t the investigation meeting the next morning, it was officially announced

that a couple of investigators had managed to locate the place Fuyuki

Yashima went for his job interview.

It was a company called Stock House that sold handmade furniture

and other bric-a-brac. It was located in Kyobashi, a ten-minute walk from

the movie theater where Yashima went with his girlfriend the night before.

“It’s a small outfit: just three employees and a CEO. Their showroom,

which doubles as an office, is up on the second floor of a building. The

help-wanted flyer was stuck on the front door. I should mention that it had

actually been taken down by the time we got there. A witness had told us

about the flyer, so we questioned all the tenants in the building. That’s how

we found out about Yashima going to Stock House.” Nagase, who was one

of the older and more experienced detectives on the task force, spoke

slowly. “Yashima first dropped in at around seven o’clock on the evening

before the incident to inquire about the job vacancy. Only one member of

staff was still on the premises. When he called the boss, the boss said, ‘Tell

him to come back tomorrow.’ The staffer duly relayed the message to

Yashima, who returned around six the next day, when he met the company

boss.”

The scenario was almost exactly what Kaga had imagined. The only

difference was that it involved a furniture shop rather than a bar or

restaurant. Still, given what Kaori Nakahara had told them about how illsuited

Yashima was to the hospitality business, it seemed a smart choice on

his part.

In one section of the furniture showroom, you had to remove your

shoes. That explained why Yashima had been hunting for socks with no

holes in them; he was expecting to have to take his shoes off.

“The boss didn’t offer Yashima the job because he had completely the

wrong idea about what the job involved,” Nagase went on with his report.

“Got the wrong idea? How come?” asked the deputy commissioner,

looking peeved.

“The company was hiring temps for a trade show that’s happening any

day now. They’d managed to recruit a certain number of people by

contacting friends and acquaintances, but finding themselves shorthanded,

they posted the help-wanted flyer. It turned out that Yashima had been

hoping for a job that involved actually making furniture.”

“So that’s what you were getting at. In that case, I really have trouble

understanding why no one at the firm bothered to get in touch. They can

hardly claim not to have heard about the incident, can they?”

“They just hadn’t made the connection.”

“Meaning?”

“It was the CEO who spoke to us. He had heard about the murder, but

never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that the young man he’d met

was the suspect. The job interview was brief to the point that he didn’t even

remember Yashima’s name and he only read a short online article about the

whole incident. He never saw a photograph of Yashima either.”

“That happens a lot lately,” Ishigaki said, sounding rather apologetic.

“From what I hear, Yashima’s picture is on the internet, but it’s too small to

see what he really looks like.”

The deputy commissioner nodded. His expression was as sour as ever.

“There’s one more thing,” continued Nagase, referring to his

notebook. “According to the Stock House CEO, Yashima looked so

crestfallen at not getting the job that he took pity on him. He advised him

that if he wanted a job making furniture, he should try his luck with another

firm not too far away. The company he recommended is called Azuma

Furniture; it’s located near Edobashi Bridge.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Matsumiya had been surprised at

the news the night before.

“Edobashi Bridge?” The deputy commissioner’s voice rose higher.

“That’s our crime scene.”

“Indeed it is. When we went to speak to the second furniture company,

it turned out Yashima hadn’t actually been to see them. They closed their

offices at six thirty on the day in question. That is everything I have to

report,” said the veteran detective as he sat down.

The deputy commissioner glumly scratched the back of his head.

“How are we meant to make sense of this? Wasn’t Yashima supposed

to have made an appointment to meet the victim?”

“When you consider the time frame, the likelihood of them having

made an appointment is low,” Ishigaki said. “Had Yashima’s job interview

gone well, he had no way of knowing how long he would have been there.

But since there’s no record of the victim’s number on his phone, Yashima

couldn’t have called to change the time of their rendezvous.”

“Then how did the two men meet?”

“Chance is a possibility.”

“Chance?”

“Another investigator has already reported that the victim did the

Seven Lucky Gods pilgrimage circuit repeatedly. It is possible that, on the

day of the incident, he wandered into the vicinity of the Edobashi Bridge

after visiting all the shrines and bumped into Yashima, who was on his way

to the second furniture shop.”

“You think that’s when the two of them went to the café?”

“The timing works out. In that scenario, though, we can no longer

explain how Yashima came to have the knife on him.”

The deputy commissioner’s face twisted into a scowl. “The knife? I’d

forgotten that.”

“If Yashima encountered the victim purely by chance, then he had no

reason to bring a knife with him.”

“Couldn’t he have been carrying it for self-defense?” the deputy

commissioner hazarded.

“Self-defense?” Ishigaki’s voice was lukewarm.

The meeting came to an end without that particular point being

resolved. Ishigaki and Kobayashi went and sat down on either side of the

deputy commissioner and the three men launched into a discussion.

Matsumiya assumed they were discussing the knife.

Suddenly, one of the younger detectives on the task force burst into the

room. He went up to the table where the top brass were sitting and said

something. Even at a distance, Matsumiya could see their expressions cloud

over as they listened.

