Читать книгу Murder at the Tokyo Lawn & Tennis Club - Robert J. Collins - Страница 16

CHAPTER 9

Sunday morning was bright and sunny, and at 9:00 A.M. it showed every indication of becoming a very warm day. Japan's late spring-early summer rainy season was officially over and the populace was now in for two months of baking heat.

Captain Kawamura and Sergeant Suzuki, wearing suits and ties, walked up the four broad steps to the entrance of the tennis club.

"I just want to observe the normal flow of things," said Kawamura to Suzuki. "Get a feel for things."

"We should have worn tennis outfits," said Suzuki-san, who was already sweating profusely in his blue serge suit.

"Requesting a duty-shift in short pants would probably cause Chief Arai to feed us to the birds out by the zoo."

The temperature inside the entrance lobby was slightly lower, but not much. To the right, behind a chest-high counter, was the manager's office. To the left, the circular stairway up to the men's and women's locker rooms. Straight ahead were large wooden doors leading to the clubhouse proper. Immediately to the right of the wooden doors was a reception desk. The lady rose from her seat behind the desk and stood at attention.

"Please don't stand for us," said Kawamura gently.

The lady obediently sat.

"I would imagine you see nearly everyone who comes in or goes out."

"I think so," said the lady, who proceeded to point out a sign-in book near the wooden doors. "Everyone, including guests, must sign the book when they arrive."

Kawamura looked through the names, Japanese and foreign, signed in yesterday. There were over two hundred.

"Some people stay all day," added the lady, "and some only stay for a few hours."

"Is Manabe-san's name here?"

The lady looked embarrassed.

"It's not there," said the lady after a moment. "Manabe was a very nice man, but some of the older members didn't like to always sign the book."

The lady picked up a piece of paper from her desk and showed it to Kawamura.

"In those cases, I try to write down their names anyway."

On the paper, neatly written, was Manabe's name. There were also a dozen other names, presumably older members, on the list.

"You are very efficient," said Kawamura, smiling kindly.

The lady blushed ever so slightly. Kawamura turned and looked at the spiral stairway to the second-floor locker rooms. One man had just come through the wooden doors and the clubhouse proper and was now bounding up the stairway. He passed two ladies coming down the stairway.

"Did you notice Manabe-san going up to the locker room yesterday?"

"No," said the lady hesitating briefly. "Sometimes it gets very busy in here. And sometimes... if I have to step away from my desk for a moment... it's difficult to..."

"I understand," said Kawamura softly. "One can't sit here for an entire eight hours."

The lady smiled. It was a relief to know that the policeman understood.

Kawamura and Suzuki-san opened the wooden doors and entered the clubhouse.

"In theory, we have over two hundred members from yesterday as suspects," said Kawamura, "and as far as we know, a million or more people who could have walked in from the street."

All ten courts were already occupied, most with foursomes. Another fifty or sixty people were sitting, talking, or eating breakfast. The mood did not appear to be cheerful, but Kawamura had never been in the clubhouse under normal circumstances and couldn't really judge.

The club president, former Ambassador Morimoto, had just come in from the courts. He even managed to sweat with control and a certain elegance. He promised to join Kawamura after getting a cool drink. Suzuki-san wandered out to courtside and began to talk to the groundsmen there.

Morimoto eventually joined Kawamura at a table and chairs in a relatively deserted area of the clubhouse.

'The club office tells me we finally located Manabe-san's wife in New York," announced Morimoto as he sat and patted his brow with a towel. Kawamura observed that the former ambassador's hair wasn't even mussed. "And she'll get to Japan as soon as possible. Probably tomorrow," Morimoto added.

"I must tell you that the, ah, tragedy is even worse than you might think," said Kawamura. "We are convinced Manabe-san was murdered, and the murder weapon is his tennis racket."

Morimoto stared at Kawamura for a moment, then shifted his eyes to the ceiling and the general direction of the locker room. Morimoto shook his head slowly, as if he couldn't believe it, then looked back at Kawamura.

"I can't believe it," said Morimoto.

"We can't argue with the physical evidence, no matter how unlikely the event might seem."

"I understand. What other... evidence do you have?"

"You mean suspects? None, I'm afraid, but that's where you can help us perhaps."

Morimoto shifted slightly in his chair.

"As president of this club," Morimoto said after taking a deep breath, "I have a responsibility to the individual members. I'm not certain I can divulge confidences that might prove to be harmful to the individual members."

"With all due respect, sir, as president of this club there's also a responsibility to prevent the harmful occurrence of members being killed in the bath."

