receiving 110 calls, the equivalent of America’s 911.
About thirty civilians were lined up to speak with the officer on duty.
“I’m sorry for this long line,” Umiko said.
“Are you kidding? New Orleans has a fraction of the population Tokyo does, and their line would snake out the door, all the way into the French Quarter.”
Umiko and Cain took their place in line. The line was orderly, and everyone waited patiently except for Cain. He continued glancing at his Omega Seamaster. “I just need to find that orange Skyline.”
Cain had been observing the people in line. After about the fourth person had given money to the duty officer before leaving, Cain decided to say something.
“Why is everyone paying the duty officer? What’s that all about?”
“They are turning in money,” Umiko said.
“What?”
“Yes. They have found money, or someone’s wallet or umbrella. Most likely on the train. And they are turning it in.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No. I think over one million dollars in yen gets turned in to the lost and found every year.”
“The hell with umbrellas. Someone needs to turn in Bonnie,” Cain exclaimed.
At about that time, they reached the front of the line. “I will talk to the police officer,” Umiko said. “Please try to relax, and trust me.”
It was as if Umiko was a different person. Instead of her normal appearance of stability, athleticism, and competence, she presented herself to the officer as very timid and shy.
“Sumimasen,” she said, and quasi bowed several times. The rest of what she said was in Japanese, and Cain didn’t know what she was saying. At one point, she lifted the box of doughnuts into the air to show the officer. He smiled—perhaps for the first time during his shift that day.
A few moments later, an inspector came to the lobby and requested that Umiko and Cain follow him back to the detective bureau. It was an open-bay area illuminated by bright fluorescent lights. They walked past at least fifty desks at which sat uniformed and plainclothes detectives clacking on typewriters and computers and answering ringing phones. All the desks, chairs, and telephones looked identical.
The detective, who looked worn-out and had a loose tie around his neck, plopped himself down into his office chair and wheeled himself toward his desk. He picked up his Seven Stars cigarette from the ashtray where it had been resting. He inhaled and slowly blew out the smoke.
I’m just one problem out of a thousand for this man, Cain thought. He’s not going to be helpful.
Umiko spoke to him in Japanese and presented the doughnuts. The inspector accepted the box and thanked her but didn’t take a doughnut. Instead, he offered them to his colleagues nearby, who huddled around and picked their favorite flavors.
“He wants to know if the parents have been notified.”
“God, no. This would crush my parents. They would be heartbroken beyond repair. They didn’t even want Bonnie moving to Japan. And now she’s missing because of me! There’s no way I can tell my parents.”
“Okay. I’ll tell him yes.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
“Otherwise, they won’t file the report until the family has been called.”
Cain nodded.
The exchange between the inspector and Umiko lasted an agonizing eighty-three minutes. Cain knew the exact time because he had nervously kept checking his watch—feeling as if he was wasting his time dealing with the Japanese police and their lengthy protocols. They appeared much more interested in administration than in actual investigation, but Cain trusted Umiko.
When the inspector finished typing his forms and rubber-stamping them with his personal honko, he stood and bowed—first to Cain and then to Umiko.
She returned the inspector’s bow. “Domo arigato gozaimashita.” She bowed a second time, this time even lower. “Domo arigato gozaimashita.”
“What’s next?” Cain asked Umiko.
“They have filed the report in their computer, and if a police officer finds Bonnie, they will call you. I also gave him my number.”
“That’s exactly why I didn’t want to come here. This was a complete waste of time! I could have been out there looking for Bonnie.”
She placed her hand on his elbow and guided him toward the exit. “We never came here only to file a police report. I came with you to overhear what the police were saying. And I think I have what you need.”
“What do you mean?” Cain asked as the sliding doors opened automatically when the motion sensor detected their movement.
“When I mentioned the orange Skyline to the inspector, I overheard another inspector say that it sounded like a yakuza member named Watanabe, who goes