Newcomer

1

At four o’clock every day, Shuhei had to sprinkle the sidewalk outside the restaurant. Wearing a special white smock, he used a ladle to splash water from a bucket. It would have been easier to use a hose, but when he suggested this to Yoriko, the restaurant’s co-owner and manager, she glared at him and called him a fool.

“You’re not washing a car, you know. The point of sprinkling water is to keep the dust down. Soaking the whole sidewalk will only inconvenience our customers.

“People who choose to come to a restaurant like ours take atmosphere seriously. They love the sight of an apprentice sprinkling water from a bucket. Some kid in jeans squirting water from a hose — where’s the poetry in that?”

Since their customers only started to arrive around six o’clock, objected Shuhei, none of them actually saw him sprinkling the sidewalk. So what did it matter?

Yoriko’s response was a smack on the head. “Don’t talk back. Debating isn’t part of your job description.”

That’s not very nice, thought Shuhei. But he held his tongue; despite Yoriko’s occasional high-handedness, he respected her abilities as a manager.

A man came out of the restaurant just as Shuhei was ladling out the last of the water. It was Yoriko’s husband, Taiji, the other owner of Matsuya, as the restaurant was called. He was decked out in a Hawaiian shirt and white chinos, with a pair of shades and a gold neck chain thrown in for good measure. Taiji was convinced that he was the last word in style, though Shuhei felt that his look needed work. Shuhei had half a mind to tell Taiji that he resembled a low-level gangster from a B movie.

“Hi there. Got my things for me today?” asked Taiji, looking around anxiously.

“Yeah, I got them.”

“Where are they?”

“Safely out of sight.”

“Good work, kid. Go fetch ’em, will you?”

Shuhei put the bucket down and ducked into the alleyway that ran down one side of the restaurant. He pulled out a white plastic bag from the basket of a parked bicycle and brought the bag back to Taiji. Taiji was looking at his watch and casting nervous glances in the direction of the restaurant’s main entrance. He was clearly worried that Yoriko would come out and find him.

“Here you go.” Shuhei held out the plastic bag.

“Thank you, thank you. I owe you.” Taiji peered into the bag and gave a satisfied nod. “You got what I asked for?”

“Yes. Seven with bean paste, three without.”

“Appreciate it. Appreciate it. Keep the change.”

“Okay.” Shuhei inclined his head slightly. The change was all of fifty yen.

“Remember, this is a secret. Not a word to anyone. You got that?” Taiji placed his index finger up against his lips.

“Yes, I know.”

“Don’t breathe a word to anyone. I’ll never forgive you if you do.”

“I said I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”

“Good. We’re both on the same page, then.” Clutching the plastic bag, Taiji walked off toward the main street. Shuhei sighed quietly as he watched him go.

Starting at six o’clock, the restaurant had a steady stream of customers. Shuhei was a server; he brought the food from the kitchen. The cooks provided him with a brief explanation of each dish, what the ingredients were and how it should be eaten. Nonetheless, he often found himself at a loss when customers asked him anything too finicky. When they did, he would have to make his way back to the kitchen and ask his fellow cooks or the owners for additional information. Nine times out of ten they reproached him for not having listened properly the first time around.

When regular customers came to dine, Yoriko would make a point of greeting them in person. She always wore a kimono. Shuhei knew that there were rules governing what kimono to wear in what season and that Yoriko followed those rules very scrupulously. That night, she was wearing a lilac kimono made of semitransparent fabric.

The sight of Yoriko chatting to the customers mesmerized Shuhei. Her face became animated and she appeared far younger and more beautiful than normal. Shuhei couldn’t believe that she was almost the same age as his mother.

The restaurant’s patrons were the only people to whom she displayed her captivating smile. The instant she turned away from their table, her eyes hardened.

“What are you standing around daydreaming for? Can’t you see that the glass of that gentleman over by the window is empty?”

“Oh... uh... sorry.”

Shuhei had to jump to it every time Yoriko made a sharp comment.

By ten o’clock, the customers started to go home. Shuhei couldn’t help feeling pleased when they thanked him for the delicious dinner on their way out, despite his not having had a hand in the cooking.

Then it was time for tidying up. Shuhei was responsible for washing the dishes and scrubbing down the kitchen. Since he had only joined the restaurant in the spring, he hadn’t yet learned even how to handle a carving knife. Katsuya, another apprentice who had started two years before him, had only just recently been permitted to help out with the cooking. Shuhei would have to put up with his present duties for a while yet.

He was only seventeen years old. He’d been in high school until last year, but somehow never settled into the rhythm of school. No, that was putting a gloss on the truth; the fact was that he wasn’t able to keep up with his classmates and got frustrated. He’d never wanted to go to college, but his parents had begged him to at least complete high school, so reluctantly he’d tried. In the end, and to no one’s great surprise, he simply couldn’t hack it.

After he dropped out of high school, his parents started asking him what he planned to do with his life. His answer — that he wanted to become a chef — was off the top of his head. The reason for it was simple enough: there was a sushi restaurant near the family home, and Shuhei had always thought the chefs working there were the last word in cool. His father used his connections to get him the Matsuya job.

Having finished the cleaning and tidying, Shuhei was about to leave when Taiji wandered in, wearing the same outfit he’d had on in the afternoon. He must have been out all evening.

