FORTY-FIVE
Kyohei was busily removing a mountain of mud with his hands. He attacked it with vigor, both arms flailing, yet no matter how hard he worked, the mud only piled higher and higher, outpacing his efforts.
The pile was towering over his head when it started to change shape into a more familiar, humanlike form. It’s going to chase me. Kyohei ran—or tried to run, except his feet wouldn’t budge. He crouched, and the mud-man peered down at him. Don’t look at his face. Kyohei shut his eyes. Then he felt it pressing into him, the mud-man’s face pushing into his own until it became difficult for him to breathe. Still, he kept his eyes shut.
I won’t open my eyes, I won’t—
Finally he couldn’t stand it any longer, and he let his breath out. The feel of the mud against his face changed, turning to something softer.
Fearfully, he opened his eyes to see he was in his room. His head had slipped from the pillow, and he’d been sleeping with his face buried in the folds of his futon.
What a crazy dream.
He got up slowly. His pajamas were clingy with sweat.
Still a little groggy, he grabbed his phone off the table and checked it, a little surprised to see it was almost eleven in the morning. He hadn’t slept in like this once since coming to Hari Cove.
He got dressed and stepped out of his room. He was hungry. He made his way down the elevator to the first floor and was heading for the dining room when he stopped. He had almost forgotten what time it was. Yukawa would have finished his breakfast ages ago. He cut across the lobby and made for the family apartment, when he heard someone talking. Kyohei stopped again, remembering the overheard conversation from the night before.
Stepping quietly, Kyohei approached the door. He was about to put his ear up to it and eavesdrop when he heard a voice say, “And how did that happen?” Kyohei almost jumped. The voice sounded exactly like someone he knew very well, someone who couldn’t possibly be inside the apartment.
“I’m sorry about all of this, really, I am,” he heard Uncle Shigehiro say.
“It’s not me you need to apologize to,” the familiar voice said. Now Kyohei was almost entirely sure who it was. He opened the sliding door.
Shigehiro and Setsuko were sitting down side by side, both of them looking surprised. The man standing facing them turned around. It was Kyohei’s father. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and his travel bag was on the floor next to him.
“Kyohei! How long have you been there?”
“I just came in. Why are you here, Dad?”
“Why? I’m here to come get you.”
“Already? You’re all done in Osaka? Where’s Mom?”
“No, the work’s not done. Your mom is still down there. We’re going to go join her.”
“What? I’m going to Osaka too?” Kyohei asked, confused.
“Yeah. We’re not so busy anymore, so it’s not like you’ll be stuck in a hotel all day. And it’s about that time when you start getting serious about your summer homework, isn’t it? I can help you if you’re down there with me.”
Kyohei stared at his father’s face. Something was wrong. There must have been some reason he came to pick him up early. Kyohei wondered what it was but didn’t ask. He was scared to hear the answer.
“Are we going to Osaka right away?”
“Well, no.” His father looked back toward Shigehiro and Setsuko, before returning his gaze to Kyohei. “Not right away. We won’t be leaving until tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yeah, there’s a few things we need to settle here first. Anyway, I’ve got you a room at a different hotel, so you can move there for the night.”
“Why? I can’t stay here?”
“Sorry, Kyohei,” Aunt Setsuko said, smiling. “It’s probably better for you to go. We’re a little busy here tonight.”
“Sorry,” his uncle echoed.
Kyohei grunted and shut the door. He walked down the hallway out into the lobby, where his eyes rested on a train schedule posted on the wall, and he stopped short.
When would you have to get on a train from Osaka to make it to Hari Cove by this time of day? He didn’t know for sure, but it must’ve been a really early bullet train, like the very first one of the morning. Why was Dad in such a rush to get here, and why are they kicking me out?
FORTY-SIX
Utsumi drove a dark red Mitsubishi Pajero. They’d been told to avoid using personal vehicles for investigations, but this was one regulation the usually straight-laced junior detective didn’t seem to mind ignoring. Kusanagi frequently ignored it himself, which was why he never said anything to her. In fact, today, she was giving him a ride.
They got off the freeway at the Chofu exit and drove to the hospital. There were two buildings: a square cream-colored one and a longer gray one. Utsumi told him the gray one was the hospice center.
She parked in the lot out front and they went in through the main entrance to the hospital. The air conditioners were running, and the inside of the building was cool. There were about a dozen people sitting on the long benches in the waiting room, though it was difficult to tell how many were patients and how many were just visitors.
Utsumi walked up to the information counter. She’d called ahead to confirm that the hospital director was in today.
The woman at the desk made a phone call, spoke a moment, and handed the receiver to Utsumi. She took it and turned around to face Kusanagi while she talked, a curious look on her face. Finally, she hung up, and after exchanging a few words with the woman at the front desk, Utsumi walked back over, looking relieved.
“The director says he’ll meet with us. He’s up on the second floor.”
“Was there a problem? You were on the phone for a while.”
“He said he was busy, and we should come back if it wasn’t an emergency.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him I wanted to talk to him about Masatsugu Tsukahara. He knew immediately who I was talking about and asked if anything happened to him.”
“So he doesn’t know about the murder.”
“Apparently not. When I told him Tsukahara had passed away, he said he wanted to hear everything, and we should come up right away. He sounded shocked.”
“I’d imagine so,” Kusanagi said. “Let’s get up there.”
They took the stairs up and walked down the hall until they found the director’s office. Kusanagi knocked on the door, and a man’s voice from inside said, “Come in.”
The director was an older man wearing glasses and a white doctor’s coat. He had a large build, with white streaks running through his short-cropped hair. Kusanagi showed his police badge, and they exchanged cards. The hospital director’s name was Ikuo Shibamoto.
Shibamoto motioned for the detectives to sit down on a sofa and took a seat across from them. “I was very surprised to hear that Mr. Tsukahara passed away. When did this happen?”
“The body was found roughly five days ago in a place called Hari Cove.”
“Hari? What was he doing out there?”
“He was discovered having fallen on some rocks by the ocean. The exact details are still unclear.”
“I see,” Shibamoto said, looking down for a moment. “What is it you wanted to ask?”
Kusanagi straightened a little in his seat and looked the director straight in the eye. “We understand that you have a Mr. Hidetoshi Senba in your facility. And that it was Mr. Tsukahara who checked him in and paid for his treatment. Is this correct?”
Shibamoto looked a little bewildered, but when he spoke, his voice was steady. “That’s right.”