ust after ten o’clock the next morning, Matsumiya and Kaga were in the

administrative office of Suitengu Shrine.

“Origami cranes? You’re sure about that?” Matsumiya asked

forcefully.

The man they were talking to, who was dressed in a white shirt with a

gray cardigan on top, nodded.

“At the rate of about once a month, I reckon. Someone put them on

top of the offertory box, along with a white envelope with a thousand-yen

note inside and ‘For the cost of ritual burning’ written on the front.”

“Have you got any of the cranes?”

“No … I mean, we burned them,” said the man, sounding apologetic.

“When did the crane offerings start?”

“Maybe … six or so months ago.”

The main gate of Suitengu Shrine shuts at five o’clock, but there is a

nighttime entrance that is open until seven. One evening, around six months

ago, the man had been checking the shrine precincts before locking up for

the night when he noticed a big bunch of paper cranes sitting on the

offertory box.

“I say ‘big bunch,’ but there weren’t a thousand cranes. There turned

out to be exactly one hundred of them when I counted. A nice yellow

color.”

“Yellow?” Matsumiya and Kaga exchanged a look. “All of them?”

“Yes. All the same matching yellow. The color would change every

month.”

“Yes?”

“There was green, there was blue, there was purple, but always one

color at a time. And there were always exactly one hundred of them.”

Kaga took a step forward. “Was this always the same day? The same

day every month?”

“I don’t think so. It wasn’t that systematic.”

“Was it on the weekend?”

“No, weekdays, I think. When there aren’t many worshippers around.”

“Didn’t anyone here see who was offering the cranes?”

“My impression is that the person deliberately targeted times when no

one else was about. I don’t know why they had to be so furtive. It’s not like

they were doing anything wrong,” the man said with a rueful smile.

The two detectives thanked him and left the shrine office. Even though

it was a weekday morning, there were quite a few people in the shrine

precincts.

What had Takeaki Aoyagi done with the origami cranes he used when

praying at the shrines of the Seven Lucky Gods?

Kaga reckoned that he must have had them burned. Shrines have

regular ritual bonfires they use to get rid of old amulets and talismans, and

strings of origami cranes are often thrown onto the fire. That was the reason

why Matsumiya and Kaga were visiting all the Seven Lucky Gods shrines

this morning. Before going to Suitengu Shrine, they had tried their luck at

Koami Shrine. They had been told that no one had been offering paper

cranes there and that the shrine didn’t conduct the ritual burning of lucky

charms either.

“Is it fair to assume that praying at Suitengu Shrine was Aoyagi’s

main goal?”

“We can’t yet say for sure. We still need proof that Aoyagi was the

person offering the cranes there.”

“That’s easy enough to say, but how are we supposed to do it, now that

all the darn things have been burned. My gut tells me we’re right. The paper

cranes here match the ones Aoyagi was seen with at Kasama Inari Shrine.

The color was different, but we now know he changed that every month.”

“That’s it! Why do you think he changed the color?”

“I don’t think it means much. Though it’s actually harder to get that

many sheets of paper all in the same color.”

Kaga stopped.

“Paper, huh? How would you go about it, Shuhei? If you were going

to make a string of origami cranes, where would you get the paper?”

“Oh, come on. You can find paper anywhere. They even sell origami

paper at your local convenience store.”

“Fine, then. Let’s check it out.”

They left the shrine and started roaming around the neighborhood.

They came across a stationery store where they were shown several

varieties of origami paper in response to their inquiries. It came in packs,

either with a hundred sheets of the same color or with mixed colors. There

were also different textures and sizes of paper. They bought several of the

most popular assortments and left the shop.

“And the point of buying all this crap is…?” asked Matsumiya. He

was the one holding the paper carrier bag. And even origami paper is heavy

when you have several hundred sheets of the stuff.

“Duh! We’re going to make some origami cranes.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“This is as good as anywhere.” Kaga had stopped in front of a dinerstyle

restaurant.

Ignoring the waitress’s sour looks, Matsumiya and Kaga set about

making cranes. Matsumiya hadn’t done any origami for twenty-odd years.

Despite that, he still remembered how to fold the paper.

Once they had completed a decent number and had some lunch, they

left the restaurant. They went straight back to Suitengu Shrine and got the

same man at the shrine office to inspect their handiwork.

“I reckon this one’s the most like his. Yes, this is the same kind of

paper he used.”

The crane the man was holding up was made of traditional Japanese

washi paper. It was one of the ones Matsumiya had made.

“But the size is wrong. His were smaller. More like this.” As he said

this, he picked up a crane made from a ten-centimeter-square sheet of paper.

Matsumiya and Kaga exchanged a look. The stationery shop didn’t

have any ten-centimeter-square traditional Japanese washi paper for

origami. Standard origami paper was typically fifteen centimeters square.

