The Devotion of Suspect X

FOUR

They walked from the subway station toward Shin-Ohashi Bridge, taking a right onto the narrow road just before the river. The neighborhood they had entered was mainly residential, though there were a few small shops here and there, all of which felt like they had been around for years—real mom-and-pop establishments. Most other parts of town had long since been overrun with supermarkets and chain stores, but this area was different. This is the old downtown district, Shitamachi, thought Kusanagi. Maybe that’s what makes it feel different.

It was already past eight P.M. An old woman carrying a washbasin ambled past them along the sidewalk. There must be a public bath nearby, Kusanagi conjectured.

“Close to the station, lots of shopping … not a bad place to live,” Kishitani remarked quietly.

“Your point?”

“Nothing, really. I was just thinking this isn’t a terrible place for a single mother to raise her daughter.”

Kusanagi grunted. The junior detective’s comment would have seemed a little odd if they weren’t now on their way to meet a single mother and her daughter. That, and Kusanagi knew that Kishitani himself had been raised by a single mom.

Kusanagi walked steadily, occasionally glancing at the small address plates on the telephone poles, comparing them to the address written on the memo in his hand. They should be arriving at the apartment building soon. The memo gave a name, too: Yasuko Hanaoka.

At the time of his death, Shinji Togashi had still been a registered occupant at the address he’d left in the guestbook at the rental room. It just wasn’t where he had actually been living.

Once they’d identified the body, the police had put out a bulletin on the television and in the newspapers, asking for anyone who knew anything about the dead man to contact their local law enforcement. That had turned up nothing. But the real estate agent who had rented Togashi the old apartment in Shinjuku knew where he used to work: a used-car place. He hadn’t been there long, though, quitting before his first year was up.

Still, the lead had been enough to give the investigation some legs. It turned out that the victim had once been an import luxury car salesman, and he’d been fired when he was caught skimming from the till. He hadn’t been charged, however. The detectives had found out about it when they went to the car dealership to do some questioning. The importer was still doing business, but no one on staff there now knew much about Togashi—or at least, no one who was willing to talk.

The investigators did learn that, at the time that he was working there, Togashi had been married. And according to someone who knew him after the divorce, he had made a habit of visiting his ex-wife, and the ex-wife had a child from a former marriage.

It wasn’t hard for the detectives to trace their movements. Pretty soon, they had an address for Yasuko and Misato Hanaoka: the apartment they were heading for now, here in the Morishita district of Eto Ward.

“Well, I sure pulled the short straw on this one,” Kishitani said, sighing.

“What? Doing footwork with me is the short straw?”

“No, it’s not that. I just don’t enjoy the idea of bothering this poor lady and her daughter.”

“If they had nothing to do with the crime, what’s the bother?”

“Well, from the sound of it, this Togashi wasn’t the best husband, or the best father. Who’d want to have to remember all that?”

“Well, if that’s the case, you’d think they’d welcome us. After all, we’re here to tell them the big bad man is dead. Just try not to look so glum, okay? You’re making me depressed just looking at you. Ah, here we are.” Kusanagi stopped in front of an old apartment building.

The building was a dirty gray color, with several marks on the walls where repairs had been made. It was two stories high with four units on each floor. Only half of the windows were lit.

“Room 204, which means we go upstairs.” Kusanagi put a hand on the concrete railing and started up. Kishitani followed.

Room 204 was the unit furthest from the stairwell. Light spilled from the apartment window, and Kusanagi breathed a quick sigh of relief. They hadn’t called in advance; if Ms. Hanaoka had been out, the detectives would have had to come back.

He rang the doorbell. Immediately, he heard someone moving inside. The door was unlocked; it swung open a crack, the door chain still attached. Not unusual, Kusanagi thought, considering a single mother and her daughter live here alone. They’re right to be cautious.

A woman looked out through the opening, peering suspiciously at the two detectives. She had a small face with strikingly dark eyes. In the dim light, she looked as if she could have been in her late twenties, but the hand on the door was not a young woman’s hand.

“Sorry for dropping in like this, but are you Ms. Yasuko Hanaoka?” Kusanagi asked as gently as he could.

“I am,” the woman replied. She seemed ill at ease.

