Newcomer

1

“Thank goodness it’s finally a bit cooler. It’s only June, for goodness’ sake.”

Emerging from the back of the shop, Satoko began rearranging the packets of rice crackers on the shelves.

“You just got out of the hospital, Grandma. You shouldn’t be running around so much. Dad will give me a hard time if he sees you carrying on like this.” Naho frowned.

“It’s okay, really. I’m better now. That’s why the hospital let me come home. It’s back to business as usual. You know that old saying about how people who don’t work have no right to eat? It won’t be long before you’ll have to stand on your own two feet.”

“Oh God, not that again.” Naho crammed a piece of mayonnaise-flavored rice cracker into her mouth.

Satoko peered into her granddaughter’s face.

“But my, you do love your rice crackers. I know it’s the family business and all that, but you’ve been eating those things since the day you were born. How you don’t get sick of them I’ll never know.”

“This is a new flavor.”

“New or not, a rice cracker’s still just a rice cracker. I can’t bear the things myself. They play havoc with my teeth.”

“Then why did you spend fifty years running a rice cracker store?”

“Like I’ve told you before, Naho, we only started selling rice crackers thirty years ago. We used to sell Japanese sweets until your father decided to switch to rice crackers. Gosh, I still miss those sweet bean jellies.”

“Miss them?” said Naho, pursing her lips. “How? You’re always eating the things.”

Just then, a plump man in a gray suit opened the glass door and entered the store.

“Hello, all,” he sang out cheerfully, giving a little bow.

“Oh, Mr. Takura, thanks for dropping by,” said Satoko. “I feel terrible making you go out of your way in this heat.”

“That’s not a problem. This is my job, after all. Besides, it’s already cooled down a lot this afternoon. At noon, it was unbearable.”

“You must be exhausted. Come in and I’ll fix you a nice cool drink.” Satoko motioned him toward the room behind the store. It was the family living room.

“Thank you, but I’ve just come to pick up that... you know.” Using the tips of two fingers, Takura sketched a square in the air.

“My medical certificate, you mean? No problem. Naho and I went to the hospital today. I told her I’d be fine by myself, but she insisted on coming along.”

Satoko kicked off her sandals.

“It’s all right, Grandma. I’ll get it.” Naho gently edged her grandmother aside and disappeared into the back room.

“You know where it is?” Satoko called out.

“Of course. I’m the one who put it there. You’re the one with no idea where anything is.”

Her grandmother must have made some sort of comment as Naho heard the sound of laughter behind her.

“Don’t forget the tea while you’re at it,” Satoko yelled.

“Yes, I know.”

Naho clucked her tongue. What a nag her grandma was.

She poured out a glass of cold oolong tea, put it on a tray, and went back to the shop. Her grandmother and Mr. Takura were happily chatting away.

“I’m delighted to see you looking so well. When was I last here? Four days ago? You look so much better already.” Takura shook his head in amazement.

“Being back home has helped. I feel much better. I get to be up and doing even though Naho’s always telling me to take it easy. Such a pest.”

“That’s only because she’s worried about you.” Takura reached out and plucked the glass of oolong tea off the tray. “Ah, thank you. It looks delicious.”

“Here you go, Grandma.”

Naho handed an envelope to Satoko.

“Thanks, dear.”

Satoko took a single sheet of paper out of the envelope, glanced over it, and held it out to Takura.

Takura took the document and looked it over.

“Good heavens, you were in the hospital for two whole months? That must have been tough.”

“I wouldn’t have minded if they’d actually taken care of what I was sent in for, but they didn’t do anything about that. Instead, they found out I had something else wrong with me and then spent two whole months treating that. So frustrating.”

“The certificate says you had an infection of the bile duct. Oh, what’s this here? You also had tests for an aneurysm?”

“The aneurysm’s the important thing. I went in to have it operated on, but the operation was postponed.”

“But you will have the operation at some point?”

“Apparently, yes. But it’s probably better for me just to keep going as long as I can. Operations can be risky at my age.”

“I see what you mean. It’s a difficult call to make.” Takura was looking a little uncomfortable.

“Is the certificate in order?” Satoko asked.

“Yes, along with the documents you gave me the other day, I’ve got everything I need. I’ll go back to the office and process it as fast as I can. Your hospitalization claim will be paid by next month at the latest.”

“You’re going to go back to the office now? That’s terrible.”

“Not at all, not at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Takura put the certificate into his briefcase and smiled at Naho. “Thank you very much for the tea.”

“No. Thank you,” Naho replied.

Satoko walked Takura to the street and waved to him as he went on his way.

About two hours later, Fumitaka — Satoko’s son and Naho’s father — got back home. There was grime on the collar of his white polo shirt.

“I was at the rice cracker wholesaler,” he said, slipping off his shoes. “On the way back, it looked like something big was going on over at Kodenmacho. There were loads of police cars around. No sign of a car crash or anything like that, though.”

“Something serious?” Naho suggested.

“Why else would the cops be all over the place?”

“This area’s not safe anymore,” declared Satoko, who was in the kitchen tasting the miso soup. “There are just too many newcomers moving into those new apartment complexes.”

