Clocktower Page 7

  By the time he could register what was happening, the large man in the kitchen moved with a sudden burst of speed.

  “Don’t move!” Johnny shouted, but he was too slow. The man was already in the back room, sprinting toward the rear entrance.

  Without regard to anything else, he gave pursuit. The unknown intruder’s giant body careened through the back door and leapt up and over the shed in the back. Johnny quickly pulled the hammer down on his revolver and re-holstered it, then vaulted himself over the wall just behind his quarry.

  In the late-day sunlight, he could make out more of the man now. He was at least six and a half feet tall and wore a deep-violet-colored suit. Such was his size that he could barely fit between the walls of the alley that he was pursued through. He was fast, but Johnny was faster. Each second they ran, he gained on him, until they reached the end of the alley and the man in the violet suit made a sudden turn to the right.

  The man shouted something as Johnny turned the corner, but before he could understand what it was, he was hit by something flat and heavy that sent him crashing down to the ground ahead of him. His vision blurred, and his last memory before the world turned black around him was the sound of a girl crying in the winter wind.

  Ninth Movement

  Pinion

  When he came to, the sun had already begun to set. Pink and orange hues illuminated the western sky, and the bells of the clocktower chimed five times in the distance. Consciousness returned slowly. First his eyes and face twitched to life, then each of his fingers and toes. As his range of motion returned to him, so too did the throbbing pain in his right temple. After the world stopped spinning, he rose to one knee, then pushed up off the ground. Dizziness overtook him almost immediately, and he was forced to lean against the concrete wall of the alley and wait it out.

  He did a quick check of his pockets and ran his fingers over the handle of his revolver to make sure nothing had been taken, then retrieved his pack of cigarettes and his lighter and lit one up. After a few impassioned inhales, he began to run the events that had just occurred through his mind. Three people had been in that house. Four, including himself. The man hanging from the ceiling was almost certainly Mari’s father. Whether or not he had done the deed himself or if the man in the violet suit had assisted him in this matter, he did not yet know.

  It was the presence of the girl that disturbed him most. He had only caught the briefest of glimpses before dashing after the other man, but he knew her face. It was the same girl he had chased after that morning. The same girl who had brought him to the newspaper. The girl with the face of Mari Mishima.

  He took another puff of his cigarette before flicking the butt off to the side. Whoever this girl was, he had been completely unable to detect her presence before opening the door to the living room. Nothing about her being in that room added up, and the more he thought about it, the more his swollen head ached.

  For now, he needed to get to a phone and inform the police of Mr. Mishima’s death. He took a couple steps to shake out the stiffness of his body, then exited the alley into another narrow backstreet that led toward The Lugs. Across from him were a series of small shops, all but one of which had their shutters closed up tight. The one open one—right in the middle—was quite different from the rest. The sign on the door read, “Pinion’s” and the walls were made of red brick and stone. It stood out like a sore thumb, completely out of place among its peers.

  Johnny straightened his coat and crossed the street. The lights of the store were on, but he could see no customers within. He moved up closer to the windows and peeked inside. It had the look of an old watch repair shop, and he could see several antique grandfather clocks, as well as smaller cuckoo clocks mounted along the walls. Johnny moved from the window to the door and gave it a push. A pair of bells attached to the corner jingled as he stepped inside.

  “Welcome,” a voice from the back called. “I’ll be with you in just a moment. Please have a look around.”

  Johnny stepped farther in. It was a cramped, relatively dimly lit hole-in-the-wall that couldn’t have been much more than the size of a studio apartment. The wood floor creaked as he walked, and the air was musty and damp, but every timepiece he saw was immaculately kept. An entire orchestra of ticks and tocks that played in near-perfect harmony filled his ears.

  At the back of the store was a long glass case that stretched almost from wall to wall, filled with wristwatches of every size and style imaginable. Gold, stainless steel, two-tone. Some had metal bracelets and others had leather straps. Their dials were mostly rounded, but a few of them had small, rectangular cases.

