“There, I’m done. Natsumi, serve this, would you?” said Yutaro testily, as he dumped a plate heaped with fried mackerel on the counter.
28
He went to his room to change into his sweatpants. When he got back to the dining room, dinner was neatly arranged on the table. There was a big dish of grilled ginger pork and a smaller dish of spinach salad, along with miso soup with lumps of tofu in it. It was a classic family meal.
Tomoya Takagaki sat down, put his phone on the table, and placed his hands together in a gesture of gratitude. “This looks delicious.”
“You deserve it,” said Rie, his mother, placing a small bowl heaped with rice in front of him. “It’s not like you to be back so late.”
“I was nearly done for the day, when my section chief had a sudden change of heart. ‘Sorry, Takagaki, but I’m going to need these designs ready first thing tomorrow morning.’ I get that he wants to please the client, but he should think a bit about us, too.”
With a sigh, he reached out with his chopsticks to help himself to some grilled ginger pork. By the clock on the wall, it was nearly 10 P.M. Tomoya had never done more than two hours of overtime before in his life.
Poor old you.
Since she had already finished her meal, Rie walked over to the sink and started doing the washing up. Tomoya looked at her from behind. She had turned fifty the month before. She definitely seemed to have more gray hair than before; or perhaps she was just too busy to go to the hairdresser.
Rie was an excellent cook. The taste of the grilled ginger pork was a little more intense than usual tonight, but when you mixed in the generous helpings of shredded cabbage she served with it, the flavors balanced out perfectly.
He had just polished off the last grain of rice in his bowl, when his phone started to vibrate. He blanched when he saw the incoming caller’s name: it was Tojima.
He got to his feet, grabbed his phone, and went out into the hall.
“Takagaki here,” he whispered.
“It’s me, Tojima. Can you talk now?” Tojima’s voice was so low that Tomoya immediately started feeling nervous.
“Yes. What’s the problem?”
“Has anything odd happened since we last met? Have any more detectives been around to see you?”
“No, nothing I can think of...”
“That’s good.”
“Why? Has... uhm... something happened?”
“Yeah.” There was a brief pause. “It’s that professor fellow,” Tojima said.
“Sorry? Professor?”
“Professor Yukawa. You see him all the time at Namiki-ya.”
“Oh, him.” Tomoya was puzzled. It wasn’t a name he’d been expecting to hear. He knew Yukawa quite well. Although something of an oddball, the professor was very knowledgeable and well worth talking to. “What’s he done?”
“You need to watch out for him.”
“Wha—? Watch out? Why?”
“Because it looks like he’s poking around the Hasunuma business. Plus, I heard that he’s pals with a detective. He may have been asked to spy on us.”
“Him?”
In his mind’s eye, Tomoya pictured Yukawa. He really didn’t strike him as the spying kind.
“Planning to pop into Namiki-ya anytime soon?”
“Namiki-ya? No plans to go, no.”
“Best hold off on it for a while, then. That fellow — the professor — if you bump into him, he might start asking you all sorts of questions. I thought we were talking about something completely different, but he suddenly starts asking me all these really on-the-nose questions, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He even asked me to account for my movements on the day of the parade, for God’s sake!”
“He asked you that?”
“Yeah. Caught me completely off guard and I panicked. What surprised me even more was when he suddenly brought up, you know — I mean, when he starts asking me about my freezer systems.”
“How could he even—?”
“Search me. Anyway, that’s what happened, so I’m advising you to stay well away from the guy. If he phones you and asks to meet, make up an excuse.”
“Got it. I’ll be on my guard.”
“Good. Bye, then.”
Tojima was about to hang up, so Tomoya hastily blurted out, “Oh, uh, Mr. Tojima, wait. I... uh... something’s really bugging me.”
“What?”
“What actually happened. And who did what.”
He heard a heavy sigh.
“Haven’t I told you a thousand times? The less you know, the better.”
“But—”
“All right, Takagaki,” Tojima interrupted. “It’s like I said at the start of this. Tell the truth, if you absolutely have to. You don’t have to lie and you don’t need to hide anything. Again, the less you know, the better off you’ll be. Got that? I’m going to hang up now.”
Tomoya couldn’t accept what Tojima was telling him. At the same time, he didn’t know how to express his reservations. He knew that Tojima was thinking about what was best for him.
Before he could say another word, the phone went dead. He could imagine Tojima wincing at his whining.
Feeling dejected, he went back into the dining room. Seated at the far side of the table, Rie was looking at him intently. He started.
“You’ve finished the dishes?” Tomoya said, sitting down and picking up his chopsticks.
“Who was it?” Rie asked.
“A colleague from work. The section chief’s demanding the impossible from him, too.”
“Why are you lying to me?” Rie was leaning forward and peering up into his face.
“I’m not lying.” Tomoya looked away.
“You said ‘Namiki-ya.’ I heard you.”
A wave of anger coursed through him. He felt hot all over.
“Then you heard wrong. Why would I be talking to him about Namiki-ya?”
“Well, what did you say? Tell me.”
“Oh, just shut up,” snapped Tomoya, unable to meet her gaze. “It’s nothing to do with you. Just back off.”
“If my son’s mixed up in any funny business, I’ve no intention of backing off.”
“‘Funny business’? What are you talking about?” Tomoya lifted his face and looked at his mother. He recoiled. Her eyes were red and tearful.
“That’s what I want to know. What have you done? What have you got yourself involved in?” Rie’s voice was shaking. “I heard you saying something about being on your guard. On your guard against what?”
Tomoya looked away again. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, Mom.”
“Then tell me. Tell me the truth. Please.”
Tomoya put down his chopsticks. “Thanks for dinner,” he said and got to his feet. He no longer had any appetite.
“Just tell me this one thing,” said Rie, in a pleading voice. “That incident a little while ago — you know, when the man who murdered Saori died — you weren’t involved with that, were you?”
“Of course I wasn’t.”
Tomoya again thanked his mother for dinner and turned on his heel. As he headed for his room, there was a welter of confused emotions in his chest.
Then tell me. Tell me the truth. Please. His mother’s words echoed in his brain.
Tomoya knew exactly how she was feeling.
29
Naoki Niikura was sitting on the sofa in his living room talking on his cell phone. Tojima was on the other end of the line.
From her husband’s expression, Rumi could tell the call wasn’t going well.
“By professor, you mean that professor? That Yukawa chap? Why should he be asking questions about things like that...?” Niikura scowled.