The Devotion of Suspect X

FIVE

A small pole about thirty centimeters long stuck up from a square box on the lab table. There was a ring, only a few centimeters across, encircling the base of the pole. The strange item would have looked a bit like a carnival ring-toss game were it not for the cord snaking out of the side of the box and the single toggle switch on top.

“What the heck’s this?” Kusanagi muttered, bending down to stare at the device.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” warned Kishitani beside him.

“Nah, I’m sure it’s fine. If this thing were dangerous, he never would’ve left it lying out here like this.” Kusanagi flicked the switch. The moment he did so, the ring around the pole began to float upward.

Kusanagi gaped. The ring was hovering in midair, wobbling slightly.

“Try pushing the ring down,” came a voice from behind him.

Kusanagi looked around as Yukawa walked into the room, a file folder cradled in his arms.

“Welcome back. Class?” Kusanagi asked as he turned back to the floating ring. Reaching out gingerly, he tried to push it down with his fingertips. A second later he yanked back his hand. “Yowch! That thing’s hot!”

“It’s true, I’m not in the habit of leaving dangerous objects lying about. I do, however, assume a basic knowledge of physics.” Yukawa strolled over to the table and flicked off the switch. “This device is only high school–level physics, as a matter of fact.”

“Well, I didn’t take physics in high school,” Kusanagi said, blowing on his fingertips. Kishitani laughed immoderately.

“Who’s your friend?” Yukawa asked with a raised eyebrow.

The smile vanished from Kishitani’s face and he bowed curtly. “Kishitani. I work with Detective Kusanagi. I’ve heard a lot about you, Professor. You’ve helped us out with a lot of cases, haven’t you? They call you Detective Galileo down at the station.”

Yukawa frowned and waved his hand. “Don’t call me that. I don’t help out because I enjoy it, you know. I just couldn’t bear listening to Detective Kusanagi’s faulty attempts at reasoning on a certain occasion, and I made the mistake of correcting him. I’d be wary of spending too much time with him, if I were you. You might catch whatever he has that’s hardened his brain into a rock.”

Kishitani guffawed, earning him a glare from his superior.

“You laugh too much,” Kusanagi grumbled. “Besides,” he said, turning to Yukawa, “you know you enjoy trying to solve our cases.”

“What’s there to enjoy? Do you know how much valuable research time I’ve squandered on your account? I certainly hope you haven’t brought me another of your annoying, so-called ‘unsolvable’ puzzles today?”

“No, you’re off the hook for now. We just happened to be in the area, so we dropped in.”

“Ah, that’s a relief.” Yukawa walked over to a nearby sink, filled a kettle with water, and set it on a gas burner—the start of his usual instant coffee ritual. “So, did you resolve the murder along the Old Edogawa River?” he asked, measuring coffee powder into a cup.

“How did you know we were working on that case?”

“Simple deduction. It was on the news the same night you took a call while in my lab. And from the look on your face, I would further deduce that the investigation isn’t going so well.”

Kusanagi gestured dismissively. “Oh, I wouldn’t say it’s going all that badly. We have a few suspects now. It’s just getting started.”

“Oh? Suspects?” Yukawa asked over his shoulder, not sounding particularly interested.

“Actually,” Kishitani chipped in, “I don’t think we’re heading in the right direction, myself.”

Yukawa lifted an eyebrow at him. “You object to the direction the investigation is taking?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it an objection…”

“I’d prefer you didn’t call it anything,” Kusanagi said with a scowl.

“Sorry, sir.”

“Why apologize?” Yukawa asked, clearly starting to enjoy himself. “You follow orders, yet you have your own opinion—sounds perfectly reasonable to me. Proper, even. Without people to question the status quo, how can we ever hope to arrive at truly rational decisions?”

“Nah, that’s not why he’s against the investigation,” Kusanagi said with a sigh. “He just wants to be a knight in shining armor.”

“What? That’s not why—” Kishitani began.

“It’s okay, you can admit it. You sympathize with the single mother and her daughter. Truth be told, I wish they weren’t suspects myself.”

“Sounds complicated,” Yukawa said, smirking as watched the two detectives’ faces.

