The Samurai's Daughter (22 page)

“Were you there to see it?” I asked.

“Ah, no. I arrived after it was over.”

So there was no reason to believe the nurses had overreacted, I thought. But I didn't say that to Dr. Nigawa.

“Excuse me for a moment. I must take his vital signs,” the doctor said.

“Sure.” I stood up and walked to the side of the room by the windows, to give the patient and doctor privacy during the examination. “I wanted to ask you about his blindness. Since his medical history is here, I wondered if you could tell me the background information you have about it.”

“Well, I can tell you he did not lose his sight while living in Japan,” Dr. Nigawa said, putting his stethoscope against the patient's chest. After a minute, he wrote something on a chart and continued. “He came here as a blind immigrant from the Philippines after the war. He was training as an acupuncturist, apparently. So he always had a roof over his head, and food—despite having no family members to support him.”

“Does the record include the reason he went blind?”

Dr. Nigawa thumped Ramon's knee with a little hammer. It didn't move. Then he said to me, “As I recall it, the medical record said injury had caused the blindness.”

“Do you think it could have been violence?”

“Well, obviously it was a different doctor in the forties who recorded his initial history, so I don't really know. However, Espinosa-san had never said anything like that to the doctors who treated him earlier in his life.”

“Can you guess anything by the condition of his corneas?”

“No. His eyelids, didn't you notice, are sewn permanently closed.”

I bent over to look closely at Ramon's eyelids. There was a line of reddish-yellow scar tissue where his eyelashes would have met the thin skin over the top of his cheekbones. That must have been the site of the stitches. “Who do you think would be capable of doing such a horrendous thing?”

“A doctor, I'm sure. Particularly in the old days, when glasses were scarcer and the sight of a person walking around with opaque corneas might have made others uncomfortable.”

So that's how he saw it—an act of social responsibility. I saw it otherwise. For the doctor in charge of slave workers at Morita Incorporated, sewing up the burned eyes of a war slave might simply have been the best way to cover things up. Literally.

Dr. Nigawa was talking. I dragged myself out of my horrible visions of the past to hear what he was saying. “Shimura-san, please understand that the blindness might be the smallest of his problems. Even if he comes out of this coma, he is unlikely to walk or move much. His future is quite bleak. There are very few hospices in Tokyo, and he has no relatives in Japan. I don't know that he is strong enough for a transfer back to the Philippines—”

“I agree!” I'd heard a story that sometime in the past, Japan had shipped off hundreds of its own handicapped people to live in the Philippines, just so they were not Japan's problem anymore. I didn't know if it was true or not—but the thought of Ramon going there made me queasy. “Ah, I can open his apartment back up for him, and get nurses to give him round-the-clock care. I'm sure his neighbor, Mrs. Moriuchi, could help with that, too.”

“Miss Shimura, the situation you are suggesting will be astronomically expensive. I don't think you understand what you're offering.”

“‘It wouldn't be me paying. He is due some money that may be coming within the next year. I'll look into it.” Class action money. If one of the plaintiffs could push the case through, Ramon would come into money without having to speak a word. “Once I find the money, I'll make sure Espinosa-san is able to live where he's comfortable. Whether it's his own apartment with live-in nursing care or a hospice, we'll find something!”

Dr. Nigawa coughed and asked, “Do you have any legal status with the patient?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. And I bet I know what you're probably thinking—that I could just be after control of the money. It's not like that. In fact, when he becomes lucid again, maybe he could be asked about this question of power of attorney. He might
be comfortable giving it to his neighbor, Mrs. Moriuchi. Do you think you could ask the nurses to follow up on this?”

The doctor was silent, then nodded. “It is true that I would like to have someone with whom to discuss his treatment. But perhaps a relative would be more committed than a neighbor.”

“The blood relative lives in another country, and probably doesn't speak Japanese—”

“Oh, but he does. I spoke to him myself. Still, what you say about the distance between our hospital and the Philippines is important.” Dr. Nigawa sighed. “Very well. I shall alert all our nursing staff to ask our patient about this matter of power of attorney, should he regain consciousness. And perhaps you in turn can ask Moriuchi-san if she is willing to provide such service.”

“Fine. I'll ask her today.” I was cheered by the doctor's openness and spirit of cooperation. “There's just one thing. I don't like Mr. Espinosa being unguarded like this. What if the person who tried to harm him in the apartment comes back to finish the job?”

