The Samurai's Daughter (17 page)

“Well, I wondered about the elevated level of potassium chloride. The examiner thought the level was a reaction to the stress of the assault on the heart, but when Manami and I sat down together to look at the numbers—I consulted her because of her pathology specialization; I hope you don't mind—she agreed with me that it was a significant finding.”

“Really. How so?” As I talked, I searched for a paper and pen. This was information I was going to share with the Japanese doctor as soon as I could.

“Well, there is a chance that the chemical potassium chloride might have been intentionally introduced into Rosa's system and triggered the heart attack, though of course it would have been hard to slip her much of it at one time because it's so salty. She could have taken it intentionally, as a suicide.”

“Dad, can you fax me the autopsy, and could you hold on for a second? I need to check on something with Hugh.”

“Yes, madam?” Hugh raised an eyebrow.

“Didn't you tell me that when you went to see Rosa's apartment after her body had been removed, there was a container of soy sauce on the table?”

“Sure, and lots of Asian take-out food that had begun to spoil.” He wrinkled his nose.

“Did you throw it away?” I asked.

“Yes. I put it in a trash bag I found under her sink, and then I chucked the whole lot into a bin behind the building. Why? Did I do something wrong?”

I sucked in my breath. “Of course not. It's just that there's a chance that food might have provided a clue.”

“Well, I didn't throw away everything on the table. I was a bit rushed, so I left the soy sauce in its bottle, and maybe another sauce I'd found.”

“Do you think it's still there?”

“If the cleaning crew hasn't made it in. I left instructions for the firm to have someone go in as soon as possible.”

“Rei?” My father's voice brought me back to our long-distance conversation.

“Dad, sorry. I was just asking Hugh about what he saw in the apartment when he was sent to take care of closing it up. He saw lots of Asian take-out food and a bottle of soy sauce on the table. Wouldn't those foods be a good way to camouflage a salty poison?”

“Not just good—perfect. But I have to warn you that poisoning through food usually takes a while to work,” my father said. “That is, if the poisoner wants the death to look natural.”

“Still, is there a way you can get the police to go in and look at any and all food left in her apartment?”

“I don't know. I could say something to my friend in the Medical Examiner's Office. Then the onus wouldn't be on me.”

“Dad, I'm sorry about loading this on you at such a difficult time. With Manami gone and all.”

“Yes, it's very worrying. I telephoned her parents and they said they hadn't heard anything about her going on any vacation. She usually telephones or E-mails every day, so they were quite panicked.”

“I think you should tell the police she's missing. I mean, isn't that what the family wants?”

“They were torn, knowing the situation of her visa. If the police know she's in the country yet not working, they will contact the INS. So if Manami comes back feeling ready to give the hospital another try, it could be too late—she could be expelled from the country for staying here without working.”

“So it sounds as if you tend to believe she really ran away from the program. That she's not dead or anything.”

“I don't know. I have such a difficult choice to make, not knowing if she's just on holiday or really missing.”

“Let's try to find her on both fronts,” I said. “Give me her parents' number, and I'll call and see if I can get any leads on where she might go within the U.S., if she wanted to take time off. And
you can take one of those photos of Manami we shot at Christmas, reproduce it on flyers, and post them around town with our phone number. You know, the same way that parents do for runaway children,” I said.

“How depressing to put our houseguest in that context. And by the way, Rei-chan, I'm grateful that
you
never ran away.”

I laughed. “When I was a teenager I saw enough miserable-looking runaways living on the streets in Haight-Ashbury to know better.” I paused. “Dad, I don't think I really made it clear when I called before…that I'm sorry for my blowup when I was leaving California. I didn't treat you with respect.”

“I don't expect you to be a Confucian daughter,” my father said, sighing. “I wouldn't want you to be like Manami, withholding so much that she feels she needs to run.”

After we said good-bye, I told Hugh everything my father had said and let him know that I was beginning to wonder if Manami's disappearance was another piece in the puzzle. What did Manami, Rosa, and Ramon have in common? All had been acquainted with me. All had vanished, been attacked, or died shortly after I'd met them.

“It's really something,” Hugh said. “But be careful how many people you tell this to. You don't want to wind up a suspect in an international criminal case.”

“If I come forward right away, I'm not going to look bad,” I said. “Just helpful.”

Hugh was quiet for a while. Then he said, “I agree the message should be…passed on to the authorities. But it's got to be through a means other than either of us going to the police. And it's got to be a method that keeps our names, as well as that of the law firm, confidential.”

“I don't know how that could be done,” I said.

“Neither do I. At this point, there's nothing we can do but sleep on it.”

The next morning, I still had no answer to the problem. Hugh invited me to go out and take a run with him, but I was too frustrated. I placed the call I'd promised my father that I'd make to Manami's parents in Kobe. A man answered immediately, as if he'd been waiting by the telephone.

“This is Rei Shimura, a friend of Manami's. Is this Mr. Okada?”

“Yes, it is.” His voice sounded polite, and calm. “My daughter is not living in Japan now, she's in the United States studying.”

“Yes, I understand that. Have you had word on her safety?”

