Salvation of a Saint

FOUR

Once the detectives introduced themselves, the first thing Ayane Mashiba asked about was her husband’s body.

‘There’s been a court-ordered autopsy,’ Kusanagi explained. ‘I’m not sure exactly where the body is at this very moment, but I’ll check on it later today and let you know.’

‘So I won’t be able to see him.’ Ayane blinked. Her eyes were sunken, her skin rough; she was trying to hold back tears.

I doubt she’s slept a wink since the call came. ‘Once they’re done, we’ll return the remains as quickly as possible.’ Kusanagi’s words sounded strangely leaden to his own ears. He was never completely relaxed when talking to the families, but somehow, this time felt different. Everything was harder than usual.

‘Thank you,’ Ayane replied.

She had a deep voice for a woman – adjectives like sultry and bewitching came to his mind.

‘We’d like to talk to you a little at the Meguro City Police Station, if that’s all right?’

‘Yes. They told me that on the phone.’

‘That’s good. If you’re ready, we’ll take you to the car.’

Kusanagi helped her into the back seat of Utsumi’s SUV, then climbed into the passenger seat.

‘They were having trouble locating you last night. Where did they reach you?’ he asked, turning to look back at her.

‘I was at a hot springs near my hometown – I went there with an old friend. I’m afraid I had turned off my mobile phone, so I couldn’t hear it ring. I picked up my messages just before going to bed.’ She paused, letting out a long breath. ‘I thought it was some kind of prank call at first – I mean, who expects a call from the police?’

‘These things happen without warning,’ Kusanagi agreed.

‘That’s just it,’ she said. ‘What sort of things happen? No one’s told me anything, except that he’s …’ Ayane’s voice faltered, and Kusanagi felt an ache in his gut. He knew that the question she most wanted to ask was also the question whose answer she most feared.

‘What did they tell you over the phone?’ he asked.

‘They told me that my husband was dead, and that there was some concern about the cause of death, so there would be a police investigation. That’s all.’

Which was all the officer calling her would have been able to say. Kusanagi felt a tightness in his chest as he imagined again the night she must’ve spent after hearing the news, and what it must’ve been like for her getting on the plane that morning. ‘Your husband died at home,’ he told her. ‘The cause is still unknown, but there were no visible injuries. Hiromi Wakayama discovered him collapsed in the living room.’

‘Hiromi …’ Kusanagi sensed Ayane’s gasp more than heard it.

Kusanagi glanced over at Utsumi in the driver’s seat. For just a moment, she glanced back and their eyes met.

We’re both thinking the same thing, Kusanagi realized. It was less than twelve hours since they’d discussed the possibility of a relationship between Hiromi Wakayama and Yoshitaka Mashiba. Ms Wakayama was, by all accounts, Ayane’s favourite student. If they were in the habit of inviting her to parties at their house, she was a friend of the family, too. If she’d been sleeping with Ayane’s husband, it would be a classic case of the dog biting the hand that feeds it.

The question was whether Ayane had been aware of what was going on. They couldn’t assume that, just because she was close to her apprentice, she would’ve known. In fact, Kusanagi had seen several cases where just the opposite was true, when people didn’t know because they were too close.

‘Was your husband suffering from any illnesses?’ he asked.

Ayane shook her head. ‘Not that I knew of. He got regular checkups and there were no problems. He didn’t even drink that much.’

‘And he’s never collapsed before now?’

‘No. Nothing of the sort. I just can’t imagine it happening.’ Ayane put a hand to her forehead, as though trying to stave off a headache.

Kusanagi decided it would be premature to bring up the idea of poison. In fact, until they had an autopsy report in hand, it was best not to mention the possibilities of suicide or murder at all.

‘Because of the unusual circumstances,’ he said,‘we have to record every aspect of the place where the body was found – whether it turns out to be a crime scene or not. We’ve already done a bit of this last night with Ms Wakayama’s help. We would have preferred it to be you, of course.’

‘Yes, they mentioned that on the phone as well.’

‘Do you go back to Sapporo often?’

Ayane shook her head. ‘It was my first time since getting married.’

‘Your parents live there, correct? Is everything all right?’

‘My father isn’t doing as well as he could be, so I thought it was about time to visit. Of course, when I arrived he seemed to be doing much better than I’d been led to believe, thus the trip to the hot springs.’

