‘The tapestry there was one of the ones that Hiromi made, so I gave it to her when she left. Now that it’s gone, everything feels a little empty, don’t you think?’
‘I see. Have you decided what you’re going to put up there?’
‘Yes. Actually, I brought it from home today.’
Ayane stood and went to fetch a large paper bag, bulging at the sides, that was resting in the corner.
‘What’s that?’ Kusanagi asked.
‘The tapestry that was hanging in my bedroom. I didn’t think I would need it there.’
‘Right,’ Kusanagi said, standing. ‘Let’s put it up then.’
Ayane reached into the bag, but then she stopped. ‘Wait,’ she said laughing. ‘I should probably let you ask your questions first. That is why you’re here, isn’t it?’
‘Oh,’ Kusanagi replied, ‘I’m happy to get to that afterwards.’
Ayane shook her head, a serious look on her face. ‘No, that won’t do. You came here for your work, and work should always come first.’
Kusanagi chuckled and pulled out his notepad. When he looked back up, her mouth was closed, lips tight.
‘Right, some questions then. I’m afraid these won’t be entirely pleasant, but I beg your cooperation.’
Ayane nodded.
‘We’ve uncovered the name of a woman your husband was seeing before he met you. Junko Tsukui. Ever heard that name?’
‘Tsukui … ?’
‘Yes, written like this,’ Kusanagi said. He jotted down the characters for the name on his notepad and showed it to her.
Ayane stared directly at him. ‘That’s the first time I’ve heard the name.’
‘Did your husband ever tell you anything about a children’s book writer? Any little thing at all?’
‘A children’s book writer?’ Ayane frowned.
‘Yes, Junko Tsukui was a writer and an artist who did children’s picture books. Maybe your husband mentioned something about knowing an illustrator, something like that?’
Ayane glanced down at the table and took a sip of her tea. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last, ‘but I don’t remember him saying anything about children’s books or a children’s book illustrator. And I think I would remember if he had – illustrators weren’t exactly in his social circle.’
‘Right,’ Kusanagi said with a frown.
‘Does this ex-girlfriend have something to do with the case?’ Ayane asked.
‘That’s what we’re looking into.’
‘I see,’ she said, lowering her eyes. She blinked, her long eyelashes fluttering.
‘Do you mind if I ask another question?’ Kusanagi said. ‘This isn’t something I would normally ask someone in your position, but given that those directly involved are no longer with us—’
‘Excuse me?’ She looked up. ‘Those?’
‘Yes. The woman I mentioned, Junko Tsukui, also passed away. Two years ago.’
Ayane’s eyes widened.
‘As you might’ve guessed from the difficulty we’ve been experiencing with our investigation, we found some evidence that your husband had concealed his relationship with Ms Tsukui. I was wondering, why do you think he did that? Did your husband ever make any attempt to conceal your relationship?’
Ayane held her teacup in both hands and thought for a moment. She was still thinking when she said, ‘My husband didn’t hide our relationship from people around us – Mr Ikai, his closest friend, was there when we met.’
‘Right, of course.’
‘That said,’ Ayane continued, ‘if Mr Ikai hadn’t been there when we met, it wouldn’t have surprised me if my husband had tried to keep our relationship secret.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because then he wouldn’t have to explain anything when we broke up.’
‘So you believe he was considering the possibility of breaking up from the start?’
‘I think he was considering the possibility that I couldn’t bear children. He would have far preferred that I get pregnant before we married.’
‘But you did end up marrying before trying to conceive.’
Ayane smiled knowingly, a certain coyness in her eyes that Kusanagi hadn’t seen before. ‘There’s a simple reason for that,’ she said. ‘I didn’t let him. I insisted on contraception until we were legally married.’
‘I see. I wonder if there was no contraception involved in Tsukui’s case, then,’ the detective said, aware that he was crossing a line.
‘I’m guessing there wasn’t. Which is why he cut her off.’
‘Cut her off?’
