Clocktower Page 3

  For hotel food, it was an exceptional breakfast. Halfway through, another pair of men entered the café and sat at the booth across from him. European by the look of them. They spoke in a Germanic language he could not quite identify. Johnny listened to their conversation until his coffee had run out, then checked his watch. It was nearly time to return.

  The phone in his room rang at just a minute before seven thirty.

  “You’re early,” he said.

  “Do you have a pen and a paper handy?” Mrs. Saito’s voice was deep and commanding. Johnny pulled a pen from the drawer of the bedside table and set his notebook down.

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  “You’ll be meeting with the principal of the school this morning. His name is Gabriel Itsuka, and he will be expecting you in half an hour.”

  “Itsuka . . . got it.” Johnny scribbled down the name and a line to the word “principal” next to it.

  “He will introduce you to the girls’ English teacher, Zachary Finch. Mr. Finch is very popular, and has his hand on the pulse of his students. He should be helpful.”

  “Finch?” Johnny stopped writing. “An American?”

  “The only American allowed to live in the city, yes. He has been the English teacher at Sonnerie High for the past two years.”

  “I see.” He picked up his pen again. “Anything else?”

  “The chief of police is named Mr. Oda. He has been informed that you may be coming by in the afternoon.”

  “Anything in particular I should know about these people?” he asked.

  “Mr. Itsuka is a personal friend of mine. I know he will provide you with any information you require. Your real problem will be Oda. The police here don’t have much to do besides take in the occasional drunk or break up trivial fights. He’s way out of his element with this one, but his pride won’t let him accept anything from an outsider.”

  “I’m sure we’ll become good friends.” Johnny pushed his notebook back into his jacket pocket.

  “Report back to me when you’re done for the day. You have the number, right?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “Good. Your car is already waiting for you downstairs. Good luck, Mr. Tokisaki.”

  He hung up the phone and gave himself one last check in the mirror before heading back down toward the front lobby. As promised, the same car that had whisked him into town was waiting for him outside. The elderly driver gave him a bow as he came out and held the door open for Johnny, closing it behind him after he seated himself.

  “Is it far?” he asked as the driver started the car.

  “Only a few minutes,” the driver responded. He had a raspy voice that sounded like a person trying to speak through a scratched record. “The school and the police station both are here in The Bezel.”

  “The Bezel?” Johnny asked.

  “Yes. The Bezel is what we call central Sonnerie. Most citizens live here, even if they work below or above.” He moved the car over to the left lane and turned on his blinker.

  “Go on,” Johnny urged.

  “Above us is The Crown. You saw it, I assume? The great clocktower above?” the driver asked.

  “I did. It’s quite a sight.”

  “The Crown is home to the church and the Indices. A few other wealthy families have their home in The Crown, but the land is primarily owned and maintained by the church,” he said with reverence. Johnny scanned his face in the rearview mirror as he spoke. There was a certain way people talked about their hometowns with outsiders. Like reading from a script. You do it enough times, it becomes second nature. Even if it is a lie.

  “Below us is The Lugs. The industrial district on the west side, the red-light district on the east side.”

  “Now that’s surprising,” Johnny said. “I thought Sonnerie didn’t have any real crime.”

  “Blowing off steam after a hard day’s work is hardly a crime, Mr. Tokisaki.”

  “Depends who’s doing the blowing.” Johnny watched as the driver looked at him through the mirror, then back to the road.

  “We’re pulling up to the school now,” he said. “I’ll let you off here.”

  Johnny gave a nod and opened the door as the car rolled to a stop. He got out and turned back toward the driver.

  “I should be fine for the rest of today,” he said. “Why don’t you go on back home and take a load off? Hard day’s work and all.”

  The driver gave him a quizzical look, but said nothing. Johnny shut the door and watched him make a U-turn and drive back the way they had come.

  The school was much as he’d imagined. One large building with four stories. The front was gated, and students made their way in in twos and threes as a staff member stood at the front and greeted them as they entered. The boys wore long, black slacks with black, gold-trimmed jackets. The girls had similar jackets, with long, black and charcoal gray plaid skirts. They carried on without care, oblivious to the heinous act that had occurred just days prior within their own halls.

  Johnny waited until the deluge of arriving students had died down before approaching the staff member at the gate.

  “I’m here to see Mr. Itsuka,” he said.

  “You must be Mr. Tokisaki?” she asked. “Mr. Itsuka told me to be expecting you. You’ll find him in the principal’s office on the fourth floor. Head straight in and take the stairs. Once you get to the fourth floor, take a left, and it will be straight ahead.”

  Johnny thanked her with a short bow and proceeded onward. The inside of the school was plain and minimalistic. Brown and cream checkered tile floors with tan walls and tanner lockers lining them. After the first intersection, he came across a group of boys who had just begun ascending the stairwell, and followed them up. They occasionally shot him a glance and whispered among themselves, but other than that he was largely ignored.

  The boys stepped off at the third floor, leaving him to climb the last set of stairs alone. He emerged in a wide hall, not dissimilar to the one he had just come from, and looked around.

