Rising Sun: A Novel (36 page)

“So what are we supposed to do?”

“The same thing the Europeans are doing,” Connor said. “Reciprocity. Tit for tat. One of yours for one of mine. Everybody in the world has the same problem with Japan. It’s just a question of what solution works best. The European solution is pretty direct. Works well, at least so far.”

On the rink, some teenage girls began to do warmups and a few tentative leaps. Now the schoolteacher was leading her charges along the corridor past us. As she went by, she said, “Is one of you Lieutenant Smith?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

One kid said, “Do you have a gun?”

The teacher said, “That woman asked me to tell you that what you’re looking for is in the men’s locker room.”

“It is?” I said.

The kid said, “Can I see it?”

The teacher said, “You know, the Oriental woman? I think she was Oriental.”

“Yes,” Connor said. “Thank you.”

“I want to see the gun.”

Another kid said, “Quiet, stupid. Don’t you know anything? They’re
undercover.
”

“I want to see the gun.”

Connor and I started walking away. The kids trailed after us, still asking to see our guns. Across the rink, the man with the newspaper looked up curiously. He watched us leave.

“Nothing like an inconspicuous exit,” Connor said.

The men’s locker room was deserted. I started going through the green metal lockers, one after another, looking for the tapes. Connor didn’t bother. I heard him call to me, “Back here.”

He was in the rear by the showers. “You found the tapes?”

“No.”

He was holding open a door.

We went down a flight of concrete stairs to a landing. There were two doors. One opened onto a below-grade truck entrance. The other went into a dark hallway with wooden beams. “This way,” Connor said.

We went down this hallway, crouched over. We were underneath the rink again. We passed throbbing stainless-steel machinery, and then came to a series of doors.

“Do you know where we’re going?” I said.

One of the doors was ajar. He pushed it open. The room lights were out, but I could see that we were in the lab. Off in a corner, I saw a faint monitor glow.

We walked toward it.

Theresa Asakuma leaned back from the table, pushed her glasses up on her forehead, and rubbed her beautiful eyes. “It’s okay as long as we don’t make much noise,” she said. “They had a guard outside the main door earlier. I don’t know if he’s still there.”

“A guard?”

“Yeah. They were serious about shutting down the lab. It was spectacular, like a drug bust. It really surprised the Americans.”

“And you?”

“I don’t have the same expectations about this country.”

Connor pointed to the monitor in front of her. It showed a freeze-frame image of the couple, embracing as they moved toward the conference room. The same image, seen from other camera angles, was reproduced on other monitors on the desk. Some of the monitors had superimposed red lines, radiating out from the night lights. “What have you learned from the tapes?”

Theresa pointed to the main screen. “I’m not certain,” she said. “To be completely certain, I would have to run 3-D modeling sequences to match the dimensions of the room and keep track of all the light sources, and the shadows cast by all the sources. I haven’t done that, and I probably can’t with the equipment in this room. It would probably require an overnight run on a mini. Maybe I could get time next week from the astrophysics department. The way things are going, maybe not. But in the meantime, I have a strong feeling.”

“Which is?”

“The shadows don’t match.”

In the darkness, Connor nodded slowly. As if that made sense to him.

I said, “Which shadows don’t match?”

She pointed to the screen. “As these people move around the floor, the shadows they cast don’t line up exactly. They’re in the wrong place, or the wrong shape. Often it’s subtle. But I think it is there.”

“And the fact that the shadows don’t match means …”

She shrugged. “I’d say the tapes have been altered, Lieutenant.”

There was a silence. “Altered how?”

“I’m not sure how much has been done. But it seems clear that there was another person in that room, at least part of the time.”

“Another person? You mean a third person?”

“Yes. Someone watching. And that third person has been systematically erased.”

“No
shit
,” I said.

It was making my head spin. I looked at Connor. He was staring intently at the monitors. He seemed completely unsurprised. I said, “Did you already know this?”

“I suspected something of the sort.”

“Why?”

“Well, early in the investigation it seemed likely that the tapes were going to be altered.”

“Why?” I said.

Connor smiled. “Details,
kōhai.
Those little things we forget.” He glanced at Theresa, as if he was reluctant to talk too much in front of her.

I said, “No, I want to hear this. When did you first know the tapes were altered?”

“In the Nakamoto security room.”

“Why?”

“Because of the missing tape.”

“What missing tape?” I said. He had mentioned it before.

“Think back,” Connor said. “In the security room, the guard told us that he changed the tapes when he came on duty, around nine o’clock.”

“Yes …”

“And the tape recorders all had timers, showing an elapsed time of about two hours. Each recorder started about ten or fifteen seconds later than the previous one. Because that was the time interval it took him to change each tape.”

“Right …” I remembered all that.

“And I pointed out to him one tape recorder that didn’t fit the sequence. Its tape was only running for half an hour. So I asked if it was broken.”

“And the guard seemed to think it was.”

“Yes. That’s what he said. I was letting him off the hook. Actually, he knew perfectly well it was not broken.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No. It was one of the few mistakes that the Japanese have made. But they only made it because they were stuck—they couldn’t get around it. They couldn’t beat their own technology.”

I leaned back against the wall. I looked apologetically at Theresa. She looked beautiful in the semidarkness of the monitors. “I’m sorry. I’m lost.”