“Ten-centimeter-square traditional Japanese washi paper. That’s handy

to know,” said Kaga as they went down the stairs leading out of the shrine.

“Aoyagi’s office was in Shinjuku. If he was after traditional Japanese washi

paper, chances are he’d go to one of the local department stores there. We

should be able to find the place if we visit a few of them.”

“A traditional Japanese washi paper store…” A light bulb went off in

Matsumiya’s head as he murmured to himself. He gasped, missed his

footing, and almost tumbled down the stairs.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I know a place, Kyo. A traditional Japanese washi paper store. Very

close to here.”

“Close by? Where?”

“What was that soba noodle restaurant we went to the other day …

Kobaian? Just near there. It specializes in traditional Japanese washi paper.”

Kaga’s eyes widened. He pointed a finger at Matsumiya’s face. “Let’s

go take a look.”

They decided to take a cab. First, though, they would need to do

something with all their spare origami paper. A woman with a child in tow

had just come down the steps. They explained the situation and got her to

take the paper off their hands. Her pleasure was so genuine that it was

written on her face.

The traditional Japanese washi paper store was in an office building in

Nihonbashi. There was a store on the first floor and offices upstairs. As they

went through the glass doors, there was some papermaking equipment, and

panels on the walls explaining the process of making Japanese paper, off to

the right. According to the store plan on the wall, there was an exhibition

space, a history museum, and a small gallery up on the second floor.

The store was spacious with items of every imaginable color on

display. As well as traditional Japanese washi paper itself, they had

numerous products made from paper. Hunting down the origami paper was

going to be a challenge.

Matsumiya called over the female store clerk standing nearby. Did

they have any origami paper? he asked.

She beamed at him and produced something called Traditional Paper

in Ten Colors. It proclaimed itself to be handmade. The sheets were ten

centimeters square and came in packs of one hundred. There were ten

sheets each in pink, red, orange, brown, yellow, green, light blue, dark blue,

purple, and lilac. The pack cost 1,050 yen, including consumption tax.

“This must be it.” Matsumiya showed it to Kaga. “I’m guessing he

bought ten packs of this, then used a hundred sheets in the same color for

his cranes.”

Kaga nodded, turned to the female store clerk, and flashed his police

badge.

“Has anyone been buying this origami paper in large quantities? We’re

talking roughly six months ago.”

The store clerk looked discombobulated. “Could you wait a moment,

please, sir?” she said and walked off briskly.

Matsumiya took another look at the pack of paper. It was so light and thin that it was hard to believe that it contained one hundred sheets of paper.

The paper was packaged with the edges of the different color sheets not

quite flush, so that you could see all ten colors at once. Looking at all the

vibrant colors next to one another, Matsumiya felt it was too good to use for

origami.

The store clerk eventually reappeared. She had brought an older

woman, presumably her manager, with her.

“I’m told you’ve been asking about our origami paper?” she asked.

Kaga repeated his question. The woman nodded solemnly.

“We certainly have some such customers. It’s not unusual for people to

buy this particular item in bulk.”

“How about this gentleman? Has he ever been here?” Kaga showed

the two women a photograph of Takeaki Aoyagi.

A change came over the older woman’s face. She blinked rapidly, then

looked at Kaga and Matsumiya one after another.

“Yes, he’s been here. And I’m pretty sure he purchased ten packs of

this brand.”

Matsumiya felt a surge of heat in his body.

“Was this around six months ago?” Kaga confirmed, keeping a studiedly neutral tone.

“That’s right. I remember it because we had some problems with it.”

“What sort of problems?”

“The first time he came in, we didn’t have enough stock. We had to

ask him to come back again a week later.”

Kaga nodded. “I see. Thank you very much indeed.”

They bought a pack of Traditional Paper in Ten Colors and exited the

store. They agreed to walk back to Suitengu Shrine. On their way, they

passed Takarada Ebisu Shrine.

“Aoyagi must have come across that paper shop while he was doing

the Seven Lucky Gods circuit,” Matsumiya said.

“Which means that when he started doing the circuit, he hadn’t yet

incorporated bunches of origami cranes into his prayer ritual. I wonder what

prompted him to do so?”

“No special reason is my guess. I say it was just a whim.”

“What? You think someone can make one hundred origami cranes on a

whim? On a monthly basis?”

“Fair point.”

At Suitengu Shrine, they asked the man in the shrine office to take a

good look at a crane they had made using paper from the Traditional Paper

in Ten Colors pack. He placed the yellow crane on the palm of his hand and

squinted at it.

“This is the one. No doubt about it. It’s identical.”

Matsumiya and Kaga exchanged a satisfied nod.

“We now know for sure that it was Aoyagi who was making the crane

offerings. And we were right about Suitengu being his favorite shrine.” As

they emerged into the shrine yard, Matsumiya looked over at the main

shrine building.

