here was a team meeting first thing in the morning. The investigators

gathered around Ishigaki and one after another made their reports. Much of

what they said didn’t come as news to Matsumiya.

When it was Matsumiya’s turn, he got to his feet and gave an account

of what they’d found out the day before. He chose not to mention Takeaki

Aoyagi having made a purchase at Hozuki-ya. Kaga had advised him to

keep it under wraps for the time being, since they didn’t yet know whether

it had any connection to the case.

When Matsumiya announced the news of Kaori Nakahara’s

pregnancy, a frisson ran through the room. “Kids today—got no money but

still can’t wait to make babies,” grumbled an old detective sitting nearby.

The main meeting was followed by a smaller one just for the top

people from Forensics. Matsumiya and Kaga were sent to the Kaneseki

Metals factory.

As they stepped out onto the street, Kaga spoke in a rather formal

tone. “Detective Matsumiya, I don’t see much point in your taking a

detective from the Nihonbashi police along to make inquiries at the factory

in Kunitachi, so I will let you handle that alone.”

“What are you going to do, Kyo … I mean, Kaga?”

“Like I said yesterday, I think I’ll do a bit of walking around.”

“What? Go back to Amazaké Alley?”

“Not just there. A wider area. I can’t stop thinking about why Aoyagi

was in that neighborhood on the night of the crime.” Kaga fixed his eyes on

Matsumiya and grinned.

“I think you’re just about capable of conducting an interview by

yourself.”

Matsumiya scowled at his cousin.

“I’ve got one condition. Report anything you find to me. Whether

relevant to the case or not.”

Kaga nodded, his face serious again. “Of course. That’s a promise.”

“Fine, then. I’ll call after I’m done with my inquiries at Kaneseki

Metals.”

“Roger that.” Kaga turned smartly on his heel and strode off. He

clearly wasn’t going to take a taxi.

It looked as though Kaga meant to check if Takeaki Aoyagi had been

spotted at any other shops in the area. Even though part of him wanted to

make the rounds with his cousin, he thought it best to leave him to it.

Matsumiya caught a train at Tokyo Station. The journey took almost

an hour. From the station, he caught a cab to the Kunitachi plant.

On the way, he was struck by the number of vacant lots. There were

only a few private houses; mostly, it was small factories, warehouses, and

other industrial buildings. Here and there, there were enormous blocks of

public housing arranged in orderly rows.

They approached a building with a fence around it. The taxi stopped in

front of the gate emblazoned with the words “Kaneseki Metals Kunitachi

Plant.” As soon as Matsumiya climbed out of the cab, he heard the clang of

machinery.

Upon giving his name at the guard booth, he was presented with a

visitor’s pass and instructed to make his way to the office.

He went in through the first-floor entrance. Somewhere between ten

and twenty people were working at desks arranged in rows. The blue jackets they were all wearing had to be the factory uniform.

A short, middle-aged man came up to him and bowed politely. His

name was Yamaoka. The guard must have informed him that the detective

had arrived. His business card gave his job title as “Manager, 2nd

Production Department.”

“The head office was in touch. You’re here about Fuyuki Yashima?”

Yamaoka said.

“That’s right. Fuyuki Yashima and Mr. Aoyagi too.”

“Of course. Look, let me just call in the person with the most

knowledge of the situation.” Yamaoka briefly returned to his desk to make a

couple of phone calls, then rejoined Matsumiya. “He won’t be a minute.

Will you follow me?”

Yamaoka led Matsumiya to a meeting area and a female employee

brought in tea.

Yamaoka sipped his tea and sighed ostentatiously.

“Let me tell you, this was quite a shock. Who would ever have thought

it? It’s just too sad.”

“Mr. Yamaoka, did you have much to do with Mr. Aoyagi?”

“Absolutely, I did. Back when Mr. Aoyagi was the manager of the

plant, we saw each other almost every day. Even later on, he still came

around on a pretty regular basis. He was the overall head of production.

That made him a sort of supreme commander for everyone who works in

the factory, myself included.”