Ishigaki ran his eyes around the room. His gaze came to a stop on

Matsumiya, who wasn’t surprised to hear his name called.

Matsumiya went over. “Yes, sir, what is it?” he asked. Ishigaki said

nothing and gestured for him to come closer. Matsumiya went and stood to

one side of his three seated superiors.

“I need you and Kaga to get yourselves over to the victim’s house

ASAP.”

“Has something happened?”

Ishigaki nodded curtly and scowled. “The daughter slit her wrists

earlier this morning.”

Instinctively, Matsumiya gasped.

“She was taken to the hospital in an ambulance and got patched up.

Her injuries weren’t grave, but the hospital alerted the local police. She’s

back home, apparently. I’d like you to go and check in on her.”

“Yes, sir.”

Matsumiya went back to Kaga and explained the situation. He caught

his breath. Clearly, the news was a shock for him too.

“I only saw the girl for a second or two yesterday, but there was

something not quite right about her,” Matsumiya said as they made their

way to the subway station. “People have began giving her a hard time,

despite her being part of the victim’s family.”

“Murder cases are like cancer cells. Once they get their hooks into

you, the pain and misery just keep on spreading. Whether the killer gets

caught or the investigation is brought to a successful conclusion doesn’t

make any difference; it’s almost impossible to stop the advance of the

disease.”

Kaga’s quiet words struck a chord with Matsumiya. He’s right about

that, he thought.

Everything was quiet in the vicinity of the Aoyagi house. But not that

long ago, an ambulance had pulled up here. The neighbors must have heard

the siren and opened their windows for a look. When they saw the daughter

being brought out, their imaginations must have gone into overdrive.

Matsumiya prayed that the incident didn’t trigger a new bout of malicious

gossip.

He pressed the intercom. He’d been expecting to hear Fumiko’s voice,

but a young man answered. It had to be Yuto.

Matsumiya gave their names and explained that they were there to ask

some questions about his sister. A brief pause was followed by a curt

“Come in.”

As Matsumiya and Kaga approached the house, the door opened and

Fumiko peered out. Her eyes were red from weeping and her face looked

taut and strained.

“Sorry to keep bothering you like this.” Matsumiya bowed his head.

“We heard the awful news about your daughter.”

“They gave her something. She’s asleep right now. She’s in no fit state

to talk to anyone.”

“In that case, we’ll just speak to you, Mrs. Aoyagi. Could you tell us

what happened?”

“If I must. Come on in, then.”

“Thank you.” They went inside. Someone had dumped a sports bag in

the entrance hall. It was probably Yuto’s.

Yuto himself was in the living room. Or more precisely, he was in the

Japanese-style room adjoining it. He was sitting cross-legged in front of the

memorial photograph of Takeaki Aoyagi. He didn’t turn to look at the two

detectives as they came in.

“Time you got off to school, Yuto. We’ll be fine here,” Fumiko said.

“Not today. I already called the school and told them I’d probably not

make it.”

“Yes, but—”

“I said it’s okay. Just get off my back.” Yuto crossed his arms over his

chest and gazed intently at his father’s photograph.

Matsumiya and Kaga sat down on the sofa. Seeing Fumiko about to

make a beeline for the kitchen, Kaga spoke up. “Please, don’t worry about

us,” he said. “We just want to hear what happened, then we’ll be on our

way.”

Fumiko sat down, a miserable expression on her face.

“When Haruka didn’t come down at the normal time, I got worried

and went up to her room. The bed was all covered with blood … and she

was just lying there.”

“What did she use on her wrists? A razor?”

“A box cutter. It was on the floor. She’d sliced her wrists to shreds.”

“Was she conscious?”

“Yes, but she didn’t respond. She just kept crying and crying.”

“What about after she’d been seen to at the hospital? Did you manage

to talk to her then?”

Fumiko gave a weak shake of the head.

“Until you got here, I was up in her room. She didn’t say a word.”

“Have you any idea what triggered this?”

Fumiko sighed. “I don’t know the details. All I know is that she’s having a very hard time at school because of what happened to her father.

She just shuts herself up in her room when she gets back home.”

A loud thud came from the Japanese-style room. Yuto had smacked

the tatami mats with both fists.

“Haruka’s an idiot. Committing suicide is as good as admitting Dad’s

guilt.”

Matsumiya frowned at Yuto.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say. Think about what your sister’s

going through.”

“I don’t need you to tell me. I’m going through the same thing

myself.”

Yuto jumped up, walked past Matsumiya and Kaga, and ran up the

stairs.

Kaga waited until the sound of his footsteps had faded, then asked

Fumiko, “Did anything out of the ordinary happen between last night and

this morning?”

“Not that I’m aware.”

“Could Haruka have come across some new information about the

case online or on TV?”

Fumiko shook her head. “We all try our best to see as little news as we

can.”

“A visitor to the house, perhaps?”

“No. Like I said, someone must have said something to her yesterday

at school.”

