‘Who the hell are you anyway?’ I ask.
Sara uncorks Ganzo’s last bottle of red and fills our glasses; the panda’s place is ours for the night, or what’s left of it. The police were satisfied with our statements and let it go. As far as they were concerned, Fujii was complicit in Ume’s death, and Sara killing him in self-defence made everything so much simpler. Outside, the coursing Rivers are calming; Independence Day is almost over.
‘I was hired by someone in Tokyo,’ Sara says, swirling the wine in her glass. ‘When Ume found out that foul play was involved in Hana’s death, she contacted my client, and I was hired to investigate. Of course, Sonaya’s never been keen on letting private detectives from Japan roam around asking too many questions, but journalists from America? Not a problem.’
