Remember Tokyo Read online

  “Hmm, I might need a few tips on how I can come to the same arrangement.”

  “You’ll get there. Just don’t let him push you around.”

  Charlie tapped the folder on his desk. “He wants me to look at this property swap, but from what I can see, it looks like a load of crap.”

  “Why are you looking at property?”

  Charlie shrugged. “He knows I did some property work on my other postings. Besides, It’s not like I can say I’m too busy doing other files, since I don’t have any yet.”

  Fraser gave him the familiar grin. “If you’re looking for consular work, I can hook you up no problem.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Sure. We’ve got a Canadian banker in hospital. I was going to do the visit, but if you’re interested, have at it.”

  Charlie flipped the property file shut and gave her an enthusiastic nod. “I’ll take it.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Charlie stood at the far end of the subway car, watching the digital display above the door that announced the next stop: first in Japanese, then in English. Satisfied that he had two more stops to go, he relaxed and surveyed the rest of the crowded car, noticing for the first time that he was the only Westerner. Combined with his height, it was enough to make him feel like a bit of an oddball — a recurring feeling since his arrival in Japan. In fact, just about everything seemed different here, from the food to the time change, and from the language to the climate. His first two postings were to places that were hardly similar to Ottawa, yet he hadn’t felt as out of place in Havana or Moscow as he did in Tokyo. He glanced down the row of seated passengers and noticed that literally everyone was fiddling with a phone or some other electronic device. This was, after all, the mecca of electronics. Charlie had strolled through Akihabara on his third night in Tokyo, still jet-lagged and even more disoriented by the bright lights and dizzying array of stores, each one ten stories tall or more and packed with the latest consumer electronics.

  As they pulled into the next station and a dozen people moved in and out of the car, Charlie’s thoughts returned to the job at hand — a Canadian citizen in a Tokyo hospital. Karen Fraser had offered to come along, but Charlie had insisted he could handle it alone. He didn’t want to seem like he needed babysitting, and he was eager to dig into his first consular file. Not that there was much information to go on in the file folder she’d handed him when he’d followed her back to her office. It contained some basic information and a contact sheet with Robert Lepage’s name and passport number, his date of birth and the address for Tokyo Medical University Hospital in Shinjuku.

  As a mechanical voice announced their arrival in Shinjuku-nishiguchi Station, Charlie followed the stream of passengers exiting the car onto the platform, looking for the bright yellow exit signs and the one that would bring him up onto Ome-Kaido Avenue. Back up at street level, he noticed a distinct rise in temperature as the afternoon sun bore down on him. It was late October but the air felt humid and warm. He slipped off his jacket and threw it over his shoulder as he headed northwest, but he was still sweating by the time he reached the entrance to the hospital, wishing he had gotten a cab from the Metro station. He wiped his face with a cotton handkerchief as he stood in a short line behind an information counter, praying that the woman on the other side of the glass spoke English. He was in luck and, within minutes, he was receiving directions for the neurological unit on the fifth floor. As he rode the elevator up, he wondered what had happened to Robert Lepage to land him here. The file was silent on whether Lepage’s hospitalization was due to illness, accident, or some other cause. Charlie was no doctor, but neurology didn’t sound good.

  Stepping off onto the fifth floor, he made his way down to another reception counter and this time his luck ran out. Despite his best attempt at the rudimentary Japanese he had picked up in the last couple of weeks, the nurse at the desk was looking more and more perplexed.

  “Tashkent Canada,” Charlie said, thinking it was close enough to how the Japanese word for embassy was supposed to sound to be understood, but it didn’t seem to have any effect. He was running out of ideas when a thin man in his forties came up beside him.

  “Are you from the Canadian embassy?”

  “Yes,” Charlie said, the relief evident in his voice.

  “I am Doctor Yamaguchi. I spoke with someone at the embassy earlier today about your Mr. Lepage.”

  “Charlie Hillier,” he said, about to thrust a card at the doctor before remembering the ceremony surrounding business cards in Japan. He paused, turned the card around and face up, and delivered it with two hands and a bow, a gesture Yamaguchi seemed to appreciate as he glanced at the card, smiled, and reciprocated with one of his own.

