How many a man has dated a new era in his life from the reading of a book.
Henry David Thoreau, Walden
ePub
A4Chapter 11
“T
he high school Yashima graduated from was notorious in Fukushima forbeing a wild place. Plenty of the students, even if they weren’t in a gang,
carried knives for self-defense. I spoke to someone at his orphanage. He
assured me they would never let the kids in their care have anything so
dangerous, but Yashima could easily have had one without the orphanage
staff knowing.”
Listening to the investigator make his report, Ishigaki looked less than
pleased. He scratched the back of his head noisily, then cocked his chin.
“We’ve still got no proof that Yashima was the owner of the knife.
How are we doing with tracing the purchasing route?”
Sakagami got to his feet. He looked even unhappier than Ishigaki.
“The knife used in the assault has been on the market for five years. If
Yashima did acquire one, that means he must have done so after moving to
Tokyo. I found a firm in Gifu Prefecture that sells this particular model
online. They sent me a list of the people who’ve purchased one and
Yashima’s name wasn’t on it. Of course, it’s always possible that someone
who bought the knife went on to resell it in an online auction—something
which makes determining the path of the weapon that much harder.”
Ishigaki frowned and stuck out his lower lip.
“Connecting Yashima to the knife is the best option we have. That
way, we can wrap up the case, even if he never comes out of his coma.”
As usual, the investigators who had come back from the field came up
to Ishigaki to update him. It was a little after eight.
Matsumiya and Kaga had spent the whole day canvassing the area
between Edobashi Bridge and Hamacho Green Road. Their plan was to pinpoint Yashima’s escape route by gathering eyewitness statements. They
hadn’t managed to get so much as one. It was a district with plenty of
people around at night, making the likelihood of anyone remembering him
on the low side.
Their efforts, however, hadn’t been wholly unrewarded. At the same
time as looking for eyewitnesses who had seen Yashima, they had also been
looking for places frequented by Takeaki Aoyagi. They had found one
more: a soba noodle restaurant.
According to the member of the staff they spoke to, Aoyagi had been
there at least twice. He couldn’t recall precisely what Aoyagi had ordered,
but he remembered him because he said something complimentary about
the food. Since they had the opportunity, Matsumiya and Kaga decided to
eat lunch there themselves. Matsumiya had cold soba noodles. They were
nicely al dente while the broth was delicious with a real depth of flavor.
It was pretty clear that Aoyagi was a regular visitor to the Ningyocho
area. But they still had no idea why.
Next, the investigator who had been sent to keep an eye on
proceedings at the funeral hall launched into his report. He was still dressed
in a charcoal-gray suit. He said nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
It was the same with all the other investigators’ reports. Nothing they
said helped drive the investigation forward in any significant way.
“So Yashima’s condition is the same as before? Frankly, I wish the
fellow would stop sitting on the fence. He should either wake up or just
damn die,” said Ishigaki with a half sigh. It wasn’t the most tactful
comment, but Matsumiya secretly sympathized. The other investigators
nodded without saying anything.
“What about Yashima’s motive? Are we okay with the grudge
notion?” Kobayashi asked.
“Seems plausible to me. That story Matsumiya dug up struck me as
convincing. Efforts probably were made to cover up Yashima’s accident.
We’ll need evidence, but that’s something the professionals should be able
to get their hands on. We can work with what they give us.”
The professionals Ishigaki was referring to were the people at the
Labor Standards Inspection Office. The previous day, Ishigaki had officially
reported their suspicions that a workplace accident that had taken place at
the Kunitachi plant of Kaneseki Metals had been covered up. The LSIO had
assured them that the incident would be investigated as a top priority.
“Yashima’s girlfriend was pregnant. He couldn’t find a job. He felt
desperate and so he exploited the cover-up as a means to blackmail the
victim into giving him his old job back. Is that the idea?” Kobayashi
murmured, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t know … It just seems a little
too convenient to me. Besides, is covering up a workplace accident even a
serious crime in the first place?”