“His sudden death must make things difficult?”

Yamaoka enthusiastically concurred. “Difficult isn’t the half of it. Mr.

Aoyagi knew the factory floor better than anyone else. When something

went wrong or we were unsure what to do, he was always our first port of

call.”

From the warmth in Yamaoka’s voice, Matsumiya got the sense that

Aoyagi’s colleagues liked and trusted him.

A man dressed in work overalls came in through the gap in the

partitions. He looked around forty, was sturdily built, and on the darkskinned

side. He removed his cap and gave a brisk nod of greeting.

“Thanks for coming.” Yamaoka got to his feet. “This gentleman is a

detective from the Tokyo Metropolitan Police.”

Matsumiya also stood up. “The name’s Matsumiya. I appreciate you

taking the time to talk to me.”

With his thick fingers, the man extracted a business card from the

wallet he pulled out of the back pocket of his pants. According to the rather

dog-eared card, his name was Onoda and he was team leader of Unit 1 in

the 2nd Production Department.

“Yashima worked in Onoda’s unit,” explained Yamaoka once the three

of them were all sitting down.

“What exactly do you do in this factory?” Matsumiya asked Onoda.

“We make metal components for the construction industry,” Onoda

replied. His voice was guttural and unclear. “I used Yashima to restock

materials and transport completed components.”

“What was he like as a worker?”

“What was he like?” murmured Onoda, cocking his head to one side.

“Honestly, I don’t know. He wasn’t one of us and I barely spoke to him. I

just told him what job to do—and that was it.”

“It’s like that with a lot of the temp workers,” broke in Yamaoka, eager

to clarify things. “The temp agency instructs them not to do anything they

haven’t been told to do and never to talk any more than is strictly necessary.

The whole arrangement is very businesslike, you might say.”

“How about his attitude to work? Was Yashima a good worker?”

“Yes. Or rather…” Onoda scratched behind his ear and looked a little

nonplussed. “I suppose I’d say he was just normal. It’s like Mr. Yamaoka

said, the guy did what he was told.”

“Did he make any major screwups?”

“Uhm … No, he didn’t make any serious mistakes.”

Matsumiya consulted his notebook.

“As I understand it, Yashima was on a rolling three-month contract

and was terminated after nine months here. What was the reason?”

Onoda stammered something incoherent and looked over at Yamaoka.

“It was just a simple matter of downsizing,” Yamaoka replied. “We

were producing less, so we reduced our worker numbers in proportion. It’s

that simple. Check our records and you’ll see.”

It was true. As far as they could tell from consulting the records at the

head office, there was no evidence of unfair dismissal. Why, then, had

Yashima grumbled to Kaori Nakahara?

Matsumiya looked at the two men’s faces.

“What are your personal views on the incident? I should add that we

don’t yet know for sure that Fuyuki Yashima is the culprit.”

Onoda said nothing and looked at the floor. Once again it was

Yamaoka who did the talking.

“The whole manufacturing sector is having a hard time of it right now.

I get how these contract workers must feel, but still, there’s no way that

having your contract terminated justifies stabbing one of our full-time

employees.”

“Assuming that Yashima was the attacker, can you think of any motive

other than the termination of his contract?”

“Nah.” Yamaoka cocked his head to one side. “I mean, we just don’t

know what the temp workers think about things. We have next to nothing to

do with them.”

This was what Matsumiya had been expecting. Neither of them

wanted to get dragged into the case. He shut his notebook. “Can you show

me around the factory? The place where Yashima actually worked?”

Yamaoka and Onoda both looked disconcerted.

“I suppose we can, but things have changed. The products we’re

making now are different,” Yamaoka explained.

“That’s not a problem,” said Matsumiya, getting to his feet.

He followed the two men as they led the way to the factory. On the

way out of the office, someone handed him a hard hat.

“If something happens to you, Detective, it’s our responsibility,” said

Yamaoka, grave-faced.

