Clocktower Read online

  “Ha!” she laughed. “So, you can speak your own language. Then you should know your own culture well enough to answer your question.”

  He leaned back against the leather seat and started to rub his thumb against his index finger.

  “You needn’t worry. If you require to speak with someone not in the loop, then you have only to ask. They will be prepared beforehand, of course. And you will meet with them in a place of our choosing, along with an overseer to make sure the conversation stays on track.”

  “No overseer,” Johnny said. “I don’t need any other cooks in my kitchen. Let alone ones that would influence the answers that you are wanting me to uncover. If you can’t accept that condition, then you can let me out right here.”

  He saw the eyes of the driver look into the rearview mirror at Saito, but she made no reaction.

  “Very well,” she said. “You will have your one-on-ones.”

  “Good,” he said, picking up the second stack of papers. “Now, tell me about this one.”

  She shifted in her seat again and clasped her hands together. “Her name is Ayano. Ayano Hanekawa.” She stopped. “Eighteen years old. Outstanding marks in all subjects. She was a member of the fencing club and the student council president.” She stopped again.

  Johnny lifted her picture up and studied it between passing streetlights. At first glance, she was the picture of perfection. Light skin, dark hair, perfect teeth. But there was something off-putting about her. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on with just this one photograph. She looked straight into the camera. Through the camera. Like she knew who was on the other side.

  He studied her expression until Saito began to speak up again. Ayano was clearly a harder subject for her to talk about. The breaks in her speech made that plain. But he could see no resemblance between her and the girl in the photo. They weren’t family.

  “From what you’ve told me, these girls shared nothing in common. No reason to be friends, but no obvious reason to be enemies either. Any suspicions?”

  “None,” she said. “And that’s the real problem. That’s why you’re here right now. Any thoughts?”

  Johnny stuffed the profiles back into the envelope and set it aside. “Entertaining hypotheses on the few details you’ve just told me would be a waste of time. But based on what you’ve said, I have several people in mind that I’d like to speak with.”

  “I’ll be expecting nightly reports,” Saito said. She pulled a small business card from her bag and handed it to him. It had no name, just a phone number. “You’ll be staying at The Wheel Bridge. It’s a hotel in central Sonnerie that is used primarily for business guests.”

  “How will I be getting around?” he asked.

  “Call the number on the card. After a few seconds, you’ll hear a click. After the click, press one, and my driver will come to pick you up. When you’re done for the day, dial the same number, and after the click, press two. That will connect you to me.”

  She reached back into her purse and pulled out a tiny black box. “Take this,” she said.

  Johnny took it in his hands, then popped it open to find a small gold pin in the shape of an upside-down anchor behind a cog. “An anchor escapement,” he whispered. Something that would normally be found inside large clocks. He plucked it out of the case and rubbed his thumb over it carefully. Despite being less than an inch tall, it had a decent amount of heft.

  “Put that on,” she said. “It’s a pin that’s used to identify special visitors. Visitors that have been invited personally by an Index. It will afford you a considerable amount of respect among the residents.” He pushed the pin through his coat lapel, then straightened it out.

  They exited the freeway and continued through a series of red lights until they found themselves on a long stretch of open road. Tiny homes and thrift stores gave way to emptiness and tall grass. Before he realized it, they had passed the last streetlamp, and were driving through a world of darkness. Johnny checked the time on his Casio. Seven minutes to midnight.

  “We’ll be arriving shortly,” Saito said. She straightened herself up and outstretched her hand.

  “Your gun.”

  “What of it?” he asked.

  “Firearms are forbidden in Sonnerie. No exceptions. I will return it to you when the job is finished.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t agree to that.”

  “Why do you think you’ll need it, Mr. Tokisaki? Are you planning to shoot someone?”

  “Only if someone’s planning to get shot by me,” he said.

  “Stop the car,” she ordered her driver.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the driver said. He pulled over to the side of the road without a moment’s hesitation and shifted the car into park.

  “You might be half Japanese, but that’s not the half I’m worried about. I don’t need your cowboy methods causing trouble in my city.”

  “Then you have nothing to worry about,” he said, pulling the revolver out of his shoulder holster. “I have no intention of using the business end of the weapon.”

  “Then what will you be using it for?” she asked.

  “Motivation.” Johnny put the pistol back in his holster and sighed. “And if the gun is out, then I’m out.” He opened the car door and set a foot outside.

  “Stop!” she barked. He slid himself back in and closed the door. “Keep it well hidden. One sight of it by the wrong person and you’ll be arrested. That pin won’t protect you, and neither will I. Is that understood?”

  “Understood,” he answered. Saito looked back at the driver and gave him a single nod. There was no further conversation to be had. After another ten minutes of driving, they came across a guardhouse and a gate that blocked their progress. A giant thing made of obsidian-colored bars with speared tops. A single officer came out to greet them, then bowed and ran back to open the gate.

