Peter Lovesey - Diamond Solitaire

Diamond bowed self-consciously and said, "Visiting Mr. Yamagata."

"You are?"

"Peter Diamond."

"You wait, please." He picked up a phone.

There was nowhere to sit, so he interested himself in a poster for a forthcoming basho, trying to decide whether the exorbitant rear of the figure in the foreground belonged to his patron.

The place was extremely clean, with strips of wood horizontally around the walls, not unlike the reception area of an upscale health club. He looked down and noticed a rip in his bulging carrier bag; he wasn't adding much to the ambience.

Another hefty young lad in a kimono appeared from a door and approached Diamond. They exchanged the obligatory bow and he said in good English, "Welcome to our stable, Mr. Diamond. I am Nodo. I have the honor to escort you to Yamagata-Zeki."

Nodo's thong-sandals scraped the wooden floor as he led Diamond through a place where wrestling practice was in progress in a rope-edged ring with a clay floor on which sand had been shoveled. Observed by a dozen wrestlers, two masses of living flesh shaped up to each other, encouraged by a silver-haired trainer with a bamboo stick that he wasn't hesitating to use on the exposed rumps. Nobody turned to look at the Occidental dressed in a suit who was being escorted past.

"These are lesser ranks," Nodo explained with lordly confidence that none of the lesser ranks spoke English.

At the far end, on a shelf above a radiator, was a kind of altarpiece with candlesticks. Nodo clapped and bowed his head briefly as they passed it. Before opening the door, he confided, "Shinto shrine. We call it kamidana."

"Ah," responded Diamond, doing his best to sound enlightened.

"Now you will meet the Yamagata-Zeki. He is printing the tegata. You will see."

They entered another large room where Diamond immediately recognized his famous patron. If it were possible, Mr. Yamagata looked mightier than he had in London, barrel-chested, with his broad face resting in folds of flesh indistinguishable as chin or neck. He was seated cross-legged between two acolytes. In front of him was a stack of large blank cards and he was making palm prints by pressing his hand repeatedly onto a red inkpad and then banging it down onto the stack, from which each print was adroitly removed by the man to his left The great wrestler made eye contact briefly and dipped his head in a perfunctory bow which Diamond returned. Some Japanese was spoken.

Nodo explained that Yamagata-Zeki had many fans and sponsors, who liked to receive tegata, or handprints, as personal souvenirs. They sent the cards to the heya with a small cash donation, and the rikishi obliged by printing up to a thousand in batches. With Diamond's indulgence, the printing would continue while they talked.

Nodo added, "He invites you to be seated."

Chairs aren't provided in sumo stables; they wouldn't last long if they were. Diamond wasn't equal to the cross-legged position, but he showed willing by lowering himself to the floor and sitting in front of Yamagata with his knees bent Up to this minute he'd felt like a detached observer, but the feeling wasn't going to survive the pressure of the floorboards against his backside. He was now emphatically part of the scene.

The rhythmic thump of the palm-printing distracted him at first, but with perseverance and the help of Nodo he succeeded in bringing Yamagata up to date on the hunt for Naomi. He was thorough, treating it as the sort of briefing he would have given to the murder squad in the old days.

Another burst of Japanese was uttered without interruption to the printing.

Nodo translated, "He says you should go to Yokohama as soon as possible. This is where the answers to these mysteries will be found."

"I agree," said Diamond, privately thinking that he hadn't needed to come here to be told that. "How do I get there?"

"Better by train than taxi at this time of day."

"The Bullet?" he asked, airing his fragmentary knowledge of Japanese life.

"No. The Yokosuka line is faster. I am to call a taxi to take you to the Central Station. Do you need money?"

He was answering when one of the apprentice wrestlers came in with a portable phone and handed it to Yamagata. Without hesitating, the wrestler grasped it with his inky right hand. Apparently a call was on the line. He listened, grunted some response, and handed a red-smeared instrument back to the unfortunate who had brought it in. Then he spoke to his helpers. It seemed that the printing session was over, because the blank cards were hastily taken aside. With a rocking motion, Yamagata prepared to get up. He pressed his clean hand against the floor, leaned on it and rose. Then he spoke to Nodo.

When translated, the news was ominous. "That was a call from Immigration at Narita Airport. The officer who saw you has been checking to see if anyone has a recollection of the small girl and the American passing through yesterday. It seems they were noticed, and they were not alone. Two other Americans traveled with them, male, in their twenties, six foot plus, names Lanzi and Frizzoni."

"I get the picture," said Diamond gravely. "He's got minders." "They were under surveillance by Customs and their luggage was inspected, but they were clean."

'They can get guns here. They'll have contacts. I thought at one stage he was acting independently, but I was naive. The stakes are too big. This is bad."

"Yamagata-Zeki agrees with you. He is going with you to Yokohama."

This was hard to credit. "He's planning to come with me?"

"He says you can't handle this alone."

Diamond gave a low whistle as he tried to imagine it. "I'm grateful, but doesn't he think he's rather conspicuous? I mean well known," he corrected himself.

"I don't think it would be wise to question his decision," said Nodo.

"Are you coming too?"

"Oh, no."

"Why not? We need a translator."

"It isn't necessary. You are in Japan."

Events moved on with the positiveness of a basho. In a matter of minutes, Yamagata, dressed only in a bright-patterned kimono and flip-flop sandals, was squeezing into the back of a taxi. There was no question of Diamond's sharing the seat, so he traveled with the driver. At intervals along the route to the station, whenever the taxi was forced to slow for lights, people reacted with double takes to the sight of the passenger in the back. Whatever the benefits of having a famous sumo in support, secrecy could be forgotten.

The problem was worse at the station. A crowd gathered almost immediately and stayed with them all the way from the ticket booths to the train. Yamagata accepted the attention as his lot in life. He wore a frown that seemed calculated to keep people from actually asking for autographs or striking up a conversation. They chatted excitedly among themselves, but they didn't trouble him, apart from staring and generally obstructing the view. When he moved, no one was unwise enough to stand in the way for long.

The up side of travel with a sumo hero was that seats were instantly offered on a crowded train, a double for each of them. Once settled, Yamagata closed his eyes as if to shut out the attention. Someone spoke something in Japanese to Diamond, so he followed Yamagata's example. There was no risk of falling asleep because the announcements over the public address system came every few moments with a staccato ferocity that would have woken the dead.

In thirty minutes they reached Yokohama station and changed trains. Yamagata led the way, still oblivious of all the attention he was getting. It was fast becoming apparent to Diamond that he would never have fathomed the intricacies of the railway system without help.

Two stations along, they got out again and went for a taxi. Other people were waiting for cabs, but the front of the queue melted away when Yamagata arrived with his entourage of the starstruck and the starers.