“Those are both reasonable assumptions. But we’re still left with the

mystery of why Aoyagi got so religious all of a sudden…,” Kaga said, a

tinge of frustration on his face.

Suitengu Shrine was a place you go to pray for safe childbirth. Who

was Takeaki Aoyagi praying for on his visits there?

The shrine hall exuded majesty. Just in front of it, there was a small,

roofed structure where you could wash. Kaga explained the protocol: you

were supposed to purify your hands and mouth there before you went on to

worship at the shrine.

There was a little sales booth with a display of good luck charms and

talismans off to the right of the shrine hall.

A woman was sitting inside the booth. She looked unsure when

Matsumiya showed her a photograph of Takeaki Aoyagi. She could well

have seen someone who looked like that, but then again she could just be

imagining it, she said. It was a reasonable enough response. She must deal

with a large number of people every day.

To the left of the shrine, there was a copper statue of two dogs, a

mother and puppy. The dogs were sitting on a hemisphere decorated with

carvings of the twelve signs of the Chinese zodiac. Rubbing your star sign

was supposed to bring you good luck, but evidently, the part that got rubbed

the most was the puppy’s head. It was the only place that shone with a

goldish tint.

Matsumiya noticed a little group of worshippers, a man and two

women. The man and one of the women were in late middle age, while the

younger woman’s belly was swollen. Parents with their pregnant daughter,

obviously. All three looked quite joyful.

The sight of them made Matsumiya think of another young woman.

“Could Aoyagi have been coming here for Kaori Nakahara?” Then he

stopped and shook his head. “No, that’s impossible. Aoyagi and Yashima

would have had to be really close for that to happen. It doesn’t fit with what

we’ve learned so far.”

“What have we learned so far?” Kaga said. “All we’ve got is a

scenario concocted by the investigation team that’s very loosely based on

whatever they managed to find out. We don’t need our findings to dovetail

with theirs. The only thing that matters here is the truth.”

“Okay, then, Kyo, do you think that Aoyagi was coming here for

Kaori Nakahara?”

“There’s a more-than-zero possibility. But you’re forgetting one very

important thing.”

“What? Tell me.”

“Kaori Nakahara told us that she’s three months’ pregnant—and

Takeaki Aoyagi started visiting the Seven Lucky Gods shrines much more

than three months ago.”

“Oh…” Kaga was right. Matsumiya could have kicked himself for his

sloppy thinking.

“Why don’t we start by talking to Aoyagi’s family,” Kaga said,

heading for the exit.

This time there were no suspicious-looking characters hanging around the

Aoyagi house. Not even the tabloid TV shows were giving much coverage

to the Nihonbashi Bridge murder case anymore. Following the death of

Fuyuki Yashima, there was a general feeling that the case was over and

done with. The TV stations must have realized that they had wrung all the

ratings mileage they could out of a workplace accident cover-up, which was

hardly the most atrocious of crimes.

Matsumiya pressed the bell on the intercom. It was Fumiko Aoyagi

who answered. As soon as he announced himself, a note of irritation

became audible in her voice. She was nonetheless willing to meet with

them.

Just like the time before, she ushered them into the living room.

Matsumiya and Kaga sat down, side by side. Fumiko served green tea

despite their protestations. The teacups were the same as the last time too.

“So, what is it today?” Fumiko asked, her eyes fixed firmly on the

floor.

“The fact is, we’ve learned something intriguing,” Kaga began. “Your

husband seems to have been telling people in his circle something about

there being a baby on the way. Would you know anything about that?”

Fumiko looked mystified. “Sorry … a baby?”

“That’s right. Your husband was planning some sort of celebration for

the birth, apparently.”

Kaga had decided not to reveal anything to the family about Takeaki

Aoyagi’s visits to the shrines of the Seven Lucky Gods. He felt it would be

a mistake to let that particular cat out of the bag prematurely.

Fumiko tilted her head to one side and sucked her teeth.

“No one in the family is expecting. Nor are any of our friends’

daughters … No, I don’t know anything about any baby.”

“Did you discuss the subject with your husband recently? A married

couple that’s about to have a baby; perhaps a couple that’s having trouble

conceiving?”

Fumiko looked as nonplussed as ever. She rummaged through her

memory but came up empty-handed.

“I’m sorry,” she replied. “I really can’t think of anyone.”

“Okay. That’s not a problem. Frankly, we don’t know whether this is

even connected with the case. We just wanted to check, that’s all.”

“Sorry, but I thought the case was solved? Yashima is dead. What

more is there to investigate?”

Rather than respond immediately, Kaga reached for his teacup. “This

looks delicious,” he said. He drank a mouthful appreciatively, then emitted

a long sigh.