“Nothing complicated about it. The man who was killed used to be married, and apparently he’d been searching for his ex-wife just before it happened. So, we had to check out her alibi, that’s all.”

“And she has an alibi?”

“That’s the rub.” Kusanagi scratched his head.

“Oh? You’re not sounding so sure yourself, anymore,” Yukawa laughed as he headed for the kettle. Steam was rising from its spout. “Can I interest you gentlemen in some coffee?”

“Please,” Kishitani said, nodding eagerly.

“I’ll pass,” Kusanagi frowned. “See, there’s something about the alibi that doesn’t feel right.”

“Well, I don’t think they’re lying.”

“On the basis of what? We haven’t finished checking out their story yet.”

“But didn’t you just tell the chief that it was impossible to confirm alibis at ramen shops and movie theaters?”

“I didn’t say it was impossible. I just said it was almost impossible.”

“Ah,” Yukawa joined in as he arrived with two coffees in hand. “So these women, the suspects, claim they were seeing a movie at the time of the crime?” He handed one of the cups to Kishitani.

“Thanks,” Kishitani said, nodding. Then his eyes went wide as he noticed the layers of grime on the cup’s rim. Kusanagi stifled a laugh.

“If the movie’s their alibi, that would seem hard to corroborate.” Yukawa seated himself in a chair.

“But they went out to karaoke afterward. And we have an affidavit from one of the staff there,” Kishitani said, a bit too stridently.

“Which doesn’t mean we can just ignore the movie theater. They could have committed the crime and then gone out for karaoke,” Kusanagi pointed out.

“But the Hanaokas went to the movies at seven or eight o’clock. I can’t imagine any place so deserted at that time of night that they could have just killed someone there. And they didn’t just kill him, they stripped him bare.”

“I agree, but you have to consider all the possibilities before you go writing them off as innocent.” Not to mention you have to satisfy that stickler Mamiya, Kusanagi added to himself.

“So, I gather from your discussion that you were able to ascertain the time of the murder?” Yukawa asked.

“The autopsy put the estimated time of death after six P.M. on the tenth,” Kishitani said.

“Great. Why not go ahead and divulge every last detail about the case?” Kusanagi grumbled.

“But I thought Professor Yukawa was assisting the department?”

“Only when there’s some bizarre mystery in need of unraveling. There’s no need to go outside our people for help with this case.”

“I am a mere civilian, yes. But please don’t forget my ongoing contribution to the effort. I provide you with a place to shoot the breeze.” Yukawa took a long sip of his instant coffee.

“I hear you. You want us to leave.” Kusanagi stood up from his chair.

“No, wait,” Yukawa said. “About these suspects … Could they prove they had been to the movies?”

“They seemed to know the story well enough. Of course, that doesn’t tell us when they went.”

“Did they have ticket stubs?”

Kusanagi looked back at Yukawa. Their eyes met. “They did.”

“Oh? And where were these stubs?” The rims of Yukawa’s glasses sparkled in the sunlight coming through the window.

Kusanagi snorted. “I know what you’re getting at. Who holds onto ticket stubs, right? Believe me, even I would have found it suspicious if Yasuko Hanaoka had pulled them out of her kitchen drawer and produced them immediately.”

“So they weren’t someplace in particular, then?”

“At first she said she’d thrown them away. But when she pulled out the movie program she’d bought at the theater, the stubs were inside.”

“Ah, the movie program to the rescue. It’s believable enough.” Yukawa crossed his arms. “And the date on the tickets matched the date of the murder?”

“Of course. But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. They could have bought tickets but never gone inside, or fished those stubs out of the trash.”

“Regardless, it means that the suspects went to the theater—or near it, at least.”

“We had the same thought. So we’ve been canvassing the area since this morning, looking for someone who might have seen them. Unfortunately the girl who was taking tickets that night had today off, so we had to go all the way to her house to interview her. Which was near here, so I decided to visit.”

“And the ticket girl told you absolutely nothing of value, I see,” Yukawa said with a chuckle, noting the dour look on Kusanagi’s face.

“The tenth was a few days ago, and she can’t be expected to remember the faces of everyone who comes to the theater. Not that I’m disappointed. I didn’t expect anything to come of it in the first place. And I see we’ve taken up enough of the assistant professor’s time. We’ll be on our way.” Kusanagi clapped Kishitani on the back, making him cough up a swig of coffee, and headed for the door.