Fumitaka said nothing. He turned the TV on to watch the baseball game while Naho busied herself with setting the table. The idea that new apartment buildings meant more people — including bad people — moving into the neighborhood was a theory Satoko never tired of expounding upon.

The rule in the Kamikawa family was to wait and have dinner once all three of them were home. Since Fumitaka had been out, they were eating later than usual this evening.

Naho had been doing all the cooking until a week ago, when Satoko came home from the hospital. Now everything was back to normal.

Naho had been in kindergarten when her mother was killed in a car crash. Although she’d been little more than a baby at the time, some of the shock and sorrow of those days stayed with Naho even now. That her father was around all day running the family store definitely softened the blow. Satoko’s presence also helped. Although she hungered for a mother’s love, she had Satoko to cherish her and feed her. In fact, the other kids were always jealous when they peeked into Naho’s lunch box.

Back in April, Naho had paled with shock when she learned that Satoko was critically ill. The news caught her off guard, and she couldn’t stop crying.

As Satoko had explained to the insurance salesman, she’d originally been hospitalized to have an aneurysm removed. Before she was operated on, however, she developed a raging fever. No one knew the cause, but it was severe enough for her to lose consciousness.

She was unconscious for three days. When Satoko came around on the fourth day, Naho burst into tears all over again.

The doctor told her that Satoko’s fever was caused by cholangitis, an infection of the bile duct, and in that moment, Naho realized that the person she had most depended on her whole life was now an old woman ridden with disease.

When Satoko was discharged, Naho held her grandmother’s hand and said to her: “You took care of me for many years. Now it’s my turn to look after you.”

Touched by her granddaughter’s words, Satoko wept loudly.

However, their lovefest didn’t last. At first Satoko was willing to overlook Naho’s various domestic missteps, but gradually they started to get on her nerves. Nothing her granddaughter did was right. Satoko criticized her and sometimes barged in and took control of things. Stubborn and quick-tempered, she had no idea how to avoid hurting Naho’s feelings. Unfortunately, Naho’s temperament was similar. “If all you’re going to do is complain, why don’t you just do it yourself?” In no time at all, everything was back to how it had been before Satoko went into the hospital.

No one was more pleased about that than Fumitaka. He’d lost ten pounds while Naho was in charge of the cooking. Now that Satoko was back in the kitchen, he was starting to put the weight back on.

“By the way, you are going to your beauty school, aren’t you?” Fumitaka asked Naho. “You’re not cutting classes?”

“Of course not, Dad. Today’s a school holiday. That’s why I’m at home.”

“That’s all right, then.”

“My little Naho, a hairdresser. I really hope you can make the grade.”

“Of course I will.” Naho glared at her grandmother. She could hardly come out and say that she’d had to skip several days of school because of her grandmother’s condition.

“The important thing is for you to learn to stand on your own two feet, so you can earn money and take of yourself,” said Fumitaka. “I know I’ve said this before, but—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a million times. ‘People who don’t work have no right to eat.’”

2

Naho had started beauty school in April. She’d completed her enrollment and had been looking forward to classes when Satoko was hospitalized. As a result, she’d fallen far behind and only recently caught up. She’d dreamed of becoming a hairdresser since elementary school. The idea of going to college never once crossed her mind.

The family business wasn’t doing very well. They were just about scraping by. Satoko wasn’t getting any younger, and Fumitaka’s health would give out at some point too. Naho knew she would have to step into the breach one day; that was why she was eager to be financially independent as soon as possible.

Classes at the beauty school went on until four. As usual, Naho caught the subway home at 4:20. She got off at Hamacho Station, passed in front of the theater, crossed Kiyosubashi Boulevard, and headed home. On the way, she noticed several men walking in the opposite direction with their jackets slung over their shoulders. It was a scorcher of a day.

Omakara, the rice cracker shop that doubled as Naho’s family home, was on Amazake Alley, a narrow shopping street.

No one could possibly accuse the street of being trendy. The clothes displayed in the shop windows were for middle-aged and elderly women, and at lunchtime the sidewalks were overrun by office workers dislodging food from between their teeth with toothpicks. The only thing to be said in the area’s favor was that it retained something of the atmosphere of the Edo period — premodern Tokyo. It had taken Naho a while to realize that few other districts in the capital had shops that specialized in wicker suitcases or shamisen lutes.

Naho was walking past Hozukiya, a handicrafts shop with wooden spinning tops and Japanese pellet drums displayed out front, when a figure in an apron shouted hello from inside. It was Misaki Sugawara, the part-time shop assistant at Hozukiya. She was a year older than Naho, and the two had recently become friends.

“How’s things at the beauty school?”

“Not too bad.”

“Great. You stick with it now.”

“Thanks,” said Naho, raising her hand to say goodbye.

Omakara was three shops farther down. As she approached, Naho noticed three men standing in the street right in front of the store. Two wore suits; one was more casually dressed in a short-sleeved checked shirt with a T-shirt underneath.

