Yukawa sipped his coffee without a word. He wrinkled his brow bemusedly, as if unconvinced by his friend’s explanation.
“Got something to say?”
“Not particularly.”
“Well if you do, have out with it,” Kusanagi said. “I’ve told you what I think, so now it’s your turn.”
Yukawa sighed. “He didn’t use a car.”
“Huh?”
“I said, Ishigami didn’t use a car. He would need one to carry a corpse, right? Since he doesn’t have a car, he would’ve had to get get one from somewhere. I don’t think he has the means to procure a car in such a way that he would leave no trace behind. Not many law-abiding citizens do.”
“We’ll be checking all of the rental agencies, of course.”
“Good luck with that. I can guarantee you won’t find anything.”
Kusanagi glared at the physicist, but Yukawa seemed unconcerned.
“All I’m saying is that if the murder happened somewhere other than the place where the body was found, then it was probably Ishigami who carried it there. There’s still a good possibility that the murder did take place at our crime scene. If two of them were involved, anything is possible.”
“So,” Yukawa said, lifting the cup of coffee up to his lips, “you think the two of them killed Togashi, caved in his face, burned off his fingerprints, stripped his clothes and burned them, and then walked away?”
“Like I said, they might have left at different times.” Kusanagi looked down at his cup of instant coffee and suppressed a small shudder. “Yasuko would’ve had to reach the movie theater by the time the movie ended, at least.”
“And according to your theory, the victim rode that bicycle to the crime scene?”
“I guess so, yes.”
“Which would mean that Ishigami had forgotten to wipe it for fingerprints. You really think Ishigami would have made such a simple mistake? Ishigami the Buddha?”
“Even geniuses make mistakes.”
Yukawa slowly shook his head. “Not that one.”
“Okay, then why do you think he left those prints on the bicycle?”
“That’s what I’ve been wondering,” Yukawa said, crossing his arms. “I haven’t come to a conclusion yet.”
“Maybe you’re overthinking this. That guy might be a genius mathematician, but he’s certainly a novice murderer.”
“They’re the same thing,” Yukawa stated simply. “Murder probably comes even easier to him.”
Now Kusanagi shook his head. Examining the stains on his mug, he said, “in any case, we’re keeping an eye on him. If we proceed on the assumption that there was a male conspirator, it broadens the range of our investigation considerably.”
“If this new theory of yours is correct, it means the crime was carried out in a rather slipshod manner. We have the fingerprints left on the bicycle, the half-burned clothes—all evidence of carelessness. My question is, do you think this crime was planned from the beginning? Or did it happen more spontaneously?”
“Well—” Kusanagi began. He glanced at Yukawa’s calm, intent face, and hesitated for a moment before continuing. “It could’ve been spontaneous, sure. For instance, what if Yasuko called Togashi up to talk with him about something, and Ishigami came along as a sort of bodyguard? The discussion got heated, and the two of them ended up killing Togashi. Something like that.”
“But that doesn’t fit with the movie theater story at all,” Yukawa observed. “If they were just getting together to talk, why prepare an alibi? Even an insufficient alibi like hers?”
“So you think it was planned? That Yasuko and Ishigami told him to come someplace and then ambushed him?”
“That’s hard to imagine.”
“Well, great. So what do you think happened, then?” Kusanagi asked sourly.
“If Ishigami planned the whole thing from the start, it wouldn’t be half as full of holes as it is now.”
“Fine, but how does that help—” Kusanagi broke off abruptly as his cell began to ring. “Hang on a second.” He answered the phone.
A moment later he was engaged in a hurried sotto voce conversation. He pulled out a pad and scribbled a few notes before hanging up.
“That was my partner, Kishitani,” he told Kusanagi. “I’ve received some very important news concerning Yasuko’s daughter. It turns out one of Misato’s classmates just gave a very interesting testimony.”
“What’s that?”
“Apparently, at lunch on the day of the murder, this classmate of hers heard from Misato that she was going out to the movies with her mother that night.”
“Really?”
“Kishitani confirmed it. It looks solid. Which means that Yasuko had already decided to go to the movies by lunchtime that day at the latest.” Kusanagi nodded to the physicist. “Maybe I was right to think this was premeditated.”
In response, Yukawa shook his head, his eyes dead serious. “Impossible.”
THIRTEEN
Club Marian was about a five-minute walk from Kinshicho Station, on the fifth floor of a building that held several other drinking establishments. The building was old, with an ancient elevator that growled dispiritedly as it carried Kusanagi and his partner upward.
The elder detective peered at his watch. It was just past seven in the evening. Perfect time for asking a few questions, he thought, as he stared dubiously at the peeling paint on the elevator wall. There shouldn’t be many customers around at this early hour—not that I’m an expert on this sort of place …
The noise of the crowd took Kusanagi by surprise as he got off the elevator and stepped through the nightclub door. Of the more than twenty tables inside, fully a third were already occupied. Judging by their clothes, most of the patrons were salarymen, though there were a few in the crowd whose occupation he couldn’t place.
“I was asking questions in a club in Ginza once,” Kishitani whispered in his ear. “The mama there was wondering where all the guys who used to drink at her place during the economic bubble were drinking now—well, I think I just found out. They’re all here.”
“I have a hard time believing that,” Kusanagi shot back. “Once you get used to luxury, it’s hard to lower your sights. The Ginza crowd wouldn’t be caught dead in a place this seedy, hard times or no.”
He called over one of the waiters, who was dressed in a black tuxedo, and asked to speak to a manager. The young waiter’s casual smile vanished, and he disappeared into the back.
A bit later, another waiter came out and showed the two detectives to seats at the bar.
“Will you be drinking something?” he asked.
“A beer for me, thanks,” Kusanagi replied.
“You sure that’s okay?” Kishitani asked after the waiter had left. “We’re on duty.”
“If we don’t drink anything, the other customers will get suspicious.”
“You could’ve had some tea then.”
“Since when do two grown men come to a bar to drink tea?”
They were still debating the ethics of drinking alcohol on the job when an elegant woman in a silver-gray suit appeared. She was about forty, and wearing a lot of makeup, with her hair done up in a neat bun on her head. A little on the thin side, Kusanagi thought, but a beauty nonetheless.
“Welcome,” she said. “You wanted to speak to me?” The trace of a smile played across her lips.
“We’re police,” Kusanagi announced in a low voice.
Next to him, Kishitani reached into his breast pocket, but Kusanagi stopped him, turning back to the woman. “You need proof?”
“That won’t be necessary.” She took the seat next to Kusanagi, placing her business card on the bar. It read, “Sonoko Sugimura.”