I made one last attempt. “As you know, my boss is the chief of police. This is the second place I’ve stopped at already this morning. He’s really riding me to get this duplicated right away.”

“I’d love to help you. I know Dr. Donaldson would be happy to. We’ve done special work for the police before. And I’m sure we can duplicate whatever material you have. Maybe later today. Or if you’d care to leave it with us…

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Okay. Sure. I understand. Well, I’m sorry, Lieutenant. Perhaps you can come back later in the day?” She gave a little shrug.

I said, “Probably not. I guess it’s just my bad luck that everybody had to work last night.”

“Yes. It’s a pretty unusual situation.”

“What was it, something came up? Research problem?”

“I really don’t know. We have so much video capability on site, occasionally we get a rush request for something unusual. A TV commercial that needs a special effect, or something like that. We worked on that new Michael Jackson video for Sony. Or somebody needs to restore tape that has been ruined. You know, rebuild the signal. But I don’t know what came up last night. Except it must have been a lot of work. Something like twenty tapes to be worked on. And a real rush. I hear they didn’t finish until after midnight.”

I thought: It can’t be.

I was trying to think what Connor would do, how he would handle it. I decided it was worth a stab in the dark. I said, “Well, I’m sure Nakamoto is grateful for all your hard work.”

“Oh, they are. Because it turned out real well for them. They were happy.”

I said, “You mentioned that Mr. Donaldson was giving a speech—“

“Dr. Donaldson, yes—“

“Where is he doing that?”

“At a corporate-training seminar at the Bonaventure Hotel. Management techniques in research. He must be pretty tired this morning. But he’s always a good speaker.”

“Thanks.” I gave her my card. “You’ve been very helpful, and if there is ever anything you think of, or want to tell me, call me.”

“Okay.” She glanced at my card. “Thank you.”

I turned to go. As I was leaving, an American in his late twenties, wearing an Armani suit and the smug look of an M.B.A. who reads the fashion magazines, came down and said to the other two men, “Gentlemen? Mr. Nakagawa will see you now.”

The men leapt up, grabbing their glossy brochures and pictures, and followed the assistant as he walked in calm measured strides toward the elevator.

I went back outside, into the smog.

4

The sign in the hallway read:

Inside the conference room, I saw one of those twilight business seminars where men and women sit at long tables covered in gray cloth, taking notes in semigloom as a lecturer drones on at the podium.

While I was standing there, in front of a table with the name tags of latecomers, a bespectacled woman came over to me and said, “Have you registered? Did you get your packet?”

I turned slightly and flashed my badge. I said, “I would like to speak to Dr. Donaldson.”

“He’s our next speaker. He’s on in seven or eight minutes. Can someone else help you?”

“It’ll just take a moment.”

She hesitated. “But there’s so little time before he speaks…”

“Then you better get going.”

She looked as if I had slapped her. I don’t know what she expected. I was a police officer and I’d asked to speak to somebody. Did she think it was negotiable? I felt irritable, remembering the young fashion plate in the Armani suit. Walking in measured steps, like a person of weight and importance, as he led the real estate salesmen away. Why did that kid think he was important? He might have an M.B.A., but he was still just answering the door for his Japanese boss.

Now, I watched the woman circle the conference room, moving toward the dais where four men waited to speak. The business audience was still taking notes as the sandy-haired man at the podium said, “There is a place for the foreigner in a Japanese corporation. Not at the top, of course, perhaps not even in the upper echelons. But there is certainly a place. You must realize that the place you hold as a foreigner in a Japanese corporation is an important one, that you are respected, and that you have a job to do. As a foreigner, you will have some special obstacles to overcome, but you can do that. You can succeed if you remember to know your place.”

I looked at the businessmen in their suits with their heads bowed, taking notes. I wondered what they were writing. Know your place?

The speaker continued: “Many times you hear executives say, ‘I have no place in a Japanese corporation, and I had to quit.’ Or you will hear people say, ‘They didn’t listen to me, I had no chance to get my ideas implemented, no chance for advancement.’ Those people didn’t understand the role of a foreigner in Japanese society. They were not able to fit in, and so they had to leave. But that is their problem. The Japanese are perfectly ready to accept Americans and other foreigners in their companies. Indeed, they are eager to have them. And you will be accepted: so long as you remember your place.”

A woman raised her hand and said, “What about prejudice against women in Japanese corporations?”

“There is no prejudice against women,” the speaker said.

“I’ve heard that women can’t advance.”

“That is simply not true.”

“Then why all the lawsuits? Sumitomo Corp. just settled a big antidiscrimination suit. I read one-third of Japanese corporations have had suits brought by American employees. What about that?”

“It is perfectly understandable,” the speaker said. “Any time a foreign corporation begins to do business in a new country, it is likely to make mistakes while it gets used to the habits and patterns of the country. When American corporations first went multinational in Europe in the fifties and sixties, they encountered difficulties in the countries they entered, and there were lawsuits then. So it is not remarkable that Japanese corporations also have some period of adjustment coming into America. It is necessary to be patient.”

A man said with a laugh, “Is there ever a time when it’s not necessary to be patient with Japan?” But he sounded rueful, not angry.

The others in the room continued to make notes.

“Officer? I’m Jim Donaldson. What is this about?”

I turned. Dr. Donaldson was a tall, thin man with glasses and a precise, almost prissy air. He was dressed in collegiate style, a tweed sport coat and a red tie. But he had the nerd pack of pens peeking out of his shirt pocket. I guessed he was an engineer.

“I just had a couple of questions about the Nakamoto tapes.”

“The Nakamoto tapes?”

“The ones in your laboratory last night.”

“My laboratory? Mr., ah—“

“Smith, Lieutenant Smith.” I gave him my card.

“Lieutenant, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. Tapes in my lab last night?”

“Kristen, your secretary, said everybody in the lab was working late on some tapes.”

“Yes. That’s true. Most of my staff.”

“And the tapes came from Nakamoto.”

“From Nakamoto?” He shook his head. “Who told you that?”

“She did.”

“I assure you, Lieutenant, the tapes were not from Nakamoto.”

“I heard there were twenty tapes.”

“Yes, at least twenty. I’m not sure of the exact number. But they were from McCann-Erickson. An ad campaign for Asahi beer. We had to do a logo transformation on every ad in the campaign. Now that Asahi beer is the number one beer in America.”

“But the question of Nakamoto—“

“Lieutenant,” he said impatiently, glancing at the podium, “let me explain something. I work for Hamaguchi Research Labs. Hamaguchi is owned by Kawakami Industries. A competitor of Nakamoto. Competition among the Japanese corporations is very intense. Very intense. Take my word for it: my lab didn’t do any work on any Nakamoto tapes last night. Such a thing would never happen, under any circumstances. If my secretary said it did, she’s mistaken. It’s absolutely out of the realm of possibility. Now, I have to give a speech. Is there anything else?”