  “I’m the consular officer assigned to Mr. Lepage’s case,” Charlie said, when they had both pocketed the cards. “Can I ask what his condition is? I have very little information.”

  “Please,” Yamaguchi said, gesturing to a waiting area off to the right. Charlie took a seat, then Yamaguchi followed suit.

  “It’s a very unfortunate case,” Yamaguchi began, and Charlie’s heart sank. He didn’t relish the prospect of contacting relatives back in Canada to let them know that their son, husband, or father was seriously ill.

  “Is he … going to make it?”

  Yamaguchi nodded. “He is in stable condition. He has some broken bones and soft tissue injuries, but they will heal.” Charlie nodded, waiting for the but that would explain why Lepage was in neurology. He had already interrupted Yamaguchi once and decided to let him get the information out at his own pace. “But he has not resumed consciousness to date.”

  “You mean he’s in a coma?”

  The doctor nodded. “It’s not uncommon after an incident like this, but the longer it goes on, the worse his prognosis becomes.”

  “Can I ask what happened to him?”

  “He was in a car … accident,” Yamaguchi said, the slight pause the first real sign that he was not a native English speaker. “A very high-speed impact, apparently. He is very lucky not to have been killed.”

  “And when was this?”

  “Three days ago. I must apologize, Mr. Hillier, for not contacting the embassy sooner. Mr. Lepage’s passport and other identification was … misplaced.” Yamaguchi was obviously embarrassed by the oversight, but from what Charlie could tell from the brief research that one of the locally engaged consular officers had conducted, the gap in time made little difference — Lepage appeared to have no immediate living family back in Canada, or anywhere else that they could find. In any event, he had been comatose since he was admitted, and it was starting to look like he might remain so for a while.

  “It’s a big hospital with a lot of patients,” Charlie said. “It’s a wonder you can keep track of everyone as well as you do.”

  Yamaguchi shook his head. “It is inexcusable, and you can be assured that we will take the appropriate measures to ensure this does not happen again.”

  “So his prognosis,” Charlie said, trying to divert the attention away from the poor bastard who would probably lose his job over the error. “Is it … bad?”

  “As I mentioned, his physical wounds should heal without event,” Yamaguchi said, brightening. “He is young and fit, which should improve his odds of a full recovery. His GCS scores …” he stopped, noting Charlie’s incomprehension. “The Glasgow Coma Scale is the standard measure of consciousness. Mr. Lepage’s scores are in the moderate range.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Combined with the activity found on his brain scans, his GCS scores suggest a significant injury, but one which can still result in full recovery,” Yamaguchi said.

  “So that’s good, then?”

  Yamaguchi gave an indulgent smile. “It means Mr. Lepage is capable of normal cognitive function, but … we will have to wait and see how things progress before giving a full prognosis.”

  Charlie nodded. “Can I see him?”

  Yamaguchi f
rowned, then shrugged. “I suppose there is no harm. Come,” he said, getting up and leading him into the hallway and around to the right of the reception area, past a few rooms to the one numbered 5023, and knocking on the closed door. After a moment of silence, he pushed the door open and stepped back. Charlie felt a wave of unease pass over him as he entered the room, intruding as he was into a stranger’s private space. A man in his thirties was lying on the bed, one leg in a cast and raised above the bed in some sort of harness. He had other bandages around his left wrist and forearm, as well as an assortment of cuts and bruises on his face. The sound of the respirator dominated the otherwise silent space, as Lepage’s chest moved up in down in time with the pump. The expression through the clear mask over his mouth was one of calm, even peace. Charlie had the grim feeling that Lepage might never again open his eyes, and he felt a sudden urge to turn and leave the room.

  “These are his effects?” he said, gesturing to a clear plastic bag on a side table.

  Yamaguchi nodded. “His passport and wallet are in the hospital safe.”

  “Right. May I?” Charlie picked up the bag as Yamaguchi nodded. He pulled out a black nylon jacket and a pair of dress shoes.

