Giri (32 page)

His shoulders slumped. He looked down at the rug.

“We never had a chance,” she said. “People like you never play fair.”

The words of a child. Words of truth without guile. Right on target. And he remembered how it had felt when he believed himself to be unloved. A kind of death.

“I’m sorry,” Decker said. “I did care for you, I really did. Hurting you wasn’t part of the plan.”‘

“I’ll say this for you, Manny. You keep your promises. You promised me nothing and that’s just what I got.”

Manny locked eyes with Romaine once. Then, with a shrug, turned toward the door.

When he had gone she closed the door quietly behind him and leaned against it her shoulders shaking. Then the bedroom door opened and Dorian entered. He walked over to his wife and took her in his arms.

“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s all right. Me and you from now on. Like I told you, I’ll have more money than we’ll ever be able to spend. All I have to do is sell that list I showed you. Me and you, we’re going where there’s a lot of sun.”

He kissed her hair, then began to stroke it. “Please give me another chance, babe. I’d go down on my knees, you know I would, if, shit, I don’t know what to say. Never was all that good with words. I love you. Ain’t no other way of saying it. I’d give every dime I got for another chance with you. Romaine, let’s give it one more shot. Please.”

Her arms went around his waist, gently at first, then tighter and she clung to him and for the first time in years Dorian wept. “We’ll make it,” he said. “I know we will.”

“LeClair. Who’s this?”

“Decker. I just left Romaine Raymond. I’m calling from a public booth not far from her apartment.”

“Shit, sounds like she lost that loving feeling. What happened, hot breath? How did she find out you were two-timing her?”

“I’ve located Dorian Raymond.”

“Now that’s more like it. That’s the kind of thing I expected when you came on board. Where?”

Decker looked up at the stars. “Last place you’d expect him to be. With his wife.”

LeClair laughed. “Hey, man, you shittin’ me? With his wife? Now ain’t that a bitch. With his wife. And you there at the same time.” LeClair laughed louder. And Decker hated him more than ever. “Mr. Manfred,” said the prosecutor, “has anyone ever told you that you lead a goddamn interesting life?”

S
PARROWHAWK DREW THE ONLY
conclusion possible: Michelle Asama’s very existence meant his life was in danger. Proof lay in the latest report on her that lay before him. Like it or not, he had become the hunter again. How else could he survive? He had to solve the mystery of this Japanese woman.

He used his gold pen to tap a page of the report resting in front of framed photographs of his wife and daughter. “Look here, Robbie. This page of names. Three Japanese gentlemen, each connected to our Miss Asama. Mr. Kneji Daigo, Mr. Noboru Abe, Mr. Shigeji Shina. Important men in Japan. The first two are bankers, respected, prosperous, powerful. The third, Mr. Shina, is a leading figure in Japanese military intelligence. Quite brilliant, I’m told. Now we move on to the next page, this one here. I give you Mr. Tettsuo Ishino. And how does Mr. Ishino earn his daily bread? By being one of Amsterdam’s leading diamond merchants.”

Sparrowhawk tossed the pen on the desk. “And what do these four Oriental gentlemen have in common? Each was a member of the
Jinrai Butai,
or the Divine Thunderbolt Corps.”

Robbie said, “Kamikaze pilots.”

“Right you are, lad. Kamikaze pilots who were denied the opportunity to die for their beloved country. I don’t have to tell you about the
Jinrai Butai.
You’re the martial arts expert around here. In the case of these gentlemen bad weather prevented their flights, or mechanical failure cropped up or the war ended. And there’s another underlying factor. These gentlemen all served in the exact same suicide unit as George Chihara.”

“Wow.”

“Wow, indeed.”

Robbie shook his head. “But major, it can’t be. You’re saying Michelle Asama’s related to Chihara, maybe even to one of these other guys, and that she’s out to get us for what we did to her family six years ago in Saigon. But you’re forgetting one thing. Didn’t we take care of everyone in the house that night?”

Sparrowhawk raised a forefinger. “Ah, but did we? Think back, lad. Remember a car approaching the villa, then suddenly speeding away? Remember our attempts to convince Mr. Chihara to tell us who was in that car?”

Robbie grinned. “I remember. You were going to shoot his balls off with that dart gun. I remember the car. Somebody shows, then splits. Never came inside. But didn’t we find three women upstairs? One old broad and a couple of young ones?”