“The punishment is a fine up to five hundred thousand yen,”
Matsumiya replied. He had looked into the matter the day before.
Kobayashi snorted.
“And Yashima really thought that he could scare someone with that? I
guess we’ll never know until we ask the guy.”
“Exactly. When it comes to motive, talking to the man himself is the
only option we have,” Ishigaki said. “That makes the knife all the more
crucial. Tomorrow, I want you all to stay focused on gathering witness statements and investigating the knife. Everybody got that?”
“Yes, sir,” chorused Matsumiya and the other investigators.
Matsumiya glanced over at his partner. Kaga was away from the group,
seated at his desk, looking through the evidence file and checking things on
his computer.
A moment later, Kaga sprang to his feet and shot out of the incident
room. Alarmed, Matsumiya dashed out after him.
“Kaga!” he yelled down the passage. “Are you going straight home?”
Kaga shrugged and looked ambivalent. “What if I’m not?”
“Where’s the planned detour?”
“It’s not really a detour. I mean to grab some dinner en route.”
“That’s it? Really?”
“Well, there is an ulterior motive.” Kaga scratched the side of his
prominent nose.
“I thought as much. I’m coming with you.”
The two men headed north after exiting the police station. They went
down through the underpass and across Edobashi Bridge. Normally, they
would have headed east at that point, but this time Kaga kept going north.
“Why are we going this way?”
“Just shut up and follow me, okay.”
At the second street on the right, there was a shop specializing in
traditional Japanese washi paper. It had some sort of little museum up on
the second floor. Matsumiya was once again struck by the sheer number of
old-established stores in the neighborhood.
They went a little farther down the street. On the left, there was a
miniature shrine with a torii gate in front. Nihonbashi is littered with
shrines.
Kaga stopped in front of a building. Matsumiya was surprised when he
saw the signboard.
“Another noodle place?”
“If Aoyagi was a fan of soba noodles, there’s nothing odd about him
wanting to try different restaurants.”
“Does that make it worth our while to come all the way here?”
“If you don’t like it, you’re free to leave.”
The restaurant was called Kobaian. Kaga opened the door and went in.
Matsumiya followed. About one-third of the tables in the spacious interior
were occupied. Most of the customers were just having beer or sake. They
must round off the drinks with a bowl of noodles afterward, Matsumiya
thought.
The detectives were ushered to a corner table where they ordered beer
and some nibbles. There was only one server, a woman who was bustling
around, clearly very busy. It didn’t look as though she would have the time
to talk with them.
Their beer and appetizers were brought to the table. Kaga promptly
reached for the bottle and filled up both their glasses. “Cheers.” They
clinked glasses and drank.
“So, Kyo, what do you think?”
“About what?”
“The case, of course. Do you buy the notion that Yashima’s the killer
and the motive’s what Kobayashi said at the station just now? Seems the
higher-ups are pretty keen for us to wrap the whole thing up neatly along
those lines.”
Kaga split his disposable wooden chopsticks and picked up some
salted fish guts. “Ooh, that’s good,” he murmured, and took a swig of beer.
“It’s not the job of people at the bottom to worry about the opinions of
people at the top. Our job is to uncover the facts. When you clear your mind
of preconceptions and stereotypes and simply focus on finding the facts,
you occasionally unearth things you could never have imagined.”
“You think the truth behind this crime could be something no one
expects?”
“Who knows?” Kaga tilted his head to one side, then leaned across the
table.
“You might not understand the situation, so let me make something
clear. I also think that the likeliest solution is that Yashima is the culprit.
The motive Squad Leader Kobayashi proposed seems plausible enough too.
But even if we manage to prove all that, can we honestly claim to have
solved the case? I don’t think so. Unless we can find out why Aoyagi
visited this district so regularly, then this case won’t be closed, not for the
family at least,” Kaga said, then leaned back.
