Rising Sun: A Novel (9 page)

“Bingo,” I said.

Connor came into the room. “Find something?”

“Our man with the scar.”

“Good.” Connor studied the picture carefully. I looked back at the clutter of the bathroom. The stuff around the sink. “You know,” I said, “something bothers me about this place.”

“What’s that?”

“I know she hasn’t lived here long. And I know everything is rented … but still … I can’t get over the feeling that this place has a contrived look. I can’t quite put my finger on why.”

Connor smiled. “Very good, Lieutenant. It does have a contrived look. And there’s a reason for it.”

He handed me a Polaroid photo. It showed the bathroom we were standing in. The jeans kicked in the corner. The towel hanging. The curlers on the counter. But it was taken with one of those ultra-wide-angle cameras that distort everything. The SID teams sometimes used them for evidence.

“Where did you get this?”

“From the trash bin in the hall, by the elevators.”

“So it must have been taken earlier tonight.”

“Yes. Notice anything different about the room?”

I examined the Polaroid carefully. “No, it looks the same … wait a minute. Those pictures stuck in her mirror. They aren’t in the Polaroid. Those pictures have been added.”

“Exactly.” Connor walked back into the bedroom. He picked up one of the framed pictures on the dresser. “Now look at this one,” he said. “Miss Austin and a Japanese friend in Shinjuku Station in Tokyo. She was probably drawn to the Kabukichō section—or perhaps she was just shopping. Notice the right-hand edge of the picture. See the narrow strip that’s lighter in color?”

“Yes.” And I understood what that strip meant: there had been another picture on top of this one. The edge of this picture had stuck out, and was sun-faded. “The overlying picture has been removed.”

“Yes,” Connor said.

“The apartment has been searched.”

“Yes,” Connor said. “A very thorough job. They came in earlier tonight, took Polaroids, searched the rooms, and then put things back the way they were. But it’s impossible to do that exactly. The Japanese say artlessness is the most difficult art. And these men can’t help themselves, they’re obsessive. So they leave the picture frames a little too squared-off on the counter, and the perfume bottles a little too carefully cluttered. Everything is a little forced. Your eye can see it even if your brain doesn’t register it.”

I said, “But why search the room? What pictures did they remove? Her with the killer?”

“That’s not clear,” Connor said. “Evidently her association with Japan, and with Japanese men, was not objectionable. But there was something they had to get right away, and it can only be—”

Then, from the living room, a tentative voice said, “Lynn? Honey? You here?”

She was silhouetted in the doorway, looking in. Barefooted, wearing shorts and a tank top. I couldn’t see her face well, but she was obviously what my old partner Anderson would call a snake charmer.

Connor showed his badge. She said her name was Julia Young. She had a Southern accent, and a slight slur to her speech. Connor turned on the light and we could see her better. She was a beautiful girl. She came into the room hesitantly.

“I heard the music—is she here? Is Cheryl Lynn okay? I know she went to that party tonight.”

“I haven’t heard anything,” Connor said, with a quick glance at me. “Do you know Cheryl Lynn?”

“Well, sure. I live right across the hall, in number eight. Why is everybody in her room?”

“Everybody?”

“Well, you two. And the two Japanese guys.”

“When were they here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe half an hour ago. Is it something about Cheryl Lynn?”

I said, “Did you get a look at the men, Miss Young?” I was thinking she might have been looking out of the peephole of her door.

“Well, I
guess.
I said hello to them.”

“How’s that?”

“I know one of them pretty well. Eddie.”

“Eddie?”

“Eddie Sakamura. We all know Eddie. Fast Eddie.”

I said, “Can you describe him?”

She gave me a funny look. “He’s the guy in the pictures—the young guy with the scar on his hand. I thought everybody knew Eddie Sakamura. He’s in the newspaper all the time. Charities and stuff. He’s a big party guy.”

I said, “Do you have any idea how I could find him?”

Connor said, “Eddie Sakamura is part owner of a Polynesian restaurant in Beverly Hills called Bora Bora. He hangs out there.”

“That’s him,” Julia said. “That place is like his office. I can’t stand it myself, it’s too noisy. But Eddie’s just running around, chasing those big blondes. He loves to look up to a girl.”

She leaned against a table, and pushed her full brown hair back from her face seductively. She looked at me and gave a little pout. “You two guys partners?”

“Yes,” I said.

“He showed me his badge. But you didn’t show me yours.”

I took out my wallet. She looked at it. “Peter,” she said, reading. “My very first boyfriend was named Peter. But he wasn’t as handsome as you.” She smiled at me. Connor cleared his throat and said, “Have you been in Cheryl Lynn’s apartment before?”

“Well, I
guess.
I live right across the way. But she hasn’t been in town much lately. Seems like she’s always traveling.”

“Traveling where?”

“All over. New York, Washington, Seattle, Chicago … all over. She has this boyfriend who travels a lot. She meets him. Actually I think she just meets him when his wife isn’t around.”

“This boyfriend is married?”

“Well, there’s something in the way. You know. Obstructing.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“No. She once said he’d never come to her apartment. He’s some big important guy. Real rich. They send the jet for her, and off she goes. Whoever he is, he drives Eddie crazy. But Eddie is the jealous type, you know. Got to be
iro otoko
to all the girls. The sexy lover.”

Connor said, “Is Cheryl’s relationship a secret? With this boyfriend?”

“I don’t know. I never thought it was. It’s just real intense. She’s madly in love with the guy.”

“She’s madly in love?”

