Hiromi’s lips moved slightly. She looked hesitant, uncertain.
Kusanagi said: ‘Sorry if you’ve already heard this a hundred times, but if you don’t mind me asking …’
‘Yes?’
‘What exactly made you call Mr Mashiba tonight?’
‘Oh, well, since Mrs Mashiba left her key with me, I thought she wanted me to check in now and then. I think she was worried about leaving her husband all by himself, so if there was anything I could do to help …’ Her voice trailed off.
‘So when you couldn’t reach him, you came to the house?’
‘Yes,’ she said with a little nod.
Kusanagi raised an eyebrow. ‘But surely people don’t always answer their phone – mobile or landline. Maybe he was out and couldn’t pick up for some reason? Didn’t you consider that possibility?’
After a moment’s silence, Hiromi shook her head. ‘I guess I didn’t.’
‘Why not? Were you worried about something in particular?’
‘No, nothing like that. I guess I just had a strange feeling …’
‘A “strange” feeling?’
‘Is it wrong to come to somebody’s house because something didn’t feel right?’
‘No, of course not. I was impressed, actually. Not everyone who is given a house key feels so much responsibility. And, as it turned out, your strange feeling was right on the money, so I think you deserve praise for what you did.’
Hiromi looked away, apparently disinclined to take Kusanagi’s words at face value.
A dark red Mitsubishi Pajero SUV stopped in front of the house. The door opened and Kaoru Utsumi stepped out.
‘Four-wheel drive?’ Kusanagi gaped.
‘It’s a smoother ride than you might expect,’ Utsumi said. ‘Ms Wakayama?’ She opened the back door and Hiromi got inside. Kusanagi followed her in.
Utsumi got in the driver’s seat and began setting the GPS – apparently she already knew Ms Wakayama’s ad -dress. It was an apartment near the Gakugei Daigaku train station. Not long after the car had started moving, Hiromi leaned forward. ‘Was what happened to Mr Mashiba not an accident or … or a suicide?’
Kusanagi glanced towards the driver’s seat. His eyes met Utsumi’s in the rearview mirror.
‘We can’t really say,’ he told her. ‘Not without an autopsy report.’
‘But you’re in Homicide, right?’
‘True, but we’re only here because there’s a possibility of murder. I can’t say any more – which is to say, we really don’t know anything more than that.’
‘I see,’ Hiromi said in a small voice.
‘That reminds me,’ Kusanagi said as casually as possible, ‘I wanted to ask you, Ms Wakayama: if this was a homicide, do you have any idea who might have been responsible?’
He thought he sensed her holding her breath. His eyes went to her mouth.
‘No,’ she said, her voice soft and thin in the quiet interior of the car. ‘I really don’t know much more about Mr Mashiba other than that he’s the husband of my quilting teacher.’
‘Of course. Well, if anything does occur to you, I know we can count on you to let us know.’
Hiromi sat in silence, not even nodding.
They dropped her off in front of her apartment building, and Kusanagi moved to the passenger seat.
‘Well,’ he said, looking straight ahead at the road, ‘what do you think?’
‘She’s tough,’ Utsumi replied as she steered the car back into traffic.
‘You think?’
‘She didn’t cry once. At least, not in front of us.’
‘Maybe she just wasn’t that sad.’
‘No, she was crying before we got there. The entire time she was waiting for the ambulance, I’d say.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Her make-up. I could tell that she’d had to fix it in a hurry.’
Kusanagi looked over at the junior detective. ‘Really?’
‘Without a doubt.’
‘I guess women notice different things – I mean that as praise, mind you.’
‘I know,’ she said with a smile. ‘What did you think of her, Detective Kusanagi?’
‘In a word, suspicious. I have my doubts about a young woman visiting a man’s house to “check up on him”, whether or not she was given a key.’
‘I agree. I certainly wouldn’t have.’
‘You think she and the deceased might’ve had something going on? Or am I reading too much into it?’
Utsumi almost snorted. ‘I wouldn’t call that reading too much into it. It’s hard to imagine that they didn’t have a thing. My guess is that they had plans to dine together tonight.’
Kusanagi slapped his knee. ‘The restaurant in Ebisu.’
‘They called because no one showed up, and the reservation was for two. Which means that not only Mr Mashiba but someone he was supposed to be dining with didn’t show up either.’
‘Which would make sense if that someone were Hiromi Wakayama,’ Kusanagi agreed.
‘If there was a deeper connection between them, we’ll have proof shortly.’
‘How’s that?’
‘The coffee cups. The ones in the sink might have been from when they drank coffee together, which means that her fingerprints will be on one of them.’
‘Right, right. But,’ Kusanagi lifted his finger, ‘just because they might’ve been having an affair isn’t sufficient grounds to treat her as a suspect.’
‘Of course not,’ Utsumi said. She pulled off the road and stopped the car. ‘Do you mind if I make a phone call? There’s something I’d like to check on.’
‘Who’re you calling?’
‘Why, Hiromi Wakayama, of course.’
Utsumi began pressing the keys on her phone as Detective Kusanagi looked on, open-mouthed. The call went through almost immediately.
‘Ms Wakayama? This is Utsumi from the police department. I’m sorry to bother you again so soon, but it occurred to me that I’ve forgotten to ask you about your schedule tomorrow.’ There was a pause while Hiromi spoke, before Utsumi said, ‘… I see. Thank you. Sorry for the trouble. Good night.’
She ended the call.
‘What did she say?’ Kusanagi asked.
‘She doesn’t have definite plans, but thinks she’ll be at home. She’s going to take the day off from the quilting school.’
‘Hmph.’ Kusanagi snorted.
Utsumi glanced sidelong at the detective. ‘I wasn’t calling to ask about her schedule, you know.’
‘Do tell.’
‘She was trying to hide it, but I could tell from her voice she’d been crying. It was quite obvious. In other words – as soon as she was alone in her room, the emotions she’d been holding back came spilling out.’
Kusanagi sat up in his seat. ‘That’s why you called her? To see if she’d been crying?’
‘My thought was that the shock of finding someone dead would be enough to make some people cry whether or not they knew them well. But to be crying now, hours later …’
‘Means she was feeling something other than shock at the fragility of life,’ Kusanagi finished. He smiled at her. ‘Not bad, Junior Detective Utsumi.’
‘Why thank you, Detective Kusanagi.’ Utsumi smiled and released the hand brake.
The next morning, just past seven A.M., Kusanagi woke to the sound of the phone ringing. It was Chief Mamiya.
‘You’re early,’ Kusanagi grumbled into the receiver.
‘Be thankful you got to sleep at home. There’s a meeting this morning about the investigation, at the Meguro City Police Station. We’ll probably be moving in, so get ready to sleep there tonight.’
‘So you’re calling me at seven in the morning to remind me to bring my toothbrush?’
‘You should be so lucky. No, you’re going to Haneda this morning.’