Clocktower Read online

  CLOCKTOWER

  Copyright © 2021, by Chad Anthony Valentine

  All Rights Reserved

  www.cavalentine.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art by Lian Li. You can find Lian on Twitter @Lianeige99.

  CLOCKTOWER

  C. A. VALENTINE

  For Dad

  First Movement

  Invitation

  “It’s late,” Johnny said as he leaned back in his chair. “Why don’t you come back tomorrow?”

  The room was dark, but the lights from passing cars outside rhythmically bled through the blinds. Not enough to make out the shape of the woman in the doorway, but not enough for her to make him out either. He unholstered his revolver and set it on the desk in front of him.

  “I didn’t know you followed a normal time schedule,” she scoffed. “Maybe that’s what makes you a second-rate investigator.”

  “Provocation will get you nowhere, lady. And neither will flattery if you’re thinking of changing tactics.” He loosened the tie around his neck. “Whatever job this is, it can wait.”

  “How about a more base appeal?” she asked, taking a step forward.

  “Not interested.” Johnny opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a waiting pack of cigarettes.

  “You’ll be handsomely rewarded. Very handsomely.” The woman took another step forward. Johnny peered into the darkness as another car passed outside. She was slightly above average height. Maybe five and a half feet. He took a cigarette out of the pack and placed it between his lips.

  “I’ll take your silence as permission for me to continue.” She reached into her purse and produced a small gold-plated lighter. “All you have to do is listen. Listen, then decide.”

  The spark of a flame appeared before his eyes, softly illuminating the space between them. The features of her face became visible only for the briefest of moments. As soon as the first puff of smoke appeared, she snapped the lighter shut again, robbing him of his sight. Johnny filled his lungs, then motioned toward the seat in front of him.

  “Thank you,” the woman said. She brought a cigarette of her own out of her bag and lit it, revealing her features briefly once more. She wasn’t young. Late thirties, if he had to guess. Mid-forties without the makeup. He slid an ashtray over the desk and waited.

  “Have you ever heard of Sonnerie? The Timeless City?” she asked after her second puff.

  “I’ve heard of it, yes.”

  “A wonderful little town. Right on the cliffs overlooking the Pacific. Nothing as grand or as full of filth as here in Los Angeles. A quiet town. With good people.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it,” he said.

  “The land itself was given to us by President Truman after the war ended. A way of apologizing for locking us up for four years. Any Japanese who had been forced into the camps during the war would be allowed to live there. Create their own rules, have their own government, run their own show.”

  “Did you come here to give me a job or a history lesson?” Johnny flicked the ashes from his cigarette away.

  “I would have thought you might be interested. It’s your history too, is it not?” She let out a long exhale.

  “Half of it. And that half was spared the relocation. So, no. The answer is it’s not my history.”

  A car outside came to a stop, giving the room stripes of light through the blinds. He could make out her dress now. Purple. Low cut. Her cleavage was generous, and she leaned in as the light struck her as if by instinct.

  “Mr. Tokisaki,” she grinned. “I thought you said you weren’t interested.”

  “Get to the point,” he said.

  “Very well,” she said before smothering what was left of her cigarette in the waiting ashtray. “I want you to investigate a murder.”

  “Don’t do murder. Call the police for that.” Johnny put his own cigarette out and folded his hands.

  “Well, that’s good. Because the perpetrator is dead too. The weapons have been found, and the case is closed.” She crossed her legs and looked him in the eye.

  “Wait.” He lifted a finger up and shook his head. “You came all the way from Sonnerie to ask me to, what, look into a case that’s already been solved? I think you’ve wasted your time.” He spun his chair around and pushed a hand between the blinds, opening them slightly. Outside, it had begun to rain, and the streets had already turned to mirrors of the city lights above.

  “Listen, then decide,” she repeated. There was no hint of frustration or defeat in her voice. She spoke as if she were conducting an interview. And perhaps that wasn’t far from the truth. No comment or question was immediately answered. She wielded silence like a weapon. A weapon that sliced and stabbed holes into their conversation, keeping him in a constant state of unease.

  “Speak plainly, then,” he said.

  “I need to know that you’ll take on the job before I go into detail,” she said. “So, before I give you the specifics, I’ll give you the terms. You’ll have one week to investigate. No matter the result of your investigation, you will be paid in full, in the amount of fifty thousand dollars. The money will be wired directly into your bank account in two payments. The first has already been completed. The second will be paid upon the conclusion of your investigation.”

  Johnny spun his chair back around and put his hands on his desk. The money was absurd. No one in their right mind would offer fifty grand for a case, let alone willingly give half of it up front. There was another game afoot, though he was at a loss as to what. The woman pulled out a small black device from her purse, then proceeded to unfold the front of it, revealing a panel with numbered buttons.

  “Are you familiar with mobile phones?” she asked. “I suppose not. You don’t even have a business phone for clients to reach you. It’s amazing you get any work at all.”