‘Because she didn’t get pregnant according to his schedule,’ Ayane said, smiling as if they were chatting about the weather.
Kusanagi closed his notebook. ‘I see. Thank you.’
‘Is that all?’
‘That’s more than enough. I’m sorry if any of my questions seemed inappropriate.’
‘Nothing of the sort. I saw other men before meeting my husband, you know.’
‘I’m sure you did,’ he said, wincing almost as soon as he had said it, but Ayane only smiled.
‘Er, let me help you with that tapestry now,’ Kusanagi offered.
‘Right,’ Ayane said, once again going to the bag; but then she stopped. ‘Actually, maybe I’ll wait on this one after all. I haven’t washed the wall yet. I’ll put it on myself once that’s done.’
‘Really? I think it would make a nice addition to the room. Let me know if you need any help when you do get around to it.’
Ayane thanked him, her head bowed.
After leaving Anne’s House, Kusanagi mulled over the questions he’d asked, Ayane’s responses, and his reaction to her responses. As he did so, he became aware of another voice in his head: Yukawa’s.
I don’t think you’re so weak a person as to let your feelings influence your detective work.
Kusanagi hoped his friend was right.
TWENTY-FOUR
‘Next stop: Hiroshima …’
Utsumi heard the announcement over her music and pulled out her earphones, stashing her iPod in her travel bag. As the train began to slow she stood and made her way to the doors.
She checked the address in her notepad. Junko Tsukui’s family home was in Takayacho, a part of East Hiroshima. The nearest station was Nishi-Takaya. She had already called ahead to let Junko’s mother know she would be paying her a visit. The mother, Yoko Tsukui, had seemed a little flustered on the phone. No doubt she’s wondering about all the sudden interest in a two-year-old suicide.
At Hiroshima station, Utsumi picked up a bottle of mineral water at a kiosk, then hopped on the local train. Nishi-Takaya was nine stations down the San’yo Main Line, about a forty-minute ride, so she took her iPod back out and plugged in. She sat restlessly, listening to a Masaharu Fukuyama album, drinking her water – soft water, according to the label. Yukawa had told her what cuisine that was best for, but she had already forgotten.
Thinking of water reminded her of Yukawa’s idea that the filtration system had been poisoned, and she began to wonder exactly what this trick was that the physicist was so reluctant to reveal. The trick was something theoretically possible, but extremely improbable – that was the first thing he had said. Then, after Utsumi had asked the questions he put her up to, his only comment had been, ‘Impossible.’
If she took his words at face value, this trick Yukawa had dreamed up must be pretty extraordinary, almost ridiculously so. Yet he seemed almost convinced that it had actually been used.
Still unwilling to disclose any details, the physicist gave Utsumi further instructions: first, they had to reexamine the water filtration system thoroughly, looking for anything out of the ordinary. In order to detect any trace amounts of poison, she sent the filter on to Spring-8. Yukawa even wanted to know the part number of the filter used.
Though results were still forthcoming from Spring-8, they had already learned some things. For one, Forensics assured them there was nothing unusual
about the filtration system. The filter had an appropriate amount of crud in it for a year of use, and there was no sign that any adjustments or modifications had been made to any of the pieces. The part number of the filter checked out as well.
When she told all this to Yukawa, his only response had been, ‘Right, thanks.’ And he’d hung up the phone.
Utsumi was hoping for at least a little something more – a hint, maybe – but that was too much to expect when dealing with this particular physicist.
What bothered her most, however, was what Yukawa told Kusanagi about looking into the past. In particular, Junko Tsukui’s suicide by arsenous acid interested him.
She wondered what it meant. If Yukawa thought that Ayane Mashiba was the killer, wasn’t it enough to look at what happened right around the time of her husband’s death? Even if the seeds of murder had been planted in the past, it wasn’t like Yukawa to be interested in the backstory.
At some point the album playing on her iPod ended, and another song, by a different artist, began. She was trying to remember the title when her train arrived at the station.
