[afonso]
THE MEAN ONES
by themollyedge
PART TWO
I was rolling out of my futon the next morning, barely hung over but not quite sure when I’d returned to my office last night, when my mobile rang. It was Tsutsui, sounding quite cheerful as he said: “Kishimoto’s in the clear. He was working at home with his father on a case from four in the afternoon until midnight the day she was killed.”
“You’re taking his father’s word for it?”
“Hardly. I’m taking Kishimoto’s secretary’s word for it.” He sighed. “A delightful man called Mitani, who called me an incompetent moron, and Kaga an idiotic oaf-” He might’ve had a point with that one. “-but whose statement was corroborated by two others.”
Rubbing my forehead, I asked: “What was his statement exactly?”
“He said, uh.” I heard the sound of papers rustling, and then a new voice was speaking: “The little shit said that Kishimoto and his father, along with an intern-a Chinese kid by the name of Le Ping, annoying as fuck, let me tell you. Worse than your Touya brat.”
I could hear Tsutsui demand that Kaga return his phone, but I ignored this background noise. Crude though Kaga might have been, he’d give me the pertinent details and get the story over fast. He said: “Anyway, the three of them were in the office, working some big case. Messy divorce, lotta money involved, maybe some infidelity. All the good stuff. So the three of ‘em work late into the night, order in dinner-delivery man confirmed-at ten-thirty. Work straight through until a quarter to twelve, leave through the back entrance ‘cause it’s the quickest route to their cars, and go home. If the dead girl was there already, they didn’t see her-and probably feel damn guilty about it. Then Kishimoto gets a rude awakening at six in the morning when someone calls to tell him his fiancée is dead, but he’s clear. Alibi.”
“Well. That’s good, I guess.”
“Except that our only other lead is the ex, and he’s a slippery bastard. He’s been a suspect in a handful of petty thefts and one assault, but there’ve been no arrests. Half the time we could only peg one of his little friends, and the other half we didn’t have the evidence to arrest anybody.” He snorted. “Fucking judicial system.”
And then Tsutsui’s voice again in the background-not quite an affectionate laugh, not quite an admonishment, but something in between. I could tell that it was drawing Kaga’s attention, so I said: “I’ve got his cell number. You got it from Fukui?”
“Hm? Oh, yeah. Number’s still in use but nobody’s picking up. You get through?”
“Haven’t tried.”
“Good to know you’re on the task,” he said, and hung up.
I stared at my futon and considered rolling right back into it.
***
Ochi, the lawyer, was a small, young-looking man with an unpleasant expression and sharp eyes behind spectacles. His suit was perfectly fitted, in a warm shade of brown that distracted from the cheap material, paired with a wide tie. As Touya introduced himself, Ochi tapped his fingers together and guarded the door to his tiny office. Down the hall, I spotted a secretary dutifully manning her desk and an elderly man leafing through a book; otherwise the firm was a ghost town.
Touya and I shared a look. All the better for us. Lawyers were difficult (though at least with Kishimoto Touya had known what we were dealing with); the fewer we faced, the happier we were.
“We’d just like you to answer a few questions for us, Mr. Ochi.”
He frowned, like he was going to be sick all over his shiny shoes. I half hoped he would. I was a bad mood-I’d tried calling Waya a few times and had failed to get through-and now Ochi’s unpleasant attitude was making me cranky. He said: “I haven’t really got the time to-”
“Sure you have. It’ll only take a minute. Feel free to kick us out if a client arrives. We won’t mind.”
His fingers tapped, his mouth twisted, but he stood aside at last.
Stepping past him, Touya asked: “How long since you last saw Hidaka Yuri?”
“A week.” He thought about it for a second. “Five days.”
“You know she’s dead?”
A nod-curt, sharp-and he slid into his desk chair. He drummed his fingers against his day planner, which was open to this week’s schedule. “Her family has been in contact with me, of course. I’m her lawyer, and I must settle her accounts.”
I asked: “And what exactly are those accounts?” and he and Touya both looked at me like I’d gone mad.
Well, it was worth a shot. But the expected reply came: “The contents of her will are confidential.” He was looking past us both. “Now, if you’ll excuse me-”
“I’d rather not,” I began, but Touya nodded and said: “Of course. Just one thing: Ms. Hidaka was found with bruised ankles. Do you know how this might’ve happened?”
He looked distractedly back at us and frowned. “Bad shoes? Women never wear sensible shoes-always high heels and bright colors and impractical straps.” Turning his cold eyes on the doorway, he said: “It’s been well past ‘a minute,’ so if you could please-”
“We’re going.” I latched my fingers round Touya’s wrist and pulled him into the corridor, turned the corner, and whispered: “What a prick.”
“Damn. I know you were being an idiot, but I still wish he’d fallen for it. The will-”
I grinned. “Don’t worry about that. We’ll see the will.” At the arch of Touya’s eyebrows, I explained, keeping my voice low just in case: “Didn’t you notice Ochi? He was dying to get out of his office. We could do a little, uh, detecting while he’s out. Just a thought.”
“We’re in a law firm. They could sue us before we even got our hands on the will.” His expression softened. “Unless, well, he did have a filing cabinet. If he’s as-”
“Anal retentive?”
Touya nodded vaguely. “-as he looks, it shouldn’t be too difficult to find.”
Within five minutes, I was keeping watch at the door while Touya picked the lock of the filing cabinet labeled F-M. “Where did you learn to do that?” Even I didn’t know how to pick a lock. Kaga had shown me once, years ago, but Sai had been wailing in my ear about how it was wrong, so I’d never really picked it up. It seemed ridiculous that Touya Akira-cultured, educated, and brilliant, if a bit of a smart-ass-would ever learn something so unseemly.
His smile was faint. “There’s a reason my father’s the best, Shindou. We Touyas may not look it, but we do actually do some detective work. Even the dirty work.”
“I know.”
“It’s all in the wrist-” Just like that, the drawer slid open into his hands. “You’re doing a lousy job of standing guard, by the way.”
I bit back a laugh and returned my watch to the empty hallway. The secretary still hadn’t looked up from her typing, and the old man looked like he was napping. I didn’t know where Ochi was, but I saw no signs of him. I was tempted to think that maybe my idea wasn’t as stupid and risky as it had sounded, but I didn’t dare-the last thing we needed was one of those “what could possibly go wrong?” situations. Something always went wrong.
Without looking away, I listened as Touya hmmed over whatever he had found. “Marriage certificate-permanently unsigned. Papers about the restaurant. Old lawsuit. Oh, here we go: the will.” The secretary was standing up, but I payed her little attention as I heard more hmming and thumbing through papers. The spinning wheels of his mind were tangible, vibrant, filling the room.
I blinked once-overwhelmed by excitement and curiosity, the thrill of the case-and when I opened my eyes again, the secretary was moving, heading straight for Ochi’s office.
My stomach bottomed out. I’d never actually been arrested before. “Hurry!” I hissed. Behind me, the shuffle of papers and a few choice words from Touya, and then she stood at the doorway, greeting us with confusion.
She was slender and attractive. Her black pencil skirt fit snugly across her hips, and her button-up white blouse clung to her modest breasts and flaired at her waist. Wisps of dark hair framed her face, lovely with its almond-shaped eyes and high, proud forehead. Her mouth was parted as if to speak, her pinkish lips open to reveal small white teeth.
I stared at her, and said in a voice I did not trust: “Akari?”
***
We explained our presence away as smoothly as possible. Touya was better at that sort of thing, so I let him do the talking. I tuned in and out, enough to hear him saying we’d had a few last minute questions-blah blah-waiting for Ochi in his office-blah blah-no sign of him anywhere-blah blah. Akari listened, smiling, believing it.
“Oh, don’t worry about Ochi.” She rolled her eyes. “He loses a case, like he did this morning, and-well, he’s got this nervous tic, and he holes himself up in the men’s room for hours.” In a softer tone, she said: “It’s unfortunate. He’s not such a bad guy, sometimes, and he’s really smart. Younger than any of the other associates by a few years, at least. But he’s obsessed with success.”
We’d gone to the staff lounge, a dinky room the color of urine that smelled of cigarette smoke and stale coffee. Touya was stirring idly at a cup of the sludge, and I’d opted for a glass of tepid water. His mind was turning over whatever he had seen; mine was still, focused entirely on Akari, who turned to me, her expression luminous. “But I can’t believe it’s you, Hikaru!” She threw her arms around me. “I haven’t seen you since we were, God, sixteen?”
I set my glass on the table and nodded against her hair. “This is-” I said, pulling away and gesturing at Touya, “-my partner, Touya Akira.”
“Your-?”
“We work together,” explained Touya, unnecessarily. What else could I mean? “We’re detectives.”