“Mrs. Aoyagi,” he said. “I am sure there are still many things about

this case that don’t feel quite right to you. Are you happy for things to be

brought to an end like this? Are you willing to accept that?”

“No … no, I’m not.” Fumiko looked at the floor and wrung her hands.

At that moment, there was a noise out in the hall. There was the sound

of approaching footsteps and the door swung open. Yuto barreled into the

room, then came to an abrupt stop like a character in a cartoon when he

noticed Matsumiya and Kaga. He must have missed the two pairs of

unfamiliar shoes at the step by the front door.

“Afternoon,” said Kaga. Matsumiya acknowledged him with a nod.

Yuto made a sour face, thrust his chin out, and disappeared into the

kitchen. There was the sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing

and he reemerged holding a plastic bottle of Coke. He unscrewed the cap,

took a swig straight from the bottle, and gazed defiantly at the two

detectives.

“You guys still investigating shit?”

“Yuto, mind your language!” Fumiko said reprovingly.

“It’s okay,” Kaga said in a conciliatory tone. He looked up at Yuto.

“We detectives are the same as any other wage slave. We just have to do

what our bosses tell us.”

Yuto snorted. “You drew the short straw. Getting put on such a stupid

case.”

“Stupid?” Matsumiya couldn’t help reacting to the word. “How

exactly is it stupid?”

“Come on. We all know it’s an insignificant case. What, some dumb

workplace accident cover-up? My dad did something mean and sordid; the

guy he did it to got pissed off and stabbed him. Under normal

circumstances, no one would give a damn. But because Dad died in such a

showy way—not his style at all—the media jumped all over the story,

meaning that you guys can’t get away with any half-assed investigation.

That’s what this is all about, right?”

“The manner of a person’s death has no effect on how we conduct our

investigations.”

“Oh yeah? I bet things would have been different if Dad had died in a

less famous location. I mean, he was lying there, stone-dead, smack in the

middle of the bridge! Why’d he have to go and die like that?” As he said

this, Yuto started shaking the Coke bottle.

Matsumiya fought back the impulse to give the boy’s pale face a good

brisk smack.

“Let me clarify something. Your father died in the hospital. Not on the

bridge. And he wasn’t lying on the ground, he was leaning up against the

base of the kirin statue.”

“Kirin?” Yuto frowned distrustfully.

“Midway over Nihonbashi Bridge there are a couple of kirin statues.

Winged kirin. Mr. Aoyagi was leaning up against one of the statues and he

wasn’t moving. A policeman nearby noticed him there. As I think you

know, the place where he was actually stabbed is a certain distance away.

We still don’t know why Mr. Aoyagi made his way from one place to the

other.”

Yuto snorted and took a sullen swig of Coke.

“Seriously, who even cares? If he had to be murdered, he could at least

have done it without screwing everything up for us.”

“Yuto!” Fumiko’s voice was sudden and shrill. Her intervention had an

impact; Yuto’s expression hardened and he stalked out of the living room.

They heard him stomping up the stairs.

“I’m sorry about that,” said Fumiko apologetically. “The kids at school

are giving him a hard time about his father.”

Matsumiya knew what Yuto was going through. When someone in the

family dies an unusual death, other people feel free to comment for years

afterward.

“By the way,” said Kaga. “Did your husband have a home office?”

Fumiko shook her head. “No, we don’t have one of those. My husband almost never brought work home with him. Any paperwork he needed to

do, he did here in this room.”

“I see. Where did he keep his pens and such?”

“Over there.” Fumiko pointed to a cabinet up against the wall. “In one

of the drawers.”

“Could we take a look?”

“Be my guest.”

Kaga got to his feet, pulling on a pair of gloves as he did so.

Matsumiya took his notebook out of his pocket.

Together they examined the contents of the drawer. They were hoping

to find the unused Traditional Paper in Ten Colors. Assuming the witness

statement they had gotten at Suitengu Shrine was correct, Takeaki Aoyagi

should still be in possession of six hundred sheets of unused origami paper.

It had to be somewhere.

They didn’t find any paper. They had been half expecting that. Takeaki

Aoyagi must have made his origami cranes outside the home.

It was time to wind things up. They were taking their leave from Mrs.

Aoyagi just inside the front door when they sensed the presence of someone

else. A girl with strikingly large eyes was behind them on the doorstep. It

had to be Haruka, the daughter.

“Oh, hello, dear. These two gentlemen are detectives.”

Despite Fumiko’s introduction, Haruka didn’t even give them a

glance. She shot up the stairs without a word.

“I’m sorry,” said the mother, apologizing for a second time.

They said their goodbyes, left the house, and were a certain distance

from it when Matsumiya turned around to look back at the place. “What’s

wrong?” Kaga asked.

Matsumiya shook his head. “Oh, nothing,” he said and resumed

walking.

This case isn’t over. We’ve solved nothing, he was thinking once again.