“I totally didn’t ask him to teach me this,” Kyohei said, looking put out.
“Simply plugging numbers into a formula is just mindless calculation. What we’re doing here? This? This is geometry.”
“Why were you asking him about his car?” Narumi asked. “You don’t think he’s involved with what happened to Mr. Tsukahara?”
“I said nothing of the sort. I was just asking a few simple questions.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Don’t worry. He—Mr. Sawamura, was that his name? He had nothing to do with Mr. Tsukahara’s death. He has an alibi, doesn’t he? He was with you when Mr. Tsukahara went missing from the inn.”
“Well, he was, but—”
Yukawa looked down at his watch, then turned to Kyohei. “I just remembered something I have to do. We’ll resume after dinner.”
“What do you have to do?”
“There’s someplace I have to go while there’s still light. If I can get a taxi—” Yukawa plucked his jacket off the handles of a nearby bicycle and got on. “I’ll eat dinner at six thirty,” he said to Narumi, before wheeling off down the road.
THIRTY-FOUR
“Did you say Kawahara?”
“Kawahata, ma’am,” Kusanagi repeated. He was speaking to a woman in her midforties.
“Oh, Kawahata. No, sorry, doesn’t ring a bell.” She frowned a little and put a hand to her cheek.
“This would’ve been about fifteen or sixteen years ago. I believe you were living here at the time?” Kusanagi asked.
“Yes, that’s right. This is our seventeenth year. You know, I think that makes us the longest tenants left! But I’m sorry, I don’t know any Kawahata.”
“They were in apartment 305. Does that sound familiar?”
“Three oh five? No wonder I don’t know them. We hardly ever see the people on the different floors unless they’re on the same staircase, and that unit’s on the other side of the building.”
The woman had been thrilled at first when she heard Kusanagi was a detective, but over the course of the questioning, she’d rapidly lost interest.
“Thank you for your time,” Kusanagi said. He started to bow, but the door was already closing in his face.
The Arima Engines company housing was an old apartment building on a small, lightly trafficked street. It was four stories high, without an elevator, and just over thirty units in total.
Kusanagi and Utsumi had split up to ask at each of the apartments whether anyone knew Shigehiro Kawahata or his family, but the results so far were anemic. Most of the people who had lived here at the same time as the Kawahatas had already moved on.
Kusanagi was making his way down the staircase, scratching the back of his head with his pen, when Utsumi called out from the sidewalk below him. “Kusanagi!”
“Hey. You find something?” he asked, his tone making it clear he wasn’t expecting that she had. He walked down to the bottom of the stairs so they could talk without shouting.
“Well, I found the current address of the people who used to live in apartment 206 from the woman who lives in 106. They built a house and moved out eight years ago. The name’s Kajimoto, and they live near Ekota Station.”
“Over in Nerima? You know when the Kajimotos moved into the apartments?”
“Not exactly, but when they moved out, they had mentioned that they’d been here for almost twenty years.”
“Well, then they overlapped with the Kawahatas for sure, and 206 is on their stairwell,” Kusanagi said, snapping his fingers. “Okay, let’s get to Ekota.”
Kusanagi hailed a cab. They had only just pulled away from the curb when Utsumi’s cell phone rang.
“Hello,” she answered, “Utsumi speaking. Yes, thanks for this morning. What, you found someone? Could you put me on the phone with them?” There was a pause. “Okay, I’ll call back again later. Thank you so much for your help.” She hung up and turned to Kusanagi. Her face was a little flushed.
“Who is that?”
“A volunteer group with offices in Shinjuku. They run a few soup kitchens and homeless shelters. I stopped by there on my way to Arima Engines and left a copy of Hidetoshi Senba’s photograph so they could show it to their staff.”
“And?” Kusanagi prompted, hope stirring in his chest.
“Well, one of the women who works for them said she’d seen Senba several times at one of the soup kitchens.”
“Around when?”
