The Floating Girl: A Rei Shimura Mystery (Rei Shimura Mystery #4) by Sujata Massey

Author:Sujata Massey [Massey, Sujata]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ikat Press
Published: 2014-05-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

I walked into the conference room at the Gaijin Times the next morning and saw immediately that the power had shifted. Mr. Sanno was still at the table’s head, but Rika was on his right. There was an empty place for me on the other side of Rika, near enough that I had to inhale the Egoiste cologne Mr. Sanno had spread liberally over himself. I wondered if the scent was overpowering Rika, because she looked ill. All the bluster and aggressive behavior of the past two days were gone, and she was slumped low in her chair. A wacky Pebbles-style topknot and a shrunken pink T-shirt decorated with Belldandy from the Ah! My Goddess cartoon series added to her childlike aura.

That morning, I dressed to steel myself for conflict. I was wearing a black, slim-fitting sheath from my mother’s late-1960s collection that made me look as slim as Rika, for once. The dress had a genius design: very stripped-down and elegant, almost Michael Kors. That’s what Karen, my friend who was the fashion editor, had told me when I arrived a few minutes early.

“You look like an office lady,” she teased. “Shouldn’t you have worn something more rough-and-ready? The expectation now is that you’re leading a murder investigation.”

“So what’s the right outfit? Dark glasses and one of those windbreakers that says POLICE across the back?” I didn’t hide my irritation, especially since my dress was so tight that I could barely sit down.

Unfortunately Mr. Sanno caught me in mid-scowl. “Hello, Miss Shimura. Your art story has turned into a murder mystery! You have an aptitude for making news.”

“Oh, no. I’m afraid it was a matter of unlucky events taking place,” I answered. It wasn’t polite to take credit for anything.

“Congratulations. I hear you talked to Nicky Larsen. That will be a real coup, the story from the victim a few hours before his murder.”

“I didn’t write down anything that he said,” I admitted. “When we spoke at length, I believed he was an unimportant neighbor to the artist Kunio.”

“Still sounds like an interview to me.” Alec Tampole, who was sitting close to the end of the table toying with an unlit Mild Seven, put down his cigarette and looked at me with an unpleasant expression.

“I cannot accurately report what he said if I don’t have a record of it.”

“Don’t you have a memory?” Alec asked patronizingly.

“I could summarize things, sure, but that doesn’t seem very honest. Not without notes,” I hemmed.

“The subject is not alive to contradict what you write,” Mr. Sanno said callously. “Therefore, you don’t have much of a problem.”

“Write it up dialog-style,” Alec said. “Summary doesn’t read very well.”

I nudged Rika. She was a journalism student; she surely could quote some manual to tell them that they were suggesting unethical behavior. But then again, Rika was still technically an intern. I shouldn’t have been surprised that she kept quiet.

“Rika took notes at the morgue,” I said, trying to nudge her into taking part. “She did a fine job of getting some evidence of her own on her Palm Pilot.

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