Salvation of a Saint

TWENTY-FIVE

‘According to Mrs Tsukui, Junko got a job right out of college, but quit after three years because she wanted to study art in Paris. She sent that postcard during her two years over there.’

Kusanagi listened to the junior detective rattle off the facts, growing steadily gloomier as she grew more animated. A part of him didn’t want to acknowledge the importance of her discovery.

Mamiya leaned back in his chair, thick arms crossed across his chest. ‘So what you’re trying to say is that Junko Tsukui and Ayane Mashiba were friends?’

‘Well – it’s very likely. The postmark on the postcard coincides with the time that Mrs Mashiba was studying in London, and she’s from Hokkaido. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.’

‘Come on,’ Kusanagi said. ‘It could be a coincidence. How many exchange students do you think there are in London at any given time? At least one hundred, maybe two.’

‘Take it easy.’ Mamiya hushed the older detective with a wave of one hand. ‘So, Utsumi – say the two of them were friends. How do you think that relates to the current case?’

‘This is still just conjecture,’ she told him, ‘but there’s a chance that the arsenous acid Junko used to commit suicide passed into Mrs Mashiba’s possession.’

‘Forensics will be on that shortly, though there’s no telling whether they’ll be able to give us a definitive answer. So: if what you’re suggesting is true, then Mrs Mashiba essentially married her friend’s ex-boyfriend.’

‘That’s what it would mean, yes.’

‘Doesn’t strike you as odd?’

‘Not really.’

‘Why not?’

‘Plenty of women date their friends’ exes. I know at least one personally. Some people make a habit of it – that way they know a fair bit about a potential mate before getting involved with them.’

‘Even when it’s the ex of a friend who committed suicide?’ Kusanagi butted in. ‘What if this ex-boyfriend was the cause?’

‘What if he wasn’t?’

‘You’re forgetting something really important,’ Kusanagi said. ‘Ayane met her husband at a party. Does your theory assume that she just happened to run into her friend’s ex-boyfriend?’

‘It’s not impossible. They were both single.’

‘And then they just happened to fall in love? Sorry if I’m not overly convinced here.’

‘Maybe it was more than a coincidence, then?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Kusanagi asked.

Utsumi fixed him with a stare. ‘Maybe Ayane set her sights on Mr Mashiba right from the start. She was interested in him when he was dating Junko – her death might have even brought the two of them closer. Their meeting at the party might not have been their first encounter. And maybe it wasn’t a coincidence, either.’

‘Ridiculous!’ Kusanagi spat under his breath. ‘She’s not that kind of woman.’

‘Then what kind of woman is she? Exactly how much do you know about Mrs Mashiba, Detective Kusanagi?’

‘That’s about enough of that,’ Mamiya said, standing. ‘Utsumi, you’ve got a good nose, but an overly active imagination. Save the conjecture for when we have a little more proof. And Kusanagi, try listening to what someone says without nitpicking every little detail. Sometimes you have to toss around a few ideas before you find something that sticks. I was under the impression you were a good listener.’

Kusanagi nodded silently, and Utsumi lowered her head.

‘Sorry,’ she said.

Mamiya sat back down. ‘Right. This is all very interesting, Utsumi, but a little too tenuous to do much with. And really the only thing it might explain is how Mrs Mashiba got her hands on the poison. I don’t see how it relates to the rest of the case. Unless …’ He rested his elbows on the desk, looking directly at the junior detective. ‘Are you thinking Ayane got close to Yoshitaka Mashiba in order to avenge her friend’s death?’

‘I wouldn’t go that far … I can’t imagine anyone who would get married solely for the purpose of revenge.’

‘Then I recommend we lay off the hypothesizing for now. We can pick it up again once Forensics has taken a look at that storage shed in Hiroshima.’

It was past midnight by the time Kusanagi made it home. He wanted to take a shower, but in the end the best he could manage was to take off his jacket and crawl into bed. He wasn’t entirely sure whether his exhaustion was physical or mental or some combination of the two.

‘Then what kind of woman is she?’

Utsumi’s words ringing in his ears.

‘Exactly how much do you know about Mrs Mashiba, Detective Kusanagi?’

Nothing, he thought. He had only talked to her a little, just grazed the surface. Yet he felt like he knew what was inside.

It was hard to picture her marrying the former lover of a friend who had committed suicide. She would feel guilty – even if Yoshitaka Mashiba had nothing to do with the reason her friend took her own life.

He sat up and loosened his tie, his eyes falling on the two picture books he had tossed on the table. He went over and got them, then padded back over to his bed.

Lying back down, he flipped through the pages of The Snowman Tumbles. The story involved a snowman who, after living his life in the wintry north, decides to go on a trip to a warmer country. He starts heading south, but realizes that if he goes any farther he’ll melt. Giving up, the snowman returns north. On his way back he passes by a house. Looking into the window, he sees a happy family sitting around the fireplace, talking and laughing. The subject of their conversation was how nice it is to be warm inside when it’s so cold outside.

When Kusanagi’s eyes fell on the picture Junko Tsukui had drawn for that page, he leapt out of bed.

Something familiar was hanging on the wall of the room the snowman was looking into – a tapestry with intricate flower designs that spread out in a regular pattern like a kaleidoscope image against a background of brown.

Kusanagi remembered his impression upon first seeing that pattern with vivid clarity. And he knew exactly where he had seen it: the Mashibas’ master bedroom.

It was the very same tapestry that Ayane had been talking about hanging in her classroom with his help earlier that day.

Maybe she thought better of it because I mentioned Junko Tsukui’s name? Maybe she knew Junko had used the tapestry in one of her books?

Kusanagi put his head in his hands. His ears were ringing in time with his pulse.

The next morning, Detective Kusanagi awoke to the sound of an incoming phone call. He checked the time and saw that it was already past eight in the morning. He was on the sofa. A whiskey bottle and a glass were sitting on the table in front of him. The glass was half full.

Only then did he recall being unable to sleep the night before, though he didn’t care to be reminded of why.

He reached out a leaden arm to answer the phone, still ringing loudly on the tabletop. It was Utsumi.

‘Yeah?’

‘Sorry to call you so early, but I thought you’d like to know as soon as possible.’

‘Know what?’

‘The results came back from Spring-8. They found arsenous acid in the filter.’