The unremitting din of machinery came from the factory. As soon as

they stepped inside, the same noise echoed off the walls and the roof and

assaulted their eardrums at several times the volume. Along with motors

and machine presses, there was also the hiss of compressed air being

released at a high velocity.

The factory contained lines of machine tools with workers performing

their tasks in the spaces between. There was also an assembly line with a

conveyor belt. A forklift carrying a load with wooden pallets drove past

them down the narrow walkway.

Yamaoka and Onoda came to a halt in front of an assembly line for

small metal components. The workers stood, faces turned toward the

conveyor belt, executing their allotted tasks in solemn silence.

“This is where Yashima worked,” said Yamaoka, shouting into

Matsumiya’s ear.

Matsumiya nodded as he watched the movements of the workers. The

components were fed to them in an endless stream and their hands were in

perpetual motion. They were placed at intervals from one another, so any

sort of chitchat was impossible.

Talk about cogs in the machine, Matsumiya thought.

The worker closest to them suddenly jerked away from the conveyer

belt. There was a look of alarm on his face. Now he was crouching on the

ground scrabbling for something.

“Oi!” Onoda bellowed. The worker turned toward them. His eyes

widened in alarm behind his safety goggles. A moment later, he pressed a

nearby red button. The conveyor belt juddered to a stop with the sound of

compressed air escaping. The worker looked at Onoda and Yamaoka and

ducked his head apologetically.

“What’s the problem?” Matsumiya asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Yamaoka said. “Is there anything else you’d like to

see?”

“Let me think.” A chime sounded inside the factory before Matsumiya

could answer. One after another, the machines fell silent and the workers

began to drift away from their stations.

“It’s lunch break,” Yamaoka said. Matsumiya looked at his watch. It

was noon.

“Perfect timing for me. I want to speak to anyone who worked directly

with Yashima.”

“What!” Yamaoka’s face wore a look of obvious displeasure.

“I don’t think he was particularly chummy with any of his

workmates.” Onoda looked equally glum.

“That’s okay. I’d really appreciate it.”

Matsumiya ducked his head. Yamaoka grimaced and sighed.

The workers were about to start their lunch in one corner of the factory

that was kitted out with a few old office tables and steel pipe chairs. Most of

them had brought in lunch boxes or convenience-store sandwiches.

After introducing himself, Matsumiya said, “Feel free to eat while you

listen to what I have to say.” None of them touched their food.

Matsumiya threw out a series of questions. Was anyone there friendly

with Yashima? Had Yashima ever made any comments about the company

or about Mr. Aoyagi in particular? Had anything out of the ordinary

happened while Yashima was working there?

Not one of his questions elicited a response. The workers were so

silent and stone-faced that he started wondering if they could even hear

him. All sitting there in the same posture in complete silence with their food

in front of them, they reminded him of well-trained dogs who had been

given the command to wait.

“See. I told you so,” Yamaoka said beside him. “They don’t really get

to know one another, so there’s not much point in asking them anything.”

Matsumiya said nothing but scanned the crowd of workers a second

time. While most of them were looking firmly at the floor, there was one

who was willing to meet Matsumiya’s eye. A towel draped around his neck,

and probably in his mid-twenties, Matsumiya reckoned. After an instant, he

too looked away.

“Okay,” Matsumiya said to his two chaperones. “If someone does

happen to remember anything, I’d be grateful if you could contact me.”

“Yes, certainly. I’m sorry we couldn’t be more helpful.” Relief was

written all over Yamaoka’s face.

“Oh, darn it!” Matsumiya came to an abrupt stop as soon as they were

out of the factory building.

“Is something wrong?” Yamaoka asked warily.

“I put my notebook down on a shelf when you were showing me the

assembly line, then forgot all about it. I’ll just nip back in and get it.”

“Do you remember where it is?”

“Sure I do. I’ll swing by your office on my way out,” Matsumiya said.

He darted back into the factory without waiting for their response.

What he had said about forgetting his notebook was, of course, a lie.

He was thinking about the young man with the towel draped around his

neck. He wanted to get his phone number. From the look in his eyes, it was

clear that he had something he wanted to say.