“We’re from the police department. Actually, I have some bad news.” Kusanagi pulled out his badge, flashing his ID. Beside him, Kishitani did the same.

“The police?” Yasuko’s eyes widened. A ripple passed through the pools of black.

“Can we come inside?”

“Oh yes, please, come in.” Yasuko shut the door, undid the chain, and opened the door again. “May I ask what this is all about?”

Kusanagi stepped into the apartment. Kishitani followed behind.

“Ma’am, do you know a Mr. Shinji Togashi?”

Kusanagi noticed Yasuko’s face tighten in response, and he chalked it up to surprise.

“Yes, he’s my ex-husband … has he done something?”

So she didn’t know he’d been killed. She probably hadn’t seen it on the news or read it in the papers. The story hadn’t garnered too much attention from the press, after all.

“Actually,” Kusanagi began, and his eyes wandered back into the room behind her. The sliding doors toward the rear were closed tightly. “Is there someone else home?” he asked.

“My daughter, yes.”

“Ah, right.” He noticed the sneakers by the door. Kusanagi lowered his voice. “I’m afraid Mr. Togashi is dead.”

Yasuko’s expression seemed to freeze while her lips made an open circle. “He—he died? Why? How? Was there an accident?”

“His body was found on an embankment by the Old Edogawa. We don’t know for sure, but there is suspicion of murder,” Kusanagi said. He figured that breaking the news to her straight would make it easier to ask questions afterward.

For the first time, a look of shock passed over Yasuko’s face. She shook her head. “Him? But why would anyone do that to him?”

“That’s what we’re investigating now. Mr. Togashi didn’t have any other family, so we thought you might know something. I’m sorry to drop in so late.” Kusanagi bowed stiffly.

“No, of course, I had no idea—” Yasuko put a hand to her mouth and lowered her eyes.

Kusanagi’s gaze shifted again to the sliding doors at the rear of the room. Was Ms. Hanaoka’s daughter behind there, listening in on their conversation? If so, how would she take the news of her former stepfather’s death?

“We did a little looking through the records. You divorced Mr. Togashi five years ago, is that correct? Have you seen him since then?”

Yasuko shook her head. “I’ve hardly seen him at all since we separated.”

Which meant they had met. Kusanagi asked when.

“I think the last time I saw him was over a year ago…”

“And you’ve received no contact from him since? A phone call, or letter?”

“Nothing,” Yasuko said, firmly shaking her head.

Kusanagi nodded, glancing casually around the room. It was a small apartment, done in the Japanese style with tatami mats on the floor. The unit was old, but the woman kept it clean and orderly. A bowl of mandarin oranges sat on the low kotatsu table in the middle of the room. The badminton racket leaning against one wall brought back memories for the detective; he had played the game in college.

“We’ve determined that Mr. Togashi died on the evening of March 10,” Kusanagi told her. “Does that date or the embankment on the Old Edogawa mean anything to you? Even the slightest connection could help our investigation.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t think of anything. There’s nothing special about that date, and I really don’t know what he’s been up to.”

“I see.”

The woman was clearly getting annoyed. But then, few people cared to talk about their ex-husbands. This was getting nowhere fast.

Might as well leave it here for now, he thought. There was just one last thing he needed to check.

“By the way,” he asked, trying to sound as casual as possible, “were you home on the tenth?”

Yasuko’s eyes narrowed. She was clearly uncomfortable. “Do I need to know exactly where I was that day?”

Kusanagi laughed. “Please, don’t take this the wrong way. Of course, the more precise you can be, the more it will help us.”

“Well, can you wait a moment?” Yasuko glanced at a wall Kusanagi couldn’t see from where he stood. He guessed there was a calendar hanging there. He would have liked to look at her schedule, but he decided to refrain for now.

“I had work in the morning that day, and … that’s right, I went out afterward with my daughter,” Yasuko replied.

“Where’d you go out to?”

“We went to see a movie. At a place called the Rakutenchi in Kinshicho.”

“Around what time did you leave? Just a general idea is fine. And if you remember which movie it was…?”

“Oh, we left around six thirty…”

She went on to describe the movie they’d seen. It was one Kusanagi had heard of; the third installment in some popular series out of Hollywood.

