“What was that?”
“The body was found on the street in Ogikubo, a typical residential area,” Fujinaka had told him. “According to Senba’s testimony, he had spoken with the victim in a nearby park, and she had laughed at him and walked away. In a rage, he had run after her and stabbed her.”
“I read that in the report. Where’s the question?”
Fujinaka had straightened in his chair and said, “The question is, why did it happen there? The victim, Nobuko Miyake, lived on the other side of Tokyo, in Kiba. And Senba lived in an apartment in Edogawa Ward, less than ten kilometers away from her. So why did they meet up at a place that was inconvenient for both of them?”
“There was something about that in Senba’s testimony, wasn’t there? Didn’t he call Ms. Miyake, who told him that she was in Ogikubo and if he wanted to talk to her, he’d have to come all the way out?”
Fujinaka had nodded. “He also said that he didn’t know why Ms. Miyake was out in Ogikubo—that he’d been too preoccupied with the money she owed him to care. So we tried to piece together where she’d been before the attack. We walked all over town, asking around. The arrest was quick, but everything after that—well, truth is, we never came up with much of anything to explain what she was doing out there. That’s the lingering question.”
“It doesn’t seem that important,” Kusanagi had said.
“That was my opinion as well, given that we had a confession and everything checked out. I could live with a few mysteries. But Tsukahara wasn’t satisfied. Not only did he come with me on all the questioning, but he also did a lot of looking into the victim’s past on his own. He paid me a visit after the case went to court and Senba had been sent to jail, and I could tell it still didn’t sit well with him. I remember thinking that was the difference between a dyed-in-the-wool detective and, well, someone like me.”
Kusanagi finished recounting his visit with Fujinaka and took another bite of his meal.
Utsumi picked up her chopsticks, which she’d set aside while Kusanagi was talking. “It sounds like Tsukahara had more suspicions concerning the victim than the murderer.”
“That was my takeaway, too,” Kusanagi agreed. “What I want to know is, why was Tsukahara so dogged about that point? Sure, it’s important to know the background to the case, but it’s rare that everything is revealed, even after a successful investigation. He had to have a reason for being so concerned with what the victim had been up to before the murder took place.”
“Any ideas?”
“Only that he’d convinced himself that the only way to know the whole truth of what happened was to find out why she was there. I think he started to suspect that part of Senba’s confession was less than true—maybe something he saw when he was writing up the case report.”
“What do you think he saw?”
“I don’t know. It could’ve just been a hunch, a gut feeling he got during the questioning.”
“If he thought Senba was lying, why didn’t he press him on it?”
“Probably because he lacked leverage. If there’s nothing contradictory in the confession, and all the details check out, what’s there to say? I read all of the records from the questioning, and there really weren’t any head-scratchers in there, save the location. Senba’s claim that he didn’t know why she was out there is entirely believable.”
Kusanagi took another mouthful of the cow tongue, now gone cold, and gave his yam rice a stir. He’d gotten so lost in talking he had forgotten to enjoy his meal.
“Why don’t we do a little investigating into Nobuko Miyake then?” Utsumi suggested.
Kusanagi took a final sip of his oxtail soup and nodded. “My thoughts exactly. I’ll start tomorrow. Not that I have any illusions that this will go smoothly. After all, Tsukahara already tried, and we know he didn’t find what he was looking for.”
“I’ll keep looking into Senba.”
Kusanagi raised an eyebrow. “Just going to wander into every Internet café you can find, showing photos to people?”
“Is that a problem?”
Kusanagi frowned and shrugged. “It’s not that, but…”
“But what?” Utsumi asked, an unspoken challenge in her eyes.
“I was just thinking there might be a quicker way. Instead of stopping in at every Internet café, looking for a drifter, why not go to a place where drifters tend to gather?”
“They gather?”
“Even people without a place to live or steady work need a community—in fact, they probably need it more than the rest of us. That’s how a lot of them survive on the streets.”
Utsumi thought for a moment, her face hard, then her eyes opened wider. “Soup kitchens!”
“Bingo,” Kusanagi said with a grin. “I know a few volunteer groups that run soup kitchens on a regular basis.”
“Good idea,” Utsumi said. “I’ll start there first.” She scribbled something in her notebook.
“Now I just have to figure out where I’m going to start,” Kusanagi said with a groan. “The victim’s from Chiba originally, but she didn’t keep in regular contact with her parents or other relatives. I’m guessing that, as a former hostess, wherever she used to work has long since shut its doors. And even if it hasn’t, they don’t have very good long-term memory at those places. I doubt they’d remember a girl who worked there decades ago.”
The police had done an inquiry into Nobuko Miyake’s financial situation at the time, given the motive for the crime, but found only a mostly empty bank account and a long history of late, usually minimum payments on credit cards. They also uncovered more than a few people who’d loaned her money in the past.
“What about asking at the place where the victim and Senba went to get a drink the night before? Didn’t the proprietor there know Senba?”
“Could be,” Kusanagi agreed. “Still, it’s been fifteen years. I hope it’s still open.”
“There’s a better chance that it is than wherever she used to work.”
“Agreed. I’ll start there, then. Pretty sure the place was in Ginza. Good idea, recruit.”
Utsumi smiled. “I guess that makes us even.”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Kusanagi said, lighting a fresh cigarette.
They walked out of the restaurant and were standing in front of the parking lot when Kusanagi’s phone began to ring. He looked at the display and saw the call was coming from a public phone.
“It’s probably him,” he said to Utsumi before answering it. “Hello?”
“It’s me, Yukawa. Can you talk?”
“Just finished dinner. Utsumi’s here too. Something up?”
“There’s been a bit of a development. I can’t go into details yet, but I’m pretty sure I’ve identified someone with a deep connection to the case.”
Kusanagi’s grip on the phone tightened. “A suspect?”
After a pause of several seconds, Yukawa said, “I’ll leave the choice of words up to you.”
“Okay. So who is it?”
There was another pause before Yukawa said, “The owner of this inn.”
“What? You mean the place you’re staying? What was it called again?”
“The Green Rock Inn. The proprietor’s name is Shigehiro Kawahata. He worked at a company in Tokyo before taking over this place from his father. I’d like you to look into him—no, wait, not just him. You’d better look into his entire family.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
“Good morning.” Yukawa walked in just as Narumi was placing dishes on his breakfast tray.
She turned and smiled. “Did you sleep well?”