Compromised (29 page)

“Nanda yo omae-wa?”
Katsui whispered contemptuously, confirming Haruki’s suspicions. Who the hell do you think you are? Still there was something in the subsequent glances Katsui stole that puzzled him.

Why does he look at me like that?
Haruki wondered, but the command from the
warden
focused him on the mission at hand. His hand moved forward, the palm of his hand depressing the
kuroi botan
.

When the three buttons were depressed,
the
Buddhist sutra was interrupted by the clang of the mechanical latch that had been triggered. The trapdoor beneath Shiroo was released. His neck snapped as he dropped into the cold, clinical cubicle beneath the death chamber, where a doctor waited to pronounce him dead.

Only one of the
kuroi botans
activated the trapdoor, and in that way neither Haruki nor the two guards were ever to know which of them had sent Shiroo to his death. But deep in his bones, Haruki sensed that it was his touch on the black plunger that had caused Shiroo’s neck to snap and rewarded him with a long-awaited sense of closure.

Kei Katsui treaded carefully over the debris in the old tire plant while looking at the map Mirai Shiroo had drawn for him on a napkin just days before his execution.
With every step he kicked up the ages-settled vulcanized dust that lay on the floor. The plant had been closed for over a decade but still smelled of rubber. Heavy machinery stood frozen and rusted, waiting for the day it’d be disassembled and sold for scrap, recycled and remolded into the chassis of Toyotas and Nissans.

Just past the battery of tire lathes was the staircase to the floor manager’s office, with a large glass panel through which the factory workers’ activities could be observed. The door was locked as Shiroo had told him it might be, but one firm kick cracked the wooden frame and worked well in place of the key Shiroo no longer had access to.

Katsui put his weight against the heavy wooden desk and moved it to reveal the floor panel Shiroo told him he’d find beneath the leg of the massive desk. The panel had been expertly machined without so much as an eighth inch of play separating its sides. He used a pocket knife to slide the panel to the side so that there was now a quarter-inch space on one side and no space on the other, just enough for him to pry the panel from where it lay.

The safe was embedded in the floor, sandwiched between two wooden rafters. He followed the written instructions, twisting the combination dial left and right in the prescribed sequence. The precision-engineered lock opened with a clanking noise. He knew what he’d find within: bundles of cash totaling roughly one hundred and fifty million yen, payment for a favor yet to be performed. Shiroo’s days and mental facility had dwindled away so quickly that Katsui doubted that he’d been sane on the day he was escorted to the gallows.

Shiroo would never know if Katsui had honored his end of the bargain, but the former yakuza boss had lost all of his connections and power. Isolated, he had no leverage with anyone on the outside. His only option was to rely on the prison guard who had supervised his internment every day for more than three years.

Katsui stared at the money, then reread the name and phone number on the bottom of the napkin he’d gotten from Mirai Shiroo and pondered whether the vast sum of money justified the actions he was asked to take—and whether he could live with himself after sacrificing his honor.
His brother. Do I dare?
It was more money than he’d earn in ten lifetimes, and would provide luxuries for his family he could never even contemplate. And all he had to do to earn such vast riches was to place a phone call and tell Mirai’s brother the name of the man who had betrayed him. He whispered,
“
Kami wa watashi o yurushite
.” God forgive me. He then unfolded a nylon duffel bag and stuffed it with the cash.

Harry had held his head erect the entire time he told us the story and seemed almost proud to share the details with us.
Hearing him impart the elements of the story with passion gave me a sense of how fundamental a role it played in the decisions he’d made and the actions he’d taken—to go abroad, track down his brother’s murderer, and avenge his death. It was a great story, but was it the truth?

Studying his facial expressions, speech patterns, and body language, I sensed that his deeds had been genuine and had been dictated by his heart, but I wasn’t completely satisfied. Something told me to look deeper. “How did you know that Mirai Shiroo cut a deal with Kei Katsui, the prison guard?”

Harry’s answer was immediate. “Katsui was investigated on corruption charges.”

“What was the tip-off?” Gus asked, presuming the obvious. “Did the asshole buy matching his-and-hers canary-yellow Lamborghinis?”