Kusanagi nodded. ‘And why did you leave your key with Ms Wakayama?’

‘I thought it would be prudent, in case something came up while I was away. She helps me a lot with my work, and I keep a lot of materials and finished pieces at home that she might need to use in class.’

‘Ms Wakayama tells us that she was concerned about your husband and, when he didn’t answer his phone, she went over to make sure everything was all right. I was wondering’ – the detective chose his words carefully – ‘had you at any point specifically asked her to check in on him?’

Ayane gave a little frown. ‘I don’t think so, but maybe I did give her that impression. She’s always so thoughtful, and it was my first time leaving him on his own since we got married … Did I –’ She paused a moment before saying: ‘Was it wrong of me to leave my key with her?’

‘No, not at all. I just wanted to confirm what Ms Wakayama told us yesterday.’

Ayane buried her face in her hands. ‘I just can’t believe it. He was fine, in perfect health. We just had some friends over on Friday night. He was … he was so happy.’ Her voice was trembling.

‘I know it’s hard,’ Kusanagi said as gently as possible. ‘And I’m sorry I have to ask these questions, but – this party on Friday … who were the friends?’

‘A college friend of my husband’s and his wife.’ She gave him the names of Tatsuhiko and Yukiko Ikai. Then, Ayane let her hands drop into her lap, a look of determination on her face. ‘I have a request.’

‘Sure,’ Kusanagi said. ‘Anything.’

‘Do we have to go straight to the Police Station?’

‘Is there something you need to do?’

‘I want to see the house first, if I can. I want to know where he was when … I want to know how he died. If that’s okay?’

Kusanagi glanced at Utsumi again. This time, their eyes didn’t meet. The junior detective seemed focused intently on the road ahead.

‘I’ll have to ask the lead detective on the case,’ Kusanagi said, fishing his mobile phone out of his pocket.

Mamiya answered, and Kusanagi relayed the request. He heard the chief groan for a moment, then: ‘Fine …

‘In fact, the situation’s changed a little bit. It might even be preferable to talk to her on site. We’ll see you at the house.’

‘How has the situation changed?’ Kusanagi asked.

A pause. ‘I’ll fill you in later.’

‘Right.’ Kusanagi ended the call and turned back to look at Ayane. ‘We’ll be taking you home.’

Under her breath, she said: ‘Thank you.’

Kusanagi returned his gaze to the road. A moment later he heard Ayane calling someone on her mobile.

‘Hello, Hiromi? It’s me.’

Kusanagi tensed. He hadn’t expected her to call anyone, much less Ms Wakayama – but he couldn’t just tell her to hang up.

‘… I know, I know,’ Ayane was saying. ‘I’m with the police now. We’re heading to the house. Oh, I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, Hiromi.’

Kusanagi’s mind was racing as fast as his heart. For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine how Ms Wakayama was responding to the call. He envisioned her overcome with grief at losing her lover, perhaps even spilling the beans. If that were the case, he had a pretty good idea of how Ayane would react.

‘… That’s what they tell me. Are you okay? Please tell me you’re eating … Well, that’s good. You know, if it’s not too much trouble, do you think you could come over? I’d really like to talk.’

Kusanagi hadn’t expected her to invite Ms Wakayama to the house, either. From this half of the conversation, it sounded like the younger woman was keeping her com -posure.

‘You’re sure it’s all right? Okay, see you soon … Yes, thanks. You take care of yourself, too.’ It sounded like the call was over. Kusanagi heard a sniffle from the back seat.

‘Will Ms Wakayama be joining us?’

‘Yes. Oh! I hope that’s all right?’

‘It’s fine. She was the one who found him, it might be best if you heard it straight from her,’ the detective said, inwardly growing excited. On the one hand, he was interested, out of pure curiosity, to see how the husband’s lover would go about describing the discovery of his body to the wife. On the other, he hoped that by carefully observing Ayane, he’d be able to determine whether she had known about her husband’s infidelity.

They got off the highway onto the local road as they neared the Mashiba residence. Utsumi seemed to know the way without checking – maybe she had committed it to memory.

They arrived at the house to find Chief Mamiya waiting for them. He was standing with Kishitani in front of the gate.

They got out of the car and walked over to the other two detectives, and Kusanagi introduced Ayane.

‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Mamiya told her. He turned to Kusanagi. ‘You’ve told her the particulars?’

‘For the most part.’

