“Harumi is no longer living. But when she was a young woman, she worked in the slummy area near the Navy base in Yokosuka. She became involved with a sailor who was here in the early fifties,” I said.
“Why are we talking about this?”
“I thought you might be Setsuko’s father.”
Something flashed in Joe’s sharp blue eyes and when he spoke the good-old-boy accent was almost all gone. “My wife’s name was Seiho Yamazaki. If you go back to the papers from 1959, you can read plenty about her.”
“In the society column? Rei says you’re the toast of the town,” Mrs. Chapman gushed.
“No, the regular news. I killed her.”
Mrs. Chapman squealed, and I tried to keep from gasping.
“It happened during one of those blinding storms in typhoon season. We were driving home. I didn’t see the streetcar coming and it hit Seiho’s side. She was pregnant. I killed the baby, too.”
The waiter descended with the entrees. I was glad for the interruption, a chance to think up an appropriate response. All I came up with in the end was, “I think you’re being extremely hard on yourself.”
“This was never about marketing rice cookers, was it? What can I really do for you, Rei?”
I paused. “Like I said before, I’m looking for information about Setsuko’s parents. Maybe you know Harumi’s sailor.”
“Listen, if you’re trying to identify a sailor who fathered a bar girl’s baby, there must have been tens of thousands, and they weren’t all bad. Many guys could afford to set their girl up in a small house and feed not only her but her parents and brothers and sisters. If a girl was smart, when her sailor shipped out, she found another.” Joe sliced into his steak, and I watched a river of blood run across his plate.
“Mr. Roncolotta, I’m sorry Rei’s putting you through this.” Mrs. Chapman glared at me.
“Harumi was a shoe-shine girl, not a prostitute,” I insisted. “The only reason she was in tough circumstances was because her Japanese husband died and her in-laws cast her out.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Joe rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me how snobbish those ex-samurai families are. That’s why I married a working-class girl.”
“Why you were at the tsuya?” I asked.
“Business.” Joe popped a chunk of steak into his mouth and chewed.
“What kind of business?”
“With Masuhiro Sendai. I’ve been trying to get an introduction for the last two years, without success. I knew he’d be there. Do you think that’s tacky?”
I shook my head, thinking of my own reasons for being there. “Do you even know Mr. Nakamura?”
“Yes, but I don’t like him. He’s a double-crosser.” Joe paused. “Chilies got to you, huh? You look like you could use a glass of water. Waiter!”
“I’m fine,” I said, but took the refilled glass gratefully.
“That Nakamura is an extremely unfriendly man,” Mrs. Chapman added. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he killed his wife.”
“Do you know his history, that he left Sansonic for Sendai?” Joe asked. I remained quiet, because I wanted to see if his version of the story differed from Hugh’s. “The gossip is that he took some key files with him. When Sansonic found out, half the people in his section lost their jobs, and the posts Nakamura had promised them at Sendai never materialized. What’s really strange is that Nakamura never presented the Sansonic files to Sendai, but they kept him. Japanese manners.”
“What would you have done if you were at Sendai?” I challenged.
“I would have told him to take the proverbial long walk off the short pier! Why’s a gal like you mixed up with him, anyway? I thought he only played inside the company.”
“I’m not mixed up with him. My interest, like I told you before, relates to Setsuko.”
“She’s interested in a young man, really,” Mrs. Chapman cut in with a patronizing smile.
“Both of you—all these questions—I just don’t understand it!” Joe Roncolotta threw up his hands.
“We were in the wrong place at the wrong time. That is, we were at the inn when Setsuko died,” Mrs. Chapman volunteered.
“I was close to the situation.” I paused, not wanting to go into the horror of my discovery of Setsuro’s body. “I said something which led to a person getting slammed with her murder.”
“The Scottish lawyer?” Joe perked up. “As far as his innocence goes, I don’t know him well enough to have an opinion. Hell of a squash player, though his ankles are a little creaky. A lot of power in those arms.”