Salvation of a Saint (3 page)

‘Surprisingly complicated.’

‘Didn’t you used to make coffee for yourself?’

‘With a coffeemaker, yeah. Ayane threw it out when we got married. She said coffee brewed this way tasted better.’

‘Knowing you’re a coffee addict, she probably just wanted to make sure you were getting the best possible cup.’

Yoshitaka smiled faintly and shook his head. He always did that whenever Hiromi started talking about the depth of Ayane’s devotion to him or her school or her work.

When he drank his coffee he did admit it tasted much better.

As he sipped his coffee, Hiromi got her things together. Anne’s House was closed on Sundays, but Hiromi worked as a part-time instructor at a traditional arts school in Ikebukuro, another job she’d taken over from Ayane.

On her way out, Yoshitaka asked her to call him when she was done so they could have dinner together. Hiromi had no reason to say no.

*

It was after seven o’clock by the time she was done at the art school. She picked up her phone and called while she was getting ready to leave, but he wasn’t answering his mobile. She let it ring for a while, then hung up and tried the Mashibas’ landline with the same result.

Maybe he’s stepped out somewhere? But he never leaves his mobile phone behind.

Hiromi decided to go to his house anyway. She tried calling several times on her way there, but there was still no answer.

Eventually, she found herself in front of the house. She looked up from the gate and saw that the light was on in the living room. Still no one answered the phone or came to the door.

Shrugging, she fished Ayane’s key out of her bag, unlocked the front door, and went in. The light was on in the entryway.

Hiromi took off her shoes and walked down the short hallway. She detected a faint scent of coffee. Yoshitaka must have made more during the day.

She opened the door to the living room and froze.

Yoshitaka lay, sprawled on the wooden floor, motionless. Dark liquid had spilled from a coffee cup lying next to him, spreading in a small puddle on the wood.

I have to call an ambulance – what’s the number, that number they tell you to call, that number?
With shaking hands, Hiromi took out her phone. But she couldn’t for the life of her remember what the number was.

Elegant houses lined the gently sloping curve of the road. Even in the thin light from the streetlights it was obvious that no expense had been spared in their upkeep. The sort of people who lived in this neighbourhood never had to save to afford a down payment.

Several police cars were parked along the street. Kus anagi tapped the taxi driver on the shoulder. ‘Right here’s good.’

He got out, checking his watch as he headed towards the scene. It was already past ten.
Guess I’m not seeing that movie
. He had missed it at the cinema, then held off on renting the DVD when he heard it would be on television. When the call came that evening, he left the house in such a hurry that he’d forgotten to set his recorder.

Due to the late hour, there didn’t seem to be any onlookers. Not even the news crews had arrived.
Just give me a cut-and-dried case, and the movie can wait
, he thought without much hope.

A police officer, his face set in an appropriately stern expression, was standing guard in front of the house. Kus -anagi flashed his badge, and the officer wished him a good evening.

He paused before going up to the door. It looked like all the lights in the place were on. There were faintly audible voices inside.

He glanced across the front lawn and saw someone standing by a hedgerow. It was too dark to make out her features, but from her stature and the length of her hair, Kusanagi had a pretty good idea who it was. He walked over.

‘What are you doing here?’

Kaoru Utsumi turned around slowly, utterly unsurprised to see him. ‘Good evening, Detective.’

‘What are you doing outside?’ he asked.

‘Nothing much. Just checking out the hedge and the flowers in the garden here. There’re some up on the balcony, too.’

‘Some what?’

She pointed upward. ‘Flowers.’

Kusanagi looked up and saw that there was, indeed, a second-storey balcony on this side of the house, with flowers and bushy leaves sticking out through the railings. Nothing about it seemed particularly noteworthy.

He returned his gaze to the young detective. ‘Let’s try this again,’ he said. ‘Why aren’t you inside?’

‘Population density. There’s already a crowd in there.’

‘Not big on mingling, are you?’

‘I just don’t think there’s much point in looking at something everyone else has already seen. I didn’t want to get in Forensics’ way, so I took it upon myself to examine the exterior of the house.’

‘But you’re not examining anything. You’re looking at flowers.’

‘I’ve already completed a circuit of the premises.’

‘Fine. Did you at least check out the scene of the crime?’