  On the wall directly across from him was a giant oil portrait of an older man in a suit. It was only a bust painting, but it stretched almost all the way from floor to ceiling, and was at least five feet wide. At the very top was written the name Ippei Itsuka, and to the side was a plaque that recognized him as the school’s founder and first principal. The painting was masterful. Every inch of his face, every detail was visible for all to see, from the deep pores on his nose to the army of black hairs that made up his bushy mustache. The more he studied it, the more impressed he was.

  “I always found that portrait obnoxious,” a voice from down the hall said. “But I can see from the way you scrutinize it, you disagree.”

  “Do you find it obnoxious because of the style or the subject matter?” Johnny kept his eyes on the eyes of the painting.

  “Hmm,” the man pondered. He came up to Johnny’s side and observed the portrait with him. “Now that you mention it, they got his hairline wrong. It had started to recede long before this was made.”

  “Does it bother you?” Johnny asked.

  “Should it?”

  “That depends. This will live on much longer than your father will. And when he’s gone, when people think of him, they’ll think of this hair. But that hair’s a lie, isn’t it?” He turned to the man next to him and stretched out his hand. “Principal Itsuka, I presume?”

  “Call me Gabriel. And it’s my grandfather, actually. My father wouldn’t be caught dead in here.”

  They shook hands and faced each other. Gabriel was almost of equal height. Maybe a half-inch taller. His eyes and lips were thin, but his jawline and facial structure was distinctly Western. His brown hair had the earliest hints of gray, just barely enough to give his handsome face a more serious, seasoned look.

  “Johnny Tokisaki,” he said.
“You can call me Johnny.”

  “A pleasure. My office is down the hall. We can speak privately there.”

  Gabriel led the way through a group of students, who greeted him respectfully as he passed. Johnny followed close behind until they reached the room at the end of the hall. He pulled the door open and waved Johnny through.

  “After you,” Gabriel said.

  In stark contrast to the wide-open halls and high ceilings of the rest of the school, his office was cramped—almost claustrophobically so. The desk was chipped in places, and his chair creaked horribly as he took a seat. Several dusty textbooks and reference materials lined the shelves behind him, none of which had titles Johnny recognized.

  “I’m surprised,” Johnny said as his eyes perused the walls.

  “It’s a horribly small office, I know. Forgive the discomfort.”

  “Not the office,” Johnny started. “You. I wasn’t expecting to meet a half-breed in a town like this.”

  “Half-breed?” Gabriel laughed. “You’re one to talk. Mother or father?” He poured water in two glasses and set one of them in front of Johnny.

  “Father,” he answered.

  “That’s usually how it goes. Soldier?”

  “Mmhmm.” Johnny crossed his right leg over his left and rested his chin on his hand. “You know why I’m here, correct?”

  Gabriel leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. “I do, though I wish I didn’t. And I wish we didn’t have to be having this conversation. No offense to you.”

  “None taken. It must have been quite an upsetting few days. Were you here when the incident occurred?” Johnny asked.

  “Yes. I heard Ms. Goto—that’s the teacher who found the girls—scream louder than anything I’ve ever heard before. I was the first person who made it. Zach ran in just seconds later.” Gabriel slid his chair in closer to his desk and rested his elbows. “It was a bloodbath.”

  “What did you do after you found the bodies?” Johnny said, watching Gabriel’s every facial quirk and twitch intently.

  “Ms. Goto was in a state of complete panic. I had Zach take her to the next room over and try to calm her while I went back to my office and called the police. It was late in the afternoon, and most of the students and staff were gone for the day, but I didn’t want to cause a scene. I asked Chief Oda to come in with as few men as possible, and gave the medical team similar instructions. Murder in Sonnerie is unheard of. I knew this had to be handled discreetly.”

  Johnny reached into his coat for a cigarette, offering it over to Gabriel, who refused it with a shake of his head.

  “I hope you won’t mind if I indulge while you speak,” he said, lighting up. Gabriel passed him a small ashtray, and the two were silent for a while before Johnny continued his questioning.

  “Tell me about the girls,” he said. “You’re not their teacher, but I assume you knew a little bit about them.”

  “Too little, perhaps,” Gabriel said. “Mari was a quiet girl. Very reserved. To be honest, I don’t think I ever spoke to her personally. She was never in any sort of trouble and her grades were never an issue.”

  “And Ayano?” Johnny asked.

  Gabriel leaned back again and spun his seat toward the window. “Ayano.” He repeated the name as if he was trying to pull the strings on a memory that had long faded. “I knew her very well.”

  “Family friend?” Johnny asked.

  “That would be one way to say it. There isn’t anyone in Sonnerie who doesn’t know Ayano. Or didn’t know, I suppose.”

  He stood up from his seat and walked around his desk toward Johnny, then sat down again on the corner.

  “Ayano’s the real reason you’re here. If it had been anyone else, anyone, then this whole business would’ve been quietly swept under the rug. Alibis made. Stories invented. The citizens would have their doubts, but the church would weed out anyone who asked too many questions.”

  “Those are some gestapo-level accusations you’re making right now.” Johnny put out the cigarette in the ashtray and stood up. “So, who is she then?”