“How’d we do tonight?” Picking up one of the glasses that Shuhei had just washed, Taiji opened a nearby bottle of sake.

“Same old, same old. Oh, Professor Okabe was here.”

“Oh yeah? The great self-styled gourmet who tragically lacks any sense of taste?” Taiji poured himself a glass of sake and took a sip. His face was already purple. Must have been doing some serious boozing, thought Shuhei.

Taiji drank the rest of the sake and put the empty glass down on the table. “Cheers, that was delicious,” he said, and left the room.

What was that about? Are you just trying to make my job harder than it is already? thought Shuhei, sulking as he reached for Taiji’s dirty glass.

2

Matsuya offered a reasonably priced lunch that was popular with the better-heeled workers from nearby office buildings.

Shuhei was hard at work waiting tables when Katsuya, the senior apprentice, came up to him.

“The boss is asking for you. She wants you in the Cypress Room.”

Shuhei wondered what it was all about. The Cypress Room was never used at lunchtime.

When he got there, Shuhei found Yoriko and a group of three men sitting on opposite sides of the table. Two of the men were in suits, while the third was more casually dressed in a short-sleeved checked shirt over a T-shirt.

“These gentlemen are from the police, Shuhei. Detectives, they tell me. They want to ask you a few questions,” Yoriko explained.

“Sorry, I know this is a busy time of day,” said the man in the short-sleeved shirt. He swung back around to Yoriko. “If you don’t mind, ma’am, we’d like to talk to the young man alone.”

“Be my guest,” said Yoriko. For all her winning smile, there was a trace of uneasiness in her eyes. Shuhei was baffled. Why on earth did the police want to talk to him?

The three men filed out of the room and headed for the front door of the restaurant. Shuhei followed. They went outside, stopping when they got to Ningyocho Boulevard.

Ningyocho Boulevard was a broad, multilane one-way street lined with all sorts of restaurants and bars.

“God, it’s hot today. Want a nice drink?” The detective in the checked shirt thrust a plastic carrier bag in Shuhei’s direction. Inside were several cans of cold coffee.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Don’t say that. If you don’t have one, then neither can we.”

“Really?” Shuhei peered into the bag and took out a can. The three detectives then did likewise.

“Do you have draught beer at Matsuya?”

Shuhei shook his head.

“No, only bottled, but it’s a craft beer we get directly from a brewery in Hida, in Gifu Prefecture.”

“Sounds good. Go on, drink up.”

“Sure,” replied Shuhei, pulling the tab on the can. It was only June, but the heat was already intense. The cool liquid seemed to seep into every pore of his body.

“Heard you bought a bunch of ningyo-yaki recently?” began the older-looking of the two men in suits, after taking a swig of his coffee. Ningyo-yaki were small snack cakes, baked in molds — a Tokyo specialty.

Shuhei almost choked. “What?” Blinking, he looked back at the detective.

“You bought a bunch of snack cakes at a shop on this street three days ago, didn’t you?” reiterated the detective, staring into Shuhei’s eyes.

Shuhei’s heart started racing. He couldn’t very well lie straight to a cop’s face.

“Yes, I did.”

“What time was that?”

“A little before four.”

“Good. How many did you buy?”

“Ten. Seven with sweet bean paste filling, three without.”

“Did the shop pack them in a wooden box?”

“No. Just a see-through plastic container.”

“A present for someone?”

Shuhei shook his head and nervously licked his lips. His promise to Taiji flashed through his mind. “No, I bought them for myself.”

“Really? Ten of the darn things?” the shorter of the two detectives wearing suits asked, his eyes widening in surprise.

“I ate some that afternoon and polished the rest off that night.”

The other detective in a suit gave a sardonic smile. “You youngsters!”

“You really ate the whole lot yourself?” asked the shorter one.

“Ye... yes.”

“What did you do with the plastic container?”

“I threw it away.”

“Where?”

“Uhm...” Shuhei was getting flustered. He wasn’t sure how to parry that question. “Don’t remember. Some bin or other, I guess.”

“The boss told us that you live above the restaurant. Was it in the bin in your room there?”

“Maybe... or, no, I think it was another bin somewhere else.”

“Try to remember. We really need to find the thing.”

“The plastic container?”

“That’s right.” The detective’s eyes drilled into Shuhei.

Shuhei lowered his gaze. He was in trouble. The easy way out would be to come clean and tell the cops he’d bought the small cakes for the owner, but then he’d be hauled over the coals by Taiji. Who knows, he might even get fired.

A second later, he had a flash of inspiration. He looked up.

“I put my trash out today.”

The dismay in the detectives’ faces was visible.

“What, this morning? With all the other garbage?” asked the shorter detective.

“That’s right. Today’s the day they come around.”

That, at least, was the truth. Putting out the trash was one of Shuhei’s responsibilities.

The two detectives in suits exchanged unhappy looks. By contrast, the third detective, the one in the short-sleeved shirt, was glancing up and down the street in an easygoing way. When he noticed Shuhei looking at him, he shot him a grin. “Go on. Drink your coffee.”

“Oh, yeah.” Shuhei drank the last of his coffee. He was surprised how thirsty he was.

“Okay, good. Thanks for your time,” said the shorter detective.

