Salvation of a Saint (29 page)

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.

‘I can’t help but feel like there was something we could’ve done,’ Yoko said, her voice trembling. ‘If I had been a bit more attentive, maybe I would’ve noticed she was in so much pain.’

At a loss for something appropriate to say, Utsumi returned the letter to the drawer, noticing the other letters as she did so. ‘What are these?’ she asked.

‘More letters from her. I don’t use e-mail, so she would write to me now and then to tell me how she was doing.’

‘Do you mind if I look at these as well?’

‘Certainly, go ahead. I’ll bring tea,’ Yoko said, leaving the room.

Utsumi sat down at the desk and began looking through the letters. Most of them were simple reports about the picture books Junko was working on or future projects she was planning. There was hardly anything suggesting relationships, or even friends.

She was on the verge of giving up when she saw a postcard. The front showed a red double-decker bus. The back held a note written in blue ink. Utsumi held her breath as she read the tightly spaced letters.

‘According to Mrs Tsukui, Junko got a job right out of college, but quit after three years because she wanted to study art in Paris. She sent that postcard during her two years over there.’

Kusanagi listened to the junior detective rattle off the facts, growing steadily gloomier as she grew more animated. A part of him didn’t want to acknowledge the importance of her discovery.

Mamiya leaned back in his chair, thick arms crossed across his chest. ‘So what you’re trying to say is that Junko Tsukui and Ayane Mashiba were friends?’

‘Well – it’s very likely. The postmark on the postcard coincides with the time that Mrs Mashiba was studying in London, and she’s from Hokkaido. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.’

‘Come on,’ Kusanagi said. ‘It
could
be a coincidence. How many exchange students do you think there are in
London at any given time? At least one hundred, maybe two.’

‘Take it easy.’ Mamiya hushed the older detective with a wave of one hand. ‘So, Utsumi – say the two of them
were
friends. How do you think that relates to the current case?’

‘This is still just conjecture,’ she told him, ‘but there’s a chance that the arsenous acid Junko used to commit suicide passed into Mrs Mashiba’s possession.’

‘Forensics will be on that shortly, though there’s no telling whether they’ll be able to give us a definitive answer. So: if what you’re suggesting is true, then Mrs Mashiba essentially married her friend’s ex-boyfriend.’

‘That’s what it would mean, yes.’

‘Doesn’t strike you as odd?’

‘Not really.’

‘Why not?’

‘Plenty of women date their friends’ exes. I know at least one personally. Some people make a habit of it – that way they know a fair bit about a potential mate before getting involved with them.’

‘Even when it’s the ex of a friend who committed suicide?’ Kusanagi butted in. ‘What if this ex-boyfriend was the cause?’

‘What if he wasn’t?’

‘You’re forgetting something really important,’ Kusanagi said. ‘Ayane met her husband at a party. Does your theory assume that she just happened to run into her friend’s ex-boyfriend?’

‘It’s not impossible. They were both single.’

‘And then they just happened to fall in love? Sorry if I’m not overly convinced here.’

‘Maybe it was more than a coincidence, then?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Kusanagi asked.

Utsumi fixed him with a stare. ‘Maybe Ayane set her sights on Mr Mashiba right from the start. She was interested in him when he was dating Junko – her death might have even brought the two of them closer. Their meeting at the party might not have been their first encounter. And maybe it wasn’t a coincidence, either.’

‘Ridiculous!’ Kusanagi spat under his breath. ‘She’s not that kind of woman.’

‘Then what kind of woman is she? Exactly how much do you know about Mrs Mashiba, Detective Kusanagi?’

‘That’s about enough of that,’ Mamiya said, standing. ‘Utsumi, you’ve got a good nose, but an overly active imagination. Save the conjecture for when we have a little more proof. And Kusanagi, try listening to what someone says without nitpicking every little detail. Sometimes you have to toss around a few ideas before you find something that sticks. I was under the impression you were a good listener.’