“What’s your relationship with him these days?”
“He was very attached to me when he was young, so he still comes by to bring me things from time to time. Some foreign liquor, or ginseng or some such.”
“Takahashi said Shin’ichi Nishimura has been to your house with Kanemoto.”
“I don’t know anyone named Nishimura.”
“The man has a one-centimeter mole on the right side of his chin. Try to remember.”
Monoi started to feel a bit foolish as he looked back at Handa, who at some point had assumed the tone and gaze of a detective, but after being prompted, he reluctantly dredged his memory for the face of the man with the mole—the fellow he had occasionally seen in Yoshiya Kanemoto’s Mercedes.
“Yes . . . I’ve seen a man with a mole.”
“That’s Shin’ichi Nishimura. He’s the one who gave Seiji Okamura’s letter to Hatano. That’s quite a man to know, Monoi-san.”
“But I’ve never even spoken to him.”
“I explained it to you four years ago, didn’t I? What the police focused on in the dentist’s case was how, exactly, Nishimura had gotten hold of Seiji Okamura’s letter from forty years ago. You are Seiji Okamura’s younger brother, and on top of that you are associated with Nishimura—no wonder you’re marked. That’s just how this world works.”
Having said as much, Handa finally grabbed the can of beer he must have bought from the vending machine next to the liquor shop across the street and, popping the tab, he took a sip.
Monoi, on the other hand, having been blindsided by such an unexpected story, felt as if he had something caught in his throat. Just last month, Yoshiya Kanemoto had appeared with a cheerful, reddened face and brought him a watermelon; it was hard for him to believe that the police had surveilled even the minute-or-two-long conversation they had standing by his storefront.
“But isn’t the case with the tape Hatano sent to Hinode Beer already closed?”
“Yes. Especially now that the crusading investigator has died.”
Handa seemed to have found Takahashi’s funeral thoroughly infuriating. Without even being prompted, he talked about the service, which had taken place in a small temple in Machida; how neither the deputy chief nor any detectives from the Criminal Investigation Unit offered any words of remembrance about the deceased’s work ethic; and how as they were waiting for the hearse to leave, there had been a lively conversation about a burglary case that had nothing at all to do with Takahashi. Handa was one to talk—he barely knew Takahashi himself, so part of his frustration as one of the mourners was no doubt to substitute for his personal indignation.
“A man’s life is so trivial. No matter how diligently you work, if you don’t rise up in the world, you’re left out of the loop even in death. And if you do manage to get ahead, you’ll be merrily sent off with empty messages of condolence . . .” Handa flashed a rare, wry smile as he spewed such predictable grievances.
“You might be right. You’re better off alone when you die.”
“That’s why they say it’s best to be with an older woman,” Handa said, offering an equally rare quip.
“Your wife, she’s older than you?”
“By ten years. By the time they turn forty-five, they don’t even put on makeup any more.”
Handa gratefully ate the pickled eggplant and cucumber that Monoi had set out to accompany his beer, saying, “These taste so much better than the store-bought stuff.” Monoi sipped his shochu.
“By the way, are Kanemoto’s visits irregular?” Handa resumed his questioning. “Does he show up at night or during the day? Has the pharmacist or your neighbors seen him?”
Monoi told him that Kanemoto visited infrequently, usually late at night after he had been drinking or early Sunday morning on his way to play golf; that when his wife, Yoshie, was still alive, Kanemoto had come into his home two or three times for a drink, but in the last ten years Kanemoto’s lifestyle had shifted so that now he only stopped by in his Mercedes; that they barely even had what would be considered a conversation when they saw each other, and that he didn’t know whether his neighbors had ever seen them together.
“All right. First, you’ve got to end things with Kanemoto. It would look unnatural if you cut him off suddenly, so do it gradually.”
“I understand about Kanemoto. The old man was being careless.”
“I’m only telling this because of what you said to me on the phone the day before yesterday.”
Handa said this without any particular gravity, then opened his second can of beer. Ah, he’s already on board, Monoi thought instinctively, and he felt his mood lifting gently as he topped off his own glass of shochu.
“I don’t mean for it to be a joke, it’s just an idea,” Monoi dove in himself. “This old man has decided to squeeze money out of Hinode Beer. I wouldn’t know what to say if you asked for a motive, but I think in life there’s such a thing as timing.”
