Cold Case - 4. Chapter 4

“You can stay.” Miao Shou stood up and pointed a finger at Ryan. “But you – no cop stuff.”

“What cop stuff?” Ryan asked.

“I know what cops are like. No matter where you are, you like to poke around, finding things out, getting into everything. Just – don’t.”

“What do you think, Shou?” Ryan asked. “You think I might find out your Japanese bathhouse is really a brothel? Everyone in the city knows that already.”

“Don’t abuse my hospitality is all I’m saying,” Miao Shou said. “I’ll have one of my boys find a room for you that we’re not using.”

“Two rooms,” Nico said.

“Business is booming,” Miao Shou told him. “When there’s a recession, everyone likes to go to the bathhouse. It’s gonna be hard enough to find one room I can spare. What you do in it is your own business.”

He left and everyone else looked around at each other.

“I don’t even understand why I’m staying here,” Nico said. “I’m not a wanted criminal.”

“Thanks for bringing that up,” Ryan said.

“I hardly brought it up,” Nico said. “It’s the only reason we’re here at all.”

“Do they always argue like this?” Piri asked.

“Yeah, Matsumoto, what’s he doing here?” Ryan asked, pointing at the Poet. “I don’t see why your boyfriend has to be involved in my problems. I don’t want everyone finding out about this.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Matsumoto and Piri chorused.

“I’m just here – why am I here?” Piri asked.

“Because the lieutenant was asking if anybody knew where to find you,” Francini said. “The guys from the 51st – the detectives working Ryan’s case – they’re supposed to be picking you up to question. I’m not sure what for.”

“I don’t know anything about what he’s done,” Piri looked puzzled. “I haven’t even seen him for weeks until today.”

“I can’t see how letting someone off with a warning when they’re a graffiti artist has something to do with murdering a bunch of people,” Matsumoto said.

“I don’t want to arrest graffiti artists. I’ve got better things to do than all that paperwork,” Ryan said. “Besides, I like reading his stuff. It’s thought-provoking.”

“Thank you.” Piri got up and bowed.

“You need some clothes, Piri,” Matsumoto said. “Miao Shou has plenty. I’ll ask him to donate.”

“Cool,” Piri said. “I can go sleep in a shelter full of sex-starved, bad-smelling, disease-infested homeless guys – and I can brighten their day by being dressed in hookerwear. That’s gonna improve my life by minus a hundred per cent.”

“Okay, you can stay with me,” Matsumoto said. “But I’m not buying clothes. It’s not payday till next week and I have to get my suit cleaned.”

“I guess I don’t mind wearing hookerwear at your place,” Piri said.

“Besides, Shou has all kinds of clothes,” Ryan said. “Sexy clothes, normal clothes, even uniforms.”

“Uh huh, no uniforms,” Piri said. “I’m an anarchist. A free spirit. I don’t do authority figures, even in the bedroom.”

“You did Matsumoto, didn’t you?” Nico said. “Ryan, how come you know so much about what Miao Shou has here?”

“I’m a cop,” Ryan said. “I poke around, find things out, get into everything. As accused.”

“I think I’ll go home,” Nico said.

“Please don’t,” Matsumoto said. “You were supposed to be killed today, Nico. Until we find out why and by whom, who’s to say they won’t try it again?”

“Ryan was supposed to have done it,” Nico said. “If – whoever it is – can’t set it up to look as if he did it, why would they bother killing me?”

“They might kidnap you,” Piri put in. “They might take you to Ryan’s place and kill you there. Or some other place he’d be likely to leave your body. Mikio’s right, you’re not safe out there.”

“Fine. I’ll stay.” Nico considered life in a brothel, sharing a room with the most annoying guy in the world. It was – horrible. Although a little – intriguing. Exciting, even? He avoided that thought and grasped for another. “What about work? I need to be in court tomorrow, I can’t stay away and let down my clients.”

“They’re all guilty anyway,” Ryan said. “Best if they don’t have a lawyer, then it’s more likely that justice is gonna be done.”

“That’s exactly what I’d expect from you, the master of impartiality,” Nico said.

“Don’t start arguing again,” Piri said.

Francini stood up and went to the door. “I missed my lunch today with all this crazy. I’m going to see if Miao Shou’s got the kitchen open yet.”

“I’ll walk up to the precinct house and see what I can find out,” Matsumoto said, getting to his feet. “Hopefully we’ll have some answers by tomorrow, Nico. Otherwise, we’ll have to give you a police escort to court.”

“Like a foreign dignitary,” Ryan said. “A visiting Queen.”

Nico looked up at Matsumoto and rolled his eyes.