Kaga nodded in silence. As he listened to their exchange, Matsumiya

wondered why Kaga was pressing the point so hard. Considering the

daughter’s general situation and the way she had looked last night, her

cutting her wrists didn’t strike him as anything unusual. Plus she was at an

emotional age.

Matsumiya put the question to Kaga once they had left the Aoyagi

house. “Oh, it’s nothing important. I was just checking something,” came

the reply.

Matsumiya called Ishigaki to update him. The unit chief seemed

relieved to hear that things weren’t as bad as they might have been.

“That’s good news for us. A member of the victim’s family

committing suicide would only have ignited another media feeding frenzy.”

“The girl is recuperating. The family can handle things from here.

We’re heading back your way.”

“No, don’t do that. I need you to reconfirm the movements of the

victim on the day of the incident. That’s something we’ve got to clarify.”

“His movements?”

“I want confirmation that Aoyagi did the Seven Lucky Gods circuit on

the day of the crime. If Yashima and the victim didn’t arrange to meet, as

was suggested at this morning’s meeting, they must have just bumped into

one another randomly on the street. We now know why Yashima was in the

Edobashi Bridge area. That just leaves us with the victim.”

“I understand.”

“You two guys have the best grasp of the victim’s behavior. We’re

counting on you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Matsumiya ended the call and relayed Ishigaki’s instructions to Kaga.

Kaga cocked his head and looked skeptical.

“He thinks they just bumped into each other?… I suppose it’s not

completely out of the question.”

“I wonder how he’s planning to explain away the knife, though. It

doesn’t hang together.”

“I guess he’s planning to fudge the issue. Anyway, let’s get on with it

and verify Aoyagi’s movements.”

They took the train to Ningyocho and started walking. They now knew

the streets so well they didn’t need a map. They walked the Seven Lucky

Gods circuit. They tried all the shops and restaurants near the different

shrines, including revisiting the establishments where they had already

made inquiries. People sometimes remember things on a second visit that

they forgot the first time around.

Despite pursuing their inquiries for hours, they couldn’t find any

evidence of Takeaki Aoyagi having done the Seven Lucky Gods circuit on

the day he was killed.

“He could always have visited all the shrines without stopping off

anywhere en route,” said Matsumiya as they passed Takarada Ebisu Shrine.

The street was already dark.

“Or he didn’t do the shrine circuit at all,” Kaga muttered.

“Seems unlikely to me. I mean, in that case, why would he even be

here in Nihonbashi at all?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I’m working from the assumption that

whenever he did the Seven Lucky Gods circuit, he always brought a bunch

of one hundred origami cranes along. And no one left any cranes in

Suitengu Shrine on that day.”

“Maybe he didn’t bring cranes every time. Why not?”

Kaga lapsed into silence, a skeptical look on his face. Presently, they

came to the corner with the traditional Japanese paper company. The store

on the first floor was still open.

Kaga stopped. “Let’s pop in for a look.”

“What! We were only there yesterday.”

Ignoring Matsumiya’s outburst, Kaga went in. Matsumiya reluctantly

trailed after him.

The young female store clerk they had dealt with the day before

approached them. She looked uncomfortable, despite her smile. “Shall I call

the manager?”

“No, no need for that. Could we take another look at the Traditional

Paper in Ten Colors again?” Kaga asked.

“This one?”

Kaga took the item she was holding out and examined it closely. It was

the same product he had bought the day before.

“What’s this all about?” Matsumiya asked.

“Could you tell me something?” Kaga asked the store clerk. “With this

particular product, are the colors always arranged in the same order like

this? Or do they sometimes vary?”

The store clerk looked flummoxed. “Wait a moment, please,” she said

and disappeared into the back of the store.

Matsumiya examined the shelf display. The colors were arranged in

the same order in every pack: pink on top, then red, orange, brown, yellow,

green, and so on.

The store clerk came back just as Matsumiya was about to ask Kaga

why on earth he was worrying about something so trivial.

“Sorry about that. With this product, the colors are always in the same

order.”

“Really? Thank you very much.” Kaga replaced the pack he was

holding on the shelf.

“What’s this all about?” Matsumiya asked after the store clerk had left.

“Who cares about the order of the colors?”

Kaga slowly turned to face Matsumiya.

“Do you remember what the man at Suitengu Shrine told us? What

color was the first set of cranes he found?”

“Of course I remember. They were yellow.”

“That’s right. To me, that suggests that Aoyagi bought ten complete

packs of this brand, extracted ten sheets of the same color from each of the

packs, and then made his one hundred cranes. Don’t you think it’s a bit odd,

though? In his shoes, what would you do? If you were making cranes,

wouldn’t you normally use the paper in the order it came, from the top on

down? The top ten sheets are pink. The yellow is somewhere around the

middle of the pack. Why do you think he made a deliberate decision to use

the color in the middle?”

Matsumiya took another look at the pack of Traditional Paper in Ten

Colors. Kaga had a point about the order.

“He had a reason to start from yellow. Is that what you’re thinking?”

“That’s what I’m thinking. The question we have to answer is what

that reason was.”