Janwillem De Wetering - The Japanese Corpse

De Gier looked at the tokonoma in the corner of the room. A wild flower, soft orange with a reddish brown heart, was set at a slight angle, balanced, both in line-play and color, against two dead twigs. The scroll hanging behind the vase showed the top of a mountain done with a few dabs of black ink.

"Beautiful. The mountain is Fuji-san right?"

"Right. It's a copy. The original is in a temple run by the state, the temple you bought your little wooden statue from. It was stolen by a guardian who used to sell to us. Kono-san sent one of his men to see him and the poor fellow is sick now-he broke his nose and lost a few teeth-but there will be others who will sell to you."

"Kono-san is too rough," de Gier said. "Can't he think of something more interesting. Like the play I saw in the little theater?"

"The daimyo thought of the play. He also thought of the mask which your boss saw in a temple garden. He happened to be here in Kyoto when you arrived and took great pleasure in arranging the tricks. The so-called student who took you to the theatre works in our bar. He hid when you came in. He thought you might shoot him with your automatic."

She patted his jacket. "Have you ever killed anyone?"

"Almost," de Gier said, and sipped his coffee, "but not with a weapon. I nearly killed a man with my hands, twisted his neck. It had nothing to do with the business."

"A fight?"

"No. He didn't see me coming."

"Why did you attack him?"

"I didn't like him," de Gier said. "He was throwing stones at a cat. The cat had broken its spine and was trying to crawl away and he was standing over it. He had another stone and he was going to throw it at the cat's neck."

"So you nearly broke his neck," she said softly. "I see. Strange you didn't kill Kono. He wanted to hurt your chief."

"My chief took care of him," de Gier said. "And I have to go now. Thank you for the meal. We go sailing tomorrow? Shall I pick you up? I have my own car now, a nice little sports car with an open top, I hired it."

"Yes," she said, "but the top has to be closed when I drive with you."

"You don't want to be seen being driven around by a foreigner?"

"I am yakusa. Yakusa are always very secretive."

He lifted her to her feet and kissed her. There were heavy shadows under her eyes and her shoulders sagged. She wasn't trying to be sexy anymore, her hands were clasped around his neck as she rested her face against his chest.

"Take care," she said. 'The daimyo has given no specific orders about you. He knows you are seeing me and it must be all right, for he hasn't sent me a message. Kono won't do anything either. He is in Kobe building a fence near the bird barn, or, rather, he is sitting around while others build the fence, for his hand still hurts him. But there may be some of us who think that they should save his face."

"I'll see what I can do for you," de Gier said, sliding the front door open. She watched him get into his car, standing in the shadow, so that he couldn't see the puzzled expression on her face as he waved goodbye. As the car turned the corner she picked up the telephone.

"Bah," the Commissaris said, and pulled his mattress out of the cupboard. "I am going to take a nap. I think I have done all I should have done, but it is too complicated for an old man. I can't keep this up much longer; too many things to keep in mind. Let me see now. I phoned Mr. Johnson from the bathhouse up the street. The bathhouse phone won't be tapped. Maybe the phone here isn't tapped either, but I couldn't take the chance. Mr. Johnson doesn't speak Dutch and some Japanese speak English. The CIA is going to do everything we want them to do. They are flying out a Dutchman to Hong Kong. He'll be our agent. Mr. Woo gave me the telephone number of his agent and a time. It was on that slip of paper which also gave the amount we are supposed to pay for the heroin. According to Mr. Johnson, the price is right. So our agent phones Woo's agent and the two can meet on the day next week that Woo is meeting us here. The two yakusa in Amsterdam will stay in jail for the time being. I don't know how Johnson is going to arrange it. Our public prosecutor won't like it at all. Maybe they are working it through our Ministry of Justice. Some justice, but that's got nothing to do with us. And the CIA will supply us with the money to give to Mr. Woo. I can pick it up tomorrow at some bank here; I've got the address. It'll be a nice tidy sum to carry around. The yakusa should be shadowing us. Well, we'll just take that risk. They haven't stopped us yet so maybe we'll get through again. I can stuff the money in my pockets and ask for big bills. I don't want to carry a briefcase or anything. In fact, I don't want to do anything either. I never have. But I am the tool of circumstances, a bit of flotsam in a choppy sea. That's what I am. A sleepy bit of flotsam." He was patting the little cushion lovingly. "A little nap, that'll be nice. And what have you done today, sergeant?"

De Gier had sat down and was rolling a cigarette. The package of Dutch shag tobacco looked out of place, but de Gier's dextrous movements and the way he licked the cigarette paper offset the impression.

"Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir. I am going sailing tomorrow with the yakusa girl. Yuiko-san has a few days off, she is still recuperating from the operation. We'll rent a boat."

"The girl fell for you, eh?"

"No, sir," de Gier said, and rested his head against a post in the wall. "Her loyalty is with her employers. Maybe she likes me. She held my hand when she was in the hospital and I came to visit her. She was drugged then. But she'll have me killed if that's what the daimyo wants. I am sure she wouldn't hesitate at all. I think they'll have another try tomorrow, when I am on the lake.

"We just had a meal together, Yuiko-san and I, and we talked. She told me that the daimyo thought of the tricks with your mask and my death on the stage. She says he likes doing that sort of thing. The roughhouse stuff is planned by Kono, the bully who tried to make you do the knife trick. I have a feeling the daimyo will take his turn tomorrow. They must know that Woo Shan has visited us, and if we can get the heroin trade away from them too, it should be too much to accept."

The commissaris rolled over on his mattress and looked at the ceiling. A scraping rustling sound was penetrating through the slabs and beams.

"Funny," the commissaris said. "That sounds like sweeping, doesn't it? But this isn't the time for cleaning rooms; the maids do it earlier in the day. The daimyo, you said, that's their top banana. Yes, maybe you are right. Lake Biwa would be an ideal playground for him, and you'll be in a sailboat, all on your own with a few miles of water to separate you from the shore and eventual help. But we can have another boat hovering around. Dorin will be delighted, I am sure. We could also arrange for a plane to keep an eye on you. But maybe there is no reason to worry. We are prepared now and half the danger of the daimyo's charades lies in the victim being unaware. Although…"

De Gier was looking at the ceiling too. The sound continued; there was a steady rhythm to it.

"If that is sweeping, there must be a lot to sweep," de Gier said, "and the floors here are always very clean. We walk about barefoot or in our socks. I have seen the maids clean, but all they catch is a bit of ash and minute particles of dirt, and the straws of their own broom. I think their cleaning is more like a ritual."

"Yes. Strange. The daimyo, he is clever. I wonder how well he has penetrated into our minds. If he has been observing us he may know what to do. Perhaps we shouldn't underestimate our own weakness. I should know by now; I was drooling at the mouth when he caught me in the temple garden."