A little after six o’clock, the regulars began to arrive in dribs and drabs: Tojima, the Niikuras, Tomoya Takagaki. Everyone was enthusiastically discussing the parade. Heidi, a Girl of the Alps had been proclaimed this year’s winner. Natsumi exchanged a look with Yukawa as he contentedly drank his beer.
Maya Miyazawa arrived with two young men in tow. They were going out for a celebratory bar crawl later, she explained, but they thought they’d line their stomachs here first. They were slightly disappointed that Team Kikuno had only placed fourth this year.
“You were fantastic,” said Natsumi, as she delivered them their food. “The ship looked so authentic; the pirates really looked the part, too.”
“Yes, a great job, really impressive,” chimed in Tojima, who was sitting some distance away but had overheard the exchange. Everyone else then joined in with praise.
“Thank you very much. It’s very nice of you to say so. How about a toast,” said Miyazawa. “Cheers!” The three of them clinked their glasses.
After a while, another member of Team Kikuno came into the restaurant. There was a strained, anxious look on his face. He scuttled over to Maya Miyazawa’s table.
“What took you so long? Where’ve you been?” asked Miyazawa, pouring him a glass of beer.
“There was something I had to do. I went to the neighboring district. On the way back, there were all these police cars, so I stopped to see what was going on,” the young man replied, his untouched beer glass in his hand. “It was by the river where all the warehouses are. I found out that—”
He lowered his voice at this point and Natsumi could no longer hear what he was saying.
“I can’t believe it,” exclaimed Maya Miyazawa. “Really?”
“Yes, really. I overheard one of the police officers.”
Maya Miyazawa looked at Natsumi. Natsumi wondered why she was looking at her. There was a moment’s awkward silence.
“Apparently Hasunuma’s dead,” Maya Miyazawa said.
15
He couldn’t believe his ears. Then again, Director Mamiya would never joke about something this serious.
“It’s definitely Hasunuma? You’re sure of that?” asked Kusanagi, gripping his phone tightly.
“Yes, the Kikuno police have confirmed his identity. They don’t yet know whether it was murder.”
“Where did it happen?”
“At an old colleague’s place.”
“Oh, right,” Kusanagi said. “I heard that Hasunuma got kicked out of his own apartment and was crashing with some old workmate.”
“Exactly. It was that old workmate who found the body.”
“I see, sir. Okay, I’ll head over to the scene right now.”
Kusanagi got up from his dining table, a half-eaten plate of pasta in front of him. “If it turns out to be murder, please put me in charge of the case. You’ll do that, won’t you, sir?”
“That’s why I called. However” — Kusanagi heard Mamiya exhale — “I need you to proceed with great care.”
“Yes, sir.”
He put down the phone, picked up his plate of pasta, went into the kitchen, and threw the leftovers into the trash.
Outside, he hailed a taxi and headed for Kikuno. On the way, he phoned his junior officers, Detective Inspector Kishitani and Detective Sergeant Utsumi, to give them the news. Utsumi asked if she could join him at the crime scene, to which he replied that she was welcome, if that’s what she wanted to do.
He then gave Inspector Muto of Kikuno Police Station a call. When he picked up, Muto’s first words were, “Did you hear about Hasunuma?”
“I did. I can’t believe it.”
“Me, either. It’s crazy.”
“I’m on my way there now. Could you meet me there?”
“Not a problem. I’m there now. As soon as Forensics have done their thing, I’ll give you a guided tour.”
When the cab got close to the address, they saw the flashing red lights of police cars, several of which were parked in a cluster.
Kusanagi got out and headed for the crime scene, looking around him as he walked. There was a long stretch of warehouses and workshops, but he couldn’t see any private houses or shops. They’d probably mobilized everyone at Kikuno Police Station for a house-to-house, but getting useful eyewitness testimony in an area like this wouldn’t be easy, thought Kusanagi.
The warehouse was cordoned off with tape and a number of uniformed policemen were standing guard. Kusanagi showed his badge to one of them.
“Is Inspector Muto around?” he asked.
“Just a minute, sir.”
The young policeman spoke into his transceiver. “He says to please wait here,” he told Kusanagi.
There was a second smaller structure beside the warehouse. Kusanagi guessed that was where Hasunuma had been living. People in forensics coveralls were going in and out of it.
After a while, Inspector Muto emerged. After the briefest of greetings, the two men got down to business.
“The body’s been taken away and Forensics is wrapping up. Would you like to see the crime scene?”
“Absolutely.”
“Fine. Follow me. You may be disappointed.”
“How so?”
“You’ll see what I mean soon enough.”
Kusanagi followed Muto to the little hut. The door was wide open and there was a light on inside.
Kusanagi peered in. The floor was made of wooden slats. There was a space just inside the door for putting on and taking off your shoes. Kusanagi took off his shoes and followed Muto into the room, pulling on a pair of gloves as he did so.
The converted office was small, maybe roughly one hundred square feet. There was a single bed in one corner, and a kitchen area with a small sink, a small refrigerator, and some shelves with plates on them.
Otherwise, there was a small table and a television. There was no chest of drawers, but a few wire hangers hung from nails that had been hammered into the walls. Beneath these were a few cardboard boxes. Kusanagi looked inside; the boxes contained clothes, crammed in any old how.
Kusanagi noticed a sliding door at the far end of the room. The door was open. “Is there a second room back there?” he asked.
“Yes. Whether it deserves to be called a room is another question,” Muto said. “Hasunuma’s body was found in there.”
Muto walked to the far end of the room. Kusanagi followed him.
They stood in the doorway and looked in. The floor area was less than fifty square feet and the ceiling was low enough that Kusanagi could touch it. The room had no windows and no storage of any kind. The parquet floor was grubby.
“Apparently, this used to be a storeroom,” Muto said.
“Makes sense,” Kusanagi replied. “There’s nothing in here. Did Forensics take everything away?”
“They did — though there wasn’t actually much here to start with.” Muto tapped his phone a few times, then showed the screen to Kusanagi. “This is what the place looked like when we found him.”
Hasunuma, wearing a gray sweat suit, lay sprawled faceup on a quilt-covered mattress. The floor was covered with a ground sheet. To one side of Hasunuma were his clothes and a bag.
“I can’t see any obvious cause of death.”
“No. When the occupant of the room returned, he found Hasunuma like this; he wasn’t breathing. He called an ambulance and the paramedics contacted the police after they had confirmed that Hasunuma was dead. There were no visible external injuries and no signs of strangulation on his neck. Nor was there any evidence of a struggle. The paramedics estimate he died somewhere between thirty minutes and two hours before he was found.” Muto slipped his phone back into his pocket.