Murder on the Cliff (25 page)

Like Okichi-
mago
’s murder.

Charlotte sat at the, kitchen table at Briarcote and watched Mimi work, chopping onions, toasting bread, opening a can of tunafish. She was making a sandwich for Charlotte, who had missed her lunch with Connie at Bailey’s. A few minutes later, she served Charlotte on a chipped plate in the small dining room. As she ate, she stared at the collection of china that lined the wall opposite her and reviewed recent events in her mind, trying to make sense of it all. She didn’t know what to think. Not only had she made no progress with Okichi-
mago
’s murder, there was now another murder to solve. The perfect lovers, Okichi-
mago
and Shawn, both dead. She thought of the puppet play. Neither death had been a suicide, but the outcome was the same. Unable to become husband and wife in this life, they would be united in the next, reborn on the same lotus before Buddha’s throne.

The removal of Shawn’s topknot pointed to professional jealousy as the motive, but Charlotte’s intuition still told her that his death was linked to Okichi-
mago
’s. If the murderer
was
the same, he had given up on the niceties. No more elaborate stagings: Shawn’s murder had been down and dirty. In her thoughts, she kept coming back to Tanaka. Shawn said he had seen someone who he thought was Tanaka on the Cliff Walk on the night of Okichi-
mago
’s murder. Tanaka had reason to kill Okichi-
mago
and he had reason to kill Shawn: not only had Shawn stolen his geisha, he was probably going to defeat Takafuji in the next sumo tournament. Tanaka’s presence on the Cliff Walk wasn’t much to go on, but it was something. And something was better than nothing. Murder would seem to be out of character for a man of Tanaka’s stature. But then … She thought of something that Spalding had once said about the Japanese—an observation based on his years as deputy chief of mission in Tokyo. “The Japanese are motivated by three things: pride, nationalism, and downright irrationality. In other words, you never know when they’ll go ape.” Maybe Tanaka had gone ape.

After lunch, she set out for Edgecliff. Again, she parked the car under the
porte-cochère
next to the giant urn. Again, the Japanese butler escorted her through the Great Hall into the morning room. As she waited, Charlotte scanned a Japanese English-language magazine that was lying on a table. Tanaka was pictured on the cover. The caption was “Leader of the Japanese neo-nationalists?” If there was anyone who wouldn’t want to see an American attain
yokozuna
status, it would be a Japanese neo-nationalist. Within a few minutes the butler returned with Hayashi, who bowed in greeting and then announced that Tanaka-
san
was in, and that he would be happy to see her. Charlotte was pleasantly surprised: she had thought he might be playing golf in the Black Ships Festival tournament. She followed Hayashi up the red-carpeted marble staircase to a second-floor landing decorated with a ten-foot-high stained glass window depicting the Crusaders conquering Jerusalem. From there, they climbed a few more stairs to the arcaded gallery overlooking the Great Hall. Tanaka’s office was located at the end of a woodrpaneled corridor, at the rear of the mansion. A brass plaque mounted on the wall bore the name of the Yoshino Electronics Corporation, and an engraving of the corporate logo of a cherry branch in flower. After inviting her to take a seat in a sparsely furnished anteroom, Hayashi disappeared into the adjoining office. He emerged a few seconds later and invited her to follow him into the inner office.

The office was surprisingly Spartan for one of the world’s richest men, but then, Tanaka was known for living modestly. Like many other successful Japanese executives, his origins were humble. He had started work at age nine as a messenger boy in an electronics factory. As a young man, he had supposedly pawned his wife’s antique kimono (Charlotte was reminded of Okichi-
mago’s
seashell kimono) to raise the capital to realize his dream of founding a company to manufacture an improved wall switch. His company had gone on to become one of the world’s biggest suppliers of electrical products. Although the Newport office was just a remote outpost of his empire, Charlotte suspected that his offices in New York and Tokyo were similarly austere. The American executive’s taste for luxury was disdained by the Japanese executive, who considered it one reason for America’s economic decline. The Japanese had little respect for an economic culture that rewarded ineffective executives with enormous salaries and fancy perks. If a Japanese executive didn’t deliver, he took a cut in pay. Even successful executives like Tanaka considered luxurious lifestyles an affront to their workers. The furnishings of his office were ordinary: a sleek black lacquered desk, a low couch, and a few chrome-and-leather chairs. What was interesting about it was the decorations: it was a virtual shrine to Takafuji. A huge photograph on one wall showed Tanaka and some other businessmen clustering around Takafuji, who was seated in front of a silver punch bowl into which they were pouring bottles of sake. An enlargement of Takafuji’s
tegata
, the handprints signed with a sumo wrestler’s name; which were sold or given away as souvenirs, occupied another wall. On a side table was a photo of Tanaka and Takafuji playing golf. Charlotte hadn’t realized Tanaka’s depth of commitment to Takafuji; she had thought of his sponsorship more in terms of his sending off an annual check.

