‘That’s more than enough. I’m sorry if any of my questions seemed inappropriate.’
‘Nothing of the sort. I saw other men before meeting my husband, you know.’
‘I’m sure you did,’ he said, wincing almost as soon as he had said it, but Ayane only smiled.
‘Er, let me help you with that tapestry now,’ Kusanagi offered.
‘Right,’ Ayane said, once again going to the bag; but then she stopped. ‘Actually, maybe I’ll wait on this one after all. I haven’t washed the wall yet. I’ll put it on myself once that’s done.’
‘Really? I think it would make a nice addition to the room. Let me know if you need any help when you do get around to it.’
Ayane thanked him, her head bowed.
After leaving Anne’s House, Kusanagi mulled over the questions he’d asked, Ayane’s responses, and his reaction to her responses. As he did so, he became aware of another voice in his head: Yukawa’s.
I don’t think you’re so weak a person as to let your feelings influence your detective work.
Kusanagi hoped his friend was right.
TWENTY-FOUR
‘Next stop: Hiroshima …’
Utsumi heard the announcement over her music and pulled out her earphones, stashing her iPod in her travel bag. As the train began to slow she stood and made her way to the doors.
She checked the address in her notepad. Junko Tsukui’s family home was in Takayacho, a part of East Hiroshima. The nearest station was Nishi-Takaya. She had already called ahead to let Junko’s mother know she would be paying her a visit. The mother, Yoko Tsukui, had seemed a little flustered on the phone. No doubt she’s wondering about all the sudden interest in a two-year-old suicide.
At Hiroshima station, Utsumi picked up a bottle of mineral water at a kiosk, then hopped on the local train. Nishi-Takaya was nine stations down the San’yo Main Line, about a forty-minute ride, so she took her iPod back out and plugged in. She sat restlessly, listening to a Masaharu Fukuyama album, drinking her water – soft water, according to the label. Yukawa had told her what cuisine that was best for, but she had already forgotten.
Thinking of water reminded her of Yukawa’s idea that the filtration system had been poisoned, and she began to wonder exactly what this trick was that the physicist was so reluctant to reveal. The trick was something theoretically possible, but extremely improbable – that was the first thing he had said. Then, after Utsumi had asked the questions he put her up to, his only comment had been, ‘Impossible.’
If she took his words at face value, this trick Yukawa had dreamed up must be pretty extraordinary, almost ridiculously so. Yet he seemed almost convinced that it had actually been used.
Still unwilling to disclose any details, the physicist gave Utsumi further instructions: first, they had to reexamine the water filtration system thoroughly, looking for anything out of the ordinary. In order to detect any trace amounts of poison, she sent the filter on to Spring-8. Yukawa even wanted to know the part number of the filter used.
Though results were still forthcoming from Spring-8, they had already learned some things. For one, Forensics assured them there was nothing unusual about the filtration system. The filter had an appropriate amount of crud in it for a year of use, and there was no sign that any adjustments or modifications had been made to any of the pieces. The part number of the filter checked out as well.
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?’