“That’s because you are rejecting the obvious explanation,
kōhai.
Think back. If you saw a line of tape recorders, each one running a few seconds later than the one before, and you saw one recorder way out of sequence, what would you think?”

“That someone had changed the tape in that one recorder at a later time.”

“Yes. And that’s exactly what happened.”

“One tape was switched later?”

“Yes.”

I frowned. “But why? All of the tapes were replaced at nine o’clock. So none of the replacements showed the murder, anyway.”

“Correct,” Connor said.

“Then why switch one tape after that?”

“Good question. It’s puzzling. I couldn’t make sense of it for a long time. But now I know,” Connor said. “You have to remember the timing. The tapes were all changed at nine.
Then one tape was changed again at ten-fifteen. The obvious assumption was that something important happened between nine o’clock and ten-fifteen, that it was recorded on the tape, and the tape was therefore taken away for some reason. I asked myself: what could this important event be?”

I thought back. I frowned. I couldn’t think of anything.

Theresa began to smile and nod, as if something had just amused her. I said, “You know?”

“I can guess,” she said, smiling.

“Well,” I said. “I’m glad everyone seems to know the answer except me. Because I can’t think of anything important being recorded on that tape. By nine o’clock, the yellow barrier was up, isolating the crime scene. The girl’s body was on the other side of the room. There were a lot of Japanese standing by the elevators, and Graham was calling me on the phone for help. But nobody actually began an investigation until I got there at about ten. Then we had a lot of back and forth with Ishiguro. I don’t think anybody crossed the tape until almost ten-thirty. Say ten-fifteen at the earliest. So if somebody looked at a recording, all it would show is a deserted room, and a girl lying on the table. That’s all.”

Connor said, “Very good. Except you have forgotten something.”

Theresa said, “Did anybody cross the room? Anybody at all?”

“No,” I said. “We had the yellow barrier up. Nobody was allowed on the other side of the tape. In fact—”

And then I remembered. “Wait a minute! There was somebody! That little guy with the camera,” I said. “He was on the other side of the barrier, taking pictures.”

“That’s right,” Connor said.

“What little guy?” she said.

“A Japanese guy. He was taking pictures. We asked Ishiguro about him. He said his name was, ah …”

“Mr. Tanaka,” Connor said.

“That’s right, Mr. Tanaka. And you asked Ishiguro for the film from his camera.” I frowned. “But we never got it.”

“No,” Connor said. “And frankly, I never thought we would.”

Theresa said, “This man was taking pictures?”

“I doubt that he was actually taking pictures,” Connor said. “Perhaps he was, because he was using one of those little Canons—”

“The ones that shoot video stills, instead of film?”

“Right. Would there be any use for those, in retouching?”

“There might be,” she said. “The images might be used for texture mapping. They’d go in fast, because they were already digitized.”

Connor nodded. “Then perhaps he was taking pictures, after all. But it was clear to me that his picture-taking was just an excuse to allow him to walk on the other side of the yellow line.”

“Ah,” Theresa said, nodding.

I said, “How do you know that?”

“Think back,” Connor said.

I had been standing facing Ishiguro when Graham yelled: Aw, Christ, what is this? And I looked back over my shoulder and saw a short Japanese man about ten meters beyond the yellow tape. The man’s back was turned to me. He was taking pictures of the crime scene. The camera was very small. It fitted into the palm of his hand.

“Do you remember how he moved?” Connor said. “He moved in a distinctive way.”

I tried to recall it. I couldn’t.

Graham had gone forward to the tape, saying: For Christ’s sake, you can’t be in there. This is a goddamned crime scene. You can’t take pictures! And there was a general uproar. Graham was yelling at Tanaka, but he continued to be entirely focused on his work, shooting the camera and backing toward us. Despite all the yelling, Tanaka didn’t do what a normal person would do—turn around and walk toward the tape. Instead, he backed up to the yellow stripe and, still turned away, ducked his head and went under it.

I said, “He never turned around. He backed up all the way.”

“Correct. That is the first mystery. Why would he back up? Now, I think, we know.”

“We do?”

Theresa said, “He was repeating the walk of the girl and the killer in reverse, so it would be laid down on videotape and he would have a good record of where the shadows in the room were.”

“That’s right,” Connor said.

I remembered that when I protested, Ishiguro had said to me: This is our employee. He works for Nakamoto Security.

And I had said: This is outrageous. He can’t take pictures.

And Ishiguro had explained: But this is for our corporate use.

And meanwhile the man had disappeared in the crowd, slipping through the knot of men at the elevator.

But this is for our corporate use.

“Damn it!” I said. “So Tanaka left us, went downstairs, and removed a single tape, because that tape had a record of his own walk across the room, and the shadows he cast?”

“Correct.”

“And he needed that tape to make changes in the original tapes?”

“Correct.”

I was finally beginning to understand. “But now, even if we can figure out how the tapes were altered, they won’t stand up in a court of law, is that right?”

“That’s right,” Theresa said. “Any good lawyer will make sure they’re inadmissible.”

“So the only way to go forward is to get a witness who can testify to what was done. Sakamura might know, but he’s dead. So we’re stuck unless we can somehow get our hands on Mr. Tanaka. I think we better get him in custody right away.”

“I doubt that will ever happen,” Connor said.

“Why not? You think they’ll keep him from us?”

“No, I don’t think they have to. It is very likely that Mr. Tanaka is already dead.”

Connor immediately turned to Theresa. “Are you good at your job?”