The Salaryman's Wife(122)

“Whose money?”

“My granddaughter’s. Every dollar Bob spent on Setsuko was one he stole from her inheritance.”

“That must have made you pretty upset,” I said, attempting to soothe her.

“Setsuko found out he died through a detective or lawyer or somebody. She was going to make a claim on the estate. I sent her a note saying we needed to talk things over, just the two of us. She called me on the telephone and told me not until after the holidays. Like she was in control. I asked about her plans and she let it slip where she was headed. With just five hotels to call, she was pretty easy to find.” Mrs. Chapman smiled tightly.

“Why didn’t you just meet her in Tokyo?” I asked.

“I needed to see what kind of a personality I was up against and I got a load of her, all right. At dinner that night, she was whispering about me in that fool language with the innkeeper.”

“They just didn’t like foreigners! I could have told you that it wasn’t personal.” In hindsight, my own worries about how I’d been treated seemed very petty.

“Aren’t you Miss Know-It-All?” Mrs. Chapman kicked me again, this time close to my eye. I held my hand on my throbbing cheekbone and listened to Mariko struggling on the bed, her body rolling against the quilt.

“I decided to talk to her when I had the advantage,” Mrs. Chapman continued. “I went into the bathroom, fixing the door so no one would disturb us. She was shocked to see me. Then she laughed and told me she had a fancy lawyer set up to beat the hell out of me. You can imagine who I thought it was.”

“Hugh,” I said.

“I hung around afterwards to see what he would do. I concluded nothing. It was you who turned out to be the snoop.”

“How did you kill her?”

“I didn’t mean to. She was standing up in the bath, skinny and shameless, like she was going to walk out on our conversation. I hit her with a bath cover. She fell down and I grabbed her feet. Her head stayed under. It just took a minute.”

“The pearls. Did you plant them in Hugh’s room?” I had to know.

“I confused his room with the young Japanese assistant’s, but the necklace wound up in the right place anyway. God moves in mysterious ways.”

“You’re a woman of faith.” I faked a smile at her. “I think it’s time for a prayer. Maybe if we pray together we can see a way through this thing—get some help for you—”

Mariko gave me a scathing look, so I stopped.

“Get up.” Mrs. Chapman kicked at me again, and I pulled myself awkwardly to my knees and stood up. The telephone was near, but I didn’t dare move toward it because she had my chef’s knife in her right hand.

“About Mariko,” I continued, talking loudly in the hopes someone would hear. “You knew she worked at the bank and also at Marimba. It must have been tough because you couldn’t identity her.”

“That’s right. When you dropped the hint she was staying at your apartment, I had to bide my time till you and the little blond boy left her alone.” Mrs. Chapman was behind me now, binding my wrists with the thick tape. Just as she started to tighten the tape, I kicked backwards. Her knee rammed me in the buttocks and I found myself sailing through the air, falling against Mariko and the edge of the futon with a painful thud.

“I can’t stand your Japanese face, you know that? It reminds me of her. Even after she’s dead, you haunt me—”

I rolled over on my back and kicked at Mrs. Chapman, who towered over me once more.

“Who would believe this is a suicide with my hands tied?’” I asked, imagining yakuza would be the first thing Hugh and Tom would think about, that all attention would focus in that direction while Marcia Smith slipped out of the country.

“Good point. I’ll untie them.”

“Why did you kill Mrs. Yogetsu?” Soon I would run out of ways to delay her.

“I used an interpreter to call there earlier in December to make sure the Nakamuras were staying at the inn. Even though my name wasn’t mentioned, I think the innkeeper guessed I was behind the telephone call. When Joe Roncolotta dropped you off after dinner, I saw her. I followed her back to the train station. I saw a train coming, the perfect solution.”

As she talked, I could hear something strange going on in the stairwell, a heavy, irregular rhythm. Someone or something was out there. Yakuza henchmen? I positively longed for them. I shot a glance at Mariko. Her eyes flickered.

“I want you to get up now. Nice and easy,” Mrs. Chapman ordered.

“I’m not doing anything to Mariko.” My confidence in being saved was waning because the person in the stairwell seemed to have stopped on the second landing.