J.B. and Kawamura were joined by Gordy Sparks, whose practical role in the affair seemed clear-cut and marginal, but whose official role, Discoverer of the Body—albeit from a height of four stories—was deemed significant. They were also joined by Butch Percy, the recreation director, who was judged to have been the last person too see Pete in the ballroom. The two men and their wives had shared a table near the side entrance.
"He was up and down a lot," reported Butch, "in fact I don't think he sat down for more than five minutes during the first half hour."
"What was he doing?" asked Kawamura yawning. "I mean, where did he go up and down?"
"He went, well, I don't know exactly, just everywhere to make certain arrangements were OK, and, like that."
"You stated earlier," Kawamura read from a crumpled note, "that you last saw him just before the soup was served."
"That's right."
"What happened?"
"He said, 'Excuse me.' "
"He said, 'Excuse me?' " asked J.B., puzzled.
"I'll handle this, Culhane-san."
"Call me J.B."
"Call me Tim."
"Good, I've been calling you different names all night."
"Ahem, he said, 'Excuse me?' " asked Kawamura, turning back to Butch.
"Yes, someone came up and whispered something to him. He said 'Excuse me,' got up, and left the table."
"Who was it?" asked Gordy suddenly.
"I'll handle this, Sparks-san."
"Call me Gordy."
"Call me Captain Kawamura. Who was it?"
"I don't know. I didn't even turn around and look. It was a man, I saw the arm of a tuxedo, and," Butch yawned, "that's all."
"It was about 7:30?"
"It was about 7:30."
Another policeman approached Kawamura, muttered a few sentences and Kawamura muttered a few back. The policeman walked toward the rear of the room and out the door.
"He said the autopsy report is being delivered in a few minutes."
"Autopsy report? I would have thought, I mean even from where I was standing," said Gordy, "that. . ."
"I know," said Kawamura, stifling a yawn, "but it makes things official."
"You know Tim," announced J.B., pausing to yawn, "I've been looking at this list your men made. A number of people I know were here tonight and they aren't on the list. Is it possible your men didn't question them all?"
"Impossible," stated Kawamura. "Isn't it?"
"Actually, a number of people, mostly those who went down to the pool area, left the club property through the back gate," said Butch. "My wife was one of them."
"You mean to say," said Kawamura, turning to look back in the direction of the interrogation room next to the stage, "that all the lists we made. . .?"
"I'm afraid so," said J.B. through the tail end of a yawn.
Kawamura threw his pencil on the table, slumped back in his chair, and closed his eyes. He opened them once to see J.B., Sparks, and Percy yawning, and closed them again. He was in the middle of a yawn of his own when a policeman with an official-looking document approached.
Kawamura looked up at the policeman after reading the document once. He looked at J.B. after reading the document a second time. He got up, walked around the table, and sat down again after reading it a third time.
"We have big mystery here at this club, J.B." said Kawamura reading the document a fourth time.
"You're telling me. Old Pete down there. . ."
"No, I mean big mystery," interrupted Kawamura.
"What. . .?"
'To be exact, the head does not fit on the body."
"But that's imposs. . ."
"The body," continued Kawamura, "is Japanese."
* * * *
Molecular biologists are learning more every year about the genetic code found in each human cell. The code, or DNA, which is in a part of the human cell called the mitochondrion, is particularly fascinating because it is inherited only from the mother. It is postulated that humans, as we know and love ourselves today (as opposed to the earlier Neanderthal, Homo erectus, and Homo habilis models), originated in Africa more than seventy thousand years ago, gradually migrated outward to the Middle East, then Europe, and finally the Far East, Australia, and America.
The theory, and it is still a theory, maintains that modern Homo sapiens developed in parallel with the older and certainly very worthy creatures, and that the development of modern man can be traced through the DNA connection to a single human, "Eve," who was found to have lived in Africa some two hundred thousand years ago.
Tens of thousands of years of adapting to the demands of the environment have created secondary physical characteristics distinguishing races as statistical groups, but due to numerous variations, the distinctions on an individual basis are not always so readily apparent. Under the skin, all humans are brothers. And Japanese skin is about as "yellow" as Caucasian skin is really "white."
J.B. Culhane's reflections on the matter were substantially less profound, however. It had never occurred to him that physical indicators beneath the head might have to be employed to sort out the thorny issues implicit in this particular racial situation. One heard rumors, of course, but an element of science must be involved.
J.B. stopped his new friend as they were about to enter their cars in the club parking lot. The sky in the east was beginning to glow with the new light of day.
"Can I ask you something, Tim?"
"Certainly J.B."
"First of all, you're certain that, er, Pete's head doesn't fit on that body?"
"We're certain, J.B. The neck wounds on both parts were made by different instruments. In addition, the head doesn't fit on the body. It's, ah, technical, J.B."
"I understand, Tim. But my real question, I mean, you don't have to answer it, but. . ."
"But what?"
"Well, if you don't mind telling me."
"I can't know until you ask," said Tim getting into his car. "What?"
"Well," said J.B., clearing his throat, "what exactly, or should I say, what approximately, er, how do you know the body is actually Japanese?"
"It's easy," said Tim, signaling his driver to start. "His wallet was in his pocket."
* * * *
The Tokyo American Club was founded in 1928 by a group of American and Japanese businessmen interested in establishing for themselves a facility for family dining and social intercourse. Americans were by no means the first foreign contingent of merchants and traders in Japan, but by the 1920s they were the largest. Oil companies, business-machine manufacturers, and banks were increasingly involved in successful ventures in the country, and the new American executives often arrived in Tokyo with wives and children.
The club was originally located in the old Imperial Hotel, an architectural wonder (it did not collapse during the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923) designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. An indication of the modest circumstances surrounding