  “We had to cut off the rest of his clothes. They were not … salvageable.” Again, Yamaguchi’s expression was apologetic.

  Charlie nodded and checked the jacket pockets, finding nothing. “I guess his phone and keys are in the safe as well.”

  “Anything of value, yes.”

  Charlie put the jacket and shoes back in the bag and looked over at Lepage, still motionless on the bed, apart from the regular rise and fall of his chest in time with the ventilator.

  “Has anyone else been to visit him?”

  Yamaguchi frowned. “No. That was one of the reasons we contacted the embassy.”

  “Well, I guess there’s not much else for me to do here,” Charlie said. “You’ll let me know if his condition changes?”

  “Of course.” Yamaguchi tapped the card.

  “Thank you very much for your time, Doctor.”

  “You’re most welcome.”

  “By the way, I have to say, your English is flawless. Where did you learn it?”

  Yamaguchi smiled. “Thank you. I studied for two years in Canada.”

  “Really, where?”

  “Montreal, at the Royal Victoria Hospital.”

  “Well, it really is a small world, isn’t it?”

  “Are you from Montreal also?” Yamaguchi asked, as they walked back out into the hall.

  “No, I’m from the East Coast.”

  Yamaguchi nodded but looked puzzled.

  It was Charlie’s turn for an indulgent smile. “I know they call Toronto and Montreal eastern Canada, but it’s really the centre. I’m from the real East Coast — Newfoundland.”

  Yamaguchi looked intrigued. “Canada is a beautiful country. Such open spaces.” Charlie nodded. He could imagine the effect Canada’s landscape would have on someone who had grown up in an area as densely populated as Tokyo. “And how long have you been in Tokyo?” Yamaguchi asked, as they walked back down the hall.

  “A couple of weeks. I just started work today, and I’m still trying to get my bearings, but I have to say I’m very impressed with Tokyo so far.”

  Yamaguchi put out his hand as they reached the elevators beyond the fifth floor reception area. “Well, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed Canada.”

  “Thank you, and thanks again for your time today.”

  Yamaguchi bowed as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. “I will contact you if there is any change in Mr. Lepage’s condition.”

  Charlie arrived late for the reception at the official residence and scanned the room for a familiar face. He waved a polite hello to Louis Denault and kept going to the opposite side of the room and the table of hors d’oeuvres. He slid a couple of the bite-sized snacks onto a plate and was reaching for a glass of white wine when he heard his name.

  “Oh, hi, Karen,” he said, registering Fraser’s friendly smile.

  “You survived your first week. I’d say that calls for a drink,” she said, tapping her glass with his.

  “Yeah, so far, so good.”

  “Any change in your coma case?”

  “Not as of noon today.” He had called the hospital for an update before lunch and he had been told that Lepage remained stable but unchanged since Charlie’s visit on Tuesday.

  “Any luck tracking down next of kin back home?”

  “It seems like he was a loner,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “Can’t find any contacts either in Canada or here, other than the fact that he worked for a company called Nippon Kasuga.”

  “Nobody’s been to the hospital to visit him?”

  Charlie shook his head.

  “It’s kind of sad, isn’t it?” Fraser frowned. “I mean, there he is, laid up in a hospital bed a million miles from home, and he’s completely alone. From how you described him though, maybe he’ll never wake up.”

  Charlie recalled Yamaguchi’s prognosis, and the comments that the longer the unconsciousness lasted, the worse the prognosis. It had been three more days without a change, and things were certainly looking bleak for Lepage. “It is kind of depressing. He’s a young guy.”

  Fraser’s sombre expression lightened at the sight of a dapper man in his fifties heading their way.

  “Hi, Cliff. How are you?”

  “Better now that you’re here,” the other man said, greeting her with a double cheek kiss.

  “Charlie, let me introduce you to Cliff Redford, my favour­ite lawyer.”

  “I’m the only one she knows in Tokyo,” he deadpanned as he shook Charlie’s hand.

  “Charlie Hillier.”

  “You new in town?”

