“Yes, he’s my ex-husband … has he done something?”
So she didn’t know he’d been killed. She probably hadn’t seen it on the news or read it in the papers. The story hadn’t garnered too much attention from the press, after all.
“Actually,” Kusanagi began, and his eyes wandered back into the room behind her. The sliding doors toward the rear were closed tightly. “Is there someone else home?” he asked.
“My daughter, yes.”
“Ah, right.” He noticed the sneakers by the door. Kusanagi lowered his voice. “I’m afraid Mr. Togashi is dead.”
Yasuko’s expression seemed to freeze while her lips made an open circle. “He—he died? Why? How? Was there an accident?”
“His body was found on an embankment by the Old Edogawa. We don’t know for sure, but there is suspicion of murder,” Kusanagi said. He figured that breaking the news to her straight would make it easier to ask questions afterward.
For the first time, a look of shock passed over Yasuko’s face. She shook her head. “Him? But why would anyone do that to him?”
“That’s what we’re investigating now. Mr. Togashi didn’t have any other family, so we thought you might know something. I’m sorry to drop in so late.” Kusanagi bowed stiffly.
“No, of course, I had no idea—” Yasuko put a hand to her mouth and lowered her eyes.
Kusanagi’s gaze shifted again to the sliding doors at the rear of the room. Was Ms. Hanaoka’s daughter behind there, listening in on their conversation? If so, how would she take the news of her former stepfather’s death?
“We did a little looking through the records. You divorced Mr. Togashi five years ago, is that correct? Have you seen him since then?”
Yasuko shook her head. “I’ve hardly seen him at all since we separated.”
Which meant they had met. Kusanagi asked when.
“I think the last time I saw him was over a year ago…”
“And you’ve received no contact from him since? A phone call, or letter?”
“Nothing,” Yasuko said, firmly shaking her head.
Kusanagi nodded, glancing casually around the room. It was a small apartment, done in the Japanese style with tatami mats on the floor. The unit was old, but the woman kept it clean and orderly. A bowl of mandarin oranges sat on the low kotatsu table in the middle of the room. The badminton racket leaning against one wall brought back memories for the detective; he had played the game in college.
“We’ve determined that Mr. Togashi died on the evening of March 10,” Kusanagi told her. “Does that date or the embankment on the Old Edogawa mean anything to you? Even the slightest connection could help our investigation.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t think of anything. There’s nothing special about that date, and I really don’t know what he’s been up to.”
“I see.”
The woman was clearly getting annoyed. But then, few people cared to talk about their ex-husbands. This was getting nowhere fast.
Might as well leave it here for now, he thought. There was just one last thing he needed to check.
“By the way,” he asked, trying to sound as casual as possible, “were you home on the tenth?”
Yasuko’s eyes narrowed. She was clearly uncomfortable. “Do I need to know exactly where I was that day?”
Kusanagi laughed. “Please, don’t take this the wrong way. Of course, the more precise you can be, the more it will help us.”
“Well, can you wait a moment?” Yasuko glanced at a wall Kusanagi couldn’t see from where he stood. He guessed there was a calendar hanging there. He would have liked to look at her schedule, but he decided to refrain for now.
“I had work in the morning that day, and … that’s right, I went out afterward with my daughter,” Yasuko replied.
“Where’d you go out to?”
“We went to see a movie. At a place called the Rakutenchi in Kinshicho.”
“Around what time did you leave? Just a general idea is fine. And if you remember which movie it was…?”
“Oh, we left around six thirty…”
She went on to describe the movie they’d seen. It was one Kusanagi had heard of; the third installment in some popular series out of Hollywood.
“Did you go home right after that?”
“No, we ate at a ramen shop in the same building, and then we went out to karaoke.”
“Karaoke? Like, at a karaoke box?”
“That’s right. My daughter wanted me to go.”
Kusanagi chuckled. “Do the two of you do that often?”
“Only once every month or two.”
“How long were you there for?”
“We usually only go for about an hour and a half. Any longer and we get home too late.”
“So you saw a movie, ate dinner, then went to karaoke … which puts you home at?”
“It was after eleven o’clock, I think. I don’t remember the time exactly.”
Kusanagi nodded. There was something about the story that didn’t sit right, but it wasn’t anything he could put his finger on. It might be nothing at all.
They asked the name of the karaoke box, bid Ms. Hanaoka goodnight, and left.
“I don’t think she had anything to do with it,” Kishitani said in a low voice as the two detectives walked away from apartment 204.
“Hard to say.”
“I think that’s great that they go out to karaoke together. It’s not often you have a mother and daughter who get along so well.” It was clear from his tone that Kishitani did not consider Yasuko Hanaoka a suspect.
As they walked down the hall they became aware of a man coming up the stairs toward them. He was middle-aged and heavyset. The two detectives stopped and let him pass. The man continued on to apartment 203, unlocked the door, and went inside.
Kusanagi and Kishitani glanced at each other, then turned around.
The plate next to the door of 203 read “Ishigami.” They rang the doorbell, and the man they had just seen opened the door. He had taken off his coat, revealing a sweater and slacks beneath.
The man’s face was a blank as he looked at Kusanagi and Kishitani. In Kusanagi’s experience, almost everyone viewed him with suspicion at first, if not alarm, but this man’s face revealed absolutely nothing.
“Sorry to disturb you this late. I was wondering if you could help us,” Kusanagi said with a friendly smile, showing the man his police badge.
Still, the man’s face didn’t twitch a muscle. Kusanagi took a step forward. “It’ll only take a few minutes. We’d like to ask you some questions.” Thinking that perhaps the man hadn’t been able to see his badge, he held it out closer.
“What’s this about?” the man asked without even glancing at the badge in Kusanagi’s hand. He seemed to know already that they were detectives.
Kusanagi took a photograph from his jacket pocket. It was a picture of Togashi from when he had been a used-car salesman.
“This is photo from a few years ago, but—have you seen anyone resembling this man around here recently?”
The man stared intently at the photograph for a moment, then looked up at Kusanagi. “Can’t say I know him.”
“Right, I’m sure you don’t. But, I was wondering if you had seen anyone who looked like him?”
“Where?”
“Well, for example, somewhere in the local area?”
The man squinted again at the photograph. This is a dead end, thought Kusanagi.
“Sorry, never seen him,” the man said. “I don’t really remember the faces of people I pass on the street, anyway.”
“Yes, of course,” Kusanagi said, already regretting having come back to question the man. But, since he was here, he might as well be thorough about it. “Might I ask, do you always come home at this time?”