Fallen Angel (9781101578810) Read online

  “Irasshaimase,” murmured the kimono-clad greeter at the door, bowing low as they exchanged their shoes for slippers. Her bush-clover-patterned kimono swayed over the tatami mats as she led them through a series of hallways to a sliding door. Kneeling gracefully, she reached up to slide the panel aside.

  “A private room?” Yumi raised her eyebrows. Ichiro held back, inviting her to enter first.

  “Surprise!”

  Yumi glimpsed a room peopled with smiling faces before being blinded by the flashes from several cameras.

  “Hap-py basu-day to you…”

  Yumi looked behind her. Whose birthday was it? Ichiro was joining in the singing, grinning. Everyone was looking at her.

  “Hap-py basu-day deah Yu-mi…”

  What was going on? It wasn’t her birthday; her birthday was in February. Why were her parents and Ichiro’s family throwing her a surprise party in November?

  Everyone burst into applause.

  Mrs. Mitsuyama stepped forward and smiled at her future daughter-in-law. “Happy birthday, Yumi. Were you surprised? You didn’t suspect?”

  “No, not at all,” she stammered truthfully, looking at her own family in bewilderment. Her father was grinning, but her mother dropped her gaze nervously.

  “It was Ichiro’s idea.” Mrs. Mitsuyama beamed. “He told us that in America, it’s customary to celebrate birthdays with surprise parties.”

  The serving woman returned with a bottle of champagne and poured.

  “Kampai!”

  Yumi smiled modestly as everyone drank to her health. Her mother was still avoiding her gaze. Why hadn’t she set Ichiro and his family straight when they proposed this party? Time to get an explanation before this got any worse.

  Yumi set down her glass. “Excuse me,” she said, “Do you mind if I change into something a little more festive?” She picked up the shopping bag she’d brought. “Mother, do you think you could help me…?” Mrs. Hata had no choice but to follow her to the ladies’ room.

  As the door thunked shut behind them, Yumi whirled around. “Okay, what’s going on?”

  Her mother stepped up to the mirror and nervously adjusted a hairpin. “I’m sorry I didn’t explain before. There…never seemed to be a good time.”

  “A good time for what?”

  “Well…remember the o-miai questionnaire? Before I filled it out for you, I took it to Madame Lily.”

  “Who?”

  Yumi’s mother raised her chin defiantly and met her eyes in the mirror. “Madame Lily. You know, the astrologer near the train station. She’s quite gifted. People from all over Tokyo consult her. I knew that before Ichiro’s mother put you on the o-miai list, she’d check to see if your birthdays were compatible.”

  “Oh no, let me guess….”

  “Yours wasn’t. Not as good as someone looking for a wife for her eldest son would want.” Her mother looked away. “So I changed your birthday.”

  Yumi opened her mouth but nothing came out. Her mother had lied about her birthday to Ichiro’s family! And now that they’d gone so far as to commemorate it with a surprise party, it would be impossible to set things straight. She’d have to live with this lie the rest of her married life.

  Although Yumi and her friends thought it was nonsense, enough people believed in astrology to make it a still-powerful current in Japanese society. Even the distributors at the sprawling Tsukiji Fish Market knew that if an auspicious day fell on a Saturday in the springtime, they should triple their orders. Weddings, merger announcements, and store openings all crowded onto those days and the demand for certain kinds of good-luck seafood shot way up.

  Yumi sputtered, “How could you?”

  Mrs. Hata raised her chin defiantly. “How could I not? I was only thinking of you!”

  Yumi glared at her, speechless. Her mother had spent the better part of her life worrying about the stalled career of her professor husband and the fact that their years in America had predisposed her daughter to choose unsuitable foreign boyfriends. From the moment the o-miai questionnaire arrived in the mail, her mother had been all too aware that a match with Ichiro Mitsuyama would solve all her problems.

  And it looked like she’d been right. Yumi was convinced that her father’s recent elevation to a full professorship at Toda University had been the result of subtle pressures applied by Ichiro’s influential father. And soon, eccentric daughter Yumi would be kneeling in a venerable Shinto shrine, wearing a traditional white bridal hood and exchanging ritual cups of sake with a very conventional Japanese man from a very good family.

