Peter Lovesey - Diamond Solitaire

Finally he had an opportunity to tell an immigration officer (who spoke faultless English) that he was a detective engaged in an investigation.

The young man eyed him dubiously. "Scotland Yard Special Branch?"

"No." He had the strong impression that anything he said was liable to be checked, so he kept to the truth. "I've been working with the New York Police. Twenty-sixth Precinct."

"You are with the NYPD?"

"In cooperation with them. I am a senior officer. My passport, if you examine it-"

"I already have. Is Detective Superintendent your present rank, Mr. Diamond?"

He noted a distinct emphasis on the "Mr." "Former, actually. I have retired from the regular police."

"Retired? So you are a private agent?"

"Er, yes, in a sense."

"And are the Japanese police aware of your present mission?"

"No-em, not yet. There wasn't time. They know about the case, but they didn't know I was flying here. Look, this is an emergency. I'm pursuing a suspect who has abducted a child. When I heard he had flown to Tokyo I took the next available flight."

"The suspect is…?"

"An American by the name of Michael Leapman."

"And the child?"

"The child is Japanese."

"Japanese? You say the Japanese police have not been informed yet?"

This was sounding more reprehensible by the minute. He could see himself spending the rest of the day repeating his story to policemen-and not necessarily policemen with as good a command of English as this beacon of the immigration service. "It's an extremely urgent matter. Obviously, I'll notify the police, but even as we're speaking, the trail is going cold, if you understand."

"I understand, Mr. Diamond. But I am not certain if you understand the difficulties you would face tracking a suspect in Tokyo. You don't speak Japanese?"

"No."

"You don't know anybody in Tokyo?"

"Oh, I know someone."

"Who is that?"

"A sumo wrestler by the name of Yamagata."

"Yamagata?" The name had a remarkable effect on the immigration officer. He gripped the edge of the table, blinked several times and swayed back. "You know the Ozeki Yamagata?"

"Yes."

"You're quite sure of this?"

"I wouldn't have mentioned him if I wasn't."

"You have actually met him?" It was if they were speaking of the God-Emperor.

This, Diamond thought, is an opportunity. Without trying too obviously to impress, he underlined his links with Yamagata. "We met when he was in London. He's paying my fare. He hired me, in fact. He's taking a personal interest in the case."

"You should have mentioned this."

"I just have."

"Yamagata-Zeki?" He repeated the name as if having difficulty in believing what Diamond was saying.

"He lives in Tokyo. I'm sure he'll vouch for me. Would you like to check with him?"

"I would." The man's face lit up. "I would indeed. Thank you." This, it emerged, was an inspired suggestion, the bestowal of an honor. The immigration officer reached for a phone book. His face was flushed. The pages shook as he turned them.

He stood up to make the call, rigidly, like a soldier. Without understanding a word, Diamond watched fascinated as the stern face of the immigration officer become coy, then ingratiating and finally elated.

After the conversation ended, the young man continued to hold the phone, gazing at it as if it were a thing of beauty.

"You got through all right?"

"Yes." The voice was dreamy. "I have just been speaking to Yamagata-Zeki." He put down the phone and flopped into his chair.

"Is that all right, then?"

"I can't thank you enough."

"May I have my passport?"

It was handed across. "Now I must call a taxi for you. Yamagata-Zeki looks forward to greeting you in the heya where he lives."

"There isn't time," Diamond said flatly.

"You can't refuse."

This was infuriating. How could he make a social call when he was chasing Leapman? But while thinking actively how to get out of the arrangement, he began to see that a detour to Yamagata's heya might actually be necessary. As the immigration officer had pointed out, a complete stranger to Tokyo faced problems. He couldn't begin to go in pursuit without some practical help from the locals, and that would be difficult if most of them spoke no English.

Not long after, still fretting over lost time, he was in a taxi being driven to the heya, which the immigration officer had informed him was one of thirty or more "stables" for sumo wrestlers in Tokyo, most, like this one, in the district of Ryoguku, east of the Sumida River. His new friend for life ("forever in your debt, Superintendent") had assured him that no fare would be required. Diamond wasn't sure whether it would be settled by the Immigration Department or Mr. Yamagata. He couldn't believe that the taxi driver would make the trip for no other reward than the honor. Yet undoubtedly the support of a famous sumo patron was going to be useful.

He wasn't really taking in his first sights of the real Japan. Instead he was trying once again to understand Leapman's motive in coming here. The necessity of escaping from New York was clear, but to escape to an alien country whose language the man didn't, presumably, speak was extraordinary unless he had something else planned. Something Leapman believed was vital to his survival.

On the plane, Diamond had been handed a New York Times. The conference at the Sheraton was reported in the business section under the heading Manflex Director Mystery. Leapman's untimely disappearance was given a couple of paragraphs rich with innuendo, yet it appeared that the market had still been impressed by the claims Flexner and Churchward had made for PDM3. Manflex stock had soared by more than five dollars, offering large profits to insiders whose stake had been purchased cheaply. In all probability, Leapman was still set to make a fortune if he could keep clear of the law. He could take his profits simply by calling his stockbroker-from Tokyo, or anywhere else.

But why Japan?

Was it possible that the man had some humanity after all and had come here to return Naomi to her mother? Clearly, he didn't want to remain in charge of a small child. He knew she was being sought. To hold her for long was dangerous as well as impractical. He was a swindler, hand in glove with professional criminals, but maybe he drew the line at murdering a child because she was in the way. Could it be as simple as that?

Not likely.

The smokestacks of industrial Tokyo gradually gave way to city streets crowded with purposeful people in sharp dark suits. The taxi driver said something in Japanese with a man-to-man chuckle recognizable in any tongue and pointed to a lighted sign in English saying Soapland.

"Massage parlor?" hazarded Diamond.

"You want?"

"No, no. Sumo."

He was doing his best to get his bearings from the odd assortment of English words on signboards. They passed through an area thick with cinemas, theaters, and restaurants, and eventually came to the Kuramae subway station. Almost beside it was a sign for the Kuramae-Kokugikan Sumo Hall, of which all that was visible was a long stretch of white wall and a vast, pyramid-shaped roof.

"Is this it?"

It was not. They crossed a bridge over the Sumida River into a district signposted as Ryoguku. The heya, a building of much older design than the Sumo Hall, proved to be only a three-minute drive away.

The driver kindly left his cab and showed Diamond the door to use. He offered a five-dollar tip-not possessing any yen -but it was refused. This was certainly another civilization.

A bunch of teenage girls, evidently groupies-or whatever they called them in the sumo jargon-stood near the entrance and regarded him speculatively, but with reserve. He was big enough to join the ranks, but other factors ruled him out. The place he entered had a table just inside the door manned by a young fellow in a striped kimono with the oiled black topknot.