  There was no brand name written on any of them; they were custom jobs, each and every one handcrafted to perfection. Even here, he could see that each watch ticked in time with the others. The second hands swept together in such synchrony that they could have hypnotized anyone who looked at them.

  “Like what you see?” the shopkeeper asked as he appeared from the back. He was a tall, gaunt man with hardly a hair left on his head. His eyes were covered with black magnifiers, and it was a wonder he could even walk straight with them on. Despite his awkward appearance, he smiled a warm smile through a row of perfect white teeth, and Johnny instantly liked him.

  “They’re incredible,” Johnny replied. “Did you make them all yourself?”

  “I did,” the shopkeeper answered. “Every gear, every spring. Every case and index. All done here in my shop.”

  He lifted off the magnifiers and set them down lightly on the glass and gave Johnny a firm handshake.

  “You’re not from Sonnerie, are you?” he asked.

  “How can you tell?” Johnny raised an eyebrow.

  “Don’t get locals in the shop too often,” he said. “And that giant bump on the side of your head. You get into a fight, son?”

  Johnny put a hand on his temple. “Can’t really call it a fight if it’s over in one hit.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” The shopkeeper rested his elbows on the glass case and looked at him. “So, what can I do for you?”

  “I was hoping to borrow your phone.” Johnny stood up straight. “It’s urgent.”

  The shopkeeper looked down at the pin on his collar. “Here on business, then? Well, far be it for a lowly watchmaker like myself to refuse a request from someone here at the behest of the Indices. But might I get your name first?”

  “Johnny. Johnny Tokisaki.”

  “Mr. Tokisaki.” He put a hand on his chest. “You can call me Pinion.”

  “Pinion?” Johnny asked, resting an elbow on the counter. “As in the feather?”

  “As in the gear. The phone is by the cash register over there.” He pointed. “I take it you’ll need some privacy. I’ll be in the back until you’re done.”

  “Thank you,” Johnny said. “It will only take a moment.”

  He watched as Pinion disappeared into the back room, then moved over to the cash register and took the card with Mrs. Saito’s phone number out of his pocket.

  “You’re calling earlier than I expected,” she said immediately after picking up.

  “Well, there’s a bit of a situation. Mari’s father is dead. Hanging in his living room right now.” Johnny spoke in hushed tones.

  “What?” she nearly yelled. “What are you doing at his home? We had an agreement—”

  “I know,” he replied. “But I had a hunch and needed to check it out for myself. I need you to contact Chief Oda and have him meet me at Mari’s house.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’m in a shop nearby.”

  “Good,” she said. “I’ll have the chief come out. It shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes.”

  Johnny checked over his shoulder to make certain of his privacy, then pushed the phone closer to his mouth. “There’s something else,” he said. “There was another man in the
house. I don’t know who it was, but I got a pretty good look at him.”

  “Are you saying Mr. Mishima may have been killed?” Her voice trembled as she spoke.

  “It’s possible,” he answered frankly. “But I suspect it was suicide. There wasn’t any sign of a struggle. He might have been doing the same thing I was. Looking for something.”

  Johnny heard a rustling of papers on the other end of the line and the click of a pen. “Tell me about this other man you saw. What did he look like?”

  “He was tall. Taller than me by at least six inches. And big, too. Muscular. He had a goatee and wore a rather flamboyant violet suit.”

  “A violet suit?”

  “I imagine there aren’t too many people in Sonnerie that fit that description. Should make finding him a bit easier.” Johnny moved the phone from his right ear to his left.

  “You weren’t able to catch him?”

  “Not for a lack of trying. I chased him down an alleyway behind the house, but before I could tackle him down, I was hit from behind. I’ve been out cold for the better part of half an hour.”

  Mrs. Saito let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “Were you able to find out anything?” Her tone was all demand and no question.

