mc.risingsun-第12章

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　〃Of　course　not。〃
　〃So　you　change　according　to　context；　too；〃　Connor　said。　〃The　fact　is　we　all　do。　It's　just　that　Americans　believe　there　is　some　core　of　individuality　that　doesn't　change　from　one　moment　to　the　next。　And　the　Japanese　believe　context　rules　everything。〃
　〃It　sounds　to　me；〃　I　said；　〃like　an　excuse　for　lying。〃
　〃He　doesn't　see　it　as　lying。〃
　〃But　that's　what　it　is。〃
　Connor　shrugged。　〃Only　from　your　point　of　view；　kōhai。　Not　from　his。〃
　〃The　hell。〃
　〃Look；　it's　your　choice。　You　can　understand　the　Japanese　and　deal　with　them　as　they　are；　or　you　can　get　pissed　off。　But　our　problem　in　this　country　is　that　we　don't　deal　with　the　Japanese　the　way　they　really　are。〃　The　car　hit　a　deep　pothole；　bouncing　so　hard　that　the　car　phone　fell　off　the　receiver。　Connor　picked　it　up　off　the　floor；　and　put　it　back　on　the　hook。
　Up　ahead；　I　saw　the　exit　for　Bundy。　I　moved　into　the　right　lane。　〃One　thing　I'm　not　clear　about；〃　I　said。　〃Why　do　you　think　the　man　with　the　briefcase　in　the　security　room　might　be　the　killer？〃
　〃It's　because　of　the　time　sequence。　You　see；　the　murder　was　reported　at　eight　thirty…two。　Less　than　fifteen　minutes　later；　at　eight　forty…five；　a　Japanese　man　was　down　there　switching　the　tapes；　arranging　a　cover…up。　That's　a　very　fast　response。　Much　too　fast　for　a　Japanese　pany。〃
　〃Why　is　that？〃
　〃Japanese　organizations　are　actually　very　slow　to　respond　in　a　crisis。　Their　decision…making　relies　on　precedents；　and　when　a　situation　is　unprecedented；　people　are　uncertain　how　to　behave。　You　remember　the　faxes？　I　am　sure　faxes　have　been　flying　back　and　forth　to　Nakamoto's　Tokyo　headquarters　all　night。　Undoubtedly　the　pany　is　still　trying　to　decide　what　to　do。　A　Japanese　organization　simply　cannot　move　fast　in　a　new　situation。〃
　〃But　an　individual　acting　alone　can？〃
　〃Yes。　Exactly。〃
　I　said；　〃And　that's　why　you　think　the　man　with　the　briefcase　may　be　the　killer。〃
　Connor　nodded。　〃Yes。　Either　the　killer；　or　someone　closely　connected　with　the　killer。　But　we　should　learn　more　at　Miss　Austin's　apartment。　I　believe　I　see　it　up　ahead；　on　the　right。〃
　
　？
　The　Imperial　Arms　was　an　apartment　building　on　a　tree…lined　street　a　kilometer　from　Westwood　Village。　Its　fake　Tudor　beams　needed　a　paint　job；　and　the　whole　building　had　a　run…down　appearance。　But　that　was　not　unusual　in　this　middle…class　section　of　apartments　inhabited　by　graduate　students　and　young　families。　In　fact；　the　chief　characteristic　of　the　Imperial　Arms　seemed　to　be　its　anonymity：　you　could　drive　by　the　building　every　day　and　never　notice　it。
　〃Perfect；〃　Connor　said；　as　we　walked　up　the　steps　to　the　entrance。　〃It's　just　what　they　like。〃
　〃What　who　likes？〃
　We　came　into　the　lobby；　which　had　been　renovated　in　the　most　bland　California　style：　pastel　wallpaper　with　a　flower　print；　overstuffed　couches；　cheap　ceramic　lamps；　and　a　chrome　coffee　table。　The　only　thing　to　distinguish　it　from　a　hundred　other　apartment　lobbies　was　the　security　desk　in　the　corner；　where　a　heavyset　Japanese　doorman　looked　up　from　his　ic　book　with　a　distinctly　unfriendly　manner。　〃Help　you？〃
　Connor　showed　his　badge。　He　asked　where　Cheryl　Austin's　apartment　was。
　〃I　announce　you；〃　the　doorman　said；　reaching　for　the　phone。
　〃Don't　bother。〃
　〃No。　I　announce。　Maybe　she　have　pany　now。〃
　〃I'm　sure　she　doesn't；〃　Connor　said。　〃Kore　wa　keisatsu　no　shigoto　da。〃　He　was　saying　we　were　on　official　police　business。
　The　doorman　gave　a　tense　bow。　〃Kyugo　shitu。〃　He　handed　Connor　a　key。
　We　went　through　a　second　glass　door；　and　down　a　carpeted　corridor。　There　were　small　lacquer　tables　at　each　end　of　the　corridor；　and　in　its　simplicity；　the　interior　was　surprisingly　elegant。
　〃Typically　Japanese；〃　Connor　said；　with　a　smile。
　I　thought：　a　run…down；　fake　Tudor　apartment　building　in　Westwood？　Typically　Japanese？　From　a　room　to　the　left；　I　heard　faint　rap　music：　the　latest　Hammer　hit。
　〃It's　because　the　outside　gives　no　clue　to　the　inside；〃　Connor　explained。　〃That's　a　fundamental　principle　of　Japanese　thinking。　The　public　facade　is　unrevealing　…　in　architecture；　the　human　face；　everything。　It's　always　been　that　way。　You　look　at　old　samurai　houses　in　Takayama　or　Kyoto。　You　can't　tell　anything　from　the　outside。〃
