'No way,' she mumbled.
'You're a woman, make me something to eat.'
'I don't know how,' she said, a hint of a smile playing around her mouth.
'Dope. That's nothing to be proud of.'
'Don't call me a dope,' she pouted, taking a cigarette from Jumonji's pack. 'You old men all sound alike.'
'Old?!' he barked, cut to the quick. 'I'm thirty-one.' She gave a snicker.
'Like I said, old.'
'Well, how old is your father?' he asked, thinking this would prove that he was still young. He was beginning to get annoyed.
'Forty-one.'
'Just ten years older than me?' he said, suddenly feeling his age. He went to take a piss in the bathroom and then wash up. He thought she would at least have put the kettle on by the time he'd finished, but when he opened the door, her dyed, honey-coloured hair was still spread out across the sheets.
'Get up!' he shouted. 'And get out of here.'
'Asshole!' she shouted back, kicking her plump legs in the air. 'Dirty old fart.'
'How old's your mother?' Jumonji asked suddenly.
'Forty-three,' she said. 'A bit older than my dad.'
'Women are useless after twenty.'
'You're screwy,' she told him. 'My mother's still young - and beautiful.' Jumonji laughed, feeling as though he'd somehow scored a point by having no interest in older women. It never occurred to him that his attitude was itself childish. Ignoring the girl, he lit a cigarette and picked up the morning paper. As he sat down on the bed, she scowled at him with a very grownup look, reminding him again how much he disliked older women. He wondered how this one would look in a few years' time, trying to imagine her mother's face. Taking her chin in his hand, he lifted her head and stared into her eyes. 'What?' she said. 'Don't do that.'
'Why not?'
'Stop it. What are you looking at?'
'I was just thinking that you'll be old too some day.'
'So what?' she said, shaking free from his hand. 'Why d'you have to be so mean this early in the morning? It's getting me down.'
Forty-three. Masako Katori, whom he'd seen yesterday for the first time in years, must be about that old. She was as thin as ever and even scarier than before, but he had to admit she made a strong impression.
-
Masako Katori had worked for T Credit and Loan, which used to be in Tanashi City. 'Used to be' because it was one of those places that had specialised in real-estate loans during the boom years and had been eaten up by a bigger company when most of its accounts proved uncollectable after the bust. Back then it had subcontracted collections to the security firm Jumonji had been working for at the time. He had vivid memories of Masako from his frequent visits there.
She was always at her computer terminal, neatly dressed in a grey suit that seemed to have just come back from the cleaners. She didn't wear flashy make-up the way the other women in the office did, or flirt with visitors. She just sat there and worked. There was somethin g about her that seemed serious and unapproachable, though it was probably this professional manner that made the guys in his own company, at least, respect her.
Jumonji had little interest in the office politics of the place in those days, but he did remember hearing rumours that Masako, who had been there for over twenty years, had become something of a pain - and that she was likely to be laid off soon. His instincts told him there was more to it than that. There had always been a barrier around the woman that kept other people at a distance, a sign that marked her as someone at war with the world. It was perhaps only natural that he, as an outsider and something of a hired thug, should be able to read the sign. Birds of a feather, they always say. And people who couldn't read the sign made a point of picking on her, it seemed.
But what really puzzled him now was what Masako Katori was doing hanging around with a loser like that Jonouchi woman.
-
'I'm hungry.' The girl's voice interrupted Jumonji's train of thought. 'Let's go get something at McDonald's.'
'Hang on a minute,' he said, opening his forgotten newspaper.
'You can bring that with you,' she suggested, wrapping her arms around him.
'Shut up,' he said, twisting away. The headline on the lead story had caught his attention, particularly the mention of Musashi Murayama. He read the account of the dismembered body found in a nearby park, stopping when he came to the words 'his wife, Yayoi'. Where had he heard that name? Wasn't that the name on the guarantor's contract? His memory was vague since Masako had retrieved the contract before he'd had a chance to check up on the woman, but he was almost certain that had been the name.
'Yuck!' said the girl, who had been reading the paper over his shoulder. 'I was just in that park. How gross!' She tried to snatch the paper away. 'There's this skateboarder who kept telling me to come watch.'
'Shut up!' he said, pulling the paper away from her and starting to read the article again from the beginning. He remembered that Kuniko Jonouchi had said something about working the night shift at a boxed-lunch factory - the same place this Yayoi Yamamoto worked. She must be the one on the contract. But why was Jonouchi asking the wife of a murdered man to be the guarantor on her loan? The whole thing sounded fishy. It seemed likely that Masako had gone out of her way to get the contract because something had happened to the wife - and like an idiot, he'd just handed it over.
'Shit!' he said aloud. He read the article again. Since the victim hadn't come home on Tuesday night, the police suspected that he was murdered that day and his body was cut up soon afterward. But they hadn't identified him until last night. If that was the case, then maybe Masako had just been worried about the man's wife and wanted to help her out, as a friend. There was nothing particularly strange in that. But why had Jonouchi gone to someone whose husband was missing to ask her to guarantee her loan? And why had the wife agreed? If your husband's missing, you ought to be too worried to think about anything else. And what was Masako Katori really up to in all this? She wasn't the type to lose much sleep over other people's troubles. A cloud of questions swirled in Jumonji's head.
