A Midsummer's Equation

NINE

Central Hari was the largest train station on the local line and the closest to the police department. There was a rotary out front for buses and taxis. Still, to anyone coming from Tokyo, it would look like the sticks, thought Nishiguchi. He headed up to the city himself a few times a year and was always a little awestruck by the size and complexity of the stations.

“Anytime now,” Motoyama said, looking down at his watch. Nishiguchi checked the time. It was 2:20 p.m.

The two detectives were standing just outside the gates at the station, waiting for an express train. They’d both been on their feet since the morning, and their shirts were soaked with sweat. Both of them were wearing jackets, however, and their ties were tied tight and straight.

Masatsugu Tsukahara’s widow, Sanae Tsukahara, had answered immediately when they called the number he had left in the guest ledger. When Nishiguchi explained why he was calling, she fell silent, a long silence that spoke volumes. When she eventually asked what had happened, her voice had been shockingly calm.

Nishiguchi had laid out the facts as plainly as possible, and the widow had listened in silence. Nishiguchi left her his cell phone number so she could call when she knew what train she would be arriving on. The plan was for him to pick her up at the station by himself, but about an hour after the phone call, Motoyama called to tell him he’d be coming along. Apparently, a man named Tatara, a director in Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department’s homicide division, had called their boss saying he wanted to accompany Sanae Tsukahara. The deceased had been in the same department as Tatara at some point before he retired last year.

Though the union card had told Nishiguchi that Tsukahara was a former cop, the revelation he was in Tokyo homicide came as a surprise. Yet it did make one thing clear: now he knew why the widow had sounded so collected on the phone moments after learning of her husband’s death. She’d probably spent many long years anticipating that very call.

With a director from the Tokyo Police Department arriving, they couldn’t just send one of the rank-and-file to greet the train—thus, Motoyama’s addition to the welcoming party.

“There it is,” he said, peering through the gates. Passengers were starting to come down the stairs. The number of tourists had dropped sharply after the weeklong holiday in August. Everyone they saw was identifiable at a glance as local, if not by their clothes, then by the size of the bags they carried.

One couple stood out from the crowd as clearly different, however. The woman was slender, wearing a gray dress and lightly tinted sunglasses. She looked to be about fifty. The man was on the short side but broad shouldered and looking smart in a black suit. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed, and he wore wire-rimmed glasses.

“And that’s them,” Motoyama whispered. “Look at those eyes. That’s a detective who earned his rank.”

The man spotted them immediately and strode over, the woman following closely behind him.

“Director Tatara?” Motoyama spoke.

“Yes, and you are?”

“Motoyama, Captain, Hari Police Homicide. This is Detective Nishiguchi.”

Nishiguchi bowed his head as he was introduced.

Tatara nodded back, and indicated the woman standing behind him. “This is Mrs. Tsukahara. I believe you’ve already spoken.”

“Yes. I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances, Mrs. Tsukahara,” Motoyama said, turning to face the widow and bowing deeply. “You have our condolences.”

Nishiguchi bowed too.

“Thank you for your concern, and for handling this … matter,” she said, her voice a shade deeper than it had sounded over the phone.

“And thank you for allowing me to accompany her,” Tatara added.

“Of course,” Motoyama said.

“When I heard what had happened, I knew I wasn’t going to get any work done today anyway. Detective Tsukahara was more than a colleague to me. I owe him a great deal.”

“I see,” Motoyama said, taking out a handkerchief and wiping the sweat from the side of his face. “I regret not having known him.”

“Where’s the body?” Tatara asked, straight to the point.

“In the morgue. Forensics should be finished by now, so I can take you there immediately.”

“Thank you,” Sanae said, once again bowing deeply.

Nishiguchi drove them all to the Hari Police Department, where Okamoto, head of Criminal Investigation, was already bowing deeply at the entrance when they arrived.

“Please don’t hesitate to let me know if there’s anything you need, anything at all,” Okamoto said, looking as though he might commence wringing his hands at any moment. A director from Tokyo homicide essentially outranked even the commissioner at a small station like theirs.