Mamiya gave Ayane a sympathetic look. ‘As you might expect, we have a lot of questions we’d like to ask. I’m so sorry to put you through this just as you’ve returned home.’

‘I don’t mind.’

‘We should go inside. Kishitani, the key.’

Kishitani pulled a key from his pocket and handed it to Ayane, who accepted it with a perplexed frown.

She used the key to unlock the door, opened it, and stepped in. The others followed, with Kusanagi bringing up the rear, the widow’s suitcase in one hand.

Inside, Ayane asked: ‘Where was he?’

‘This way,’ Mamiya said, walking down the hallway.

The tape was still stuck to the floor in the living room. Ayane saw the outline and stopped, her hand over her mouth.

‘According to Ms Wakayama, he was lying here, on the floor when she came in,’ Mamiya explained.

Ayane shook, then her legs buckled and she fell to her knees. Kusanagi saw her shoulders trembling, and a quick hiccuplike sob escaped her lips. She caught her breath and asked in a thin voice: ‘Around what time was it?’

‘Near eight when she found him,’ Mamiya answered.

‘Eight … What could he have been doing?’

‘Apparently, he was drinking coffee. We’ve cleaned it up, but there was a coffee cup on the floor, and a little coffee had spilled.’

‘Coffee …’ She looked up. ‘Did he make it himself?’

‘Excuse me?’ Kusanagi asked.

Ayane shook her head. ‘It’s just, he doesn’t do that. I’ve never seen him make his own coffee.’

Kusanagi noticed Mamiya’s eyebrows twitch.

‘He never made coffee?’ the chief asked.

‘Well, I know he used to before we got married. But he had a coffeemaker back then.’

‘And you don’t have one now?’

‘No. I didn’t need it so I threw it out. I use a single-cup dripper.’

A hard light came into Mamiya’s eyes. He spoke: ‘Ma’am, I can’t say anything for sure without the autopsy results, but it’s likely that your husband was poisoned.’

Ayane’s face went blank for a moment, then her eyes opened wide. ‘Poison? Like, food poisoning?’

‘No. A very potent poison was discovered in the coffee found at the scene – though we don’t yet know exactly what kind of poison it was. Which is to say that your husband’s death was not due to illness or a simple accident.’

Ayane covered her mouth again, blinking repeatedly. Her eyes were growing redder by the moment.

‘Why would he … How could that happen?’

‘We don’t know. Which is why I wanted to ask if you had any ideas.’

This, apparently, was what Mamiya had been talking about when he’d said that the situation had changed, Kusanagi thought. Now it made sense that the chief had showed up in person.

Ayane pressed her fingers to her forehead and sat down on the nearest sofa. ‘No. No idea at all.’

‘When was the last time you spoke with your husband?’ Mamiya asked.

‘On Saturday morning. We left the house together on my way to the airport.’

‘Was there anything unusual about him, or his behaviour, at that time? Even the smallest details can help.’

Ayane sat still for a moment, as though searching inwardly; then she firmly shook her head. ‘No. I can’t think of anything.’

No wonder, Kusanagi thought. Having to bear the shock of her husband’s death, knowing only that he’d died under suspicious circumstances – and then to learn that he’d been poisoned …

‘Maybe we should let her rest a bit, Chief,’ Kusanagi said. ‘She’s probably tired after the trip from Sapporo.’

‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’

‘No, I’m fine,’ Ayane said, straightening. ‘Only, if I could change, that would be nice. I’ve been in the same clothes since last night.’ She was wearing a dark-coloured suit.

‘Since last night?’ Kusanagi asked.

‘Yes, I was hoping to find a quicker way back to Tokyo, so I got dressed for the trip ahead of time.’

‘Then you haven’t slept at all?’

‘I couldn’t have even if I’d tried.’

‘Well, that won’t do,’ Mamiya said. ‘You should probably rest before we continue.’

‘No, I’m fine. I’ll change and come right back down,’ Ayane said, standing.

Kusanagi watched her leave the room, then turned to Mamiya. ‘What do we know about the poison?’

Mamiya nodded. ‘There were traces of arsenous acid in the coffee.’

Kusanagi’s eyes opened wide. ‘Arsenous acid? Like in that school curry poisoning case?’

‘Forensics thinks the particular compound used here was sodium arsenite. From the concentration in the coffee, Mr Mashiba drank well over a lethal dose. We should have more accurate autopsy results by the afternoon, but arsenous acid poisoning fits with the condition that the body was found in.’

