Okuhara studied my alien card, which contained my name, photograph, and right thumbprint along with my employment and visa information. Then he switched on a cassette recorder and asked for everything that had transpired since I opened the front door.
“How distressing for you to have such trouble on New Year’s Day,” he said when I’d finished my account.
“It was worse for her.” Setsuko had looked like she’d been packed in snow for hours.
“So, Miss Shimura, I’m wondering something.” There was a perceptible change in his tone. “Why were you walking outside the inn like that? Don’t you think it a little odd?”
I went rigid but answered vaguely about how I had planned to hike up to the castle ruins but decided to visit the garden first. “In Tokyo, there weren’t—I mean aren’t—many gardens, after all.” I was stumbling over a perfectly easy sentence construction, embarrassing myself.
“How did you even know there was a garden behind the house?” He caressed a large, expensive-looking fountain pen, not writing anything down. Still, I remained hyper-conscious of the small tape recorder on the table.
“I wasn’t sure there was a garden, but there were some animal feet and I followed them.” It was too bad I didn’t know the word for footprint.
“Was it the animal you were interested in, or the garden? You’re contradicting yourself.” He spoke slowly to make sure I caught the meaning.
“It was the cat. I like cats,” I added.
“Where did you touch the body?”
“I moved the leaves but didn’t touch the body. In the United States, civilians never interfere with police work.” I made a conscious effort to mimic his authoritarian stance.
“But how did you know who the woman was? When Mrs. Yogetsu called, she said you had made an identification.”
“I heard her husband say she was missing. She was on my mind.” I thought of saying something about recognizing her hairless arm and manicured fingernails but stayed quiet, not wanting to sound obsessive.
“Really! When did he report her absence?” The police chief started writing.
“Just before I went down to breakfast. I was walking to my room after bathing, and I was invited to join a conversation between him and Mr. Glendinning.”
“The Englishman.” Captain Okuhara nodded. “I also secured his registration card. And what was your relationship with the deceased lady?”
“I had no connection with Mrs. Nakamura.” I stared at some nicks in the wooden table. “I arrived here last night at six. She and her party came about five minutes later, because I heard her voice downstairs. We sat at the same table at dinner. I saw her walk off to her bath around nine o’clock. That’s it.”
“How long do you plan to stay in Shiroyama?”
“Through next Sunday.” I wondered if he’d try to detain me. It was his right to do so, just as it was Nichiyu’s right to find a replacement for a contract worker like me should I not be around to teach English.
“And the other foreigners, what about them?”
“Mrs. Chapman is doing some kind of self-tour, but I have no idea about Mr. Glendinning. Since he’s with Mr. Nakamura and Mr. Yamamoto, I imagine his plans are tied to theirs.”
Captain Okuhara laid his pen down and appraised me. “For an American, you speak pretty good Japanese.”
“Thank you,” I said, confused at the change of manner.
“Yes, you will be fine as a translator.”
“Me? I have no interpreter qualifications. I’m just an English teacher.”
“Our English-speaking policeman is on holiday. Unless the other foreigners wish to wait in the prison for an interpreter to arrive, I will require your assistance. As a matter of procedure, this questioning must be done. You understand, I’m sure?”
With his eyes boring into me and his hand firmly placed over my passport, I did.
Hugh Glendinning strode in and looked at me hard. It was impossible to tell if the prospect of having me as an interpreter was worrisome or a relief. This would be almost enjoyable if the situation weren’t so black.
“Your alien registration and passport are in order. I see you’re a lawyer.” Okuhara’s voice was almost respectful.
“At Sendai. How do you like our mini-cassette recorder?” Hugh asked, and I gamely translated.
“What?” Captain Okuhara blinked a few times.
“Your recorder.” Hugh tapped the small black machine. “I hope the microphone’s got enough volume for you. We’ve had some complaints, to be frank, and are reworking the model.”
“It’s all right,” the police captain said briskly. “When did you last see Mrs. Nakamura?”