“You know how he’s supposed to have killed me?” he said. “Does that mean I have a get-out-of-jail-free card if I murder him back?”

*****

Matsumoto quickened his pace as the precinct house came into sight, several uniformed officers hanging around its steps, smoking and drinking bad coffee.

It was an old brownstone building, shabby inside and out. The rooms were always too small for whatever purpose they were used for. The state of the toilets and other facilities ranged from grungy to unspeakable. Most of the building smelled of a mixture of locker room and the aforementioned bad coffee. Still, it was home and he was glad to be back.

He wasn’t so pleased when he got upstairs to the detectives’ squad room. His desk was occupied by a large blueprint that several of the other detectives were leaning over.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“We think the Pedros might have an armory in the sewers.” Marino, Francini’s partner turned to Matsumoto. “An informant told the lieutenant.”

“An informant might just think it’s funny to see a lot of cops wading ass-deep through shit,” Matsumoto said, lifting the edge of the blueprint so he could get a notepad and pens from his desk. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. That’s situation normal.”

“Who shot your bluebird of happiness?” Marino asked. “You’re usually Mr Sunshine around here.”

“Bad day,” Matsumoto said. “If you want your partner, he’s at Miao Shou’s place getting a late lunch.”

“Is that what he’s calling it now?” Marino wondered.

“I think it’s actually food,” Matsumoto said. “Where is the lieutenant, anyway?”

“Talking to the new IT guy,” Marino said. “Dr Sinclair. Gonna get our databases into shape and drag us into the twentieth century.”

“Now that everybody else has left it.” Matsumoto looked around for a place to work. Every desk was full with detectives, their suspects, their food, their files and papers. But if the IT specialist was in with the lieutenant, that meant his office would be empty.

Matsumoto let himself into the newly refurbished room and sat down at the desk, switching on the PC.

A noise outside the door made him look up, but it was just someone bringing in a group of youths whose prominent features were torn clothing and bruised faces. Matsumoto hoped that they had inflicted the damage on each other. The department could do without being sued for police brutality.

One of the young men peeled off from the group and came into the room Matsumoto was using. He stopped in the doorway, staring at the detective.

Matsumoto’s phone sounded just as he was about to tell the youth to keep moving. He made a shooing gesture instead and answered it.

“Matsumoto?” he said, not recognising the number that came up.

“It’s Danny,” a voice said.

“Sorry?”

“Danny Eaglewing. You almost arrested me.”

“Oh, yeah. Nice to hear from you,” Matsumoto said, not really meaning it. He didn’t think he had time for a date right now. Besides, the man who’d left the group of arrestees was now in the room with him and had closed the door. What was he doing? He didn’t seem to be armed – unless you counted several piercings and some aggressively spiked hair.

“I wondered if you wanted to, you know, do something,” Danny said.

“Um, I’m at work,” Matsumoto said, watching in some consternation as his intruder settled himself on the edge of the desk, regarding Matsumoto with what looked like deep interest. “I might be here for a while.”

“Don’t you have to eat?” Danny said. “We could have dinner – I could come by and pick you up. In a cab.”

“Well, I suppose...” Matsumoto wasn’t sure what he supposed. What he wanted with Danny was sex, not dinner. How did he deter him without putting him off for good? Why was this stranger looking at him so intently?

“I’ll see you soon.”

Matsumoto stared at his phone.

“Shit.” he said.

“What the?” he said as he noticed the screen in front of him. A dialog box was asking him for a password.

“Let me get that for you.” The other man slid off the desk and typed rapidly on the keyboard.

“Just a minute,” Matsumoto began, then fell silent as a loading screen came up. At least he thought it was – he’d been expecting Windows.

“What’s Ubuntu?” he asked.

“Linux,” the man replied. He seemed about to go on but the office phone rang. Matsumoto reached for it. The other man got it first.

“Sinclair,” he said. “What? Yes. I debugged it myself. No. Yes. Oh, does he? Well tell him I’ll write it in Scratch next time, maybe he’ll have better luck with that.”

He put down the phone and turned to an open-mouthed Matsumoto.

“Who on earth did you think I was?” he asked.

“Uh –” Matsumoto didn’t like to say he’d thought the man was a gang member who’d been brought in for questioning. Close up he looked older and he was clean and unbruised. “You’re Dr Sinclair,” he said.

“Obviously,” Sinclair said. “And this is my office. That’s my desk, that’s my chair, that’s my computer. Everything in this room is mine.” He raised an eyebrow at Matsumoto who wondered uneasily if he was included in that everything. “You can call me Billy. Nice to meet you, Detective Matsumoto.”