  “I found Mari’s diary. Left it in her room, but I was able to read some of it. Mostly normal teenage girl stuff, except for one thing.” He paused. “She wrote that she lost her virginity mid last year. But there was no mention of a boyfriend or a lover in any previous entry. Not even so much as a hint of someone that she was interested in.”

  “We need to get that diary,” Mrs. Saito said. “It might have the answers we’re looking for.”

  “Like I said, I left it in her room. I’ll pick it up when I meet with Chief Oda.” Johnny heard the sound of Pinion humming from the back room.

  “Call me as soon as you have any answers,” she said. “I’ll be waiting.”

  Johnny put the phone back down and checked the time on his Casio. He could see groups of men in suits outside, likely returning home from work or headed out to a bar or dinner together. As much as he wanted to head straight back to Mari’s home, it would be more trouble than it was worth if he were to be spotted by some concerned citizen. With nothing left to do, he knocked on the back door and let Pinion know that he was finished, then returned to the customer side of the store.

  “All done, then?” Pinion asked, wiping his hands clean with an old cloth.

  “Yes, thank you.” Johnny looked back down at the rows of watches in the glass case. “I bet you turn a pretty penny out of these beauties.”

  “You think so?” Pinion looked down at the glass with Johnny. “I’ve never actually sold one.”

  Johnny looked up at him, puzzled. “You’ve never sold a single piece? How do you stay in business?”

  Pinion shrugged. “Money isn’t an issue. What’s important is the process. The concept, the outline, the minutiae between the complications. That’s where the magic happens.”

  He took out a key and opened the case, then pulled out a stainless-steel wonder from it and set it on a soft pad. It was larger than the others—forty millimeters if he had to guess. The dial was a dark brown and the hands were gold, giving it a natural feel. In the lower half was an opening in the dial, revealing a flying tourbillon that effortlessly danced along its preset course. Johnny’s eyes were wide as he flipped the timepiece over to reveal a smooth, polished case back inscribed with the letter “P.”

  “Would you like to try it?” Pinion invited.

  “Sure.” Johnny outstretched his left arm, revealing his Rolex.

  “Oh my.” Pinion suddenly recoiled backward. “What happened to this little gem?”

  Johnny looked down at his watch. The sapphire crystal had been cracked in multiple places, and part of the fluted bezel was warped inward. He slid the watch off and put it down on the pad.

  “I must have hit it when I fell to the ground,” he said.

  Pinion picked up the broken timepiece and slid his magnifiers back over his eyes. “It’s in pretty bad shape,” he said, giving it a little shake. “Not ticking either. Probably has some damage to the movement as well.” He put the watch back down on the pad and took the magnifiers back off. “I’ve got Swiss parts here. Could fix it up for you if you’d like.”

  Johnny rubbed a finger over the cracked crystal and frowned. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “That’ll be all right. I haven’t wound the thing in ages anyway. It’s just a memento now.”

  “A memento?” Pinion asked.

  Johnny nodded. “My wife gave this to me as a gift. The last time I wound it was the day she passed away.”

  Pinion bowed his head. “The loss of a loved one is a heavy burden, especially for someone as young as yourself. Forgive my indiscretion.”

  Johnny managed a smile. “She’d beat me up real good if she saw what kind of shape it was in now.”

  Pinion smiled as well. “How about this then. You’ll be in Sonnerie a bit longer, yes?”

  “Until the end of the week,” Johnny said.

  “Leave it here with me. I can replace the crystal and fix up the damage without touching the inside. She’ll be just as she was before all the bruises.”

  Johnny tapped his fingers on the glass and thought it over. “How soon can you have it ready?” he asked.

  “It’s already late in the day today. I can get started on it tomorrow and have it ready for you by Thursday. Will that work?” Pinion said, giving the watch another look.

  “Thursday, then.” Johnny confirmed. “I’m staying at The Wheel Bridge. If anything comes up, you can find me there.”

