“So that guy’s the same age as us, then? Hmph.”
“He always looked old for his years, even back then.” Yukawa grinned. Then a look of surprise came over his face. “A teacher? You said he teaches high school math?”
“Yeah, at a school near where he lives. And he coaches the judo club there.”
“That’s right. I’d heard he did judo from an early age. I think his grandfather ran a dojo, or something like that. At any rate, you’re sure he teaches at a high school?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“That’s unexpected, but I’ll take your word for it. I hadn’t heard anything, so I assumed he was buried in research at a private university somewhere … Huh. Ishigami teaching math in high school…” Yukawa’s voice trailed off as he gazed into his memory.
“So he was a hotshot in school, then?” Kishitani asked.
Yukawa sighed. “I don’t use the word genius lightly, but it fits him well. One of our professors said he was the kind of student you only see once every fifty or a hundred years. Even though we were in separate departments, stories about him made the rounds. He didn’t care for computers, so he would lock himself in the school lab, working out problems with paper and pencil all night. When you saw him, it was usually from the back while he sat hunched over a desk—that’s how he got the nickname ‘the Buddha.’ A term of respect, of course.”
Kusanagi nodded. It was odd to hear Yukawa talk about someone even more brilliant than himself. The detective had always thought of his friend as the genius, but he supposed that even when you were at the top, there was always something higher.
“But wouldn’t someone that gifted automatically get snatched up by a university?” Kishitani asked.
“Well, it takes all types, even at a university,” Yukawa mumbled, sounding uncharacteristically perplexed. Kusanagi didn’t imagine his friend had wasted much time worrying about how old acquaintances were faring in the world.
As if on cue, Yukawa asked, “How is he doing? Did he seem well?”
“I can’t say. He didn’t seem ill, at least. We talked to him for a bit, but he was hard to get a handle on. Maybe he just wasn’t very personable…”
“No man can know the mind of the Buddha,” Yukawa said with a wry chuckle.
“That’s just it. Normally, when detectives come calling, you expect people to be surprised, or a little flustered, or give some reaction at least, but it was as if he was carved out of stone. It was like he couldn’t be bothered to react to anything external.”
“He’s not interested in anything but math. Not that he’s without any charms, of course. He was a nice enough guy in his own way. Listen, could you tell me his address? I’d love to drop in on him when I get a slow day.”
“You, paying a social call? Now that’s unusual.”
Kusanagi took out his notebook and gave Yukawa the address of the apartment building where Yasuko Hanaoka lived. Yukawa wrote it down, seeming pleased at the unexpected connection. He didn’t mention the murder again.
At 6:28 P.M., Yasuko Hanaoka arrived home on her bicycle. Ishigami saw her from his apartment window. The desk in front of him was covered with a mountain of paper, each sheet filled with mathematical formulas. It was his custom to do battle with his formulas every evening after his return from school. He’d gotten out early today—no judo practice—but even so, he wasn’t making much progress. In fact, he hadn’t made much progress for several days now. He just sat in his room, listening for sounds next door, wondering when the detectives would come back.
They had come again the night before—the same two who had visited Ishigami’s apartment. He remembered the name Kusanagi from reading it off the senior officer’s badge.
Yasuko had told him they’d come to check her alibi at the movie theater, as expected. They’d asked if anything memorable had happened. If she had met anyone she knew on the way in, or way out, or even during the movie. Did she have the ticket stubs, by any chance? Did she buy anything in the theater? Did she have receipts? What had the movie been about, who had been the lead actor—?
As they hadn’t asked anything about the karaoke box, he assumed they’d called on that establishment already. Of course that part of the alibi checked out. Ishigami had chosen the place because he knew it would.
Yasuko said she had shown the detectives the ticket stubs, the receipt for the program, just as Ishigami had instructed. Other than describing the plot of the movie, she’d told the police nothing. She hadn’t seen anyone, and nothing memorable or out of the ordinary had occurred. Ishigami had told her to say all of this, too.
The detectives had left, seemingly satisfied, but he didn’t think for a moment that they had given up yet. The fact that they had come back to check on the movie theater alibi meant they had enough data to make them suspicious of Yasuko. Ishigami wondered just what those data were.
He stood and picked up his jacket. Telephone card, wallet, and room key in hand, he stepped out of his the apartment.
He was just on the stairs when he heard footsteps coming up from below. He slowed his pace and lowered his eyes.
It was Yasuko. She didn’t seem to notice who he was right away. Just before they passed, her feet stopped. She had seen him. Even looking down at his feet, Ishigami could tell she wanted to say something.
Ishigami spoke first. “Good evening.”
He tried to say it like he would say it to anyone he happened to meet, his tone relaxed, his voice low. He didn’t make eye contact or slow his pace. Passing Yasuko, he continued on down the stairs in silence.
There was no telling when the police might be watching, so whenever they did meet, they had to act like neighbors and nothing more. Another of Ishigami’s own instructions. Yasuko had paused for a moment in her ascent, but then—perhaps remembering what he had told her—replied, “Good evening” in a small voice, then continued up the stairs without another word.
Reaching the park, Ishigami quickly strode over to the phone, picked up the receiver, and put in his telephone card. There was a small convenience store about thirty meters away. The owner was closing up shop for the night. Other than that, no one else was around.
“Yes, it’s me,” Yasuko said, picking up the phone immediately. She sounded like she knew the call was coming from Ishigami. Somehow, that made him happy.
“Anything unusual to report?”
“Um, yes. That detective came to the store today.”
“To Benten-tei?”
“Yes.”
“What did he ask this time?”
“He was asking whether Togashi had come to the shop at all.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I said no, he hadn’t, of course. The detective said that maybe he had been there when I wasn’t in, and he went back to talk to the owners. The owner told me that the detective showed him a picture of Togashi, and asked about him. You know, I think the detective suspects me.”
“That’s nothing we didn’t expect. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Is that the only thing the detective asked?”
“No, he also asked about the club I used to work at—the bar in Kinshicho. He wanted to know if I’d been in contact with the people there. I told him no, just like you said. Then I asked him why he wanted to know where I used to work, and he told me Togashi had been there recently.”
“Ah yes. Of course.” Ishigami nodded, the receiver pressed to his ear. “So Togashi was at your old workplace, asking after you.”
“It seems so. That must be where he heard about Benten-tei. The detective said that since it sounded like Togashi had been looking for me, it would have made sense for him to drop in at Benten-tei next. And I told him, ‘Well, I suppose that’s true, but he didn’t, so I can’t help you.’ ”