“Did you go home right after that?”

“No, we ate at a ramen shop in the same building, and then we went out to karaoke.”

“Karaoke? Like, at a karaoke box?”

“That’s right. My daughter wanted me to go.”

Kusanagi chuckled. “Do the two of you do that often?”

“Only once every month or two.”

“How long were you there for?”

“We usually only go for about an hour and a half. Any longer and we get home too late.”

“So you saw a movie, ate dinner, then went to karaoke … which puts you home at?”

“It was after eleven o’clock, I think. I don’t remember the time exactly.”

Kusanagi nodded. There was something about the story that didn’t sit right, but it wasn’t anything he could put his finger on. It might be nothing at all.

They asked the name of the karaoke box, bid Ms. Hanaoka goodnight, and left.

“I don’t think she had anything to do with it,” Kishitani said in a low voice as the two detectives walked away from apartment 204.

“Hard to say.”

“I think that’s great that they go out to karaoke together. It’s not often you have a mother and daughter who get along so well.” It was clear from his tone that Kishitani did not consider Yasuko Hanaoka a suspect.

As they walked down the hall they became aware of a man coming up the stairs toward them. He was middle-aged and heavyset. The two detectives stopped and let him pass. The man continued on to apartment 203, unlocked the door, and went inside.

Kusanagi and Kishitani glanced at each other, then turned around.

The plate next to the door of 203 read “Ishigami.” They rang the doorbell, and the man they had just seen opened the door. He had taken off his coat, revealing a sweater and slacks beneath.

The man’s face was a blank as he looked at Kusanagi and Kishitani. In Kusanagi’s experience, almost everyone viewed him with suspicion at first, if not alarm, but this man’s face revealed absolutely nothing.

“Sorry to disturb you this late. I was wondering if you could help us,” Kusanagi said with a friendly smile, showing the man his police badge.

Still, the man’s face didn’t twitch a muscle. Kusanagi took a step forward. “It’ll only take a few minutes. We’d like to ask you some questions.” Thinking that perhaps the man hadn’t been able to see his badge, he held it out closer.

“What’s this about?” the man asked without even glancing at the badge in Kusanagi’s hand. He seemed to know already that they were detectives.

Kusanagi took a photograph from his jacket pocket. It was a picture of Togashi from when he had been a used-car salesman.

“This is photo from a few years ago, but—have you seen anyone resembling this man around here recently?”

The man stared intently at the photograph for a moment, then looked up at Kusanagi. “Can’t say I know him.”

“Right, I’m sure you don’t. But, I was wondering if you had seen anyone who looked like him?”

“Where?”

“Well, for example, somewhere in the local area?”

The man squinted again at the photograph. This is a dead end, thought Kusanagi.

“Sorry, never seen him,” the man said. “I don’t really remember the faces of people I pass on the street, anyway.”

“Yes, of course,” Kusanagi said, already regretting having come back to question the man. But, since he was here, he might as well be thorough about it. “Might I ask, do you always come home at this time?”

“I suppose it depends on the day. Sometimes I’m late with the team.”

“Team?”

“I supervise a judo club. I’m responsible for closing up the dojo at the end of the day.”

“Oh, you’re a schoolteacher, then?”

“Yes, high school,” the man replied, and he told them the name of the school where he worked.

“I see. Well, then, I’m sorry to have bothered you. You must have had a long day,” Kusanagi apologized, lowering his head.

It was then that he noticed the mathematics textbooks piled up in the entranceway. Oh, great, he thought, a lump growing in his stomach, a math teacher. Math had been Kusanagi’s worst subject in school.

“Ah, I was wondering—” he said, trying to shake off the feeling. “Your name here on the plate by the door … do these characters read ‘Ishigami’?”

“That’s right, I’m Ishigami.”

“Mr. Ishigami, I was wondering if you remember what time you came home on the tenth of March?”

“The tenth of March? Why, did something happen?”

“No, nothing to do with you, sir. We’re just gathering what information we can about events in the local area that day.”

“I see, well, March 10, huh?” Ishigami stared briefly into the distance before returning his gaze to Kusanagi. “I’m pretty sure I came home directly that day. I would say around seven o’clock.”

