“On the double, sir,” said Shuhei and went off.
What’s that detective fellow on about now? Who cares about a stupid can of coffee?
Shuhei had broken out in a cold sweat. He knew that Kaga hadn’t really come to the restaurant just to have dinner. The detective hadn’t believed his story about eating all the snack cakes himself and was there to subject him to another round of questions.
There was no one he could turn to for help. He had no choice: he had to wait on the detective.
“This sake is from Akita Prefecture. It’s called Rokushu,” explained Shuhei, pouring a measure from a small earthenware bottle into a sake cup, which he had placed in front of Kaga. “It’s a carbonated sake. The bubbles come from its being fermented twice.”
“Delicious,” said Kaga, after taking a sip. “It reminds me of champagne. Is it made the same way?”
“I... uhm... think so, yes. They put yeast in junmai-shu — that’s sake made without any added alcohol or sugar — and then referment it.”
“With champagne, they add a little sugar along with the yeast. How about with this sake?”
“Co... could you wait a moment, sir? I need to go and ask someone.”
“It doesn’t matter. You can tell me later. I wanted to ask if you’d heard about the murder in Kodenmacho?”
Despite his best efforts, Shuhei couldn’t prevent his eyes widening at this unexpected and direct question. Kaga smiled smugly. “It seems that you have,” he said.
“What about it?”
“Your boss probably told you that we found some snack cakes at the crime scene. Our guess is that the victim was enjoying them at the time of her murder. We found some of the same cake undigested in her stomach, as well as some in a plastic container on the table. The trouble is, we don’t know who purchased them.”
“It wasn’t the victim?”
“No, unfortunately not. An insurance salesman visited the victim in her apartment prior to the murder. She offered him one, telling him that she’d just been given them. So we know that she got them from a third party.”
“Oh.” Shuhei couldn’t come up with a coherent answer.
“It was easy enough to find out where the cakes came from. There was a slip of paper with the name of the shop attached to the container lid. That in itself wasn’t particularly useful. I mean, tens, maybe even hundreds of people must buy those cakes from that shop every day. Luckily, though, there was something unusual about the snack cakes in the victim’s apartment. It was a selection that included some cakes with and some without sweet bean paste filling. Usually they only sell this sort of mixed selection on request. Naturally enough, we asked them if anyone had requested a selection of cakes with and without filling on the day of the crime. The store clerk said that there had been several such orders. Unfortunately, she couldn’t remember all the individual customers, but she did remember a certain young apprentice from Matsuya.” Kaga pointed at Shuhei’s chest. “She tells me you’re around there all the time?”
Shuhei grunted ambiguously. Now he finally knew why this detective wanted to see him.
Shuhei was standing, rooted to the spot, when Katsuya, the other apprentice, stuck his head in. He was wondering what was keeping Shuhei.
“Sorry, sir. I’ll be back later.” Shuhei made his excuses and left Kaga’s table.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” asked Katsuya, eyeing Shuhei suspiciously.
“The customer was talking to me...”
“You’ve got to learn to handle things better. You shouldn’t allow any customer to monopolize your time like that.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Shuhei headed for the kitchen. Monopolizing him was probably exactly what Kaga was there for.
Shuhei went to serve Kaga several times after that, but the detective didn’t try to engage him in conversation again. He appeared to be enjoying his dinner.
That only had the effect of making Shuhei more nervous. What was the detective’s plan? What exactly did he have up his sleeve? Why had he come tonight? No way was he there just to enjoy the food.
“This is Japanese mustard spinach. We mix it with stock to make a paste, which is then left to harden. This is a sprinkling of dried mullet roe powder on top.”
As he slid the plate in front of Kaga, Shuhei examined the expression on his face. Kaga’s only reaction was to comment on the exoticism of the dish and reach eagerly for his chopsticks. Shuhei turned away and started for the kitchen.
“We found three sets of fingerprints,” Kaga said.
Shuhei stopped in his tracks and spun around in alarm. Kaga looked right at him, as he brought the chopsticks to his mouth.
“Very interesting. Despite being a paste, it still has that distinctive Japanese spinach taste. What else would you expect, I suppose?”
“What do you mean?” spluttered Shuhei. “About fingerprints?”
Not answering right away, Kaga lifted the sake cup to his lips with a self-important air.
“We found three sets of prints. On the plastic container with the cakes, I mean. One set belonged to the victim. We’ve established that the second set belonged to the store clerk in the cake shop. That leaves us with the third set. We think it likely that those prints belong to whoever brought the cakes to the victim’s apartment. In the light of what happened, there’s every chance that that person is the murderer.”
The word murderer shocked Shuhei. He could feel the muscles in his face tightening, and he wasn’t a good enough actor to hide his feelings.
“They’re... they’re not the cakes I bought.” Shuhei’s voice was quivering.
“No, because you ate all of yours, didn’t you? You told us that.”
Shuhei gave a series of frantic nods.
“You’re a growing lad. No surprise that you occasionally have a snack in the middle of the working day. The owner said that at that time of the afternoon you have to water the sidewalk outside the restaurant. Where did you stash the cakes after you bought them? That white smock of yours doesn’t have any pockets.”
“That’s why I... uhm... the bicycle basket.”
“Bicycle?”
“I keep my bike parked in the alley beside the restaurant. I stuck the cakes in the bike’s basket. After I’d finished watering the sidewalk, I brought them inside.”
Kaga was silently gazing off into the middle distance. Shuhei wondered if he was drawing himself a mental picture. After a while, the detective looked at Shuhei and grinned.
“Of course you did. Polishing off a nice snack in secret is quite a challenge.”
“Have we finished here?”
“Sure, I didn’t mean to keep you,” said Kaga, raising the hand in which he held his chopsticks. “One last thing before you go. The last set of fingerprints on the container wasn’t a match with yours.”
Shuhei’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “My fingerprints? But how... when...?”
“Oh, we have our little tricks.”
Kaga’s grin stretched from ear to ear.
That was when it hit Shuhei. He scowled. “The can of coffee!”
Now he realized why the police had been so insistent that he have a drink with them. It wasn’t just about seeing whether he’d pick the sugarless coffee.
“Sneaky devils,” he hissed before he could stop himself.
“That’s how we cops operate, you know.” Kaga drained his sake.
From then until Shuhei served the last of the dessert dishes, Kaga didn’t say another word. Shuhei took care to avoid making eye contact.
After Kaga left, Yoriko called Shuhei over when he was carrying dirty dishes to the kitchen.
“That detective from the Nihonbashi precinct gave you the third degree, did he?”