e in front of Vincent。
'Ever see this man before？'
They were police artist sketches of a man in his thirties； oriental； wide nose； flat cheeks； anonymous eyes。 His hair was long…Vincent studied the drawings carefully before he shook his head。 'No； but to tell you the truth； I'd be surprised if I had。'
'Why？'
'This is the man who came to Terry's dojo the day he and Eileen were murdered； right？'
'How'd you know that？'
The sake came and they were silent while the waiter filled the tiny cups。 When he had gone； Croaker looked inquiringly at Vincent。
'I had dinner with Terry that night；' Vincent said slowly。 'I did most of the talking。' His voice had turned rueful。 'Now I'm sorry I did because Terry obviously had something on his mind。 He spoke briefly about a Japanese who had e in to practise that day。 Karate； aikido and … kendo。' He sipped at his sake and one hand waved。 'I'm only putting this together now as I talk to you。 You see； Bennoku； the dodo's regular kenjutsu sensei； had been on vacation for about ten days。 If that man came to Terry for kenjutsu there was only one way he could possibly be acmodated。 By Terry himself。'
Croaker shrugged。 'What's so odd about that？ Linnear told me that Tanaka was an expert at kenjutsu； a … sensei； did you call it？'
Vincent nodded。 'Yeah； but what Nick obviously didn't tell you is that Terry had put his katana away。 He had what I can only describe as a spiritual change of heart。 He no longer found pleasure in kenjutsu； he no longer practised it。'
'When did this happen？〃
'I'm not really certain。 Perhaps as long as six months ago。'
'Then why didn't Linnear tell me？'
Vincent poured more sake for them both。 'To tell you the truth； I'm not sure Nick knows。 He's … well； he's also had a kind of spiritual change of heart； only he's still going through his and I don't know what it entails。 We're still very close； he and I； and he was close with Terry； too； but he'd withdrawn somewhat。 I'm sure Terry had the opportunity to tell him but I rather think he chose not to。' He shrugged。 'Anyway； if this is the man' … he tapped the drawings … 'he'd be disguised。 I might know him or Nicholas might but we'd never be able to tell you from one of those。'
Croaker nodded。 'Okay。' He began to put the drawings away。
Vincent put a hand out。 'Why don't you wait until Nick es？ It couldn't hurt for him to see them。'
'Linnear called me late this afternoon。 He went back to West Bay Bridge。 His girl had an accident。' He finished putting the drawings away。 'Nobody saw this bastard going in or out。 Not at the dojo or Terry's apartment。'
'I'm not surprised。 This man's a professional。 A highly dangerous professional。 I'm afraid you don't know what you're up against here。'
'That's just what Linnear told me；' Croaker growled。 'I don't like hearing it。'
'It's the truth； Lieutenant。 You'd better face facts。 This guy can put away just about anyone he chooses。'
'Even Raphael Tomkin？'
Vincent nodded。 'Even him。'
'It's been tried a dozen times；' Croaker pointed out。 'By professionals。'
Vincent sighed。 'This professional is different。 We are not talking about a hit man from Detroit or wherever they manufacture them。'
'Jersey City；' Croaker said with a thin smile。
'Yeah； well； this is a ninja； Lieutenant。 pared with a professional hit man he's Houdini； Superman and Spiderman all wrapped up into one。' Vincent tapped the table with the tip of his forefinger。 'The man's a sorcerer。'
Croaker stared into the other's eyes； trying to find some hint of irony。 He found none。 'You're serious； aren't you？〃
'At the risk of sounding melodramatic； deadly serious。'
The waiter returned and they ordered dinner along with more safe。 'Take your time；' Vincent told the waiter； who nodded and went out。
'Linnear took me to a kenjutsu dojo today；' Croaker said。
'Which one？'
'I don't know the name of it。 I met the sensei。 Man named Fukashigi。'
There was an odd look in Vincent's eye。 'You're quite a privileged person。 Very few Westerners are allowed entrance。 And for Nicholas to take you。。。' He whistled silently。
'Yeah；' Croaker joked。 'And that was after I'd insulted him。 He certainly doesn't hold any grudges。'
Now Vincent's eyes were sad and he said； 'It was not for him to be angry but for you to know that you have now lost face。'
'Lost face？ What do you mean？；'
'Simply this。 Relationships are based on respect … mutual respect。 With that es trust。 And obligation。 I will not ask you what you did … no； don't tell me； I have no wish to know …but I will say that if you have offended him then his respect for you has lessened。' ^
'What the hell do I care what he thinks of me？'
'Ah； well； perhaps you don't。' Vincent smiled。 'If that's the case； no more may be said of the matter。' He took a deliberate sip of his safe； refilled the cup。
Croaker cleared his throat and； after a time； said； 'Finish your last thought。'
'I was merely going to say that it is not up to Nick to forgive you … that he has already done； otherwise he would not have taken you to see Fukashigi。 It is up to you to seek to restore the former balance。〃
'How would I do that？' Croaker asked suspiciously。
'？Ah； if I knew the answer to that one； I'd be quite the wise man。' Vincent shook his head。 'And tonight； Lieutenant； I'm not feeling wise at all。'
There was a man at the sushi bar with invisible putty on his face。 It built up his flat cheekbones； flattened his wide nose； deepened the sockets of his eyes。 Even his mother would not have recognized him； and she had been a most intelligent woman。
He was halfway through a plate of sashimi when Vincent and Lieutenant Croaker entered the restaurant and were shown to a tatami room。 He did not turn his head but caught them in the periphery of his vision。
Several moments later； he pushed his plate delicately away from him and walked the length of the room to the rest room。 The place was dark and crowded； buzzing with conversation。 He had to pass the tatami rooms to get there。 The rest room was empty。 He washed his hands； peering at himself in the mirror。 The door opened and two men walked in。 The man went out； past the thin shoji walls。 He paid for his meal and left。
Outside in the heat of the summer night； he hailed a cruising taxi。 He had to make four switches before he found one suitable for his purposes。
At precisely 8：18 p。m。 officer Pete Travine pulled the patrol car over so that the side wheels scraped the kerb。 It was his second cruise down Twenty…eighth Street and he was certain now that what he saw in the alleyway between a brownstone and a tailor's shop had not been there when he had made his first trip twenty minutes ago。 He had been thinking of the old days； when all cops rode in tandem。 Now； because of the city's serious on…going fiscal crisis； they were still experimenting in certain areas with solo patrols； despite concerted PBA opposition。
The radio squawked intermittently； but there was nothing in his vicinity。 He parked the blue…and…white and got out a flashlight； played it over the darkened alley。 The beam of light hovered over a line of garbage cans painted silver。 It was quiet here： no pedestrians； only the soft susurrus of the light traffic along Lexington。
He opened the kerbside door； slid out。 With one hand he unsnapped the top of his stiff leather holster； the guard he wore while driving。
He went cautiously across the sidewalk； his flash flicking the darkness。 There was an open grille gate leading to four or five steep concrete steps to the alley proper。 The right wall … the brownstone's … was blank for all of its three storeys。 The left wall had windows beginning on the second storey of the building。 There were apartments over the tailor's shop。 Odd lighting； subtly kaleidoscopic； leaked from these。 Television sets were on。
Travine went down the steps。 He thought briefly of calling
in but decided against it。 He wanted to have something concrete for them。
Past the line of garbage cans was deep shadow but something protruded part way out into the semi…light； casting strange shadows upwards along the brick wall。 It was these that Travine had seen and questioned。
He stood over the shape n