Peter Lovesey: Diamond Solitaire

"So where in the whole of Japan do we turn now?" he said aloud, but speaking more to himself than anyone present, so that he was caught by surprise when Miss Yamamoto translated.

This time, no one had an answer.

And this was the nadir, the most depressing moment of the entire quest. To have come this far and be thwarted was hard enough, but to know for sure that every minute of inaction made it more likely that Naomi and her mother would die- that was intolerable.

He asked them to call the police. He was told that they had been notified hours before, apparently by the zealous young man in Immigration.

"Then we'll call and ask if they have any information yet."

A call was made and the police had nothing to impart. Not even a sighting of the Americans.

Someone suggested coffee. Diamond wasn't interested.

"What else do they have on the library computer?" he asked Miss Yamamoto.

Only the titles of the books borrowed.

"What are they?" he asked, more to give an illusion of activity than anything else.

Yuko Masuda had one book out. On comas.

He wondered.

"Is there a hospital in this city, or in Tokyo, that specializes in treating alcoholics?"

Three.

"Would you phone each of them and ask whether Dr. Masuda carries out research there?"

The second hospital they called said Dr. Masuda was a regular visitor.

Diamond had been told that the hospital was south of the city, in the foreigners' quarter, Yamate-Machi, known as the Bluff. For about a mile the taxi driver took a route along the north bank of the Nakamura River. He drove fast, with the horn blaring most of the time, on orders from Yamagata, who kept urging him to overtake more vehicles; you didn't need Japanese to understand. And there was no complaining from the driver. He was obviously a sumo worshipper having the trip of a lifetime. If he lived to tell the tale, he'd be the envy of every taxi driver in Yokohama.

In the front passenger seat, Diamond ground his teeth and braced himself for a collision. This kind of traveling, he reflected grimly, shouldn't be inflicted on the middle-aged. It was a bit much when the quickest you normally experienced was a bus up Kensington High Street. But he still hoped to God that he would get to Yuko Masuda before Leapman and his two gorillas.

They screeched right, the mudflaps rasping on the road, forced lower by the weight on the rear seat. They crossed a bridge, zigzagged along a busy stretch beside Ishikawacho Railway Station, and then onto the access road for a stretch of expressway. God help us, Diamond said to himself, he can really put his foot down now. But the taxi was close to its optimum speed anyway. They fast-laned under a tunnel and all the way to the next exit which took them into the Yamate-Machi area. Not a moment too soon, the hospital came up on the left, dominated by four high-rise blocks, a huge, modern site with its own system of roadways.

Yamagata had his door open well before they braked outside the main reception hall. Gesturing to Diamond to remain in the cab, he moved inside at impressive speed for a big man. It would have been interesting to see the reactions inside. When aswnotori charged in and demanded to know the way to the coma unit, you'd assume that he'd been rough with someone.

Yamagata emerged, running, shouting directions, and clambered in, causing the whole vehicle to rock, and they powered off again. The speed was even more reckless in hospital grounds with limit signs at every turn, but the driver wasn't slowing for ambulances, food trolleys or zimmer-frames; he could steer, couldn't he?

They rounded the outpatient block, swerving to avoid an unconscious patient being wheeled between two buildings, and raced through a narrow space between parked cars. Ahead was the building they wanted, if Yamagata's frenetic instructions meant anything. It was a one-story, flat-roofed wooden structure that looked like an afterthought The taxi screeched to a halt and the passengers leapt out and shoved open the door.

They were in a short corridor with doors along one side. A woman was walking towards them.

At this critical stage of the operation, with timing that can only be described as inopportune, Diamond had a deeply disturbing thought. He hadn't the faintest idea what Yuko Masuda looked like. If this woman were she, he wouldn't know. Nor, come to that, had he ever laid eyes on Michael Leapman.

He was looking for total strangers.

He told Yamagata, "We need help," and the big man seemed to understand because he spoke to the woman. When the name Masuda was mentioned, she didn't react as if it were her own. She came back with a question of her own that Yamagata answered. Then she pointed to a door just behind them.

Diamond opened it and walked into a ward about forty meters long, with five bays separated by glass-walled partitions. In the nearest they could see a patient surrounded by the apparatus necessary to monitor and sustain life in the unconscious state. Most of one wall was covered with photos and cards and there was a mobile of cardboard goldfish suspended above the bed. A nurse wearing a face mask was attending to the drip-feed. She turned, her eyes widening in amazement

Yamagata spoke.

The nurse pointed to the bay at the far end, nearest the window, and Diamond's heartbeat stepped up.

A small Japanese woman in a white coat was in conversation with two Caucasian men. They didn't have the look of hospital staff. One was tall and blond, wearing a dark, expensive-looking suit, white shirt and club tie and the other had reddish-brown hair with a flat-topped cut that might have been made with one sweep of a scythe. This second man was marginally shorter, but very large in the chest and shoulders, and was dressed more casually, in a suede jacket and black denims. Presumably he was one of the heavies seen arriving at the airport. If so, it was a fair bet that the blond man was Michael Leapman. Intent in their discussion, they hadn't yet noticed that anyone had come in.

Diamond approached to within a few yards without catching their attention.

"Mr. Leapman?"

Both men wheeled around.

"Hold it! Who are you?" the blond man asked in an American accent.

"Someone you people thought you'd disposed of," Diamond answered.

"You're that English cop."

Confirmation, if it was required, that this had to be Michael Leapman. "Drop it"

The heavy had just whipped out a knife.

"You're joking."

Diamond wanted no violence. But if necessary, he backed Yamagata-even against a hit man armed with a dagger. He beckoned to the woman with his right hand, inviting her to step away from the two Americans. "Dr. Masuda."

Her face crinkled as if in pain and she pinched her lips together, but she made no move other than to shake her head and draw her arms across her chest.

Leapman said with confidence, "We're walking right out of here with Dr. Masuda and you can do shit-all about it. Let's move, Dino."

Dr. Masuda seemed petrified. She could have stepped away from them. It wasn't as if the knife was at her throat. She turned her head and glanced behind her.

There was a slight movement to Diamond's left and he saw that Yamagata had hunched into the position the sumotori adopt immediately before the charge. Then Dr. Masuda cried something in Japanese.

Leapman said, "Hey, tell blubbergut to take it easy, will you? This little lady has made up her mind."

Whatever it was that Dr. Masuda had just said, it appeared to confirm Leapman's last statement, because Yamagata suddenly straightened and gripped Diamond's arm to restrain him.

A sumo champion backing down? It was difficult to credit.

Leapman gave the grin of a man who had won without so much as a scuffle. "I won't say it's been good to meet you, gentlemen. Have a nice day, just the same." He gestured to Dr. Masuda to walk ahead and she obeyed. "See what I mean?" He started to follow. The minder went, too, walking backwards to cover their exit, the knife held threateningly.