The Englishman put a hand on Robbie’s shoulder. “We assumed, lad. We assumed that they were related to one another, that all were members of the Chihara family. But we never checked to make sure, did we?”

Robbie shook his head.

Sparrowhawk clapped his hands. “So what do we have? We have one old-boy network composed of kamikaze pilots who somehow managed to avoid the Grim Reaper and who today have money and power and who, I am quite willing to assume, stand ready to help the daughter or relative of an old comrade-in-arms. The bankers furnish the money, while the gentleman in intelligence furnishes what we know to be the most valuable commodity of all. Information.”

“Hey, major, didn’t Chihara send a lot of diamonds out of the country the last few months he was in Saigon?”

“I was coming to that. According to our investigators, it’s on this page, the two bankers and Mr. Ishino were business associates of Chihara’s while he was in southeast Asia. Ishino was doing diamond deals with Chihara the entire time. The bankers handled Chihara’s cash, investments, loans, and I’m sure made a pretty penny doing it. Whatever other worries Miss Asama might have, money certainly isn’t one of them.”

“Major, how about checking out the guys over at Pantheon, her diamond company?”

“Done. Two members of the board of directors are related to now deceased members of the
Jinrai Butai
.”

Robbie chuckled. “I’ll be dipped.”

“None of the men is as dangerous as I believe Miss Asama to be. Everything points to the lady being out to even the score for what happened in Saigon. If she isn’t a samurai she bloody well thinks like one.”

Robbie touched the gold stud in his ear. “It’s over. She’d be smart to leave it at that.”

“But she can’t, not with her background. And no one knows that better than you. She has a duty, an obligation. She’ll fulfill it or die trying.”

“Being willing to die for a thing doesn’t make it right. Doesn’t make you smart. Just makes you dead, is all.”

Sparrowhawk reached for a Turkish cigarette. “I’m afraid it’s not quite that simple, not with this crowd.”

“Where’s Michelle whatchamacallit now?”

“Amsterdam. Doing diamond deals with Mr. Ishino, I’m sure. We have her under a twenty-four-hour watch. I arranged for a Paris agency to keep tabs on her. They found nothing in London and so far there’s no report of anything unusual happening in Amsterdam. She attends the diamond sights, buying primarily polished stones. Spent over a million dollars in only three days. Has an excellent eye, I’m told.”

“Is she carrying around that kind of money?”

“Diamond business works on trust. You buy, then agree to pay on a certain date. If you don’t, they blacken your name. Engage in fraud or go bankrupt and the diamond world knows it within hours. You’re barred for life, or until you make good on your word. Even then you might be prevented from attending future sights. A very tightly run industry. One treads carefully in it or else.”

Robbie said, “What’s she do in her free time?”

“In London, nothing. In Amsterdam, she spends time with Mr. Ishino and his family. No unsavory acts, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

“And she’s got both Decker and Dorian eating out of her hand.”

Sparrowhawk patted his silver hair. “Now there’s a situation which bears looking into. Michelle Asama and Detective Sergeant Manfred Decker. How did that come about and when? I can imagine her with Decker more easily than with Dorian.”

He shook his head. “Speaking of Dorian, I had hoped the wogs would hesitate to give Pangalos and Quarrels the chop. Alas, it was not to be. I suppose the fuss over these deaths will cool down eventually. Meanwhile, the press is filled with tales of ‘the West Side Murders,’ as they’re called. For the moment let’s say nothing of this report on Michelle Asama. As far as Gran Sasso is concerned we’re still working on Paul Molise’s Saigon contacts. Nothing definite just yet.”

“Major, back in Saigon, right after I beat Decker the first time, he took off for Japan like a bat out of hell. I remember thinking he’s going there to work out with the top karate guys, maybe pick up some pointers and come back and kick my ass. I asked somebody about it and they said he was going to Tokyo to meet a girl. I got the idea she was Japanese. Just from what was said by other people about the places he planned to visit there. Somebody said she was from Saigon, but I never was that interested so I forgot about it.”

“Did he usually go to Japan to meet girls?”

“You mean did he have girls come over from the States to meet him? Hey, if he did he’d probably have met her in Hawaii. That’s what everybody else did.”

“Unless she was Japanese.”

“Unless she was Japanese.”