‘I haven’t checked out anything in there. I turned around at the entrance,’ Utsumi replied.

Kusanagi shot her a quizzical look. In his experience, a detective’s natural instinct was to want to examine the scene of the crime first – an instinct that apparently wasn’t shared by the department’s new recruit.

‘I appreciate that you’ve given this a lot of thought, but you’re still coming in there with me. There’s a lot of things you need to see with your own eyes if you want to do this job right.’

Kusanagi turned and walked back towards the door. Utsumi quietly followed.

Inside, the house was packed. Kusanagi saw officers from the local precinct milling about as well as people from his own department.

Junior Detective Kishitani spotted him and came over. With a wry smile on his lips he said, ‘Sorry to call you into work this early, sir.’

‘You got a problem with the hours I keep?’ Kusanagi grumbled. Then: ‘Is this even a homicide?’

‘Not sure yet. But it looks likely.’

‘Explain it to me. And use small words.’

‘Well, the gist of it is, a man, the owner of the house, died. In the living room. Alone.’

‘We’re sure he was alone?’

‘Come over here.’

Kishitani led Kusanagi into the living room, with Utsumi trailing behind. It was a big room – over five hundred square feet, he guessed. There were two green leather sofas and a low marble table in the middle.

An outline of the body had been drawn in white tape on the floor next to the table. The body itself was already gone. Kishitani stood looking down at it for a moment before turning back to Kusanagi. ‘The deceased’s name is Yoshitaka Mashiba, married, no kids.’

‘I heard that before coming over,’ Kusanagi said. ‘He was the president of some company, right?’

‘Yeah, an IT place. He wasn’t at work today, though, it being Sunday and all. We’re not even sure yet if he left the house at all.’

‘The floor was wet?’ Kusanagi asked, noting a slight stain on the flooring.

‘Coffee. They found it spilled next to the body. One of the guys in Forensics got it with a syringe. There was a coffee cup, too, on its side.’

‘Who found the body?’

‘Er …’ Kishitani opened his memo pad. ‘Woman by the name of Hiromi Wakayama. One of the wife’s pupils. Actually, more like her apprentice.’

‘Apprentice what?’

‘The wife is a famous patchwork quilter.’

‘There are famous quilters?’

‘Apparently. It was my first time hearing about it, too. Maybe a woman would know?’ Kishitani looked over at Utsumi. ‘You ever heard of an “Ayane Mita”?’ He showed her his memo pad where he had written down the characters for her name.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘And why would you expect a woman to know?’

‘It was just a thought,’ Kishitani said, giving his head a scratch.

Kusanagi suppressed a smile as he looked at his two subordinates. Poor Kishitani had finally got a new recruit of his own to push around – and it was a woman.
He has no idea how to handle her.

‘Tell me about how the body was found,’ Kusanagi asked.

‘Well, his wife had gone to her parents’ house up in Sapporo yesterday. Before heading out, she left her house key with Ms Wakayama. I guess she didn’t know when she’d be getting back, so she wanted someone else to have a key in case anything came up. Ms Wakayama says that she was worried how Mr Mashiba was getting along by himself and called him, but he wasn’t answering his mobile or the landline. So she got all worked up, and came over to the house.
She says she first called a little after seven, and it was almost eight when she got here.’

‘Which is when she found the body?’

‘Correct. She used her own phone to call nine-nine-nine. The ambulance got here right away and determined he was dead. They got a nearby doctor to come and check him out. That’s when they decided there was something suspicious about it and called the precinct … and here we are.’

‘Hmph.’ Kusanagi grunted and glanced at Utsumi, who had wandered away, over towards the cupboard. ‘So where’s this … whoever it was who found the body?’

‘Ms Wakayama is resting in one of the cars. The chief is with her.’

‘What, the old man’s here already? I didn’t notice him on the way in,’ Kusanagi said with a frown. ‘They got a cause of death yet?’

‘It’s looking a lot like poison. Suicide’s always a possi -bility … but we wouldn’t be here if there weren’t a good chance of it being homicide, would we?’

‘Hmph,’ Kusanagi grunted again, his eyes following Junior Detective Utsumi as she walked into the kitchen. ‘So when this Ms Wakayama got to the house, was the door locked?’

‘She says it was.’