Nishiguchi and Motoyama led their two guests downstairs to the morgue. The body had been laid out on one of the beds in such a way as to conceal the crack on the back of his head as best as possible.

Sanae took one look and said, “That’s my husband.” Her face was pale, but she gave no outward sign of emotion.

Nishiguchi and Motoyama left the two of them in the room and waited in the hallway outside. Five minutes later, the door opened, and Tatara walked out.

“All finished?” Motoyama asked, as gently as possible.

“I thought I’d give her a little time by herself. And, I was hoping that might give me a chance to hear some of the details?”

“Certainly,” Motoyama said. “There’s a room we can use.” He looked over at Nishiguchi. “You stay here and bring the widow to room number two when she comes out.”

“Yes sir,” Nishiguchi replied.

He waited for about ten minutes in the dimly lit hallway before the door quietly opened and Sanae emerged. Her eyes were red, but there was no trace of tears on her face. She must’ve already touched up her makeup, Nishiguchi thought.

The meeting room was on the second floor. When they arrived, Motoyama was pointing at a map spread out across the table, indicating the location where Tsukahara had been found. Okamoto was there, as well as Commissioner Tomita. Tomita stood up from the table with surprising swiftness for someone so overweight. He immediately bowed and offered his condolences.

“They found him in a place called Hari Cove,” Tatara said, turning to the widow. “Ever heard of it?”

She shook her head and sat in one of the chairs.

“Director Tatara informs me that your husband left the inn without indicating exactly where he was going,” Motoyama said. “Was that typical of him?”

Sanae’s hands clutched the handle of the bag on her knees tightly. “He had been taking trips to hot springs and the like on occasion—by himself, as I usually work on the weekdays. Sometimes he’d have a particular destination in mind, but other times he would just have a general idea, like he was going to see the foliage, or the ocean. I knew he was headed in this general direction this time, but not precisely where he was going.”

“Had he ever mentioned Hari Cove before?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t think so,” she said.

Motoyama picked a travel bag up off the chair next to him and placed it on the table. “Have you ever seen this bag?”

“That’s his, yes.”

“Would you mind checking the contents and letting us know if there’s anything in there that looks unfamiliar to you?”

“Is it all right to touch it with my bare hands?” Sanae asked—the kind of question only a detective’s wife would think to ask, Nishiguchi mused.

Motoyama nodded.

She checked the contents and told him that everything inside was her husband’s, as far as she knew.

“And the cell phone? As far as we could tell, he hadn’t used it much recently. We see the last call as having been made three days ago, to the Green Rock Inn. Probably when he made his reservation.”

Sanae picked up the phone and checked recent calls. “That would be pretty normal,” she told them. “He’s had the phone for a while, but he rarely used it. He spoke of not having many people to call since retiring … and he never sent text messages or e-mail.”

Motoyama nodded. Next, he pulled a plastic bag containing a single piece of paper from the inner pocket of his jacket. This, too, he placed on the table.

“Are you familiar with this? Feel free to pick it up.”

Sanae took the plastic bag and examined its contents. A frown spread across her face.

It contained a piece of paper that Nishiguchi had discovered folded into the pocket of Masatsugu Tsukahara’s shirt. It was printed with the words “Informational Hearing and Discussion on the Proposed Development of Submarine Hydrothermal Ore Deposits” and was marked with an official DESMEC stamp.

Sanae shook her head and set the plastic bag down. “I’ve never seen this before.”

“What is it?” Tatara asked.

“It’s an attendance voucher for a hearing in town,” Motoyama explained, filling them in on the proposed development and the local reaction.

“And Mr. Tsukahara attended this hearing?”

“Yes, we have a witness who saw him at the meeting hall yesterday, and it’s our opinion that he came to Hari Cove with the express purpose of attending that hearing.”

Tatara frowned and looked over at Sanae. “And you never heard anything about this?”

“Not a word. I’m not even sure what these ore deposits are.”