  Mrs. Hata was unrepentant. “I don’t know what you’re so upset about. What does it matter, which day you celebrate your birthday? When I was a child, everyone turned a year older on January first and none of us thought it was a big deal.” She drew herself up. “And besides, if you’re going to have a good marriage, you’re going to have to learn to keep a few secrets.”

  That was another thing they’d never agree on. Yumi shook her head and slammed into a stall to change.

  When she emerged, much to her relief, her mother had disappeared. She felt slightly less off balance now that she’d switched her interpreting uniform for a cocktail dress and had a few minutes to decide that now was not the time to deal with her mother’s duplicity.

  As she rejoined the party, the first course was served. Hamada-ya was a ryōtei, a terribly exclusive restaurant specializing in kaiseki cuisine—nine exquisite small courses, each prepared in a different way with rare, seasonal ingredients, served on dishes that would be at home in a museum. Dinner started at ¥25,000 per person, and Yumi understood why, as the first bite of Hokkaido crab melted on her tongue.

  Sake replaced the champagne, and Yumi allowed her cup to be filled twice by Ichiro, holding it up for him to pour, then doing the same in return. The daimyo on the ink scroll regarded them indulgently from his tokonoma alcove as they made their way through the exotic tidbits. As Yumi relaxed and began to enjoy the party despite her irritation with her mother, she was struck by how much more distinguished her father looked since he had become a full professor. He had no idea his promotion had been engineered by Ichiro’s father. Believing that his painstaking scholarship had finally been rewarded, Dr. Hata now spoke with an authoritative note in his voice, walked like a man of substance, and even wore his clothes with more confidence.

  Her phone vibrated. She dug it from her purse and glanced at the screen under the table. It was her friend Coco. Yumi dropped her mobile back into her bag, intending to call back later, then heard the vibrate pattern that signaled a text message.

  Coco again. Need help. Please call!!!

  Yumi excused herself and looked for a quiet corner to return the call without offending anyone. She pushed open the door to the bathroom.

  Coco picked up on the first ring. “Thanks for calling back so fast. You’re the best! Just a minute while I…” Yumi heard pop music playing and conversation, then the sound of a closing door and silence. “Okay, I’m in the ladies’ room.” Coco hesitated. “Look, I’m in a bit of a pinch and I need a loan tonight. Can you spare fifty thousand yen until I get paid next Friday?”

  “Sure, but…for what?” Yumi could easily stop at her bank’s ATM and get it; it wasn’t a huge amount, but it wasn’t peanuts either. And why did Coco need it tonight?

  “I’ll explain when you get here.”

  “Where’s ‘here’?”

  Her friend hesitated. “Club Nova.”

  Club Nova? It sounded like a hostess club. Yumi’s worries about her friend kicked up a notch. Was her friend moonlighting? What would drive her to get involved in the shady mizu shōbai entertainment business when she had a perfectly respectable job at a tea ceremony sweets shop?

  “I’m at a dinner with Ichiro’s family right now, but it should be winding down by 10:00 or so,” Yumi said. “Where shall we meet?”

  “Call me when you’re outside the east exit at Shinjuku Station. Someone will come get you.”
r />   The east exit of Shinjuku Station. Kabuki-chō. A part of town girls from good families weren’t supposed to be prowling at night.

  “What do you mean, ‘someone’?”

  “I’ll explain when I see you.”

  Now Yumi was really worried.

  Chapter 5

  Friday, November 8

  6:45 P.M.

  Kenji

  Kenji slid into a booth at the still-deserted hostess club, having arrived a minute too late to catch Cherry Endo’s manager before she began briefing her staff.

  As predicted, Section Chief Tanaka had refused to give him permission to spend time turning a perfectly good accidental death into a crime that might mar their station’s solve rate. But Tommy Loud’s findings nagged at Kenji. He decided he’d let it go if he didn’t discover anything suspicious about Cherry’s last night, but until he spoke with her employer and made sure that whoever gave her those bruises had nothing to do with her death, he’d continue to investigate on his own time. So here he was at Club Heaven, its name appearing outside the door on an engraved brass plaque so small he’d have missed it if an officer in the Kabuki-chō police box hadn’t described the spotlit, Greek-columned building.

