Ishiguro took my card with one hand and said, "Is this your home phone, Detective?" I was surprised. He spoke the kind of unaccented English you can only learn by living here for a long time, starting when you're young. He must have gone to school here. One of the thousands of Japanese who studied in America in the seventies. When they were sending 150,000 students a year to America, to learn about our country. And we were sending 200 American students a year to Japan.

"That's my number at the bottom, yes," I said.

Ishiguro slipped my card into his shirt pocket. I started to make a polite comment about his card, but he interrupted me. "Look, Detective. I think we can dispense with the formalities. The only reason there's a problem here tonight is that your colleague is unreasonable."

"My colleague?"

Ishiguro gave a head jerk. "The fat one there. Graham. His demands are unreasonable, and we strongly object to his intention to carry out an investigation tonight."

I said, "Why is that, Mr. Ishiguro?"

"You have no probable cause to conduct one."

"Why do you say that?"

Ishiguro snorted. "I would think it's obvious, even to you."

I stayed cool. Five years as a detective, and then a year in the press section had taught me to stay cool.

I said, "No, sir, I'm afraid it's not obvious."

He looked at me disdainfully. "The fact is, Lieutenant, you have no reason to connect this girl's death to the party we're holding downstairs."

"It looks like she's wearing a party dress– '

He interrupted me rudely. "My guess is you'll probably discover that she has died of an accidental drug overdose. And therefore her death has nothing to do with our party. Wouldn't you agree?"

I took a deep breath. "No, sir, I wouldn't agree. Not without an investigation." I took another breath. "Mr. Ishiguro, I appreciate your concerns, but– "