“And that’s what you’re doing talking to Ochi?” She looked between the two of us. “I mean, can I ask?”
Touya said: “We’re investigating the murder of one of his clients. Maybe you’ve met her? Hidaka Yuri.”
If I’d had the chance, I’d have objected to Touya’s-unhesitating-use of my friend as a source of information. He could’ve at least given us a chance to catch up, to exchange childhood stories, to talk about everything but why we’d stopped talking in the first place. But then I saw Akari go pale. Her hand clutched at mine. “Yuri?”
“You knew her?” Touya’s voice was gentle; I didn’t know what to say.
“She was-we were friends. We met here, but we-we were friends.” She put her head in her hands, her hair hanging like a curtain across her face. Leaning into me, I heard her stifle a small sob. “I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her nose against my dampening shoulder. Her body was not small in my arms; we were, in fact, about the same size, but I still tried to hold her the best I could.
Over the top of Akari’s head, I met Touya’s gaze. His eyes were sorrowful but curious, and I knew there would be questions later.
At last Akari pulled away and repeated: “Sorry, so sorry.” Her sniffs subsided and she murmured: “I just-I didn’t know. No one told me.”
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for.” I held her hand. “Absolutely nothing.”
***
Dinner sat heavy in my stomach, just a little heavier for the sake I’d shared with Touya’s father. Touya had declined on the basis of keeping a clear mind, but after the incident with Akari, a clear mind was the last thing I wanted. The drinks, however, had left my tongue just a little looser, and Touya was eager to talk.
“Who was she?”
“My friend, I told you. My best friend for a long time-before.” Before Sai. Before Touya.
Looking lean and thoughtful, Touya sat with his back against his bed, and I crawled to settle beside him. He was warmer than a blanket, and as my head drooped forward and I fought off sleep, he said: “But you haven’t seen her in more than half a decade.”
“Well, things were awkward. She told me that she was-” I blushed, and he noticed. He noticed everything; it was his job. “-in love with me. I didn’t exactly feel the same, so. Well. We lost touch.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was my fault. She was okay with the fact that I didn’t love her. Even my mom, who’s had every hope on that front, was okay with the fact that I didn’t love her. I was the one who had a problem.”
Touya was silent so long I thought he’d just leave it, but then he said: “I remember that. You were acting like more of an idiot than usual, and you blamed it on ‘girl trouble.’ I thought you’d disappear into a life of dating and parties, never to be heard from again.” His tone was faintly ironic: “But I was wrong. Lucky me.”
“You’re an ass.”
“So are you. But I am glad you haven’t lost sight of what’s important.”
I sighed and turned my head to look at him. He was so close I was practically touching him. “What’s important?” He met my gaze, his eyes dark and gleaming like the blue-black shine of a beetle. “What’s important, Touya? Tell me.”
“What’s important is solving this case.” He pulled me up by my sleeve and pushed me into the bed. “We’ll get back to business tomorrow morning. Now go to bed, you drunkard.”
***
I was roused by a cup of coffee under my nose and the words “Let’s talk about the will.”
A few minutes later, as the steam warmed my face and I reached a suitable state of consciousness, I watched as Touya sat cross-legged on the floor, deep in thought. If he’d slept on a futon, he’d already put it away; if he’d slept beside me, I hadn’t noticed. His hair was damp and his clothes were fresh-he’d been awake for an hour, at least. Probably longer.
“So.” I coughed. My tongue felt thick and dry; the inside of my throat felt like it had sprouted fur. “The will.”
He looked up and smiled, a rare, bright flash of pure amusement. “You sound about as hung over as you look.”
“It said that in the will? Fascinating.”
“Shockingly, no, the will didn’t mention you. It said that Hidaka was leaving her holdings in the restaurant to her business partner, her personal belongings and wealth to her parents and brother to do with as they see fit-and her goban to Kishimoto.”
I winced. “Ouch.”
“I don’t know. I think that’s probably all he’d want.”
The thought was horribly lonely. If I died-when I died-I’d leave the person I intended to spend the rest of my life with more than just a goban. I’d at least leave them my manga collection, too. “So the family’s got the motive?”
“Except she hardly had the kind of bank account someone kills over. It was a nice sum, but nothing extraordinary. Nothing worth murder. And it still doesn’t explain the ankles, or the violent nature of the death. Why would killing her for her money require hanging her upside down?”
“If that’s what happened.”
He ignored me. “The point is that she had more potential wealth than actual wealth. Her restaurant is only getting more successful with each day, and if everything goes well, she could’ve been making a small fortune in just a few years.”
I thought it over. “Then the one who stands to gain is, uh-”
“Ko Yongha. If money’s the motive, and not lust, jealousy, revenge, or cheap thrills.”
“Or Ochi,” I couldn’t help but add.
“Ochi?” Touya’s expression spoke volumes: he’d found the young lawyer as unpleasant as I had, and had been just as unsettled by Akari’s description of his obsessive thirst for success. But all he said was, “He stands to gain nothing.”
“But he’s the lawyer. Lawyers always have a way to the money.”
A deep, Touya-like sigh, followed by a faint smile. “You’re just saying that because you don’t like him.”
“It’s a gut feeling. Aren’t you supposed to trust gut feelings?”
“No, you’re supposed to take them into rational consideration. There’s a difference. Now, here’s the plan for today.” Touya liked his plans. They gave him a strategy, a way of keeping me on task and him on point, and they made him feel productive when a case was stalled. Which this case undeniably was. “We’ll visit Ko Yongha first, obviously, and then-”
The ring of my phone was so shrill and so loud that it took me a full three seconds to recognize it. It was stuffed in one of the pockets of my jacket, hanging on the back of Touya’s desk chair, so I lunged for it and without checking the number, flipped it open, almost shouting: “Hello!”
“Shindou?” a voice responded, taken aback by my enthusiasm. “This is Waya.”
I gestured somewhat violently at Touya to lean in. “Waya? Shindou here.”
The voice changed, getting a little rougher. Any uncertainty he may have felt had fled. “Maybe you can explain this to me. A man named Tsutsui left me a message-said he was a police officer, and I should call him. I didn’t get the message until this morning. Work’s been a bitch. And he said-” A very long pause. “He said that-that Yuri was dead. Murdered. And that I was a suspect.”
“Yes,” I said. “She is. You are. I’m sorry.”
“And then I get a message from someone called Kaga. A real asshole, but the same gist.” He swallowed audibly. “Then-then a message from you. Not a word about Yuri, just saying you had something important to talk about. But I looked you up-you’re a detective. Could’ve mentioned that. A little duplicitous that you didn’t, if you ask me.”
Touya eyed me warily. (He’d never eyed me any other way. Sometimes I wondered if he’d realized I was no longer the clumsy, stupid boy I’d been when we’d met.) I had to handle this with care. “That wasn’t my intention,” I lied. Duplicity had been exactly my intention: telling a criminal he’s a murder suspect is just the way to send him hightailing out of town. “I am working with the police,but I didn’t mention anything because, well. I just thought, if you hadn’t heard about Hidaka already, I didn’t want you to find out through a voicemail.”
“Yeah. Well. Lotta good that did me.”
I asked: “Have you contacted either Tsutsui or Kaga yet?”
“They’re on their way.”
Beside me, I felt Touya’s mood shift. Waya was an important clue, and it was absolutely essential that he talk to us. I trusted that Kaga was sharp enough to read a suspect and that Tsutsui was dedicated enough to fish out all the angles, but we had to speak with Waya, too. I trusted us-Touya and me-more. Touya felt the same.
I took a risk. I said: “I’ll buy you all the drinks you can down if you meet with me.”
Silence at the other end of the line, and an undertone of frustration. He wasn’t biting. The deep frown on Touya’s face was almost worse.
“Dinner, too.”
“Fine,” he growled, and I pretended not to hear his voice crack. Touya’d never believe me, but I didn’t think Waya had killed Hidaka. Fukui had been right-he loved her too much. The grief was manifesting in snipes, anger and sarcasm, flaring brightly like a firework on the brink of explosion. He was not taking her death well.
I thanked him and told him where and when we would meet. There was a restaurant just around the corner from our favorite go parlor that served decent ramen and quality sake. If you asked the right questions, they’d pull out the good scotch and a vintage of wine that made Touya purr. Waya recognized the place’s name, agreeing gruffly and hanging up.
At the eyebrow Touya raised at me, I commented: “Hey. I got him to meet me. That’s more than you were able to do.”
He nodded. “You’re going alone?”
“I probably should. I didn’t want to scare him off by mentioning you, and I don’t think he’d appreciate a-”
“Third wheel?”
“Wasn’t what I was gonna say.” I shrugged. “But yes.”
“Fair enough. In the meantime, let’s go talk to Ko Yongha,” he said. “But first you need to take a shower.”