‘The windows and sliding glass doors, too?’

‘Everything except the bathroom window on the second floor was locked when the officers from the precinct got here.’

‘And is that window big enough for a person to go in and out of?’

‘I haven’t actually tried, but I don’t think so, no.’

‘Okay, why does the precinct think there’s a chance it’s homicide, not suicide?’ Kusanagi sat down on the sofa and crossed his legs. ‘Why do they think someone poisoned his coffee? If they did, how did they get out of the house? It doesn’t add up.’

‘Well … based just on the crime scene evidence, I agree. It’s hard to imagine.’

‘Something here that I’m missing?’

‘Well, when the guys from the precinct were examining the scene, Mr Mashiba’s – the deceased’s – mobile phone rang. The call was from a restaurant in Ebisu. Apparently, he had made reservations for two at eight o’clock tonight. They were calling because no one had shown. According to the restaurant, he made the reservation an hour and a half before, at six thirty. And, like I said, Ms Wakayama called Mr Mashiba a little after seven, by which time he wasn’t answering. You see what the problem is. It doesn’t make sense for someone who calls and makes reservations at a restaurant at six thirty to go and commit suicide at seven.’

‘Yeah,’ Kusanagi said with a frown, crooking one finger to scratch the edge of his eyebrow. ‘It also doesn’t make sense for you not to tell me this right away.’

‘Sorry. You were asking so many questions, I hadn’t got around to it.’

‘Right,’ Kusanagi said, giving his own knees a slap as he
stood. Utsumi had come out of the kitchen and returned to her spot in front of the cupboard. ‘Hey,’ he called to her. ‘Kishi’s giving us the lowdown. What are you doing wandering around?’

‘I was listening to everything. Thank you, Detective Kishitani.’

‘Er, you’re welcome,’ Kishitani managed.

‘Anything I should know about that cupboard?’

‘Look here,’ she said, pointing with her finger inside the open cupboard. ‘Doesn’t this part of the shelf look a little lonely compared to the rest?’

There was a space in the spot she indicated, large enough for a plate to fit.

‘I guess.’

‘I checked in the kitchen and found five champagne glasses in the drying rack.’

‘So that’s probably what went there.’

‘I think so, yes.’

‘And? Why do we care about champagne glasses?’

Utsumi looked up at the detective, her lips slightly parting. Then she shook her head, as though she had changed her mind about whatever it was she was going to say. ‘It’s not important,’ she said. ‘I was just thinking, they must’ve had a party recently. When else would you use champagne glasses?’

‘Sounds like a reasonable assumption. And a well-to-do couple like this with no kids probably hosts their share of parties. Still, it doesn’t have much bearing on whether this
guy committed suicide or not.’ Kusanagi looked back towards Kishitani before continuing. ‘People are complicated creatures, who sometimes do seemingly contradictory things. I don’t care if they just held a party or made reservations for dinner, when someone wants to die, they die.’

Kishitani sighed and gave a noncommittal nod.

‘What about the woman?’ Kusanagi asked.

‘Sorry, woman?’

‘The victim … er, I mean deceased’s wife. Has anyone called her yet?’

‘Oh, right. No, they can’t get hold of her. She’s all the way up in Sapporo, and a distance outside the city, besides. Even if they do get through, she probably won’t be able to get back until tomorrow at the earliest.’

‘No, I guess not, not from the middle of Hokkaido,’ Kusanagi said, inwardly relieved. If the wife were on her way, someone would have to wait around for her, and knowing Division Chief Mamiya, that someone would almost definitely be Kusanagi. It was late enough at this point that going around asking the neighbours questions would probably have to wait until tomorrow. Kusanagi had just begun to dream that he might be able to go home when Mamiya’s square face appeared in the doorway.

‘There you are, Kusanagi. Glad you decided to show up.’

‘I got here ages ago. Kishitani filled me in.’

Mamiya nodded, then turned to look back outside. ‘Please, come right in,’ he said, ushering into the living room a slender woman in her mid-twenties. Her hair, just above
shoulder length, was natural black –
unusual for a woman her age these days,
Kusanagi thought. The colour set off the whiteness of her skin. Although, given the circumstances, it might’ve been more appropriate to say she looked pale. Either way, she was definitely attractive and knew how to use her make-up.