The Salaryman's Wife(94)
Strangely, Richard didn’t come in to teach his evening class. He had left a message with the office that an emergency had arisen; I prayed he hadn’t returned to the apartment and encountered some new menace. I wound up having to take his night students with mine, suffering double the questions and snickering.
After work, I stayed at my desk. Now that I’d been on television, I needed a disguise. I called Oi Beauty Salon. Mrs. Oi had seen the noon news and offered to send a wig by courier—her grandson, who she assured me was entirely trustworthy.
It was dark by the time the courier showed up. I transformed myself into Japanese Barbie and threw Richard’s old raincoat over me and left Nichiyu through the service entrance.
At the apartment building, the light was working and the stairs had been repaired with brand new, tough-looking boards. I trod up carefully. Opening the apartment door was a little scary, but once I stepped inside I felt the rush of comfort that I always did upon arriving home.
Richard had evidently come and gone. A trail of water told me he must have run from bathroom to telephone fairly recently. I looked at the answering machine and saw eleven calls had come in.
The first message had been recorded at twelve-thirty and was from Hugh.
“Darling, Winnie told me you were on the morning and lunchtime news. If anyone calls, stay mellow and just refer them to Mr. Ota. And don’t worry.”
“Hello, Miss Shimura? This is Manami Tsureta.” A confident woman’s voice. “I am a reporter from the Japan Times working on a story about the Sendai murder. I would like a comment on your relationship with Hugh Glendinning. Please call me back.”
I had previously been a fan of Ms. Tsureta’s investigative journalism, but there was no way I wanted to be her fodder. I fast-forwarded through her number to the next call, which was from a man with a rasping, uncultured voice.
“This is Nao from News to You. We’re doing a story called the murderer’s mistresses and need you to respond to various charges. It’s in your interest, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
“It’s Karen. I see you’re still wearing my Junko Shimada suit about town, huh? I liked the shot they got of you in the evening without a blouse underneath. I’d try it but with my size, I’d probably get arrested. What were you doing wearing stilettos to work this morning, though? Totally tacky!”
“It’s Okuhara, from the Shiroyama Police. I need to speak to you again.”
“This is Ishida, calling about your antique box. I have some news from the museum. Please call me very soon, if you have time.”
“Hi, Rei, it’s Joe Roncolotta. It’s about noon on Wednesday. Listen, you had fabulous exposure on the news this morning. I want you to know that now would be the optimum time to open your antique shopping service. Call me, ya hear?”
“Rei, it’s your mother. Where were you last weekend and why haven’t you called me back? We’d like to know if you’re alive.”
“This is Wakajima from the Yomiuri Shibum. We’re going to press with a story about Hugh Glendinning and need your comment. I’ll try you at your office.”
“It’s your lover again. I’ve finished up with Setsuko’s travel agent…who told me something strange. When are you getting home from work, anyway? Call before you come over so I can draw the bath. And Richard, this message is not intended for you.”
“Rei, this is your cousin Tom. An Englishman came to the hospital with a black eye and broken ankle. He may be a lunatic, I think. Anyway, he asked me to contact you—”
Tom’s message was cut off. Richard must have intercepted at that point, and now I knew why he hadn’t gone to work. I tore off my stockings and work clothes, slipping gym socks over my feet blistered from the pumps and sliding into jeans and the Love Cats Friendship T-shirt. I pulled my wig into a ponytail, grabbed my parka, and ran.
I found Richard at St. Luke’s Emergency waiting room an hour later, Mariko at his side.
“If it wasn’t for that hideous parka I wouldn’t recognize you,” he said, touching my artificial hair and wincing. “What do you think, Mariko?”
“I should have made you leave the bar last night because I knew the reporters were there. But I didn’t. I screwed up,” Mariko mumbled.
The scene came together. The salarymen flashing a camera around at the next table must have been a journalist team. They had probably followed Hugh and me from Club Marimba back to Roppongi Hills. Thank God the living room blinds had been drawn. Still, they nabbed me bright and early the next morning.
“Kiki was scared. She couldn’t have you coming back upsetting things—” Mariko’s voice broke.