“Anything unusual happen next door that evening?”

“Next door?”

“Yes, um, Ms. Hanaoka’s place?” Kusanagi asked, lowering his voice.

“Did something happen to Ms. Hanaoka?”

“No, nothing. We’re just gathering information.”

A curious look crept over Ishigami’s face. He was probably starting to imagine what could possibly have happened to the mother and daughter living next door. From the look of his apartment, Mr. Ishigami was single.

“I don’t recall anything unusual, no,” Ishigami replied.

“No loud noises, or talking?”

“Hmm.” Ishigami scratched his neck. “Sorry, nothing comes to mind.”

“I see. Are you friends with Ms. Hanaoka by any chance?”

“Well, she lives next door, so we meet each other now and then and say hello. But that’s about all.”

“I see. Thanks, and we’re sorry to have bothered you.”

“Not at all,” Ishigami said, nodding and reaching for the door. Kusanagi saw that he was lifting his mail from the box that hung on the inside of the door. The detective’s eyes went wide for moment when he saw the words “Imperial University” written on one of the letters.

“Erm,” Kusanagi said hesitantly. “Did you graduate from Imperial University?”

“Huh?” Ishigami started, his eyes opening a little wider. Then he, too, noticed the address on the letter in his hand. “Oh, this? Must be an alumni letter. Does whatever you’re investigating have anything to do with the university?”

“No, I had a friend from there is all.”

“Oh, yes, I see.”

“Er, sorry for the trouble.” Kusanagi bowed curtly, turned, and departed.

When the detectives had left the apartment building behind, Kishitani spoke up suddenly. “Wait, sir—didn’t you go to Imperial University? Why didn’t you tell that guy?”

“No reason, really. Just didn’t want to start anything, is all. I’m sure he was from the science department, and frankly, my bunch didn’t get along with the fellows over there.”

“You have a thing about the sciences, don’t you?” Kishitani said, grinning. “Do I detect an inferiority complex?”

“I’d be fine if someone didn’t keep rubbing my face in it,” Kusanagi muttered, the image of Manabu Yukawa—the friend the half-jokingly, called “Detective Galileo”—rising in his mind.

After the detectives had been gone a good ten minutes, Ishigami stepped out into the hallway outside his apartment. He glanced next door. The light was on. He turned and went down the stairs.

It was quite a walk to the nearest public phone where he had a reasonable chance of not being observed. He didn’t own a cell phone, and he couldn’t use the landline in his own apartment.

As he walked, he went back over the details of his conversation with the police. He was sure he hadn’t given them a single reason to suspect he was involved in any way. But there was always a chance, however slight. If the police suspected Yasuko, they would have to figure that a man had been involved in disposing of the body. They might start looking for someone connected to the Hanaokas, a man who would be willing to dirty his hands for them. They might even consider investigating the mathematics teacher who lived next door.

Ishigami knew he had to avoid going to their apartment, of course. He had been avoiding any direct contact. That was why he didn’t call from his own house. The investigators might see from the phone records that he had made frequent calls to Yasuko Hanaoka and find it suspicious.

But what about Benten-tei?

He still hadn’t made up his mind about that. All things being equal, he should probably avoid the place for a while. But the police might come around asking questions. The owners might tell them about how the mathematician who lived next to Yasuko came by there every day to buy lunch. Wouldn’t they find it odd if he stopped coming right after the day of the murder? Shouldn’t he keep going there as usual so as not to raise suspicions?

Ishigami didn’t trust his own capacity to come up with a logical answer to this question, because he knew that, in his heart, he wanted to keep going to Benten-tei. That lunchbox shop was his connection to Yasuko. If he didn’t go there, he would never see her at all.

He arrived at the public phone and inserted a telephone card. The card had been a gift from another teacher—the front showed a picture of the teacher’s newborn baby.

The number he dialed was for Yasuko’s cell phone. They might have put a tap on her home phone, after all. The police claimed they didn’t wiretap citizens, but he didn’t trust that one bit.

“Yes?” came Yasuko’s voice over the line. She would have already guessed that it was he, because of the public number. He had told her he would contact her this way.

“It’s me, Ishigami.”

