at the bar."
"Sushi," she said. "We could try a platter of assorted sushi and have some soup with it. Are you very hungry?"
"It's a hot evening, maybe I am not so hungry, but the fresh fish would be nice."
She called and the girl came in, kneeling at the door, waiting for the order. The lady spoke in Japanese and the girl said "Hai hai" in a high voice and left.
"'Hai' means "yes'?" Grijpstra asked.
She shook her head as if in doubt. "Not quite. It means 'I am here, at your service.'"
"And will do as I am told," Grijpstra said.
She tittered. "Yes, like that, but then they often do something entirely different."
"Not bring the fish?" Grijpstra asked, and looked worried.
She laughed and bent over and touched his shoulder. "No, she will bring the fish. You really fancy the fish, don't you?"
He had brought out his notebook and looked serious again. "I am a police detective," he said, and took a visiting card out of his notebook. "There are some questions; I hope you don't mind."
The head with the elaborate hairdo dressing the jet-black thick strands into an intricate knot, bobbed. "Yes, my name is Mrs. Fujitani. My husband and I manage this restaurant. He will be up in a few minutes, but there is a special dish to prepare and he can't leave it alone just now. I assume that you are inquiring into Joanne Andrews' complaint about her missing fianceT'
"Yes, madam," Grijpstra said. She spelled her name and he carefully wrote it down.
"Perhaps nothing is the matter," Mrs. Fujitani said hopefully. "Perhaps Mr. Nagai is enjoying himself somewhere and will show up soon."
"We thought so too," Grijpstra said, "but we don't anymore. We found his car, you see, and there is blood in the car and a fragment of human skull with black hair attached to it. Somebody was shot in the car."
He looked at her carefully. The fright reaction seemed genuine. He didn't think Mrs. Fujitani expected the man to be dead. Her eyes were staring at him, she had sucked in her breath sharply and her hands were clasping each other with such force that the knuckles showed white centers.
"Do you have any idea who would have wanted to kill Mr. Nagai?" Grijpstra asked gently.
"So that's why Joanne didn't show up today," Mrs. Fujitani said. "I telephoned her landlady. She said Joanne had been nervous the last few days, very nervous."
Grijpstra repeated his question. She shook her head, but there were tears in the small dark eyes.
"Did you like Mr. Nagai?"
She nodded. "Yes, he was such a nice quiet man. Once, a year ago, I think, he drank too much in the restaurant here and bothered people. You know, went up to their tables and tried to talk to them. My husband had to show him the door but he didn't make a fuss. He just went and then he didn't dare to come here again. I went to his hotel and he was almost crying with embarrassment."
"Did he come back again?" Grijpstra asked.
"Yes. He brought me flowers and he gave us a little statue, very valuable, I believe. It's over there."
She pointed at a low lacquered table. Grijpstra got up from his cushions, rubbed his legs which had gone to sleep under him and stumbled toward the table. The statue depicted a stocky old man with a large bald head, bushy eyebrows which pointed aggressively forward and enormous eyes, bulging ferociously. The small, hunched-up body seemed to exhale tremendous strength. "Hey," Grijpstra said, and stepped back.
Mrs. Fujitani giggled. "Daruma-san," she said, "the first Zen master, very powerful."
"A priest?" Grijpstra asked doubtfully. "Aren't priests supposed to look holy?"
"Very holy," Mrs. Fujitani said, and bowed reverently toward the statue. "Daruma means 'teaching,' san means 'mister, Mister Teaching.'"
"So what did he teach?" Grijpstra asked, looking at the fury on the old man's face.
"Buddhism," Mrs. Fujitani said. "But I don't know about Buddhism. My husband and I are Christians, Methodists, but I like to look at this statue. It was very good of Mr. Nagai to give it to
"Sushi," she said. "We could try a platter of assorted sushi and have some soup with it. Are you very hungry?"
"It's a hot evening, maybe I am not so hungry, but the fresh fish would be nice."
She called and the girl came in, kneeling at the door, waiting for the order. The lady spoke in Japanese and the girl said "Hai hai" in a high voice and left.
"'Hai' means "yes'?" Grijpstra asked.
She shook her head as if in doubt. "Not quite. It means 'I am here, at your service.'"
"And will do as I am told," Grijpstra said.
She tittered. "Yes, like that, but then they often do something entirely different."
"Not bring the fish?" Grijpstra asked, and looked worried.
She laughed and bent over and touched his shoulder. "No, she will bring the fish. You really fancy the fish, don't you?"
He had brought out his notebook and looked serious again. "I am a police detective," he said, and took a visiting card out of his notebook. "There are some questions; I hope you don't mind."
The head with the elaborate hairdo dressing the jet-black thick strands into an intricate knot, bobbed. "Yes, my name is Mrs. Fujitani. My husband and I manage this restaurant. He will be up in a few minutes, but there is a special dish to prepare and he can't leave it alone just now. I assume that you are inquiring into Joanne Andrews' complaint about her missing fianceT'
"Yes, madam," Grijpstra said. She spelled her name and he carefully wrote it down.
"Perhaps nothing is the matter," Mrs. Fujitani said hopefully. "Perhaps Mr. Nagai is enjoying himself somewhere and will show up soon."
"We thought so too," Grijpstra said, "but we don't anymore. We found his car, you see, and there is blood in the car and a fragment of human skull with black hair attached to it. Somebody was shot in the car."
He looked at her carefully. The fright reaction seemed genuine. He didn't think Mrs. Fujitani expected the man to be dead. Her eyes were staring at him, she had sucked in her breath sharply and her hands were clasping each other with such force that the knuckles showed white centers.
"Do you have any idea who would have wanted to kill Mr. Nagai?" Grijpstra asked gently.
"So that's why Joanne didn't show up today," Mrs. Fujitani said. "I telephoned her landlady. She said Joanne had been nervous the last few days, very nervous."
Grijpstra repeated his question. She shook her head, but there were tears in the small dark eyes.
"Did you like Mr. Nagai?"
She nodded. "Yes, he was such a nice quiet man. Once, a year ago, I think, he drank too much in the restaurant here and bothered people. You know, went up to their tables and tried to talk to them. My husband had to show him the door but he didn't make a fuss. He just went and then he didn't dare to come here again. I went to his hotel and he was almost crying with embarrassment."
"Did he come back again?" Grijpstra asked.
"Yes. He brought me flowers and he gave us a little statue, very valuable, I believe. It's over there."
She pointed at a low lacquered table. Grijpstra got up from his cushions, rubbed his legs which had gone to sleep under him and stumbled toward the table. The statue depicted a stocky old man with a large bald head, bushy eyebrows which pointed aggressively forward and enormous eyes, bulging ferociously. The small, hunched-up body seemed to exhale tremendous strength. "Hey," Grijpstra said, and stepped back.
Mrs. Fujitani giggled. "Daruma-san," she said, "the first Zen master, very powerful."
"A priest?" Grijpstra asked doubtfully. "Aren't priests supposed to look holy?"
"Very holy," Mrs. Fujitani said, and bowed reverently toward the statue. "Daruma means 'teaching,' san means 'mister, Mister Teaching.'"
"So what did he teach?" Grijpstra asked, looking at the fury on the old man's face.
"Buddhism," Mrs. Fujitani said. "But I don't know about Buddhism. My husband and I are Christians, Methodists, but I like to look at this statue. It was very good of Mr. Nagai to give it to
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