“Of course,” Yukawa said, “he didn’t do it on purpose. He didn’t even understand the meaning of what he was doing at the time.”
“What did he do?” Narumi asked, her voice a whisper.
Yukawa looked down in silence for a moment before turning to face her. “I believe I mentioned that the police were having a hard time re-creating the conditions for what happened. There’s a simple reason: your father is lying to them. In order to reproduce what happened, one very important condition needs to be met. It’s nothing elaborate, nor particularly difficult. But it’s impossible if you have a bad leg like your father, which is why forensics hasn’t even considered the possibility.”
Narumi flinched. “I don’t understand.”
Yukawa took a deep breath. “It’s simple. All you have to do is cover the top of the chimney, which causes the exhaust to flow back down the pipe, eventually resulting in an incomplete burn in the boiler. The carbon monoxide then goes up, and leaks out through the cracks in the pipe into the Ocean Room. I calculated that it would take fewer than ten minutes to reach lethal concentrations.”
“When did you know this?”
“I understood the potential when forensics first came to the Green Rock Inn and began sniffing around your kitchen burners.”
“But you didn’t say anything.”
“Like I said, I didn’t feel it was my place to get involved.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Something Kyohei said. He was watching one of the forensics officers come down the fire escape, and he mentioned there was a chimney up on top of the roof. That surprised me, because you can’t see the chimney at all from the ground, so he must have gone up there at some point. It’s unlikely to have been the last time he came to the Green Rock Inn, because he would’ve been much smaller, and it would’ve been too dangerous. That left the night of the fireworks. From there, it was a process of connecting the dots until I realized Kyohei must have done something—unknowingly, mind you—to the chimney that caused the accident.”
“Did you ask him?” Narumi asked.
“No, I didn’t want to lead him to the same conclusions I’d reached, not before he was ready.” Yukawa smiled. “Although I did have him help me a little. He stole the master key for me.”
“Why did you need that?”
“To investigate the Ocean Room. I realized the chimney must pass through the wall in that room, and that was the only door on the floor that was locked. Nothing raises suspicion like a locked door. As I thought, I found cracks in the back wall of the closet. That’s when Kyohei supplied the final piece to the puzzle—when he told me he’d gone around the inn before setting off fireworks and had covered up every place and window a bottle rocket might accidentally fly into. That’s when I realized why he’d gone up to the chimney.”
“He covered it?”
“A slightly dampened cardboard box placed over the top would do the trick. I’m sure those were his instructions.”
“My father’s instructions,” Narumi said.
Yukawa didn’t answer. Instead he picked up a small pebble by his foot.
“It wasn’t difficult to get Tsukahara to sleep in the Ocean Room. Your uncle could have given him some excuse for why they needed to switch rooms, then moved his things back into the Rainbow Room afterward. The sleeping pill could’ve been mixed into his drink.”
Narumi felt the last shreds of her hope fade as a deep despair settled in. It was impossible to imagine it having been an accident after hearing Yukawa’s theory.
“I can’t say how serious your father was about killing him, of course,” he continued. “He couldn’t have been certain that covering the chimney would have the desired result. No, I’d say he was just crossing his fingers—but intent is still intent, which suggests a motive. Which is why I had my detective friend in Tokyo investigate your family.” Yukawa stood and tossed the small pebble in his hand into the water. “Once we started down that road, it quickly became clear that we’d have to uncover what happened sixteen years ago. Thus my meeting with Mr. Senba. Who, by the way, didn’t confirm a thing.”
Narumi noticed she was trembling, and not from the cold. The sun today was bright and strong. Her wetsuit had completely dried out some time ago.
“Are you going to tell the police?” she asked with a shiver.
Yukawa’s lips settled into a straight line, and he shook his head. “I can’t, which bothers me. In order to prove your father’s intent, I would have to tell them what Kyohei did. I don’t think he would be punished, of course. But he would have to make a very difficult choice. He would wonder whether he should tell the truth. In fact, I think he’s already wondering. I think he knows the meaning of what he did by now.”
Narumi caught her breath.
“That said, putting him on the spot right now would only make things worse. Whether he tells the truth or not, he’s going to blame himself for what happens as a result.” Yukawa looked down at Narumi. “That’s why I want you to do something.”
Narumi straightened. “What?”
“Kyohei is going to have to live with a very big secret. But someday, he’s going to want to know why his uncle made him do what he did. If he comes to you with that, I want you to tell him the truth, the whole truth. Then I want you to let him decide what he should do. I’m sure you know better than anyone what it is to live with the consequences of one’s actions.”
