Collector of Secrets (54 page)

Tomoko approached quietly from the side and Max reached out a shaky arm. He wiped the tear-mark trails from her cheeks with his dirt-stained thumb. “Hey, I know you.” He took her hands in his. There was so much for them to talk about, so much to explain. “You’re tired. Let’s take you home so you can sleep.”

She smiled, eyes raw. “I need to call my parents. Make sure they’re all right.”

“Yes, absolutely.”

Her voice grew soft like a child’s.
“Domo arigato.”

The sounds of distant shouting grew louder. Jeff, accompanied by the teenagers, was charging up the pier to meet them. Toshi pointed toward the raucous group. “We should leave quickly before the police come.”

Max chuckled and then flinched in pain, clutching at his side, thinking of the flashing lights on the Mabuni clifftop. “Don’t worry. I’m pretty sure that the cops have their hands full right now with Oto Kodama.”

MAX’S CHIN rested on his forearms, which were perched on his bare knees. Frothy ocean water lapped against the golden beach sand, rolling back and forth within inches of his toes. The warm morning sun felt good on his back after a swim. He could already feel his battered body regaining strength.

The rusty gate squeaked from behind, and he turned to watch Tomoko emerge from the trees to descend the trail. She looked great, dressed in rolled-up jeans and one of Jeff’s T-shirts, her hair still wet from a shower.
What would I have done if she’d been lost forever?

“Morning,” she said, her voice cracking slightly.

Max took the coffee from her outstretched hand. “Thanks.”

She appeared tense, sipping quietly from her cup while settling into the sand a few feet away.

Max glanced up the beach to her right, toward a twenty-foot white vessel resting on the shoreline. He gestured for Tomoko to look. A fisherman, with a towel for a headband, was loading supplies over the boat’s side. His wife, who was already on board, sat with her face hidden beneath a large-brimmed cap.

Tomoko watched, her eyes widening. “That can’t be the same boat we saw in Izu?”

“I thought the same when I came out a half hour ago, but I think they’re a bit younger.” He was glad for the conversational ice-breaker. “Plus the Izu guy was a better singer.”

“Do you want me to ask if having a simple life makes them happier?”

Max shook his head, self-consciously recalling his former question from what seemed like so long ago. “No. Did you talk to your parents?”

“Yes. They were hiding at my uncle’s house.” She blew over the top of her steaming cup. “And, they were happy to know I’m safe, but—” she paused. “My mother heard about Mrs. Kanazawa’s death, so she cried a lot.”

The fisherman pushed the boat into the lapping surf before leaping on board. He made a point of waving, then started the motor and turned toward the open water. As Max waved back, he broached the nagging question, working to quiet his own jealousy. “Last night, why did that
Yakuza
guy sacrifice himself? You said his name was Hiro. You . . . you were
upset
over him. Did something happen between you two?”

The reply was quick. “Please . . . I can’t talk about that.” Tomoko kept her face turned away. “Nothing happened . . . maybe later . . . not now.”

“Fine.” He believed her, but his hurt rushed out, uncontainable. “I can’t believe you left. People who love each other don’t just leave without saying anything!”

“You’re right,” she replied softly. “Can you forgive me?”

Max rose and stepped closer, thinking of his passport and how she’d held back giving it to him. But it would be best discussed when the sting of painful memories was more distant. He dropped back down in the sand beside her. “All I know is that I’ve never felt so alone as when I was on that Bullet Train.” Directly before them, over the water, a pair of seagulls floated on the wind, diving and twisting around each other. Max continued. “I thought I’d lost you—I don’t think I can handle that again.”

She wiped at her moist eyes with the back of her hand. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

“There’s no need . . . you should never have even been involved. You wouldn’t have been in that situation if I hadn’t gone to Mr. M’s in the first place, and if I hadn’t been so pig-headed about checking on your parents.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“Trust me, I do know.” A handful of sand filtered through his open fingers as he spoke.

Tomoko nodded. “So, besides needing therapy to deal with everything, are you and me okay? Her hand reached over and brushed his damp brown hair. It was already growing blond again at the roots. “I’m so sorry.”

He watched her look into his eyes, recognizing the doubt recede like the tide. “It’s in the past.” Max kissed her cheek as her hand ran along the edge of his swollen jaw and down to his neck.

“You have a huge bruise.” She touched his shoulder. “And look at all your scratches!”

He laughed as his arms formed a circle around her, holding them both in the moment, wishing it would last forever.

