Then Tom Graham called.

"It's the fucking Japs," Graham said. "I can't believe they're pulling this shit. Better get over here, Petey-san. Eleven hundred Figueroa, corner of Seventh. It's the new Nakamoto building."

"What is the problem?" I had to ask. Graham is a good detective but he has a bad temper, and he tends to blow things out of proportion.

"The problem," Graham said, "is that the fucking Japs are demanding to see the fucking Special Services liaison. Which is you, buddy. They're saying the police can't proceed until the liaison gets here."

"Can't proceed? Why? What have you got?"

"Homicide," Graham said. "Caucasian female approximately twenty-five years old, apparent six-oh-one. Lying flat on her back, right in their damn boardroom. Quite a sight. You better get down here as soon as you can."

I said, "Is that music in the background?"

"Hell, yes," Graham said. "There's a big party going on. Tonight is the grand opening of the Nakamoto Tower, and they're having a reception. Just get down here, will you?"

I said I would. I called Mrs. Ascenio next door, and asked her if she would watch the baby while I was gone; she always needed extra money. While I waited for her to arrive I changed my shirt and put on my good suit. Then Fred Hoffmann called. He was watch commander at DHD downtown; a short, tough guy with gray hair. "Listen, Pete. I think you might want help on this one."

I said, "Why is that?"

"Sounds like we got a homicide involving Japanese nationals. It may be sticky. How long have you been a liaison?"

"About six months," I said.

"If I was you, I'd get some experienced help. Pick up Connor and take him downtown with you."