Читать книгу Murder at the Tokyo Lawn & Tennis Club - Robert J. Collins - Страница 20

CHAPTER 13

The Monday morning meeting in Chief Arai's office did not go smoothly. The morning papers had reported briefly on the discovery of a respected international Japanese businessman dead in the bath at the Tokyo Lawn Tennis Club. But all knew this was the relative calm before a publicity storm since the evening papers would certainly tumble to the truth.

"And that's all you plan to do?" bellowed the police chief. "Interview people and take fancy statements?"

"Well, we have to establish a motive..."

"Establish a motive?" roared Arai. "Somebody walked into the bath and hit your man over the head. Find out who did it."

'That's a good point, sir," said Kawamura. He and Suzuki-san rose from their chairs. "We had better get to it right away."

"And no dinner until you make somebody confess," whooped Arai as Kawamura and Suzuki-san left the office.

"That doesn't mean lunch, does it?" asked Suzuki-san as they walked down to the third floor.

The plan for the day involved setting up an appointment and meeting with Theodore Bitman to discuss his business situation and the reported lawsuit filed by Manabe-san against him. Research on the lawsuit was assigned to one of the younger members of the Azabu Police Department staff. Official channels do not always exist in Japan between the police departments and various government agencies, but in all cases it's relatively simple to obtain information. All it would take in this case is to find someone with a relative, classmate, neighbor, or friend with a relative, classmate, neighbor, or friend in the Ministry of Justice. The process could be accomplished in half a day.

The next meeting was to be with Kimura-san, apparently a former employee of Manabe's and certainly a man with enough bottled-up passion to have once rolled around on the ground punching and kicking "the nicest guy in the world."

Kawamura somewhat reluctantly agreed with Suzuki-san that another meeting should be scheduled with the remaining Silver Fox, Takashi Sakai. Sakai was retired and lived alone, reported the tennis club office, but the manager had heard that he still did occasional consulting jobs for his former employers, Mitsubishi Heavy Industries. ("His job must have been to pick up the heavy machines," reported Suzuki-san on hearing this piece of information.)

And a session would have to be scheduled with Manabe's new widow after her arrival in Tokyo. It was the type of interview Kawamura liked least. He planned it last, in fact.

Theodore Bitman was found sitting on a tall stool in a sound stage at the Asahi Television studio in Roppongi. It was 10:30 in the morning, but taping was about to begin for a program to be aired at midnight. Six young women wearing semitransparent, loose-fitting negligees and the briefest of underpants were busily stretching, bending over, and otherwise loosening up. Bitman was intently studying them.

"My part of the show is, ah, slightly different," Bitman explained to Kawamura and Suzuki-san. "My role tonight is to describe the strange eating habits of Americans in the U.S."

"Are their eating habits strange?" asked Kawamura.

"I don't know, I've lived here since 1963, but anyway that's my role in this whole thing."

Suzuki-san, interested in camera and lighting angles, wandered over to where the six young women were now rehearsing a pillow fight under the director's scrutiny.

"It's come to our attention," said Kawamura, "that you and Manabe-san had a disagreement in the past, and the, ah, bad feelings may have continued to the present."

Bitman turned his back to the rehearsals and faced Kawamura directly.

"It was a business disagreement," said Bitman, "not a personal one. In fact, once we settled that... problem... Shig and I became somewhat friendly again. As I said to you the other day, he was one of the nicest guys in the world. We are... were... business rivals, but in a way, I respected him."

"Could you describe the... 'business disagreement'?"

Bitman glanced briefly over his shoulder. The six young women now had their negligees off and were rolling around the floor in their underpants while a person dressed up in a panda costume was pretending to nuzzle them with his snout. The director was shouting instructions—the panda kept getting it wrong.

"To be honest," said Bitman turning back to Kawamura, "I'm a little embarrassed about it. I approached Shig in 1964 and asked him to lend me money to start my own business. Shig was already established as a pearl importer-exporter, and I merely wanted to set up a retail store for pearls in Japan. He put up money for the deposit with the landlord and introduced me to pearl suppliers. I still have that first store in the Ginza, by the way."

"Why would someone like Manabe-san lend money for something like that?"

Bitman thought for a moment.

"I don't know for sure," he said. "As I said, he was a nice guy, plus I think he appreciated the fact I was a foreigner who bothered to learn Japanese. Actually, I studied Japanese in Salt Lake City and came to Tokyo for my church."

"What was the disagreement?"

"Friends of mine in the States were looking for supplies of pearls... and I began supplying them. That suddenly was in competition with Shig. He was upset, and wanted repayment on the loan. I think his wife was a factor in the decision."

The six young women, now wearing baby panda outfits that came down to their waists, were rehearsing dance steps with the adult panda. Cameramen were on the floor shooting upward, and the director was still shouting instructions.

"The problem is," continued Bitman, "I had just opened my fourth and fifth retail store, and I didn't have cash."

"And...?"

"And Shig sued me. As I say, I think his wife had a lot to do with that. She is probably stronger in business than he... was."

"What happened?"

"We settled. Manabe has owned ten percent of Bitman Pearls since 1967. It's been very good for him... them, if I do say so."

"Ten percent is a lot to take off the top of a business," suggested Kawamura.

"Not to me," said Bitman waving his arm around the studio, "I earn more than ten percent of my business doing this crap."