“Yes, thanks for helping with the investigation.”

The detective in the checked shirt was holding out the plastic bag to Shuhei. “I’ll throw that away for you.”

“Oh... uh... thanks.” Shuhei dropped his empty can in the bag.

Yoriko was waiting just outside the main entrance when Shuhei got back to the restaurant.

“How did it go? What did they want to know?” she asked.

Shuhei hemmed and hawed, unable to improvise a convincing story off the cuff.

“Was it about the snack cakes?” she asked.

Taken aback, Shuhei nodded. The police must have told Yoriko what they planned to question him about.

“You bought some small cakes three days ago and they wanted to know what you’d done with them, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What did you say?”

Shuhei repeated the story he had told the detectives. What else could he do?

He was expecting Yoriko to yell at him for ducking out to buy sweets during working hours, but instead she just inquired what else the police had asked him about.

“Nothing else.”

“I see. Well, hurry up and get back to work.”

“Yes, ma’am. What’s this all about, though? I mean, what do the detectives want with me?”

Yoriko looked slightly uncomfortable.

“Three days ago, in the evening, there was a murder over in Kodenmacho. The police are looking into it.”

“In Kodenmacho? What’s that got to do with me?”

“Apparently, the police found some small cakes in the woman’s apartment. They’re looking for anyone who bought some that day.”

Shuhei gasped. Suddenly the roof of his mouth felt dry and a wave of heat surged through him. He tried to conceal his shock.

“How did they find out that I’d bought some?” Shuhei muttered. His voice was hoarse.

“Goodness knows. They didn’t go into detail with me. Anyway, you’ve got nothing to do with any murder, have you?”

Shuhei shook his head frantically. “I didn’t even know that there’d been a murder.”

“Well then, you’ve got nothing to worry about, have you? Go on, enough dawdling. Back to work. We mustn’t inconvenience our customers.” Yoriko’s tone was stern.

“Sorry, ma’am,” said Shuhei. With an apologetic duck of the head, he headed back to the kitchen.

After lunch was over, Shuhei had a short break. He discreetly went looking through the stack of old newspapers and found a story on the murder in the evening edition from the day before yesterday. The victim was a woman of forty-five living alone in Kodenmacho who’d been strangled in her apartment. Based on the crime scene, the police thought that she probably knew her killer. They also thought that it was highly likely that the crime had taken place sometime between late afternoon and early evening.

Snack cakes weren’t mentioned in the article. The police were probably keeping that detail from the public.

A bead of sweat dribbled from his armpit as Shuhei pictured the faces of the detectives who had questioned him.

Shuhei was familiar with the rumors about Taiji, Yoriko’s husband, having a woman on the side. He’d heard his coworkers gossiping. They’d even said something about him having set her up in an apartment in Kodenmacho.

Three days ago was hardly the first time that Taiji had had Shuhei buy a batch of small sweet cakes for him. As soon as Shuhei gave him the cakes, Taiji would head out somewhere. Taiji didn’t go toward the subway station; it was more in the opposite direction. If you walked in that direction for ten minutes or so, you’d end up in Kodenmacho.

Shuhei had always assumed that the cakes were a present for Taiji’s girlfriend.

And now there’d been a murder in Kodenmacho. And they had found the same sort of cakes he’d bought that afternoon in the victim’s apartment.

Shuhei prayed that the whole thing was nothing more than an unfortunate coincidence — but there were too many coincidences for comfort. And the detectives had come to talk to him specifically, when there had to be hundreds of customers who bought those cakes from that particular shop on any given day.

Was it Taiji’s lover who’d been murdered? That would mean... Shuhei’s imagination was running wild, but he had no one to confide in. Mistress Yoriko was out of the question, as were his coworkers. He wondered about talking to Taiji, but he quickly abandoned the idea. He’d only get yelled at: “How dare you accuse your own boss of being a murderer!”

All the worrying kept him from concentrating on his work. He made countless small slipups that night and was subjected to repeated tongue-lashings from his coworkers and the head cook.

3

The following evening, the detective in the checked shirt showed up at the restaurant. This time, he was wearing a charcoal gray jacket and was there as a customer. After leading him to his table, Shuhei went back to check the reservation list. The detective’s name was Kaga.

“Hah, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” said Kaga merrily. “I suppose you think an underpaid cop like me has no business coming to a swanky joint like this?”

“Of course not, sir.” Shuhei lowered his eyes.

“Think I’ll start off with one of those Hida craft beers,” said Kaga, without bothering to consult the drink menu. He obviously remembered their conversation from the day before.

In the evenings at Matsuya, they served from a prix fixe menu only. Shuhei first brought Kaga his beer, together with an amuse-bouche, then began to serve the appetizers. Kaga asked for the drink menu.

“The mistress’s sake pairing menu looks interesting. Think I’ll go for that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hey, have you got a sweet tooth?” Kaga asked as Shuhei was about to head to the kitchen.

Shaking his head vigorously, Shuhei was on the verge of saying no, when he recalled his claim to have eaten an entire box of snack cakes by himself.

“Yes... uh... I quite like sweet things.”

“Funny that you went for the no-sugar option, then.”

“The no-sugar option?”

“The canned coffee.” Kaga drank down the last of his beer. “You chose the can of sugar-free.”

