Zen Attitude (22 page)

A gardener snipping the hedge came to ask permission for something. Miss Tanaka put down the laundry she was holding and followed him around to the rock garden.

My chance! I squeezed through the hedge and sprinted to the half-open window. There was no time to remove my shoes; I brushed them off as best I could and hustled in to find my telephone still firmly attached to the wall. I snatched it up along with its electrical cord and was safely behind the hedge when Miss Tanaka returned. I crawled under it and out to the main temple grounds.

“What are you doing?” a male voice inquired. Straight ahead of me were a pair of rough straw sandals. I looked up and saw a monk dressed in a work robe glaring down at me. “This area is off-limits to visitors.”

I thought frantically. “Sorry. A wind came, and I, um, lost a contact lens!” What else could a girl on her hands and knees be worrying about?

The monk got to his knees and began looking. Feeling desperate, I pretended to find the lens. I got clumsily to my feet, professing thanks for his help.

“Isn’t it torn by all the rough stones?” A new voice, more modulated and polite than the first man’s. Wajin had joined us. This time he was wearing a fresh blue robe, not the soil-stained gray one. He put his hands together in a prayerful greeting. I bobbed my head, because my hands were full with the telephone and my imaginary contact lens.

“I think the lens is fine. If you’ll excuse me . . .”

“You’ll need to clean your lens with saline back at the teahouse.” Wajin followed me.

“I know what to do, thanks.” The phone rang, and I answered it, cradling it against my left shoulder.

“Rei-san?” The voice was instantly familiar to me from his various answering machine messages. Jun Kuroi.

“I’m so glad you called,” I said, waving good-bye to Wajin, who still wouldn’t leave.

“I need to talk,” Jun whispered. “But do not call me again. My father heard some of your messages and wants me to keep away from you.”

“Where do you want to see me? And why?” I added belatedly.

“Tomorrow afternoon I can come to Tokyo. I could meet you in Yoyogi Park at two.”

“But Jun-san, I have a new job. I can’t take off in the afternoon. The best I could do is meet you in midmorning or the evening.”

“Eleven o’clock, then. It will take me a while to get in from Hakone, but I have something to tell you.”

“Has anything happened to you since you got out? Are you in danger?”

“I’ll explain tomorrow.”

“Are you working again?” I couldn’t say much more with Wajin around.

“As a night janitor in my father’s dealership. My face is so well known that no one thinks I can work with customers anymore.”

“I’m sorry. For everything,” I said.

“It was my own stupidity to take Sakai in my car. I must go. I hear my father.” He hung up.

“Boyfriend?” Wajin asked when I clicked off the talk button and resumed walking.

“No, and I’m not in the mood to talk. I came here to be
alone
.”

“With the convenience of your pocket phone,
neh
?”

Exasperated, I stopped and faced him. “You know an awful lot about the luxuries of modern life. For a monk, you’re extremely odd.”

A gong sounded from the temple.

“Evening prayers. I must leave.” Wajin sounded almost irritated, making me wonder how devout he really was.

“Go ahead, do your duty,” I urged, glad to see him leave.

I ate pears and oranges for dinner, washing the meal down with water from a bottle I’d filled at the public lavatory. If I kept up this diet, my stomach would become smaller and I might have fewer cravings. In Buddhism, sensory deprivation was supposed to lead to emotional peace. Maybe so, but my stomach rumbled in disagreement all night long.

Someone was standing over me when I awoke the next morning. The crackling of footsteps on the old
tatami
had alerted me, along with the aroma of something delicious. I opened my eyes to the familiar sight of Akemi Mihori, dressed in her running gear and already covered with a faint sheen of sweat.

“You’re so lazy. Get up!”

“When did you come home? How nice to see you!” I tried desperately to cloak my feelings of unease.

“Why weren’t you on the track? You completely stopped running, didn’t you?” Akemi demanded, yanking the sheet off me. I’d been sleeping in a long T-shirt, which I quickly pulled over my exposed lower parts.

“I was planning on doing it tonight—that’s when I thought you were coming back.”

“I thought we could run and then eat.” She showed me a thermos of green tea and a tiered basket filled with pickled vegetables and
onigiri
, fresh rice balls stuffed with pickled plums that I loved. I must have smelled them when she walked in and woke me up.

