The Tooth Tattoo (16 page)

‘He started as a violinist, as most viola players do. Went to the Guildhall School of Music and found he preferred the darker tones of the viola. He was with the Birmingham Symphony Orchestra for a short time before joining a talented quartet
based in Dublin. There were personality clashes, I believe. The Irish are an excitable nation. They broke up at about the time Cat and I were looking for an experienced violist.’

‘Lucky you,’ Mel said.

‘It wasn’t luck.’

‘Nice timing, then.’

‘As a musician, you should know that timing is ordered and I always make sure it is.’

‘Like when you defected?’

‘A perfect example. I planned my escape. You don’t leave anything to luck when your freedom depends on it. And when it came to forming the Staccati, we were very deliberate.’

‘It wouldn’t surprise me if you triggered the break-up of the Irish quartet just to get Harry on board.’

Ivan lifted an eyebrow and said nothing. Mel had spoken in jest, but now he was in two minds. This man with his deep-set, unblinking gaze was starting to come across as willing to stop at nothing to get what he wanted from music.

Soon after, Ivan said he needed some time alone. He was giving a master class in the afternoon.

Mel had no students to teach for the rest of the day, so he phoned for a taxi. He rather hoped Tippi would be at the house. After all that pious stuff from Ivan about not letting women distract him he felt like a damn good screw.

He was in the glass-walled foyer looking out for his cab when a small private car came up the drive. A young blonde woman he didn’t recognise got out and came inside. She was about ten years older than most students and didn’t look as if she was arriving for a lunchtime concert.

She spoke first. ‘Are you on the staff, by any chance?’

‘Sort of,’ Mel said. ‘Can I help?’

‘I’m police,’ she said. ‘Ingeborg Smith, Detective Sergeant.’

T
he dead woman was Mari Hitomi, a twenty-year-old from Yokohama. Her father, Kenji, the owner of a sushi bar on Lavender Hill, Clapham, had informed the embassy three days ago that she was missing, having believed for some weeks she was with friends. She should have come back to London at the weekend prior to catch a return flight to Japan. Mr. Hitomi’s account of her movements and the tooth tattoo and the interest in classical music had made the identification convincing and a DNA test had confirmed it.

Peter Diamond took Paul Gilbert with him to South London, or, rather, ordered young Gilbert to drive him. Not much was said until they were a few minutes from Clapham. A potential problem was nagging at the big man’s confidence. ‘Do you eat Japanese food?’ he finally asked.

‘Why, guv? Do you think we’ll be offered some?’

‘They’re polite people. It’s an eating place, a good one, going by the reports.’

‘Sushi’s okay. I like it.’

‘All of it?’

‘I can’t say I’ve tried everything.’

‘The raw fish?’

‘That’s all right.’

‘Good.’ Diamond relaxed. ‘If it’s offered, I’ll pass mine to you when he isn’t looking. Between you and me, I prefer my fish cooked in batter.’

‘With chips?’

‘What else is there?’

With that off his mind, Diamond concentrated on the
job. Interviewing a bereaved parent wasn’t easy, but at least he didn’t have to break the news. The embassy had already done that.

The sushi bar was near enough to Clapham Junction to have a thriving trade from commuters. Every seat was taken at the rotating counter and waitresses in red suits with black bow ties were steadily adding new offerings. Diamond’s troubling prospect of questioning Mr. Hitomi over a plate of rice-coated suspicious objects was quickly dispelled.

‘We get the hell outta here,’ the slight, silver-haired father of the victim suggested after they had introduced themselves and dipped their heads in response to his courteous bow. ‘Better joint across street.’

The better joint was a dimly lit coffee shop without many customers. They carried their mugs upstairs and found a table that was reasonably private. ‘Touch base here, no problem,’ Mr. Hitomi said. His English sounded as if it was learned mainly from American movies, but the tough talk came in a subdued, husky tone that seemed to show he was still suffering from shock. He was wearing a black tie with a grey pinstripe suit.

‘Is your wife here in Clapham?’ Diamond asked, wanting to begin as painlessly as possible.

‘Yokohama,’ Hitomi said. ‘Divorce, 2001.’

More of a conversation stopper. It required some sort of respectful response, but ‘Ah, so,’ wouldn’t do. Dive in at the deep end, then. ‘And your daughter …?’

‘Mari.’

‘Was she living at home?’

‘Yokohama, also.’

‘So Mari was visiting you?’

