English was rapid and a little out of control, but Kawamura managed to discern that (a) Forrest had stepped into the bath with his right foot before he noticed Manabe's condition, (b) Forrest, without his glasses, didn't see anyone enter or leave the bath area, and (c) Forrest, being a relatively new member of the club, didn't really know anyone very well anyway. He considered Manabe to be "one of the nicest people in the world" because he would occasionally play with him. But Nat Forrest also confirmed that he did not play with Shig Manabe that day.
Out of respect for seniority, Kawamura next interviewed the club president, former Ambassador Morimoto. The former ambassador answered all questions precisely and in measured tones. Yes, there were about a dozen people in the locker room when Shig's body was discovered. Yes, the ambassador was one of those people. No, nothing seemed unusual or different. Yes, more people could have roamed in or out of the locker room during the time in question. No, from where he was standing—in front of his locker taking off his street clothes—he could not see into the bath area. No, he could not think of any reason on earth why anyone would want to harm Shig Manabe. Yes, Manabe had been a member of the club for over thirty years. No, he did not think strangers or nonmembers could have entered the locker room. Yes, Shig Manabe was one of the most decent human beings he'd ever met.
"Are you ruling out an accident?" asked Morimoto at the conclusion of the interview.
"Frankly, sir," replied Kawamura, "I'm not ruling out anything."
The rediscoverer of the body, Mr. Lee Kim, told Captain Kawamura that he had gone into the bath area to get a bucket of water to splash on Nat Forrest. According to Kim, Forrest had been "acting crazy" and Kim thought hot water in the face might bring him to his senses.
"I filled the bucket from the bath, turned around to leave," reported Kim, "then my brain realized what my eyes had just seen. Shig underwater."
"Didn't you notice the water was slightly... dark?" asked Kawamura.
"My eyes saw it, but my brain didn't..."
"I understand. Then what did you do?"
Kim squinted in concentration.
"I went back out to the locker room and announced that Shig was in trouble," answered Kim, still squinting.
"What did you do with the bucket of water?"
"Poured it back into the tub," said Kim, now wide-eyed.
The next series of interviews revealed very little beyond what was already known. The man in the white shirt, polka-dot tie, blue blazer, and now wearing trousers—Yamaguchi by name—explained that Manabe had just entered the bath area as he was leaving the bath. An exact time could not be ascertained, but Yamaguchi mentioned that he noticed it was "about twenty after eleven" when he was dressing. To demonstrate the reason for his observation, Yamaguchi pointed to his gold Rolex watch. Accepting, then passing on Manabe's tennis racket to someone else, seemed perfectly normal in a club where tennis rackets abound.
"I would like to say a final thing," mentioned Yamaguchi. "You should know that Manabe-san is, er, was, one of the nicest people I've ever met."
The man Kawamura first met wearing jockey shorts and a spectacular bandage on his elbow was now dressed in a complete tennis outfit upon which the word "Nike" appeared on every conceivable surface—from shoes to headband. He was, he said, distantly related to Manabe—his grandfather had married Manabe's father's cousin. Kawamura and the man could not work out the exact relationship, but that was frequently the way in Japan. The man went on to explain that of all his relatives, no matter how distant, Shig Manabe was the warmest and most genuine.
Theodore Bitman, originally from Salt Lake City, Utah, had also been in the locker room at the approximate time of Shig's death. Bitman, it developed, had been something of a competitor of Shig's—at least in business. Bitman arrived in Japan in 1963 as a Mormon missionary. He was fluent in Japanese, and at some point after the Tokyo Olympics in 1964, he decided to broaden his horizons and serve both the god of conversion and the god of mammon. Bitman was a well-known commentator on Japanese television regarding "things foreign," but he also ran a flourishing business exporting pearls and jewelry from Japan to the United States. Bitman Pearls were not as well-known as Mikimoto Pearls, but at least in Japan the company ranked higher in status than Manabe's company.
"He was one of the most trustworthy individuals I've ever known in business," announced Bitman during the interview with Kawamura.
"But you were rivals," said Kawamura.
"Makes no difference," answered Bitman. 'The market is the world. We each just had a little part of it."
Bitman did not notice anything unusual in the locker room. He was changing into his tennis gear when "Forrest ran screaming from the bath." His role in the matter was confined to attempting to calm Forrest before "another foreigner made an ass of himself' in front of the Japanese.
The interview with the dapper man wearing a cravat under his paisley shirt produced the same results. Shig Manabe was one of the nicest guys in the world, nothing seemed unusual in the locker room, and passing a tennis racket along from one person to another was the "most natural thing in the world." The dapper man, who had obviously spent a great deal of time in the States, tended to amplify his remarks with random words in English—a habit Kawamura found irritating.
The court manager, who had met Kawamura on the steps at the entrance to the club, and who had later been mopping up the area around the bath, was either "checking the practice board," "settling a dispute regarding court usage," or "confirming tournament standings in the clubhouse" when the nasty business was occurring. He had been nowhere near the locker room at the time.
The most interesting interview of those deemed to have been in the locker room at the time of Manabe's death was the last one. Takashi Sakai was the other half of the now defunct Silver Foxes partnership. A robust and somewhat aggressive man, Sakai was at sixty-eight the same age as Manabe. The two of them had spent their early grade-school years together in Yokohama. They had been playing tennis together off and on for nearly fifty years
"Nice man? That bastard would call foot faults on himself," Sakai stated. "And the fool would always give the benefit of the doubt on line calls to our opponents."
"I gather you knew him well," suggested Kawamura.
"Knew him well? All my life. That whoremaster's son would never stand up and fight for himself."
"But if you..."
"He always swayed with the wind. He thought that was the way to survive," amplified Sakai.
"But if you..."
"He'd hit a killer shot, and that peddler's dog would apologize to our opponents."
"But if you..."
"He once walked away from a fight when someone said something about his American wife. I would have clobbered the pig-brain for saying that, even though I hate Americans."
"Did you and Manabe-san argue a lot?" asked Kawamura.
"Argue a lot? Of course. Today, for example, he didn't chase a single lob. That blowfish smoked too much. We lost because of him."
Kawamura and Sakai stared at each other across the desk.
"To answer your previous question," said Sakai at last. "No, I didn't notice a thing in the locker room."