Shuhei gave a start. Kaga was right. Out of habit, he had gone for the sugar-free coffee.

“Coffee’s different... I prefer it without sugar.”

“Oh, do you?” Kaga put his empty glass down on the table. “All right, let’s get started on the sake.”

“On the double, sir,” said Shuhei and went off.

What’s that detective fellow on about now? Who cares about a stupid can of coffee?

Shuhei had broken out in a cold sweat. He knew that Kaga hadn’t really come to the restaurant just to have dinner. The detective hadn’t believed his story about eating all the snack cakes himself and was there to subject him to another round of questions.

There was no one he could turn to for help. He had no choice: he had to wait on the detective.

“This sake is from Akita Prefecture. It’s called Rokushu,” explained Shuhei, pouring a measure from a small earthenware bottle into a sake cup, which he had placed in front of Kaga. “It’s a carbonated sake. The bubbles come from its being fermented twice.”

“Delicious,” said Kaga, after taking a sip. “It reminds me of champagne. Is it made the same way?”

“I... uhm... think so, yes. They put yeast in junmai-shu — that’s sake made without any added alcohol or sugar — and then referment it.”

“With champagne, they add a little sugar along with the yeast. How about with this sake?”

“Co... could you wait a moment, sir? I need to go and ask someone.”

“It doesn’t matter. You can tell me later. I wanted to ask if you’d heard about the murder in Kodenmacho?”

Despite his best efforts, Shuhei couldn’t prevent his eyes widening at this unexpected and direct question. Kaga smiled smugly. “It seems that you have,” he said.

“What about it?”

“Your boss probably told you that we found some snack cakes at the crime scene. Our guess is that the victim was enjoying them at the time of her murder. We found some of the same cake undigested in her stomach, as well as some in a plastic container on the table. The trouble is, we don’t know who purchased them.”

“It wasn’t the victim?”

“No, unfortunately not. An insurance salesman visited the victim in her apartment prior to the murder. She offered him one, telling him that she’d just been given them. So we know that she got them from a third party.”

“Oh.” Shuhei couldn’t come up with a coherent answer.

“It was easy enough to find out where the cakes came from. There was a slip of paper with the name of the shop attached to the container lid. That in itself wasn’t particularly useful. I mean, tens, maybe even hundreds of people must buy those cakes from that shop every day. Luckily, though, there was something unusual about the snack cakes in the victim’s apartment. It was a selection that included some cakes with and some without sweet bean paste filling. Usually they only sell this sort of mixed selection on request. Naturally enough, we asked them if anyone had requested a selection of cakes with and without filling on the day of the crime. The store clerk said that there had been several such orders. Unfortunately, she couldn’t remember all the individual customers, but she did remember a certain young apprentice from Matsuya.” Kaga pointed at Shuhei’s chest. “She tells me you’re around there all the time?”

Shuhei grunted ambiguously. Now he finally knew why this detective wanted to see him.

Shuhei was standing, rooted to the spot, when Katsuya, the other apprentice, stuck his head in. He was wondering what was keeping Shuhei.

“Sorry, sir. I’ll be back later.” Shuhei made his excuses and left Kaga’s table.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” asked Katsuya, eyeing Shuhei suspiciously.

“The customer was talking to me...”

“You’ve got to learn to handle things better. You shouldn’t allow any customer to monopolize your time like that.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Shuhei headed for the kitchen. Monopolizing him was probably exactly what Kaga was there for.

Shuhei went to serve Kaga several times after that, but the detective didn’t try to engage him in conversation again. He appeared to be enjoying his dinner.

That only had the effect of making Shuhei more nervous. What was the detective’s plan? What exactly did he have up his sleeve? Why had he come tonight? No way was he there just to enjoy the food.

“This is Japanese mustard spinach. We mix it with stock to make a paste, which is then left to harden. This is a sprinkling of dried mullet roe powder on top.”

As he slid the plate in front of Kaga, Shuhei examined the expression on his face. Kaga’s only reaction was to comment on the exoticism of the dish and reach eagerly for his chopsticks. Shuhei turned away and started for the kitchen.

“We found three sets of fingerprints,” Kaga said.

Shuhei stopped in his tracks and spun around in alarm. Kaga looked right at him, as he brought the chopsticks to his mouth.

“Very interesting. Despite being a paste, it still has that distinctive Japanese spinach taste. What else would you expect, I suppose?”

“What do you mean?” spluttered Shuhei. “About fingerprints?”

Not answering right away, Kaga lifted the sake cup to his lips with a self-important air.

“We found three sets of prints. On the plastic container with the cakes, I mean. One set belonged to the victim. We’ve established that the second set belonged to the store clerk in the cake shop. That leaves us with the third set. We think it likely that those prints belong to whoever brought the cakes to the victim’s apartment. In the light of what happened, there’s every chance that that person is the murderer.”

The word murderer shocked Shuhei. He could feel the muscles in his face tightening, and he wasn’t a good enough actor to hide his feelings.

“They’re... they’re not the cakes I bought.” Shuhei’s voice was quivering.

“No, because you ate all of yours, didn’t you? You told us that.”

Shuhei gave a series of frantic nods.

“You’re a growing lad. No surprise that you occasionally have a snack in the middle of the working day. The owner said that at that time of the afternoon you have to water the sidewalk outside the restaurant. Where did you stash the cakes after you bought them? That white smock of yours doesn’t have any pockets.”