Coming from behind the black desk, which overlooked the Cliff Walk and the flint-gray Atlantic, Tanaka stepped forward to shake her hand. “I’m very pleased to see you again, Miss Graham. I am a great fan of yours.” In keeping with the retreat status of the Newport office and the fact that this was a Sunday, he was wearing a gray sweatsuit instead of a business suit.

“Thank you,” she said, returning his handshake. Despite his slight build—his white head only came up to her shoulder—he had a strong grip and an eager, self-assured smile. As she sat down on the couch, she could see waves breaking on the offshore ledges; it was from these waves that The Breakers took its name.

“What can I do for you today?” he asked as he returned to his seat. As at the opening ceremonies, he spoke excellent English. He was known for his skill with the language and for the crafty ease with which he dealt with Americans.

Charlotte told him about Shawn’s death, but he’d already heard. From whom? she wondered. Then she explained that she’d been asked to look into the recent murders by a member of city government.

“Two murders in one week,” he said, shaking his snow-white head. “It is a terrible thing, for both our countries. The United States is a violent country: something like this would never have happened in Japan.”

Charlotte agreed with him that it was a violent country, but she wasn’t about to join in his America-bashing. “I see that you’re a sumo fan,” she said, nodding at the pictures on the wall.

“Yes,” said Tanaka. “My company sponsors Takafuji.”

“What does being a sponsor entail?” she asked.

“The sumo stable is very expensive to operate. Most
rikishi
have sponsors who help pay their expenses.” He nodded at the photograph of Takafuji at the silver punch bowl. “That picture was taken at a party on the occasion of Takafuji’s promotion to the rank of junior champion two years ago.” He turned back to Charlotte. “I noticed you at the sumo match. Did you enjoy it?”

“Very much,” she replied.

“I am glad. We were very disappointed when Takafuji lost. As Mr. Smith no doubt told you, Takafuji was hoping to break Akanohana’s winning streak. There is no doubt that Akanohana is—or rather, was—a great
rikishi
. His death will be a great loss to the sport, but the Japanese are very nationalistic; we hate to see a foreigner excel at our national sport.”

Hate it enough to commit murder?
was her unspoken question.

“Of course, Akanohana’s tragic death means that we no longer have that worry,” he added with an ironic little smile.

“I wanted to ask you some questions about the evening of the geisha party,” said Charlotte.

Tanaka nodded.

“As you know, your card was found in the brazier. Someone appeared to be trying to make it look as if Okichi-
mago
committed suicide because she felt she had gone back on her word in severing her relationship with you.”

“Yes. It wasn’t very clever of them. I don’t think Okichi-
mago
had many regrets about severing our relationship.”

“What about your regrets?”

“I had regrets, but not regrets enough to kill her.”

Charlotte nodded. “I spoke with Shawn yesterday. He told me he returned to the temple after the party to meet Okichi-
mago
.” She waited for his reaction, but there was none. “He said he saw you on the Cliff Walk. I’d like to know why you were there and whether you saw anything unusual.”

“I’ve already gone over the answers to those questions with Detective-Captain Sullivan from the Newport Police Department,” he said. His voice carried a hint of irritation.

Charlotte took it that he was annoyed at having his time wasted; his tone of voice seemed to imply that Americans were so disorganized that they had to do everything twice. “I understand,” she replied. “But I’d appreciate it if you would repeat for me what you told them.”

“Gladly,” he replied with a little nod of his head. “After the party, my aide, Mr. Hayashi, and I returned here to Edgecliff. But I was restless; I was thinking about an impending business deal. I decided to take a walk on the Cliff Walk. I often take walks late at night.”