“Hang in there, Detective,” Yukawa called after Kusanagi. “If this suspect of yours is the true killer, you could be in for a rough time.”

Kusanagi turned around again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Like I just said, a common criminal wouldn’t think to put ticket stubs procured for an alibi in such a credible place. If we assume that the tickets really were bought to establish an alibi, that she put them in the pamphlet expecting you to come and ask her for them, I’d say that makes her an adversary to be feared.” The smile died from Yukawa’s eyes as he spoke.

Kusanagi nodded, mulling over the warning. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.” He said good-bye again and once more started to leave. But just before he put his hand on the doorknob, he remembered something and turned around a third time. “You know, one of your classmates lives next door to the suspect. He would have been an upperclassman when you were starting out.”

“Upperclassman?” Yukawa echoed, lifting an eyebrow.

“Guy by the name of Ishigami. Teaches high school math. He graduated from Imperial University. Probably from your department, too.”

“Ishigami…” Yukawa muttered to himself, then his eyes went wide behind his glasses. “Ishigami the Buddha!”

“The Buddha? Huh?”

Yukawa held up a hand, motioning for them to wait, then disappeared into the next room. Kusanagi and Kishitani exchanged curious glances.

The professor returned a moment later. He was carrying a black university folder in his hand. He opened it and pointed to a page. “This Ishigami?”

There were several photographs on the page, all of them young students. At the top of the page was the heading, “Masters of Science Received in the 38th Term.”

Yukawa was pointing to the picture of a chubby-faced graduate student. Unlike the students in the other photos, this fellow wasn’t smiling; his thin eyes merely stared straight ahead impassively. The name beneath the photo read “Tetsuya Ishigami.”

“Hey, that’s him,” Kishitani said. “He’s a lot younger here, but there’s no mistaking that look.”

Kusanagi covered the top of the man’s head with one finger and nodded. “Yeah. That’s the guy. Didn’t recognize him at first with all that hair. You know him?”

“Yes, but he wasn’t an upperclassman. We were the same year. The science department in those days split us up by major after the second year. I was in physics, and Ishigami was in math.” Yukawa closed the file.

“So that guy’s the same age as us, then? Hmph.”

“He always looked old for his years, even back then.” Yukawa grinned. Then a look of surprise came over his face. “A teacher? You said he teaches high school math?”

“Yeah, at a school near where he lives. And he coaches the judo club there.”

“That’s right. I’d heard he did judo from an early age. I think his grandfather ran a dojo, or something like that. At any rate, you’re sure he teaches at a high school?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“That’s unexpected, but I’ll take your word for it. I hadn’t heard anything, so I assumed he was buried in research at a private university somewhere … Huh. Ishigami teaching math in high school…” Yukawa’s voice trailed off as he gazed into his memory.

“So he was a hotshot in school, then?” Kishitani asked.

Yukawa sighed. “I don’t use the word genius lightly, but it fits him well. One of our professors said he was the kind of student you only see once every fifty or a hundred years. Even though we were in separate departments, stories about him made the rounds. He didn’t care for computers, so he would lock himself in the school lab, working out problems with paper and pencil all night. When you saw him, it was usually from the back while he sat hunched over a desk—that’s how he got the nickname ‘the Buddha.’ A term of respect, of course.”

Kusanagi nodded. It was odd to hear Yukawa talk about someone even more brilliant than himself. The detective had always thought of his friend as the genius, but he supposed that even when you were at the top, there was always something higher.

“But wouldn’t someone that gifted automatically get snatched up by a university?” Kishitani asked.

“Well, it takes all types, even at a university,” Yukawa mumbled, sounding uncharacteristically perplexed. Kusanagi didn’t imagine his friend had wasted much time worrying about how old acquaintances were faring in the world.

As if on cue, Yukawa asked, “How is he doing? Did he seem well?”

“I can’t say. He didn’t seem ill, at least. We talked to him for a bit, but he was hard to get a handle on. Maybe he just wasn’t very personable…”

“No man can know the mind of the Buddha,” Yukawa said with a wry chuckle.