Every word Yukawa spoke sank deep into Narumi’s heart. It made her heart ache, but there was no helping that.
She stood and stared into Yukawa’s eyes. “Okay. I will.”
“Good, I’m glad to hear that.” Yukawa said. “There’s something else I want you to do, too.”
“I…” Narumi began, steadying her breath. “I should turn myself in, shouldn’t I?”
Yukawa looked surprised for a moment. Then his smile returned to his lips. “I want you to value life. Yours and others. More than you ever have before.”
Holding back tears, Narumi looked off into the distance, out across the sea.
SIXTY-THREE
Tatara flipped through the pages of the report, the wrinkles across his brow frozen in deep lines. Kusanagi sat across from him, rubbing his hands together beneath the conference table. His palms were sweating.
“So basically,” Tatara said, looking up with a deep sigh, “we have absolutely no evidence?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Kusanagi said, lowering his head. “As that says, it’s very likely that Setsuko Kawahata was involved with the murder of Nobuko Miyake. However, as long as Senba remains unwilling to talk, it will be extremely difficult to prove.”
Tatara leaned one cheek on his hand and groaned. “If Tsukahara couldn’t crack him, neither can we. Not to mention the Miyake murder was a closed case. We can’t do anything about that. Nor should we. You did a good job, though. At least, I’ve got some closure on this now.”
“What about Hari Cove?” Kusanagi asked.
Tatara groaned again and pulled a notebook out of his pocket.
“Yeah, about that, I got a call from the police. Sounds like they’re going to write the whole thing off as an accident after all. The testimony they got left no room for questions, and forensics says the chances of the accident having been arranged are next to nil. They didn’t say anything about Tsukahara’s connection to the Kawahatas, either. Of course, we haven’t told them what we know.”
“Well? Should we?”
Tatara’s eyes went a little wider. He crossed his arms across his chest and stared back at Kusanagi. “Now? What good would that do? We’re not reopening the Nobuko Miyake case.”
Kusanagi shrugged. “So what do we do then?”
Tatara picked up the report and slowly tore it in two. “This is the prefecture’s call, so we take it. I’ll explain everything to Tsukahara’s widow.”
“Are you—” Sure, Kusanagi was about to say, but he swallowed his words.
Torn report in one hand, Tatara stared st
raight back at him. “I meant what I said. You did good work. Now it’s time for you to go back to your regular assignment.”
Kusanagi stood, bowed stiffly, and walked over to the door. He stepped outside, glancing back at Tatara before he closed the door behind him. The white-haired director was looking out the window, lines of deep regret on his face.
SIXTY-FOUR
Kyohei paced around the lobby while his father was settling the bill at the front desk. He checked the lounge and the pool, even though he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Yukawa was nowhere to be found.
He said we’d talk tomorrow, Kyohei thought, getting angry. Grown-ups were always breaking promises as if it didn’t matter at all. He’d thought the professor was different, though.
“Come on, we’re going,” his father called out to him. “If we leave now, we’ll get to the station right on time. Hurry up.” He began walking toward the front entrance, checking his wristwatch.
Kyohei had run out of excuses. Shoulders slumped, he followed his father.
They got in a taxi just outside the hotel. Kyohei looked out of the window. He could see several boats in the harbor. In the distance, the swimming beach shone white under the sun. He spotted the breakwater where he and Yukawa had launched their water rocket. It seemed like an eternity ago.
The taxi got to Hari Cove Station faster than he’d expected. As soon as he stepped out of the door, he started sweating.
“It’s hot again,” his father said. “Good thing the waiting room’s got air-conditioning.”
The small waiting room was up some stairs, just before the gate. It was cool inside, but that wasn’t what made a smile break out across Kyohei’s face. Yukawa was sitting in a corner of the waiting room, reading a magazine.
“Professor!”
Yukawa looked up and nodded. “Right on time,” he said. “Getting on the next express?”
“Yeah, you too?” Kyohei said, putting down his backpack and sitting next to Yukawa.
“No. I’m going back to Tokyo by bus with the DESMEC crew.”
“Oh,” Kyohei said, disappointed. He had been hoping they could talk.
“But I did come here to see you,” Yukawa said, then he looked up at Kyohei’s father. “You don’t mind if I speak with him a bit?”
“Not at all,” Kyohei’s father said. “I’ll be outside.” He made a gesture of smoking a cigarette.
“First, let me give you this,” Yukawa said, pulling some papers out of his jacket pocket. “The data from when we set off our rocket. You’ll need this if you’re going to finish your report.”