  The club manager’s polished smile and still-beautiful face told him she’d probably been a top hostess herself, one of the few who moved successfully into management once they became too old to appeal to the youth-hungry clientele.

  He counted eighteen girls gathered around the biggest table, light from the crystal chandeliers reflecting off their glittery cocktail dresses. They were all arrayed in white or gold, modern angels in a salaryman’s paradise. Like Cherry, many had long hair, bleached to a pale brown, teased and piled high on their heads, ringlets cascading like prom queens. Luxuriant eyelashes and skillful application of eyelid glue gave them a round-eyed, ingenue look, and their manicures were works of art. Club Heaven was at the top end of the hostess trade; he doubted anyone lowlier than section chief of a major multinational could afford to walk through the door. White tufted-leather booths lined walls covered with golden cherub-patterned paper, and the vaulted ceiling was painted with Renaissance-style cupids, aiming their arrows down at the flawless young women awaiting their orders for the evening.

  “Good morning,” the manager said, all business.

  “Good morning,” they chorused in return, returning the customary beginning-of-the-workday greeting, even though it was well after sundown.

  “Tonight promises to be busy, ladies. We have groups from the Ministry of Finance and Mitsui arriving between nine thirty and ten. Also, the Ono Trading Company chairman will be entertaining a delegation from Shanghai. I may be calling on some of you who aren’t busy with regular customers to help with his party if it’s bigger than two or three.”

  Heads nodded.

  “Please remember to offer them Wen Jun Premium White Spirits and National Cellar 1573 as well as Hennessy and Johnny Walker Black. Sometimes the Chinese like to make a patriotic choice before they relax and realize nobody’s watching them here.” She turned to a willowy hostess whose curls sparkled with a constellation of red rhinestone stars and said, “Erika, I’d planned to ask you to assist Cherry, but she’s…not going to be here tonight. Can you take her place?”

  Ah, the manager knew of Cherry’s death, but hadn’t told the staff yet.

  A man in a tuxedo with slicked-back hair approached, holding a blue leatherette box embossed in gold. The manager smiled at him and said, “Owner-san has decided to begin offering Johnny Walker Blue Label King George V, since several of our clients have requested it.”

  The bartender ceremoniously opened two flaps, revealing a square crystal decanter nestled into the creamy satin lining.

  “We’ve purchased five bottles, which will sell for a million yen each.” She turned to the bartender. “Will you please describe this whiskey’s unique qualities, so the ladies can recommend it to their customers?”

  He smiled and bowed, but before beginning his spiel, the bartender whispered in her ear, glancing toward the back booth where he’d seated the detective who’d asked to speak with her. She nodded and gave Kenji an appraising look, then beckoned him toward her office, closing the door and seating herself behind a desk cluttered with sheaves of invoices, several unopened bottles of premium brandy and a top-of-the-line Sony computer.

  Her smile dissolved when he mentioned Cherry’s death. “I heard. Her roommate called me. What a tragedy.”

  “Do the other girls know?”

  She looked away. “I…decided to wait until after work to burden them with that sad news.”

  Meaning, she didn’t want a death to distract her hostesses from bringing in the cash on a Saturday night.

  “Was Cherry-san working last night?” he asked.

  “Yes. She was here. From seven until midnight.”

  “And who was she entertaining?”

  The manager stiffened. “Our clients value their privacy. I really can’t…”

  “May I remind you that this is a police investigation…?”

  “I thought you said it was an accident.”

  Kenji felt a twinge of discomfort. Officially, it was an accident. “So it appears,” he admitted. “But there are a few things that don’t quite add up, and I’d like to check them out before I close the case. For example, did Miss Endo arrive at work yesterday with scuffed shoes and a broken fingernail?”

  “Certainly not. It’s my job to notice if the girls are careless with their appearance, and believe me, it doesn’t happen twice.”

