The Case of the One-Penny Orange: A Masao Masuto Mystery (Book Two) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Ishido switched to English. He had a slight British intonation and almost no accent. He ushered Masuto into his living room, which was rather large, about thirty feet by twenty. It was furnished — or better said unfurnished — in the Japanese manner, with four splendid painted screens, cushions on the floor, low tables, a room for himself and his family. His study was in the Western manner; but it was a mark of consideration to take Masuto in here.
    â€œYou have a problem,” he said. “I am pleased. It has brought you to me.”
    â€œI hesitate to burden you with it.”
    â€œIs it police work?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHow fascinating! Tell me about it.”
    â€œA man was murdered today. I am afraid that murder is my major province. You know I am chief of homicide in Beverly Hills.”
    â€œNo. I didn’t know. Fascinating. Who was the victim?”
    â€œHis name was Ivan Gaycheck.”
    â€œGaycheck? Really.” Ishido’s moon face remained expressionless.
    â€œI see you know him.”
    â€œI know him, but without pleasure.”
    â€œHave you dealt with him?”
    â€œOnce. I found him rude and unpleasant. You know, Masao, his name is nondescript — Ivan Gaycheck. It means nothing, but it suggests a Slav or a Hungarian. He was a German.”
    â€œIndeed? How do you know that?”
    Ishido smiled. “I am right?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHis accent. I have an excellent ear for accents. Tell me, how did death find him?”
    â€œSomeone he knew well shot him in the forehead with a small twenty-two-caliber pistol.”
    â€œAh.” No judgment. Watching his kinsman, Masuto read nothing. Well, a man like Ishido was not to be read easily.
    â€œYour conclusions are part of your police work?”
    â€œHardly a very brilliant part,” Masuto said. “We have the bullet and there was no sign of a struggle. The shot was at close range.”
    â€œAnd since he dealt in stamps, you postulate that his death might be connected with stamps. And since I am a collector, you come to me.”
    â€œBut with apologies. I come only for information.”
    â€œNonsense, Masao — if you will forgive me. If a stamp is central to this murder, then every collector of consequence must be suspect. A collector is a unique type of personality. I have heard that you are a Buddhist?”
    He appeared to have changed the subject aimlessly, but Masuto knew that a man like Ishido did nothing aimlessly or thoughtlessly. “I am Zen. The Soto School.”
    â€œAh so. A Buddhist seeks for meaning, in his way. A collector, a true collector, also seeks for meaning, very narrowly, very fanatically, but there are no ethical boundaries to his religion. Do you understand?”
    Masuto nodded. They sat cross-legged, a low, polished teakwood table between them. Now a young woman appeared with tea things. She wore a kimono and obi and she was very lovely, but Ishido did not introduce her and Masuto knew that his wife was long dead. She set down the tray, poured pale yellow tea, and disappeared. Politely, Masuto made no inquiry. They sipped the tea, and then Ishido said:
    â€œTherefore, I must be suspect.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œYou are my kinsman.”
    â€œThat is no reason. You must ask me whether, for a true collector, there is any stamp worth killing for. Of course, with such a man as Ivan Gaycheck, there could be a thousand motives. Was he connected with the SS? Surely you have inquired at Interpol?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThen any Jew who discovered his identity would feel justified in an act of revenge.”
    â€œI don’t think so,” Masuto answered slowly. “That kind of act of violence is not in their pattern.”
    â€œBut patterns change — as witness Israel.”
    â€œPerhaps. But I have a simple mind. When a stamp dealer is murdered, I look for a stamp.” Masuto sipped his