“Why didn’t you stay with your parents?” Hugh pushed his tea cup aside and poured himself more whiskey. “They could have helped you come up with a more realistic exit.”
“They know nothing. How could I say I was running from Sendai? Such a famous, excellent employer? They would never understand!”
“Do you realize they’re probably in the process of planning your funeral? You must ring them,” Hugh insisted.
“But Sendai can’t find out—I could die!”
“Could you call the National Police Agency?” I asked. “They oversee all of Japan’s police departments and are trying hard to make inroads against organized crime.”
Hugh creaked to his feet. “In exchange for another night here, will you please telephone home?”
“I’d like to, but Yokohama is long distance.”
“Call them now! Please!” Hugh barked.
“You should call the National Police Agency yourself,” I muttered when Yamamoto had gone into Hugh’s study to use the telephone. “I don’t trust him. Besides, the police need to know the truth about the pearls.”
“I’m not calling anybody,” Hugh said. “The pearls are no worry—I’m out of prison, aren’t I? And I’d like to figure out this mess regarding the Eterna battery.”
“Why, so you can get your job back? Forget Sendai. You could work anywhere else in the world. I thought you were a man on the move, a new job every eighteen months—”
“I want to stay here.” His voice was obstinate.
I looked at the brass captain’s clock on the sideboard. It was after midnight, which meant the subway had stopped running. I would have to find a taxi.
“I’m out of here.” I carried the plates and glasses into the kitchen, noticing Yamamoto hadn’t touched his Scotch. I deliberated whether to load the dishwasher but decided against it, in the interest of giving them something to do.
Hugh swung up behind me on his crutches as I was gathering together my parka and shoes.
“I’ll give you a run back in the car. Your lousy tea sobered me up.”
“No chance. You need to keep an eye on Yamamoto, and it’s easier for me to take a taxi.”
“It’s just a few hours until the morning trains start up. Don’t go.” Hugh was studying me in a way that reminded me of the last night we’d spent together, the night before everything went to hell.
“I’ve had enough. Good-bye, Shug.” I peeked over my shoulder to catch his reaction and was annoyed to see he wasn’t even watching. He was talking into his hallway intercom, already with something new.
Outside the building, a taxi had just pulled up. Lucky for me. I smiled gratefully at the Roppongi Hills doorman who handed me in, but did a double-take when he gave the driver my address and a crisp 5,000 yen note.
“Glendinning-san requested,” the doorman said to me in explanation.
Hugh must have organized this subversive act of charity using the intercom.
I should have been humiliated, but the hard fact was that a crosstown taxi ride would have been catastrophic for my personal finances. So as dirty as Hugh Glendinning’s money might be, I’d take it.
20
I dressed in the bathroom the next morning to avoid waking Mariko snoring gently on the spare futon. I would have also liked to sleep in, but Sunday was the busiest shopping day of the week. It would be an advantage to show up at Mitsutan before Setsuko’s favorite salesclerk, the one Mariko had told me about, got too busy.
As I rode the subway to Shinjuku, I pictured the mysterious Miss Yokoyama folding Chanel scarves or arranging Prada handbags in glass display cases. I was pretty disappointed when the information desk clerk sent me to the children’s department. What interest did Setsuko have in children’s clothes, besides the occasional present for her friends’ offspring? Maybe it had something to do with her secret baby. Wondering, I rode the escalator up to the land of infant Moschino and headed to a pair of female salesclerks folding the smallest sweaters I had ever seen.
“Does a Miss Yokoyama work here?” I looked at them without hope.
“I am Yokoyama. How can I help you?” The smaller one wearing her hair in a neat braid smiled at me with slightly buck teeth, wholly too unglamorous to be a friend of Setsuko’s.
“I’m looking for something…a nice sweatshirt,” I said, hoping to draw her away from her colleague to the other side of the department. “Something for an older girl.”
“Do you know her size?” Miss Yokoyama began leading me deep into racks of pink and red outfits.
“Actually, I came to ask you about Setsuko Nakamura. I’m not sure if you know she passed away?”