Nearly all of their customers were female, so Naho assumed the men weren’t planning to go in, but just as she reached out to push open the store’s glass door, the man in the short-sleeved shirt did the same thing. If he hadn’t taken a step back, they would have collided.

“I’m sorry. After you.” The man motioned for her to go in. He smiled broadly.

“No, you first. I work here.”

The man nodded at her.

“Oh, do you? Well, that’s good timing, then,” he said as he stepped inside.

Inside the shop, Fumitaka looked at the two of them with a mildly puzzled expression on his face.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he said. The man waved his hand deprecatingly and gave a slightly shamefaced grin.

“I’m afraid I’m not here to buy rice crackers. I’m actually from the local police station.” He pulled out his badge wallet from the pocket of his pants, opened it, and showed them his ID.

To the best of Naho’s knowledge, this was the first time the police had ever visited the store. She peered at the ID and read the name: Detective Kyoichiro Kaga.

She tried guessing the man’s age. Definitely in his thirties, she reckoned, but she couldn’t tell if he was above or below the halfway mark.

“Did a Mr. Takura visit yesterday? Let’s see now. His full name is Mr. Shinichi Takura of New City Life Insurance.”

The question startled Naho.

“Yes, he was here,” she stammered back.

“Were you here at the time?”

“Yes, me and Grandma — I mean, my grandmother — were minding the store.”

Kaga nodded.

“A couple of detectives from the Tokyo Metropolitan Police would like to talk to you about his visit. Would it be all right if I called them in?”

The words Tokyo Metropolitan Police evoked a twinge of fear. The Tokyo Metropolitan Police were the municipal police, and they were in charge of more serious crimes.

“I... uhm...” Naho glanced across at her father.

“Yes, of course. Has something happened?” asked Fumitaka.

“Just something we need to check up on. Won’t take a moment.”

“I see. Fine, go ahead. Shall I call my mother?”

“You mean this young woman’s grandmother?” said Kaga, darting a look in Naho’s direction. “That would be very helpful, yes.”

“Got you,” said Fumitaka, disappearing into the room at the back of the store.

Kaga gestured at the two men waiting outside. They had tough, weather-beaten faces. Naho had no idea what sort of age they were. If she had to classify them, she’d have to go with “geezer.” They had geezer hair and geezer clothes, with big, fat faces and beer bellies to top it all off. They introduced themselves to Naho, but their names went in one ear and out the other.

The older-looking of the two detectives began asking questions as soon as Fumitaka reappeared with Satoko.

“We have been informed that this gentleman paid you a visit yesterday. Can you confirm that is correct?” asked the detective, holding out a photograph. It showed Takura with a meek expression on his face.

“Yes, that’s correct,” said Naho and Satoko in chorus.

“Around what time was that?” asked the detective.

“What time do you think it was?” asked Satoko, turning to Naho.

“Six or six thirty — something like that.”

“You’re sure it wasn’t before six?” asked the detective.

“Oh, maybe you’re right.” Naho clapped her hand to her mouth. “I’m really not sure. It was still light outside, I think.”

“It stays light until around seven at this time of year,” the detective said. “Anyway, I take it you’re not sure about the exact time?”

“Down to the exact minute and the hour... no,” said Satoko dubiously.

“And what was Mr. Takura here for?”

“It was with regard to the paperwork necessary to file a claim for my recent hospitalization. He needed my medical certificate, apparently, so I gave it to him.”

“And how long did he stay here?”

“Let’s see.” Satoko thought for a moment. “Ten minutes or so, I reckon.”

Naho silently nodded her agreement. She was watching Kaga, who was inspecting the rice crackers in the glass display case and appeared to have no interest in the conversation.

“Did he say where he was going next?” the geezer detective went on.

“Back to the office. To take care of the paperwork for my claim, he said.”

“That makes sense.” The detective nodded. “How did he look?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did Mr. Takura look any different from normal?”

“He didn’t, did he?” Satoko glanced at Naho for confirmation.

“He had on a different suit,” Naho ventured. “The time before his suit was navy blue, but yesterday it was gray. It suited him better. That’s why I remember it.”

“I’m not talking about his clothes. Was he on edge? Did you get the impression he was in a hurry? Anything like that?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Despite seeming a little disappointed at Naho’s responses, the detective squeezed out a smile in an effort to keep things friendly.

“So to sum up, you don’t recall the precise time when Mr. Takura was here. It could have been before six, and it could have been after six. Can I safely say, ‘sometime between five thirty and six thirty’?”

“That sounds reasonable,” replied Naho, looking at her grandmother.

“Good. Thank you very much for making time to talk to us.”

“Excuse my asking, but is Mr. Takura all right?” Naho asked.

“Let’s just say that this is an ongoing inquiry and leave it at that.” The detective jerked his eyebrows at Kaga, who thanked the family and bowed at them.

The three men left the store.

“I hope this hasn’t got anything to do with what happened at Kodenmacho,” blurted out her father.

“What do you mean?” Naho asked.

“Haven’t you seen the papers?” Fumitaka frowned. “A good barber should always read the papers.”

“I’m not going to be a barber, Dad,” protested Naho. She darted back into the living quarters and opened the newspaper.