“Oh, right,” he said, grabbing the papers and looking them over. They were covered with tiny, precisely written numbers. Someone who hadn’t been there that day would have no idea what they meant. But Kyohei did. He remembered when the rocket flew right, and when it didn’t fly at all. He could draw a picture in his mind of exactly how the water shooting out from the back of the rocket sparkled in the sun over the waves.
“There are some mysteries in this world,” Yukawa said suddenly, “that cannot be unraveled with modern science. However, as science develops, we will one day be able to understand them. The question is, is there a limit to what science can know? If so, what creates that limit?”
Kyohei looked at Yukawa. He couldn’t figure out why the professor was telling him this, except he had a feeling it was very important.
Yukawa pointed a finger at Kyohei’s forehead. “People do,” he said. “People’s brains, to be more precise. For example, in mathematics, when somebody discovers a new theorem, they have other mathematicians verify it to see if it’s correct. The problem is, the theorems getting discovered are becoming more and more complex. That limits the number of mathematicians who can properly verify them. What happens when someone comes up with a theorem so hard to understand that there isn’t anyone else who can understand it? In order for that theorem to be accepted as fact, they have to wait until another genius comes along. That’s the limit the human brain imposes on the progress of scientific knowledge. You understand?”
Kyohei nodded, still having no idea where he was going with this.
“Every problem has a solution,” Yukawa said, staring straight at Kyohei through his glasses. “But there’s no guarantee that the solution will be found immediately. The same holds true in our lives. We encounter several problems to which the solutions are not immediately apparent in life. There is value to be had in worrying about those problems when you get to them. But never feel rushed. Often, in order to find the answer, you need time to grow first. That’s why we apply ourselves, and learn as we go.”
Kyohei chewed on that for moment, then his mouth opened a little and he looked up with sudden understanding.
“You have questions now, I know, and until you find your answers, I’ll be working on those questions too, and worrying with you. So don’t forget, you’re never alone.”
Kyohei looked up at Yukawa and took a deep breath. It felt like a little light had flickered back on in his chest. The weight he had felt pressing down on him for the last several days lifted. Now he finally understood why he’d needed to talk to Yukawa so much. It was because he wanted to hear this.
His father came back. “Train’s coming pretty soon.”
Kyohei stood. He turned back around to face Yukawa. “Thanks, Professor.”
Yukawa smiled back. “Be well,” he said.
Kyohei followed his father through the ticket gate just as the express train was pulling into the platform. Just before he got onto the train, he took a glance back at the waiting room. Yukawa had already left.
Kyohei sat down in a booth seat across from his father. His father asked him what they’d been talking about, so he showed him the data from the rocket test.
“Wow, that’s too complicated for me,” his father said, handing the papers back to him.
Of course you’re not interested, Kyohei thought. You wouldn’t understand unless you’d done the experiment yourself. That’s what science is all about.
Kyohei looked out the window and watched the scenery going by. The ocean sparkled in the sunlight. Just above the horizon he saw billowing clouds, white like ice cream.
“Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
His uncle’s voice sounded in his mind. It was the night of the fireworks. His uncle had just told him they should put something over the chimney in case one of the rockets went in. “I’ve got this box here. See? The bottom’s damp. That’s to keep it from catching fire. Thanks, kiddo. I’d do it myself, but my leg…”
When Kyohei came back down, they had set off a few rockets. He’d watched each one shoot off into the night sky. When he glanced at his uncle, he saw that he, too, was looking up, but not at the sky. His eyes were fixed on one of the upstairs windows, and his hands were pressed together, just the way he did when he was praying. Except he didn’t look peaceful. There was deep pain in his face. To Kyohei, it looked like he was apologizing to someone.
But who?
And why?
Kyohei shook the memory from his head and looked back out the window. It’s okay, he thought. I don’t need to know those answers right away. I have time, and besides, I’m not alone.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
KEIGO HIGASHINO is the most widely read author in Japan, with hundreds of millions of copies of his books sold worldwide and nearly twenty films and television series based on his work. He won the Naoki Prize for The Devotion of Suspect X, his first novel featuring Detective Galileo, and in translation it was a finalist for both the Edgar Award for Best Novel and the Barry Award. He lives in Tokyo, Japan. You can sign up for email updates here.
BY KEIGO HIGASHINO
The Detective Galileo Novels
The Devotion of Suspect X
Salvation of a Saint
A Midsummer’s Equation
The Kyochiro Kaga Mysteries
Malice
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61