He'd have to look into the matter, he thought, tossing the paper on to the dusty carpet. The girl, a bit intimidated by his manner, had been watching him quietly. Now she reached out timidly for the paper and began scanning the TV listings. His mind was elsewhere as he watched her. He'd caught the smell of money and it excited him.
Young people these days borrowed money from the nearest cash machine, and that meant the loan-sharking racket had just about played itself out. His Million Consumers Centre probably wouldn't last another year, and he had pretty much decided that he'd have to start an escort service to make ends meet. But now this... . He felt as if a great big roll of cash had suddenly dropped in his lap. He took a deep breath.
'I'm hungry,' the girl whined, another pout forming on her lips. 'Let's go eat.'
'Okay,' he said. 'Let's go.' His sudden change of mood seemed to surprise her.
5
Yayoi could tell that people were sympathetic and suspicious at the same time, and she felt like a tennis ball being batted back and forth between two strong emotions. But how should a tennis ball behave? She had absolutely no idea.
Inspector Iguchi, head of the Public Safety Division at the
Musashi Yamato station, had been quite sympathetic the night he'd come to say that the palm print on the hand found in the park had been identified as Kenji's, but since then he seemed to have become more suspicious. He had shown up at her door again to tell her they were handing things over to central headquarters, and that they were setting up an investigation unit at the local station, so they'd be needing her cooperation there. His face this time bore little resemblance to the quiet man who had stared out at the tricycle in her garden. The change was chilling, but she knew that these were just the opening moves.
That evening after 10.00 p.m., two detectives, one from the local station and one from headquarters, had come around, and both looked even
less reassuring than Iguchi.
'I'm Kinugasa from Central Investigation,' one of them said, flashing the ID in his black leather notebook. He was obviously in his late forties but perhaps trying to look younger in a faded black polo shirt and khakis. His stocky build, thick neck, and closely cropped head made him look more like a thug than a cop. Yayoi had no idea what or where 'Central Investigation' might be, but she knew it was hard not to start shaking now that she was face to face with its representative.
The other man was thin and chinless and introduced himself as Imai, a detective from the local station. He was younger than Kinugasa and he let the other do the talking while he took notes. As soon as they were in the house, they asked Yayoi's father, who had been standing behind her looking worried, to take the boys out somewhere. Her parents had been horrified when she'd called them with the news and had driven in from Kofu that first night. The younger boy was sleepy and reluctant to leave, while the older one seemed almost frozen with tension, but her parents managed to get them both ready and out the door. It was clear that it never occurred to them that their daughter could be a suspect. To them, it was simply as though some terrible accident had happened.
'I know this must be a difficult time for you,' Imai said as soon as they were gone, 'but we need to ask you some questions.' Yayoi led them into the living room. She sighed as they sat down. The ceiling felt lower and heavier than usual. It seemed unfair somehow that she should have to deal with these two seriouslooking men, just when she'd got rid of Kenji and his constant gripes and had started life over with her boys.
'What was it you wanted to know . . .?' she said, her voice trailing off into silence. Kinugasa said nothing for a moment, taking his time to study her quite openly. If he really bore down on me, Yayoi thought, I'd probably give in soon enough. She stiffened instinctively as he opened his mouth to speak, and was almost disappointed when his voice came out higher and gentler than she'd expected, his breath smelling of nicotine.
'If you'll cooperate with us, I'm sure we'll catch whoever did this in no time.'
'Of course,' she said. He looked at her, running his tongue across his thick lips. He's probably wondering why I'm not crying, she thought. She would have liked to oblige, but her eyes were dry.
'I'm told that you left for work before your husband got home on the night of the murder. You must have been anxious about leaving your children alone in the house, worried about a fire or an earthquake?' His narrow eyes grew narrower, and it wasn't until much later that Yayoi realised that this was how he smiled.
'He was always . . .' She had started to say that he was always late so she was used to it, but she stammered to a halt. If she told them that, they'd realise that she and Kenji hadn't been getting along. 'He was always home on time, but he was late that day for the first time. I was very worried but I went to work. Of course, it made me mad to find he wasn't here when I got back.'
'Why was that?' Kinugasa asked, pulling a brown plastic notebook from the back pocket of his pants and jotting something down.
'Why was I mad?' she said, suddenly annoyed. 'Have either of you gentlemen got children?'
'Yes,' said Kinugasa. 'A daughter in college and one in high school. You have kids, Imai?'
'Yes,' said Imai. 'Two in elementary school and one in kindergarten.'
'Then you can understand how upset I was leaving two little kids alone all night. My first reaction was to be angry.' Kinugasa added something to his notes. Imai sat silently, his notebook open, letting the older man run the interview.
'So you were mad at your husband?' Kinugasa said.
'Of course I was. He knew I had to go to work but he was still late,. . .' Realising that her resentment toward Kenji was on the verge of bursting out, she stopped. 'I mean, I thought he was late,' she corrected herself. Her shoulders drooped, as if it had just dawned on her that he wouldn't be coming home at all. Never mind that you killed him, a voice whispered deep inside her, but she ignored it.