The crime Fumitaka had referred to was featured on the local news page. The body of a forty-five-year-old woman who lived alone had been found in her apartment in the Kodenmacho area. She’d been strangled. The fact that the room showed no signs of a struggle suggested that she knew her attacker. The local police and Tokyo Metropolitan Police were treating the incident as a homicide.

“There’s no way that Mr. Takura was involved in that. The man’s a true-born Tokyoite with our natural dislike for anything underhand,” Satoko said. She was standing next to Naho, reading the paper over her shoulder.

“From the questions the detective was asking just now, my guess is he was checking up on Mr. Takura’s alibi. Doesn’t that mean he’s a suspect?”

“Oh, come off it. It doesn’t matter what the police think. By testifying that Mr. Takura was here yesterday, we cleared him.”

“But remember how insistent they were about the exact time he was here. That has to be important.”

“Can you really not remember the precise time?” said Fumitaka, sticking his face through the door from the shop.

“We only know that it was sometime between half past five and half past six. We can’t be any more precise than that.”

“You’re useless, you two.”

“That’s not fair. I mean, it’s not like you know what you’re doing every minute of every day either, Dad.”

Eager to avoid a confrontation, Fumitaka pulled his head back out of the doorway.

“Well, I, for one, am very worried.” Satoko knit her brows. “I just hope they can clear Mr. Takura very soon.”

After dinner, Naho went to close the electric-operated roller shutter in the front of the store. It was about halfway down when she noticed a man standing on the other side of it. She automatically pressed the stop button.

The man bent down and peered up from under the shutter. It was Detective Kaga. Their eyes met, and he grinned and ducked under the shutter and into the store.

“Can you spare a minute?”

“Uh... yes. Shall I call my father?”

“No, just you is fine. There’s one thing I need to double-check.”

“What?”

“It’s about what Mr. Takura was wearing — you said he had a suit on, right?”

“Yes. A gray suit. And the time before it was dark blue.”

Kaga smiled sheepishly and waved her remark away.

“I don’t care about the color. Do you remember if he had his suit jacket on when he was here?”

“He did, yes.”

“Really? I thought as much from what you said about him looking good in it.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Not quite sure myself yet, but thanks anyway.” Kaga plucked a packet of rice crackers off the shelf. “These look nice. I’ll take them.” He handed Naho 630 yen.

“Thanks.”

“Right. Good night, then.” Kaga ducked back under the shutter and out onto the street.

Naho just stood there blankly for a while, then walked over to the shutter switch. Before pressing it again, she squatted down and surveyed the street outside.

A handful of businessmen were strolling along the lamplit street. Work was over for the day, and they were probably heading out for a drink somewhere. Kaga was nowhere to be seen.

3

The next day was freakishly hot from early morning. When Naho got off the train after class that afternoon, the short climb up the station stairs to the street level was enough to make her break into a sweat.

Fumitaka was outside the shop putting up the awning. “Oh, you’re back,” he murmured, noticing his daughter.

“Hi, Dad. Any more detectives come around today?”

“To our place, no,” Fumitaka said in a quiet voice. “But it sounds like they’re talking to everyone around here.”

“I wonder why?”

“Rumor has it they’re still checking up on Mr. Takura. They’re asking every man and his dog if they saw him that day. Seems like the time that he was at our place is crucial.”

“Our testimony alone isn’t good enough for the police?”

“I guess not.” Fumitaka went back into the shop.

Naho looked around. She wondered if the police were busy making inquiries nearby right now.

Her gaze wandered to a café diagonally across the road. She caught her breath: there was a face she recognized behind the big plate glass window. The other person, realizing he’d been spotted, grinned awkwardly back.

Naho crossed the street, went into café, and strode over to a table overlooking the street.

“Who are you spying on?” she asked Kaga, who was sitting there.

“I’m not spying on anyone. Why don’t you sit down?” Kaga raised his hand to summon the waitress. “What’ll you have?”

“I’m fine.”

“No need to stand on ceremony.” Kaga pushed the menu toward her.

“Okay then, I’ll have the banana juice,” Naho told the waitress as she sat herself down. “Are you keeping our store under surveillance?”

“Come off it. Like I said, I’m not watching anyone.”

“What are you doing, then?”

“Nothing. Or if you insist, I’m just enjoying this iced coffee — slacking off, in other words.” Ignoring the straw, Kaga tipped his ice coffee down his throat.

“Is Mr. Takura a suspect in the Kodenmacho murder case?”

Kaga’s face tensed. He glanced around at the other tables.

“I’d be grateful if you could keep your voice down.”

“Give me an answer or I’ll turn the volume up to eleven.”

Kaga sighed and ran his fingers through his shaggy hair.

“Mr. Takura’s on our list of suspects, yes. He visited the victim’s apartment on the day of the crime, and we found his business card and an insurance pamphlet there. He, of course, claims that he was there on insurance-related business.”

“Is that all you’ve got?”

“It’s significant enough from a police point of view.”

The waitress brought Naho her banana juice. She drank it all in one swallow through a fat straw.

