receiving nonofficial phone calls while on duty. Of course, I wasn't alone, but nobody else in the homicide squad drives a Porsche 928, and the last thing I needed was any more trouble with the brass.
Saying nothing more, Ames went into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of orange juice, and came back to the living room, seating himself on the window seat across from me.
"How are the fingers? he asked.
"Fine, I answered warily, not willing to admit that they hurt like hell and not sure if he was really off the subject or merely coming at it from a different direction. I've seen Ames in action often enough to know he makes a formidable opponent. I didn't like this feeling of the two of us being on opposite sides of the fence.
"You're lucky you didn't lose them.
"Yeah, I answered. "I guess I am.
There was a pause while we sat in not-so-companionable silence. Depth-charged silence was more like it. Naturally, I was the first one to break. After all, I was the guilty party.
"So what happened at the meeting? I asked, keeping my tone light and casual.
"Nothing. Without you, there wasn't much point. I told them I'd try to reset it for later.
"Good, I said, not knowing what else to say.
Again the room became still. Ames was looking at me, studying me, building up to say something. Meanwhile, I paged through my mental catalog of smart-assed answers, preparing to pull one out and use it. I had a wisecrack all loaded up and ready to light when he surprised me by dropping the issue entirely.
"I saw in the afternoon paper that you're assigned to that case on Fourth South.
I breathed a small sigh of relief that he was willing to let it go. "Sure am, I said. "It started out looking like suicide, but it's not.
"Murder then?
I nodded. As the tension between us eased, I went on to tell him what I could about the circumstances surrounding Tadeo Kurobashi's death. He listened, seemingly attentive and interested, but beneath the smooth surface of conversation, I sensed we were playing a game, a set piece where two old friends make inconsequential small talk in order to avoid wandering into treacherous conversational territory.
When I reached the part about the Masamune sword, though, Ralph Ames was no longer merely listening for form's sake. He sat up straight, his eyes snapping to full alert.
"So you recognize the name? I asked.
"Masamune? You bet I do. And George Yamamoto seems to think it's genuine? he demanded.
"As far as he could tell, but then George isn't exactly a fully qualified samurai expert.
"No, I suppose not. Ralph seemed to mull the situation for a moment or two. "Are you of the opinion that the dead man may have come into possession of the sword through some illegal means?
"That's how I read it. Otherwise, wouldn't he have used it to buy his way out of the financial trouble he was in?
"Seems like, Ames conceded.
With a sudden loud splatter, wind-driven raindrops banged on the double-paned glass behind him. The storm that had been threatening all afternoon and evening burst through the night on the wings of a fierce squall. Ames gave no indication that he saw, heard, or noticed the pelting rain at his back. Chin resting on his hand, he appeared to be totally lost in thought.
"Except, he added quietly, "if—as this friend of his says—if Kurobashi was always interested in the ways of the samurai, what may seem reasonable to you and me and what might seem reasonable to him could be two entirely different things.
"What are you getting at?
"I have a friend, Ames said, "someone by the name of Winter, a fellow I went through law school with. He never practiced, though. Instead, he went back to school and picked up a Ph.D. in Oriental Studies. He lived in Japan for a number of years. Now he's living in New York and working as the Oriental antiquities guru for Sotheby's.
"Would you mind asking him about the sword?
"No problem, Ames said, glancing at his watch, "but it's too late tonight. I'll check with him
Saying nothing more, Ames went into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of orange juice, and came back to the living room, seating himself on the window seat across from me.
"How are the fingers? he asked.
"Fine, I answered warily, not willing to admit that they hurt like hell and not sure if he was really off the subject or merely coming at it from a different direction. I've seen Ames in action often enough to know he makes a formidable opponent. I didn't like this feeling of the two of us being on opposite sides of the fence.
"You're lucky you didn't lose them.
"Yeah, I answered. "I guess I am.
There was a pause while we sat in not-so-companionable silence. Depth-charged silence was more like it. Naturally, I was the first one to break. After all, I was the guilty party.
"So what happened at the meeting? I asked, keeping my tone light and casual.
"Nothing. Without you, there wasn't much point. I told them I'd try to reset it for later.
"Good, I said, not knowing what else to say.
Again the room became still. Ames was looking at me, studying me, building up to say something. Meanwhile, I paged through my mental catalog of smart-assed answers, preparing to pull one out and use it. I had a wisecrack all loaded up and ready to light when he surprised me by dropping the issue entirely.
"I saw in the afternoon paper that you're assigned to that case on Fourth South.
I breathed a small sigh of relief that he was willing to let it go. "Sure am, I said. "It started out looking like suicide, but it's not.
"Murder then?
I nodded. As the tension between us eased, I went on to tell him what I could about the circumstances surrounding Tadeo Kurobashi's death. He listened, seemingly attentive and interested, but beneath the smooth surface of conversation, I sensed we were playing a game, a set piece where two old friends make inconsequential small talk in order to avoid wandering into treacherous conversational territory.
When I reached the part about the Masamune sword, though, Ralph Ames was no longer merely listening for form's sake. He sat up straight, his eyes snapping to full alert.
"So you recognize the name? I asked.
"Masamune? You bet I do. And George Yamamoto seems to think it's genuine? he demanded.
"As far as he could tell, but then George isn't exactly a fully qualified samurai expert.
"No, I suppose not. Ralph seemed to mull the situation for a moment or two. "Are you of the opinion that the dead man may have come into possession of the sword through some illegal means?
"That's how I read it. Otherwise, wouldn't he have used it to buy his way out of the financial trouble he was in?
"Seems like, Ames conceded.
With a sudden loud splatter, wind-driven raindrops banged on the double-paned glass behind him. The storm that had been threatening all afternoon and evening burst through the night on the wings of a fierce squall. Ames gave no indication that he saw, heard, or noticed the pelting rain at his back. Chin resting on his hand, he appeared to be totally lost in thought.
"Except, he added quietly, "if—as this friend of his says—if Kurobashi was always interested in the ways of the samurai, what may seem reasonable to you and me and what might seem reasonable to him could be two entirely different things.
"What are you getting at?
"I have a friend, Ames said, "someone by the name of Winter, a fellow I went through law school with. He never practiced, though. Instead, he went back to school and picked up a Ph.D. in Oriental Studies. He lived in Japan for a number of years. Now he's living in New York and working as the Oriental antiquities guru for Sotheby's.
"Would you mind asking him about the sword?
"No problem, Ames said, glancing at his watch, "but it's too late tonight. I'll check with him
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