***
The restaurant was a thriving mess of people by the time we arrived. It was not quite lunchtime yet, but the crowded tables and waiters rushing all around didn’t seem to notice. I was amazed that this many people were that into salad.
“They don’t just serve salad,” Touya told me. He was looking pretty interested in a plate of greens himself. “They’ve got pasta dishes, grilled vegetables, desserts. Everything you want from a restaurant, only healthier. I’ve been reading critics’ reviews of the place, and they’ve all been very positive. The food, atmosphere, and service are all apparently quite good.”
Sliding an unused menu off a table and flipping through it, I said, “Maybe. But the prices are ridiculous!”
Touya had barely begun rolling his eyes when a waiter, looking snappy in his penguin suit, said: “Excuse me, do you have a reservation?” His nametag read Yashiro.
“Hello, my name is Touya Akira and this is Shindou Hikaru. We’re detectives working in tandem with the police investigating the murder of Hidaka Yuri. It is of the utmost importance that we speak to a Mr. Ko Yongha as soon as possible. We understand him to be working here currently.”
He’d left no room for a reply other than okay. This was what he was good at: He was unrelenting and insistent, launching a methodical assault that covered all bases and left you with no choice but do exactly what he wanted you to. It was also terrifying.
But it got the job done. Without another word, the waiter led us through the restaurant and through the kitchen, where our eyes were drawn to the man neither of us doubted was Ko Yongha. He was striking. His auburn hair was pulled into a ponytail, and clever eyes peered out from long dark lashes. His elegant hands were gesturing here and there as he ordered sous chefs and nervous waiters about. He hadn’t even noticed our entrance.
I cleared my throat. “Hello,” I called.
He turned and said nothing.
“We’re investigating that death of your business partner. If you could take just a moment to speak with us-”
With a long-suffering sigh, he interrupted Touya. He said: “Fine, fine,” pointing carelessly toward the door. “Wait outside. We’re handling food in here.” His voice was somewhat thick with an accent, but it was thicker with arrogance. In either case, we followed well enough and did as we were told. Grumbling, I might add, all the way.
For several long minutes we waited for Ko Yongha to emerge, speaking to each other in low tones. Touya was warning me not to jump to any conclusions, which was usually a sure sign he was resisting the urge himself. He didn’t respond well to inflated egos. Neither did I. This was definitely going to go well.
At last the man stepped out of the kitchen and motioned us toward a small table, where he promptly sat. “Now, what can I do for you? This is about Yuri, right?”
Touya nodded. “As you’re aware, she was murdered. Her fiancé was cleared of all suspicion, leaving us with just a few leads. Given that she’s left her shares in the restaurant to you, and given its-” Touya looked around. “-popularity, you can see why we might suspect you.”
“Are you morons?” Ko Yongha asked, blinking at us. “Most restaurants fail within the first year, and this one was only just beginning to thrive. How does the death of the one of the owners help anything?”
“It hasn’t seemed to have affected you too adversely.”
“As it turns out, I’m a business genius. We pulled through.”
I cut to the chase. “You got an alibi for the night she died?”
“I was with a friend most of the night. A gorgeous young woman-an American, if I’m not mistaken. If I knew her name, I’d give it to you. I don’t doubt she remembers the evening.” He smirked. “Otherwise, no. But I didn’t kill Yuri. She was a good partner and a sweet girl. I had nothing against her.”
We asked a few more questions, all of them more or less revealing that Ko Yongha was an ass. If he’d done it, he wasn’t giving away anything we didn’t already know. Finally, Touya asked the last question-the one about the ankles. Ko Yongha shrugged and dismissed us: “As you can see, the restaurants packed and I’m supposed to be doing staff evaluations. I’m out of time for your questions.”
As we left the restaurant, furious, Touya commented: “I know it’s like betting the favorite, but I’m putting my money on him.” He looked at me. “Who else could it be?”
***
After lunch, we stopped by Kishimoto’s office to pick up Hidaka’s apartment key. While I returned home to change-I was stuck in one of Touya’s outfits again-and prepare for dinner with Waya, Touya would go through Hidaka’s apartment and see what he could find. “Hopefully we can find something to incriminate that bastard,” I muttered to him, and Touya laughed before he could stop himself.
We arrived at the secretary’s desk and stated our purpose.
The secretary-the nameplate on the desk said he was called Mitani Yuki-looked bored and somewhat hostile, and he responded with a firm “No.”
“Why not?”
He glared. “Mr. Kishimoto is busy right now. If you’d like to leave a message for him-”
“I called ahead.” Touya’s voice was cold. “He said that he would be busy, but that he’d leave the key with his secretary to give to us. So if you could stop being a-”
“Dick!” I interjected, probably unhelpfully.
“-that would be just great.”
The corners of Mitani’s lips curved up into an insincere smile. “Of course.” He withdrew the key from somewhere within his desk and pressed it into Touya’s hand. “On a related note, I’d really appreciate it if you left my boss alone. As I believe I’ve mentioned to you on more than one occasion, his fiancée is dead and your constant nagging at him is doing nothing to help. Now, if you’d please-”
“Get out,” I filled in. “Yeah, we got it.”
***
We parted after a few shared complaints about overprotective secretaries, and time passed swiftly. By the time I had changed my clothes, dug my tape recorder out of my desk, and called my mother (it had been two weeks since we’d talked, and she’d left me a voicemail), it was time to meet Waya.
He was sitting at the counter when I arrived, two empty glasses already sitting at his elbow. I knew it was him-I’m not sure how, except that he was the saddest man in the room, and when I sat beside him, he asked: “Shindou?”
“Nice to meet you.” He shook my hand, and I continued: “And I really am sorry about how you found out about Hidaka. That wasn’t fair to you. I’m surprised Tsutsui let it happen.”
Waya nodded at his drinks. “You’re covering these, by the way.” He ordered another and a bowl of ramen. He said: “Officer Tsutsui offered his sincerest apologies over the same thing,” sarcasm leaking into the words. “It doesn’t make it any better.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
He ran a hand through his wild hair. “I didn’t kill her.”
I sighed and reached into my bag. “Listen, do you mind if I record our conversation? I’ve got a partner-we work cases together, including this one-and he’d really like to know what you said.”
“You can’t just tell him?”
“I could, but you can represent yourself better than I can.” Unless Touya heard Waya’s innocence for himself, he wouldn’t believe me.
Waya shrugged and kept drinking. “Whatever.” He waited for me to press record and then repeated: “I didn’t kill her.”
The best thing to do was just start in. There was no use pretending this wasn’t going to hurt. I began: “You’d recently broken up?”
“When she dumped me for that fucking Kishimoto. A while ago.”
“Why did she dump you?”
Frowning, he spoke into his glass. “I work at a garage. I’m really good with cars, and my boss Morishita is a really great guy. But he doesn’t always hire really great guys.” Thinking of Ogata, I was pretty sure I understood. “Most of the guys I work with, my friends, they’re bad news. They get me into trouble all the time. When I almost got arrested for assault because of something one of those idiots did, Yuri just couldn’t take it anymore, and she dumped me. Said she couldn’t stand for that kind of behavior. She was right, too. She’s always right.”
“But you were never involved in the crimes your friends got busted for?” I clarified.
He shook his head. “Never. I was tempted, especially the big robberies, but then I thought about Mr. Morishita and Yuri, and I couldn’t. But I usually knew if something was going down.”
“What was your relationship with Yuri like?” This one would be a killer. I could tell by the way he looked at me, like he was furious at me for asking but like he wanted to answer all the same.
“What was it like? I don’t know.” His gaze was cloudy and he blinked. “Good most of the time. Bad some of the time. She was gorgeous and brilliant and I loved her, but she was gorgeous and brilliant and so I hated her sometimes, too. She awed me. She infuriated me. She made me wonder all the time what she saw in me. Do you know what that’s like?” I didn’t respond-he didn’t really want me to-and I just waited for him to continue. “I should have listened to her,” he said, shaking his head and gulping at his drink. “I should have.”
“Do you have an alibi for that night?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No,” he said simply. “I ate, I slept, I woke up. Your friend Kaga informs that that’s not much of an alibi, unless my fridge and my bed are willing to corroborate.”
I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to have to say this next part, but it was my job. “She was strangled to death. I found her-her body, when I was walking home one night. I knew she’d been strangled because her throat was black and blue, like it had been stained by ink. Then I saw her ankles, and those were bruised, too. I don’t know why. It haunts me, trying to figure out why.”
His voice was very quiet. “Was she raped?”
I shook my head. “Our best guess is torture, but it doesn’t add up. We don’t know what happened to her. Do you have any clue?”