“Oh, yes.”

“The police came to my apartment a few minutes ago. I’m guessing they dropped by your place as well.”

“Yes, a little while ago.”

“What did they want to know?”

Ishigami listened to every word Yasuko said, organized it in his head, analyzed it, and committed it to memory. It seemed that, for the time being, the police didn’t directly suspect Yasuko. They had probably just been following procedure when they asked after her whereabouts. They might have someone check out her story, but it probably wouldn’t be a high priority.

But if they found out that Togashi had visited on the tenth, that he had come to see Yasuko, they wouldn’t be so friendly the next time they turned up. And the first thing they were bound to check out would be her statement that she hadn’t seen Togashi recently. Luckily, he had already prepared her for that eventuality.

“Did the detectives see your daughter?”

“No, Misato was in the back room.”

“I see. Still, they will probably want to question her before long. You know what to do if that happens, right?”

“Yes, you were very clear. I think she’ll be okay.”

“I don’t mean to repeat myself, but remember, there’s no need to make an act of it. She just needs to answer the questions they ask as mechanically as possible.”

“Yes, I told her that.”

“Did you show the police your ticket stubs?”

“No, I didn’t. You told me I didn’t have to show them unless they asked for them specifically.”

“Then that’s fine. By the way, where did you put the stubs?”

“In a kitchen drawer.”

“Put them inside the theater pamphlet. Nobody goes out of their way to store ticket stubs. They might suspect something if you have them in your drawer.”

“Okay, I’ll take them out.”

“By the way…” Ishigami swallowed. He tightened his grip on the receiver. “The owners at Benten-tei … do they know about me going there to buy my lunch?”

“What…?” Yasuko asked, momentarily taken aback.

“What I’m asking is, do the people who run the store where you work know that your neighbor comes there frequently to buy lunches? This is rather important, so please be honest.”

“Well, yes, actually. The owners were saying they were happy you were such a reliable regular.”

“And they know that I’m your neighbor?”

“Yes … is that bad?”

“No, I’ll worry about that. You just do as we discussed. All right?”

“Yes.”

“Right,” Ishigami said, turning to set down the receiver.

“Oh, um, Mr. Ishigami?” Yasuko’s voice came softly.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. Thank you for everything. We’re in your debt.”

“No…” Ishigami paused. “Don’t mention it,” he said, and he hung up the phone.

When Yasuko said “Thank you,” he had felt a tingle rush through his body. Now his face was flushed, and he welcomed the night breeze on his skin. He was even sweating a little.

Ishigami headed home, elated. But his high didn’t last long when he remembered what she had said about Benten-tei.

He realized that he had made a mistake when talking to the detectives. When they asked how well he knew Yasuko, he had only told them that they said hello when they chanced to meet. He should also have told them about the lunchbox shop.

“Did you confirm Yasuko Hanaoka’s alibi?”

Mamiya had called Kusanagi and Kishitani over to his desk. He was clipping his nails.

“The karaoke box checked out,” Kusanagi reported. “The person at the desk there knew her face. And they were in the book, from nine forty for an hour and a half.”

“What about before that?”

“Considering the time, they probably caught the seven o’clock show at the theater. It ended at nine ten. If they went to eat ramen after that, their story holds,” Kusanagi said, looking over his notes.

“I didn’t ask if their story held, I asked if you checked it out.”

Kusanagi closed his notebook. His shoulders sagged. “Just the karaoke box.”

“You call that doing your job, Detective?” Mamiya asked, glaring up at him.

“C’mon, Chief. You know it’s almost impossible to check out alibis in theaters and ramen shops.”

One ear listening to Kusanagi, Mamiya pulled out a business card and threw it on the desk. The card read “Club Marian.” It gave an address in Kinshicho.

“What’s that?”

“The place where Ms. Yasuko used to work. Togashi dropped in there on the fifth of March.”

“Five days before he was murdered.”

“Apparently, he was asking about Yasuko. Anyway, I think that’s more than enough for even you to figure out what I’m getting at.” Mamiya pointed to the door behind the two detectives. “I want you to go and check out that alibi, every bit of it. If anything doesn’t fit, I want you to go back and talk to this Yasuko again.”