The Salaryman's Wife(25)
On my way through the lobby a half-hour later, the concierge caught my eye and inclined her head toward a bank of elevators where Hugh was huddled with two of his Japanese colleagues. As the elevator doors opened, all the men boarded and faced out ward. Hugh looked straight through me as the doors closed.
I reentered the bar feeling miffed and let the skier buy me another beer. A rotten idea. Forty minutes later, I was running through a variety of excuses for not wanting to go to dinner with him. I was feeling pretty desperate when Hugh finally came in, briefcase in hand and a luxurious shearling jacket slung over his shoulder. He ordered two bottles of McEwans Lager in English; the bartender rolled his eyes. The skier settled his bill, muttering something in Japanese about whores.
“That’s a Campbell tartan you’re wearing.” Hugh was scrutinizing my short skirt. “I don’t suppose you’re related to any Campbells?”
“Of course not! And what was that business in the elevator?”
“I pretended not to see you. My colleagues haven’t stopped giving me hell about the girl who stayed with me last night.”
“Yamamoto must have told. I could kill him!”
“He’s just a boy looking for attention, the last person to worry about. Now tell me what’s so bloody urgent you tore yourself away from your museum schedule?”
I took a deep breath. “I need you. You have to come back to the minshuku bath.”
“What are you, mad? At least wait until my colleagues depart on the evening train.”
I waved the torn paper in his face. “What I’m trying to tell you is that this gum wrapper was stuck in my door; just like another paper jammed the bathroom door on New Year’s Eve.”
“Where’s the first piece of paper?” Hugh tapped impatiently on the bar.
“Stolen from the tea caddy in my room.”
“You call not being able to locate a piece of rubbish an act of theft?” He gave me the same exasperated look as when I’d argued with him about Sendai’s monopoly on the Eterna battery.
“Between last night and this morning someone went through my room. Everything was out of order. Now I know what they wanted, it’s so obvious—”
“What’s obvious?”
“On New Year’s Eve, someone intentionally jammed the bathroom door so he wouldn’t be interrupted while killing Setsuko.”
“But Setsuko’s body was outside,” he said as if I hadn’t been the one to find her in the first place.
“She was naked, I always thought it was strange she was lying unclothed in the snow. Maybe she was killed in the bath or the shower. This afternoon I tried to go down there and look around, but the men’s sign was on.”
“So you wanted me to go into the bath to serve your purposes,” he said slowly.
“That’s right. But I’ve been waiting here so long”—I made a pitiful face—“I’m sure the man inside is gone. If it’s ladies only, I’ll go in. Or if no one’s inside, we can put the family sign on and search together.”
“What’s this change of heart? You couldn’t get far enough away from me when I asked for your help last night.” He swiveled around on his barstool to face me, his knees bumping up against mine.
“That was before someone tried to kill me,” I said, moving my legs away.
“Why would anyone want to kill you? Setsuko’s the one we should worry about. Now that I have a copy of the autopsy, we can see—”
“The police gave you the autopsy?” I interrupted. “Don’t they know you’re illiterate?”
“Actually, I nicked it from Nakamura and photocopied it at the hotel desk.”
“You mean you stole it?”
“Oh, just temporarily. Do you think you can translate it?”
“Of course I can.” A vast exaggeration, but he didn’t need to know. “Let’s go back to the inn and get started.”
“No, we need to talk things through.” He drained his bottle. “We’d best not linger here, though. If my colleagues see me, I’m done for.”
Five minutes later, we were in a taxi I’d hailed outside the Alpenhof. I pulled out my copy of Gateway to Japan and suggested Furukawa, the next town over.
“My guide mentions a charming little shop that sells zsui for just four-hundred yen!” I told Hugh. “That’s a type of rice stew. We could get a bite there—I’m going to need something after all those drinks.”
“Why not a charming little steak house?” Hugh countered.
“We’ll talk about it when we get there,” I said diplomatically. “Food is hardly the issue. I just need to know the truth about Mr. Nakamura.”