“No. Fuck. No.” He looked near tears. “Of all people, why Yuri? She’s a good person. She’s-she was-the best person I ever knew.” He picked up his bowl of ramen and threw it to the floor, shards scattering in every direction. “It’s not fair.”
When a kid who worked there came to clean up the mess, I slipped him a few bills from my pocket and told him it had been an accident. His irritated expression melted and he nodded his understanding. Then I looked at Waya. “Could you tell me what kind of shoes Hidaka wore?”
“Shoes? What the fuck do shoes have to do with anything?” he growled, but at my insistence, he said: “I don’t know. Tennis shoes. Flip flops. Stuff she’d be comfortable in when she went running or just hanging out.”
“Nothing fancy? Heels?”
“She wore pumps when we went out to nice places sometimes. Plain black pumps. Nothing fancy. What-?” But he was cut off by the sound of his cell phone ringing in his pocket. He pulled it out and and answered: “Hey.” A pause. “I can’t, I’m sort of busy. But-well, you can meet me here if you like. Yeah, that’d be fine.” He provided the address then said: “See you soon.”
At my curious glance, he informed me: “A friend. She’s dropping by here.”
“Oh. Okay.”
We continued to eat in silence until he peered at me and asked: “So what’s it like being a detective?”
I pushed my bowl away. “At the moment? It’s not great. Seeing your grief, it’s hard. I want you to know that. I don’t just ask these questions to be mean. It’s what I have to do-but sometimes I hate it.” Touya didn’t understand this part, how it made me sick to see such pain. Sai had understood; Sai had taught me. “And when I find out who killed this woman, who is so admired by everyone I’ve spoken with, I still won’t be happy. Because maybe the killer will deserve whatever he gets, but his family? His friends? They’re going to suffer, too. The whole experience is suffering.”
He asked the obvious: “So why do you do it?”
I floundered. “Because-because I can’t do anything else. I’m a detective. I’m obsessed with what I do. Even if it’s torture.”
“That sounds kind of crazy, you know.”
That made me smile. “You don’t know the half of it.”
We toasted and returned to our meals, silent until we heard a voice call out: “Hikaru!” I turned around to see Akari, dressed more casually than she had been the day before and looking between me and Waya like she couldn’t believe her eyes. “What are you doing with Waya?”
“He’s interrogating me,” said Waya. “Or something.” He peered up at her. “How do you know him?”
“Childhood friends.” My reply was automatic. “How do you know each other?”
“Through Yuri,” she said in hushed tones, her pretty eyes finally resting on Waya. Her breath was loud, wavering, as she said: “If you’re with Hikaru, then you know, don’t you?”
“That she’s dead?” He nodded. “I found out this morning. You?”
“Yesterday.”
“Take a seat. So is that was why you wanted to meet?”
“Yeah. I didn’t want to tell you over the phone.” She sat down in the empty seat beside me and seemed to realize something. “Where’s Touya?”
“My partner,” I explained to Waya, then answered: “He’s searching Hidaka’s apartment.”
She eyebrows rose. “How’d you get the key?” Her surprised expression morphed into a scandalized one. “Or did he just break in?”
That was a bit too close to yesterday’s truth for comfort, but I could at least say with certainty: “No, no, Kishimoto gave it to us.” The name made Waya’s face go dark, so I amended: “Well, actually, Kishimoto’s secretary did.”
Akari blinked. “His secretary?”
“Mitani something?” I said, then added: “I’ve wanted to smack few people more.”
“That’s strange.” She bit her lip, which was shiny with gloss. “I could’ve sworn-” A pause. “I’m not, strictly speaking, supposed to know this. But Yuri was going to sue someone named Mitani once. I’m almost positive.”
“Why?”
She thought for a moment and shrugged. “I don’t know, I just heard Ochi talking about it. It didn’t work out-Yuri didn’t have a case, apparently, but-well, that’s what I heard.”
Odd, very odd, but before I had time to think about it, my phone rang. Touya.
“What’s up?” I asked, curbing my eagerness. I hoped he’d found something good.
“You done there? I’m home and-you’ll want to see this.”
Standing up, I said: “I’ll be there in fifteen.” I left Waya and Akari enough cash to cover their drinks for the rest of the night.
***
“What is it?” I asked, looking at the picture Touya had uploaded onto his computer. He’d taken his rarely-used digital camera to the apartment, in case he caught sight of anything important, and apparently he had. This-whatever it was. It looked like a medieval torture device to me.
“It’s called an inversion table. It’s a health thing. You use it, and you’re supposed to reduce back pain and stress, improve circulation, and increase oxygen to the brain. It’s a suspect idea in the first place, and this particular table is old and cheaply made. I would bet money that it was recently purchased used and Hidaka only tried it once.”
“How’s it work?”
He pointed to two straps. “You stick your ankles in those, and then-you hang upside down.”
My eyes widened. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“How I wish. I thought solving our case was contingent on solving the mystery of the bruised ankles, but they’re just a coincidence. There was some blood on the ankle straps. I’ll get it tested, but I think she used it the same day she died, and it hurt her ankles. End of story.”
I felt my breath whoosh out of my body. “This is-anticlimactic.”
“I’m aware.”
“Not that I’m not glad she wasn’t tortured,” I hastened to add. “I am. But you know this means I was right. I said at the beginning that maybe the ankles were unrelated.”
“And I was right. I said she was hanging upside down.” He smirked a little.
But. “We still don’t have a murderer.”
“No, we don’t.”
“You didn’t find anything to incriminate Ko Yongha?”
He flipped through the papers he’d taken from the apartment. “Nothing. But I found something else. It must’ve been a file of Kishimoto’s things, but for some reason Hidaka had it.” He handed me a manila folder. “It was a file on that awful Mitani. Two years ago, he embezzled money from Kishimoto’s firm. When he got found out, he stopped, agreed to return the money, and was allowed to keep working there. But this file was keeping careful tabs on Mitani, all the way up through this month.”
I stared at him, the words not quite reaching me, and then I understood.
We’d come full circle. I called Kaga.
***
This was how we imagine it happened:
When he’d been caught embezzling the first time, Mitani had been forgiven. Kishimoto was a good man and if Mitani was important to him, he would forgive that kind of transgression. He’d teach Mitani to be better.
Maybe he had. There were no signs that Mitani had embezzled again, and to our knowledge, Mitani genuinely took care of Kishimoto and looked after him. His overprotectiveness wasn’t a ruse. His boss meant that much to him.
But when Kishimoto and Hidaka got engaged, things changed. She was good, too, and could forgive a wrong if she believed the person who’d done wrong was truly sorry. With Mitani, she felt, this wasn’t the case. He was rude, unlikable, and mean. Because he was so protective of Kishimoto, he probably went out of his way to antagonize Hidaka. In her mind, he was no better than the childhood bullies she had faced so fearlessly.
She wanted him out. One night when Kishimoto was working late, she’d gone to visit him-a surprise, because she hadn’t seen him in days. On her way, however, she ran into Mitani, stepping outside for a breath of air. There was a confrontation. She demanded he leave his job; she’d seen enough good people succumb to poisonous influences, and she wouldn’t let the same happen to Kishimoto. He refused, insulting her, and eventually turning to violence. Though he was small, he was strong, and eventually she collapsed at his feet.
Mitani was smart. He knew that the police would realize no one as clever as Kishimoto would be stupid enough to leave the body in front of the office, so he didn’t worry about dumping Hidaka there. He returned upstairs-no one had even noticed he was gone-and left with everyone else twenty minutes later.
It was possible he didn’t even intend to get away with it. He’d obviously gone to no great lengths to hide what he’d done, but the motive had been buried, because Kishimoto hadn’t thought his employee and friend capable of murder. Kishimoto was a good man-it was what had first attracted Hidaka to him. That was the irony.
It’s only what we believe happened, because we’ll never know the whole story, but we’re probably right.
***
We didn’t witness the arrest or the confession, but Kaga assured me that both went smoothly. Mitani berated him and Tsutsui the whole time, but he didn’t resist or deny anything. Kishimoto was hurt most of all, of course, and when I ran into him on a street corner, it was unbearably awkward. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and breath smelled like coffee. Part of me wished that Ko Yongha-or Ochi-had been the killer, that they’d done it for money, that there was no love or friendship wrapped up in such awful brutality.
Of course, there was always love wrapped up in that kind of brutality. That was what I’d learned over the years. It was dissatisfying, and I knew Touya knew it.
One day as he set up his goban, he said to me: “The whole experience isn’t suffering.”
“You listened to the tape?”
“It was evidence.” He shrugged. Leave it to him to be unnecessarily thorough. “But Shindou, the whole experience isn’t suffering. You know that, don’t you?”