It may have been Kawamura's imagination, but the former ambassador's fagade of confidence cracked slightly—something about the little lines appearing at the corners of the eyes.

"How long have you been a policeman, Lieutenant Kawaguchi?"

"I'm a captain, sir, and the name is Kawamura. I've been a policemen for twenty-three years, seven months, and fourteen days."

Morimoto stared at Kawamura.

"The Azabu Police Station?" said Morimoto at last. "I believe your boss is Chief Sakakibara."

"No sir, Chief Sakakibara retired three years ago. The chief is now Arai."

"Ah yes," said Morimoto, "Chief Arai... the peasant from Hokkaido."

Kawamura made no comment.

"Well," said Morimoto, "you are doing your job. What do you want to know?"

"It's pretty simple, really," said Kawamura. "The crime doesn't seem to be complicated, well thought-out, or something planned in advance. Too many things could go wrong. Who would have hated Manabe-san enough to suddenly come up and on the spur of the moment kill him?"

"Everyone liked Manabe. He was one of our most popular members

"Obviously someone didn't like him."

'That's a point," conceded Morimoto. "Maybe in the heat of the moment, because of a tennis game...," Morimoto's voice trailed off.

"His partner? Sakai-san?"

Morimoto dabbed his forehead with the towel.

"I would have thought that would be obvious," he said at the conclusion of the dabbing.

"Really?" said Kawamura. "They,seem to have been friends for a long time. Most of their lives. They certainly played a lot of tennis together."

Morimoto ordered another drink from a passing waitress, Kawamura asked for coffee.

"No one else would play tennis with Sakai. He is... a difficult man."

"Really?"

"He was an early member of the club," explained Morimoto. "I'm not certain he would pass the entrance interview today. He does not represent the type of 'international member' we strive for currently."

"But he played tennis with Manabe-san, he was... an international character, and Manabe's wife was American."

"Sakai hates Americans," said Morimoto, "and as I said, no one else would play with him."

The waitress delivered a tall glass of iced juice for Morimoto and a cup of coffee for Kawamura.

"What about the staff here?" asked Kawamura after the waitress had left. "Were there indications that Manabe-san may have... tried to be too friendly with the staff? The female staff, that is?

Morimoto gave an unambassadorial snort.

"That kind of thing is unthinkable."

"Do women ever go into the men's locker room?" asked Kawamura.

"Women? In the men's locker room? Never. Why?

"We found a cigarette butt in an ashtray in the men's toilet next to bath. There was lipstick on the butt."

"That's impossible," said Morimoto. "Women can't go in the men's locker room. And anyway, smoking is prohibited up there."

"We can't argue with physical evidence," Kawamura remarked. "But I can't imagine a woman being strong enough to do... what was done to Manabe-san."

Outside on court number one, a solidly built young lady slowly tossed a ball into the air, then delivered a serve with sufficient force to have split Shig Manabe down to his socks.

"What was Manabe-san's relationship with a man named Kimura?" Kawamura asked. "He was in the locker room yesterday, and one of the staff told us that he and Manabe once had knockdown, roll-around fight out on the courts."

"Which member of the staff told you that?" asked Morimoto quickly.

Kawamura took a sip of his coffee.

"I'm not sure that's important," he answered. "What was their relationship?"

"This is a private club, and our staff shouldn't be..."

"I appreciate all that," said Kawamura, "but a murder occurred in this private club. What was their relationship?"

"Kimura used to work for Manabe. That was years ago. Kimura used to travel back and forth to the States from Japan. After a while, they had some... disagreement about the business. That was all."

"A fight? And then not even playing next to each other for fifteen years?"

"Memories, particularly in love and business, are long," replied the Tokyo Lawn Tennis Club president.

"Long enough to commit murder?"

"Ridiculous," said Morimoto. "Murder would have occurred at the time of the fight, not now. What did Kimura say when you spoke to him?"

"He said Manabe was the nicest guy in the world."

"See? That proves it."

Kawamura wasn't sure what it proved. Morimoto was looking over his shoulder at three men who were standing by the glass doors obviously waiting to go out and play.

"I'm afraid I must excuse myself," said Morimoto.

"I understand that, sir, but I would like to ask you about Manabe-san's relationship with a man named Bitman."

'Theodore Bitman? He's not Japanese."

"I understand that, but..."

"Non-Japanese tend to come and go regularly," said Morimoto.

"Bitman has been in Japan since 1963."

"Then I suggest you speak to him directly," said Morimoto rising from his chair and joining his friends for another game.