There was a long silence before he spoke again. “What do you think about taking a short trip? Toshi offered us the use of his jet. He suggested a week in Cambodia, but only if you’re cool with it.” Max felt confident that this time her desire was the same as his—to get away, to drift anonymously in a crowd of people, without fear of being stalked or chased. To eat good food and grow tired of idle relaxation and sleep. To be someplace where there were no
Yakuza
and no diaries; a place to heal. “The Angkor Wat temples are supposed to be amazing—some of the greatest in the world. We could chill, take a few pictures.”

“And when we come back, will you please talk with the police?”

“Of course. I have to clear my name if I’m gonna stay here.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Good. I’ll phone Toshi when we go back up to the house. But there is one thing I need to show you before we leave the island,” he suggested slyly.

Tomoko’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“No, no, don’t worry. It’s nothing bad. In fact, I think you’ll be quite amazed. Trust me.”

She didn’t look entirely convinced as he kissed her forehead, and nose, and cheeks, and lips.

THE POLICEMAN’S tension wrench slipped easily into the lock. His experienced fingers worked until the click of the cylinder signaled its defeat.

Hazy light filtered in through the sheer curtains covering the single window in the back office. Stepping through the doorway, the stench of death bit at his nostrils. Holding his breath, he made a quick sweep of the room—cheap furniture, shelves, and industrial carpet—before returning back to the hallway.

A single button on his cell phone connected him to Masami Ishi’s waiting ears. The superintendent of criminal investigation had sounded stressed when he’d called early in the morning. “Well, what did you find?”

“There’s nobody here, sir. It appears she’s abandoned the premises.”

“How did you draw that conclusion?”

“Her cat’s dead body. It appears to have been poisoned.”

“Damn it.”

“Should I call animal control?”

“Absolutely not! Just look for clues to where she might have gone. Then lock up and leave quietly. Let me know if you find anything.”

“Yes, sir.” Slipping the phone back into his pocket, the policeman held his nose and went back inside.

M
asami Ishi stared down on the crowd of hundreds gathered in the street below his office. Their fists pumped the air in unison. Lettered banners and colored streamers waved and shook in the morning breeze, while the barking voice of a chanter blasted from enormous speakers mounted on a parked van. The annual May Day labor rally was in full swing.

A persistent knock at his office door finally drew his attention away from the window. The Office Lady apologized and bowed as she opened the door and stepped inside. “There’s a call from the chief of police in Okinawa. He’s phoned several times already. I tried to take a message, but this time he’s insisting that you speak with him.” She folded her hands in front of her slender waist. “And . . . he sounds very angry.”

Masami Ishi sighed and let the sweeping strands of hair slide down his forehead. “All right.” The morning was going from bad to worse.

“And one other thing, sir.”

He raised his eyebrows in exaggerated frustration, while stomping back to his desk. “Yes?”

“The head of the National Public Safety Commission left a message a few minutes ago. He’s on his way over to meet with you.”

Masami Ishi’s mind blanked for a moment, and he steadied himself before sitting slowly back into his chair. Yoko’s voicemail had spoken the truth, after all. The betrayal of his authority had indeed been caught on tape. The moment’s irony was not lost as the blood drained from his cheeks; his own indictment would mean the American’s acquittal.

An awkward moment passed until the OL cleared her throat. “That’s everything, sir.”

“Yes. Go.” Ordinarily he would have admired her form-fitting skirt as she turned around, but on this occasion he simply pressed his palms flat against the desktop and stared at all ten of his shaking fingers.

JEFF LED the way, crawling on all fours. Close behind, in the musty air, Tomoko followed him, then Max, whose voice echoed along the rock passageway.

“I forgot how much this kills my knees.”

“Stop whining, bro. You’re the one who wanted to come back here.” Jeff rose to his feet and issued a warning by shaking his headlamp back and forth. “Tomoko, be careful here, the ground is slippery. Grab the walls.”

“What do you mean, ‘come back here’? Where are you guys taking me?”

Max had been playing coy all morning, and he wasn’t about to spoil the surprise when it was so close. “Like I said, it’s kind of hard to explain. That’s why we need to show you.”

After edging down the wide ramp, they stepped inside the closet-sized metal chamber.

Max locked them inside. “You ready?”

“I really don’t need any more surprises,” sighed Tomoko, “but okay.”

Jeff spun the handle on the second door before pushing it open with his foot. The string of high fluorescent lights clapped into brilliance as Tomoko stared into the vast room. She turned back, and Max saw the same look of wonder that he knew had crossed his own face only two days earlier.