the hospital, sat down by Sammy's bedside. He took her hand, rested it against his face.
When a nurse came in and asked if he wanted anything, he asked if she'd any Paracetamol.
`In a hospital?’ she said, smiling. `I'll see what I can do.’
21
Rebus was due for further questioning at St Leonard's at ten o'clock, so when his pager sounded at eight- fifteen, he assummed it was a reminder. But the phone number it wanted him to call was the mortuary down in the Cowgate. He called from the hospital payphone, and was put through to Dr Curt.
`Looks like I've drawn the short straw,' Curt told him.
`You're about to start work on Matsumoto?’
`For my sins. Look, I've heard the stories… don't suppose there's any truth in them?’
`I didn't kill him.’
`Glad to hear it, John.’
Curt seemed to be struggling to say something. `There are questions of ethics, of course, so I can't suggest that you come down here…’
`There's something you think I should see?’
`That I can't say.’
Curt cleared his throat. `But if you happened to be here… and the place is always very quiet this time of the morning…’
`I'm on my way.’
The Infirmary to the mortuary: a ten-minute walk. Curt himself was waiting to lead Rebus to the body.
The room was all white tile, bright light and stainless steel. Two of the dissecting-tables lay empty. Matsumoto's naked body lay on the third. Rebus walked around it, stunned by what he saw.
Tattoos.
And not just the kilted piper on a sailor's arm. These were works of art, and they were massive. A scaly green dragon, breathing pink and red fire, covered one shoulder and crept down the arm towards the wrist. Its back legs reached around the body's neck, while its front ones rested on the chest. There were other smaller dragons, and a landscape Mount Fuji reflected in water. There were Japanese symbols and the visored face of a kendo champion. Curt put on rubber gloves, and had Rebus do the same. Then the two men rolled the body over, displaying a further gallery across Matsumoto's back. A masked actor, something out of a Noh play, and a warrior in full armour. Some delicate flowers. The effect was mesmerising.
`Stunning, aren't they?’ Curt said.
`Phenomenal.’
`I've visited Japan a few times, given papers at conferences.’
`So you recognise some of these?’
`A few of the references, yes. Thing is, tattoos – especially on this scale – usually mean you're a gang member.’
`Like the Triads?’
`The Japanese are called Yakuza. Look here.’
Curt held up the left hand. The pinkie had been severed at the first joint, the skin healed in a rough crust.
`That's what happens when they screw up, isn't it?’
Rebus said, the word `Yakuza' bouncing around in his head. `Someone cuts off a finger every time.’
`I think so, yes,' Curt said. `Just thought you might like to know.’
Rebus nodded, eyes glued to the corpse. `Anything else?’
`Well, I haven't started on him yet, really. All looks fairly standard: evidence of impact with a moving vehicle. Crushed ribcage, fractures to the arms and legs.’
Rebus noticed that a bone was protruding from one calf, obscenely white against the skin. `There'll be a lot of internal damage. Shock probably killed him.’
Curt was thoughtful. `I must let Professor Gates know. Doubt he'll have seen anything like it.’
`Can I use your phone?’ Rebus asked.
He knew one person who might know about the Yakuza – she'd seemed knowledgeable about every other country's criminal gangs. So he spoke to Miriam Kenworthy in Newcastle.
`Tattoos and missing fingers?’ she said.
`Bingo.’
`That's Yakuza.’
`Actually, it's only the top bit missing from one little finger. That's done to them when they step out of line, isn't it?’
`Not quite. They do it to themselves as a way of saying they're sorry. I'm not sure I know much more than that.’
There was the sound of papers being shifted. `I'm just looking for my notes.’
`What notes?’
`When I was connecting all these gangs, different cultures, I did some research. Might be something on the Yakuza… Look, can I call you back?’
`How long?’
`Five minutes.’
Rebus gave her Curt's number, then sat and waited. Curt's room wasn't so much an office as a walk-in cupboard. Files were stacked high on his desk, and a dictaphone lay on top of them, along with a fresh pack of tapes. The room reeked of cigarettes and bad ventilation. On the walls: schedules of meetings, postcards, a couple of framed prints. The place was a bolt-hole, a necessity; Curt spent most of his time elsewhere.
Rebus took out Colquhoun's business card, tried home and office. As far as his secretary was concerned, Dr Colquhoun was still off sick.
Maybe, but he was well enough to visit a casino. One of Telford's casinos. No coincidence surely…
Kenworthy was good as gold.
`Yakuza,' she said, sounding like she was lifting from her script. `Ninety thousand members split into something like two and a half thousand groupings. Utterly ruthless, but also highly intelligent and sophisticated. Very hierarchical structure, almost impenetrable to outsiders. Like a secret society. They even have a sort of middle management level, called the Sokaiya.’
Rebus was writing it all down. `How do you spell that?’
She told him. `Back in Japan they run pachinko parlours – that's a sort of gaming thing – and have fingers in most other illegal pies.’
`Unless they've lopped them off. What about outside Japan?’
`Only thing I've got down here is that they – ship expensive designer stuff back home to sell on the black market, also stolen art, ship it back to wealthy buyers…’
`Wait a minute, you told me Jake Tarawicz started out smuggling icons out of Russia.’
`You're saying Pink Eyes might connect to the Yakuza?’
`Tommy Telford's been chauffeuring them around. There's a warehouse everyone seems interested in, plus a country club.’
`What's in the warehouse?’
`I don't know yet.’
`Maybe you should find out.’
`It's on my list. Something else, these pachinko parlours… would those be like amusement arcades?’
`Pretty much.’
`Another connection with Telford: he puts gaming machines into half the pubs and clubs on the east coast.’
`You think the Yakuza saw someone they could do a deal with?’
`I don't know.’