  “The guard has marked your arrival date and time,” she said, snapping her purse shut and turning back toward Johnny. “Your investigation begins now.”

  Third Movement

  Hotel

  Between the gate and Sonnerie city proper was another five minutes of untouched woodlands. The two-lane road grew narrower and narrower, until it felt like they might be swallowed up by the very woods they sought to traverse. The darkness was only shattered when they made the last of a series of turns and the road opened up again, giving Johnny his first look at the city.

  Sonnerie had been built along a hill that ended abruptly at the southern cliffs along the Pacific, and was awesome to behold. Immediately ahead of them were small farm plots that were backed by larger industrial buildings. Farther still were the twinkling lights of hundreds of homes that dotted the land. The geography built up to a central peak, at the top of which he could make out a fairly tall structure that became gradually more visible as they approached.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Saito said. “The clocktower of Sonnerie, standing tall behind the great cathedral. No matter where you go in the city, it’s always visible.”

  Johnny leaned forward and gazed at it further. “A cathedral?” he asked. “I wasn’t under the impression that second or third-generation Japanese would be very religious.”

  “Every citizen is a member. Every member is a citizen. The Church of the Angelic Movement plays a pivotal role in our lives. It is one place that visitors are almost never allowed.”

  Johnny leaned back in his seat and looked over at her. “One place?” he asked. “There are others?”

  “Of course. But I assure you, none of those will have any bearing on your investigation. Please don’t let it distract you.”

  They passed the farmland and the industrial district quickly, and before he had a chance to take in much more of his surroundings, they had pulled up to a Japanese-style inn about halfway up the hill. Johnny looked up at a large wooden sign
painted red atop the door that read, “The Wheel Bridge”. It was an unimpressive building, no more than four stories tall, but it had a local kind of charm. Something that reminded him of his time in Kyoto as a child.

  “We part ways here, then?” he asked.

  Saito nodded. “All meals and drinks have been paid for. The bar is open late for guests. Feel free to use the amenities as you see fit. Any questions?”

  “Not for you,” Johnny said. He released the door handle and stood up. The midnight January air was brisk and prickled against his lungs with each inhale.

  “Oh, and don’t worry.” He tapped the coat pocket where her watch was kept. “I’ll keep it safe.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but he slammed the door behind him and headed into the hotel.

  The interior was much as he had imagined it. Subdued colors, dim lights. The lobby itself was neither spacious nor grandiose in design, but offered a familiar, welcoming feeling that he imagined was popular with guests to the city. There was only one staff member manning the front desk—a short, serious-looking woman with a blue silk scarf and her hair up in a bun. Johnny approached her and rested his arm on the counter.

  “Good evening,” he said. “I’d like to check in please.”

  She gave him a polite but unsmiling bow. “Mr. Tokisaki?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  She presented him with a sign-in form and a pen. “I have you down for six nights. Your room will be number 414 on the fourth floor.” She set a key down on the counter next to the form. Johnny took the pen in hand and scribbled his name down, then palmed the key and dropped it into his pocket.

  “Will you be needing anything in particular tonight, sir?” she asked as she took the paper from him and slid it into the registry.

  “A bottle of scotch and some sparkling water would be nice. Some ice as well.”

  “Very good, sir. I’ll have them brought up to your room immediately. You’ll find the elevators down the hall behind you to the right. There is a café on the second floor where breakfast will be served starting at six in the morning. Please enjoy your stay at The Wheel Bridge.”

  “Thank you,” he said. She gave him another bow and went back to her seat.

  Johnny turned around and followed her directions to the hall with the elevators. Two in total. As soon as he called for it, he heard a great groaning of metal, and after a few moments the door pushed itself open and invited him in. It was a cramped, coffin-like lift, with two mirrors on either side. On the back wall was a large, framed, black-and-white picture of a group of people standing in front of an open field. He examined the group. Ten men and two women. All of them well-dressed and facing forward. A plaque below the photograph was inscribed with the date April 7, 1947, and a message below the date read only, “Our Time Will Come.”

  “Our time will come?” Johnny whispered to himself as the elevator door opened on the fourth floor. He walked out onto the carpet and followed the directions to his room at the end of the hall, number 414. There was a satisfying click as he turned the key, followed by an easing of resistance as he pushed the door open.

  Room 414 was much larger than he had expected. A small entry hall with a bathroom soon opened up into a sprawling bedroom, complete with a large television and king-sized bed. Despite the exterior’s Japanese motifs, the room was very Western. A cushioned seat and a small coffee table across from the window. A large desk on the side with a radio and a seat made of dark brown leather. Everything smelled fresh and new, like the furniture had just been bought and moved in that day.

  Before he could settle down, he heard a knock on the door and opened it to a young lady carrying his requested items. He thanked her and set everything on the desk, then took off his shoes and jacket and placed his revolver down next to the bottle of scotch. It was late, but he wasn’t tired. If anything, the happenings of the evening had sent a surge of adrenaline through his body, leaving him hopelessly alert.