“Does it really matter what time Mr. Takura came to see us?” she asked, after a brief silence.

Kaga thought for a moment, then nodded curtly.

“Mr. Takura claims to have left the victim’s apartment at around five thirty p.m. The victim was still alive at that point. We know that for sure because we’ve confirmed that she went out shopping a little after that.”

“Really? Shopping for what?”

Kaga blinked and peered at Naho. “What does that matter to you?”

“It doesn’t. I’m just curious. I mean, it was right before she was killed, wasn’t it?”

“She probably had no idea that someone was going to kill her. Why shouldn’t she go shopping? She bought some kitchen scissors, if you really want to know. You may know the store, Kisamiya?”

“Oh yes.”

“Anyway, enough about that. Let’s get back to Mr. Takura. He claims that after leaving the victim’s apartment, he dropped in to your place and then went back to his office, where he handed all the documentation for your grandmother’s insurance claim to a female colleague and then went home for the day.”

“What’s the problem?”

“On his way home, he went out for a drink with a friend. Now, if we calculate backward from the time at which this friend told us they met, we end up with Takura leaving his office at six forty. Takura’s female colleague, however, says that he left the office at six ten. That leaves us with a gap of roughly thirty minutes unaccounted for. Thirty minutes is enough time for him to run over from his office to the victim’s apartment, commit the murder, and then set out for home. When we confronted Takura on this point, he stated that he did leave his office at six forty and did not stop off anywhere before meeting his friend. He thinks that his colleague at the office simply got her times wrong.”

“Maybe he’s right?”

“The trouble is, another witness came forward to say that they saw Takura returning to the office after six p.m. We cannot ignore that discrepancy. On the other hand, Mr. Takura’s testimony and that of his female colleague do agree in one particular: both of them peg the time he spent in the office at just ten minutes. That’s what makes the precise time he visited you so important. You can walk from here to New City Life Insurance’s head office in under ten minutes. Takura claims to have gone straight from your store back to his office; if we knew what time he left your place, we’d be able to verify his entire account.”

Kaga delivered this explanation at high speed, so Naho needed a little while to digest it all.

“Now I understand why you were so obsessed about the precise time.”

“Exactly. Since neither you nor your grandmother can recall the precise time Takura was with you, I’ve been visiting all the other stores along this street, asking if they saw Mr. Takura that afternoon. Unfortunately, no one saw him going into your shop. I asked the staff at this café. Drew a blank here, too.”

“What’s your next step?”

“Not sure.” Kaga stretched and leaned against the back of his seat. Naho noticed that his eyes were still focused on the street outside. “As we don’t have any other plausible suspects right now, the Metropolitan Police guys have the hots for Takura.”

“That’s ridiculous. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“That’s what murderers’ friends always say — even after they’re convicted.”

Naho didn’t like the detective’s tone.

“Come off it. Mr. Takura’s got no motive.”

“Hmm.”

“What’s ‘hmmm’ supposed to mean?”

“It means that we almost never know the motive until the perpetrator himself tells us. Maybe the Met guys will get it out of him any moment now.”

“You sound like you’re perfectly happy to leave everything up to them.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, sounds to me like you couldn’t care less.”

Kaga had finished his iced coffee. He picked up his glass of water instead.

“The Tokyo Metropolitan Police are the lead investigators on this case. We precinct cops provide support and show them around the neighborhood. Basically, we just do what we’re told.”

Naho frowned as she looked at Kaga’s lined face.

“What a letdown. There I was, thinking you were different from the normal run of cops. With your attitude, you’ll stagnate at the local police level and never get anywhere.”

“I’m not stagnating. The thing is, I just got transferred to this precinct and I honestly don’t know much about it yet. I’m just easing myself in, familiarizing myself with the place. It’s an interesting district. I was in the local watch store; they had this extraordinary clock. It was a prism with clock faces on all three sides and all three clocks moved together. I wonder what sort of mechanism it’s got.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. You weren’t joking when you said you were goofing off, were you?” Naho put money on the table for her banana juice. She didn’t want Kaga to pay for her.

“It’s hot again today,” murmured Kaga, looking out the window. “Look. All the businessmen walking up this way from the Ningyocho subway station — see how they’ve got their jackets off and their shirtsleeves rolled up?”

“What the heck do I care?” Naho said sharply. She could no longer bother to be polite.

“You see? Here comes another one. He’s taken his jacket off and slung it over his shoulder. Poor chap.”

“Why shouldn’t he, in this heat?”

“It’s cooler than it was earlier, though. See? Here’s a guy who’s kept his jacket on.”

Sure enough, a rather stout man strolled by with his suit perfectly in place.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” Naho couldn’t keep the note of irritation out her voice.

“Take a good look. What do you see? Most of the men walking from right to left — in other words, from the Ningyocho neighborhood to Hamacho, the next neighborhood over — have taken their jackets off. With the men walking from left to right, it’s the opposite: they’ve all got their jackets on.”

Naho swiveled around in her seat to inspect the street.

A gaggle of businessmen passed by, going from right to left. Naho’s jaw dropped. Kaga was right: nearly all of them had their jackets off.

