“A cute story, but I don’t think it happened at eleven o’clock,” he said. “You were watching television with the Ikedas.”
I couldn’t deny that, so I said, “I’d like to know how Mrs. Yogetsu could be snooping around the bath when she was busy serving me and the others. If you ask me, she just has a bad attitude toward all foreigners.”
“Walls are quite thin in Japanese houses, and foreigners behave quite strangely. For instance, others heard you and our suspect—the man you claim not to have known—enjoying each other like, shall we say, old friends. First you played in the bath and then you rolled across the futon…”
I swore under my breath in English, and Okuhara laughed.
“You know a lot about our suspect, Shimura-san. I’d like to talk to you in more official circumstances.”
I shook my head. “You twist everything I say to your own benefit.”
“You’ll have to talk sometime, you know.”
“I’m getting a lawyer.” I glanced out the side of my glasses to confirm who was entering the room. Yes, it was Seiji Nakamura looking in our direction. “Sayonara,” I said to the police chief and shot back into the hallway.
I caught up with the good-looking mourner outside the powder room. In my breathiest Japanese, I gave my cover name and said I worked at Sendai. She introduced herself as Mrs. Matsuda, a friend who had been studying the tea ceremony with Setsuko at one of the posh tea societies in Tokyo.
“I’ve always wanted to learn tea, but I hear it’s very difficult,” I said, disappointed she wasn’t Setsuko’s sister.
“It’s a necessity if you plan to marry. Also, have you thought of trying contact lenses?” She added the last in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Mmm,” I said, sizing her up. “But where do good looks take a woman, really? Mrs. Nakamura was lovely, but so unhappy.”
“She could not have children. She tried everything. Finally, her age…it was too late.”
“A woman’s greatest joy is a baby.” I employed one of Aunt Norie’s stock phrases.
“Yes, thanks to God, I was blessed with three. Setsuko was like an aunt to them, always bringing gifts and so on.” A tiny smile creased Mrs. Matsuda’s perfect maquillage.
“She sounds like a very kind person. I feel badly for her husband, all alone now.”
“Plenty of the office ladies will be feeling that way, I’m sure.” Her voice had an edge.
“Of course, she was planning to leave him…the divorce…”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
I realized then that they must have been friends who stayed strictly on the surface. I asked, “Are any of her family members here? I would like to express my sympathies.”
“Just her aunt is left. A very sad lady. I don’t think she had seen Setsuko in years.”
“She lives far away?”
“Not at all. But who knows when a loved one’s life will be taken? It’s all so arbitrary, really.” She was drifting into the tearful state I’d first seen her in.
“Could you please show this lady to me? I would like to offer my respects…”
“She’s getting a glass of sake over there—do you see the old lady with the bad back? I have been trying to tell her to sit down, but she is very determined. You know how ridiculously proud the elderly are.”
I practically mowed down a trio of waiters carrying a large iced salmon in my efforts to catch up with the small woman whose figure was curved like a question mark.
“Excuse me, but were you Nakamura-san’s aunt?” I asked.
“Oh, yes! Are you Mariko-chan?” Her weak voice filled with joy. It was too bad I had to introduce myself as Norie Fujita, a new office lady at Sendai.
“Forgive me, but I think you are probably the age of my great-niece. My name is Ozawa, and I am so pleased to meet you.”
Mrs. Ozawa bowed dangerously low, and I reached out my hand to steady her elbow and asked, “Would you sit down with me for a minute, Mrs. Ozawa? I’d like to find a place where it isn’t so crowded.”
“Yes, it’s a very well-attended event, isn’t it?” she sounded proud. “All these high-class people and television cameras. Setsuko would have liked it…”
My thoughts exactly. We walked together down the hallway, and I located a room without guests, a tiny study where cheap plywood bookcases were filled with old electronics magazines, and a Sendai laptop computer like Hugh’s rested on a desk scattered with papers. It had to be Mr. Nakamura’s study. There was a small tweed couch which looked like a good place to put Mrs. Ozawa, so I coaxed her in and closed the door.