“That’s just it. Normally, when detectives come calling, you expect people to be surprised, or a little flustered, or give some reaction at least, but it was as if he was carved out of stone. It was like he couldn’t be bothered to react to anything external.”

“He’s not interested in anything but math. Not that he’s without any charms, of course. He was a nice enough guy in his own way. Listen, could you tell me his address? I’d love to drop in on him when I get a slow day.”

“You, paying a social call? Now that’s unusual.”

Kusanagi took out his notebook and gave Yukawa the address of the apartment building where Yasuko Hanaoka lived. Yukawa wrote it down, seeming pleased at the unexpected connection. He didn’t mention the murder again.

At 6:28 P.M., Yasuko Hanaoka arrived home on her bicycle. Ishigami saw her from his apartment window. The desk in front of him was covered with a mountain of paper, each sheet filled with mathematical formulas. It was his custom to do battle with his formulas every evening after his return from school. He’d gotten out early today—no judo practice—but even so, he wasn’t making much progress. In fact, he hadn’t made much progress for several days now. He just sat in his room, listening for sounds next door, wondering when the detectives would come back.

They had come again the night before—the same two who had visited Ishigami’s apartment. He remembered the name Kusanagi from reading it off the senior officer’s badge.

Yasuko had told him they’d come to check her alibi at the movie theater, as expected. They’d asked if anything memorable had happened. If she had met anyone she knew on the way in, or way out, or even during the movie. Did she have the ticket stubs, by any chance? Did she buy anything in the theater? Did she have receipts? What had the movie been about, who had been the lead actor—?

As they hadn’t asked anything about the karaoke box, he assumed they’d called on that establishment already. Of course that part of the alibi checked out. Ishigami had chosen the place because he knew it would.

Yasuko said she had shown the detectives the ticket stubs, the receipt for the program, just as Ishigami had instructed. Other than describing the plot of the movie, she’d told the police nothing. She hadn’t seen anyone, and nothing memorable or out of the ordinary had occurred. Ishigami had told her to say all of this, too.

The detectives had left, seemingly satisfied, but he didn’t think for a moment that they had given up yet. The fact that they had come back to check on the movie theater alibi meant they had enough data to make them suspicious of Yasuko. Ishigami wondered just what those data were.

He stood and picked up his jacket. Telephone card, wallet, and room key in hand, he stepped out of his the apartment.

He was just on the stairs when he heard footsteps coming up from below. He slowed his pace and lowered his eyes.

It was Yasuko. She didn’t seem to notice who he was right away. Just before they passed, her feet stopped. She had seen him. Even looking down at his feet, Ishigami could tell she wanted to say something.

Ishigami spoke first. “Good evening.”

He tried to say it like he would say it to anyone he happened to meet, his tone relaxed, his voice low. He didn’t make eye contact or slow his pace. Passing Yasuko, he continued on down the stairs in silence.

There was no telling when the police might be watching, so whenever they did meet, they had to act like neighbors and nothing more. Another of Ishigami’s own instructions. Yasuko had paused for a moment in her ascent, but then—perhaps remembering what he had told her—replied, “Good evening” in a small voice, then continued up the stairs without another word.

Reaching the park, Ishigami quickly strode over to the phone, picked up the receiver, and put in his telephone card. There was a small convenience store about thirty meters away. The owner was closing up shop for the night. Other than that, no one else was around.

“Yes, it’s me,” Yasuko said, picking up the phone immediately. She sounded like she knew the call was coming from Ishigami. Somehow, that made him happy.

“Anything unusual to report?”

“Um, yes. That detective came to the store today.”

“To Benten-tei?”

“Yes.”

“What did he ask this time?”

“He was asking whether Togashi had come to the shop at all.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I said no, he hadn’t, of course. The detective said that maybe he had been there when I wasn’t in, and he went back to talk to the owners. The owner told me that the detective showed him a picture of Togashi, and asked about him. You know, I think the detective suspects me.”

“That’s nothing we didn’t expect. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Is that the only thing the detective asked?”

“No, he also asked about the club I used to work at—the bar in Kinshicho. He wanted to know if I’d been in contact with the people there. I told him no, just like you said. Then I asked him why he wanted to know where I used to work, and he told me Togashi had been there recently.”