Harry didn’t laugh. The dark humor in Gus’s question was lost on him. “No. Katsui only spent money on things of true value. He sent his children off to private boarding school, but his supervisor knew that he couldn’t afford such an expensive education for his kids on a civil servant’s salary and opened an official query.”

“I see.” I took a moment before asking my next question. I wanted to phrase it in a way that would play right into his hands. “So this was strictly a matter of revenge. Daichi killed Yana to get revenge. The guard, Katsui, told him that you were responsible for his brother’s death, so he killed your brother to get even. Is that about right?” I took a deep breath and waited patiently for him to answer.

“Yes. That’s exactly right, Chalice.”

Son of a bitch.
Under any other circumstances I’d have been thoroughly relieved to be done with the whole mess. I had yearned for a conclusion, but there was something about his story that just didn’t sit right with me. Yana’s murder, my life-changing head wound, and the deaths of an innocent chef and a tattoo artist . . . I knew in my heart that he was lying to me. I turned to my husband. “Gus, could you give us a minute alone?”

He seemed surprised by the request but must have assumed that I needed time alone with Harry, a moment of healing and a good cry over the death of the man who was his brother and my partner. “Sure. Okay,” he replied reluctantly. He got up, squeezed my shoulder to show support, and whispered, “I’ll be right outside if you need me. Don’t make this any harder on yourself than it has to be.”

I nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.” I waited for Gus to leave before drawing the blinds on the mirror and switching off the video camera and mic.

“What is going on?” Harry asked. For the briefest moment I detected a chink in his armor. He looked tentative, and I could see that being alone with me made him feel uncomfortable. “Why did you ask him to leave?”

I strode back and forth as I answered. “Because this is personal—just between you and me.”

My answer seemed to satisfy him because he looked to be back on his game, once again confident and self-assured. “I understand. We were both wounded by the loss of my brother.”

Perfect. This is the way I want you, with your guard down.
He must’ve thought that he was still in control of the situation, but I knew better. “I have one last question for you, Harry.”

“Of course,” he offered. “Anything.”

“Why did you kill Daichi Shiroo? He was under arrest and he’d be going to prison. You were surrounded by witnesses—you knew you’d never get away with it, so . . .” I shrugged. “Was it something that happened in the heat of the moment? Were you so enraged that you couldn’t control yourself? I know you hated him for killing your brother, but you’re a cop. You’ve been trained to maintain control under pressure.”

“Control, yes, but this . . . this was too personal. He murdered my brother. He was arrogant and he provoked me. I guess it was just too much, and I snapped.”

“Sure. That makes sense,” I said, pretending to go along with his story. “A man takes your brother’s life . . . I don’t know that I wouldn’t have done the same thing.”

He was trying to control himself, but I saw him let out a subtle sigh of relief.

“How’d you find your way over to the garage?”

“As you know, I was searching for Daichi, and I was monitoring the police radio frequency. The airwaves were filled with calls about a raid on a commercial garage and the possibility of apprehending the cop killer.”

“I see. And you responded to the scene.”

“Yes.”

“Knowing you were going to kill Daichi if you had the chance?”

“Ye—” He tried to catch his answer, but it was too late. He’d blundered, and I could see in his eyes that he knew it as well. “I meant that I wanted to kill him. I was harboring so much hatred for the man. I think you understand what I mean. My English . . . sometimes I’m not sure if I’m communicating well enough.”

“No worries,” I said with a comforting smile.
You’re communicating just fine.
I pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him. “Let me tell you what I think.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“If I heard your story correctly, you were working undercover. You infiltrated Mirai Shiroo’s yakuza family, and you set him up. He thought he was safe when he threatened and killed Nomura in front of you, but you had the van rigged for audio and video, and you used the recorded account to send him to the gallows. He ordered you to burn the van and dispose of the murder weapon, but you did neither.”

“Yes. I spent years working the case. Infiltrating the yakuza was very difficult. Winning trust and rising within the organization was an all-consuming task. I had to abandon my friends, my family . . . everyone.”

