She’d only stayed there three years, though, because she got married—to one of the regulars, no less.
Ukai remembered Shigehiro Kawahata well.
“His family ran an inn down in Hari Cove, as I recall. He was a big-city businessman through and through, but he got a longing for home now and then. That’s why he came. They used to come by together after they got married, too. Had a kid real quick, and they were pretty happy. I wonder what they’re up to these days. They sent me New Year’s cards for at least ten years after they left.”
“Were any of your regulars besides Mr. Kawahata on close terms with Setsuko?” Kusanagi had asked.
“Oh sure, there were a few. She was young, and, well, she used to be a nightclub hostess, so you can imagine she was great with customers. I’m guessing that more than a few of our regulars came here just for her,” Ukai said, his eyes twinkling.
“How about this man? Did you ever see him here?” Kusanagi had asked, showing him the photograph of Senba from around the time of his arrest. “He might’ve been a little younger than in this photo.”
“Oh!” Ukai had said, his eyes going wide. “Of course I remember him. That’s Mr. Senba. He’s the one I just mentioned.”
“Excuse me?”
“The one who introduced Setsuko to us. Yeah, he was a regular, too. Something about his wife being from Hari, I think.”
Kusanagi and Utsumi had exchanged looks.
“Did she know Mr. Senba because he was a customer at the bar where she worked?”
“That’s right. He started his own business and was always out on the town. He would drop by every once in a while with one girl or the other on his arm, getting drinks after work and such. We used to stay open a lot later in those days.”
Kusanagi had shown him the photo of Nobuko Miyake. Ukai had stared at the photo for a while, thinking, before he said, “Isn’t that Nobuko?”
“That’s right,” Kusanagi said.
“Yeah, she was a beauty, though I guess age caught up with her,” he’d said with a nod. “Well, it was thirty years ago I’m thinking about, so she’s probably a grandma by now.”
“The photo’s from about fifteen years ago.”
“Right, right. Nobuko worked at the same bar as Setsuko.” He’d chuckled and shaken his head. “We were all a lot younger then, that’s for sure.”
“But Mr. Senba and Nobuko stopped coming after a while. I always wondered what became of them. You don’t happen to know, do you, Detective?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Kusanagi had lied. “That’s why we’re out here asking all these questions.”
“Mr. Senba didn’t do anything, did he?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” Kusanagi said. “I was wondering, though—do you think Senba and Nobuko ever had a serious relationship?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Ukai had said simply. “The way I saw it, the only one Mr. Senba had a thing for was Setsuko. He came here because his wife was from Hari, but he never brought his wife. I don’t think he wanted her meeting Setsuko, if you know what I mean. Of course, that might just be my imagination running wild.”
Ukai had told him he had some photos from back in the day, so they’d had him show them. The photo right in the middle of the front page of the neatly kept album showed a man sitting in front of a small counter with a woman on either side. The photo was about thirty years old, but the man was clearly Ukai. His build and his hair had hardly changed in the intervening decades.
“That’s Setsuko on the right,” Ukai had said.
She was a young girl, with large eyes and a memorable face. She had sharp features and might’ve looked a little aggressive without her round cheeks and big smile. She was wearing a kimono patterned with autumn leaves.
“She’s beautiful,” Kusanagi had said, and Ukai broke into a grin.
“Wasn’t she? You see why she was so popular. That foliage-print kimono of hers was like her trademark, too. My wife gave that one to her.”
The woman standing on the other side of Ukai in the photograph was a slender beauty, too, though much older than Setsuko.
“That’s her, my wife,” Ukai had explained. “She was three years older than me, and a hard worker. If she wasn’t around, well, Haruhi wouldn’t be here either. I doubt I ever would’ve tried starting a place without her.”
She had passed away the year before from pancreatic cancer.
* * *
Kusanagi finished relating what he’d learned from the old chef at Haruhi, but Yukawa was still silent.
“Hello?” Kusanagi said. “What do you think?”
He heard Yukawa sigh on the other end. “So that’s what it was,” he muttered.
“What’s what it was?”
“I’m sure you’ve realized by this point what interested the retired detective, Tsukahara, about Senba’s case so much. And how the Kawahatas were involved. Given what you just told me, there’s no possible way you couldn’t know.”
“Well, I do have a vague idea.”
There was an awkward silence. Kusanagi imagined he could see Yukawa’s wry grin.
“I can understand,” Yukawa said after a moment, “how you wouldn’t want to make any rash suppositions, given your position in the police department, so allow me to say it on your behalf. Senba was wrongfully accused. He was not the killer, he was covering for someone. How am I doing so far?”
Kusanagi frowned. In truth, he did feel uncomfortable revealing his hand to Yukawa, but at the same time, he knew it was useless to try and obfuscate the facts. Yukawa knew better than anyone else how willing the truly devoted were to assume guilt in order to protect the ones they loved.
“It’s a bit of a stretch, though,” Kusanagi said.
“I don’t think so. Tsukahara continued investigating the case even after Senba confessed. Since it was his arrest, in ordinary circumstances, he wouldn’t want to uncover any unpleasant truths. The deed was done. But Tsukahara wasn’t satisfied. Why? Because Senba was found guilty with the truth only half uncovered, and Tsukahara couldn’t abide by that. That’s why Tsukahara looked for him once Senba got out of prison, and went so far as to put him into a hospital. He hoped to get the truth out of him. I think that was partly because he felt responsible for the wrongful sentencing—even if Senba set himself up.”
Kusanagi gripped his phone in silence. It mirrored his own thoughts exactly.
“Kusanagi?” Yukawa said. “I have a request.”
FIFTY-FIVE
Kyohei woke to the sound of his father talking on the phone. He rubbed his eyes and looked up. Hs father was standing facing the window. The curtain was partway open, and sunlight was streaming through. It was the beginning of another beautiful day in Hari Cove.
“No, we don’t need to tell the clients anything like that,” he was saying. “Yeah, yeah, that’ll work. I’ll probably have to come out here a few more times. Sure, there’ll be a trial. Yeah, you too.” He shut his phone.
“Morning,” Kyohei said to his father’s back.
His father turned around, smiling. “You’re awake?”
“That Mom?”
“Yeah. We’re leaving after lunch. We’ll probably get to eat dinner with Mom tonight.”
“We don’t have to stay here anymore? Won’t the police have more questions?”
His father gave a thin smile and shook his head. “No. I called them while you were still asleep. They said they don’t have any more questions for you. And if something comes up, they can just talk on the phone. I gave them my number.”