  The scotch was a Japanese single malt. He poured it into a cup full of ice and followed it with some sparkling water, then walked over to the window and opened the curtains. The room faced south toward the clocktower, which he spotted easily just another mile or so up the hill. Still too far away to really get a good look at the details, but close enough to see the large, black hands move across the dial. He gazed at it for a time, pondering what route to take over the next few days.

  Murder had never been his thing. Most of the time he was hired by housewives suspicious of a husband’s affair, or a mother whose son had fallen in with the wrong crowd. Sometimes, people needed to be roughed up. Other times they didn’t. It was simple, almost mindless work at this point. But the bills got paid and the drinks kept coming. That was all that mattered.

  He took a few more sips of his scotch, then stripped naked and got into the shower. As promised, there were enough clothes for his stay laid out neatly in the closets and drawers. After drying himself and throwing the towel carelessly on the bathroom floor, he put on a pair of striped pajama bottoms and took a seat at the desk.

  “Mari,” he said as he lifted her file from the table. He took out her picture and scanned it again. In the scarce light of the car ride here, he had thought her to be plain, but as he continued to look at her now, he realized that she had a certain beauty to her. A vivaciousness in her smile and eyes. Something that isn’t easily imitated; genuine emotion captured in an instant. He knew she was dead, but looking at her through this picture he felt a great sense of life.

  The ice in his highball had started to melt, and sweat crawled down the side of the glass. Johnny walked over to the bedside table and grabbed a coaster, then set it under the drink before opening Ayano’s file.

  Unlike with Mari, he felt no different on the second look at her. There was nothing in particular about this photo that made him feel this way. From her picture and profile, he could tell that she was singularly gifted and exceptionally beautiful. There is a great futility in judging a person through a photograph, but as he stared into Ayano’s eyes, he increasingly became aware that she was staring back at him. Studying him, just as he was studying her.

  He gave one more read through each of the documents that Mrs. Saito had given him, then retrieved a small notebook from his coat pocket and thought out a brief schedule for himself. But before he could press pen to paper, the phone on his bedside table began to ring. Johnny let out an exasperated sigh and walked over to the bed.

  “I’ve only been here for an hour,” he said immediately after picking up. “I hope you’re not expecting results that quickly.”

  “How disappointing.” Saito’s voice was clear and sarcastic. “How is the room?”

  “It’s fine enough. The scotch is delicious.”

  “Please don’t let your drink interfere with your work, Mr. Tokisaki. Speaking of which, what is your plan for tomorrow?”

  “Keeping me on a short leash, are you?”

  “You can look at it however you see fit,” she said coolly. “Tell me where you will be going, and I will ensure that the people involved will be informed of your coming. They are under strict orders to speak to no one about what has happened, lest you forget.”

  “You must be a pretty powerful lady, if you can get them to talk to me,” he said.

  “Powerful enough,” she responded. “Now, what’s your itinerary?”

  “I’ll start at the school tomorrow morning,” Johnny said. “I want to get a good look at the scene of the killings first, then speak with the staff.”

  “Very well,” she said.

  “If I can, I’d like to get to the hospital and speak to the doctors who took the girls in. Also, I’d like to give the local police station a visit. I need to see any evidence that may have been collected and read any reports that were made. I’d like to get to all three of those tomorrow, if possible. If not, then the day after tomor
row.”

  “A logical order in your choices.” He heard her penning notes from behind the phone. “How unexpected.”

  “Uh-huh,” he answered.

  “I will call you tomorrow morning at seven thirty,” she said. “Please be awake by then.”

  She hung up the phone before he could respond.

  Fourth Movement

  Principal

  He woke with the ringing of the sixth bell from the clocktower. The bed was firm, and after a few satisfying cracks of his neck and upper spine, he rose to meet the morning. Outside, the city was abuzz with activity that he could hear well before his hand reached the window lever. From the hotel room, he could have been looking at any city in the world. Young men in suits rushing on their way to work. Women walking, strollers in hand, basking in the morning sun.

  Behind it all was the clocktower. Struck by the rays of early dawn, it looked even more beautiful than it did at night. After a few minutes of observation, he got dressed and set his shoulder holster, then proceeded down to the second-floor café for an early breakfast.

  There were no other guests staying at the hotel as far as he could discern. The halls were empty, and when he arrived at the café, he realized he was the only one there. After perusing the menu, he flagged down a waitress and ordered the scrambled eggs with toast, and a coffee to go with it.

  “It’s quiet here in the mornings,” he said as she came back with his food. She was a younger lady. Early twenties by his imagining. Petite and homely.

  “Januarys are always like this,” she said. “It’s rare to have anyone here on business until the spring.”

  “Oh?” Johnny raised an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

  “It’s always been like that,” she shrugged. “Would you like to order anything else?” she said, ending the conversation.

  “No, this will be fine. Thank you,” Johnny said. He gave her a nod and watched as she walked off into the back room again.