The Salaryman's Wife(124)

“That I stole the old man’s taxi?” I leaned forward, enjoying the feel of his fingers on my back.

“No, darling. In the background I spotted somebody tall and foreign. I backed up the tape and recognized our dear old friend. I started quizzing myself about why Mrs. Chapman, who likes you so much, would have watched you without making herself known.” His voice was rueful. “I fell asleep again. I was taking Demerol for my ankle, which thanks to your four flights of stairs, is now even worse.”

“Poor Hugh,” I said, stroking his left thigh. From knee to foot he was encased in a fiberglass cast, carefully elevated along the side of the tub. Getting him in had been a rather complicated maneuver I worried about repeating; we’d have to drain the bath before he could stand up.

“It must have been hours later that the telephone woke me, and I had a chat with Mr. Naruse.”

“Who?” I touched my aching head. Hugh’s crutch had knocked against me in his wild drive to pinion Mrs. Chapman, and although there was no concussion, I had a monster bump.

“Mr. Naruse is the private investigator I put on your street. Richard and Mariko told me about your mishap at the train station, so I decided you needed someone to follow you, given that I couldn’t.”

“There was a man stalking me through the neighborhood last night. If you mean to tell me that was him—”

“You called the cops, he reported. I thought you realized I’d hired him and were enraged. That’s why I asked Winnie to help me leave the hospital.”

“Did you know she re-recorded your answering machine message? She’s moved in and taken over your life!”

“Don’t distract me from the story.” He kissed my wandering hand and folded it into his. “Mr. Naruse called to report the morning’s activity. Various people came and went, but at one o’clock an older gaijin woman entered the building. With his binoculars, he was able to track her entering your apartment. For a variety of boring legal reasons he was unwilling to go inside, so I drove over myself.”

“Mrs. Chapman, I mean Smith, must have waited until Richard and I were gone to ring the doorbell,” I said. Mariko probably figured because she was an older foreign woman, she was safe to let in.”

“I wonder.” Hugh sighed. “I wish I could have been in the room where Marcia Chapman-Smith gave her confession. You could have interpreted for us again.”

“Nope. This is Tokyo, where the police do things professionally.” I stretched against him, thinking about how good it had been to sit together in the police waiting room and give our statements. Captain Okuhara had arrived and bowed deeply to Hugh and me, asking what he could do to atone for his oversight.

“Press conference,” Hugh had ordered with a grin.

Mariko hadn’t been so cheerful about things. Once the tape has been removed from her lips, she had choice words for us, the police, and the pack of press who’d tagged along.

“This woman killed my mother and tried to kill me. I don’t want anything to do with her people and I don’t give a damn about what’s in her husband’s will. I wouldn’t take a dollar if they handed it to me on a silver tray,” she shouted, tossing her dreadlocks for the camera.

But there was Setsuko’s secret savings account at the post office—money I was sure she would have wanted her daughter to have. I’d make sure Mariko got it, and if Mr. Nakamura didn’t see my point, Hugh, back in power at Sendai, would help.

Mr. Nakamura had decided to testify against Keiko regarding her blackmail plot, so Sendai would get back the half-million yen that he’d given her. Club Marimba would close, and Mariko would be in the market for a new job.

“You’re too quiet, Rei. I’m not used to it.” Hugh interrupted my thoughts.

“I’m plotting.” I smiled at him.

“So am I. We’d best go to bed early, I think.”

“Very early,” I agreed, heart beating a bit faster.

“Yes, we’ve got one long Sunday to get through,” he said, surprising me with his train of thought. “Up at seven so I can make you a proper Scottish breakfast. Winnie laid in some eggs and sausages—oops, scratch the meat. Eggs and toast okay?”

I nodded, and he continued. “If I’m still ambulatory, I’ll hobble after you to one of those Sunday morning shrine sales you’re always going on about.”

“You’d go shopping with me?” I was touched.

“All the better if you find another bauble worth over a million yen and bring it to the twelve o’clock press conference. Or so Joe Roncolotta suggested. He’s invited us to brunch at TAC after we’re done with the police.”