A Midsummer's Equation

THIRTY-FOUR

“Did you say Kawahara?”

“Kawahata, ma’am,” Kusanagi repeated. He was speaking to a woman in her midforties.

“Oh, Kawahata. No, sorry, doesn’t ring a bell.” She frowned a little and put a hand to her cheek.

“This would’ve been about fifteen or sixteen years ago. I believe you were living here at the time?” Kusanagi asked.

“Yes, that’s right. This is our seventeenth year. You know, I think that makes us the longest tenants left! But I’m sorry, I don’t know any Kawahata.”

“They were in apartment 305. Does that sound familiar?”

“Three oh five? No wonder I don’t know them. We hardly ever see the people on the different floors unless they’re on the same staircase, and that unit’s on the other side of the building.”

The woman had been thrilled at first when she heard Kusanagi was a detective, but over the course of the questioning, she’d rapidly lost interest.

“Thank you for your time,” Kusanagi said. He started to bow, but the door was already closing in his face.

The Arima Engines company housing was an old apartment building on a small, lightly trafficked street. It was four stories high, without an elevator, and just over thirty units in total.

Kusanagi and Utsumi had split up to ask at each of the apartments whether anyone knew Shigehiro Kawahata or his family, but the results so far were anemic. Most of the people who had lived here at the same time as the Kawahatas had already moved on.

Kusanagi was making his way down the staircase, scratching the back of his head with his pen, when Utsumi called out from the sidewalk below him. “Kusanagi!”

“Hey. You find something?” he asked, his tone making it clear he wasn’t expecting that she had. He walked down to the bottom of the stairs so they could talk without shouting.

“Well, I found the current address of the people who used to live in apartment 206 from the woman who lives in 106. They built a house and moved out eight years ago. The name’s Kajimoto, and they live near Ekota Station.”

“Over in Nerima? You know when the Kajimotos moved into the apartments?”

“Not exactly, but when they moved out, they had mentioned that they’d been here for almost twenty years.”

“Well, then they overlapped with the Kawahatas for sure, and 206 is on their stairwell,” Kusanagi said, snapping his fingers. “Okay, let’s get to Ekota.”

Kusanagi hailed a cab. They had only just pulled away from the curb when Utsumi’s cell phone rang.

“Hello,” she answered, “Utsumi speaking. Yes, thanks for this morning. What, you found someone? Could you put me on the phone with them?” There was a pause. “Okay, I’ll call back again later. Thank you so much for your help.” She hung up and turned to Kusanagi. Her face was a little flushed.

“Who is that?”

“A volunteer group with offices in Shinjuku. They run a few soup kitchens and homeless shelters. I stopped by there on my way to Arima Engines and left a copy of Hidetoshi Senba’s photograph so they could show it to their staff.”

“And?” Kusanagi prompted, hope stirring in his chest.

“Well, one of the women who works for them said she’d seen Senba several times at one of the soup kitchens.”

“Around when?”

“She said the last time was over a year ago. I didn’t get to speak with her directly—she was out. Back in an hour or so.”

“Can you stop the car?” Kusanagi said to the driver. The driver hurriedly pressed down on the brake and pulled over to the side of the road.

“What’s wrong?” Utsumi asked.

“Nothing’s wrong. This is our best lead yet. I want you to go to that office right now and wait for this woman to get back. Driver, open the door. She’s getting out.”