that out, but I believed beyond
doubt he hadn't killed Hosoi.
"We're making progress," I said, "although I can't guarantee
anything. Meanwhile, don't sign any confessions. I'll talk to Ishii
about it."
I gave Dorian a moment to let that sink in before I switched
tack.
"I met Hosoi's brother. He said that she had made some very
large bank deposits recently. He figures that to be evidence you were
keeping her as a mistress."
Dorian's eyes locked onto mine.
"Why would he think that?"
Under other circumstances, the reply would have been a
normal response. As things stood, it was obvious. I shrugged and
wondered if Dorian might be fishing for something else. He opened
his mouth and closed it without speaking.
He tried again. "What do you know about the money?"
I decided not to mention the Spanish restaurateur's
statement about the payment he saw delivered to Hosoi. "When I
leave here, I'm going to meet a former banker who's working on
that."
"Do you think you can keep me informed a little more
regularly?" A spark of the old Dorian flared, but then he let his gaze
fall back to the table.
"I can't come here every day," I said, "but I'll try to pass on
new information to your lawyer. I told you that we were making
progress, but I figure no matter what we come up, with we're down a
dead-end alley. That is unless you can help crack a tough nut."
"What?"
"I think at least two people were directly involved in Hosoi's
murder. If you didn't kill her, somebody went to a lot of trouble to
target you. Can you tell me why?"
He shook his head without looking up.
"I believe that you can, Mr. Dorian, and why you don't
puzzles the hell out me."
* * * *
I looked at Morimoto's business card. It had a map with
English directions on it. Maybe I could have found the place on my
own, but I left the adventure of locating Protect Agency to a taxi
driver.
The headquarters was bigger than I had expected. It took up
three floors of almost prime real estate on the fringe of Shinagawa,
an industrial ward at the juncture of Tokyo City, Tokyo Bay and
Kawasaki.
I loitered next to the receptionist's desk until Morimoto
pushed open a door that had been secured by a digital lock. I
glimpsed dense rows of cubicles on the other side of the door. If all
those desks were staffed, investigations must indeed be a growth
industry.
Compared with the first time I saw him, Morimoto was
walking on the spry side of jaunty. Big change. Maybe he'd gotten
lucky in love. Or lucky in work. I wished for the latter. He asked the
receptionist to bring coffee, and then led me to a meeting room. He
kept a folder close to his chest and made small talk until the
receptionist brought coffee. It must have been another of his rituals.
He shoved the cup aside and laid the folder in its place.
"I found more money."
"That was paid to Hosoi?"
He nodded.
"How much?"
"Fifty-thousand dollars, paid in U.S. dollars from a bank in
the Caymans."
"Any connection to Dorian?"
"I don't know who paid it. I only know the bank that it came
from, and when. The deposit was made the day before Hosoi-san was
killed. I don't think it came from Mr. Dorian."
"Why not?"
"The same amount was transferred out of Hosoi-san's
account back to the Cayman bank. That transfer was made the day
after she died."
"While Dorian was a guest of Tokyo prosecutors."
Morimoto nodded.
"Most of the other deposits were in cash, but there was one
bank-to-bank transfer of three million yen that came from a trading
company."
That was about the annual salary of an office clerk.
"Why a trading company?" Nothing I learned about Hosoi
indicated she was likely to set up an import-export shop.
"I don't know the relationship, but the company, Ukeda
Trading, is known to be used by money washers."
"Money launderers."
"I know." Morimoto looked like a cat that had been scolded
for bringing home a wounded canary. "It's hard to pronounce
laun...der..."
"Money washers." I liked him better spunky.
"The company's owners
doubt he hadn't killed Hosoi.
"We're making progress," I said, "although I can't guarantee
anything. Meanwhile, don't sign any confessions. I'll talk to Ishii
about it."
I gave Dorian a moment to let that sink in before I switched
tack.
"I met Hosoi's brother. He said that she had made some very
large bank deposits recently. He figures that to be evidence you were
keeping her as a mistress."
Dorian's eyes locked onto mine.
"Why would he think that?"
Under other circumstances, the reply would have been a
normal response. As things stood, it was obvious. I shrugged and
wondered if Dorian might be fishing for something else. He opened
his mouth and closed it without speaking.
He tried again. "What do you know about the money?"
I decided not to mention the Spanish restaurateur's
statement about the payment he saw delivered to Hosoi. "When I
leave here, I'm going to meet a former banker who's working on
that."
"Do you think you can keep me informed a little more
regularly?" A spark of the old Dorian flared, but then he let his gaze
fall back to the table.
"I can't come here every day," I said, "but I'll try to pass on
new information to your lawyer. I told you that we were making
progress, but I figure no matter what we come up, with we're down a
dead-end alley. That is unless you can help crack a tough nut."
"What?"
"I think at least two people were directly involved in Hosoi's
murder. If you didn't kill her, somebody went to a lot of trouble to
target you. Can you tell me why?"
He shook his head without looking up.
"I believe that you can, Mr. Dorian, and why you don't
puzzles the hell out me."
* * * *
I looked at Morimoto's business card. It had a map with
English directions on it. Maybe I could have found the place on my
own, but I left the adventure of locating Protect Agency to a taxi
driver.
The headquarters was bigger than I had expected. It took up
three floors of almost prime real estate on the fringe of Shinagawa,
an industrial ward at the juncture of Tokyo City, Tokyo Bay and
Kawasaki.
I loitered next to the receptionist's desk until Morimoto
pushed open a door that had been secured by a digital lock. I
glimpsed dense rows of cubicles on the other side of the door. If all
those desks were staffed, investigations must indeed be a growth
industry.
Compared with the first time I saw him, Morimoto was
walking on the spry side of jaunty. Big change. Maybe he'd gotten
lucky in love. Or lucky in work. I wished for the latter. He asked the
receptionist to bring coffee, and then led me to a meeting room. He
kept a folder close to his chest and made small talk until the
receptionist brought coffee. It must have been another of his rituals.
He shoved the cup aside and laid the folder in its place.
"I found more money."
"That was paid to Hosoi?"
He nodded.
"How much?"
"Fifty-thousand dollars, paid in U.S. dollars from a bank in
the Caymans."
"Any connection to Dorian?"
"I don't know who paid it. I only know the bank that it came
from, and when. The deposit was made the day before Hosoi-san was
killed. I don't think it came from Mr. Dorian."
"Why not?"
"The same amount was transferred out of Hosoi-san's
account back to the Cayman bank. That transfer was made the day
after she died."
"While Dorian was a guest of Tokyo prosecutors."
Morimoto nodded.
"Most of the other deposits were in cash, but there was one
bank-to-bank transfer of three million yen that came from a trading
company."
That was about the annual salary of an office clerk.
"Why a trading company?" Nothing I learned about Hosoi
indicated she was likely to set up an import-export shop.
"I don't know the relationship, but the company, Ukeda
Trading, is known to be used by money washers."
"Money launderers."
"I know." Morimoto looked like a cat that had been scolded
for bringing home a wounded canary. "It's hard to pronounce
laun...der..."
"Money washers." I liked him better spunky.
"The company's owners
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