Alibi by Sydney Bauer

Nagoshi knew that this period in his son’s development was critical. Peter had his imperfections, but his saving grace was his hunger to foster and grow his family’s company to the best of his ability.
    In the very least Nagoshi hoped his son was smart enough to understand the benefits of feigned assimilation. For it was such manufactured sincerity that had seen Nagoshi rise beyond the competition and become one of the few Japanese kinmusha to take their place on the world business stage.
    “You are right about the selfish motivations of the Assistant District Attorney my son,” Nagoshi said at last. “My sources tell me Lieutenant Mannix comes with high regard, but Mr. Katz made a note of his superiority and I believe his desire to control has masked his ability to listen.”
    “Mr. Katz is an egotist, Father,” said Peter. “He is a rooster who likes to plume his feathers, an unuboreya who looks to himself before others.”
    John Nagoshi nodded. Perhaps his son was not so bad at reading Americans after all.
    “You are right, segare . And enough is enough. I am going to set up a meeting for Wednesday,” the older Nagoshi said, “to discuss any new developments in the case. If I am correct, Mr. Katz will involve the police—if only so he can blame his lack of progress on others. We shall observe them then, and decide on a course of action.”
    Peter nodded.
    “Don’t worry, Peter, one way or another we will finalize this matter.”
    “I know, Father,” said Peter. “I know.”

8
    I am so close, thought Suffolk County Acting District Attorney Roger “The Kat” Katz after shutting his office door and telling his amoeba of a secretary that he did not want to be disturbed for the next half hour.
    So goddamned close.
    He felt the power within his grasp, and it wasn’t just because his boss had taken an extended leave of absence to care for her mother who, as far as he could tell, was so far down the Alzheimer’s highway to nowhere that she probably didn’t even know it was her own daughter who had taken a dive on her career to sit with the old woman day in and day out. More fool her.
    No, it was more than that. This Nagoshi trial was a gift—the perfect case at the perfect time. Sometimes you just got lucky.
    Fucking Mannix, came the next logical consideration in his self-motivated train of thought. If Mannix and his useless freak of a deputy would pull out their goddamned fingers and give him someone, something—hell, anything—to work with, then maybe he would be just where he was destined to be. But they had nothing—bar a couple of unidentified latent fingerprints, a partial shoe print and an extensive interview log with the girl’s family, friends, admirers, fellow students and so forth, which told them absolutely zip.
    The call from Nagoshi was not unexpected. Katz had begun by phoning the CEO every day, but then had to reduce his call frequency to every second day and then every third, as there was nothing new to report. And he was furious at Mannix for putting him in such a position. In any other circumstance he would be relishing the opportunity to ingratiate himself with one of the world’s most successful businessmen, but in recent weeks he had had to avoid him.
    He took a deep breath, leaned back in his dark brown leather chair, and looked around his modest but meticulously arranged office—the wood-paneled walls, high Victorian ceiling, deep green carpet and serious lack of window space. Despite its insufficient size, he had to admit it carried an aura of success—and not just because of the black-and-white photos that hung on the wall behind him as a reminder of the many celebrated personalities who had admired his work—attorney generals, senators, governors and even the odd movie star. No, the air of accomplishment in this twelve by twelve was largely due to the fact that Katz was the man behind the antique cedar desk, and there were very few attorneys on either side of the legal