‘Two days only. Then to west country, to hang out with Japanese school buddies. Exeter University.’

‘Exeter? But she was found in Bath.’

He nodded. ‘Last week I call Exeter, speak to Japanese friends. Mari no show. No call, no text, no letter.’

‘Did she say anything to you about visiting Bath?’

‘She say zilch.’

‘She wanted to be independent?’

‘You bet. Independent.’

‘We believe she died four to six weeks ago – a long time for you not to have heard from her. Was she in touch with you at all after leaving here?’

Hitomi raised the palm of his right hand in a sort of salute. ‘You said it, chum, independent.’

Diamond wished he hadn’t said it. Putting words into the mouths of witnesses wasn’t good interviewing technique. ‘Weren’t you worried?’

‘Eyeballs out running restaurant. Mari knew the score.’

‘She could have texted. You both have phones, I’m sure.’

He gave a sad smile. ‘Much to see, many joints to visit. Texting old man no big deal.’

‘Joints to visit? Did she say which?’

Hitomi lifted his palm again, on the point of using that word a third time.

Diamond spoke first. ‘She was a music lover, I understand?’

‘Check.’

‘I mean serious music.’

‘From her mother, graduate of famous Kunitachi Music College, Tokyo. Shit-hot violin player.’

‘Mari played the violin?’

‘Don’t get me wrong, man. Mizuki, her mother. But Mari crazy for this music. Boy bands, bluegrass, hip-hop, no chance. Beethoven, Mozart, put it there.’

‘I expect you heard there was classical music on the iPod that was found? String quartets.’

‘Quartets, sure. Beethoven, Schubert, Haydn since she was a kid this high. Mizuki and me say you dig it, you go for it, babe. Western classical music ginormous in Japan. You seen her phone?’

‘We didn’t find her mobile, unfortunately.’

‘Too bad you miss picture on front.’

Gilbert said to Diamond, ‘He means the screen saver.’

‘String quartet.’

‘She had a quartet as her screen saver? What kind of phone did she have? Do you know which make?’

Hitomi shook his head.

‘What was she carrying when she left you? Her clothes – were they in some kind of case or bag?’

‘Backpack. Black canvas. Many badges.’

‘She had badges attached to it? Places she’d visited?’

He nodded. ‘And key-rings.’ He made a space between his forefinger and thumb. ‘Small violin, clarinet.’

‘I understand. In pewter, probably. These were hanging from the backpack, right?’

‘You got it.’

‘We haven’t found the bag. Did she leave anything at your home before going on her travels?’

‘Some clothes for laundry. Your guys already took these off.’

‘For the DNA testing. Do you have any idea why she would have gone to Bath instead of Exeter?’

This time Hitomi got the word in before Diamond could head it off. ‘Independent.’

‘She didn’t mention friends in Bath, anybody she wanted to visit?’

He shook his head.

‘Why Bath?’ Diamond said. ‘Any clues?’

‘Famous place, well known in Japan.’

‘She went there as a tourist, then?’

‘Tourist, could be.’

‘I’d like to ask you about Mari as a person. It may be difficult, even painful, to answer. These are things we need to know. Did she have a boyfriend?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘In Yokohama, three, maybe four.’

‘And in England?’

‘Who knows?’

‘If she met someone, was she the sort of girl who made friends easily? Do you understand me?’

‘Shack up with guys?’

Diamond hadn’t gone as far as that, but now it had been
mentioned the answer would be good to get. He raised his eyebrows and waited.

‘This is not something Japanese girl speak about to her old man,’ Hitomi said and closed the door on that.

‘But did she trust men?’ Diamond asked, back to his line of enquiry. ‘In a strange city, meeting a man for the first time, would she be on her guard?’

‘Her guard? Who the hell you talking about?’

‘It’s an expression – “on her guard” – meaning careful.’

‘You’ve lost me, buster.’

‘Would she let a strange man buy her a drink?’

Hitomi pondered the matter. His hand tightened around his mug of coffee. Clearly he was under strain, trying to be frank and remain dignified. ‘I guess is possible.’

‘Get into his car? I’m trying to understand what happened. Her iPod was found on the river bank in a quiet place away from the city centre.’

‘You telling me all this so I figure it must be so. Nobody told me how she died.’

‘Because we aren’t a hundred percent certain,’ Diamond said. ‘All we know for sure is that she was in the river still in her clothes. She may have been killed before this. We can’t tell how, or why.’

