Rising Sun: A Novel (11 page)

“Me?”

“Yeah. It’s almost certainly something personal. You have any problems in your past?”

“Like what?”

“Any priors, arrests, internal affairs investigations, allegations of questionable conduct like drinking or homosexuality or chasing women? Any drug rehab program, problems with partners, problems with superiors. Anything personal or professional. Anything.”

I shrugged. “Jeez, I don’t think so.”

Connor just waited, looking at me. Finally he said, “They think they have something, Peter.”

“I’m divorced. I’m a single parent. I have a daughter, Michelle. She’s two years old.”

“Yes …”

“I lead a quiet life. I take care of my kid. I’m responsible.”

“And your wife?”

“My ex-wife is a lawyer in the D.A.’s office.”

“When did you get divorced?”

“Two years ago.”

“Before the child was born?”

“Just after.”

“Why did you get divorced?”

“Christ. Why does anybody get divorced.”

Connor said nothing.

“We were only married a year. She was young when we met. Twenty-four. She had these fantasies about things. We met in court. She thought I was a rough, tough detective facing danger every day. She liked that I had a gun. All that. So we had this affair. Then when she got pregnant she didn’t want to have an abortion. She wanted to get married instead. It was some romantic idea she had. She didn’t really think it through. But the pregnancy was hard, and it was too late to abort, and pretty soon she decided she didn’t like living with me because my apartment was small, and I didn’t
make enough money, and I lived in Culver City instead of Brentwood. And by the time the baby was finally born, it was like she was completely disillusioned. She said she had made a mistake. She wanted to pursue her career. She didn’t want to be married to a cop. She didn’t want to raise a kid. She said she was sorry, but it was all a mistake. And she left.”

Connor was listening with his eyes closed. “Yes …”

“I don’t see why all this matters. She left two years ago. And after that, I couldn’t—I didn’t want to work detective hours anymore, because now I had to raise the kid, so I took the tests and transferred to Special Services, and I worked the press office. No problems there. Everything went fine. Then last year this Asian liaison job came up, and it paid better. Another couple hundred a month. So I applied for that.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean, I can really use the money. I have extra expenses now, like Michelle’s day care. You know what day care costs for two-year-olds? And I have full-time housekeeping, and Lauren doesn’t make her child-support payments more than half the time. She says she can’t manage on her salary, but she just bought a new BMW, so I don’t know. I mean, what am I going to do, take her to court? She works for the fucking D.A.”

Connor was silent. Up ahead, I saw the airplanes coming down over the freeway. We were approaching the airport.

“Anyway,” I said. “I was glad when the liaison job came along. Because it works out better for the hours, and for the money. And that’s how I got to be here. In this car with you. That’s it.”

“
Kōhai,
” he said quietly. “We’re in this together. Just tell me. What is the problem?”

“There isn’t any problem.”

“
Kōhai.
”

“There isn’t.”

“
Kōhai
 …”

“Hey, John,” I said, “let me tell you something. When you apply for Special Services liaison, five different committees
go over your record. To get a liaison job, you have to be
clean.
The committees went over my record. And they found nothing substantial.”

Connor nodded. “But they found
something.
”

“Christ,” I said, “I was a detective for five years. You can’t work that long without a few complaints. You know that.”

“And what were the complaints against you?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. Little stuff. I arrested a guy my first year, he accused me of undue force. That charge was dropped after inquiry. I arrested a woman for armed robbery, she claimed I planted a gram on her. Charge dropped; it was her gram. Murder suspect claimed I beat and kicked him during questioning. But other officers were present at all times. A drunken woman on a domestic violence call later claimed I molested her child. She dropped the charge. Teenage gang leader arrested for murder said I made a homosexual pass at him. Charge withdrawn. That’s it.”

If you’re a cop you know that complaints like these are background noise, like traffic on the street. There’s nothing you can do about them. You’re in an adversarial environment, accusing people of crimes all the time. They accuse you back. That’s just the way it works. The department never pays any attention unless there’s a pattern or repetition. If a guy has three or four complaints of undue force over a couple of years, then he gets an inquiry. Or a string of racial complaints, he gets an inquiry. But otherwise, as the assistant chief Jim Olson always says, being a cop is a job for the thick-skinned.

Connor didn’t say anything for a long time. He frowned, thinking it over. Finally he said, “What about the divorce? Problems there?”

“Nothing unusual.”

“You and your ex are on speaking terms?”

“Yes. We’re okay. Not great. But okay.”

He was still frowning. Still looking for something. “And you left the detective division two years ago?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I already told you.”

“You said that you couldn’t work the hours.”

“That was most of it, yeah.”

“That, and what else?”

I shrugged. “After the divorce, I just didn’t want to work homicide any more. I felt like—I don’t know. Disillusioned. I had this little infant and my wife had moved out. She was going on with her life, dating some hotshot attorney. I was left holding the kid. I just felt flat. I didn’t want to be a detective any more.”

“You seek counseling at that time? Therapy?”

“No.”

“Trouble with drugs or alcohol?”

“No.”

“Other women?”

“Some.”

“During the marriage?”

I hesitated.

“Farley? In the mayor’s office?”

“No. That was later.”

“But there
was
somebody during the marriage.”

“Yes. But she lives in Phoenix now. Her husband got transferred.”

“She was in the department?”

I shrugged.

Connor sat back in his seat. “Okay,
kōhai,
” he said. “If this is all there is, you’re fine.” He looked at me.

“That’s all.”

“But I have to warn you,” he said. “I’ve been through this kind of thing before, with the Japanese. When the Japanese play hardball, they can make things unpleasant.
Really
unpleasant.”

