“I wonder if he’ll use the same technique this time.”
“If he’s guilty, I’m sure he will.”
Utsumi pulled out her phone. She must have gotten a call. “Excuse me one second, sir.” She stood up and walked off along the aisle between the seats.
Kusanagi stuffed the empty can into the seat-back pocket in front of him, and, after glancing over his shoulder to check there was no one sitting behind him, he reclined his seat and half closed his eyes. But with the case preying on his mind, he knew there was little chance of falling asleep.
One of the problems they were facing was the same one as nineteen years ago: Arresting Hasunuma for the unlawful disposal of a body was impossible. It was three years and two months since Saori Namiki had disappeared, and the statute of limitations had already expired.
So what sort of evidence would they need to assemble to arrest Hasunuma for murder? The child’s bones in the house had included a caved-in skull. This suggested that the killing had involved a violent blow with an instrument of some kind. If they searched Hasunuma’s apartment and found the murder weapon, they’d be home and dry—
“Chief,” he heard Utsumi saying, “are you taking a nap?”
Kusanagi opened his eyes. “Who was it on the phone?”
“It was Inspector Kishitani. The deputy commander of local police asked him to confirm the overall thrust of the Saori Namiki investigation.”
Inspector Kishitani and the rest of the TMPD team were already at the joint task force headquarters, sharing information with the local detectives.
“Okay. Tell them that we will go straight to the investigation headquarters in Kikuno as soon as we get back to Tokyo.”
“I guessed you’d say that, so that’s what I said we’d do,” said Utsumi matter-of-factly, dropping into her seat.
“Kikuno, huh? It’s part of Tokyo, but I know hardly anything — no, scratch that — I know absolutely nothing about the place.”
Kusanagi knew that Kikuno was somewhere in the west of Tokyo. He had driven through it, but never got out of the car to look around.
“From what I can see, it’s pretty nondescript,” said Utsumi, looking it up on her phone. “Hang on a second. There is one thing the place is famous for: its parade.”
“Parade?”
Utsumi started tapping away on her phone.
“Here we go. This is it: the Kikuno Story Parade.”
She held up the phone. On it was a photograph of someone dressed as Momotaro, the Peach Boy, with other people in ogre costumes.
“What is it? Some kind of fancy-dress parade?”
“Apparently, it used to be called the ‘Kikuno High Street Autumn Parade.’ Then it opened itself up to cosplay enthusiasts from all around Japan so they could take part. When that wasn’t exciting enough, they turned it into a team competition.”
“A team competition?”
“A group of people get dressed up and re-create a scene from a famous story. That might mean something like a man and a woman dressing up as Urashima Taro and Princess Otohime and having a feast, while their teammates, togged out in sea bream and flounder costumes, dance around them.”
“Sounds difficult to do while marching in a parade.”
“There’s a variety of gimmicks. Some of the teams use floats, apparently. There seem to be all sorts of rules about what you can and can’t do, if you’re using a large set.”
“You said people come from all over Japan? So is it a big event?”
“They get so many applications they have to hold an elimination round. All the teams are asked to send in a homemade video; the executive committee uses them to make their selections. It says here that nearly one hundred videos were submitted last year and that the overall level was so high, they struggled to whittle down the numbers.”
“From what you’re telling me, it sounds like a major event.”
“A friend of mine goes every year. She says it gets bigger every year.”
“When’s it held?”
“October.”
“I see.”
Kusanagi was relieved. That was more than six months from now, so there shouldn’t be a problem. They should be finished with the investigation by then.
“Oh, that reminds me,” piped up Utsumi as she put her phone away. “Isn’t our mutual friend in Kikuno right now?”
“Our mutual friend?”
“Professor Yukawa. He sent me an email at the end of last year.”
It had been a long time since Kusanagi last heard that name. Manabu Yukawa was a friend of his from his university days. Although he was a physicist, Yukawa possessed extraordinary powers of deduction, and Kusanagi had sought his help with more than a few investigations. They hadn’t seen each other for several years now.
“Didn’t Yukawa go to America? I haven’t heard from him since he left Japan.”
“He came back last year. That’s what the email he sent me was about. I thought he’d have contacted you, too.”
“Not a word. Guy’s got no manners.”
“He probably thought he didn’t need to email you because I’d tell you he was back. That’s how his mind works; he’s a rationalist.”
“He’s lazy, you mean. Anyway, what’s he doing in Kikuno?”
“He said that he was going to be working for a new research institute that had just opened up there. He didn’t say what kind of research he’d be doing.”
Probably thought you wouldn’t understand his explanation. Kusanagi suddenly remembered Yukawa’s habit of pushing his spectacles higher up on his nose with the tip of one finger.
“So he’s in Kikuno, eh...?”
Kusanagi decided to contact Yukawa once he’d cleared up this case. Hell, it would be fun: to hear what he had to say about life in America as they drank their whiskey and sodas (made, of course, with high-end whiskey). The only problem was what it would take to sort out this challenging case.
5
The day after the joint investigation task force was set up, Kusanagi decided to go to Namiki-ya and meet with the family. Since the local police force had all the records related to Saori Namiki’s disappearance, Kusanagi had a general grasp of the case; as the officer in charge of the investigation, however, he wanted to speak directly to the girl’s family. He had Kaoru Utsumi arrange the meeting and join him.
Namiki-ya was located on Kikuno Avenue, one of the streets on the route of the area’s annual parade. The restaurant was an unpretentious place, with a traditional exterior sheathed in vertical wooden slats. Inside, there were four tables for six, and two tables for four. Kusanagi and Utsumi were sitting on one side of one of the six-person tables in the middle of the restaurant, with the three members of the Namiki family on the other side: Yutaro, the father; Machiko, the mother; and the surviving daughter, Natsumi.
With his high forehead and elegantly arched eyebrows, Yutaro Namiki looked like a stand-up guy. On the thin side, he sat bolt upright in his chair and radiated a quiet dignity. His wife, Machiko, was a beautiful woman with strikingly large eyes. Kusanagi recalled the pictures he had seen of Saori Namiki. She had obviously taken after her mother. The features of Natsumi, the sister, were nice and regular, but she was of a different type to her mother and elder sister.
“We’ve got no idea what’s going on. Is there any chance you could fill us in?” Yutaro asked, before he had even put Kusanagi’s business card down on the table. “The Shizuoka Prefectural Police called us out of the blue. They said they believed they’d found the remains of our daughter and wanted to do a DNA test. We told them that we provided a sample when Saori disappeared and gave our consent for them to proceed. They got back to us a few days later saying that it was a match and we should come collect her remains. We went, of course, but we’re baffled. We had never heard of the place. That’s what we want to know: Why in God’s name was Saori’s body found all the way out there in Shizuoka?”