I looked down at the board and thought of the game we were about to play. I thought of the sake I was about to drink. I thought of Sai. “Yes,” I said, looking up at Touya. “I guess I do.”
previous part
by themollyedge
PART TWO
I was rolling out of my futon the next morning, barely hung over but not quite sure when I’d returned to my office last night, when my mobile rang. It was Tsutsui, sounding quite cheerful as he said: “Kishimoto’s in the clear. He was working at home with his father on a case from four in the afternoon until midnight the day she was killed.”
“You’re taking his father’s word for it?”
“Hardly. I’m taking Kishimoto’s secretary’s word for it.” He sighed. “A delightful man called Mitani, who called me an incompetent moron, and Kaga an idiotic oaf-” He might’ve had a point with that one. “-but whose statement was corroborated by two others.”
Rubbing my forehead, I asked: “What was his statement exactly?”
“He said, uh.” I heard the sound of papers rustling, and then a new voice was speaking: “The little shit said that Kishimoto and his father, along with an intern-a Chinese kid by the name of Le Ping, annoying as fuck, let me tell you. Worse than your Touya brat.”
I could hear Tsutsui demand that Kaga return his phone, but I ignored this background noise. Crude though Kaga might have been, he’d give me the pertinent details and get the story over fast. He said: “Anyway, the three of them were in the office, working some big case. Messy divorce, lotta money involved, maybe some infidelity. All the good stuff. So the three of ‘em work late into the night, order in dinner-delivery man confirmed-at ten-thirty. Work straight through until a quarter to twelve, leave through the back entrance ‘cause it’s the quickest route to their cars, and go home. If the dead girl was there already, they didn’t see her-and probably feel damn guilty about it. Then Kishimoto gets a rude awakening at six in the morning when someone calls to tell him his fiancée is dead, but he’s clear. Alibi.”
“Well. That’s good, I guess.”
“Except that our only other lead is the ex, and he’s a slippery bastard. He’s been a suspect in a handful of petty thefts and one assault, but there’ve been no arrests. Half the time we could only peg one of his little friends, and the other half we didn’t have the evidence to arrest anybody.” He snorted. “Fucking judicial system.”
And then Tsutsui’s voice again in the background-not quite an affectionate laugh, not quite an admonishment, but something in between. I could tell that it was drawing Kaga’s attention, so I said: “I’ve got his cell number. You got it from Fukui?”
“Hm? Oh, yeah. Number’s still in use but nobody’s picking up. You get through?”
“Haven’t tried.”
“Good to know you’re on the task,” he said, and hung up.
I stared at my futon and considered rolling right back into it.
***
Ochi, the lawyer, was a small, young-looking man with an unpleasant expression and sharp eyes behind spectacles. His suit was perfectly fitted, in a warm shade of brown that distracted from the cheap material, paired with a wide tie. As Touya introduced himself, Ochi tapped his fingers together and guarded the door to his tiny office. Down the hall, I spotted a secretary dutifully manning her desk and an elderly man leafing through a book; otherwise the firm was a ghost town.
Touya and I shared a look. All the better for us. Lawyers were difficult (though at least with Kishimoto Touya had known what we were dealing with); the fewer we faced, the happier we were.
“We’d just like you to answer a few questions for us, Mr. Ochi.”
He frowned, like he was going to be sick all over his shiny shoes. I half hoped he would. I was a bad mood-I’d tried calling Waya a few times and had failed to get through-and now Ochi’s unpleasant attitude was making me cranky. He said: “I haven’t really got the time to-”
“Sure you have. It’ll only take a minute. Feel free to kick us out if a client arrives. We won’t mind.”
His fingers tapped, his mouth twisted, but he stood aside at last.
Stepping past him, Touya asked: “How long since you last saw Hidaka Yuri?”
“A week.” He thought about it for a second. “Five days.”
“You know she’s dead?”
A nod-curt, sharp-and he slid into his desk chair. He drummed his fingers against his day planner, which was open to this week’s schedule. “Her family has been in contact with me, of course. I’m her lawyer, and I must settle her accounts.”
I asked: “And what exactly are those accounts?” and he and Touya both looked at me like I’d gone mad.
Well, it was worth a shot. But the expected reply came: “The contents of her will are confidential.” He was looking past us both. “Now, if you’ll excuse me-”
“I’d rather not,” I began, but Touya nodded and said: “Of course. Just one thing: Ms. Hidaka was found with bruised ankles. Do you know how this might’ve happened?”
He looked distractedly back at us and frowned. “Bad shoes? Women never wear sensible shoes-always high heels and bright colors and impractical straps.” Turning his cold eyes on the doorway, he said: “It’s been well past ‘a minute,’ so if you could please-”
“We’re going.” I latched my fingers round Touya’s wrist and pulled him into the corridor, turned the corner, and whispered: “What a prick.”
“Damn. I know you were being an idiot, but I still wish he’d fallen for it. The will-”
I grinned. “Don’t worry about that. We’ll see the will.” At the arch of Touya’s eyebrows, I explained, keeping my voice low just in case: “Didn’t you notice Ochi? He was dying to get out of his office. We could do a little, uh, detecting while he’s out. Just a thought.”
“We’re in a law firm. They could sue us before we even got our hands on the will.” His expression softened. “Unless, well, he did have a filing cabinet. If he’s as-”
“Anal retentive?”
Touya nodded vaguely. “-as he looks, it shouldn’t be too difficult to find.”
Within five minutes, I was keeping watch at the door while Touya picked the lock of the filing cabinet labeled F-M. “Where did you learn to do that?” Even I didn’t know how to pick a lock. Kaga had shown me once, years ago, but Sai had been wailing in my ear about how it was wrong, so I’d never really picked it up. It seemed ridiculous that Touya Akira-cultured, educated, and brilliant, if a bit of a smart-ass-would ever learn something so unseemly.
His smile was faint. “There’s a reason my father’s the best, Shindou. We Touyas may not look it, but we do actually do some detective work. Even the dirty work.”
“I know.”
“It’s all in the wrist-” Just like that, the drawer slid open into his hands. “You’re doing a lousy job of standing guard, by the way.”
I bit back a laugh and returned my watch to the empty hallway. The secretary still hadn’t looked up from her typing, and the old man looked like he was napping. I didn’t know where Ochi was, but I saw no signs of him. I was tempted to think that maybe my idea wasn’t as stupid and risky as it had sounded, but I didn’t dare-the last thing we needed was one of those “what could possibly go wrong?” situations. Something always went wrong.
Without looking away, I listened as Touya hmmed over whatever he had found. “Marriage certificate-permanently unsigned. Papers about the restaurant. Old lawsuit. Oh, here we go: the will.” The secretary was standing up, but I payed her little attention as I heard more hmming and thumbing through papers. The spinning wheels of his mind were tangible, vibrant, filling the room.
I blinked once-overwhelmed by excitement and curiosity, the thrill of the case-and when I opened my eyes again, the secretary was moving, heading straight for Ochi’s office.
My stomach bottomed out. I’d never actually been arrested before. “Hurry!” I hissed. Behind me, the shuffle of papers and a few choice words from Touya, and then she stood at the doorway, greeting us with confusion.
She was slender and attractive. Her black pencil skirt fit snugly across her hips, and her button-up white blouse clung to her modest breasts and flaired at her waist. Wisps of dark hair framed her face, lovely with its almond-shaped eyes and high, proud forehead. Her mouth was parted as if to speak, her pinkish lips open to reveal small white teeth.
I stared at her, and said in a voice I did not trust: “Akari?”
***
We explained our presence away as smoothly as possible. Touya was better at that sort of thing, so I let him do the talking. I tuned in and out, enough to hear him saying we’d had a few last minute questions-blah blah-waiting for Ochi in his office-blah blah-no sign of him anywhere-blah blah. Akari listened, smiling, believing it.
“Oh, don’t worry about Ochi.” She rolled her eyes. “He loses a case, like he did this morning, and-well, he’s got this nervous tic, and he holes himself up in the men’s room for hours.” In a softer tone, she said: “It’s unfortunate. He’s not such a bad guy, sometimes, and he’s really smart. Younger than any of the other associates by a few years, at least. But he’s obsessed with success.”
We’d gone to the staff lounge, a dinky room the color of urine that smelled of cigarette smoke and stale coffee. Touya was stirring idly at a cup of the sludge, and I’d opted for a glass of tepid water. His mind was turning over whatever he had seen; mine was still, focused entirely on Akari, who turned to me, her expression luminous. “But I can’t believe it’s you, Hikaru!” She threw her arms around me. “I haven’t seen you since we were, God, sixteen?”
I set my glass on the table and nodded against her hair. “This is-” I said, pulling away and gesturing at Touya, “-my partner, Touya Akira.”
“Your-?”
“We work together,” explained Touya, unnecessarily. What else could I mean? “We’re detectives.”