“But nobody has asked to see him except for two other acupuncturists, the Moriuchi family, and yourself. Although, as I already mentioned, his nephew, telephoned from the Philippines.”

I kept my gaze on Ramon, whose chest gently rose and fell in slumber. How peaceful he looked. “I'm curious about this nephew. Has he been in touch with the police?”

“I don't know. All we talked about was his uncle's condition—whether he'd be able to speak again.”

“Since the nephew lives in the Philippines, how did he find out his uncle was in the hospital?”

“He didn't tell us. Perhaps a mutual friend advised him of the situation.”

But the Moriuchis had told me that Ramon had never received letters from the Philippines. Who was this nephew who'd suddenly emerged from the woodwork? The fact that he claimed to be Filipino but spoke Japanese made me think again of a perpetrator within the ranks at Morita Incorporated—someone inside Japan with easy access to information about Espinosa-san's whereabouts and condition. Here again, Eric Gan fit the bill.

“Are the media still calling about Espinosa-san?” I asked.

“Yes, we've had a few calls fielded to our public affairs office.”

“Are you releasing the news he was conscious for a few minutes?”

“Well, to tell the truth, the interest has died down. But we would certainly provide that information if asked.”

“I don't like that at all,” I said. “If it's publicly known that Espinosa-san has the capability to communicate, the attacker might hear about it, and worry that he could give away his identity.”

“But I told you, Shimura-san, the nurses did not even ask him about the attacker. It's not their business.” Dr. Nigawa's voice rose slightly. I realized that I might be wearing out my welcome, but I persisted.

“That fact might not have been mentioned on the news. Well, if Espinosa-san wakes up again, I really hope somebody will try to find out who hurt him.” I pondered the ways of doing it. “What about audiotapes? Since he was able to hear, why couldn't we bring in some tape recordings of different suspects' voices?”

“It sounds as if it's a matter for the police, Shimura-san. But it's certainly a good idea. I think you've thought this out very carefully.”

“Not really,” I said. In fact, I felt my brain had been asleep for the last week. I was just beginning to think.

The Imperial Hotel is considered by most people to be Tokyo's finest. To be honest, I can think of half a dozen other hotels that are prettier and more Japanese-looking, but the Imperial has the advantage of actually being close enough to the Palace to offer views of its grounds. It had once looked like an old Edo Period villa—that was in its first incarnation, when Frank Lloyd Wright had come to Japan to design it. Unfortunately, that old structure had been scrapped to make a boring high-rise. Still, when you walked in you saw, right away, a sexy cocktail lounge with low-slung red chairs and wonderful art deco pendant lamps that were Wright relics from the original building. I would have loved to stop in for a sherry and people-watch, but I had my mission very much in mind.

I'd reached Hugh an hour earlier at the rented conference room that he, Charles, and Eric were sharing. He'd been in a hurry—Charles and Eric were already in the lobby trying to locate a cab, and he had picked up my call as he was about to go out the door. After ensuring that he was alone, I asked him for the name of a Japanese attorney who could write a power of attorney agreement and then casually slipped in a question about Eric's and Charles's hotel room numbers. He knew them, as he'd called on both rooms earlier.

“Don't say a word to them about my call,” I said.

“Of course not.” Hugh sounded irritated. “But don't tell me you're planning to make calls on them when we come back this afternoon. You'll just get me in trouble.”

“Okay, I won't do that.” I made a kissing sound and hung up the phone before he could ask anything more.

 

I thought my plan was clever. Chika didn't agree.

“You mean—I've got to pretend I'm married?”

“The most beautiful young bride in the world.” I'd reached my cousin by calling Hugh's cell phone. She had just returned to Yokohama, but still had the phone turned on.

“But I don't have the clothes!” she protested.

“Go into your mother's closet and pick out anything. Then sneak out the back of the house so that she doesn't see you leave.”

“Rei, I can't pull it off. I'm no good at lying—”

“You lied about where you went last night, right? All the way to Kyoto on the bullet train, and your parents think you were in Tokyo. You'll be great.”

I don't know if it was my implied threat, or her curiosity, but Chika arrived at our meeting spot outside Shibuya Station an hour later. We met at the statue of Hachiko, a famous dog who for many years came to the station to meet her master in the evening, even after he died. I'd had some exciting meetings under Hachiko's bronze nose in the past—but this meeting only made me nervous. Could I pull off what I wanted to do, and with such a reluctant accomplice?