It was about a five-minute walk to the Tsukui residence, a two-storey Western-style house on a hillside at the edge of a wood. Utsumi thought the house seemed rather large for an older woman all by herself. She’d been told that Junko Tsukui’s father had passed away, and that her older brother moved to downtown Hiroshima after getting married.
Utsumi pressed the intercom button, and a familiar voice answered.
Yoko Tsukui was a thin, grey-haired woman; Utsumi guessed she was in her mid-sixties. She seemed relieved that the detective had come alone. She was probably expecting some muscle-bound patrolman sidekick.
Though the exterior of the Tsukui residence was fairly modern, the inside was traditional Japanese. Mrs Tsukui led Utsumi into a tatami mat room with a large, low table in the middle and a family altar off to the side.
‘You’ve come quite a long way. You must be tired,’ Yoko said as she poured hot water into a teapot.
‘Not at all,’ Utsumi replied. ‘On the contrary, I’m sorry to be so inquisitive about your daughter at this late date.’
‘Yes, well, I did think it a bit odd. It was some time ago, and I’d already started putting it behind me.’
She offered a steaming cup of tea.
‘At the time of your daughter’s death, you told the police you had no idea why she would commit suicide. Is that still the case?’
Yoko smiled a thin smile. ‘There wasn’t much to go on. None of the people she knew in Tokyo had any clue, either. But I think that maybe she was just lonely.’
‘Lonely?’
‘She always loved drawing, and she went to Tokyo to try to make a career of it – the children’s books, you know. But she was always a quiet girl, even at home. It must have been tough for her out there all by herself, in a strange place, without much progress in her career. She was thirty-four, so I don’t doubt she was a little worried about her future. If only there had been someone for her to talk to …’
Apparently Yoko didn’t know her daughter had been seeing someone, either.
‘She made a visit home shortly before her death, is that correct?’ Utsumi asked.
‘That’s right. I remember her seeming a bit out of sorts, but I had no idea she was contemplating … dying,’ Yoko said, blinking back tears.
‘So your conversation at the time was fairly normal?’
‘Yes. She said she was doing well.’
Utsumi pictured herself going home, having already decided to take her own life, and wondered how she would talk to her mother. She could imagine not being able to meet her mother’s eyes, but she could also imagine pretending that nothing was wrong at all.
‘Detective?’ Yoko looked up. ‘Why is Junko’s suicide of interest to anyone now?’
‘It’s come to our attention that her death might have some connection to another case. Nothing is certain yet, so I’m afraid we’re just gathering information at this stage. I would tell you more if I could.’
‘I see.’ Yoko sighed.
‘In particular, we’re interested in the poison she used.’
Yoko’s eyebrows twitched at the mention of the word. ‘Poison, did you say?’
‘Yes. Your daughter killed herself with poison. Do you happen to remember the kind she used, by any chance?’
For a moment, the woman seemed unsure of what to say. Maybe she’s really forgotten?
‘It was a poison called arsenous acid,’ Utsumi offered. ‘The other day, when a colleague of mine, Detective Kusanagi, called, you told him your daughter died of a sleeping pill overdose, but according to our records, it was arsenous acid poisoning. Were you unaware of this?’
‘Right … well … I …’ Again, the woman seemed bewildered. After a moment, she asked hesitantly, ‘Is the kind of poison important? I mean, was it a problem that I told him she died from sleeping pills?’
That’s odd, Utsumi thought. ‘Do you mean you knew it wasn’t an overdose of sleeping pills, but you told him that anyway?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Yoko whispered, her face suddenly rigid with pain. ‘I thought it didn’t matter anymore how she had died, it was so long ago now—’
‘Was there some reason you didn’t want to tell us about the arsenous acid?’
Yoko was silent.
‘Mrs Tsukui?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Yoko said again. She shuffled backward, placed both hands on the tatami, and bent into a deep bow. ‘I’m truly sorry. I just couldn’t bring myself to say it—’
This time, it was Utsumi’s turn to be bewildered. ‘You don’t need to apologize. Please, just explain what this is all about. Is there something you haven’t told us?’