“We could just eat?” I said hopefully. She laid out my first big meal in twenty-four hours, and I dug in.

“How was your demonstration?” I asked after I’d devoured two rice balls.

“Demonstration?” She looked blank for a moment. “Oh, that. It was fine. I won three matches and signed some autographs. The usual.”

“Where was your demonstration held?” Her vagueness made me suddenly wary.

“Osaka.”

“I mean at which sports arena?”

“A junior high school. Does it make you happy to know how far I’ve fallen?” She jumped up from where she’d been lounging on the futon’s edge.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything. I—I also have come down a bit. Yesterday I took a part-time job as a salesclerk.”

“Now
that’s
awful!” Akemi grimaced.

“Actually, I like feeling useful. It’s a small shop near the temple with the famous Kannon statue. Maeda Antiques.” I paused. “Your mother’s shopped there, hasn’t she?”

“I don’t know.” Akemi sounded uncomfortable. “I came in to ask if you wanted to use my shower. I accidentally left the
dojo
locked when I went away. Sorry.”

“A shower would be great.” I squinted at my watch. “But it’s already eight. Your housekeeper will be awake.”

“Tanaka-san went into town with my mother for a Tanabata festival inspection. They won’t be back until noon.”

“Akemi, you know I only meant to stay here temporarily. If your mother’s away, this morning might be a good time for me to make a discreet escape.”

“Don’t do that!” Akemi’s voice was shrill.

I couldn’t let on that I was scared. Forcing my face into a normal expression, I told her, “I’m trying to say that I’ve worn out your hospitality. There’s an expression in English that’s something like, after two days, fish and guests start to stink. Besides, I’ve got a regular job, so now I can afford a little room somewhere.”

“There’s no need to rush off,” Akemi said firmly. “The Tanabata festival will keep my mother busy in town over the next four days. Besides, nobody outside myself knows you’re here. And you’re not cooking fish.”

Thinking of my next move, I poured a little tea in the bowl where I’d eaten pickles, and sloshed it around a bit before drying it with a paper towel. Trying to give Akemi the impression I was staying put, I asked, “Is it okay if I keep this bowl for future use?”

“You’ve got Zen table manners!” Akemi smiled, relaxed again. “So what’s your plan for today, now that you don’t have to worry about moving out?”

“Well, this afternoon I work, of course. And this morning I have a business appointment in town.” I was going to meet Jun, but that was my affair.

“I see.” She looked at me hard. “I won’t keep you, then.”

“I am so grateful for all you’ve done, Akemi. I’d be living on the street if it weren’t for you.”

“You can stay as long as you like. I mean it.” Akemi seemed as if she wanted to say more. I was glad she couldn’t find the words. I’d had enough surprise declarations for a while.

I had some extra time before I was scheduled to meet Jun, so I made my way to the Old Tehian coffee shop in the hopes of finding out why Mohsen had called.

“He doesn’t work here anymore.” A tired-looking Japanese man peered out of the oil-spotted kitchen.

“Really! Where is he working now?” Could Hugh really have helped him get a job with an oil company?

“I don’t know. He’s gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?”

“He disappeared.” The cook shrugged. “His other friends came around asking, so I don’t think they know where he is, either.”

I felt as if I’d been slammed to the ground. Had Mohsen remembered something about the murder in Ueno Park? Everyone I brought into my problems was winding up dead.

“Did he tell you he was in danger? Was he afraid of someone?” I asked.

“They’re all afraid of the Tokyo police,
neh
?” the man said shortly. “I think most likely he ran into visa trouble. Chances are he was thrown out of the country.”

There was one way to find out. I left Ueno and got back on the Hibiya Line to Roppongi.

“Is Lieutenant Hata in?” I asked the desk sergeant at the Roppongi police station.

“He’s in a staff meeting. And after that he’s very busy.”

“I’m connected to one of his unsolved cases. It’s urgent that I speak to him.” I handed the woman my business card.

She looked at the card, and then back at me. “The Roppongi Hills burglary!”

“That’s right.”

“Sit there,” she said, pointing to a chair. “Don’t go away.” Then she did, to retrieve Hata, I thought. I was feeling almost cocky about being famous enough to get a police meeting interrupted, but I wound up waiting anyway. Half an hour passed before Lieutenant Hata came out to meet me.

