needs me to return to Shiroyama for questioning. He knows I got into the Nakamura house. He doesn’t know you were there, too.” I looked away from his worried face and down to my fingernails, which I’d begun to chew again.
“Mr. Ota will help you,” Hugh said after a moment. “I’m sorry I made you go with me. Nakamura must have spotted you in the garden.”
“Actually, Yamamoto told Captain Okuhara.”
“How in hell?”
“It’s my fault. When I met Yamamoto, I let something slip about going through Nakamura’s closet. And Yamamoto was very angry with me. I think it was a matter of revenge.”
There was a short knock and my cousin stuck his head inside the room.
“Doctor Tom!” Hugh greeted him. “You’ve come for my morning look-see.”
Tom gave me an embarrassed look. Was it wrong for me to be there? I started to rise, but Hugh gripped my hand.
“So tell me, Tommy, what’s going on?” His voice was jovial, but I sensed the anxiety underneath. “I walked a mile on crutches around the hospital today, but Dr. Endo won’t say anything about letting me go.”
“Walked a mile and fell, I heard,” Tom said, studying Hugh’s chart.
I got off the bed and stared out the window at the Sumida River. Being closeted in a small space with my cousin and my lover was making me irrationally nervous.
“You know what we call patients like you? Noncompliant.” Tom’s voice was light.
“Whereas you comply quite handily with the cops. Yakuza too, I imagine, seeming how everyone knows where I am—”