Tatara shook his head and rested his elbows on the table. “Well, that’s odd.”

“We talked to some of the people involved with the hearing, and they did indicate that there were people there other than locals or those directly related to the development project,” Motoyama said. “Since it is the first proposal of its kind in Japan, they opened attendance to anyone in the country who wanted to come. Could Mr. Tsukahara have had an interest in resource development? That voucher was only sent to people who specifically requested one.”

Both Sanae and Tatara nodded at that, though neither looked convinced.

Commissioner Tomita spoke. “Could it be possible that in his travels after retiring he developed an interest in the environment? Environmental groups have been talking quite a bit about the proposed development and the risk of damage to the ocean around Hari Cove. That might’ve led him down here.”

It was an almost flippant theory, Nishiguchi thought. Tomita clearly wanted this case to go away quickly. There was no sign it was anything other than an accident, and he couldn’t have appreciated the presence of a Tokyo Police director on his home turf.

Tatara didn’t respond, instead pulling the map over toward him.

“How do we get from here to the place where it happened? I’d like to see it for myself, if that’s all right.”

“We’d be happy to give you a lift,” Motoyama offered.

“Great, then, let’s go.”

“Right.… Er, about the body. I assume you haven’t made funeral arrangements yet?”

Tatara looked slowly between Motoyama’s and Okamoto’s faces before turning to Commissioner Tomita. “I gather, then, you don’t have plans for an autopsy?”

Nishiguchi stiffened in his chair. Having a director from Tokyo homicide even mention the word autopsy made everything seem more serious.

“Er, well, no. I mean, based on all the reports we’ve had so far, there’s really no need,” Tomita managed, casting a look at Okamoto that screamed help me.

“The local physician’s opinion was that death was due to cerebral contusion,” Okamoto said, his tongue tripping over his words. “Right?” he said, looking at Motoyama.

Motoyama nodded, and added, “We also analyzed his blood for alcohol content. He had been drinking, but not to the level of impairment. It might have made him a little unsteady, however. Our working theory is that he went for a walk to clear his head, climbed onto the seawall, slipped, and fell down on the rocks.”

Tatara looked down at the table in silence for a few moments before looking back up. “Let’s go take a look at the scene first,” he said. “We can consider the remains later. If that’s all right?” The last question he directed toward Sanae.

“Of course,” she replied.

* * *

They arrived at the scene about half an hour later.

Getting down to the rocks themselves was too much trouble, so they settled for looking down from the seawall. They could still clearly see the blood splashed on the rocks below. Sanae put a hand over her mouth as a choking sob escaped her lips. Tatara held his hands together in silent prayer for a moment before he began scanning the scene.

“We’ve been questioning people in the area since this morning, but nobody spotted Mr. Tsukahara down here last night,” Motoyama explained, his tone apologetic. “Out in the countryside, few people go outside after eight o’clock.”

Tatara looked around. “Must get pretty dark at night.”

“Pitch black, yes.”

“And this was about four hundred meters from the inn? I’m surprised he managed to walk that far in the dark. Or was he carrying a flashlight?” Tatara muttered, half to himself.

“Well, maybe I shouldn’t have said pitch black,” Motoyama corrected himself. “Er, that is, it gets pretty dark, but he would’ve been able to see enough to walk. The moon was out last night,” he added, a little meekly.

“But you didn’t find a flashlight?”

“No, well, that is, it might’ve fallen into the ocean,” Motoyama stammered, his eyes wandering toward Nishiguchi.

“Since the proprietor of the inn didn’t even know that Tsukahara had left, I’m sure they didn’t loan him a flashlight,” Nishiguchi said. “However, these inns usually have a flashlight in every room for emergencies, which he might have taken. I’ll check in with them and find out.”

Tatara stared down at the rocks, not even nodding in acknowledgment. Eventually, he looked back up, turning his sharp eyes toward Motoyama. “I’m sorry, but can we return to your station immediately? There’s something I need to discuss with the commissioner.”