“What do you mean?” came the response.

I paused, taking in the strangeness of the response. Even though I'd introduced myself up front, Mr. Okada might not have understood that I was one of the San Francisco Shimuras who already knew that Manami was missing. I also thought his initial response—”
she's in the United States studying
”—was awfully mild for someone with a missing child.

“Hello? Excuse me, are you there?” Mr. Okada's voice continued.

“Yes, I'm sorry. There was a distraction here. I'm calling from Tokyo,” I said.

“Oh! You are one of her university friends, then?”

“You could say that.”

I didn't lie often, and as I spoke I was glad he couldn't see the
expression on my face. I was breaking a rule—not just a Buddhist rule my father had told me about, but one of my personal ones about being forthright and honest.

“Ah, I really need to get in touch with her about something—quite an important matter. A potential job,” I improvised. “Can you tell me where she can be reached?”

Now he paused a moment too long. “I'll contact her and ask her to call you back.”

“Why can't I just call her wherever she's staying? With—a host family, I presume?”

“She is no longer there. That family treated her so badly she decided to leave.”

“Really. What did they do?” I swallowed hard. I hadn't expected this.

“Ah, she said their personal habits were immoral. They were Japanese-American, but much more American than Japanese. My daughter felt unsafe and is looking for a new place now. I can take your number and have her return your call.”

“Please do that,” I said coolly. This time, I gave my last name as Shimada, to secure my disguise, but gave my real Tokyo phone number. I wanted Manami to call me. I had to hear from her mouth what had been so unkind about my family, and why she'd run away, leaving everyone to worry about her. And at the end of it all, if I still felt the way I did now, I would give Manami Okada a piece of my mind.

It was too late to wake up my parents with this news about Manami, so I tried to remember the other things I had to take care of in Tokyo, things in the here and now. I called my cousin Tom's house, and he picked up. I explained to him about Hugh's missing phone and asked if he could look for it.

“He did forget it,” Tom said. “But unfortunately, I think Chika-chan borrowed it. Just for the night, she said, because she was staying over with a friend and wanted to be able to reach us if they went out and had any trouble. She said she'd reimburse Hugh the cost of any calls she made.”

“I'm sure that won't be necessary—unless she called Timbuktu.
But please, when your sister calls in, tell her that cell phone is Hugh's business lifeline, especially while he's here. I can only imagine all the people who've tried to reach him. I guess the best thing we could do is call the number and try to get Chika to drop it by to us—is she hanging out in Tokyo?”

“My parents think so.” Tom lowered his voice. “But I doubt it. I think she's taken the bullet train back to Kyoto to see some boy and she might not even be home tonight. That's what kids do these days, they use cell phones so the parents can be in touch and they can say they're somewhere that they're not.”

“Great. No chance of getting the phone for a while then.”

“I'm sorry, Rei. But I do have good news about something—I kept looking yesterday, and I did eventually find Great-Grandfather's history textbook. I've already translated four chapters for you.”

“Oh, Tom, that's wonderful,” I said, though the last thing on my mind was researching my grandfather's life.

“I go back to work in two days. If you tell me your fax number, I can give you what I have.”

I stared at the phone, wishing there were a way to contact Hugh in the middle of his run and get him to return, posthaste. The telephone rang, with its Caller ID feature showing a 415 area code—San Francisco. I picked it up quickly. Would this be my father calling me on his cell?

“Happy New Year, babe.”

My heart skipped a beat at the sound of the man's casual English—and his American accent. It wasn't my friend Richard, that was for sure.

“Who's calling?” I asked stiffly.

“This is Eric Gan. I thought you'd remember my voice.”

“Of course. If you want to speak to Hugh, he's actually out jogging right now. I could take a message, though.”

“I'm not calling to speak to Hugh,” Eric said. “I wanted you.”

Oh, no.
I thought he had gotten over his adolescent crush. This was going to be awkward.

“Really,” I said. “What for?”

“I'm coming to Japan on business, you know. The same reason Hugh's there. I want you to promise me we'll have a chance to get to know each other again.”

“I don't think that'll work, Eric. And I'm sorry, but I've actually got to get off the line right now. I was heading out somewhere.”

“Really? Where?”

“I'm going to the hospital,” I said.

“Oh, no! Are you sick?”

“It's—an injury, actually,” I fibbed. “My knees have been killing me for a while, and I've just learned about a new treatment. But I've got to run—I mean, I must walk out the door. The taxi is waiting.”

“Wait a minute, which hospital? I'll call you when you get there.”

“You can't possibly call a Japanese hospital—”

“Why not? I speak the language, Rei. And if I can dial you in Tokyo, I can certainly dial whatever hospital you're going to. Just give me the clinic number. I'm sure you'll be waiting around for at least half an hour or so when you get there.”

“Actually, I won't. The Japanese medical system is remarkably punctual and efficient. I'll catch up with you later, Eric.”

 

I left a message for Hugh about where I'd gone and about what I was trying to get Tom to do for me, telling Hugh to share with him whatever information he felt he could. Then I dressed quickly, walked the few blocks to the subway station, and boarded a train to Kanda. I walked into the hospital's intensive care unit and asked to speak to Dr. Nigawa.