“You know who I am?” Matsumoto was doing his best not to be unnerved by this unusual man. It didn’t help that he seemed to be growing more attractive the longer Matsumoto looked at him. He really needed to spend some quality time with somebody. Anybody. It had been way too long.

“I know who everybody is,” Billy said. “I could list all the things I know about you, but let’s just take it as a given that there’s nothing you need to tell me. I may, however, ask you questions in the interest of initiating conversation.”

“Are you English?” Matsumoto attempted to change the subject. Sinclair had an unusual accent and he was trying to place it.

“No. But I studied at Oxford,” Billy said.

“And you’re working – here?” Matsumoto said.

“Surprising, isn’t it?” Billy said. “All that work, all that money, all that intellect – just so I can end up having rude alpha males come into my office and use my equipment without so much as a by-your-leave.”

“I’m sorry.” Matsumoto realised he’d gone too far. The improvement in the precinct’s IT capabilities was the lieutenant’s pet project and he wouldn’t be happy to find one of his detectives had pissed off the man who was going to implement the changes. “I just – I wanted to find out – my desk was – it’s been a really bad day. Can I make it up to you somehow?”

“I like fish,” Billy said. “And I like Italian. You know Il Pescatore?”

“The restaurant?” Matsumoto said. “What, I’m buying you dinner?”

“What a generous offer.”

“Clever,” Matsumoto said. “I thought I was the alpha male around here?”

“I’m just more subtle about it,” Billy said.

“I don’t know if I have time. I have this case,” Matsumoto said. “It’s a nightmare. Surreal and senseless. And I kind of arranged to meet somebody in a while.”

“You have to eat,” Billy said. “Maybe I can help you with your case. Surreal and senseless I’m good at.”

“You are?”

“I work with computers.” Billy smiled. “They don’t always make sense.”

“I thought they were totally logical?” Matsumoto said.

“Yes, and when did that ever equate to sensible?” Billy said. “Fish and pasta and problems. What else could we want? I’ll get my laptop.”

It was cold out on the street and Matsumoto looked up and down for a cab.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Billy tucked his arm into Matsumoto’s. “I’m guessing not. Unless you like cheating on him.”

“I thought we were having dinner and a conversation?” Matsumoto said.

“One thing can lead to another,” Billy said, with a smile. “I’ve not had sex for ages. I mean literally, years. And you’re very attractive.”

“Hey, Matsumoto, my man!”

Matsumoto turned towards the new voice in a hurry, to avoid having to answer Billy.

“What’s up?” Piri said, hurrying toward them. “Look at my new coat!”

“Very nice,” Matsumoto said. “Very – furry.”

“Yeah, I look like a pimp, don’t I?” Piri said, snuggling himself around Matsumoto’s other arm.

“A cab.” Matsumoto saw the yellow vehicle rounding the corner onto the street. Unfortunately he now no longer had a hand free to flag it down.

“Boys,” he said, “you’ll have to let go of me. We need a cab.”

“I’ll get it,” Piri said, waving frantically at the approaching taxi. Not to be outdone, Billy waved his laptop at it.

The cab pulled up outside the precinct house. The back door opened and a young man got out. He took a jaw-dropping look at Matsumoto and the two other men clinging to him vine-like. Then he got back in the cab and it drove away.

“Shit,” Matsumoto said.

“That was weird,” Piri commented.

“Who was that?” Billy asked.

“That was my date,” Matsumoto said. He shook off his encumbering comrades, got out his phone and tried to call Danny Eaglewing. All he got was voicemail.

“I’m sorry,” Billy said. “But – if you want a date – I mean, I suppose I’m not as nice looking as him, but –”

“You’re nice enough,” Piri said. “In fact I thought you were Matsumoto’s date. I can just see him going for the trashy bleached punk look.”

“What?” Billy said. “Trashy? From the guy in the lavender fun fur? Who are you, anyway?”

“I, my dear man,” Piri bowed, sweeping an imaginary feathered hat along the floor. “I am Espiridion Medina Flores. You can call me Piri. I am the Poet.”

“The – Poet?” Billy said.

“That’s me.”

“You mean – the Poet?”

“One and only.”

“Omigod!” Billy’s pale face flushed. “That’s amazing! I mean – I’ve read so many of your walls. You’re like, my favorite iconoclast. This is so, so – listen, we’re just going to go and have some dinner, would you like to join us?”

“I don’t know,” Piri began.

“I’m paying,” Matsumoto said, on the lookout for another cab.

“No, no, I’ll pay for Piri,” Billy said.

“What, I pay for you and you pay for him?” Matsumoto said. “That’s confusing. I’ll pay this time, you pay next.”

“Okay,” Billy said. “And – um, Piri – would you – could I possibly ask you to, er, to tag my apartment?”