“That’s why I... uhm... the bicycle basket.”

“Bicycle?”

“I keep my bike parked in the alley beside the restaurant. I stuck the cakes in the bike’s basket. After I’d finished watering the sidewalk, I brought them inside.”

Kaga was silently gazing off into the middle distance. Shuhei wondered if he was drawing himself a mental picture. After a while, the detective looked at Shuhei and grinned.

“Of course you did. Polishing off a nice snack in secret is quite a challenge.”

“Have we finished here?”

“Sure, I didn’t mean to keep you,” said Kaga, raising the hand in which he held his chopsticks. “One last thing before you go. The last set of fingerprints on the container wasn’t a match with yours.”

Shuhei’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “My fingerprints? But how... when...?”

“Oh, we have our little tricks.”

Kaga’s grin stretched from ear to ear.

That was when it hit Shuhei. He scowled. “The can of coffee!”

Now he realized why the police had been so insistent that he have a drink with them. It wasn’t just about seeing whether he’d pick the sugarless coffee.

“Sneaky devils,” he hissed before he could stop himself.

“That’s how we cops operate, you know.” Kaga drained his sake.

From then until Shuhei served the last of the dessert dishes, Kaga didn’t say another word. Shuhei took care to avoid making eye contact.

After Kaga left, Yoriko called Shuhei over when he was carrying dirty dishes to the kitchen.

“That detective from the Nihonbashi precinct gave you the third degree, did he?”

“He’s from Nihonbashi?”

“I asked around a bit. Seems he was transferred there quite recently. Anyway, what did he want to know?”

Although flustered, Shuhei decided to be frank. He figured he’d be fine as long as he didn’t mention giving the cakes to Taiji.

“I can’t believe it! Imagine coming here for dinner just to ask you about that!”

“What do you think I should do?”

“You’ve nothing to worry about. They didn’t find your fingerprints, so you’re okay. I shouldn’t have called you over. Get on with the cleanup.” Yoriko briskly turned her back on him.

4

Shuhei was busy washing the dishes when Taiji stumped into the kitchen. Judging by his complexion, he’d hadn’t yet had anything to drink that evening.

“Forget about this stupid job and come out with me for a while.”

“Where to?”

“Who cares? Come and you’ll find out soon enough. Chop-chop.”

“I haven’t finished cleaning up yet.”

“I’m the boss, and this is an order. Shut up and do as you’re told. Come on, get ready. I’ll be waiting outside.”

“Oh... uh... okay.” Shuhei hastily dried his hands on a cloth and left the kitchen.

This was the first time Taiji had ever invited him out. As Shuhei went out into the street, he was feeling nervous. Where was Taiji going to take him?

“What the hell! Haven’t you got any decent clothes?” Taiji scowled as he looked at what Shuhei was wearing.

“I’m sorry. Isn’t this good enough?” He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. “Should I go and change?”

“No, you’re fine like that. Let’s go.”

They went out onto the main street, where Taiji hailed a cab. Shuhei was startled when he heard him ask the driver to take them to Ginza. Ginza was one of the most expensive, upscale shopping areas in Tokyo — in the world, in fact. Shuhei had never gone out there.

“What’s wrong with you? Why get the wind up about Ginza?” Taiji grinned. “You want to be a successful chef, you need to get to know a little something about the grown-up world.”

Shuhei spluttered something incoherent.

“Hey, be cool. It’s not like I’m going to ask you to foot the bill or anything.” Taiji bellowed with laughter, his mouth wide open.

The taxi came to a halt in a street packed with cars. The sidewalk was full of businessmen in suits and what Shuhei guessed were women from nightclubs and hostess bars. Shuhei had seen similar scenes in Ningyocho, but this was the first time he had been to a district devoted to nightlife.

“Get your head out of the clouds and follow me,” snapped Taiji.

Shuhei hastily followed Taiji to a nightclub on the sixth floor of a building. It was spacious, but every single table was occupied. Everywhere there were flashing fairy lights, while the hostesses sitting with the male clientele exuded their own peculiar light and charm. Shuhei felt as though he’d landed on an alien planet.

A man in a black suit guided Taiji and Shuhei to a table. They sat down, and a woman came over a moment later. She was wearing a smart dress and had a petite face with her hair pulled back.

Taiji introduced Shuhei to her. The woman said that her name was Asami.

“You’re seventeen? Wow! And planning to become a chef? That’s just so cool. I guess you’re too young to drink, then?” Asami was mixing Shuhei a whiskey and water when her hands came to a sudden stop.

“Beer will be fine for him. An aspiring chef who can’t take a drink isn’t worth his salt.”

Shuhei felt tense and uncomfortable. He had no idea how one was supposed to behave in a place like this, nor could he think of anything to talk about.

Someone called Asami, and she left the table. Taiji beckoned to Shuhei.

“Come around here.”

Shuhei slid around next to Taiji, who hissed into his ear.

“That Asami there, she’s my woman. The cakes that you’re always buying, I give ’em to her.”

“Ah...” gurgled Shuhei, staring at Taiji in surprise.

“The wife said something about a detective from Nihonbashi Precinct giving you grief about those cakes. There’s no need to worry. They’ve nothing to do with the murder.”

