Ghost Ship by Neil Plakcy

Author:Neil Plakcy [Plakcy, Neil S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay investigation, romance
Publisher: MLR Press
Published: 2016-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

14 – Fences

We hailed a cab and rode up into the hills around the city, stopping at an iron gate that surrounded what looked like a large property. We paid him, and I stepped up to the intercom.

After I pressed the button, and waited, a woman’s voice said, “Daredesu ka?”

I answered in Japanese that I was a police officer investigating the death of Chikako Kameda Griffin, and the gate buzzed. I pushed it forward and Ray and I entered a sculpted Japanese garden. We walked down a pebbled path between stone lanterns, passing dwarf pines and lace leaf maples.

I knew, from something I’d studied long before in college, that we were in a kaiyū-shiki-teien, a promenade garden, where the visitor follows a path around the garden to see composed landscapes. Since it was winter, there was nothing in bloom and there was a sense of stiffness and rigor to the garden, each shrub manicured, no stone out of place.

We rounded a corner to a traditional wood-framed Japanese house, slightly raised above the ground with an open porch and curving tiled roofs. A beautiful woman in an elegant black kimono stood in the open doorway. She looked like a fifty-something version of her daughters—the same oval face and hooded eyes. Her hair was the same jet black as Chikako’s.

We approached, and I bowed to her, then introduced Ray and myself. She bowed in return and invited us inside. We left our shoes and coats by the front door, and then she led us into the living room, where a brazier warmed the room. Silk paintings of reeds and cranes hung on the walls, and delicate porcelain vases filled the shelves of an glass cabinet. It was much more elegant than Mrs. Suzuki’s simple apartment.

Mrs. Kameda invited us to sit on cushions around a low ebony table with intricately carved legs. This was the toughest part of an investigation for me, speaking with the families of the victims. Ray had a gentler touch than I did, so I often deferred to him. But the language barrier meant it was all on me—and I was afraid that my fumbling efforts at Japanese would insult Mrs. Kameda and prevent her from giving us any information.

“I have been expecting police ever since my husband and I heard that our daughter and grandchildren died.” She paused. “Was it quick?” she asked, in a quiet voice. “They did not suffer, I hope.”

“The doctor told us that Timmy and Tammy died quickly,” I said. “I am sorry, the poison took longer for Chikako and Dale.” I explained as best I could the way Dale had lovingly laid his wife and children in their beds. She pursed her lips tightly but did not cry.

“The Usagi Maru hit a bad storm,” I said. “Dale wrote…” I paused, unsure of how to describe a logbook in Japanese. “The boat was damaged. A box they were carrying began to leak.” I used the app on my phone to find the word for nuclear contamination and came up with “Kaku osen.

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