Chika had done what I'd ordered her to do. She arrived dressed in Aunt Norie's clothes. She wore a pair of perfectly tailored mauve slacks with a matching jacket, a silk blouse, and low-heeled pumps.

“I'm so embarrassed,” she groaned as I came up to greet her.

“Where's your scarf?” I asked; everyone knew that a knotted silk scarf was the emblem of a married woman. Fortunately, I was prepared. From the pocket of my own conservative wool blazer—Talbots, vintage 1990, unearthed from the bottom of my closet—I
pulled out a sheer beige voile scarf. I fussed around Chika's neck with it and she sprang back, causing the scarf to tighten. She made a strangled sound, and suddenly everyone was looking at me.

I loosened the scarf and loudly asked my cousin to tell me again what kind of bow she wanted.

“As discreet as possible,” she wheezed. “Do you know how dowdy these scarves are? We look like we're over forty!”

“Not quite,” I said, smiling back at my cousin. I picked up her right hand. “Oh, good, you have rings. You can lend me that gold one, and put these two on your left index finger, but put the others in your purse.”

As we rode the Hibiya Line toward the Imperial hotel, I explained the situation. Both of us were wives—Chika was married to Eric Gan, and I to Charles Sharp. We would tell the front desk clerk that we had forgotten our room keys and our husbands weren't in.

“But won't they remember that the two men came in without wives?” Chika wondered aloud to me.

“Well, it's a big enough hotel that there will be plenty of front desk staff. Charles Sharp would be the more memorable guest, I think, and Hugh was with him when he checked in. They were tended to by a gentleman called Noguchi-san. We'll just make sure not to ask him for help.”

The scam went smoothly. We got the keys from a young woman who smiled knowingly at the big Mitsutan shopping bags I'd thought to bring along.

Once we were in the elevator, I told Chika that she could feel free to go shopping in the hotel's arcade or to have a coffee at my expense in the lounge.

“Are you joking? I went to all this trouble to help you, and I can't go into my husband's room?” she demanded.

I hadn't told Chika why I needed entry to these places. She didn't even know who Charles and Eric were. Still, the thought of her watching me snoop through Charles's and Eric's possessions made me uneasy.

“I have only a short amount of time to get things done,” I said. “I don't even have enough time to explain it to you—” I was whis
pering, because we were headed down the hallway to the rooms. We had only an hour, maybe, before there was a risk of the men's return from the meeting at Morita Incorporated.

“Let me come along,” Chika nagged. I didn't answer, because as we approached the end of the hall, a problem became clear. The hotel maids were cleaning rooms all along the hall. They'd know we didn't belong in Charles's and Eric's rooms.

“Oh, I forgot something,” I said loudly to Chika. I turned around and went back to the elevator, swinging my shopping bag.

“What?” She followed me inside. “What did you forget?”

“We can't do anything now. The cleaners would see us. But at least I have the keys; I can come back later.”

“But if you keep the keys, how will the people staying in the rooms be able to get back in?”

“These are spare keycards, Chika. I'm sure the men already had their own keycards that they took with them.”

“So you're still planning a break-in,” Chika said when we'd left the hotel and I'd thanked her again for her services.

“It's not a break-in, just a look-around—and I'll thank you very much not to tell anyone about our adventure,” I said.

“I won't,” Chika said. “But if it's not a break-in, why are you visiting strange men's rooms? Are you going to cheat on Hugh?”

I choked back a laugh. “Why would you think I'd do a thing like that?”

“Sneaking into hotel rooms…knowing strange men's names…it makes me worry.”

I smiled at Chika. “I promise you I have no romantic interest in these men. If anything, I'm looking into their backgrounds to protect Hugh. I'm not sure if they're—all right.”

“Oh!” Chika said, and a smile spread across her face like sunshine. “That's not so bad then. I really like him, Rei-chan; we all do. In fact, I would like a boyfriend like that for myself if you weren't interested.”

“I believe it,” I said, looking at my beautiful cousin, who was untying the scarf I'd put on her. “Yes, I completely believe it.”

 

After I'd bought Chika lunch and we'd said our good-byes, I attacked the next item on my agenda: Mr. Ishida. The rickety wooden building that he called both shop and home wasn't too far from the northeast Tokyo neighborhood where I'd once lived. I usually went to Ishida Antiques with a light step and an excited feeling, not knowing what I'd find behind the door. It was definitely a place for in-the-know shoppers, which made it interesting that Charles Sharp was his patron.