“I wasn’t worried...”

“No need to playact with me, kid. I know what you were thinking: that the murdered woman was my bit on the side?” Taiji held up his pinky finger in the Japanese sign for “girlfriend.” “It was quite a coincidence, I grant you. Asami actually lives in the same apartment building where the murder happened.”

“No?” gasped Shuhei.

“Yeah, that’s the creepy thing. Like I said, though, I’ve got nothing to do with it, so you don’t need to worry, either.”

Shuhei nodded. He found it hard to believe that Taiji was lying.

“So why’s the detective all over me?”

“Search me. Maybe cops just get off on hassling innocent people.”

Asami came back to the table.

“What are you two whispering about?”

“Man talk. More importantly, how’s my secret child? Eh?”

Shuhei’s jaw dropped. Asami, catching his reaction from the corner of her eye, giggled.

“Oh, full of beans. Desperate to see Daddy.”

“Jolly good, jolly good. Say hi to the little bugger from me.”

Shuhei found their adult banter hard to follow.

A glass of beer was placed in front of him. He picked it up and took a swig.

Shuhei had drunk beer before, but this beer, which he was having in a Ginza nightclub, seemed to have a peculiarly bitter tang. So this is what the adult world tastes like, he thought.

5

Yoriko heaved a heavy sigh. She was sitting at the far right end of the bar, the same place where she always sat. Her sigh expressed a mixture of emotions — relief that another week was safely over and done with, and pleasure at not having to wear her formal kimono here.

A waiter sidled up to her. “The usual, please,” she said with a smile. The young man nodded and retreated. Coming by herself to this bar, hidden away in a hotel basement, was Yoriko’s Saturday-night ritual. The neighborhood wasn’t short of atmospheric old bars, but bumping into people she knew was the last thing Yoriko wanted on a weekend evening.

“Here you go, madam.”

The waiter placed a small glass of gin and bitters in front of her. Yoriko disliked sweet cocktails.

She had just picked up her glass when someone slipped into the seat beside her.

“A drink with a kick — just what I’d expect from the manager of a famous old restaurant.”

The voice was deep and memorable enough for her to recognize.

Sure enough, when she swiveled around, she saw whom she’d expected to see.

“Could I possibly take a minute or two of your time?” said Kaga with a smile.

“Be my guest,” replied Yoriko, smiling back at him. Kaga was wearing the same charcoal gray jacket as earlier.

“Make mine a Guinness,” he said to the waiter.

“I assume you’re off duty, if you’re drinking,” remarked Yoriko.

“Absolutely. I’ve managed to solve one little mystery connected to the murder, so I’m planning to drink a toast to that.”

“What, all on your lonesome? Where are your friends?”

Kaga swayed slightly from side to side.

“It’s hardly worth holding a party about. I just managed to track down a dog I’d been looking for a while.”

“A dog? Is a dog involved in the murder?”

“I don’t know. All I can say for sure is that the dog isn’t the murderer!”

Kaga’s tone was grave. Yoriko scrutinized his face.

“The precinct commissioner dines at Matsuya from time to time. Why, he was there with someone just the other day.”

“Oh, really? The commissioner at my last precinct was the same. Seems that precinct commissioners throughout Tokyo like nothing more than a good night out! If you want the lowdown on the best local restaurants, they’re a much better source than the internet.”

Yoriko laughed. “That was when the commissioner told me how he had brought in a rather ‘interesting’ new detective from another precinct. I asked him what exactly he meant by ‘interesting.’ He said that the detective in question was very sharp, very eccentric, and, to top it all off, very stubborn. I imagine he was talking about you, Detective Kaga?”

“Heaven only knows...”

The waiter placed a glass of Guinness in front of Kaga. “Today’s been another hard day,” he said, lifting the glass to his lips.

“Cheers,” said Yoriko, as she took a sip of her gin.

Kaga sighed contentedly.

“You look just as good in western clothes as you do in your kimono; either way, you’re every inch the sophisticated, grown-up lady.”

“Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not. All right, maybe I am being a touch ironic.”

Yoriko put her glass down on the counter. “What do you mean?”

“What I’m trying to say, I guess, is that you seem to have a slightly childish aspect to your character — an immature side that takes pleasure in silly practical jokes.”

“Detective Kaga.” Yoriko swung around to face the detective full on. “If you’ve got something you want to say, then come out and say it. Patience isn’t one of my virtues.”

“I beg your pardon. Shall we get down to brass tacks? I’m talking about the Kodenmacho murder, of course.”

“Are you’re implying that we have something to do with it?”

“Let me go through this in the proper order. As I said the other day, we found some traditional small cakes at the crime scene, but we don’t yet know who purchased them. There were three sets of fingerprints on the container: the victim’s; the store clerk’s; and a third, as yet unidentified, person’s.”

“Shuhei’s already told me. They weren’t his fingerprints either, were they?”

“No, they weren’t.”

“That’s what puzzles me. If they’re not his, then why come sniffing around our restaurant, Detective? Loads of people buy snack cakes from that shop. I bet Shuhei isn’t the only one to have bought a mixed selection. Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to start investigating other people?”