　〃This　is　a　Japanese　building？〃
　〃Of　course。　Why　else　would　a　Japanese　national　who　hardly　speaks　English　be　the　doorman？　And　he　is　a　yakuza。　You　probably　noticed　the　tattoo。〃
　I　hadn't。　The　yakuza　were　Japanese　gangsters。　I　didn't　know　there　were　yakuza　here　in　America；　and　said　so。
　〃You　must　understand；〃　Connor　said；　〃there　is　a　shadow　world　…　here　in　Los　Angeles；　in　Honolulu；　in　New　York。　Most　of　the　time　you're　never　aware　of　it。　We　live　in　our　regular　American　world；　walking　on　our　American　streets；　and　we　never　notice　that　right　alongside　our　world　is　a　second　world。　Very　discreet；　very　private。　Perhaps　in　New　York　you　will　see　Japanese　businessmen　walking　through　an　unmarked　door；　and　catch　a　glimpse　of　a　club　behind。　Perhaps　you　will　hear　of　a　small　sushi　bar　in　Los　Angeles　that　charges　twelve　hundred　dollars　a　person；　Tokyo　prices。　But　they　are　not　listed　in　the　guidebooks。　They　are　not　a　part　of　our　American　world。　They　are　part　of　the　shadow　world；　available　only　to　the　Japanese。〃
　〃And　this　place？〃
　〃This　is　a　bettaku。　A　love　residence　where　mistresses　are　kept。　And　here　is　Miss　Austin's　apartment。〃
　Connor　unlocked　the　door　with　the　key　the　doorman　had　given　him。　We　went　inside。
　
　It　was　a　two…bedroom　unit；　furnished　with　expensive　oversized　rental　pieces　in　pastel　pink　and　green。　The　oil　paintings　on　the　walls　had　been　rented；　too；　a　label　on　the　side　of　one　frame　said　Breuner's　Rents。　The　kitchen　counter　was　bare；　except　for　a　bowl　of　fruit。　The　refrigerator　contained　only　yogurt　and　cans　of　Diet　Coke。　The　couches　in　the　living　room　didn't　look　as　if　anybody　had　ever　sat　on　them。　On　the　coffee　table　was　a　picture　book　of　Hollywood　star　portraits　and　a　vase　of　dried　flowers。　Empty　ashtrays　scattered　around。
　One　of　the　bedrooms　had　been　converted　to　a　den；　with　a　couch　and　a　television；　and　an　exercise　bike　in　the　corner。　Everything　was　brand…new。　The　television　still　had　a　sticker　that　said　DIGITAL　TUNING　FEATURE　diagonally　across　one　corner。　The　handlebars　of　the　exercise　bike　were　covered　in　plastic　wrap。
　In　the　master　bedroom；　I　finally　found　some　human　clutter。　One　mirrored　closet　door　stood　open；　and　three　expensive　party　dresses　were　thrown　across　the　bed。　Evidently　she　had　been　trying　to　decide　what　to　wear。　On　the　dresser　top　were　bottles　of　perfume；　a　diamond　necklace；　a　gold　Rolex；　framed　photographs；　and　an　ashtray　with　stubbed…out　Mild　Seven　Menthol　cigarettes。　The　top　dresser　drawer；　containing　panties　and　undergarments；　was　partially　open。　I　saw　her　passport　stuck　in　the　corner；　and　thumbed　through　it。　There　was　one　visa　for　Saudi　Arabia；　one　for　Indonesia；　and　three　entry　stamps　for　Japan。
　The　stereo　in　the　corner　was　still　turned　on；　an　ejected　tape　in　the　player。　I　pushed　it　in　and　Jerry　Lee　Lewis　sang；　〃You　shake　my　nerves　and　you　rattle　my　brain；　too　much　love　drives　a　man　insane。　。　。　。〃　Texas　music；　too　old　for　a　young　girl　like　this。　But　maybe　she　liked　golden　oldies。
　I　turned　back　to　the　dresser。　Several　framed　color　enlargements　showed　Cheryl　Austin　smiling　in　front　of　Asian　backgrounds　…　the　red　gates　of　a　shrine；　a　formal　garden；　a　street　with　gray　skyscrapers；　a　train　station。　The　pictures　seemed　to　be　taken　in　Japan。　In　most　of　the　pictures　Cheryl　was　alone；　but　in　a　few　she　was　acpanied　by　an　older　Japanese　man　with　glasses　and　a　receding　hairline。　A　final　shot　showed　her　in　what　looked　like　the　American　West。　Cheryl　was　standing　near　a　dusty　pickup　truck；　smiling　beside　a　frail；　grandmotherly　woman　in　sunglasses。　The　older　woman　wasn't　smiling　and　looked　unfortable。
　Tucked　in　beside　the　dresser　were　several　large　paper　rolls；　standing　on　end。　I　opened　one。　It　was　a　poster　showing　Cheryl　in　a　bikini；　smiling　and　holding　up　a　bottle　of　Asahi　beer。　All　the　writing　on　the　poster　was　in　Japanese。
　I　went　into　the　bathroom。
　I　saw　a　pair　of　jeans　kicked　in　the　corner。　A　white　sweater　tossed　on　the　countertop。　A　wet　towel　on　a　hook　by　the　shower　stall。　Beads　of　water　inside　the　stall。　E