Yamazaki came in. Tall and elegant, he wore his white coat with distinction, one hand in the pocket, the front buttons undone. Stylish fellow, Shinji thought.
Shinji rose to greet him. “Thank you for seeing me yesterday.”
“Not at all. But why are you back again today? I’m busy, you know.”
“Yes, I do realize, but I won’t keep you long. Look, I told you I was a journalist, but that isn’t true. I’m a lawyer.” And he presented his genuine card. The intern gazed at it with interest.
“I’m defending Ichiro Honda. Incidentally, do you know his blood type?”
“Yes. I saw in the newspaper. It’s the same as mine.”
“We are convinced of his innocence. For one thing, we do not believe that the AB Rh-negative blood found under the fingernails of the victims was his. The same applies to the sperm that was found.”
“Really? Are you implying that the blood was mine?”
“Not the blood. The sperm.”
The intern was speechless for a moment; he stared at Shinji out of the corner of his eye and then broke into a high-pitched laugh that had a hollow and insincere ring. “Very interesting. And what makes you so sure?”
“Well, you told me yesterday that you were interviewed by a popular magazine on the topic of sperm donation. That’s correct, isn’t it? So you have some experience, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, I’m one of several medical students here who donate. Usually about three of us, but sometimes four or five. But the names are always kept confidential, and even if you give you don’t know if it will be used. But what on earth can this have to do with Ichiro Honda?”
“I have reason to believe that you donated on the fifth of November last year.”
“Wait a minute.” Yamazaki consulted his pocket diary. He shook his head. “I didn’t note it, and my memory of last year is hazy. I have a feeling that I donated in about October, but I can’t be sure.”
“And where would the donation have taken place?”
“Why, here, of course.”
“And how is it usually collected?”
The faint smile vanished from Yamazaki’s face. His susceptibilities were plainly offended. “I don’t see why I have to go into details… I don’t see what bearing… Oh, very well, I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. In a test tube, of course.”
“So someone goes around collecting these tubes? For example, a nurse?”
“No, we usually hand it over to the registrar in person.”
Whilst talking, they had moved away from the crowd and were now standing by a window next to a shoe locker. To the casual observer, they would have been seen as two men holding a light conversation.
“Look,” said Shinji. “A man’s life depends upon this. You won’t have to go into court and give evidence if you don’t want to, but please just tell me the truth. On or just before the fifth of November, did you not give a test tube of sperm to someone other than the registrar—even, a faint possibility that occurs to me, to a strange nurse?”
A cool breeze, chilled by the shade of the trees outside, blew in through the window. Kotaro Yamazaki had turned his back on Shinji, causing the latter to reflect on how such a gesture symbolizes rejection. After a pause, Yamazaki turned and faced Shinji again.
“How much do you think the hospital pays me?” His voice was low and challenging. Shinji did not reply.
“Nothing, that’s the answer! No matter how long you’ve worked, nothing. You’ve got to be rich to become a doctor, you know! A lot of the others are themselves sons of doctors, so they can afford it and don’t mind working like horses for nothing. I’m not complaining; that’s the way it is. I’m just saying it’s easier to qualify if you are rich, if you’re a doctor’s son like those others, so I ask you to spare a thought for people like me who have to make it on our own. Yes, I did sell a test tube of semen for ten thousand yen on the fifth of November last year, if you must know.”
“Ten thousand yen! That’s a lot of money! What’s the normal rate?”
Yamazaki again turned his back on Shinji and answered over his shoulder. “A thousand or fifteen hundred.” His voice seemed to be full of self-contempt.
“And what did the person look like—the one who came to collect the tube?”
“A nurse in a white uniform. It was in the afternoon, I think. I had just had lunch, and was walking down the corridor when a strange nurse carrying a test tube appeared and, having identified me, offered me ten times the usual rate to make an urgent donation under conditions of strict secrecy. I accepted without hesitation. I mean, ten thousand yen. And in other ways it was not such an unusual request.”
The nurse had waited for him to make the donation and had then left. She had introduced herself as being from the K Obstetric Clinic in Setagaya.
“And you got the payment all right?”
“Oh, yes, she gave it to me in a brown envelope together with the test tube.”
“And what did you do with the envelope?”
“I threw it away.”
“Can you remember what she looked like?”
“Not particularly. A small woman in a nurse’s uniform, which contributes to anonymity. When she turned to go, I saw that her hair was braided under her cap.”
“Did she have a mole at the right base of her nose?”
Shinji touched his nose to refresh Yamazaki’s memory.
“Yes, she did, now you mention it. Quite a big mole. She was wearing a mask at first, and I didn’t see it.”
So the woman with the mole had come here, too. She had collected semen; her criminal intent now seemed clear.
“And she took her mask off?”
“Yes. She apologized for having a cold and blew her nose. That’s when she took the mask off and I saw the mole.”
So she invariably tried to conceal the mole, and thereby drew attention to it. Was the criminal fighting a losing battle with fate?
“Did she give you the impression of being disguised?”
“Not at all. A white uniform in a hospital is most natural, after all, so I thought nothing of it.”
“But didn’t you think it a bit peculiar—coming from so far to collect semen?”
“Not really—she could have used a taxi.”
“Do you usually keep donations so secret?”
“Our professor tells us to. And it’s an important principle, don’t you agree? Can I go now? Frankly, by nature I don’t like discussing things that are over and done with.” His face had grown cold.
“Of course, and I’ll treat everything you have said in strict confidence, don’t you worry. But just one last question before you go. Yesterday, you told me that blood donation is a stale topic and that artificial insemination is more interesting. You even mentioned an interview with a popular magazine. Frankly, it seemed to me that you were being evasive. Now I want you to be perfectly frank with me. Did it not later occur to you that there was some connection between this incident and Ichiro Honda’s case? Didn’t there seem to be some linkage, perhaps more than coincidence, between the date of your donation and the rape-murder in Kinshicho?”
“No, not for one minute. Your hypothesis lacks scientific substance.” He looked disdainfully at Shinji and went on. “Human beings are divided into secretory and nonsecretory types, you know. It is only in the case of a secretory type that the semen and saliva are identical in type to the blood. And I am a nonsecretory type. So although my blood type is AB, my semen and saliva will not show up as AB but as O. If you don’t believe me, look it up or go and ask an expert.”
“And how do you know you are nonsecretory? Most people wouldn’t, would they?” Shinji made a last effort to catch him out.