At that moment, the young man appeared at the far end of the

walkway. Spotting Matsumiya, he glanced furtively around, then darted

toward him.

“Something you want to tell me?” Matsumiya asked.

The young man nodded. “Go out of the compound, turn right, and

there’s a parking lot after about thirty meters. Wait there. I’ll be along

soon.”

“Got it. Your name?”

“I’ll tell you later,” the young man said, speaking rapidly. He wiped

his mouth with the towel and sped off.

Matsumiya left the factory building and dropped in at the office.

Yamaoka was in conversation with a square-faced man in a brown suit. He

came over to Matsumiya, bringing the other man with him.

“Let me introduce you. This is the factory manager.”

“I’m Kotake,” said the square-faced man, proffering his business card.

It was printed with the name Yoshinobu Kotake.

“Mr. Aoyagi was good to me ever since I first joined the firm. I’m

close to the whole family. I was at their house only this morning. What’s

happened really is too sad,” Kotake said, looking downcast. He might have

been sincere, but the speech came off as theatrical.

“Did you know Yashima, a contract worker here?”

“No. Why—” Kotake scowled and planted his hands on his hips. “I

have no recollection of him. We have quite a large workforce here and

there’s a lot of turnover among the contract workers. It’s impossible to keep

track of them all.”

“As the factory manager, Kotake is responsible for keeping the show

on the road, you see,” chimed in Yamaoka. Glancing at him, Matsumiya

wondered if Yamaoka had appointed himself as Kotake’s full-time

bootlicker.

He thanked them and left the office. Passing through the main gate, he

turned right and strolled over to the metered parking lot. The young man

from the factory wasn’t yet there. Since there was a vending machine,

Matsumiya bought himself a Coke.

He had just finished the can when the young man appeared. The towel

was now wrapped around his head.

“Fancy a drink?” Matsumiya pointed at the vending machine.

“No. I’ve got to get right back,” the young man said. He paused a

moment. “Actually, I’d be happy if you got me one, provided I don’t have

to drink it here and now.”

It took Matsumiya a moment to grasp exactly what the young man

meant, but the slightly embarrassed look on his face helped him figure it

out. He gave a wry smile and took out his wallet. “What would you like?”

“I’ll have a green tea.”

The green tea was available in 350 ml and 500 ml bottles. Matsumiya

bought one of the bigger bottles, which he handed to the young man, who

said, “Thanks. That’s a lifesaver.” Life can’t be easy for him, Matsumiya

thought.

There was a bench in one corner of the parking lot. The two men sat down, side by side. The young man’s name was Yokota, he said.

“I started working here about the same time as Yashima. We used to

talk to each other a lot. Yamaoka, the department manager, told you that we

don’t get to know one another, but that’s not true. For contract workers like

us, life’s tough and we share information.”

“But no one said a word back there.”

Yokota shrugged.

“They don’t want to attract the attention of management. They’ll fire

you just like that.”

“Did Yashima do something that attracted attention?”

“It wasn’t like that. He was in an accident.”

“In an accident? You mean he caused an accident?”

Yokota nodded. “Know what an interlock is?”

“Interlock? No, never heard of it.”

“It’s a kind of safety device. When you’re on the production line,

accidentally touching a machine that’s in operation can be dangerous, okay?

So all the machines are protected with a cover guard. Lift up the cover

guard and the machine automatically switches itself off. That’s what an

interlock does.”

“Oh, I get it. Sounds necessary.”

“Yeah—but loads of the interlocks at our place have been disabled.”

“Disabled?”

“Switched off. It’s hard to get any work done if the machines are

always switching themselves off at the slightest little thing. That’s doubly

true on a production line where multiple machines are connected to one

another. Stop one of them and all the other operations are forced to halt.

Imagine that a component gets stuck inside a machine. It’s our job to stick

our hand in while it’s still running and pull the thing out.”

“Seriously? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“It is dangerous. We may think it’s wrong, but temp workers like me

are in no position to object. If someone refuses to follow the company’s

unwritten rules, we’ll be fired. We’re between a rock and a hard place.”