After we'd said our hellos and settled down to cups of his famous tea—a delicate blend from Kyoto—my mentor asked me what I needed from him.

I sighed. “I wish it were as simple as an auction recommendation. But I'm afraid that what I'm going to ask will be harder for you to give.”

Mr. Ishida smiled. “Actually, I keep auction recommendations quiet. Too much competition from the younger generation of antiques dealers,
neh
?”

I laughed. “Actually, my request is not related to business. I want to know a little bit more about your impressions of Charles Sharp, that man who came into the restaurant last night.”

“
Ah so desu ka
,” was Mr. Ishida's response. He put his cup down and sat a minute. “He's a very good customer. He's bought from me before.”

“Much more than I've bought, I know,” I said.

“Yes, but he is a famous older lawyer and has a heavier purse. He chose some beautiful Imari porcelain yesterday.”

“I thought you also said that he bought a
tansu
?”

Mr. Ishida shook his head. “He asked me to put it on hold. He'll know in the next day or two if he wants to buy it.”

“Oh, he's shopping around, then.”

“I think so. But it's a very rare
kaidan-dansu
; I don't think he'll find another. Come, let me show you.”

I followed him into the back room, where the staircase chest Charles was interested in rose seven feet tall—all the way to the room's ceiling. Its seven steps were all fitted with beautiful small drawers; the metalwork handles were in the simple, rounded
warabite
style. I could tell at a glance that it was old, but how old
was the question. Reproduction staircase
tansu
chests were plentiful, but I'd only seen one or two really old ones in my lifetime in Japan.

I stroked the dark, slightly rough finish and examined the wood grain.

“It looks like a very old lacquer finish. Is the wood cryptomeria?”

“It's cypress, but that is hard to discern because of the aged lacquer. Can you guess the period?” Mr. Ishida, generously, was giving me a second chance to redeem myself.

I bit my lip, considering. “I've never seen a two-part
tansu
this tall. That makes me think it really was functional. Early Meiji Period, maybe?”

“I think it's even older than that—Edo Period. It bears the style hallmarks of a famous cabinetmaker in Yonezawa.”

I sighed. “Where in the world did you find it?”

“My little secret.”

“Okay, can you tell me how much the chest is worth on the current market—just in case I am lucky enough to run across something similar?”

“I told Mr. Sharp that if he wants to pay in dollars, it would cost thirty thousand. Of course, I know that Americans like to bargain, so I set it at that point, expecting to drop ten percent. But don't tell him that,
neh
?”

“Of course I won't. But even twenty-seven thousand is quite high. Does it include shipping or something?”

“It's just my fee for the
tansu
. The cost of sea post will be several thousand dollars more. Mr. Sharp told me he liked the piece, but wanted to check a few more shops.”

The fact that Charles, too, had balked at the price made me have a little more respect for the man. “He's bought
tansu
from you in the past, right?”

“Yes, he has, and he's always examined the pieces carefully. Why, I had to bring down the top section so he could look at the condition of all its sides. And he took every drawer out and examined them for nails and what-have-you.”

“He wanted to make sure all the drawers were original,” I said. “May I look, too?”

“Yes, please. If it will teach you something, I will be pleased.”

I pulled out one of the drawers from the bottom step. Its inside was smooth and cleverly fitted, rather than nailed together. I slid the drawer back into place, and then looked at it. From the outside, it looked as if the drawer was bigger than it actually was. What was causing the illusion?

“Is this a false-bottom chest?” I asked.

“I doubt it. It's not usual for a staircase style,” Mr. Ishida said.

“But look at this.” I removed the drawer again in order to tap the bottom of the step's interior. It made a hollow sound. I tried another drawer higher up and heard the same thing.

“Ah, good work.” Mr. Ishida, instead of being embarrassed at being caught out, seemed pleased. “Thanks to you, we have discovered that the chest is even more unique. I shall tell Mr. Sharp what you've found.”

“Oh, don't tell him anything about me, please.” But what I was thinking was: Charles must already know.

The
tansu
would be the perfect carrier for smaller goods that he wanted to hide. And traveling as sea freight, it wouldn't be subject to the high-tech scrutiny used for goods traveling by plane. Yes, Charles Sharp had eyeballed a
tansu
that could serve him handsomely. However, the fact remained that he hadn't bought it yet. Until that happened, I'd have to hold my suspicions in check.