Kusanagi nodded, sighing. The possibility of this being an accidental death was rapidly approaching zero.

‘But if it’s true that Mr Mashiba never made his own coffee, who made that cup?’ Mamiya said, half to himself, but loud enough that everyone could hear.

Utsumi suddenly spoke up: ‘I think he did make his own coffee.’

‘How do you know that?’ Mamiya asked.

‘Because we have a witness who says he did,’ Utsumi continued, after a glance in Kusanagi’s direction. ‘Ms Waka yama.’

‘Oh yeah, what was she saying about the coffee?’ Kusan -agi thought back on their conversation the day before.

‘Remember the saucers? I asked her if Mr Mashiba wasn’t in the habit of using a saucer when he drank coffee. Ms Wakayama indicated that she didn’t think he did use a saucer when he was drinking alone.’

‘Now that you mention it, I overheard that conversation myself,’ Mamiya said, nodding. ‘The question now becomes, assuming Ms Wakayama wasn’t making things up, how does the wife’s apprentice know something about the husband that the wife does not?’

‘There’s probably something I should tell you,’ Kusanagi said, leaning over to whisper to him about their hunch that Hiromi Wakayama and Yoshitaka Mashiba had more than a passing acquaintance.

Mamiya’s glance flicked back and forth between his two subordinates, and he grinned. ‘You both think so, too?’

‘What, you knew about it, Chief?’ Kusanagi raised an eyebrow.

‘When you’ve been doing this as many years as I have, you notice things. I was pretty sure something was up yesterday.’ Mamiya tapped the side of his head with a finger.

‘Um, would someone mind explaining what’s going on?’ Kishitani asked.

‘I’ll tell you later,’ Mamiya said, turning back to Kusanagi. ‘Nobody says anything in front of the wife, agreed?’

Kusanagi and Utsumi nodded.

‘So the poison was in the coffee on the floor?’ Kusanagi asked.

‘And one other place as well.’

‘Do tell.’

‘The paper filter still in the dripper. Specifically, in the used coffee grounds.’

‘So they mixed the poison in with the coffee while they were making it?’ Kishitani asked.

‘That’s one possibility. There is one other possibility to consider, however,’ Mamiya said, raising a finger.

‘They could have mixed the poison in with the ground coffee beans ahead of time,’ Utsumi said.

Mamiya beamed at her. ‘Exactly. The ground coffee was in the refrigerator. Forensics couldn’t find anything in the bag, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. There could have been just enough poison on the top layer for him to scoop out with the coffee.’

‘So, when was the coffee poisoned?’ Kusanagi asked.

‘Don’t know. Forensics snagged a bunch of used filters out of the trash, but there wasn’t any poison in them. Not that I would expect to find any in them, because that would mean someone had already used a poisoned filter, and we’d have another body.’

‘There was an unwashed coffee cup in the sink,’ Utsumi said. ‘I’d like to know when that coffee was drunk. And who drank it, for that matter.’

Mamiya wet his lips. ‘We already know. Fingerprints got two matches. One was Yoshitaka Mashiba, the other was exactly who you think it was.’

Kusanagi and Utsumi exchanged glances. Apparently, their theory already had back-up evidence.

‘Chief, I should mention that we’re expecting Ms Wakayama to come here at any moment,’ Kusanagi said, and told him about the phone call in the car.

Long wrinkles formed in the space between Mamiya’s eyebrows. He nodded. ‘Sounds like an opportunity, then. You can ask her when she drank that coffee. And get specifics. None of this “Oh, the other day” stuff.’

‘On it,’ Kusanagi said.

The four fell silent at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

‘Thanks for waiting,’ Ayane said as she reached the living room. She was wearing a light blue shirt over black trousers. She didn’t look quite as pale as she had on the way from the airport, though that may have been due to a little make-up retouch.

‘If you’re sure you’re not too tired, we’d like to ask a few more questions,’ Mamiya said.

‘Certainly. What else can I help you with?’

‘Please, take a seat.’ The chief waved in the direction of the sofa.

Ayane sat down, her gaze wandering to the garden beyond the sliding glass doors.

‘Look at them, all wilted,’ she said. ‘I asked my husband to water them, but he was never that interested in flowers. I should have known.’