“It’s true,” she murmured under breath.

“Interesting, eh?” said Kaga.

“But why? Is it just a coincidence?”

“You shouldn’t dismiss something like this as a coincidence. That’s too easy. You should assume there’s a reason for it.”

“Do you know what that reason is, Detective Kaga?”

“Perhaps I do.” Kaga smirked.

“What are you grinning for? Why are you so pleased with yourself?”

“I’m not being conceited. To be honest, once I’ve told you the reason, I doubt you’ll be very impressed. A lot of office workers walk along this street, but most of them work for firms with offices in Hamacho. Okay, so here’s my question. The time now is half past five. What sort of people would you expect to find walking from right to left, in other words from Ningyocho toward Hamacho, at this time of day?”

“Well, given what time it is...,” said Naho thoughtfully, as she stared at yet another businessman walking by in his shirtsleeves, “they must be on their way back to their offices.”

“Right. In other words, these are the people who’ve been out of the office all day. They work outside, probably in sales or service, stuff like that. The people who are going from left to right are the opposite: they’ve been in the office all day. Because they’ve been in an air-conditioned office most of the day — in contrast to their colleagues who are all hot and bothered from running around outside — they’re a little on the chilly side if anything. That’s why they’re wearing their jackets. Plus by this time in the afternoon, the temperature has gone down quite a lot. Take a closer look at the people coming from the direction of Hamacho. On the whole, they’re on the older side. My guess is they’re quite senior and their jobs don’t involve much running around outside the office. That also helps explain why they get to leave at five thirty on the dot.”

As she listened to Kaga’s explanation, Naho inspected the men walking down the street. There was the occasional exception, but all in all she had to admit that the detective’s theory was very plausible.

“Wow... I think you’re right. I’ve lived here my whole life, but I never noticed that until you pointed it out.”

“Well, it doesn’t have much practical value.”

Naho nodded, then suddenly looked at Kaga wide-eyed.

“Does this have any connection to the murder?”

Kaga picked up the check from the table.

“You remember me asking you what Mr. Takura was wearing?”

Naho blinked in acknowledgment.

“He looked smart and had his jacket on...”

“But Mr. Takura is one of those people who are out and about all day. He told us that he went to visit you after going to the victim’s apartment in Kodenmacho. That would have involved quite a lot of walking. Given the circumstances, he did well to have his jacket on and look so neat and tidy.”

“I see what you mean... Of course, he could just have been toughing it out.”

“That’s a possibility, sure. Still, I think that’s where we may find the answer to the riddle of the missing thirty minutes.” Kagawa got up and walked over to the cash register to pay.

“Hang on. What are you implying?”

“I can’t tell you any more yet. I need to unravel that riddle first,” said Kaga, as they left the café.

4

Over dinner, Naho relayed what Detective Kaga had told her. Getting Satoko to grasp the concept of the missing thirty minutes was quite a struggle. Naho had to write out a timeline of Takura’s movements before her grandmother could understand.

“Huh,” snorted Satoko, her head cocked to one side. “I don’t think those thirty minutes matter much, one way or the other.”

“Thirty minutes is long enough for someone to have committed the murder. That’s why the police are taking it so seriously.”

“Then the police are idiots. First of all, would Mr. Takura do something like that? Of course not. He’d never do anything so horrible. He’s not that kind of person. He always keeps his promises, always does his best to understand other people’s points of view. People as considerate as he are rare nowadays. I mean, he came around the minute I got out of hospital—”

Naho interrupted Satoko with a dismissive wave of the hand.

“We all know that Mr. Takura’s a nice guy. There’s no point going on about it. The important thing is to figure out a way to prove to the police that he didn’t do it.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. We need to tell the police loud and clear. The only reason they could possibly suspect Mr. Takura is because they have no idea what kind of man he is.”

“I’m wasting my time,” muttered Naho under her breath. She looked over at Fumitaka, her father. He was sitting in silence, a solemn expression on his face.

“What are you thinking, Dad?”

“Huh? Oh, I was wondering if Mr. Takura really said those things.”

“What things?”

“You know, about how he dropped in on you here after going to Kodenmacho and before going back to the head office, then heading home after that.”

“That’s what Detective Kaga told me he said.”

“Hmm. I wonder...” murmured Fumitaka, deep in thought.

“What’s wrong, Dad?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“That Detective Kaga is a handsome young fellow,” declared Satoko, as she prepared a pot of tea. “He’s got the perfect face for a samurai drama on TV. He’s clever-looking, too.”

“I think he is clever. He pointed out something very interesting to me.” Naho then told Satoko about Kaga’s observation regarding how the businessmen walking along Amazake Alley were dressed.

“Gosh, he’s right!” exclaimed Satoko wonderingly. “That would never have occurred to me.”

“Anyway, that set Detective Kaga wondering why Mr. Takura still had his jacket on when he came to see us on that day. He thought it might be connected to that thirty-minute gap.”

“How?”

“He doesn’t yet know.”

“Well, he’s got some eccentric ideas. Who knows, perhaps that makes him a better detective.”