‘I’m reading you now.’ Hitomi sighed and looked down, no doubt picturing the scene. He took another deep breath before going on. ‘Mari is modern young woman, hot chick, twenty years old, straight out of college, degree in higher mathematics. As foreign visitor, in Bath for first time, no buddies, she feels lonesome. Some guy gets friendly, comes on to Mari. This I don’t like one bit, but I understand.’

‘Me, too,’ Diamond said with a glance at Paul Gilbert, ‘and all too easily. The unfortunate part is that the guy in question was a murdering bastard and she trusted him.’

‘Come again,’ the father said. ‘Murdering bastard?’

‘I was speaking to my colleague.’

Hitomi lowered his head. ‘What kind of jerk am I, not keeping tabs on my own daughter?’

Now Gilbert spoke up. ‘Mr. Hitomi, do you by any chance have a picture of Mari?’

‘Picture? You bet.’ At once, an iPhone was produced. With a couple of touches on the display, Hitomi found not one photo, but a series that he let the phone show as a sequence. He passed it to Gilbert. ‘Right here in London town.’

‘This visit? That’s brilliant.’ Diamond was reminded that all the Japanese he’d ever seen were compulsive takers of photographs. He practically snatched the phone from Gilbert. ‘Can you show me from the start?’

Hitomi leaned across and touched the screen again.

The shots were sharp and natural, a touching record of a happy young woman in the last hours she had spent with her father, starting with her emerging from the arrivals gate at Heathrow pushing a trolley containing the backpack decorated with badges. Then beside a silver car – presumably Hitomi’s – and in the passenger seat. The next was at a front door that must have been his; and indoors at a table, teacup in hand. Several more showed her in the sushi bar, one with her father at her side. There were some street scenes on Lavender Hill, Mari with arms outstretched, revelling in being in this new setting. The sequence ended at a mainline station that had to be Paddington. She was wearing the backpack and turning to wave as she walked towards a train, still smiling – a poignant final picture that moistened even Peter Diamond’s eyes.

‘These are just what we need. Can we get copies?’

Gilbert said, ‘We can send them to Manvers Street right now if Mr. Hitomi agrees.’

‘Did you hear that?’ Diamond asked Hitomi. ‘These pictures are precious to you, I’m sure, but they’ll help us catch her killer. The only likeness we have isn’t much of a likeness at all. Show it to him, Paul.’

Gilbert used his own phone to bring up the computer image and turn it through several angles. For all the work that had been done, it didn’t bear much resemblance apart from the hairstyle. Comparison with the genuine images they
had just examined was a harsh test. The only test more harsh was showing it to her own father.

‘My Mari? You got to be joking,’ he said, shaking his head.

‘You see why your photos are so vital?’ Diamond said. ‘It’s okay to use them, I hope?’

‘Be my guest,’ Hitomi said.

‘In that case, we’ll email them to Bath.’

‘Sure. Go ahead.’

For all Diamond’s battles with modern technology, he couldn’t deny that it had simplified parts of his job – as long as someone else was there to press the right keys. Paul Gilbert made sure the complete set of digital images was sent to Bath. A text from Ingeborg with the one word
Magic
confirmed the transfer.

Hitomi’s account of his daughter had been priceless information. Up to now he was the only person in Britain known for certain to have seen her. Other witnesses might yet see the photos and come forward, but there was no guarantee that they would.

For all the clichéd tough talk, Diamond could sense the pain this father was suffering, and warmed to him for bearing up so bravely. No question about it: Hitomi had loved his daughter and felt guilty for failing to keep tabs on her.

‘I need to be clear about this. Did she know anyone in Britain apart from yourself and the Exeter friends?’

He shook his head.

‘Had she visited you before?’

‘Here in Britain? No.’

‘So we have to assume she was killed by someone she met here on this trip, or a total stranger. Difficult.’

‘But with her picture you find witness, no problem, yes?’

Hitomi said.

‘We can hope. It won’t be easy. But you’ve given us a chance we didn’t have before.’

For the drive back, Diamond bought pasties from a shop further up Lavender Hill, confiding to Paul Gilbert that the
smell was so appetising he had to get some, even though he knew there wouldn’t be enough meat for his liking. ‘I get caught each time. Sniff the cooking and can’t pass the shop entrance. And then I regret it later.’ He picked up a six-pack of beer for himself and some bottled water for Gilbert, explaining that they couldn’t risk being breathalysed.