“She said the last time was over a year ago. I didn’t get to speak with her directly—she was out. Back in an hour or so.”
“Can you stop the car?” Kusanagi said to the driver. The driver hurriedly pressed down on the brake and pulled over to the side of the road.
“What’s wrong?” Utsumi asked.
“Nothing’s wrong. This is our best lead yet. I want you to go to that office right now and wait for this woman to get back. Driver, open the door. She’s getting out.”
THIRTY-FIVE
It was already past five in the evening, but the temperature hadn’t dropped a single degree, and the asphalt was steaming from the heat of the day.
Nishiguchi was in East Hari, along with a police sergeant named Nonogaki, looking for the restaurant where Tsukahara had eaten lunch. Noodles had been found in his stomach during the autopsy, but noodles hadn’t been served at the Green Rock Inn that evening. The degree of digestion suggested some time had passed. The noodles had an unusual characteristic, too: in addition to the expected wheat flour and salt, there were traces of three kinds of seaweed—the same three kinds commonly found in seaweed udon, a Hari Cove specialty.
Nishiguchi had been on a wild goose chase, making the rounds of all the warehouses and garages in the Hari Cove area where someone could have been poisoned with carbon monoxide, when the orders came to find out where Tsukahara had eaten lunch. Nishiguchi sighed, anticipating another afternoon spent as a tour guide to whomever the prefectural police sent down—a police sergeant named Nonogaki, as it turned out.
Nishiguchi called ahead and found three small restaurants in East Hari that served seaweed udon. They struck out at the first and were now walking over to the second, working up a sweat in the lingering heat.
The second restaurant was on a road that ran across the shoulder of a small hill, sloping downward toward the ocean. There was a gift shop out front and a small dining area in back. Some benches on the opposite side of the road provided a spot to sit and look out at the view.
A middle-aged woman was running the shop by herself. There were no customers. Nishiguchi showed her the picture of Tsukahara.
“Yeah, he was here,” she answered with a shrug.
The police sergeant from prefectural homicide pushed past Nishiguchi with an intense look on his face and immediately began questioning the woman, asking if there had been anything unusual about Tsukahara’s behavior, if he had made any phone calls, if he looked like he was waiting to meet someone, if he had been in a good mood. The woman just shrugged again and said there were some other customers at the same time, so she never really got a good look at him.
“Was there nothing about him that left an impression at all?” Nonogaki asked, his tone indicating that he’d already given up.
“Well, no, not really. Though he did go and sit on the bench out front when he was done eating.”
“One of the benches across the road? What then?”
“That’s all, just sat on the bench and looked out at the ocean. Then he walked off. Back toward the station, I guess.”
“Around what time was that?”
“Oh, I don’t remember exactly. Probably a little after one.”
Tsukahara had taken a taxi from East Hari Station at one thirty, heading for the community center. That meant he had gone to see the house in Marine Hills first, then come here for lunch before heading for the station.
They thanked the woman and left.
Nonogaki sighed loudly. “Well, that was a bust. The victim ate seaweed udon for l
unch. Big deal.”
“If you’d like to ask around a bit more, I’m happy to help,” Nishiguchi offered.
Nonogaki made a sour face and groaned. “Time-wise, he would’ve had to go straight to the station after leaving here. I don’t see what more questioning would get us,” he said, taking out his phone.
While Nonogaki talked with his supervisor, Nishiguchi went across the road and stood next to the bench. He could see the rooftops of several old houses lower down the hill. The trees poking up between the rooftops were a deep green. Nishiguchi came out to East Hari every now and then. The place hadn’t changed in decades, and nature felt even more untouched here than over in the cove area. Of course, that meant there hadn’t been much economic development either. He wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad.
On another road about ten meters further down the hill, he saw a man standing and looking out over the ocean. He was carrying a suit jacket over one shoulder, and when he turned, Nishiguchi caught a glimpse of his face. Nishiguchi’s eyes widened.