“Sorry you had to wait,” he said. I murmured my own apology for disturbing him, all the while thinking he looked extremely exhausted. There were dark shadows under his eyes and a sweaty pallor to his skin. When he ran his hand through his hair, it stuck up crazily.

“This case is killing me,” he said. “I haven’t seen light for a few days. Want to go for a walk?”

“You mean you haven’t gone home?” I asked as we left the building and began walking east on Roppongi-dori. It wasn’t too scenic underneath the Shuto Expressway, but Lieutenant Hata lifted his face to where the sun should have been.

“I’ve been here past midnight for the last four nights, and I have to be back by 6
A
.
M
. The word’s come down that this case has to be solved fast. People are beginning to worry a killer is targeting the antiques world.” He paused. “At least you’re still alive, but running off to who knows where!”

“There might be another death.” I paused, watching the policeman’s expression tighten.

“Might be? What are you trying to say?”

“Someone I know is missing. He was in the park at the time of the death. I did not mention him to you before. Angus told me that he called the apartment a few days ago looking for me. I went to the restaurant where he worked to talk to him, and the cook there told me he disappeared. No one knows where he is.”

“You didn’t give me the name of a witness? Now I know why this case is so impossible. So, what’s the name?” Hata sighed heavily.

“His name is Mohsen Zavar.”

“That name sounds Middle Eastern.”

“He’s from Iran. But I’m sure he’s legal—he was working in a little restaurant—”

“When I look up his visa status, I can know for certain. Are you interested in filing a missing-person report?” He stopped at a vending machine and looked at the offerings.

I nodded. “I just don’t think it would be like him to disappear. Hugh was trying to get him a position with a multinational oil company. Someone as smart as Mohsen wouldn’t just walk away from the promise of a better life.”

Lieutenant Hata put some yen in the machine and selected a can of Georgia coffee. “Do you want anything? I’m getting recharged.”

“No, thanks. I have more to tell you—there’s a connection between the Ideta and Mihori families. Nana Mihori is undoubtedly Nomu Ideta’s relative, because I saw the same ancestor portraits at both their family altars.”

“Are you sure? Old Japanese people look remarkably similar.”

“If you don’t believe me, go there and look at the pictures. Or check the family register. Or just ask Nana Mihori where she comes from!”

“Miss Shimura, we in the Japanese police try to be very sensitive to human rights. I cannot storm the Mihori household without a warrant, and they are not linked to your burglary case.”

“Nana and Akemi Mihori were at our cocktail party. They could have easily taken Angus’s house key and returned to burglarize the apartment.”

“If Mohsen Zavar was also at your party and now has disappeared, don’t you consider him a likelier suspect than two women from one of Japan’s finest families?”

Lieutenant Hata peacefully sipped his coffee, and I longed to knock the can from his hand. How could he be so dense? He’d said he needed the case solved fast. Here I was handing him the tool, and he wouldn’t take it.

“I appreciate the chance to talk with you. All I ask is that you write one of your memos about what I’ve said, in case I also vanish,” I said acidly.

“Don’t worry,” he said, tossing the empty can in the small recycling hole built into the machine. “I will definitely check for your Iranian friend, but I’m afraid that what I learn will not please you. Lately foreign men with expired visas are disappearing into the countryside, where they can find work and not risk detection. Perhaps that is what your friend did.”

“If he’s in the country somewhere, I’d be very relieved. All I want is to know that he’s alive.”

“Alive and deported to Iran? How would you feel about that circumstance, if I find him?”

I didn’t answer.

In a little over an hour I was scheduled to start working in Kamakura, so I raced straight to the train station before realizing I had forgotten the whole point of coming to Tokyo, my meeting with Jun Kuroi. I couldn’t call him, not with the restrictions he’d set on my telephoning. Damn it. I’d have to wait for him to get in touch with me.

I arrived at Maeda Antiques to find my employer hanging out the carp banner in the hot summer breeze. She wasn’t angry that I was five minutes late, just offered me a sample from the plate of sweets she’d put together for the day’s customers. She’d taken a new, extremely optimistic attitude.