“I suppose it depends on the day. Sometimes I’m late with the team.”
“Team?”
“I supervise a judo club. I’m responsible for closing up the dojo at the end of the day.”
“Oh, you’re a schoolteacher, then?”
“Yes, high school,” the man replied, and he told them the name of the school where he worked.
“I see. Well, then, I’m sorry to have bothered you. You must have had a long day,” Kusanagi apologized, lowering his head.
It was then that he noticed the mathematics textbooks piled up in the entranceway. Oh, great, he thought, a lump growing in his stomach, a math teacher. Math had been Kusanagi’s worst subject in school.
“Ah, I was wondering—” he said, trying to shake off the feeling. “Your name here on the plate by the door … do these characters read ‘Ishigami’?”
“That’s right, I’m Ishigami.”
“Mr. Ishigami, I was wondering if you remember what time you came home on the tenth of March?”
“The tenth of March? Why, did something happen?”
“No, nothing to do with you, sir. We’re just gathering what information we can about events in the local area that day.”
“I see, well, March 10, huh?” Ishigami stared briefly into the distance before returning his gaze to Kusanagi. “I’m pretty sure I came home directly that day. I would say around seven o’clock.”
“Anything unusual happen next door that evening?”
“Next door?”
“Yes, um, Ms. Hanaoka’s place?” Kusanagi asked, lowering his voice.
“Did something happen to Ms. Hanaoka?”
“No, nothing. We’re just gathering information.”
A curious look crept over Ishigami’s face. He was probably starting to imagine what could possibly have happened to the mother and daughter living next door. From the look of his apartment, Mr. Ishigami was single.
“I don’t recall anything unusual, no,” Ishigami replied.
“No loud noises, or talking?”
“Hmm.” Ishigami scratched his neck. “Sorry, nothing comes to mind.”
“I see. Are you friends with Ms. Hanaoka by any chance?”
“Well, she lives next door, so we meet each other now and then and say hello. But that’s about all.”
“I see. Thanks, and we’re sorry to have bothered you.”
“Not at all,” Ishigami said, nodding and reaching for the door. Kusanagi saw that he was lifting his mail from the box that hung on the inside of the door. The detective’s eyes went wide for moment when he saw the words “Imperial University” written on one of the letters.
“Erm,” Kusanagi said hesitantly. “Did you graduate from Imperial University?”
“Huh?” Ishigami started, his eyes opening a little wider. Then he, too, noticed the address on the letter in his hand. “Oh, this? Must be an alumni letter. Does whatever you’re investigating have anything to do with the university?”
“No, I had a friend from there is all.”
“Oh, yes, I see.”
“Er, sorry for the trouble.” Kusanagi bowed curtly, turned, and departed.
When the detectives had left the apartment building behind, Kishitani spoke up suddenly. “Wait, sir—didn’t you go to Imperial University? Why didn’t you tell that guy?”
“No reason, really. Just didn’t want to start anything, is all. I’m sure he was from the science department, and frankly, my bunch didn’t get along with the fellows over there.”
“You have a thing about the sciences, don’t you?” Kishitani said, grinning. “Do I detect an inferiority complex?”
“I’d be fine if someone didn’t keep rubbing my face in it,” Kusanagi muttered, the image of Manabu Yukawa—the friend the half-jokingly, called “Detective Galileo”—rising in his mind.
After the detectives had been gone a good ten minutes, Ishigami stepped out into the hallway outside his apartment. He glanced next door. The light was on. He turned and went down the stairs.
It was quite a walk to the nearest public phone where he had a reasonable chance of not being observed. He didn’t own a cell phone, and he couldn’t use the landline in his own apartment.
As he walked, he went back over the details of his conversation with the police. He was sure he hadn’t given them a single reason to suspect he was involved in any way. But there was always a chance, however slight. If the police suspected Yasuko, they would have to figure that a man had been involved in disposing of the body. They might start looking for someone connected to the Hanaokas, a man who would be willing to dirty his hands for them. They might even consider investigating the mathematics teacher who lived next door.
Ishigami knew he had to avoid going to their apartment, of course. He had been avoiding any direct contact. That was why he didn’t call from his own house. The investigators might see from the phone records that he had made frequent calls to Yasuko Hanaoka and find it suspicious.
But what about Benten-tei?
He still hadn’t made up his mind about that. All things being equal, he should probably avoid the place for a while. But the police might come around asking questions. The owners might tell them about how the mathematician who lived next to Yasuko came by there every day to buy lunch. Wouldn’t they find it odd if he stopped coming right after the day of the murder? Shouldn’t he keep going there as usual so as not to raise suspicions?
Ishigami didn’t trust his own capacity to come up with a logical answer to this question, because he knew that, in his heart, he wanted to keep going to Benten-tei. That lunchbox shop was his connection to Yasuko. If he didn’t go there, he would never see her at all.
He arrived at the public phone and inserted a telephone card. The card had been a gift from another teacher—the front showed a picture of the teacher’s newborn baby.
The number he dialed was for Yasuko’s cell phone. They might have put a tap on her home phone, after all. The police claimed they didn’t wiretap citizens, but he didn’t trust that one bit.
“Yes?” came Yasuko’s voice over the line. She would have already guessed that it was he, because of the public number. He had told her he would contact her this way.
“It’s me, Ishigami.”
“Oh, yes.”
“The police came to my apartment a few minutes ago. I’m guessing they dropped by your place as well.”
“Yes, a little while ago.”
“What did they want to know?”
Ishigami listened to every word Yasuko said, organized it in his head, analyzed it, and committed it to memory. It seemed that, for the time being, the police didn’t directly suspect Yasuko. They had probably just been following procedure when they asked after her whereabouts. They might have someone check out her story, but it probably wouldn’t be a high priority.
But if they found out that Togashi had visited on the tenth, that he had come to see Yasuko, they wouldn’t be so friendly the next time they turned up. And the first thing they were bound to check out would be her statement that she hadn’t seen Togashi recently. Luckily, he had already prepared her for that eventuality.
“Did the detectives see your daughter?”
“No, Misato was in the back room.”
“I see. Still, they will probably want to question her before long. You know what to do if that happens, right?”
“Yes, you were very clear. I think she’ll be okay.”
“I don’t mean to repeat myself, but remember, there’s no need to make an act of it. She just needs to answer the questions they ask as mechanically as possible.”
“Yes, I told her that.”
“Did you show the police your ticket stubs?”
“No, I didn’t. You told me I didn’t have to show them unless they asked for them specifically.”