“Hey,” Nonogaki said, walking up behind him. “I gotta get back to headquarters. Got a meeting with Isobe’s team. What’re you going to do?”
Guess I’m not invited, Nishiguchi thought. “I think I’ll do a bit more questioning around here,” he said. “I know a few people in town.”
“Home-court advantage, right. Well, it’s all yours.” Nonogaki thrust his phone back into his pocket and walked off without so much as a glance behind him.
Nishiguchi waited for the sergeant to disappear down the road, then took a flight of concrete steps that led down the hill. The man from before was still standing on the road, apparently deep in thought.
“Excuse me,” Nishiguchi said when he got closer, but the man didn’t seem to hear him. “Excuse me,” he repeated, a little louder this time.
The man slowly turned. There was a deep, thoughtful furrow between his eyebrows. He looked put out at the interruption.
“You’re Mr. Yukawa, aren’t you?”
“Yes?” the man said, looking at Nishiguchi’s face for a moment before blinking, as though he’d just realized something. “We met the other day at the Green Rock Inn. You’re a detective.”
Nishiguchi introduced himself and Yukawa nodded, then pointed a finger at him. “You’re not just any detective. You’re Narumi’s classmate.”
“That’s right. Did she mention me?”
“It came up in conversation.”
This was news. Nishiguchi was acutely interested in specifically how his name had come up and was wondering how he might ask Yukawa this, when the physicist added, “She only mentioned you were classmates. We didn’t get into details.”
“Oh, right,” Nishiguchi said, his heart sinking just a little. “You have a friend in the Tokyo Police Department yourself, don’t you?”
“If you want to call him that, sure.”
“He’s not your friend?”
“I’d call him more of a nuisance. Do you know the kind of ridiculous questions I’ve had to answer, just because I happened to stay in the same inn as the victim?”
“What do the police in Tokyo think about the case? Did they say anything?”
“To me?” Yukawa said with a chuckle. “I’m just a civilian.”
“But your friend—”
“As I’m sure you are well aware, detectives play by their own rules. While he may relish using friends or family as informants when it suits him, it would never cross his mind to share information with me. Not that I would necessarily want him to.”
Nishiguchi nodded, wondering how much of the physicist’s glib answer he could take at face value. “Right,” he said after a moment. “So, what are you up to?”
“Nothing in particular. Just looking out at the sea.”
“Why here? There are plenty of fine views of the sea back in the cove, and East Hari’s a bit of a hike.”
“I’m quite aware of that. It took a whole twenty minutes to get here. Do you know today was the first time I took a taxi since I arrived?”
“You’re not answering my question,” Nishiguchi said. He wasn’t going to let the eccentric physicist push him around.
Yukawa took off his glasses and pulled a cloth from his pocket, with which he began slowly wiping the lenses. “Because I heard the view from here was exquisite,” he said after a moment. “In fact, East Hari is supposed to have the best ocean view in the entire area. I read it on the Internet.” He put his glasses back on.
“Do you remember what site?” Nishiguchi said, taking his pen and notebook out of his pocket. “If you could tell me, I’d be interested in checking it out.”
“Actually, I do. It’s a blog called My Crystal Sea. I believe your former classmate Narumi runs it, as a matter of fact.”
“What?” Nishiguchi said, so surprised he nearly dropped his pen.
“Detective Nishiguchi, was it?” Yukawa said, facing him directly. “Can I ask you something? I couldn’t help but notice Narumi’s peculiar dedication to the ocean here, but I was wondering, has she always been like that?”
“Well, maybe not when she first came here, not like she is now,” Nishiguchi said. “She only started working with Save the Cove this summer. Though, now that I think about it, I used to see her out on the observation deck by our school, just looking at the water. I caught her out there more than once.”
“Interesting,” Yukawa said, a thoughtful look on his face.
“What? You think what she’s doing is wrong?”
“Not at all. It’s quite admirable. Not many people have such dedication.”