Matsumiya recalled what he had seen in the factory. The worker who

was crouching down and was about to do something until Onoda yelled at

him and he pressed the machine’s kill switch. Maybe that had been a case of

a disabled interlock. It was only when the worker realized an outsider was

there that he had hurriedly shut the machine down.

“Is there a link to Yashima’s accident?”

“More than a link. It’s one hundred percent.” Yokota gave the bottle of

tea a little shake. “You’re supposed to turn the machines off whenever you

restock them with materials. But we have this cheat: what we do is climb up

onto a nearby work surface, straddle the conveyor belt while it’s still

moving, and restock the machine that way.”

Matsumiya frowned.

“And that’s how the accident occurred?”

“Yes. The hem of Yashima’s trousers got caught in the conveyor belt

and he was dragged down onto the floor. I was right there. I saw the whole

thing.”

“Was he hurt?”

“No visible injuries, but he must have hit his head pretty hard, because

he didn’t move for a while. I reckon he was out for five minutes. Even after

coming around, he was still woozy. Onoda and Yamaoka came rushing

over, had a word with him, and sent him home early. He was off for, oh,

about a week after that. Later, when I asked, he said his neck hurt so bad he

could hardly move it.”

“Did he go to the hospital?”

Yokota smiled sardonically and shook his head. “Apparently not.”

“Why?”

“Too much hassle, he said. The temp agency told him he was welcome

to go to the hospital, but that if he did, they didn’t want him saying anything

about an accident at work. They wanted him to come up with some other

story. They also told him not to file a workplace accident report.”

“How come?”

“It happens all the time. Kaneseki Metals puts pressure on the temp

agency. If someone files an accident report, the factory will be inspected

and the inspectors will discover that the interlocks are disabled, right?

Because accidents here are never treated as workplace accidents, people

have to pay out of their own pocket if they do go to the hospital. It’s no

wonder everyone just thinks, ‘Why bother?’

“I’m guessing that’s the reason Yashima’s contract wasn’t renewed.

They thought that he might start complaining, which would lead to trouble.”

Yokota then asked: “What’s the time?”

Matsumiya consulted his watch. “Nearly twelve forty.”

“Uh-oh,” said Yokota. He got to his feet. “I have to go. Thanks for

this.” He held up the plastic bottle.

Matsumiya also got up. “Thank you for talking to me.”

“I knew that I had to tell someone about this as soon as I heard about

Yashima stabbing the boss. I’ve got a pretty good idea how he felt myself.”

“Thanks. It was helpful.”

“Be seeing you,” said Yokota and he dashed off. Matsumiya watched

him until he was out of sight then set off himself.

He phoned Kaga once he was back at Tokyo Station.

“How did you get on? Did your visit to the Kunitachi factory produce

any results?” Kaga asked.

“I learned some interesting things. How about you?”

“Not bad. I found another place that Takeaki Aoyagi used to go.”

“Seriously? What kind of place?”

“An old-fashioned coffeehouse. I’m actually having a coffee there

right now.”

“Well, I’ll come and join you. Give me the name and address.”

The coffeehouse was on Amazaké Alley and Matsumiya was struck by the

brick façade and wood-framed windows. To him, it looked like something

from the reign of Emperor Showa, but the signboard included the date

1919, putting it in the reign of the previous emperor.

Kaga was at a table by the window. Matsumiya ordered a coffee and

sat down.

“I like the atmosphere,” he said, running an eye over the place. As

well as a few businessman types, there were some old folks, presumably

locals.

“It’s a famous place. It’s in all the guidebooks,” Kaga said. “One of the

waitstaff told me that Takeaki Aoyagi was last here about two weeks ago.

Used to come regularly, about once a month or so. They’re not sure when

he first started coming, but reckon it was probably this summer.”

“Further proof that Aoyagi was a frequent visitor to this part of the

world. What on earth was he up to?”

“I don’t know. Could have been something he did for fun.”