Yoko looked up slowly. She blinked several times. ‘The arsenic was from our house.’
Utsumi gasped. ‘But the report said the source was unknown?’
‘I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I told the detective back then that I didn’t know where the arsenic – I mean the acid – came from. I just couldn’t bear to tell them that she had got it from here. I might’ve said something if they had asked again, but they seemed to be satisfied … I’m really sorry.’
‘So you’re telling me that the arsenous acid she used was taken from your house?’
‘Yes, I’m fairly sure it was. My husband got some from a friend to use as rat poison. We kept it in our storage shed.’
‘And you’re sure Junko took it?’
Yoko nodded. ‘As soon as I heard how she had died, I went to check. The bag that used to be in the shed was gone. That’s when I realized why she had come home. She came back to get the poison.’
Utsumi realized that, in her shock, she’d forgotten to take notes. She quickly began to write in her notepad.
‘How could I say that my own daughter had come home to kill herself, and I had no idea? That she got the poison from us! I know it was wrong to lie … I’m truly sorry if it’s caused you any problems. I’d be more than happy to go and make a formal apology,’ Yoko said, bowing her head repeatedly.
‘Could I see this storage shed?’ Utsumi asked.
‘Certainly.’
Utsumi stood.
The shed, a simple steel affair, sat in a corner of the backyard. It was large enough to hold some old furniture, electrical appliances, and a collection of cardboard boxes. Utsumi stepped inside, the smell of dust and mould filling her nostrils.
‘Where was the poison?’ Utsumi asked.
‘Right there,’ Yoko said, pointing to an empty can sitting on a dusty shelf. ‘The bag was in that can.’
‘How much did Junko take with her?’
‘Well, the whole bag was gone when I checked. About this much,’ Yoko said, putting her hands together to form a scoop.
‘That’s quite a lot,’ Utsumi said.
‘Yes. At least enough to fill a rice bowl.’
‘She wouldn’t need that much to kill herself. And the report indicates that
they didn’t find such a large amount at the scene.’
Yoko shrugged. ‘I know. It bothered me, too … At first, I’m ashamed to say, I was worried that they’d blame me for being so careless. Then I just assumed that Junko had thrown out the rest.’
It seemed unlikely to Utsumi that someone committing suicide would go to the trouble of getting rid of excess poison.
‘Do you use this storage shed frequently?’ she asked.
‘No, hardly at all. I haven’t even opened it for some time.’
‘Can it be locked?’
‘Locked? Yes, there’s a key somewhere.’
‘Then, could you lock it for me today? We might have to come back here and examine it.’
Yoko’s eyes widened slightly. ‘Examine the storage shed?’
‘Yes. I promise we won’t impose more than is absolutely necessary.’
Utsumi felt a hint of excitement. The department hadn’t been able to find out where the poison used to kill Yoshitaka Mashiba had come from. If it turned out that the poison from Junko’s home was a match, it would change the course of the entire investigation.
I’ll just have to hope that some trace amount of the acid was left in that shed. Utsumi resolved to speak to Mamiya as soon as she was back in Tokyo.
‘By the way,’ she asked Yoko, ‘I heard that Junko sent you a letter by post?’
‘Yes … yes she did.’
‘Might I see it?’
Yoko thought for a moment before she said, ‘All right.’
They went back inside, where she showed Utsumi to her daughter’s old room. It was a Western-style room, with a desk and a bed.
‘I’ve kept all of her things in here. I keep planning on cleaning it out someday, but I never seem to get around to it.’ Yoko opened the drawer in the desk to reveal a stack of letters. She lifted out the topmost envelope. ‘Here you are.’
Utsumi thanked her and took the envelope.
The contents of the letter were pretty much as she had heard from Kusanagi. There was no suggestion of a reason why she might have committed suicide. The only concrete impression Utsumi got from it was that Junko felt she had no pressing reasons to stay in this world.