Tugging my arms out of the sleeves, I removed my jacket, wrapped it around itself, and twisted it in my fists to wring it out. When it stopped dripping, I draped it on the floor beside the .45. Maybe it would dry enough to keep the phone functional.

"I want everything back," I informed the cops.

"I'll need them. I'm on cleanup. When you guys leave, my job starts."

The woman nodded.

"They'll be right here."

Her partner shifted aside to let me at the stairs.

Trying not to hold my breath, I went up to the second floor.

The door to the meeting room stood open. Through it I saw Edgar Moy, Komatori, Nakahatchi, and an Oriental woman dressed in a flowing kimono. I'd never met her, but she must've been Nakahatchi's wife, Mitsuku. Moy didn't have any backup with him. Apparently he realized that he didn't need any.

Their silence felt like the fatal quiet after a crash of thunder.

The detective occupied the center of the floor. For the first time, his trench coat didn't look out of place. Dark streaks showed that it'd lost some of its waterproofing over the years. His hands held a damp fedora with enough brim to keep most of the rain out of his eyes.

Komatori stood to his left, wearing his full karate-ka regalia, a crisp white canvas gi cinched with his black belt. Obliquely I wondered if Moy caught the symbolism. It meant that Hideo was willing to go to the wall for his master. Literally. If Nakahatchi told him to fight, he'd feed Moy and every other cop in reach to the guppies. He had that look in his eyes. If Nakahatchi allowed it, he'd take his master's place under arrest.

But Sihan Nakahatchi hadn't allowed it, that was obvious. He had on a dark blue business suit that would've looked dapper if he hadn't worn it with such sorrow. He didn't so much as glance at me when I entered the room. As far as I could tell, he never looked at Moy. Maybe he hadn't even shared a gaze with his wife. He'd withdrawn into himself to face a crisis worse than dying.

Mitsuku comported herself with as much dignity as he did, but she didn't suffer his bereavement or dishonor with the same stoicism. Her lower lip quivered at intervals. Strands of grey hair straggled at her neck. Time had crossed her face with so many vertical lines that it looked pleated. By slow poignant degrees, tears seeped from her eyes into the wrinkles. Small spots displayed her distress on the front of her kimono.

"Axbrewder," Moy said by way of greeting.

"It's about time."

I thought I heard an uncharacteristic strain in his voice.

Hideo gave me a brief bow.

"Brew-san, I must thank you." His gaze searched me for something.

Help, probably. Or hope.

"But I don't have to," Moy put in before Hideo could explain.

"It seems you called them before I got here, warned them I was coming.

Later I'm going to tell you exactly what 'interfering with an officer of the law in the performance of his duty' means." In this case it meant that I'd given them a chance to ditch any incriminating evidence.

"But right now " He wasn't just feeling the strain, he was outright uncomfortable.

"The four of us have been standing right here ever since I arrived."

His tension enabled me to relax a notch. Faking detachment, I drawled, "What seems to be the problem, Sergeant?"

Moy glared at me.

"You mean, apart from grand theft and murder? I'll tell you what the problem is" he bared his teeth under his thin mustache "because I expect you to fix it."

"If I can," I offered.

He didn't stop.

"After that I expect you to explain this whole goddamn mess to me."

I couldn't think of a sensible response, so I kept my mouth shut.

"The problem," he went on more quietly, "is that Sihan Na-kahatchi here has been accused of killing Hong Fei-Tung next door, and he won't talk to me. He won't even tell me his damn name. He doesn't say a thing when I read him his rights. I can't find out if he wants a lawyer."

Moy was a cop. He wanted Nakahatchi to at least deny the accusation.

I thought I knew why Nakahatchi wouldn't talk. I'd learned a few things about Oriental manners and honor. But it wasn't my place to answer for him. Turning to Hideo, I asked, "Why haven't you ?"

Komatori shrugged.

"What would be the point?"

"The point of what?" Moy demanded.

Nakahatchi studied oblivion. His wife's eyes clung to me like desperation.

I faced Hideo's shrouded distress squarely.

"You have to say it. The Sergeant may understand, or he may not. But he can't understand if you don't say it."

Komatori considered for a moment. Anger seethed behind his self-containment. Then he relented with a sigh.

Turning to Moy, he said, "Sergeant, my master is Sihan Nakahatchi sensei. Therefore the accusation is absurd. To answer such a mortal insult is to tolerate it" his voice rose "and we won't tolerate it. We won't 'account for our movements." We won't give you 'alibis." He is Sihan Nakahatchi sensei. That's sufficient."

Nakahatchi himself wouldn't even say that much.

"No," Moy began, "it's not." But I interrupted him.

"Sergeant." Deliberately I let my outrage uncoil like the thong of a whip.

"You don't need to talk to them anyway." He wasn't my enemy. Under the surface, we were on the same side. But I had to get his attention.

"You need to talk to me.

"I'm security here." The fact that I'd done a lousy job was beside the point.

"Grand theft and murder are my department, not theirs. If you want to understand honor the way they do, ask them nicely." Without realizing it I'd clenched my hands into fists like a death grip.

"But if you want to understand what happened here" I forced my fingers open "ask me."

Unfortunately I couldn't offer him evidence.