“For fun?”

“The person here told me that Aoyagi would often consult a map as he

drank his coffee. A map of the neighborhood. This is a nice district for a

stroll. Something must have led him to discover the charm of the place.”

“That’s plausible. But Aoyagi’s work was in Shinjuku and he lived out

in Meguro. As a place to casually drop in on, it’s rather out of his way.”

Matsumiya’s coffee arrived. The fragrant aroma made his nostrils

quiver. He took a sip, without adding milk or sugar. The perfectly balanced

bitterness stimulated every cell in his body. “God, that’s good,” he burst

out.

“You said you’d learned something interesting,” Kaga said, after

ordering a second cup of coffee for himself.

“It was well worth going. I got an insight into the background of the

crime.” Matsumiya looked around to check that no one nearby was

listening, then leaned over the table.

With perfect timing, Kaga’s coffee was brought to the table just as

Matsumiya was winding up his account. Kaga added milk, slowly stirred it

in, and lifted the cup to his lips. Matsumiya recognized the expression on

his face: he was thinking.

“A classic workplace accident cover-up…,” Kaga murmured as he put

his cup back down. “A lot of companies are at it these days.”

“According to Kaori Nakahara, Yashima lost the feeling in his left

hand because of something that had happened to his neck. If that was one of

the long-term effects of his accident at the factory, then he’d have every

reason to bear a grudge against Kaneseki Metals. And Takeaki Aoyagi was

the person in overall charge of the factory then. My guess is that Yashima

was meeting with Aoyagi to get his old job back in return for not exposing

the factory. When their negotiations broke down, Yashima lost his temper

and stabbed the other man … Or is that too far-fetched?”

“Sounds believable enough to me. There is one snag, though.”

“That he had a knife with him? That was bugging me too.”

“There’s the knife, yes, but this is what worries me.” Kaga held up his

coffee cup.

“Coffee’s worrying you?”

“In the café, Aoyagi purchased drinks for two. In the scenario you’ve

just described, Yashima was the initiator, while Aoyagi had no motivation

to talk to Yashima. Wouldn’t you normally expect the person who’d

initiated the meeting to be the one who pays for the drinks?”

It was an ingenious point, but Matsumiya didn’t take long to think of

an objection.

“Of the two, Aoyagi was the one at a disadvantage. I can see him

paying for the drinks in an effort to ingratiate himself with Yashima.”

“That would mean the topic of the workplace accident would have to

have been broached already.”

“You’re right. It’s hard to believe that Aoyagi would have agreed to go

to a café with Yashima without knowing what it was all about in advance.”

“Let’s try to imagine Aoyagi’s state of mind. A young man has

suddenly confronted him with the issue of a workplace accident cover-up.

My guess is that he would be pretty flustered and uncomfortable.

Thoughts?”

“I agree. It wouldn’t be comfortable for him.”

“And yet Aoyagi hands a two-thousand-yen note to the server while

casually commenting on how rare they are. Is that really the behavior of a

man who’s under pressure?”

No, it definitely isn’t, Matsumiya thought with a start. This time he

couldn’t think of an objection.

“Takes all sorts to make a world. It’s hard to generalize about what’s

odd and what’s not.” Kaga sipped his coffee with evident pleasure before

putting the cup back down. “Either way, you got some good info from your

Kunitachi visit. You should get straight back to the incident room and give

them an update.”

“What are you going to do, Kyo? Wander around the neighborhood

some more?”

“No, there’s a place I need to go.” Kaga checked the time on his

watch. “A junior high school. The one Aoyagi’s son graduated from—

Shubunkan Junior High, I think it is.”

“Ah.” Matsumiya nodded.

“It was one of the numbers called on Aoyagi’s phone.”

“Do you seriously think that’s connected with the incident? It was

quite a few days before.”

“It may well have no connection. That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t follow

it up. We don’t need highfliers from the Homicide Division like you getting

involved in banal inquiries like this. I’ll deal with it.” Kaga drained the last of his coffee and got to his feet.