Yukawa’s temples twitched.
“Now, that is interesting. Hence you describing him as ‘the silent man.’”
“And the case I’m working on now has several striking similarities to the Yuna Motohashi case. The fact that the statute of limitations has expired for unlawful disposal and mutilation of a corpse; the fact that there is no physical evidence that he committed the murder. The only difference this time is the presence of the depressed skull fracture. We have pinpointed that as the cause of death, which in turn leads to the method of killing...”
“But the prosecutor didn’t see it like that?”
Kusanagi pulled a face and nodded his head.
“He apparently thought that still wasn’t enough. The depression of the skull was all very well, he said, but one couldn’t tell whether she had been struck with a weapon or if the injury was the result of some kind of accident. Worse yet, he said, one couldn’t even be certain that it was the cause of death.”
“When you put it like that, I suppose he’s right.”
“With any other suspect, I don’t think the prosecutor would have thought twice about indicting him. But from what I heard, Hasunuma was completely relaxed when the prosecutor questioned him.”
“Because he was confident that he could win the case just by keeping his mouth shut.”
“Correct.”
“But he would still be kept in detention until the trial was over. Surely he wouldn’t want that?”
“That guy probably just sees detention as another chance to make money.”
“Make money?” Yukawa frowned dubiously. “What do you mean?”
“After he was found not guilty in the Yuna Motohashi trial, he immediately claimed police reparations and trial costs. I heard he got over ten million yen all told.”
“Impressive. The guy’s got guts.” Yukawa let his eyes wander around the room for a moment, then he pointed a finger at Kusanagi. “From what you’ve told me, it sounds like he’s got a pretty high IQ.”
“You’re right about that. The police had investigated Kanichi Hasunuma in considerable detail. He was an only child; his parents were divorced when he was ten, with his father getting custody. When he was thirteen, his father remarried, and Yoshie became his stepmother. Around then, he began hanging out with a bad crowd and his behavior became problematic. He left home immediately after graduating high school. In fact, his father kicked him out of the house, sick of the embarrassment he was causing the family. The father worked” — Kusanagi paused a moment — “as a police officer.”
Yukawa jerked upright in his chair. “Ha! This is getting more interesting by the minute.”
“It’s hard not to think that his dislike of his father translated into a generalized animosity toward the police.”
“That interpretation strikes me as a little oversentimental. I’d argue that he probably saw what his father was doing and made up his mind to do the polar opposite.”
“You mean he took his father as an example of what not to do? What aspect of him in particular?”
Yukawa tilted his head to an angle. “It wasn’t his father who provided him with something to react against; I think it was the suspects his father dealt with. Think about those days: back then, the police were free to do whatever they wanted. They could arrest someone based solely on circumstantial evidence, then coerce a confession out of them. They would just wear the suspect down and as soon as he’d signed a written statement cooked up for him, it was game over. Confessions nearly always resulted in a guilty verdict. If we assume that the father was in the habit of bragging about this rather convenient system at home, then what do you think the son, his captive audience, made of it?”
Kusanagi saw what Yukawa was getting at. “That if you did something wrong and were unlucky enough to be caught, confessing was absolutely the worst thing you could do.”
“Put it another way: that provided you didn’t confess, you stood a chance of winning. I think that’s the lesson he learned.”
Kusanagi rested his chin on his hands and sighed. “I hadn’t thought about it like that...”
“If I’m right, then it’s the Japanese police force that’s the begetter of this monster Hasunuma.”
Yukawa’s face wore an expression of studied neutrality. Kusanagi scowled at him.
“Sometimes you do come up with the most unwelcome ideas.”
“Come on, I said it was only a theory. There’s no reason to get upset.” Yukawa glanced at his watch and gulped down what was left of his coffee. “Time for me to get back to work. I’m glad I got to hear about this interesting case. I’d like to hear more. Next time, let’s make sure we have more time.”
“Do you come to Kikuno every day?” Kusanagi asked.
“Two or three days a week, usually.”
“You commute?”
“As a rule, yes. Sometimes I stay the night here. There’s a place to sleep on campus. We’re pretty far from central Tokyo.”
As Yukawa reached for the bill, Kusanagi managed to swoop in and grab it. “Today’s on me. You’ve had me over for coffee in your office often enough.”
“Only instant coffee. And served in a rather unsightly mug, too! You should come over for another sometime,” said Yukawa, getting to his feet. “Right, I’ll say goodbye.”
He must have remembered something, as he promptly sat back down again.
“There’s one crucial thing I forgot to ask. That ‘unpleasant business’ you mentioned earlier — what was it? I presume that’s the reason you got in touch with me?”
“Yes,” Kusanagi said. He knew his face had fallen. “I have to go and see the victim’s family and explain to them why the suspect was released. It’s not something I would normally handle myself, but there’s nothing normal about this case.”
“You’re going to see the family? A restaurant in the Kikuno shopping district, you said. What’s the place’s name?”
“Namiki-ya,” said Kusanagi, after a moment’s hesitation. He was dealing with Yukawa here; making a fuss about invasion of privacy would be stupid.
“Have you eaten there?”
“No, I haven’t,” said Kusanagi. “But it’s a nice, unpretentious place. Very friendly.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” Yukawa got back to his feet. “See you around,” he said and headed for the exit.
Kusanagi reached for his cup. The small amount of coffee left in it had gone cold, so he waved at the waitress and ordered a fresh cup.
He then took out his notebook and reviewed a number of details. He could already see the Namikis and the repressed rage on their faces in his mind’s eye. What happened? Why weren’t you able to indict Hasunuma despite all the evidence you had? They were definitely going to give him a hard time and would have trouble accepting the outcome. No surprise there; he couldn’t accept it himself. That’s why he had prepared a little speech.
Hard though it is, you must do your best not to lose hope. I assure you, we have no intention of backing off.
10
She slid open the lattice door and went outside to slot the noren curtain into position. After raining all day, the weather had cleared up. It felt nice: a crisp breeze and no sticky, oppressive heat.
I wonder if autumn proper is finally here, thought Natsumi Namiki. Although it was nearly October, they were still getting plenty of humid days; it annoyed her that she couldn’t switch to her autumn wardrobe.
She went back into the restaurant. She was busy setting the tables when there was the rattle of the front door being pushed open.
A face like a craggy piece of rock appeared. Natsumi knew its owner well. He wore industrial overalls over a shirt and tie.