“And that’s what you’re doing talking to Ochi?” She looked between the two of us. “I mean, can I ask?”
Touya said: “We’re investigating the murder of one of his clients. Maybe you’ve met her? Hidaka Yuri.”
If I’d had the chance, I’d have objected to Touya’s-unhesitating-use of my friend as a source of information. He could’ve at least given us a chance to catch up, to exchange childhood stories, to talk about everything but why we’d stopped talking in the first place. But then I saw Akari go pale. Her hand clutched at mine. “Yuri?”
“You knew her?” Touya’s voice was gentle; I didn’t know what to say.
“She was-we were friends. We met here, but we-we were friends.” She put her head in her hands, her hair hanging like a curtain across her face. Leaning into me, I heard her stifle a small sob. “I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her nose against my dampening shoulder. Her body was not small in my arms; we were, in fact, about the same size, but I still tried to hold her the best I could.
Over the top of Akari’s head, I met Touya’s gaze. His eyes were sorrowful but curious, and I knew there would be questions later.
At last Akari pulled away and repeated: “Sorry, so sorry.” Her sniffs subsided and she murmured: “I just-I didn’t know. No one told me.”
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for.” I held her hand. “Absolutely nothing.”
***
Dinner sat heavy in my stomach, just a little heavier for the sake I’d shared with Touya’s father. Touya had declined on the basis of keeping a clear mind, but after the incident with Akari, a clear mind was the last thing I wanted. The drinks, however, had left my tongue just a little looser, and Touya was eager to talk.
“Who was she?”
“My friend, I told you. My best friend for a long time-before.” Before Sai. Before Touya.
Looking lean and thoughtful, Touya sat with his back against his bed, and I crawled to settle beside him. He was warmer than a blanket, and as my head drooped forward and I fought off sleep, he said: “But you haven’t seen her in more than half a decade.”
“Well, things were awkward. She told me that she was-” I blushed, and he noticed. He noticed everything; it was his job. “-in love with me. I didn’t exactly feel the same, so. Well. We lost touch.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was my fault. She was okay with the fact that I didn’t love her. Even my mom, who’s had every hope on that front, was okay with the fact that I didn’t love her. I was the one who had a problem.”
Touya was silent so long I thought he’d just leave it, but then he said: “I remember that. You were acting like more of an idiot than usual, and you blamed it on ‘girl trouble.’ I thought you’d disappear into a life of dating and parties, never to be heard from again.” His tone was faintly ironic: “But I was wrong. Lucky me.”
“You’re an ass.”
“So are you. But I am glad you haven’t lost sight of what’s important.”
I sighed and turned my head to look at him. He was so close I was practically touching him. “What’s important?” He met my gaze, his eyes dark and gleaming like the blue-black shine of a beetle. “What’s important, Touya? Tell me.”
“What’s important is solving this case.” He pulled me up by my sleeve and pushed me into the bed. “We’ll get back to business tomorrow morning. Now go to bed, you drunkard.”
***
I was roused by a cup of coffee under my nose and the words “Let’s talk about the will.”
A few minutes later, as the steam warmed my face and I reached a suitable state of consciousness, I watched as Touya sat cross-legged on the floor, deep in thought. If he’d slept on a futon, he’d already put it away; if he’d slept beside me, I hadn’t noticed. His hair was damp and his clothes were fresh-he’d been awake for an hour, at least. Probably longer.
“So.” I coughed. My tongue felt thick and dry; the inside of my throat felt like it had sprouted fur. “The will.”
He looked up and smiled, a rare, bright flash of pure amusement. “You sound about as hung over as you look.”
“It said that in the will? Fascinating.”
“Shockingly, no, the will didn’t mention you. It said that Hidaka was leaving her holdings in the restaurant to her business partner, her personal belongings and wealth to her parents and brother to do with as they see fit-and her goban to Kishimoto.”
I winced. “Ouch.”
“I don’t know. I think that’s probably all he’d want.”
The thought was horribly lonely. If I died-when I died-I’d leave the person I intended to spend the rest of my life with more than just a goban. I’d at least leave them my manga collection, too. “So the family’s got the motive?”
“Except she hardly had the kind of bank account someone kills over. It was a nice sum, but nothing extraordinary. Nothing worth murder. And it still doesn’t explain the ankles, or the violent nature of the death. Why would killing her for her money require hanging her upside down?”
“If that’s what happened.”
He ignored me. “The point is that she had more potential wealth than actual wealth. Her restaurant is only getting more successful with each day, and if everything goes well, she could’ve been making a small fortune in just a few years.”
I thought it over. “Then the one who stands to gain is, uh-”
“Ko Yongha. If money’s the motive, and not lust, jealousy, revenge, or cheap thrills.”
“Or Ochi,” I couldn’t help but add.
“Ochi?” Touya’s expression spoke volumes: he’d found the young lawyer as unpleasant as I had, and had been just as unsettled by Akari’s description of his obsessive thirst for success. But all he said was, “He stands to gain nothing.”
“But he’s the lawyer. Lawyers always have a way to the money.”
A deep, Touya-like sigh, followed by a faint smile. “You’re just saying that because you don’t like him.”
“It’s a gut feeling. Aren’t you supposed to trust gut feelings?”
“No, you’re supposed to take them into rational consideration. There’s a difference. Now, here’s the plan for today.” Touya liked his plans. They gave him a strategy, a way of keeping me on task and him on point, and they made him feel productive when a case was stalled. Which this case undeniably was. “We’ll visit Ko Yongha first, obviously, and then-”
The ring of my phone was so shrill and so loud that it took me a full three seconds to recognize it. It was stuffed in one of the pockets of my jacket, hanging on the back of Touya’s desk chair, so I lunged for it and without checking the number, flipped it open, almost shouting: “Hello!”
“Shindou?” a voice responded, taken aback by my enthusiasm. “This is Waya.”
I gestured somewhat violently at Touya to lean in. “Waya? Shindou here.”
The voice changed, getting a little rougher. Any uncertainty he may have felt had fled. “Maybe you can explain this to me. A man named Tsutsui left me a message-said he was a police officer, and I should call him. I didn’t get the message until this morning. Work’s been a bitch. And he said-” A very long pause. “He said that-that Yuri was dead. Murdered. And that I was a suspect.”
“Yes,” I said. “She is. You are. I’m sorry.”
“And then I get a message from someone called Kaga. A real asshole, but the same gist.” He swallowed audibly. “Then-then a message from you. Not a word about Yuri, just saying you had something important to talk about. But I looked you up-you’re a detective. Could’ve mentioned that. A little duplicitous that you didn’t, if you ask me.”
Touya eyed me warily. (He’d never eyed me any other way. Sometimes I wondered if he’d realized I was no longer the clumsy, stupid boy I’d been when we’d met.) I had to handle this with care. “That wasn’t my intention,” I lied. Duplicity had been exactly my intention: telling a criminal he’s a murder suspect is just the way to send him hightailing out of town. “I am working with the police,but I didn’t mention anything because, well. I just thought, if you hadn’t heard about Hidaka already, I didn’t want you to find out through a voicemail.”
“Yeah. Well. Lotta good that did me.”
I asked: “Have you contacted either Tsutsui or Kaga yet?”
“They’re on their way.”
Beside me, I felt Touya’s mood shift. Waya was an important clue, and it was absolutely essential that he talk to us. I trusted that Kaga was sharp enough to read a suspect and that Tsutsui was dedicated enough to fish out all the angles, but we had to speak with Waya, too. I trusted us-Touya and me-more. Touya felt the same.
I took a risk. I said: “I’ll buy you all the drinks you can down if you meet with me.”
Silence at the other end of the line, and an undertone of frustration. He wasn’t biting. The deep frown on Touya’s face was almost worse.
“Dinner, too.”
“Fine,” he growled, and I pretended not to hear his voice crack. Touya’d never believe me, but I didn’t think Waya had killed Hidaka. Fukui had been right-he loved her too much. The grief was manifesting in snipes, anger and sarcasm, flaring brightly like a firework on the brink of explosion. He was not taking her death well.
I thanked him and told him where and when we would meet. There was a restaurant just around the corner from our favorite go parlor that served decent ramen and quality sake. If you asked the right questions, they’d pull out the good scotch and a vintage of wine that made Touya purr. Waya recognized the place’s name, agreeing gruffly and hanging up.
At the eyebrow Touya raised at me, I commented: “Hey. I got him to meet me. That’s more than you were able to do.”
He nodded. “You’re going alone?”
“I probably should. I didn’t want to scare him off by mentioning you, and I don’t think he’d appreciate a-”
“Third wheel?”
“Wasn’t what I was gonna say.” I shrugged. “But yes.”
“Fair enough. In the meantime, let’s go talk to Ko Yongha,” he said. “But first you need to take a shower.”