“Well, I’m glad you say that, because I’m a big supporter of Save the Cove, even if it might be getting in the way of your work.”
“Not in the least. I always appreciate a lively debate,” Yukawa said, smiling a little. “Now, if you don’t have any more questions, I think I’ll be off.”
Nishiguchi watched Yukawa walk away, then he cleared his throat and stashed away his notebook and pen. He hadn’t written a word.
THIRTY-SIX
The alarm on Kyohei’s phone rang. He checked the time and turned it off. Six thirty. He looked at his open notebook lying on the floor next to him. He hadn’t gotten anywhere with his Japanese homework, just written out a few kanji he had to learn and that was it. Yukawa was helping him with math, but the rest was up to him. He had given it a halfhearted attempt, but it was impossible to focus. His hand kept reaching for the game controller. He had managed to resist that urge, but he made the mistake of turning on the TV for some background noise and got sucked into watching an anime. It wasn’t even one he liked, but he watched the whole thing, all thirty minutes. Finally he switched the TV back off, but he still didn’t feel like studying. He just sat there, waiting for the alarm to ring.
Kyohei left the room and went down to the first floor. He checked the lobby on his way to the dining room and saw Yukawa standing with his arms crossed, staring at the painting of the ocean on the wall.
“Still looking at that painting, Professor?”
“I was just wondering when it was hung here.”
Kyohei shrugged. “It’s been there forever, I think. I’m pretty sure I remember it from when I came two years ago.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Yukawa said with a chuckle and checked his watch. “Shall we?”
Narumi was just laying out Yukawa’s dinner in the dining room. It was seafood, as usual. She had placed a tray for Kyohei across the table. Tonight’s meal for the family was meatloaf.
“Looks delicious as always,” Yukawa commented as he sat down.
“I’m sorry, I know there’s not much variety.”
“Not at all. There’s a different fish every day. It’s given me a new appreciation for seafood.”
“Oh yeah,” Kyohei suddenly said. “I wanted to ask you, Narumi. I went swimming today and I saw this really cool fish. It was tiny, and bright blue.”
“Bright blue? About yea big?” She held her fingertips roughl
y two centimeters apart.
“That’s right.” Kyohei nodded. “It looked like a tropical fish it was so bright.”
“Sounds like a damselfish,” she said.
“A damsel? Like a damsel in distress? I always pictured them in white dresses, not blue.”
Narumi laughed. “Well, this one is officially called the neon damselfish. We get them a lot around here. It’s usually the first really impressive thing people see when they come here to try diving or snorkeling. I remember when I saw my first one. I thought it looked like a swimming jewel.”
“Yeah, I tried to catch it, but it was too fast.”
“I’d like to see the person who could catch one of those with his bare hands. You know, in the winter they turn black.”
“That’s too bad. But not like it really matters. I wouldn’t go swimming in the winter.”
Kyohei turned to his plate and picked up his fork and knife. The surface of the meatloaf was nicely browned, and when he cut it with his knife, sauce and juices oozed out along with a gush of steam.
“Your dinner doesn’t look too bad either,” Yukawa commented.
“Trade you for a piece of sashimi,” Kyohei said.
“It’s not a bad offer. Let me think on it. While you’re here—” Yukawa picked up his chopsticks and turned to Narumi. “I had a question for you.”
“Yes?” she said, straightening her back a little.
“That painting in the lobby. Do you know who the painter was?”
Narumi took a deep breath. She shook her head. “No. Why?”
“I was just curious. I spoke with Kyohei before about it, and we were wondering where it had been painted. The ocean doesn’t look like that from around the inn.”
Narumi brushed her hair back behind her ears and wrinkled her forehead in thought. “I don’t know. It’s been here for a long time. I guess I never really paid much attention to it.”
“A long time? From before you moved here, then?”
“Yes. I think Dad said that someone gave it to Grandpa. I don’t think he knows who painted it, either.”