Sparrowhawk said, “Something else to pour into the computer.” He looked at his watch. “And speaking of computers, I’m late. Have to check out a new security system we’re installing. By the way, congratulations on your Boston victory last night. First-round knockout, I hear.”

Robbie grinned. “Wanted to make an early plane back to New York.”

“Don’t see how you do it. Practice hard every day, year in, year out. But it seems to have paid off. You just can’t seem to lose.”

“I do the right thing, major. Whatever has to be done before each fight, I do.”

“Discipline, exercise, proper diet, moderation in all things. Sacrifice.”

Robbie tossed him a playful military salute. “All the time, major. All the time.”

L
ECLAIR DRUMMED ON HIS
desk with the fingers of both hands. Dorian Raymond sat before him, a suspect in six unsolved mob-related murders.

“You’re a cop,” he said to Dorian, “and you know how the game is played. You stonewall me, play hard to get. Delays, postponements, appeals, plea bargaining. Maybe you get lucky. Maybe you walk.”

LeClair leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “I want you. And I’m going to get you. No matter how long it takes, no matter what I have to do. You’re going to do time, Mr. Raymond. That’s a fact.”

Dorian looked at the ceiling. “Mind reading the charges again?”

“Cute. Real cute.” Dorian knew there were no formal charges. He was in the federal prosecutor’s office for questioning, nothing more.

And Decker, sitting on a leather couch across the room, knew Dorian was smart enough to realize one thing. No charges meant no hard evidence. LeClair, however, was nobody’s fool. Not even his own. He knew where to shove the knife.

“Found you with your wife,” LeClair said sweetly. “Could it be that love is more wonderful the second time around?”

Dorian, who had been lighting a cigarette, stopped. His eyes went to LeClair, men to Decker, then back to the cigarette. He filled his lungs with smoke, exhaled twin jets from his nose and crossed his legs. But LeClair knew he’d gotten to him. Dorian was more alert now, more tense.

“I could jail your wife,” LeClair said.

“Fuck you,” said Dorian, putting out the cigarette after only two drags.

“No, Detective Raymond. Fuck her. Just thinking of a tasty little morsel like Romaine Raymond would make a bull dyke’s day in the joint.”

“No way you can touch her. No way. Whatever I’m supposed to have done doesn’t concern her. She’s a dancer, that’s all she is.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something? We found you in her apartment. Once I pass that little bit of news around she can be dragged in here, strip searched and held for a day, two days, maybe longer.

“She’ll be one messed-up little girl by the time that happens. A day in jail’s more than enough to fuck up anybody’s head. Just let a half dozen prisoners catch her alone in the shower and shove a flashlight—”

Dorian was out of his chair. “You cocksucker!”

Decker stood up, ready to interfere. Reluctantly. He would have enjoyed seeing Dorian punch LeClair out. LeClair, fingers steepled under his chin, used a forefinger to indicate Decker’s presence to Dorian, who glanced at his fellow detective, then slowly sat down.

LeClair snorted. “Too bad. I was hoping to see Mr. Manfred here strut his stuff. I hear he’s pretty good. Anyway, where were we? Ah yes, your wife. Something else I should tell you. I can have her held as an accessory and bail set so high that she can’t possibly make it. And in case you’re wondering what I’ve got on her that makes this a practical idea, she can place you in Atlantic City the night Alan Baksted got two in the head. Maybe she even helped set up the hit, who knows?”

“Doesn’t mean shit and you know it.”

LeClair grinned. “Yeah, but I’d get a real kick out of trying. Of course we could always work something out.”

“Like what?”

“Like you telling me what you know about Management Systems Consultants. And what you know about Senator Terry Dent’s connection with the Molise family. And what you know about the Molise family itself, who we both know ordered Pangalos and Quarrels to be killed.”

Dorian looked away.

LeClair’s voice softened. “It won’t be easy, I know. You go against the wise guys, you spend the rest of your life hiding. But it beats the shit out of federal prison. You won’t last a month in Atlanta or Leavenworth and you know it. A cop is nothing but dead meat in the joint.”

LeClair threw up his hands. “Hey, why am I going on like this? You might not even have anything worth listening to.”

Dorian lit another cigarette. Decker noticed that most of the fight had gone out of his fellow officer. But Dorian was not completely beaten.