'Yes, of course,' said Kinugasa. 'But had this kind of thing happened before?'
'Not coming home?'
'Yes.'
'No, never. Once in a while he would go out drinking and he wouldn't be home by the time I had to leave for work, but he always hurried back as soon as he could.'
'Most men have to go out once in a while,' Kinugasa said, nodding agreeably. 'And sometimes it gets late.'
'I realised that, and I felt sorry for him. He was always good to me.' Liar! Liar! she screamed to herself. He never once hurried back, and I was always left worrying and wondering whether I'd have to leave the children alone. He knew how much I hated going to work before he got home, but he hated seeing me so much that he stayed away till I was gone. He was horrible! . . . Horrible!
'Then if this was the first time he'd ever spent the night away from home, why were you angry? I would have thought you'd be worried.'
'I thought he was out having fun,' she said, her voice almost a whisper.
'Did you and your husband fight?'
'From time to time.'
'About what?'
'Usually about nothing at all.'
'I guess that's right. Married people usually fight about the dumbest kind of things. Okay then, could you run through the events of that day for us one more time? Your husband left for work at the normal time?'
'Yes, that's right.'
'And what was he wearing?'
'Just what he always wore, a suit....' As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Yayoi remembered that Kenji hadn't had his jacket when he'd come home that night. Maybe it was still somewhere in the house, or maybe he'd been so drunk he'd dropped it somewhere along the way. She had completely forgotten about it. A feeling of panic mounted in her chest and it became difficult to breathe, but she willed herself to stay calm.
'Are you all right?' Kinugasa asked, his eyes narrowing again. There was something disconcerting about the contradiction between his gruff appearance and his gentle voice.
'Sorry,' she murmured. 'I was just thinking that it was the last time I saw him.'
'It's hard when it happens so suddenly like that,' Kinugasa said, glancing over at Imai. 'We see this kind of thing all the time, but we still never get used to it. Isn't that right, Imai?'
'That's right.' They seemed so sympathetic, but she knew they were just waiting for her to slip up. But she wouldn't! She'd find some way to get through this. She'd been over it all in her head countless times and she knew her part by heart. Still, whenever suspicious eyes were watching her, she felt as though they could see right through to her bruise. Part of her even wanted to bare her chest and expose her pain . . . but that was a dangerous temptation. She suddenly realised she was wringing her hands as if she were wringing an invisible towel, hoping to squeeze from it the will-power she needed to help her hold out. Will-power was what she needed now if she was going to keep her freedom.
'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'm just not myself.'
'No, no,' Kinugasa said, trying to sound sympathetic. 'It's like this for everybody. We understand how you feel, ma'am. You're actually holding up better than most. Usually, we get a lot of tears and howling, makes it hard to talk.' He waited for her to collect herself.
'He was wearing a white shirt,' she said at last. 'And a dark tie.' Her tone grew clinical and dry as she described Kenji's clothes. 'Black shoes.'
'What colour was his suit?'
'Light grey.'
'Light grey,' Kinugasa said, making a note. 'Do you know what brand it was?'
'I don't know the brand, but we get all his clothes at a discount place called Minami.'
'His shoes, too?'
'No, but I think he got them from another place here in the neighbourhood.'
'Do you know where?' Imai asked.
'It's called the Tokyo Shoe Centre, I think.'
'And his underwear?' Imai added.
'I bought it at the supermarket.' She said this looking down in embarrassment.
'We can go into all
that tomorrow,' said Kinugasa, cutting him short. 'We just need the basics today.' Imai looked annoyed but held off. 'What time did your husband leave for work?'
'The same time as always, early enough to catch the 7.45 for Shinjuku.'
'And you didn't see or hear from him after that?'
'No,' Yayoi said, pressing her hands to her face. Kinugasa looked around the room as if he were just noticing where he was. It was strewn with the toys and books the grandparents had brought for the children.
'Where did your folks take the kids?' he asked.
'Out to get something to eat.'
'It's getting late.' Knowing that she'd want to keep the interview private, he glanced at his watch and saw that it was already past 11.00. 'We should probably try to wrap this up.'
'Could you tell us where your husband was from, and where your parents live?' Imai asked, looking up from his notebook.
'My husband was from Gunma. His mother and father should be arriving soon. I'm originally from Yamanashi.'
'Had you told his parents that he was missing?' Imai said.
'No ... ' she stammered. 'I hadn't.'
'Why not?' Kinugasa said, rubbing his hands through his short hair.
'I'm not sure. I suppose because the people at his office kept telling me that men did this kind of thing from time to time and that he'd be home soon. It seemed better not to make a fuss about it.' Imai stared at his notebook with a puzzled look.
'But Yamamoto-san, it was Tuesday night when your husband didn't come home, and you had already called about filing a report by Wednesday evening. We actually logged the case on Thursday morning, all of which is pretty quick for this kind of thing. Since you were so quick to tell us, why didn't you call his parents? Wouldn't they usually be the first people you'd talk to?'