  “Did she break a nail at work last night?”

  “Our staff make conversation, they pour drinks, they light their customers’ cigarettes, Detective. None of those are likely to damage their manicures.”

  “What about afterward? Did she go somewhere with a customer when her shift was over?”

  The manager sat back in her chair. “I’m sorry, but I’m sure you understand I can’t answer that question. Our clients rely on our discretion. Cherry is…was…a real professional. The last thing she’d want is for her patrons to be questioned by the police. Most of them are important businessmen and public figures; Club Heaven is their oasis, a place where they can relax out of the public eye. She never lost a single customer to another club, even after she became so popular that she sometimes had to keep several tables happy at the same time. Everyone loved Cherry.”

  “Maybe one of them loved her so much he was a little jealous he had to share her with other customers?”

  The manager replied in a chilly voice, “If you find that her death is something other than an unfortunate accident, please return with the proper paperwork and I’ll be more than happy to help you. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

  She rose, graceful as a dancer, and bowed, indicating the interview was at an end.

  Before Kenji could object, there was a discreet knock at the door and it cracked open to reveal the dark eyes and pouting lips of the hostess with red stars in her hair.

  “Sumimasen,” she said to her boss. “Bartender-san asked me to find out if you wanted to say anything else before we open?”

  “Yes, I have a few more items. Perhaps you can escort Mr….?”

  “Nakamura,” Kenji supplied, sure she hadn’t really forgotten his name.

  “My apologies. Erika, perhaps you could see Nakamura-san out?”

  The hostess bowed and the manager glided past her, returning to the club.

  “Dōzo,” Erika said to Kenji, stepping aside so he could exit. She gestured toward the grand entry.

  As Kenji followed her swaying figure, the hallway filled with the sultry voice of a French chanteuse crooning “Mister L’Amour” as the club readied for opening. He caught up to her and said, “Erika-san…what a pretty name. You must be one of Club Heaven’s top hostesses.”

  “I have a few admirers,” she said, casting him a coquettish glance. “But I always have time for one more.”

  Kenji laughed. “I’m sure I wo
uldn’t have a chance. Someone as pretty as you must already have a boyfriend.”

  “What a silly thing to say, Nakamura-san—none of us at Club Heaven have boyfriends.” She smiled.

  “Really? What about Cherry? I’m sure I saw her with someone she looked pretty friendly with last night. It was late, must have been around midnight? He was taller than her but not quite as tall as me…?” A safe guess—Kenji was taller than ninety percent of Japanese men.

  Erika stopped, sizing him up. “It couldn’t have been The Zombie, then. Wait, I bet you saw her with Hoshi. He’s not really her boyfriend, he’s a host. At Club Nova. She drops in there sometimes after work and occasionally they go out to eat together. She and Hoshi go way back—they’re both from Ibaraki-ken.”

  Hoshi from Ibaraki prefecture. Club Nova. That’d be his next stop. He glanced up at the portraits lining the hallway near the door and saw that Cherry’s occupied the #3 spot. “Now that she’s gone, I guess you’ll move up in the club rankings.”

  “Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

  Kenji pulled out his police ID. “She was found dead this morning.”

  All color drained from Erika’s face. “Oh no. No. It was him, wasn’t it?” She stared at Kenji in horror.

  “Who? The host? Hoshi?”

  Her eyes slid away.

  “Someone she entertained last night? A customer?”

  “I…I can’t say, not without Manager-san’s approval,” she stammered.

  “Was it the guy you called The Zombie?”

  She grew even more agitated. “Don’t tell anyone I called him that. He’s a really good customer. Manager-san will kill me.”

  “Did Cherry leave with him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who is he? Tell me. There’s some reason you’re worried about him, isn’t there? Maybe he gets a little rough when he’s been drinking?”

  Erika avoided his eyes and bit her lip.

  “Cherry’s dead,” Kenji said. “If someone killed her, you’d want her murderer to be caught, wouldn’t you?”

  “I can’t,” she whispered. “Please. I’ll lose my job.” She pulled open the heavy, carved door and stood aside, head bowed, willing Kenji to leave.