“Ah yes. Of course.” Ishigami nodded, the receiver pressed to his ear. “So Togashi was at your old workplace, asking after you.”

“It seems so. That must be where he heard about Benten-tei. The detective said that since it sounded like Togashi had been looking for me, it would have made sense for him to drop in at Benten-tei next. And I told him, ‘Well, I suppose that’s true, but he didn’t, so I can’t help you.’ ”

Ishigami called to mind the detective named Kusanagi. He seemed like a personable man. Soft-spoken, not too imposing. But if he was a detective in Homicide, that meant he had the requisite information-gathering skills. He wasn’t the kind to scare a witness into revealing something, but the sort who casually drew the truth out of them. He had noticed the letter from Imperial University in Ishigami’s mail, too, which meant he was observant. And all of this made Kusanagi someone who required caution.

“Did you ask him about anything else?”

“That was the only thing I asked. But Misato…”

Ishigami’s grip tightened on the receiver. “They went to her school?”

“Yes, I only just heard about it myself. They caught up with her on the way home after classes. I think it was the same two detectives that came here.”

“Is Misato there now?”

“Yes, hold on.”

Misato was on the phone immediately. She must have been standing right next to her mother. “Hello?”

“What did the detectives ask you?”

“They showed me his picture, asked if he’d been by the apartment…”

“Togashi. You told them he hadn’t, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What else did they want to know?”

“They wanted to know about the movie. If I’d really gone on the tenth or not. They thought maybe we’d got the date wrong. I told them I knew it was then, absolutely.”

“What did the detectives say then?”

“They wanted to know if I’d told any of my friends about the movie, or texted them.”

“And?”

“I told them I didn’t text anybody, but I did tell a friend. Then they wanted to know who my friends were.”

“Did you tell them?”

“I only gave them Mika’s name.”

“Mika’s the girl you told about the movie on the twelfth, correct?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Good. You did good. Did the detectives want to know anything else?”

“Nothing big. They wanted to know if I was enjoying school, how badminton practice was, that kind of stuff. I wonder how they knew I was on the badminton team? I didn’t have my racquet with me.”

Ishigami surmised that Kusanagi had seen her racquet when he visited the Hanaokas’ apartment. This detective was turning out to be formidable.

Yasuko got back on the phone and asked, “Well, what should we do?” Her voice sounded faint on the other end of the line.

“Nothing, for now. This isn’t a problem,” Ishigami said with conviction. He wanted to put her at ease. “Everything is going according to my calculations. I should expect that the detectives will be back again soon. Just follow my instructions and everything will be all right.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ishigami … you know I don’t have anyone to turn to but you.”

“That’s all right. Good luck. This will soon be over. I’ll speak with you again tomorrow.”

Ishigami hung up the phone and took out his phone card, already slightly regretting his final words. He shouldn’t have told her it would be over soon. Just how long was “soon”? He shouldn’t be saying things that couldn’t be quantified like that.

However, it was true that events were developing according to plan. He had known they would find out eventually that Togashi had been looking for Yasuko—that was why Ishigami had made the effort to establish an alibi. He had also expected the police to question that alibi.

And he had expected that the police would try to make contact with Misato. They must have hoped she would be the weak link in the chain, a way to take apart the alibi in the absence of any witnesses. Ishigami had taken several steps to prevent that from happening, but he thought now that it would behoove him to check once more and make sure he hadn’t overlooked anything.

Ishigami returned to his apartment, his mind racing, only to find a man standing in front of his door—a tall fellow, unfamiliar, wearing a thin, black jacket. He must have heard Ishigami coming up the steps, for he was facing toward him. His wire-rim glasses glittered.

At first, Ishigami thought it was another detective. But then he realized that no, that was wrong. The man’s shoes were in perfect condition, as good as brand-new.

He approached, warily, and the man spoke. “Ishigami?”

Ishigami looked up at the stranger’s face. The man was smiling. It was a smile he remembered.

Ishigami took a deep breath, and his eyes went wide as the memories came vividly back to him from a twenty-year distance.

“Manabu Yukawa.”