Death changed people, but that much?

Harry tentatively raised the lid of the box. The wood was white wisteria sanded to a sheen that emphasized the glossy black of the hair inside, cut short. He dug his fingers in and lifted. Since the head faced away he first saw damp, matted hair and two wounds down to the skull that must have preceded the final slice. A broad neck. Small ears with thick lobes. He turned the head around to face Haruko. Her eyes were slitted, mouth parted, forehead creased by a frown. It was an expression she might wear if a friend had suddenly accosted her with a a trick question, something she didn’t have the answer for and was still figuring out.

Haruko in her own dress. That explained a lot. After telling Harry on the phone that Michiko had taken the dress, Haruko must have gone after it and found Michiko, and the two must have come to the ballroom together. Why Michiko didn’t wait and Haruko did, Harry couldn’t understand, although it explained why Haruko was taken so completely by surprise. In the murk of the restroom, with no gun and no warning, how could she defend herself from Ishigami?

A reverberation pounded at the back door and died. Harry fought the impulse to run. Where to? The door opened for a man dressed in shadow who moved through the scenery racks, emerged onto the ballroom parquet and peeled his goggles back. It was Gen in a leather coat and helmet. He slowed as he approached the table.

“Harry, what did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing. Who is that?” Gen nodded toward the head in Harry’s hands.

“Haruko.”

“The waitress from your club?”

“Yes.”

Harry had a ringing in his ears that he couldn’t place as either alarm or relief. He put the head into the box as gently as he could and replaced the lid.

“Any witnesses, Harry?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t here.”

“Okay.” Gen followed the trail to the restroom and edged in, careful to stay out of the blood. He emerged breathing hard and shaking his head. “You’ve done it now, Harry.”

“It was Ishigami. If you’d gotten him out of town when I asked, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Gen made a show of looking right and left. “I don’t see Ishigami. What I see is you and Haruko.”

“If I did it, where’s the sword?”

“You tell me. Did you kill her?”

“No, I swear.”

“On what, Harry? What would you swear on?”

“I didn’t do it. Simple as that.”

“Nothing is simple with you.” Gen looked at Harry coldly. “Did anyone see you come in? Tetsu? Anyone?”

“No.”

Gen started twice to say something and finally softened. “Come on.”

THE SUN HAD SET while Harry was in the ballroom. He and Gen rode the motorbike the long way around to Asakusa Park. They joined a circle under a streetlamp watching a storyteller with a box of illustrated slides depicting the feats of the Golden Bat, the same show they had watched as kids. Around them the crowd was in constant motion, from food stalls to fortune-tellers, sandal and kimono shops, stands selling toys, masks, souvenirs. Some people flowed out to the movie-theater row while others restlessly wandered back to the precincts of the temple like a sea that didn’t know which way to go. Harry didn’t know where else to look for Michiko. Would she go to the apartment, the one place where Ishigami was sure to look? Every time Harry thought about her, the ringing in his ears returned like a deafening alarm. He kept moving, hoping to find Tetsu or someone else who might have seen her. In the slide box, the Golden Bat killed an ogre. Harry wiped his hands with his handkerchief. Gen had tucked his motorcycle cap under his arm, but he still drew admiring glances as if he’d parachuted in.

Gen said, “I should be handing you to the police. What happened at the ballroom?”

“I don’t know, but it was Ishigami.”

“You’re sure?”

Harry pushed through the crowd. “I asked you to get him out of town, and you didn’t.”

“You also said he was after you. Why would he kill Haruko? Did they even know each other?”

“I doubt it.”

“It was a sudden homicidal impulse?”

“Maybe. And he carried a head box, like a Boy Scout. ‘Be Prepared.’”

“Harry, if Ishigami and Haruko didn’t have a relationship, then someone else was involved.”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re holding back. I promise, no matter how bad it is, I’ll help, but you have to help me, too. Did you have a fight with Michiko over Haruko?”

“No.”

“The fact is, Harry, you have a reputation for women, and Michiko has a reputation for a temper.”

“Leave Michiko out of this.”

“Okay, okay. Did anyone see you at the ballroom?”

“I don’t think so.”

“That’s good. Where were you?”

“At the golf course.”

“With…?”

“Actually, I was talking to the ambassador.”

“The American ambassador? That’s great.”

“Not really. He didn’t hear me.”

Gen laughed. “Really? Did he see you?”

“No.”

Gen wore a smile that suggested he was enjoying a stick of Wrigley’s. “That’s one hell of an alibi. That’s rich. Anyone else?”

“Yoshitaki.”

“Of Yoshitaki Lines? Forget it, he has lawyers. He never talks to the police about anything. What did you want to talk to the ambassador about?”

“I ran into my old friend Hooper. He said the ambassador wanted to talk to me. It turned out he didn’t.”

“I wonder what it was about.”

“We’ll never know.”

The pillowy glow of paper lanterns led to the temple steps. Inside but visible, a row of monks with shaved heads chanted to the beat of a hanging drum. Sweating from steady effort, they repeated sutras over and over like oars pulling through deep water, while a younger monk shook brass cylinders containing fortunes to be sold. Fortunes were sold everywhere, in the forms of paper lilies that opened in water, paper letters with invisible ink, dream papers to take to bed. And prayers, too, with the purchase of candles, joss sticks or the toss of a coin through a temple grate. From the top step, Harry watched smoke billow from the joss sticks set in a great bronze urn. More than ever, people needed a prayer or hope for a son or brother just called to duty. They paid no mind to Gen or Harry.

Gen said, “How are you going to find Michiko in this mob?”

“I’m not going to sit still while Ishigami hunts her down.”

“Why would he? You said he was after you.”

“He’s gotten ambitious.”

“So you have seen him. What happened?”

Harry had never told Gen about the Chinese prisoners in Nanking, and he did not intend to get into the subject of DeGeorge. Haruko was bad enough.

“Ishigami came to my place last night and saw Michiko with me.”

“He’s after you but didn’t touch you?”

“Remember Sergeant Shozo and Corporal Go? They came by to ask some questions and scared Ishigami off.”

“Last night? What time?”

“Three in the morning.”

“For questions?”

“Oil-tank questions, Hawaii questions.” Harry caught the shift to impassivity on Gen’s face. The American breeziness always could be dropped like a mask. “They’re talking to someone in Naval Operations. Someone on your end is leaking like a sieve.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Nothing.”

“Good. Nothing about the Magic Show? Nothing about the C in C?”

“No.”

“Terrific. Look, Harry, the navy will protect you, but you’ve got to be honest. First, you’re lying about China. Colonel Ishigami isn’t going to chase you around Tokyo over a couple of cars you appropriated years ago in Nanking. Something else happened there. Second, you’re lying about last night. The colonel has a sense of honor. He wouldn’t harm a woman unless she had betrayed him in a personal way. How could Michiko or Haruko do that if they didn’t know him? Why would he hurt either one? Sometimes I think you lie like other people whistle. Do you know why I came by the ballroom? I was looking for you. Sergeant Shozo did you the favor of calling me to say you were one inch away from a prison cell. I vouched for you and went all over town to warn you, and what do I see when I find you?”