“Who knows?” said Naho, picking up her teacup. “I didn’t get the impression that he was very fired up about the case. And then, him talking so openly about the investigation to me — that doesn’t seem very professional.”

“You were the one who asked him.”

“Well, asking’s one thing, and telling’s another. I don’t think it’s quite normal, eh, Dad?” Naho looked at her father for his support.

“What?... Oh, yes, I guess not.”

Fumitaka got to his feet.

“Time for me to have my bath. That was a very nice dinner.”

Naho cocked her head. She was puzzled. Why was her father so distracted?

5

In the late afternoon, Fumitaka went out front and closed the awning. He did this every day. It was cooler than it had been at lunchtime, but the sun was getting stronger by the day. He was thinking that before the summer got under way in earnest, he should change the shelf displays. Some rice crackers and snacks went better with beer than others.

A shadow floating across the sidewalk alerted him that there someone was behind him. He was about to greet the person as a customer, when he recognized him. It was someone who was on his mind.

“Another scorcher today, eh?” Kaga spoke first.

“Tell me about it. If it’s my daughter you want, she’s not back yet.”

Kaga waved away the idea.

“It’s you I want to talk to. Have you got a few minutes to spare?”

Startled, Fumitaka drew in his breath. He looked at Kaga. Kaga stared right back at him until Fumitaka had to look away.

“All right. Well, come on in, then,” Fumitaka said, pushing the glass door.

“Where’s your mother today?”

“She’s here. Do you want me to call her?”

“No, if she’s here, we’ll need to go and talk somewhere else,” Kaga said.

Although the detective was considerably younger than he was, Fumitaka still found him intimidating. The man definitely hadn’t come just to double-check his facts this time.

Fumitaka sighed and nodded.

The two men went into the store. “Hey, Mom,” Fumitaka yelled in the direction of the back room. “Are you awake?”

“Why, what’s up?” came Satoko’s voice from the living room.

“I have to go out for a minute. Will you mind the store?”

“Off to play pachinko again, are you? You’re a lost cause.” As Satoko shuffled into her sandals, she spotted Kaga behind her son. “Oh, if it isn’t our local debonair detective. Is Mr. Takura still a suspect?”

“We’re still looking into him.”

“Well, I’m relying on you. He’s a good man. Not murderer material. I guarantee that personally.”

“Very good. I heard that you got out of the hospital quite recently. How are you feeling?”

“Fit as a fiddle from the minute I got home, thank you very much. Going into the hospital in the first place was probably a mistake.” Satoko looked at Fumitaka. “Are you going to have a talk with Detective Kaga? You be sure to tell him what a good fellow Mr. Takura is.”

“Yeah, yeah, Mom. I know.” Fumitaka turned to Kaga. “Shall we get going?”

“Take good care of yourself,” Kaga said to Satoko.

“It’s great to see your mother looking so well,” Kaga said as they emerged from the shop.

“She can still talk the hind legs off a donkey.”

They walked over to the café on the far side of the street. Fumitaka remembered what Naho had told them about her conversation with Kaga there the night before. Both men ordered iced coffee. When Fumitaka pulled out a pack of cigarettes, Kaga pushed the ashtray across.

“I had a chat with your daughter here yesterday.”

“I know.”

“So she told you? No surprise, I suppose. Anyway, that should simplify things.”

“She was telling us that you’d noticed something quite funny, if funny’s the right word for it. That business about the difference in the way the men walking in the street are dressed — I’d not noticed it, either.”

“I notice details. That’s the sort of person I am. I couldn’t stop thinking about how Mr. Takura was dressed. What was he doing with his suit jacket on after pounding the streets all day?”

Their iced coffees arrived. Fumitaka lit a cigarette.

“Have you figured that out yet?”

“Pretty much, yes.”

“Yes?”

“You don’t sound surprised. Aren’t you interested?”

“It’s not that.”

“Well, perhaps what I’ve got to say isn’t something all that interesting to you. After all, I’ll only be telling you something you already know, Mr. Kamikawa.”

The glass of coffee Fumitaka was carrying to his lips stopped in midair. “What do you mean?”

“Why did Mr. Takura have his jacket on when he went to your store? The answer’s simple enough. It’s because he didn’t drop in at your place after having been outside all day. No, before going to your place, he swung by his office, finished off all his work, and only then did he go to see your mother and daughter. That’s why he wasn’t hot and bothered and was quite comfortable keeping his jacket on.”

Fumitaka was looking resolutely at the floor.

“Takura left Kodenmacho at five thirty and got back to his office before six,” continued the detective. “He gave all the documents related to Satoko Kamikawa’s hospitalization claim to a female colleague to process, then put on his jacket and headed back out. He dropped in at your place, then went to meet his friend for a drink and headed home for the day. In this account of things, his movements tally perfectly with all the different testimony we have. There are no missing thirty minutes. We can suppose that the missing half hour was taken up getting from his office to your place and then chatting with your mother, Satoko Kamikawa, and your daughter, Naho Kamikawa. However, this leaves us with just one discrepancy to explain: Mr. Takura needed to have a medical certificate in order to submit your mother’s insurance claim. That means he couldn’t have handed the paperwork over for processing unless he’d visited your family before returning to the head office. And that brings us to a second question: if this really is what Takura did that afternoon, why didn’t he just come out and tell us?”

