I said, "I don't care, Mr. Ishiguro. He can't be inside the yellow tape, and he can't take pictures. Get him out of there. And I want his film, please."

"Very well." Ishiguro said something quickly in Japanese. I turned, just in time to see Tanaka slip under the yellow tape, and disappear among the blue-suited men clustered by the elevator. Behind their heads, I saw the elevator doors open and close.

Son of a bitch. I was getting angry. "Mr. Ishiguro, you are now obstructing an official police investigation."

Ishiguro said calmly, "You must try to understand our position, Detective Smith. Of course we have complete confidence in the Los Angeles Police Department, but we must be able to undertake our own private inquiry, and for that we must have– "

Their own private inquiry?The son of a bitch. I suddenly couldn't speak. I clenched my teeth, seeing red. I was furious. I wanted to arrest Ishiguro. I wanted to spin him around, shove him up against the wall, and snap the cuffs around his fucking wrists and—

"Perhaps I can be of assistance, Lieutenant," a voice behind me said.

I turned. It was John Connor, smiling cheerfully. I stepped aside.

Connor faced Ishiguro, bowed slightly, and presented his card. He spoke rapidly. "Totsuzen shitsurei desuga, jiko-shokai wo shitemo yoroshii desuka. Watashi wa John Connor to moshimasu. Meishi o dozo. Dozo yoroshiku."

"John Connor?" Ishiguro said. "TheJohn Connor? Omeni kakarete koei desu. Watashi wa Ishiguro desu. Dozo yoroshiku." He was saying he was honored to meet him.

"Watashi no meishi desu. Dozo." A graceful thank you.

But once the formalities were completed, the conversation went so quickly I caught only an occasional word.