“But is that part of our job as detectives?” asked Matsumiya.
“Personally, I think it is. But I’m not going to force you to think the
same.”
Their food was brought to the table. “Looks delicious,” said Kaga, his
eyes sparkling. Matsumiya used his chopsticks to help himself to a piece of
lotus root deep-fried with pollock roe. The taste and texture were in perfect
balance.
“There’s one thing that’s bothering me,” Kaga said. “Did I tell you
what happened when I went to the junior high school yesterday?”
“The junior high of the victim’s son? Come to think of it, no, you
didn’t. What was it? Shu…”
“Shubunkan Junior High School. I figured out who Aoyagi wanted to
speak to there. It was a teacher by the name of Itokawa, who’s also the
swim coach. Aoyagi’s son was on the school swim team. The father hadn’t been getting on with his son recently and he called to discuss the problem
with Itokawa.”
“Oh, I didn’t know Aoyagi was worried about that,” Matsumiya said,
then drank the remaining beer in his glass.
Kaga refilled his glass. “Don’t you think it’s odd? Normally, if you
were worried about your relationship with your kid, there’s someone else
you’d consult first.”
“You mean the boy’s homeroom teacher? Not necessarily. Coaches are
important figures for kids who are seriously into sports.”
Kaga made a dismissive gesture.
“I don’t need you to tell me that. Besides, that’s not what I’m getting
at. I’m saying that normally the first person you’d talk to is the boy’s
mother—in other words, your own wife.”
“Ah!” Matsumiya exclaimed. “I guess you would.”
“The wife hasn’t said a word about this to us. More than that, the
impression I get from talking to Aoyagi’s family is that he had no interest in
them whatsoever. How to explain this inconsistency?”
Matsumiya stared off into space. “It’s certainly odd.”
“Why did Aoyagi suddenly get the urge to discuss his son with his old
teacher a few days ago? And why didn’t he mention it to his wife?”
“I see what you mean. Yuto … was that his name? How about asking
him directly?”
“That’s one way of going about it. Personally, I think it’s better to
stand back for a while and see how things develop. If the boy knows
something and he’s deliberately keeping it secret, there’s got to be a reason.
If I confront him, he might clam up completely. He’s at a difficult age.”
How the hell would you know? Matsumiya wanted to sneer, until he remembered that Kaga had been a teacher at a junior high school.
“Let’s order some soba noodles,” said Kaga, and called the waitress
over. As they ordered chilled soba with dipping sauce, they showed her a
photograph of Takeaki Aoyagi.
The middle-aged waitress cocked her head and had a good, hard think.
“I’m not sure. I don’t remember what all our customers look like.”
They showed her a picture of Fuyuki Yashima for good measure. She
didn’t recognize him either.
Matsumiya paid and they left the restaurant.
“Show me the receipt,” Kaga said.
“Here you go,” Matsumiya said, handing it to him. The printing was
poor and the restaurant name was smudged and partly unreadable. The
phone number was faint to the point of invisibility.
“Despite coming all this way, we seem to have struck out,” Matsumiya
said, a note of mockery in his voice.
Kaga didn’t reply. He was staring at the receipt.
“No, we didn’t strike out. We got a base hit. The woman doesn’t
remember Aoyagi, that’s all.” As he spoke, he took out his cell phone and
started operating it. When he found the image he was looking for, he
showed it to Matsumiya, alongside the paper receipt.
Matsumiya gasped. On the screen was an identical receipt, though
with a different date and amount.
“I found this receipt in Aoyagi’s office desk. It had been bothering me.
I had a hunch it was from a soba restaurant, so I trawled through the
internet and found this place. No doubt about it: Aoyagi came here.”
Matsumiya looked up at the sign above the door.
“Why would he come all this way? It’s quite a way from Amazaké
Alley.”
“Indeed it is. That’s another riddle for us,” said Kaga, gazing down the
street that stretched away into the distance.