“You can’t imagine. I’ve seen her drop everything to run and meet him. One night she comes over, gives me two tickets to the Springsteen concert, but she’s all excited because she’s going to
Detroit.
She’s got her little carry-on in her hand. She’s got her little nice-girl dress on. Because he just called ten minutes ago and said, ‘Meet me.’ Her face all bright, she looks about five years old. I don’t know why she can’t figure it out.”

“Figure what out?”

“This guy is just using her.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Cheryl Lynn is beautiful, and real sophisticated-looking. She’s worked all over the world as a model, mostly in Asia. But deep down she’s a small-town girl. I mean, Midland is an oil town, there’s lots of money, but it’s still a small town. And Cheryl Lynn wants the ring on the finger and the kids and the dog in the yard. And this guy isn’t going to do it. She hasn’t figured it out.”

I said, “But you don’t know who this man is?”

“No, I don’t.” A sly look crossed her face. She shifted her body, dropping one shoulder so her breasts thrust forward. “But you’re not really here because of some old boyfriend, are you?”

Connor nodded. “Not really, no.”

Julia smiled in a knowing way. “It’s Eddie, isn’t it?”

“Umm,” Connor said.

“I knew it,” she said. “I knew he’d get in trouble sooner or later. We all talked about it, all the girls here in the Arms.” She made a vague gesture. “Because he’s just going too fast. Fast Eddie. You wouldn’t think he was Japanese. He’s so flashy.”

Connor said, “He’s from Osaka?”

“His father’s a big industrialist there, with Daimatsu. He’s a nice old guy. When he comes over to visit, sometimes
he sees one of the girls on the second floor. And Eddie. Eddie was supposed to get educated here for a few years, then go home to work for the
kaisha
, the company. But he won’t go home. He loves it here. Why not? He’s got everything. He buys a new Ferrari every time he bangs up the old one. He’s got more money than God. He’s lived here long enough, he’s just like an American. Handsome. Sexy. And with all the drugs. You know, real party animal. What’s in Osaka for him?”

I said, “But you said you always knew …”

“That he’d get in trouble? Sure. Because of that crazy side. That
edge.
” She shrugged. “A lot of them have it. These guys come over from Tokyo, and even if they have a
shōkai
, an introduction, you still have to be careful. They think nothing of dropping ten or twenty thousand in a night. It’s like a tip for them. Leave it on the dresser. But then, what they want to do—at least, some of them …”

She drifted into silence. Her eyes had a vacant, unfocused look. I didn’t say anything, I just waited. Connor was looking at her, nodding sympathetically.

Abruptly, she began to speak again, as if unaware of the pause. “And to them,” she said, “their wishes, their desires, it’s just as natural as leaving the tip. It’s completely natural to them. I mean, I don’t mind a little golden shower or whatever, handcuffs, you know. Maybe a little spanking if I like the guy. But I won’t let anybody cut me. I don’t care how much money. None of those things with knives or swords … But they can be … A lot of them, they are so polite, so correct, but then they get turned on, they have this … this
way
 …” She broke off, shaking her head. “They’re strange people.”

Connor glanced at his watch. “Miss Young, you’ve been very helpful. We may need to speak to you again. Lieutenant Smith will take your phone number—”

“Yes, of course.”

I flipped open my pad.

Connor said, “I’m going to have a word with the doorman.”

“Shinichi,” she said.

Connor left. I took down Julia’s number. She licked her lips as she watched me write. Then she said, “You can tell me. Did he kill her?”

“Who?”

“Eddie. Did he kill Cheryl Lynn?”

She was a pretty girl but I could see the excitement in her eyes. She was looking at me with a steady gaze. Her eyes were shining. It was creepy. I said, “Why do you ask?”

“Because. He was always threatening to. Like this afternoon, he threatened her.”

I said, “Eddie was here this afternoon?”

“Sure.” She shrugged. “He’s here all the time. He came to see her this afternoon, real worked up. They put extra soundproofing to the walls in this building when they took it over. But even so, you could hear them scream at each other in her apartment. Him and Cheryl Lynn. She’d have on her Jerry Lee Lewis, the one she played day and night until you just about went crazy, and they’d be screaming and throwing things. He’d always say, ‘I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you, you bitch.’ So. Did he?”

“I don’t know.”

“But she’s dead?” Her eyes still shining.

“Yes.”

“It had to happen,” she said. She seemed completely calm. “We all knew it. It was just a matter of time. If you want, call me. If you need more information.”

“Yes. I will.” I gave her my card. “And if you think of anything else, you can call me at this number.”

She slipped it into the hip pocket of her shorts, twisting her body. “I like talking to you, Peter.”

“Yes. Okay.”

I walked down the corridor. When I got to the end I looked back. She was standing in her doorway, waving good-bye.

Connor was using the phone in the lobby while the doorman stared sullenly at him, as if he wanted to stop him, but couldn’t think of a reason why.

“That’s right,” Connor was saying. “All the outgoing calls from that phone between eight and ten p.m. That’s right.” He listened for a moment. “Well, I don’t care if your data isn’t organized that way, just get it for me. How long will it take? Tomorrow? Don’t be ridiculous. What do you think this is? I need it within two hours. I’ll call you back. Yes. Fuck you, too.” He hung up. “Let’s go,
kōhai.
”

We walked outside to the car.

I said, “Checking your contacts?”

“Contacts?” He looked puzzled. “Oh. Graham said something to you about my ‘contacts.’ I don’t have any special informants. He just thinks I do.”