Fumitaka looked up to find the detective staring right at him.

“You... you know everything, then,” said Fumitaka.

Kaga broke into a smile.

“I went to Shin-Ohashi Hospital and spoke to the doctor in charge. He told me everything, except for the nature of your mother’s illness, that is.”

Fumitaka sighed, took a sip of his iced coffee, and gave a slight shake of the head.

“It looks like the Nihonbashi Precinct has got a very smart new detective...”

“The doctor admitted to issuing two different medical certificates, one listing your mother’s actual condition, the other listing a false one. Why should he do that? According to him, it’s because you asked him to.”

“You’re right. I made him do it. It was the only solution I could come up with. My mom’s so pigheaded that she insisted on handling the insurance claim herself. You’ve got to have a medical certificate to submit a claim, but I was determined not to let my mom see what was on the certificate. I was in a jam.”

“So you asked the doctor to give your mother a fake certificate when she went to the hospital to collect it.”

Fumitaka nodded.

“At first the doctor told me that it was against the rules and he couldn’t do it. But he’s a nice guy, so he agreed to make an exception. The only condition was that I mustn’t show the fake one to anyone other than my mom. After my mom was safely back home, I went to the hospital myself to pick up the real medical certificate.”

“Which you gave to Mr. Takura—”

“A little before six o’clock that same day. I went over near his office and handed it to him in person. He processed it right away, he said.”

“That left one more thing for Mr. Takura to take care of: he had to pick up the fake medical certificate from your mother. So he left his office and went around to your place.”

Fumitaka frowned and scratched the side of his head.

“I really got Mr. Takura in trouble. He has a legitimate alibi, but he can’t give it to you because he bent the rules for me. As far as I’m concerned, he’s welcome to tell you everything. There’s no other way out.”

“Mr. Takura hasn’t breathed a word about the fake medical certificate.”

“That’s because he’s thinking about the consequences. When I gave him the real certificate, he promised not to mention it to anyone. ‘I’m a trueborn Tokyoite. I’d rather die than break a promise.’ Those are his exact words.”

“How come you didn’t say anything, either?”

This comment flummoxed Fumitaka. He was briefly at a loss for words.

“Apparently, she’s got cancer of the bile duct.”

“The bile duct... I see.” The expression on Kaga’s face was grave.

“She’s too weak for an operation. They’ve discharged her — for now, at least. The idea is to keep an eye on her and treat her at home, but she’s unlikely to get her old energy back.” Fumitaka took a deep breath and went on, “She may only have six months left to live.”

“I can only offer my deepest sympathies.”

Fumitaka just smiled.

“It’s nice of you to sympathize, but the important thing is for no one else to find out the truth. Not my mother, obviously, but not Naho, either.”

“I understand completely,” said Kaga.

“That girl loves my mom like her own mother. Her real mother died when she was little more than a baby, so her granny means everything to her. I don’t want to tell her what’s really going on until she has finished classes and has got her start as a hairdresser.” A thought struck Fumitaka midflow, and he looked at Kaga. “I suppose I can’t hide the truth any longer. We’ll have to come clean about the fake medical certificate to provide Mr. Takura with a proper alibi.”

Kaga shook his head slowly and deliberately.

“I discussed the matter with my superiors, and I’ve arranged for someone from the local precinct to have a word with the homicide detectives at the Metropolitan Police. The only thing we’ll need is a statement from you.”

“I see. If I do that, everything will be okay.”

“Sorry for the bother.”

“No worries,” said Fumitaka, shaking his head. “The woman who was murdered in Kodenmacho — she lived alone?”

“That’s right.”

“Does she have any family?”

Kaga briefly looked down, something between a grimace and a smile on his lips. Fumitaka sensed that the detective was reluctant to speak.

“I’m sorry. Of course, you can’t talk about the investigation.”

“No, those aren’t really details that we need to keep secret. The woman was living by herself after separating from her husband. She had a son, but they seldom saw each other.”

“That’s interesting.”

“We don’t yet know why she decided to move to the Nihonbashi area. She’s a bit of a mysterious newcomer.”

Fumitaka looked startled.

“Just like you, then.”

“I guess so.”

The two men laughed.

“Ah, look. It’s your daughter.” Kaga motioned with his eyes toward the street.

Naho was standing outside the store, rearranging the rice crackers in the display cases. The glass door opened and Satoko emerged onto the street. They exchanged some words. Naho face’s was a sulky pout.

“If Naho finds out that we met, she’s bound to ask all sorts of questions.”

“Why not just tell her that Mr. Takura is no longer a suspect? That should do the trick.”

Fumitaka nodded and stood up. “Do you expect to stay at the local precinct for a while?”

“Probably.”

“Well, I’m delighted to hear it. Please come around for more rice crackers anytime.”

“Will do.”

Placing the money for his iced coffee on the table, Fumitaka went out onto the street. A businessman in shirtsleeves hurried past the café.