“The truth?”
“Everything you know about Mr. Nakamura, and at this point, don’t you dare plead company privacy. Not when my life’s in danger.”
“Okay, okay.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “What I know from company records is his full name—Seiji Nakamura—although you can probably imagine we’ve never been casual enough to be on a first-name basis. Anyway, he graduated from university in the mid-sixties and went straight to Sansonic Stereo. Seven years ago, he had risen to a midmanagement position in strategic planning, which he resigned to join Sendai.”
“I wouldn’t have left a famous company like Sansonic. Sendai is newer, so the benefits probably aren’t as good. And Japanese men in his age group usually work at the same company for life.”
“That’s right. Setsuko told me that as the younger generation was coming up through the ranks, her husband began struggling. He ignored some good ideas because he couldn’t stand the thought of his employees showing him up.”
“Madogiwa-zoku” murmured. At Hugh’s blank expression, I explained, “It’s a slang expression that literally means window-side tribe. At my company, it’s what they call the older men who are assigned desks by the windows because they’re not in the heat of things anymore.”
“Really? I have windows in my office.” Hugh sounded pensive. “Getting back to my story, Sendai recruited key employees from its competitors. They threw a lot of money at people, and Nakamura did the smart thing and went over.”
“Why would they want an old window-tribe member?”
“He’s an aged, well-connected negotiator who knows a million people in the government, including the fellows who regulate exports and patents.”
“So he was appreciated.”
“Until recently. In strict confidence, I’ll tell you that the Sendai auditors have discovered he’s abusing his company credit cards. Charges for entertainment expenses: half a million yen spent during one evening at a hostess bar none of us have even heard of. He’s living like its the bloody eighties. No one can afford expenses like that anymore.”
More than $4,000 dollars spent at a hostess bar? It almost made me think I’d picked the wrong career. I asked why Nakamura hadn’t been fired yet.
“They were planning to ask him to account for it all, but now that he’s lost his wife, that plan’s on hold.” He stared down my outrage. “Yes, we talked about it today. I advised them to wait because the charges could have been related to demands Setsuko was making and might very well end with her death.”
I shook my head, remembering how passively she’d accepted her husband’s verbal jabs. It was impossible to think of her holding the reins.
As we entered Furukawa, I asked the driver for some recommendations. We settled on a small, cheerful-looking restaurant that served yosenabe, simmered one-pot dishes that were a specialty of the mountain region.
“Does this include eel or octopus or anything really dreadful?” Hugh asked when we entered a spacious tatami room decorated with large neon sea creatures.
“Don’t worry. You’ll love it,” I said and ordered seafood nabe for two, a platter of crab legs and artfully sliced raw vegetables we cooked by dipping them into a pot of broth bubbling on a small fire built into the table. It was a pleasure to eat simply after the elaborate, tense dinners at Minshuku Yogetsu.
“I don’t miss eating with everyone, but I want to go back soon.” Using a sharp metal skewer, I pulled a long strip of crab meat from a claw and placed it on Hugh’s rice bowl, tired of watching his futile antics with chopsticks. “We should be there already. I just know she died in the bathroom. If only Yuki and Taro had gotten inside that night!”
“Maybe they did.”
“You’re joking,” I said, nevertheless recalling how Yuki had spoken of the mess in the bath New Year’s morning. What had she seen, and why had she moved things instead of waiting for Mrs. Yogetsu to do it?
“If you think I’m joking, why don’t you laugh? You’re far too sober for twenty-seven.”
“How do you know my age?” I was taken aback.
“Mrs. Chapman’s a talker, and we both think it’s a shame you’ve limited yourself to the teaching ghetto. Had you done law instead of art history, you’d be at the top of corporate Japan.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Lawyers don’t make money anymore. In America, things are so bad that half the young graduates are moonlighting as shoe salesmen.”
“Really? Tell me more.”