***
The restaurant was a thriving mess of people by the time we arrived. It was not quite lunchtime yet, but the crowded tables and waiters rushing all around didn’t seem to notice. I was amazed that this many people were that into salad.
“They don’t just serve salad,” Touya told me. He was looking pretty interested in a plate of greens himself. “They’ve got pasta dishes, grilled vegetables, desserts. Everything you want from a restaurant, only healthier. I’ve been reading critics’ reviews of the place, and they’ve all been very positive. The food, atmosphere, and service are all apparently quite good.”
Sliding an unused menu off a table and flipping through it, I said, “Maybe. But the prices are ridiculous!”
Touya had barely begun rolling his eyes when a waiter, looking snappy in his penguin suit, said: “Excuse me, do you have a reservation?” His nametag read Yashiro.
“Hello, my name is Touya Akira and this is Shindou Hikaru. We’re detectives working in tandem with the police investigating the murder of Hidaka Yuri. It is of the utmost importance that we speak to a Mr. Ko Yongha as soon as possible. We understand him to be working here currently.”
He’d left no room for a reply other than okay. This was what he was good at: He was unrelenting and insistent, launching a methodical assault that covered all bases and left you with no choice but do exactly what he wanted you to. It was also terrifying.
But it got the job done. Without another word, the waiter led us through the restaurant and through the kitchen, where our eyes were drawn to the man neither of us doubted was Ko Yongha. He was striking. His auburn hair was pulled into a ponytail, and clever eyes peered out from long dark lashes. His elegant hands were gesturing here and there as he ordered sous chefs and nervous waiters about. He hadn’t even noticed our entrance.
I cleared my throat. “Hello,” I called.
He turned and said nothing.
“We’re investigating that death of your business partner. If you could take just a moment to speak with us-”
With a long-suffering sigh, he interrupted Touya. He said: “Fine, fine,” pointing carelessly toward the door. “Wait outside. We’re handling food in here.” His voice was somewhat thick with an accent, but it was thicker with arrogance. In either case, we followed well enough and did as we were told. Grumbling, I might add, all the way.
For several long minutes we waited for Ko Yongha to emerge, speaking to each other in low tones. Touya was warning me not to jump to any conclusions, which was usually a sure sign he was resisting the urge himself. He didn’t respond well to inflated egos. Neither did I. This was definitely going to go well.
At last the man stepped out of the kitchen and motioned us toward a small table, where he promptly sat. “Now, what can I do for you? This is about Yuri, right?”
Touya nodded. “As you’re aware, she was murdered. Her fiancé was cleared of all suspicion, leaving us with just a few leads. Given that she’s left her shares in the restaurant to you, and given its-” Touya looked around. “-popularity, you can see why we might suspect you.”
“Are you morons?” Ko Yongha asked, blinking at us. “Most restaurants fail within the first year, and this one was only just beginning to thrive. How does the death of the one of the owners help anything?”
“It hasn’t seemed to have affected you too adversely.”
“As it turns out, I’m a business genius. We pulled through.”
I cut to the chase. “You got an alibi for the night she died?”
“I was with a friend most of the night. A gorgeous young woman-an American, if I’m not mistaken. If I knew her name, I’d give it to you. I don’t doubt she remembers the evening.” He smirked. “Otherwise, no. But I didn’t kill Yuri. She was a good partner and a sweet girl. I had nothing against her.”
We asked a few more questions, all of them more or less revealing that Ko Yongha was an ass. If he’d done it, he wasn’t giving away anything we didn’t already know. Finally, Touya asked the last question-the one about the ankles. Ko Yongha shrugged and dismissed us: “As you can see, the restaurants packed and I’m supposed to be doing staff evaluations. I’m out of time for your questions.”
As we left the restaurant, furious, Touya commented: “I know it’s like betting the favorite, but I’m putting my money on him.” He looked at me. “Who else could it be?”
***
After lunch, we stopped by Kishimoto’s office to pick up Hidaka’s apartment key. While I returned home to change-I was stuck in one of Touya’s outfits again-and prepare for dinner with Waya, Touya would go through Hidaka’s apartment and see what he could find. “Hopefully we can find something to incriminate that bastard,” I muttered to him, and Touya laughed before he could stop himself.
We arrived at the secretary’s desk and stated our purpose.
The secretary-the nameplate on the desk said he was called Mitani Yuki-looked bored and somewhat hostile, and he responded with a firm “No.”
“Why not?”
He glared. “Mr. Kishimoto is busy right now. If you’d like to leave a message for him-”
“I called ahead.” Touya’s voice was cold. “He said that he would be busy, but that he’d leave the key with his secretary to give to us. So if you could stop being a-”
“Dick!” I interjected, probably unhelpfully.
“-that would be just great.”
The corners of Mitani’s lips curved up into an insincere smile. “Of course.” He withdrew the key from somewhere within his desk and pressed it into Touya’s hand. “On a related note, I’d really appreciate it if you left my boss alone. As I believe I’ve mentioned to you on more than one occasion, his fiancée is dead and your constant nagging at him is doing nothing to help. Now, if you’d please-”
“Get out,” I filled in. “Yeah, we got it.”
***
We parted after a few shared complaints about overprotective secretaries, and time passed swiftly. By the time I had changed my clothes, dug my tape recorder out of my desk, and called my mother (it had been two weeks since we’d talked, and she’d left me a voicemail), it was time to meet Waya.
He was sitting at the counter when I arrived, two empty glasses already sitting at his elbow. I knew it was him-I’m not sure how, except that he was the saddest man in the room, and when I sat beside him, he asked: “Shindou?”
“Nice to meet you.” He shook my hand, and I continued: “And I really am sorry about how you found out about Hidaka. That wasn’t fair to you. I’m surprised Tsutsui let it happen.”
Waya nodded at his drinks. “You’re covering these, by the way.” He ordered another and a bowl of ramen. He said: “Officer Tsutsui offered his sincerest apologies over the same thing,” sarcasm leaking into the words. “It doesn’t make it any better.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
He ran a hand through his wild hair. “I didn’t kill her.”
I sighed and reached into my bag. “Listen, do you mind if I record our conversation? I’ve got a partner-we work cases together, including this one-and he’d really like to know what you said.”
“You can’t just tell him?”
“I could, but you can represent yourself better than I can.” Unless Touya heard Waya’s innocence for himself, he wouldn’t believe me.
Waya shrugged and kept drinking. “Whatever.” He waited for me to press record and then repeated: “I didn’t kill her.”
The best thing to do was just start in. There was no use pretending this wasn’t going to hurt. I began: “You’d recently broken up?”
“When she dumped me for that fucking Kishimoto. A while ago.”
“Why did she dump you?”
Frowning, he spoke into his glass. “I work at a garage. I’m really good with cars, and my boss Morishita is a really great guy. But he doesn’t always hire really great guys.” Thinking of Ogata, I was pretty sure I understood. “Most of the guys I work with, my friends, they’re bad news. They get me into trouble all the time. When I almost got arrested for assault because of something one of those idiots did, Yuri just couldn’t take it anymore, and she dumped me. Said she couldn’t stand for that kind of behavior. She was right, too. She’s always right.”
“But you were never involved in the crimes your friends got busted for?” I clarified.
He shook his head. “Never. I was tempted, especially the big robberies, but then I thought about Mr. Morishita and Yuri, and I couldn’t. But I usually knew if something was going down.”
“What was your relationship with Yuri like?” This one would be a killer. I could tell by the way he looked at me, like he was furious at me for asking but like he wanted to answer all the same.
“What was it like? I don’t know.” His gaze was cloudy and he blinked. “Good most of the time. Bad some of the time. She was gorgeous and brilliant and I loved her, but she was gorgeous and brilliant and so I hated her sometimes, too. She awed me. She infuriated me. She made me wonder all the time what she saw in me. Do you know what that’s like?” I didn’t respond-he didn’t really want me to-and I just waited for him to continue. “I should have listened to her,” he said, shaking his head and gulping at his drink. “I should have.”
“Do you have an alibi for that night?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No,” he said simply. “I ate, I slept, I woke up. Your friend Kaga informs that that’s not much of an alibi, unless my fridge and my bed are willing to corroborate.”
I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to have to say this next part, but it was my job. “She was strangled to death. I found her-her body, when I was walking home one night. I knew she’d been strangled because her throat was black and blue, like it had been stained by ink. Then I saw her ankles, and those were bruised, too. I don’t know why. It haunts me, trying to figure out why.”
His voice was very quiet. “Was she raped?”
I shook my head. “Our best guess is torture, but it doesn’t add up. We don’t know what happened to her. Do you have any clue?”
“No. Fuck. No.” He looked near tears. “Of all people, why Yuri? She’s a good person. She’s-she was-the best person I ever knew.” He picked up his bowl of ramen and threw it to the floor, shards scattering in every direction. “It’s not fair.”