  Johnny took a look at the time on one of the watches in the case, then quickly thanked Pinion and bid him farewell. Chief Oda would be at Mari’s house in the next five minutes, and he wanted to be there to meet him. He followed the road outside Pinion’s shop back to Flute Street, then turned and headed for the Mishima residence.

  Tenth Movement

  Ryūma

  Police Chief Oda was a fat man. His face was fat. His neck was fat. He had a fat lower lip that swelled out like an infested raspberry that could burst at any moment. His eyes were sunken and black, and his uniform was stained and ill-fitting. He stood nearly a foot and a half shorter than Johnny, and even his voice was as raspy and thick as sludge.

  “You’re Mr. Tokisaki?” he asked, looking Johnny up and down. “Hmph. Here for a day, and already breaking into houses and conveniently finding dead bodies. I told them. I told them you’d be nothing but trouble. An outsider. And a half-breed at that. Do you even speak your own language? Huh? Or are you just yellow on the outside and proud Yankee-Doodle underneath?”

  Johnny couldn’t get a word in edgewise. It was an impressive—if not unfamiliar—tirade. Unable to retort, he lit a cigarette and took a long inhale. Chief Oda clamped his hands on his belt and lifted his pants up further. Sometimes, when faced with utter stupidity, Johnny found it more productive to simply smile and nod. Like a toddler, the foolish would tucker themselves out soon enough. All he had to do was wait.

  “You know what I think?” Oda continued. “I think it’s your fault that this happened in our sweet, beautiful town. You disgusting Angelenos and your drugs and rap music and debauchery. It’s sick. Do you know how much work it takes for us noble, law-abiding citizens to protect our youth from your so-called ‘culture?’ No, you wouldn’t.”

  “It must be tough,” Johnny said, blowing out another lungful of smoke.

  “It is!” he said, thumping a hand against his chest. “But we officers have our pride, yes! And respect! Respect enough to follow the orders of the Twelve, heaven bless them. True leaders, every one of them. Do you know what leadership is, Mr. Tokisaki? Do people have that on the outside?”

  “Oh, no, not at all,” Johnny answered. “We have some pretty good rap music and drugs, tho
ugh.”

  Chief Oda shook his head in disgust. “Remember the angel’s words,” he whispered to himself. “Our time will come; our time will come.”

  “So, you think it was an outside influence that drove these girls to kill each other?” Johnny asked.

  “Of that, I have no doubt. We here in Sonnerie do not condone any acts of brutality. To suggest that any citizen, let alone the heiress of the First Index, would turn to bringing knives to school and engage in such a bloodbath is inconceivable. It’s heresy!”

  “Knives? You mean there was more than one?” Johnny flicked the half-smoked cigarette down to the ground and stepped forward.

  “Honestly.” Oda scratched at a large pimple on his chin. “Does it honestly matter? They’re dead, Mr. Tokisaki. The quicker we can put this matter behind us, the quicker everyone can just forget and move on.”

  “It doesn’t strike you as odd?” Johnny persisted. “Did they each bring a knife to school on that day with a plan to dice each other up? From what I can tell, the girls had barely any contact with each other. They weren’t friends. If one brought in a knife to kill the other, it would make more sense. But both of them bring their own knives? Isn’t that a little too convenient?”

  “Maybe it was a murder-suicide pact.” Oda threw up his arms. “What difference does it make now? There’s no mystery here. The girls killed each other. End of story.”

  “A murder-suicide pact? Are you making shit up, or are you just that incompetent?” His composure finally broke, if only slightly. “And the corpse of Mari’s father says otherwise to your ‘no mystery’ comments,” Johnny said, pointing at the front door.

  “Ah yes, the corpse you so fortuitously happened upon while breaking into this house. Tell me, Mr. Tokisaki, should I be expecting more of this behavior throughout your stay in Sonnerie?” The pimple he was scratching at finally exploded in a ball of creamy pus that he wiped from his chin.