“You trying to scare me?”

“No. Just telling you the way things are.”

“Fuck the Japanese,” I said. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Fine. Now I think you better call your friends at the network, and tell them we’ll be over, after our next stop.”

A 747 roared low overhead, its landing lights flaring in the fog. It passed the sputtering neon sign that read G
IRLS
! G
IRLS
! A
LL
N
UDE
! G
IRLS
! It was around eleven-thirty when we went inside.

To call the Club Palomino a strip joint was to flatter it. It was a converted bowling alley with cactus and horses painted on the walls. It seemed smaller inside than it appeared from the outside. A woman in a silver tassled G-string who looked close to forty danced listlessly in orange light. She seemed as bored as the customers hunched over tiny pink tables. Topless waitresses moved through the smoky air. The tape-recorded music had a loud hiss.

A guy just inside the door said, “Twelve bucks. Two drink minimum.” Connor flipped his badge. The guy said, “Okay, fine.”

Connor looked around and said, “I didn’t know Japanese came here.” I saw three businessmen in blue suits, sitting at a corner table.

“Hardly ever,” the bouncer said. “They like the Star Strip downtown. More glitz, more tits. You ask me, those guys got lost from their tour.”

Connor nodded, “I’m looking for Ted Cole.”

“At the bar. Guy with the glasses.”

Ted Cole was sitting at the bar. His windbreaker covered his Nakamoto Security uniform. He stared at us dully when we came up and sat beside him.

The bartender came over. Connor said, “Two Buds.”

“No Bud. Asahi okay?”

“Okay.”

Connor flipped his badge. Cole shook his head and turned away from us. He looked studiously at the stripper.

“I don’t know anything.”

Connor said, “About what?”

“About anything. I’m just minding my own business. I’m off duty.” He was a little drunk.

Connor said, “When did you get off duty?”

“I got off early tonight.”

“Why is that?”

“Stomach trouble. I got an ulcer, it acts up sometimes. So I got off early.”

“What time?”

“I got off at eight-fifteen at the latest.”

“Do you punch a time clock?”

“No. We don’t do that. No time clock.”

“And who took over for you?”

“I got relieved.”

“By whom?”

“My supervisor.”

“Who is that?”

“I don’t know him. Japanese guy. Never seen him before.”

“He’s your supervisor, and you never saw him before?”

“New guy. Japanese. I don’t know him. What do you want from me, anyway?”

“Just to ask a few questions,” Connor said.

“I got nothing to hide,” Cole said.

One of the Japanese men sitting at the table came up to the bar. He stood near us and said to the bartender, “What kind of cigarettes you got?”

“Marlboro,” the bartender said.

“What else?”

“Maybe Kools. I have to check. But I know we got Marlboro. You want Marlboro?”

Ted Cole stared at the Japanese man. The Japanese seemed not to notice him as he stood at the bar. “Kent?” the Japanese said. “You got any Kent lights?”

“No. No Kent.”

“Okay then, Marlboro,” the Japanese man said. “Marlboro
is okay.” He turned and smiled at us. “This is Marlboro country, right?”

“That’s right,” Connor said.

Cole picked up his beer and sipped it. We were all silent. The Japanese man beat the bar with his hands, in time to the music. “Great place,” he said. “Lot of atmosphere.”

I wondered what he was talking about. This place was a dump.

The Japanese slid onto the bar stool next to us. Cole studied his beer bottle as if he’d never seen one before. He turned it in his hands, making rings on the bar top.

The bartender brought cigarettes, and the Japanese man tossed a five-dollar bill on the table. “Keep the change.” He tore open the pack, and took out a cigarette. He smiled at us.

Connor took out his lighter to light the man’s cigarette. As the man leaned over the flame, he said,
“Doko kaisha ittenno?”

The man blinked. “Sorry?”

“
Wakannē no?
” Connor said. “
Doko kaisha ittenno?”

The man smiled, and slipped off the bar stool.
“Soro soro ikanakutewa. Shitsurei shimasu.”
He gave a little wave, and he went back to his friends across the room.

“
Dewa mata,
” Connor said. He moved around to sit on the stool where the Japanese man had been sitting.

Cole said, “What was that all about?”

“I just asked him what company he worked for,” Connor said. “But he didn’t want to talk. I guess he wanted to get back to his friends.” Connor ran his hands under the bar, feeling. “Feels clean.”

Connor turned back to Cole and said, “Now then, Mr. Cole. You were telling me that a supervisor took over for you. At what time was that?”

“Eight-fifteen.”

“And you didn’t know him?”

“No.”

“And before that time, while you were on duty, were you taping from the video cameras?”

“Sure. The security office always tapes from the cameras.”

“And did the supervisor remove the tapes?”

“Remove them? I don’t think so. The tapes are still there, as far as I know.”

He looked at us in a puzzled way.

“You fellows are interested in the tapes?”

“Yes,” Connor said.

“Because I never paid much attention to the tapes. I was interested in the cameras.”

“How’s that?”

“They were getting the building ready for the big party, and there were lots of last-minute details. But you still had to wonder why they pulled so many security cameras off other parts of the building and put them up on that floor.”

I said, “They what?”

“Those cameras weren’t on the forty-sixth floor yesterday morning,” Cole said. “They were scattered all around the building. Somebody moved them during the day. They’re easy to move, you know, because there’s no wires attached.”

“The cameras have no wires?”

“No. It’s all cellular transmission inside the building itself. Built that way. That’s why they don’t have audio: they can’t transmit full bandwidth on cellular. So they just send an image. But they can move those cameras around to suit their purposes. See whatever they want to see. You didn’t know that?”