  Gabriel cast his eyes down and scanned the floor for a moment before looking back up at him.

  “Ayano Hanekawa,” he said. “First and only child of the First Index, Isshin Hanekawa. The most powerful man in Sonnerie.”

  Fifth Movement

  Finch

  “Just me talking about her won’t impress upon you how much of a prodigy Ayano was. Her grades were always at the top of her class. In fact, Mr. Finch was originally brought to Sonnerie by her father to be her personal tutor. She had a lot of friends, though I suppose that is because no one would dare to make a girl with her power an enemy. She was captain of the girls fencing club. A real athlete. The perfect heir to her father’s legacy.”

  Gabriel took a deep breath and rubbed his chin, then continued. “In Sonnerie, the office of Index is inherited. Leaders are not democratically chosen. In the event that an Index dies without an heir apparent, then a new one would be chosen by the Mayor himself.”

  “The Mayor?” Johnny interrupted. “I was under the assumption that the Indices were the be-all-end-all of power in the city.”

  “That is true in most senses. The Mayor was the founder and first citizen of Sonnerie,” Gabriel hesitated. “Look, I could spend an entire day telling you about Sonnerie’s history and our way of life, but I don’t think that would help you do what you came here to do.”

  Johnny nodded in agreement. “I suppose you’re right.” He moved toward the wall of books behind Gabriel’s desk and ran his hand along them. “I think I’m getting the idea. Ayano was the perfect girl. The ideal that others strive for. Quite a burden on the shoulders of one so young.”

  “Normally, yes. But she never carried herself in any way that would exude any sense of onus. If anything, she was proud.” Gabriel’s sentence was interrupted by a knock at the door.

  “That must be Zach,” he said, taking his seat behind the desk again. “Come in!”

  The door opened slowly, but Johnny chose not to turn and face it. He pulled a volume from the shelf with the letter “F” written on the spine and brushed the dust off its cover.

  “You’re late, Zach,” Gabriel said. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  “I apologize, Mr. Itsuka. But I still don’t see the point of wasting time with this . . .”

  Johnny turned to face him before he could finish his thought. “This?” he smirked.

  “This . . . person,” Zachary Finch finished. Johnny looked him up and down. He wore a collared shirt and tie underneath a navy vest with dark slacks. His hair was chestnut brown and his eyes were a shade of emerald green that seemed nearly unnatural. There wasn’t anything in particular that was ugly about him, but nothing particularly handsome either.

  “Mr. Tokisaki is a guest of the Indices. You will afford him the same respect that you would one of the Twelve. Is that clear?”

  “Of course,” he muttered. He looked over at Johnny, then out the window and sighed.

  “Finch is it?” Johnny asked.

  “Zachary Finch, yes,” he said without making eye contact.

  Johnny flipped through a few pages of the volume and then stopped. “Ah, yes. Right here,” he cleared his throat.

  “Finch. Any of several hundred species of small conical-billed, seed-eating songbirds, order Passeriformes. Well-known or interesting birds classified as finches include the bunting, canary, cardinal, chaffinch, crossbill, Galapagos finch, goldfinch, grass finch, grosbeak, sparrow, and weaver.”

  Zachary Finch rolled his eyes. “Yes, very good. Thank you for your thorough lesson on finches.”

  “There’s more, if you’d like to hear it,” Johnny smiled.

  “This is a waste of—” he started, but Johnny was quick to cut him off.

  “Finches are generally excellent s
ingers. However, their songs can range from the complex and beautiful repertoires of the song sparrow (Melospiza melodia) to the monotonously unmusical notes of the grasshopper sparrow (Ammadramus savannarum). Many kinds of finches are kept . . . as cage birds.” He snapped the volume shut and returned it to its place on the shelf, then turned back around.

  “It’s a very cute name,” Johnny added.

  “Are you done?” Zachary asked.

  “Mr. Finch. I understand that you were one of the first people who arrived at the scene of the murders. Is that right?” Johnny kept his eyes focused on him now, watching his body respond alongside his words.

  “That’s correct,” he answered.

  “And I also understand that while Principal Itsuka here went to call the police, he asked you to take Ms. . . . Goto, was it?” He looked down at Gabriel, who gave a nod of affirmation. “Right. To take Ms. Goto to another room and try to calm her down.”

  “Yes,” he said, folding his arms.

  “Were you with her the whole time?” he asked. Now, Mr. Finch turned toward him and met his eyes.

  “I was. Until Chief Oda arrived, I was with Mei in the room next door. She was in such a fright that she could barely breathe.”

  “It must have been hard for you to fall asleep that night. Having witnessed such a horrifying scene,” Johnny took a step forward.

  There was no answer at first. Zachary looked briefly down at Gabriel, then moved his gaze back to the window. “No one who saw what I saw would be able to sleep at night,” he finally said.

  “No, I don’t suppose they would,” Johnny agreed. There were a few moments of silence before Johnny stepped around the back of the desk, closing the distance between himself and Zachary.

  “Mr. Finch,” he started. “You had both of these girls in your class?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did they ever interact with each other? Inside or outside the classroom?”

  “No.”

  “Were there any rumors or gossip going around about either of them?”