  “Word of mouth is a powerful enough tool,” he countered.

  She punched in a series of digits, then slid the phone over to him.

  “You know your bank account number, I presume? Enter it in and listen.”

  Johnny closed the phone and shoved it back to her. “I have no reason to trust this thing, let alone trust you.”

  “Ahh.” She raised an eyebrow. “That’s what I’m looking for. An inherent mistrust. A brooding suspicion. The honest people of Sonnerie lack this. It just isn’t in our nature.”

  “Bullshit.” Johnny shook his head. He reached for his revolver and popped the cylinder open in front of her. She moved her eyes down to his pistol, but he kept his on her.

  “It’s a Smith & Wesson,” he said as he began to remove each bullet one by one. “A .38. Not much of a round by some people’s standards, but it gets the job done.” He followed her eyes as he spoke, and then saw it. The faintest twitch of her upper lip. The shift in her position. The discomfort of having a firearm so close. Even if it was unloaded.

  He arranged the bullets in a straight line between the two of them and set the revolver aside. “It makes you nervous, doesn’t it?”

  “Not at all,” she lied.

  “Good. Then let me ask you some questions.” Johnny picked up the first bullet and held it in front of him. He watched her eyes follow it, her attention undivided.

  “Very well,” she said. “Ask your questions.”

  “You’ve had me at a disadvantage since you came in tonight. In fact, it seems you know quite a bit about me.
But I don’t know the first thing about you. Now, I don’t know how you all do things in Sonnerie, but here, if you’re wanting to do business with a man, you start by giving your name.”

  “Is the bullet really necessary,” she stated more than asked.

  “You can leave now if you’d prefer,” he answered.

  The woman moved her eyes from the bullet and up to Johnny’s. “Saito,” she said. “You can call me Saito.”

  “Miss Saito. Good.”

  “Mrs. Saito,” she corrected. The first hint of real emotion in her tone seeped through.

  He dropped the first bullet back into the cylinder and picked up the second. “Since you took the time and trouble to find me, I have to assume that you know what kind of business I specialize in. I have no interest in meddling with cops or their line of work. They have their slogs, and I have mine.”

  Mrs. Saito made no attempt to affirm or deny his statement.

  “The fact that you’re here asking me to do the job of the police tells me that you either don’t trust them, or that they can’t be relied on. Or some combination of both. Would that be correct?”

  “Yes,” she said. He slid the second bullet into the cylinder and gave it a spin.

  “Your honesty is appreciated,” Johnny said.

  “You have no idea whether or not I’m being honest. Isn’t that what you said?” She folded her arms and leaned back. “This little game of yours is pointless.”

  “On the contrary.” Johnny picked up the third bullet and pushed it into the cylinder. “I find that my little witnesses here are very good at discerning the truth.” He picked up the fourth bullet, and held it up.

  “Let’s assume that you really have transferred twenty-five thousand into my account—”

  “You wouldn’t have to assume anything if you’d just confirm it with your bank,” she said with a sigh of frustration.

  “The fact that you’ve done this already must mean that you are sure that I’ll take the job. Or that you are so filthy rich that twenty-five large is just another drop in the bucket to you.” He put the bullet back down and reached for the lamp on his desk, flicking it on with one swift motion.

  Johnny looked her over. Her clothes and makeup screamed aristocracy. The white gold necklace with a princess-cut emerald. The thin wedding band covered in diamonds. And the watch—a brand he had never seen before. The dial was unlike anything he knew. Each index was marked by a single bar, save for the eleventh index which was done in one solid gold numeral XI. The bracelet and crown were well worn. For a woman’s watch, it was quite a bit larger than what was popular. So large, in fact, it could easily have been worn by a gentleman without batting an eye. Its face was a deep, dark green that matched the emerald around her neck. It stood out from the rest of her outfit like a sore thumb.

  “Rolex?” he asked.

  “Ha!” A smile escaped her rigid exterior. “Don’t lump this piece of art in with that Swiss garbage.”

  “Oh?” He had her talking now. Nothing brings out one’s true character like their own pride.

  “Sonnerie is quite famous for its timepieces. They are rare collectables. Watchmakers in Sonnerie are the true elite. The fruits of their labor are put on display for the world to witness. ‘Perfection in Time’ is their creed. Not that I expect you to understand.” She looked down at his wrist.

  “It’s a Casio F-91W. Ten bucks from the store around the corner. Do you like it?”

  “It certainly suits you,” she retorted.

  “How about this one?” He rolled up the cuff on his left arm and revealed his other timepiece. A two-tone Rolex Datejust, with a fluted bezel and a blue dial. “Swiss garbage, as you say?”

  Her face turned the slightest tint of red.

  He slid the rest of the bullets back in his revolver and re-holstered it. The game was over. His decision was made.

  “Very well,” he said. “I will accept your job offer. But I’m afraid the payment won’t suffice.”