“That’s precisely why I want to talk to you. As you say, Shuhei wasn’t the only customer to order a mixed selection of cakes, nor were his prints on the container. That’s why the guys from the Metropolitan Police were so quick to cross him off their list. In fact, I got the impression that they never really thought the person who bought the cakes was our murderer.”

“What?” Yoriko’s mouth was half open.

“Several places in the victim’s apartment were wiped down,” said Kaga in a jocular tone, before taking another swig of beer.

“Which means?”

“Which means that the murderer was careful to wipe down anything that he remembered touching. Which means that if the murderer and the purchaser of the snack cakes were one and the same person, he would definitely not have forgotten about the fingerprints on the plastic container. However, we could find no evidence of the plastic container having been wiped down.”

“Aha, I see.”

Yoriko looked into Kaga’s swarthy face.

“In that case, Detective, why have you got such an almighty bee in your bonnet about the cakes? If they aren’t connected to the crime, then what does it matter who bought the things?”

“That’s not the how police investigations work. We have to sift through every little detail, asking ourselves why such and such a thing occurred. That will eventually lead us to the truth, even if all those individual things have no direct connection to one another.”

Yoriko’s glass was empty. She called the waiter and ordered a refill.

“Shuhei claims to have eaten all the cakes himself. It’s not very professional of him, ducking out of work to stuff himself with sweets,” Yoriko said.

“You really shouldn’t give him a hard time. He didn’t eat the cakes himself,” declared Kaga emphatically.

“How can you be so sure? This isn’t making any sense.”

“I almost think you mean it. But I’ll tell you what you really can’t make sense of: the fact that the cakes Shuhei bought ended up in the murdered woman’s apartment.”

Yoriko felt slightly alarmed. How had Kaga guessed her thoughts? She quickly regained her composure.

“Like I said before, if there’s something you want to say to me, then come right out and say it.”

Kaga slowly pulled himself upright on his stool and looked straight at her.

“Fine. Let’s start from the conclusion: the cakes at the crime scene were the ones Shuhei bought. How can I be so categorical about that? Because one of the cakes had something very distinctive about it. I think you know what I’m talking about?”

Yoriko swallowed and looked away.

Kaga giggled.

“It threw our forensics guys for a loop. They were like, what’s this all about? I was pretty surprised when they told me that one of the cakes was spiked with wasabi. Unbelievable!”

A second gin and bitters was placed in front of Yoriko. She picked it up and turned toward Kaga.

“This sounds like a most amusing story. I promise not to interrupt. Go ahead and talk me through it nice and slowly.”

“Would it be all right? For me to order another drink too, I mean?” Kaga plunked his empty glass down on the counter.

Yoriko took a cigarette and a lighter out of her handbag. This hotel bar was the only place she ever smoked. Since becoming the co-owner and manager of Matsuya, she was careful never to smoke in front of other people.

“One of the cakes at the crime scene was spiked with wasabi. Whoever did it didn’t just cut a slit to inject the wasabi — they went so far as to conceal the slit by filling it with starch paste. It’s hardly worth pointing out that wasabi-flavored cakes are not available at the store, meaning that someone must have tampered with it later. Was it the murder victim? Was it the person who gave the cakes to her? Or was it someone else entirely? We have some scientific data that should help us figure out the answer to that question. According to our forensics team’s analysis, the cake with the wasabi was a little older than the others — it was a little drier and a little harder, to be precise. Forensics reckon that it was baked at least a day before all the others. What does that tell us? That the perpetrator — I’m referring here to the crime of ‘wasabi spiking’ — didn’t add the wasabi to one of the freshly purchased snack cakes but prepared a doctored cake in advance, which they then swapped out for one of the newer ones. That means that cakes must have been purchased on two occasions on two successive days. I went to the shop to check up on this. When I inquired if any of the customers who’d bought the mixed snack cake selection on the day of the murder had also made a purchase on the previous day, the store clerk couldn’t think of anyone who fit the bill... but she did tell me something else rather intriguing.”

Another Guinness was placed in front of Kaga. He took a little sip, as if to wet the tip of his tongue. Wiping the foam from his lips with the back of his hand, he looked at Yoriko.

“She told me that the young apprentice from Matsuya came to the store only on the second day and that the owner had come the day before. As the owner of a famous old restaurant, everyone in the area knows and recognizes you.”

Yoriko stubbed out her smoked-down cigarette in the ashtray.

This is one smart detective, she was thinking. I don’t know why he’s wasting away as a precinct cop here in Nihonbashi, but I bet he’s got an impressive record.

Yoriko steeled herself. There was no longer any point in hiding anything.

“I see. So it wasn’t Shuhei you were after, Detective Kaga, it was me.”

“I needed to talk to Shuhei as well. I guessed that he had bought the cakes for your husband. I don’t mean to be rude, but your husband is the only person at the restaurant with nothing to do at that time of the afternoon. I needed to talk to Shuhei to figure out when the wasabi-spiked cake was slipped in.”

“Did you manage to figure that out?”

“I think I did.” Kaga nodded. “Shuhei kept the cakes in his bicycle basket before giving them to your husband. Anyone who knew that could switch out a single cake easily enough, given that the back entrance of the restaurant’s in the alley, too.”

Kaga directed a searching stare at Yoriko. “You put the wasabi in, didn’t you?”

“It’s probably a waste of time for me to deny it this late in the game.”