“Did you go back out right away?”

“I changed into more comfortable shoes first: I had been wearing
geta
. But that only took a few minutes. I got back out to the Cliff Walk at about eleven forty-five. I walked down to The Breakers and back. I was only gone about twenty minutes, maybe twenty-five.”

“Did you see anything unusual?”

“Not see, heard. Two things. One: I heard the dog next door barking: Miako. He kept it up for a good ten minutes or more. I wouldn’t have noticed, except that he doesn’t usually bark at night.”

“What time was that?”

“Just before midnight.”

“And the second?”

“I heard someone on the point. The person was drinking; I heard the pop of a beer can being opened as I went by. Since I didn’t hear any voices, I concluded that the person was alone.”

“The point?” said Charlotte.

Tanaka beckoned her to the window.

The lawn stretched out to the cliff’s edge, interrupted only by the balustrade that paralleled the cliff’s edge, and beyond the balustrade, the macadam strip of the Cliff Walk.

Tanaka pointed to a rocky peninsula to the right of the lawn, just past the head of the pebbly channel that Charlotte had followed down the cliff on the morning she’d found Okichi-
mago’s
body. The point and the temple marked the two ends of the crescent beach.

“Teenagers,” said Tanaka. “They like to sit out there and drink beer at night. It’s a dangerous pastime. Several have fallen off. If you could find out who it was, he might be able to help you.”

The phone rang and Hayashi answered it. “It’s for you, Miss Graham.”

It was Lew. “I hope you don’t mind my calling you there. The maid at Briarcote told me where I could find you. We’ve got a suspect in Shawn’s death. Sullivan’s bringing him down to the station now. Want to join us?”

Charlotte said she would and he gave her directions.

After thanking Tanaka for his help, she excused herself and left.

She arrived at the Newport Police Station a few minutes later. It was located in a modern business district just past the Old Colony House, a magnificent two-story colonial brick building dating from the early eighteenth century, which had been the seat of government for the colony of Rhode Island. One of the many portraits of George Washington by Newport’s native son, the painter Gilbert Stuart, hung inside. Like the equally historic buildings around it, it comprised one layer in the many-layered city that was Newport. If the Old Colony House represented one of the bottommost layers, the police station was at the very top: an impersonal institutional building, as devoid of character as a warehouse. A dispatcher showed her into Sullivan’s office. Lew was there, as well as another policeman.

“Did Tanaka tell you anything?” asked Lew.

“Only about the kid or kids on the point.”

“Yeah,” said Sullivan. “He told us about that too. We’ve questioned all the kids we could dig up who were in the vicinity of the Cliff Walk that night, but we haven’t found any who’ll admit to being on the point around midnight.”

“What’s happening?” asked Charlotte.

“One of the sumo wrestlers in Takafuji’s stable—they’re staying at the Treadway—saw a box with a topknot in it among his belongings,” said Lew. “He called Lani about it and Lani called us. One of the men is bringing them both in. Lani’s coming along to translate. They should be here any minute.”

Charlotte thought of what Spalding had said about Takafuji roughing up one of his attendants and kicking a member of his fan club. Anyone with his reputation for meaness would seem to be capable of murder.

“Do you know anything about this guy, Lew?” asked Sullivan. He pronounced the name slowly: “Ta-ka-fu-ji.”

“No, but Miss Graham does,” said Lew.

“Only what I learned about him from Spalding Smith during the sumo tournament.”

“That’s more than I know,” said Sullivan.

“He was Shawn’s rival,” Charlotte replied. “They’ve been on parallel paths during most of their sumo careers, but recently Shawn jumped ahead. Shawn won his last official tournament—he won the Newport tournament too, but that wasn’t an official tournament. If he’d been alive to win the next official tournament, he would have been promoted to grand champion, the highest rank in sumo.”

“Were they friendly rivals or unfriendly?”

“Unfriendly, I gather. Takafuji didn’t like the fact that an American beat him at the national sport.” She proceeded to relate some of the incidents Spalding had told her about. “There’s something else, too.” She continued; “When I visited Shawn, I noticed a topknot sitting on a table. When I asked him about it, he told me that he got one in the mail before every tournament.”