  “The money is the problem?” she scorned as she came to a stand. “How crass. Fifty thousand is a small fortune for one in your . . . profession.”

  “I want that,” he said, pointing down at the watch on her wrist. She looked down at it then back up at him.

  “Absurd,” Saito said. She tried to continue, but Johnny raised his finger, silencing her.

  “Not to keep. Just to hold on to. I’ll take your watch for the duration of the job, and return it to you at the conclusion of our business. Fair enough?”

  That almost did it. The provocation was enough for her to slam her hands down on the desk. But she stopped herself before going any further. She took her time to respond, letting the red drain out of her face and her breathing calm before looking back up at him. Silence was her ally once again.

  Saito lifted her arm up and undid the bracelet of her watch, then set it carefully on the desk. Johnny admired it for a moment, then picked it up and set it in his jacket pocket.

  “My car is waiting downstairs,” Saito said. She turned around and headed for the door. “Come, Investigator. Sonnerie awaits.”

  Second Movement

  Sonnerie

  Johnny let Saito go down first, then returned to his office to prepare. He left a note for his secretary that he would be out until the following Sunday, then retrieved a few hundred-dollar bills from his desk and slipped them into his wallet. After one last look out the window, he exited the office and headed for the elevator. Saito’s driver was waiting for him outside, and he ushered him into the rear passenger seat with a silent bow. The interior was impeccably clean. Johnny sank into a seat of cream-colored leather next to his new employer, and before he knew it they were well on their way.

  She didn’t acknowledge his presence as they weaved through the streets of downtown, nor did he attempt to initiate any type of conversation. Clients like this were always troublesome. He could do nothing but sit and wait until she was ready to reveal the details. And wait he did. They were a few miles down the 110 before she finally cleared her throat and retrieved a thick envelope from her purse.

  “Here,” she said, handing over the folio.

  Johnny opened it and removed two sets of paper-clipped pages. Each had a picture of a girl attached to the front page. He gave them a cursory glance before looking back up at her.

  “Two victims?” he asked.

  “Two killers,” she responded. “Two days ago, their bodies were found in the study hall of Sonnerie High School by one of their teachers. They had both suffered grievous stab wounds, and were already dead when the paramedics arrived.”

  “They killed each other?” He could only catch glimpses of the pictures when a passing streetlight afforded him the chance.

  “News of this crime has not yet been made public,” she continued. “The only people with knowledge are the families, the police, a select few of the school staff, and the Indices.”

  “The who?”

  “The Indices,” she repeated. “You can think of them as the leaders of our city government. Twelve members in total. That, however, has no bearing on your investigation. Suffice it to say that you will be expected to exercise the utmost discretion during your inquiries. Is that clear?”

  “You won’t have an issue from me. But I can’t say the same for your own people. Between police officers and school staff, someone is bound to talk.”

  “On the contrary. As I told you, the people of Sonnerie are good, law-abiding citizens.”

  “Except for your two little murderers,” Johnny interjected. “But if I can only speak to the people that you allow me to speak to, then I don’t see how you expect me to get further than your own police already have.”

  “Two girls are dead!” She raised her voice over his. “There has never been a murder in the history of Sonnerie. That’s almost forty-five years, Mr. Tokisaki. A bit better than
your slum in downtown, I would say.”

  Johnny said nothing more. Ahead of them, several blinking signs had been put up to warn of approaching construction. The driver shifted two lanes over, and passed a rickety-looking Honda in the process. Johnny looked back down at the profile of the first girl and removed her photo from the clip. It was a school picture. Probably for a yearbook or something similar. Her bangs were cut straight, and her eyes were large and wide. Pretty enough, but nothing to write home about.

  “That’s Mari,” Saito said as Johnny thumbed through the file. “Mari Mishima. Eighteen. A regular girl by all accounts. Average grades. No extracurricular activities. Lived alone with her father after her mother passed away when she was young.”

  “Only child?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “A shame,” he said. “How’s her father taking it?”

  “Not well,” Saito sighed. He waited for her to continue, but she only shook her head and kept her silence.

  The pages behind her photo were mildly interesting but largely unhelpful. A physical health profile done by the school nurse that included her height, weight, and other trivial details. Behind that was a recent report card that showed slightly above average results, with only mathematics showing just less than exceptional.

  “Boyfriend?” he asked.

  “Not that I know of.”

  He watched as Saito moved her hand through her hair.

  “Not that you know of.” Johnny put the file back down and pressed his hands together. “And I’m willing to bet that none of the people that you’ll allow me to talk to will know this information either.”

  Saito looked back at him. “As I told you, knowledge of this incident cannot be made public.”

  “Ridiculous,” Johnny said, “Just a minute ago you were on a high horse about the deaths of two girls. But that’s not it, is it. You don’t give a damn about them. This is just one big meiwaku. One big inconvenience. And now you have to think about how to save face.”