  “Charlie’s the new consular officer,” Fraser said.

  He nodded. “Just finished my first week.”

  “Well, you’ll be almost over the time change by now,” Redford said, accepting a glass of wine from a passing server. “What are your first impressions?”

  “Good,” Charlie said. “I like the city, and the people at the embassy are great.”

  “Well, he’s a natural liar, anyway.” Redford tapped Fraser playfully on the arm.

  Charlie laughed along. “How about you, how long have you been in Tokyo?”

  “Oh God.” Redford let out a theatrical sigh. “Moses was still in short pants.”

  “And what brought you here?”

  “Now that’s a long story. I’ll have to take you out on the town some night and tell you,” he said. “So, you’re doing consular work?”

  “Just picked up my first case this week. A Canadian in a coma after a car accident.”

  “Sounds grim.”

  Charlie shrugged his shoulders. “I’m afraid so. His prognosis isn’t good, and he’s got no family that I can find.”

  “We were just saying how sad that is,” Fraser interjected. “There’s got to be someone, either here or back home.”

  Redford slid his hand in his jacket pocket and took out a card. “Well, if you’re looking for a good PI here in Tokyo, I can hook you up.”

  Charlie took the card, which listed Redford as senior partner at Redford & Co.

  “Cliff knows everyone here,” Fraser said. “Plus he’s the chair of the Tokyo Canadian Club.”

  “What’s that?”

  Redford smiled. “Sounds grand, but it’s really just a charitable association for expat Canucks. We spend a lot of our time with guys whose marriages go wrong, to be honest. They find out the hard way that access and custody is a lot different here when the mother’s a local.”

  Charlie nodded, then noticed a good-looking guy in his late thirties approach their little trio.

  “Oh, hi.” Fraser turned to greet him as Charlie felt a little bubble in his chest deflate. “Charlie, this is my husband, Jeff.”

  As the two men shook hands, Charlie noticed a strong grip that went along with the athletic
frame and the bright smile. “Jeff Fraser.”

  “Charlie Hillier.”

  “Karen’s told me all about you. Welcome to Tokyo.” He turned to Redford. “Hi, Cliff.”

  “How are the markets?” Redford asked.

  “Down again, but that won’t stop us from making a killing,” Fraser said with a grin.

  “Jeff is a securities broker,” Karen said.

  Rich, too, Charlie thought to himself. Some guys have it all …

  “Do you speak Japanese?” Charlie asked, guessing the answer but unable to resist.

  “Badly, but I get by. I lucked in with a firm that deals mostly with Western companies — thanks to Cliff here.”

  “You don’t know a Robert Lepage by any chance, do you?”

  Fraser frowned and shook his head. “Don’t think so. Is he in securities?”

  “I know he’s a banker of some kind. I’m not really sure what area.”

  “That your coma guy?” Redford asked. “The mystery man?”

  Charlie nodded. “He’s my first consular case. A Canadian who got into a car accident and now he’s in a coma.”

  “Who was he working for?”

  “A company called Nippon … Kasuga, I think.”

  Fraser shook his head. “Never heard of them, but there are a lot of players here, so that’s no surprise.” He looked to Redford, who was nodding.

  “Their office is in the same building as mine,” he said. “I know a few of the senior people, though not that much about their exact line of business. I’ll sniff around though, let you know what I find out,” he added as the ambassador approached.

  “Cliff, how’s business?”

  “Can’t complain. I was just meeting your new consular officer.”

  Westwood looked at Charlie and smiled. “We’re glad to have him. He comes highly recommended.”

  Charlie smiled awkwardly, wondering what his true status was in the department. Probably somewhere between loose cannon and pariah. But he was here, and Westwood had seemed genuine in their first meeting, when he had told him he liked Charlie’s initiative. It had been accompan­ied by a somewhat veiled warning that staying under the radar might not be a bad idea, at least for a while. He could hardly blame Westwood for that though, given the events in Moscow last year, or in Havana before that. They chatted for a while and then Westwood moved on. Charlie yawned, prompting a smile from Karen.