“Good old throw tops, eh?” said Masayo. “You probably played with them as a child.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.” The man looked up and smiled. His face was lined and a little on the dark side. “This is typical of Ningyocho. I mean, you wouldn’t find a shop stocking things like this anywhere else in Tokyo.”
“We’ve got a good selection of old-fashioned toys, if they’re something you’re interested in.” Masayo pointed to another display table. “Like these pellet drums and Jacob’s ladders over here. Everything in the shop is handmade from exclusively Japanese materials.”
“How so? Because they’re traditional Japanese handicrafts?”
“That’s part of it. It’s also because I don’t like to sell things without knowing exactly what’s in them. Little children are always sticking toys into their mouths. These manufacturers are as careful about the pigments as they are about the materials, so the toys are totally child-safe.”
“I see. That’s great.” The man ran his eye over the other toys on display, before his gaze returned to the top in his hand. He really seemed to have taken a fancy to it.
“That particular top is made in Gunma Prefecture. We buy it plain and decorate it here.”
“How about the string? Is that made in Gunma, too?”
“We source that from somewhere else, but it is made of all-natural materials.”
The man nodded, then held the top out to Masayo.
“I’ll take this one.”
“Thank you very much.”
Taking the top and the money, Masayo walked to the back of the store. Talking to the man had clearly been the right thing to do. Her theory was that people who liked handmade products were generally sociable creatures.
Masayo had opened Hozukiya in Ningyocho some twenty-four years ago. Her family had a fabric store in Nihonbashi, and her business was an offshoot of the family’s traditional business. She’d been interested in traditional Japanese handicrafts since childhood and started to collect them long before deciding to devote herself to the business. She visited the manufacturers to personally select the products in the store. Hozukiya also produced its own line of original products, many of which incorporated woven fabrics that she procured through the main family business.
Masayo wrapped up the top and got the change out of the cash register. When she looked up, the customer was standing nearby, examining a shelf of tote bags.
“Those are all made of specially selected new fabrics,” Masayo explained. “We don’t just cobble them together out of remnants. We never use odds and ends here.”
The man smiled.
“You’re very particular about the materials you use.”
“Absolutely. These are things that people handle.”
Masayo handed over the top and the change.
The man stuffed the change into his pocket and looked around the store.
“How late are you open?”
“What time do we close? It varies, but normally sometime after seven.”
“What’s your busiest time?”
Masayo gave a rueful smile.
“We get slightly more customers on weekends and holidays, but even then the place isn’t exactly busy. I run the shop half as a hobby.”
The man looked down at the wrapped-up top in his hand.
“Right. Are these tops big sellers?”
“Big? No. They sell from time to time. The buyers tend to be middle-aged or older, and generally they buy them as presents for their kids or grandkids. Computer games may be all the rage, but toys like this have a certain human quality.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Has anyone bought one recently?”
“A top? Let me think...”
Masayo was puzzled. Why was the man asking so many questions? Why did he care whether other people were buying spinning tops?
Her doubt must have been written all over her face.
The man gave a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry. All these questions must be making you nervous. Here’s why I’m asking.”
He pulled out a dark brown wallet, tilted it sideways, and flipped it open. There was an ID card and a badge inside.
“Oh, you’re a policeman...”
“Yes, from the Nihonbashi precinct. I wanted to keep our chat nice and casual. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”
Masayo reassessed his appearance now that she knew he was a cop. She thought she could detect a steely determination behind his mild, amiable expression.
“Is there a problem with my spinning tops?” Masayo inquired nervously.
“No, no, no.” Kaga waved away her concerns. “It’s not the tops that are important. I’m looking for someone who bought a top. Very recently, indeed.”
“What exactly are you investigating?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you. All I can say is that it has nothing to do with your shop.”
“Well, one can’t help wondering. I mean, one of my customers is involved, aren’t they?”
“We haven’t established that, so you’re better off not asking. The more you know, the less natural your behavior will be, should that person come in again.”
“Oh, maybe you’re right.”
“So can you recall any customer who bought a top recently?” said Kaga, repeating his question.
“Give me a moment.”
Masayo rifled through the payment slips she’d been working on earlier. They would give her an idea of what she’d sold and when.
A minute before, she’d told Kaga that her customers bought tops from time to time. That was overstating the case. She had no recollection of having sold even one recently.
“Aah,” she exclaimed, looking at a payment slip.
“Have you found a sale?”
“We sold one on June the twelfth. The same size that you just bought, Detective.”
“How about before that?”
“Before that?... There’s a gap of a whole month.”
“Good. Now, do you recall anything about the person who made this purchase on the twelfth?”
“I’m afraid I wasn’t working that day. It was sold by Misaki, our part-time worker.”
“Oh yes? When will she be coming in next?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Would it be all right for me to drop by and have a word?”
“No problem. Can I tell her it’s about the person who bought the top?”
“Be my guest. See you tomorrow.”
The man who’d introduced himself as Detective Kaga left the shop, clutching his spinning top.
“I wonder if it’s got anything to do with that murder over in Kodenmacho,” said Misaki Sugawara, tying on her apron.
“There was a murder in Kodenmacho?” Masayo was shocked. It was the first she’d heard of it.
“Sure. Didn’t you know? The police were over at Naho’s place, asking questions.”
Omakara, the rice cracker shop, was on the same side of the street as Hozukiya. Naho was the only daughter of the family who ran it. She and Misaki were roughly the same age, and the two young women were friends.
“What are the police doing at a rice cracker store, for God’s sake?”
Misaki cocked her head.
“Search me. Naho didn’t go into much detail.”
“The whole thing freaks me out a little. It would be too awful if there was a link between one of our spinning tops and the murder, like if it were an important piece of evidence, or something.”
“You know what they say: no such thing as bad publicity.”
“Thanks but no thanks. It wouldn’t be good for our image.”
“I wonder...” Misaki inspected the calendar on the accounts desk. “Anyway, we sold that top on the twelfth, and I’m pretty sure the murder took place before then. I doubt it would be evidence of anything much.”