Kusanagi joined her in looking at the garden. Flowers of various colours were blooming in pots and long planters.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ayane said, half standing from the sofa. ‘Could I water them? I don’t think I’ll be able to focus otherwise.’

Mamiya looked taken aback for a brief moment, then smiled. ‘Of course. We’re not in any hurry here.’

She rose and went not over to the glass doors, but into the kitchen. Kusanagi glanced in after her and saw that she was filling a large bucket with water from the tap.

‘No hose in the garden?’ he asked.

Ayane looked around and smiled. ‘This is for the flowers on the balcony,’ she said. ‘There’s no sink on the second floor.’

‘Oh, right.’ Kusanagi recalled how, the day before, he had seen Utsumi looking up at the potted plants on the second-floor balcony.

Full of water, the bucket looked rather heavy. Kusanagi offered to carry it.

‘It’s all right, I can manage.’

‘No, really, allow me,’ the detective insisted. ‘Up the stairs here, right?’

‘Thank you,’ Ayane said in a voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear her.

The master bedroom wasn’t quite as big as the living room downstairs, but it was still large. A wide patchwork tapestry hung over the bed. Kusanagi found his eyes drawn to the vivid bands of colour.

‘This one of yours?’

‘From a while back, yes.’

‘It’s really impressive. It’s probably just my own ignorance, but when I heard “patchwork” I was picturing something simple, like embroidery. But this, this is fine art.’

‘I like to think of it as a practical art. Patchwork is about making things that are of use in our daily lives. And why not make everyday items look beautiful?’

‘You have quite a talent. I can only imagine how much work it is.’

‘It does take a lot of time, and a certain amount of persistence. But it’s fun, making them. In fact, if you don’t have fun doing it, you wind up with something that isn’t fun to look at.’

Kusanagi nodded, looking back at the wall hanging. Though at a glance it looked like the colours that made up the patchwork had been chosen on a whim, he imagined he could see the mind of the quilter at play in the curves and arrangement of the pieces, and it brought a smile to his face.

The balcony ran the length of one side of the room and was fairly wide, though the tightly packed planters made it difficult for even one person to navigate.

Ayane picked up an empty aluminium can from the corner. ‘Isn’t this neat?’ she said, holding it out to Kusanagi where he waited by the sliding glass door.

Several small holes had been opened in the bottom of the can. She used it to scoop water out of the bucket, then held the can over the planters, letting the water trickle from the holes like a shower.

‘Ha! A homemade watering can.’

‘Exactly. It would be hard to get water out of the bucket into a real watering can, so I used an awl to punch holes in this soft drink can.’

‘Good idea.’

‘Isn’t it? Of course, he never could understand why I’d even bother having flowers up here in the first place …’ Ayane’s face tensed and she squatted down on the balcony. The water from the little can was drizzling on her slipper.

‘Mrs Mashiba?’ Kusanagi called out.

‘I’m sorry. I … I just can’t believe he’s gone.’

‘No one expects you to.’

‘We were only married a year. One year. I’d just got used to my new life … started to figure out those things couples know. What he likes to eat, what he drinks … We had so many things planned.’

Kusanagi watched her, one hand over her face, her head hanging. He couldn’t think of anything to say. The bright flowers around her suddenly looked garishly out of place.

‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I know I’m not much help to you like this. I should be … I need to be stronger.’

‘We can come back to ask our questions another day,’ Kusanagi said without thinking. Immediately he saw Mamiya in his mind’s eye, grimacing.

‘No, that’s all right. I need to know what happened myself. I just can’t understand it. Why would he have drunk poison—?’

She was interrupted by the chiming of the doorbell. She stood, startled, and looked over the balcony railing.

‘Hiromi!’ she called out, giving a little wave of her hand.

‘Ms Wakayama’s here?’ Kusanagi asked.

Ayane nodded and moved back inside.

Kusanagi followed her down the stairs. Utsumi was in the hallway, going to answer the door. Kusanagi caught up to her by the entrance and whispered, ‘It’s Hiromi Wakayama.’

Ayane walked past them and opened the door. Hiromi Wakayama was standing outside.

‘Hiromi, come in,’ Ayane said, her voice choking.

‘Are you okay, Mrs Mashiba?’

‘I’m all right. Thanks …’

Ayane stepped out through the door to embrace her visitor. Then she began to cry out loud, sobbing like a child.