When a kid who worked there came to clean up the mess, I slipped him a few bills from my pocket and told him it had been an accident. His irritated expression melted and he nodded his understanding. Then I looked at Waya. “Could you tell me what kind of shoes Hidaka wore?”
“Shoes? What the fuck do shoes have to do with anything?” he growled, but at my insistence, he said: “I don’t know. Tennis shoes. Flip flops. Stuff she’d be comfortable in when she went running or just hanging out.”
“Nothing fancy? Heels?”
“She wore pumps when we went out to nice places sometimes. Plain black pumps. Nothing fancy. What-?” But he was cut off by the sound of his cell phone ringing in his pocket. He pulled it out and and answered: “Hey.” A pause. “I can’t, I’m sort of busy. But-well, you can meet me here if you like. Yeah, that’d be fine.” He provided the address then said: “See you soon.”
At my curious glance, he informed me: “A friend. She’s dropping by here.”
“Oh. Okay.”
We continued to eat in silence until he peered at me and asked: “So what’s it like being a detective?”
I pushed my bowl away. “At the moment? It’s not great. Seeing your grief, it’s hard. I want you to know that. I don’t just ask these questions to be mean. It’s what I have to do-but sometimes I hate it.” Touya didn’t understand this part, how it made me sick to see such pain. Sai had understood; Sai had taught me. “And when I find out who killed this woman, who is so admired by everyone I’ve spoken with, I still won’t be happy. Because maybe the killer will deserve whatever he gets, but his family? His friends? They’re going to suffer, too. The whole experience is suffering.”
He asked the obvious: “So why do you do it?”
I floundered. “Because-because I can’t do anything else. I’m a detective. I’m obsessed with what I do. Even if it’s torture.”
“That sounds kind of crazy, you know.”
That made me smile. “You don’t know the half of it.”
We toasted and returned to our meals, silent until we heard a voice call out: “Hikaru!” I turned around to see Akari, dressed more casually than she had been the day before and looking between me and Waya like she couldn’t believe her eyes. “What are you doing with Waya?”
“He’s interrogating me,” said Waya. “Or something.” He peered up at her. “How do you know him?”
“Childhood friends.” My reply was automatic. “How do you know each other?”
“Through Yuri,” she said in hushed tones, her pretty eyes finally resting on Waya. Her breath was loud, wavering, as she said: “If you’re with Hikaru, then you know, don’t you?”
“That she’s dead?” He nodded. “I found out this morning. You?”
“Yesterday.”
“Take a seat. So is that was why you wanted to meet?”
“Yeah. I didn’t want to tell you over the phone.” She sat down in the empty seat beside me and seemed to realize something. “Where’s Touya?”
“My partner,” I explained to Waya, then answered: “He’s searching Hidaka’s apartment.”
She eyebrows rose. “How’d you get the key?” Her surprised expression morphed into a scandalized one. “Or did he just break in?”
That was a bit too close to yesterday’s truth for comfort, but I could at least say with certainty: “No, no, Kishimoto gave it to us.” The name made Waya’s face go dark, so I amended: “Well, actually, Kishimoto’s secretary did.”
Akari blinked. “His secretary?”
“Mitani something?” I said, then added: “I’ve wanted to smack few people more.”
“That’s strange.” She bit her lip, which was shiny with gloss. “I could’ve sworn-” A pause. “I’m not, strictly speaking, supposed to know this. But Yuri was going to sue someone named Mitani once. I’m almost positive.”
“Why?”
She thought for a moment and shrugged. “I don’t know, I just heard Ochi talking about it. It didn’t work out-Yuri didn’t have a case, apparently, but-well, that’s what I heard.”
Odd, very odd, but before I had time to think about it, my phone rang. Touya.
“What’s up?” I asked, curbing my eagerness. I hoped he’d found something good.
“You done there? I’m home and-you’ll want to see this.”
Standing up, I said: “I’ll be there in fifteen.” I left Waya and Akari enough cash to cover their drinks for the rest of the night.
***
“What is it?” I asked, looking at the picture Touya had uploaded onto his computer. He’d taken his rarely-used digital camera to the apartment, in case he caught sight of anything important, and apparently he had. This-whatever it was. It looked like a medieval torture device to me.
“It’s called an inversion table. It’s a health thing. You use it, and you’re supposed to reduce back pain and stress, improve circulation, and increase oxygen to the brain. It’s a suspect idea in the first place, and this particular table is old and cheaply made. I would bet money that it was recently purchased used and Hidaka only tried it once.”
“How’s it work?”
He pointed to two straps. “You stick your ankles in those, and then-you hang upside down.”
My eyes widened. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“How I wish. I thought solving our case was contingent on solving the mystery of the bruised ankles, but they’re just a coincidence. There was some blood on the ankle straps. I’ll get it tested, but I think she used it the same day she died, and it hurt her ankles. End of story.”
I felt my breath whoosh out of my body. “This is-anticlimactic.”
“I’m aware.”
“Not that I’m not glad she wasn’t tortured,” I hastened to add. “I am. But you know this means I was right. I said at the beginning that maybe the ankles were unrelated.”
“And I was right. I said she was hanging upside down.” He smirked a little.
But. “We still don’t have a murderer.”
“No, we don’t.”
“You didn’t find anything to incriminate Ko Yongha?”
He flipped through the papers he’d taken from the apartment. “Nothing. But I found something else. It must’ve been a file of Kishimoto’s things, but for some reason Hidaka had it.” He handed me a manila folder. “It was a file on that awful Mitani. Two years ago, he embezzled money from Kishimoto’s firm. When he got found out, he stopped, agreed to return the money, and was allowed to keep working there. But this file was keeping careful tabs on Mitani, all the way up through this month.”
I stared at him, the words not quite reaching me, and then I understood.
We’d come full circle. I called Kaga.
***
This was how we imagine it happened:
When he’d been caught embezzling the first time, Mitani had been forgiven. Kishimoto was a good man and if Mitani was important to him, he would forgive that kind of transgression. He’d teach Mitani to be better.
Maybe he had. There were no signs that Mitani had embezzled again, and to our knowledge, Mitani genuinely took care of Kishimoto and looked after him. His overprotectiveness wasn’t a ruse. His boss meant that much to him.
But when Kishimoto and Hidaka got engaged, things changed. She was good, too, and could forgive a wrong if she believed the person who’d done wrong was truly sorry. With Mitani, she felt, this wasn’t the case. He was rude, unlikable, and mean. Because he was so protective of Kishimoto, he probably went out of his way to antagonize Hidaka. In her mind, he was no better than the childhood bullies she had faced so fearlessly.
She wanted him out. One night when Kishimoto was working late, she’d gone to visit him-a surprise, because she hadn’t seen him in days. On her way, however, she ran into Mitani, stepping outside for a breath of air. There was a confrontation. She demanded he leave his job; she’d seen enough good people succumb to poisonous influences, and she wouldn’t let the same happen to Kishimoto. He refused, insulting her, and eventually turning to violence. Though he was small, he was strong, and eventually she collapsed at his feet.
Mitani was smart. He knew that the police would realize no one as clever as Kishimoto would be stupid enough to leave the body in front of the office, so he didn’t worry about dumping Hidaka there. He returned upstairs-no one had even noticed he was gone-and left with everyone else twenty minutes later.
It was possible he didn’t even intend to get away with it. He’d obviously gone to no great lengths to hide what he’d done, but the motive had been buried, because Kishimoto hadn’t thought his employee and friend capable of murder. Kishimoto was a good man-it was what had first attracted Hidaka to him. That was the irony.
It’s only what we believe happened, because we’ll never know the whole story, but we’re probably right.
***
We didn’t witness the arrest or the confession, but Kaga assured me that both went smoothly. Mitani berated him and Tsutsui the whole time, but he didn’t resist or deny anything. Kishimoto was hurt most of all, of course, and when I ran into him on a street corner, it was unbearably awkward. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and breath smelled like coffee. Part of me wished that Ko Yongha-or Ochi-had been the killer, that they’d done it for money, that there was no love or friendship wrapped up in such awful brutality.
Of course, there was always love wrapped up in that kind of brutality. That was what I’d learned over the years. It was dissatisfying, and I knew Touya knew it.
One day as he set up his goban, he said to me: “The whole experience isn’t suffering.”
“You listened to the tape?”
“It was evidence.” He shrugged. Leave it to him to be unnecessarily thorough. “But Shindou, the whole experience isn’t suffering. You know that, don’t you?”
I looked down at the board and thought of the game we were about to play. I thought of the sake I was about to drink. I thought of Sai. “Yes,” I said, looking up at Touya. “I guess I do.”
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