“Oh, I get it, Harry. Believe me, I empathize with you. Funny thing about organized crime families, though—whether it’s the Mafia, the Chinese triads, the Russian mob, or the yakuza—they all seem to know their own, and they’re pretty darn clever about sniffing out rats. You must’ve put your very heart and soul into that performance, because those people play for keeps.” I had to get to the bottom of it. I was baiting him and was afraid he’d know it, so I chose a new line of questioning. “So when did you realize that it was Mirai’s brother who killed Yana? I mean, you didn’t hear it from me, so how’d you figure it out?”

I could see the gears turning in his head. He was playing chess and trying to think several moves ahead, offering answers that wouldn’t lead him into an ambush. “Daichi abducted Tiru, saying he would kill him unless I met him at the park. He told me that he had killed Yana and would give me a chance to save my honor by exchanging my life for Tiru’s.”

“But he killed Tiru anyway.”

“That is on you, Chalice,” he said heatedly. “You weren’t supposed to be there, but you tracked me to the park and spooked Daichi.”

Trying to turn the tables on me? I don’t think so.
“Maybe, but I think he planned to kill Tiru all along. He was sending you a message: You betrayed my brother, and now he’s dead. I’m going to kill you and everyone close to you—first your brother, then your friends . . . and you last.”

“If that’s what you have to believe to help you sleep at night, Chalice, but I believe that you forced his hand.”

“And I believe this is all on you, your brother’s death, my injury, and the murders of your two close friends. You were far more than an undercover cop. You were a dirty cop, a cop who’d been part of a rival yakuza family for years before you entered the police academy. That’s why Mirai Shiroo trusted you. You weren’t pretending to be yakuza, you
were
yakuza, and you were playing both sides against the middle. You took down Mirai so that a rival family could move in and take over his turf. And you became a police hero in the process.

“That’s crazy talk.”

“The hell it is. Daichi didn’t kill your brother strictly for revenge. He couldn’t go back to Japan because of his outstanding murder warrants. He killed your brother to lure you here. It was you, Harry. You were the intended target all along. Poor Yana, he had a higher purpose in life and would’ve had a brilliant career in law enforcement, but because of you, he was just a means to an end, just chum thrown in the water to catch a bigger fish. That’s why Daichi said that
you
were yakuza scum. You were the traitor all along and you killed him not to avenge your brother so much as to silence him forever. He alone knew that you set up his brother and you figured it was only a matter of time before he found a way of getting the information back to his yakuza brethren back in Japan, so it was kill or be killed. Once his yakuza family learned that you were a member of a rival family, that you betrayed Shiroo, and that you were also working for the police . . . they’d cut you up into fish bait, not all at once, but one agonizing slice at a time until you were reduced to bones. You’re pathetic. This was all about saving your own ass. You’re a fraud, Harry. You go on and on about honor, but you’re just a stinking cowardly fraud.”

I exhaled deeply after unleashing my rage and waited for him to react. Moments ticked away while I waited for his answer and then it came. He closed his eyes and slowly lowered his head in shame.

Gus was busily scoffing down huevos rancheros and home fries, Ma was elbows deep in a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, and Max was creating a Crayola work of art on his paper placemat—Sunday morning brunch with the family, what could possibly be better?

I grabbed Ma’s mimosa and stole a sip.

“Hey!” she protested loudly. “That’s off-limits.”

“What can I say? I’m feeling my oats today.” I cleaned the last bit of pancake from my plate. “I’m going back for more,” I said, beaming as I wiped a smudge of chocolate off my upper lip. “The chocolate-chip pancakes were delish, but I’m not leaving without trying the Nutella-stuffed French toast.” Best of all, the doctor told me that I could have one cup of regular coffee per day and I was saving that happy experience for last.

The clouds had departed and I was finally seeing that fabled silver lining optimists are always talking about. My future as an NYPD homicide detective teetered precariously on the opinion of the medical review board, but I had decided not to dwell on their pending decision because it was out of my control. So for the moment I was content just being with my family and sucking up every crumb of happiness life had to offer. “Can I bring something back for either of you?” I asked before setting off to pillage the buffet.