“If you did, we’d be forced to fingerprint you, so we could compare your prints to the third set on the plastic box.”

Yoriko lit a second cigarette and sighed.

“I owe you an apology, Mr. Kaga. You’re right on every count. But surely what I did doesn’t constitute a crime?”

“Of course not,” chimed in Kaga. “More like a practical joke. You wanted to surprise your husband’s girlfriend, to make her nervous?”

Yoriko burst out laughing, and a cloud of white smoke billowed from her mouth. “The amount of research you’ve done, I imagine you know all about that woman, too.”

“Oh, she was easy enough to track down. All I had to do was visit the clubs and bars your husband frequents. In that world, everyone’s prepared to talk. What was the girl’s name? Asami, I think. She works in Ginza and lives on the same floor of the same apartment building as the murder victim.”

“She’s a nasty little hussy. But that fool husband of mine has always had a weakness for women of that sort. Does she have any children?”

“Yes. One. About a year old.”

“Apparently she’s put the word out that my husband’s the father. Any normal man would get in a funk about something like that, but not my idiot husband. No, he’s tickled pink. Any free time and he’s off to her place to coo over the baby. He even gives the girl an allowance. Oh, what a nice fellow he is.”

“What are you getting at?”

“The whole thing’s a lie. The baby’s not his. A while back, I hired a detective to look into the matter. Before she leaves for work, she hands the kid over to a guy who lives in a cheap dive in Ueno. He’s not a babysitter, he’s the real father.”

“Why don’t they live together?”

“Because if they did, she’d no longer be able to squeeze any cash out of my husband. At some point the truth will come out: I’m guessing she’s using the kid to scam as much as she can get out of him.”

“So the wasabi-spiked cake was a sort of warning shot over the enemy’s bow?”

Yoriko broke into a smile.

“You’re a smart man, Detective Kaga, but you’re wide of the mark there.”

“I’m wrong?”

“Yes. It was that stupid husband of mine whom I wanted to eat the spiked snack cake. Remember, the box contained seven with bean paste and three without. He made a point of having Shuhei include some no-bean-paste cakes because my husband doesn’t like the stuff; I knew he’d go for those ones.”

“And you put the wasabi into one of the ones without sweet bean paste?”

Yoriko tapped the ash from her cigarette into the ashtray and nodded.

“The man really needs to wise up. To the fact that the kid’s not his, I mean. Physiologically, he can’t have children.”

Kaga’s hand gave a jerk, and he almost dropped his glass.

“Seriously?”

“Oh, for sure. He went to hospital for tests years ago. But our Taiji won’t come out and tell the hussy what’s what. It’s partly about not wanting to cut ties with a woman who’s grown to depend on him, but more than anything I think he enjoys the thrill of having a secret love child, even though he knows it’s a lie. He likes to present himself as the great extramarital playboy, but in fact he’s a rather timid little man. My guess is that he’s only slept with that woman a couple of times.”

Kaga exhaled loudly.

“And that rubbed you the wrong way?”

“I wasn’t too happy about it. The fellow thought he was doing such a masterful job of pulling the wool over my eyes. That whole wasabi trick was me trying to punish him... Like you said, Detective Kaga, it was childish, a practical joke.”

“The problem is that your husband doesn’t even know he’s been punished! He’s oblivious to the existence of any wasabi-spiked cake. Nor does he know that the cakes he gave his girlfriend ended up in a crime scene.”

“That’s just it, though. How did the cakes get there? I can’t figure it out.”

Kaga gave a wry smile and stroked his stubbly chin.

“I asked Asami about that. She told me that she gave the box of cakes to the victim. Understandably enough, she didn’t tell me who’d given them to her. She just described him as ‘a good customer of the bar she works at.’”

“Why did she give them away?”

“That’s because...” Kaga frowned as if unsure how to say it. “Because she doesn’t actually like them.”

“What!”

“Yes, apparently she dislikes Japanese sweets. The whole business of bean paste or no bean paste is neither here nor there — she never eats Japanese cakes of any kind. When she told your husband that she liked them, she was just trying to be diplomatic after he gave her a box of them. Now she’s in trouble because he brings her the things all the damn time! She was getting so fed up with them that on that day she got rid of them by giving them to a woman in another apartment on the same floor almost immediately after your husband left. When Asami gave her the cakes, they were still in the original bag from the pastry shop; that’s why we didn’t find her fingerprints on the container, or your husband’s prints, or Shuhei’s.”

“She’s really playing my husband for a fool!” Yoriko pressed a hand to her temple. “You’re telling me he hands over the cakes without her even letting him inside? Unbelievable. The thought of having to spend the rest of my life with such an idiot makes my head ache. Oh, and I must tell Shuhei not to buy any more cakes for him.”

“That reminds me, I feel bad about Shuhei. Maybe I was a bit heavy-handed with the boy. Still, he’s a good kid: he never admitted to buying the cakes at your husband’s request.”

“He’s a useful person to have on the Matsuya team. Anybody can learn to cook, but the ability to keep secrets is a real asset in a people-centric business like ours.”

“How about we drink a toast to the young cook in whose hands Matsuya’s future looks secure?”

“Provided my fool of a husband doesn’t bankrupt the business first!”

Yoriko raised a hand to summon the waiter.