“Sorry, but Nigawa-sensei is making rounds,” said a smiling young woman wearing a white uniform, an old-fashioned perky cap, and a badge identifying her as chief nurse Tanaka.

“Oh. In that case, can I sit with Mr. Espinosa while I wait for the doctor to get to him?” It was worth a try, I figured.

“Yes, actually, the policy has changed to allow special friends,” Nurse Tanaka said. “We had two acupuncturists visit already today. Such sweet men—they were blind, too, like Mr. Espinosa.”

“It must have been a poignant visit,” I said.

“Yes, yes. But they were cheered when I told them about his nephew having called, the one from the Philippines who will be flying in shortly to visit.”

“Oh, I didn't know he had a nephew! How lucky that someone got in touch with him.” I was filled with a sense of relief. “I'd like to speak with Mr. Espinosa's nephew as well.”

“I'll take your name and number and pass it on. Now the room you want is 53. You can stay five minutes—the doctor has asked us to keep visits short.”

I went down the hall, thinking that limiting the visit to five minutes was awfully unfair to the two blind men, who'd probably gone through considerable obstacles to reach the hospital.

The door to room 53 was closed. I knocked on it tentatively, and heard nothing.

Well, of course. Mr. Espinosa couldn't call out if he was in a coma. I opened the door and walked in.

The room was dominated by machinery. From them, tubes sprouted to a tiny yellow doll of a man lying on a cot. Ramon looked dead, but I could tell from the machine tracking his heartbeat in a clear turquoise line that he was still alive.

I didn't last three minutes before tears were pouring down my cheeks. Every time I tried to stop and pull myself together, the sight of him lying there, unchanged, made me cry again.

Now I understood why the visiting time was limited. I turned away, deeply distressed, and took the elevator down.

 

It was just a short walk to Ramon's apartment building. As I'd expected, his neighbors, the Moriuchis, were at home. When I knocked, a ten-year-old boy carrying a remote control opened the door.

“Yuki, be careful! Do not open the door to strangers without asking. It could be the Kanda Ward Attacker!” Mrs. Moriuchi called from behind him. A second later, she appeared with a worried expression on her face. It softened when she saw me.

“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I have been trying to make sure my careless son learns about safety.”

“Oh, yes. I understand your wanting to be cautious about opening the door. What happened New Year's Day was so frightening,” I said.

“Yes, it was a terrible thing. I'm so worried about our neighbor. Yuki-kun”—she waved her hand at her son, who had slunk off to sit in front of the television, and was channel-surfing with his remote control—” he is the saddest of all.”

Mrs. Moriuchi told me that during the five years they'd lived next door to Mr. Espinosa she had often helped him with his accounting, and that once Yuki learned to read he had read letters and books aloud to the older man.

“I had to help with the difficult
kanji
, of course, but soon Yuki-kun began to learn more and more,” Mrs. Moriuchi said.

I glanced over at the boy, who hardly looked like a model of intellectual zeal. He just looked like a normal boy who'd rather watch TV than do anything else. Casually, I asked, “Did Yuki ever open any letters written in Tagalog—the language of the Philippines?”

“I'm not sure.” She raised her voice in her son's direction. “Yuki-kun, tell Shimura-san about the letters you saw. Were any from the Philippines?”

Yuki-kun didn't respond, so she walked over and stood in front of the TV set, repeating her question.

Yuki-kun looked around her and whined, “No. And you're blocking my view!”

“It's really important,” I said, going over to the boy. I crouched down and looked at him. “Were there any letters from outside Japan?”

“I—I don't think so,” he said, flustered by my in-the-face approach. “There were some strange letters, though, once you opened them up. Just pages of paper with holes typed in them.”

“Braille,” I said.

“Yes, every now and then he would read one to me. Those were from the other acupuncturists.”

“What was the context? Did the letters talk about, say, hard times during the war?”

He shook his head.

“Okay, anything about a company called Morita?”

“No letters that I can think of. But Morita Incorporated is great! See, this is their latest model TV. It just hit the shops in Akihabara before Christmas—but we've had it since August,” Yuki said proudly.

“Yes, yes. It's very nice.” I shot a quick glance at the large liquid-crystal-display, flat-screen television monitor, which was showing a Japanese game show. I watched TV only for the news, and even that I didn't trust.

“It was a gift from Espinosa-san. He said he couldn't watch it and it just took up space,” Mrs. Moriuchi said. “What a generous man. I brought him some meals, which he said he enjoyed, but it couldn't possibly match the kindness he showed us.”

What was a blind man doing with a flat-screen television in the first place? I pondered the various possibilities before asking, “Where did he buy such a special television for you?”

“I don't really know. It came in a box from Morita Incorporated, but I can't tell you more than that. I assumed, because there was no other gift wrap, that it was a gift given to him, not something he bought.”

A free television, after all these years of life in Japan. Mr. Espinosa's ties to Morita Electric had remained very tight indeed.