“‘The devil made me do it’ is the only explanation for some crimes, but even then there’s always some underlying basis.”
“Soon after the war ended, I came close to murdering the owner of the factory where I worked, and his entire family. That’s the basis. I always tried to live my life quietly, for the most part. But growing old is not so peaceful, you know.”
“You’re the type that gives police the most trouble. Your motive is unclear.” Handa laughed in an uncharacteristically light manner.
“But Handa-san, what about you?”
“Me? I have a habit of fantasizing. Whenever something bad happens, I always try to compensate by running through a fantasy in my mind to save myself. I’ve been doing that for so long and then suddenly, I got your call.”
“Did anything specific happen?”
“No. I can only say that things have been piling up for me, too. But I’m positive that when I entered the working world, I came in through the wrong door. The police force as an organization, my career as a police detective—all of it is too honorable for me.”
The layers of frustration of working in the police force accumulated over time, and during these last ten years, Monoi figured he had seen that frustration surface a fair number of times in Handa’s aspect and manner. Although each individual annoyance was simple, as they piled up they tangled into a complicated, inextricable knot. In Handa’s case, that knot was also interwoven with twisted obsessions, pride, and ambition. One thing Monoi did not know, however, was whether a fiend like the one he had nurtured in himself existed within Handa. When the time came to cross the line, what would be the force that would drive this particular man over it? Monoi could only wonder as he peered into Handa’s face.
“Yeah, right—this morning, for example, what do you suppose I was doing? There I am, yawning after a night shift, when I get a call from the head of the unit—it’s six in the morning, and he’s on his way to play golf with the department chief. He left his putter in his locker at the office, and he tells me to bring it to him right away. So I have to carry the putter all the way to Komae, bright and early in the morning.”
“Did you?”
“The asshole who called me, his only concern is ingratiating himself with the chief and the top brass at MPD, but the sleazier they are, the more I enjoy standing at attention before them. I was as courteous as I could be to the bastard. ‘Yes, boss, here I am with your putter,’” Handa said, laughing as he acted out the gesture of bowing his head low. “First of all, I find it hilarious that they have no idea what I’m thinking.”
“Huh.”
“What I mean is, I have twice the patience of an ordinary man. That’s why there are so many opportunities to indulge in my fantasies.”
Ah, now I see. This man copes with reality by exchanging humiliation for masochism and indignation for fantasy, Monoi thought. He reacts to the slightest provocation by society, an organizatio
n, or another person, and the pleasure he derives from his masochism and fantasies becomes his daily sustenance—a twisted enough state of being. This was the form taken by the fiend within this particular man. It was quite different from the impulsiveness of the fiend within Monoi, but the important thing was that there was a fiend here as well.
“But my plan to blackmail Hinode Beer is no fantasy, you know.”
“The amount of time it will take to carry out the crime is actually quite short. In contrast, the anticipation leading up to and the excitement after the fact will be more than enough. That’s why I’ll do it.”
“Thinking about it doesn’t cost a thing.”
“The satisfaction I’ll get from knowing that no one around me has any idea what I’m up to—I doubt you can imagine, Monoi-san. The pleasure of playing the innocent at my respectable job as a police officer at MPD when in fact I’m a public enemy . . .”
Handa rolled the words around in his mouth as if he were already savoring the fantasy, then washed them down with his beer. Monoi also swallowed his determination—I’ve got him now.
“So, Handa-san, that means you’re in?”
“Yes.”
“No second thoughts?”
“Nope. By the way, could we ask Nunokawa to join us? While he and I were cleaning up his house after the fire, the bastard kept mumbling to himself. Said he was going to disappear . . .”
“Disappear?”
“Look. It’s none of our business, but if he wants to leave his wife and child and disappear, then it wouldn’t make much difference for him to pull off something crazy before he does. Nunokawa might even change his mind about it all if he got his hands on some money.”
The thought of bringing in Nunokawa, who had Lady to take care of, had never entered Monoi’s mind, and he was unsure of how to respond. There might be some truth to the idea that money could change things for him, but he was at a loss for words as he recalled how, just last week at the WINS in Suidobashi, Lady’s face had looked as she joyfully wobbled her head. In the end, he skirted the issue by replying, “This old man can’t make a decision about such matters.”
“No, ultimately it’s something that Nunokawa has to decide for himself. That guy, in addition to having been trained in the Self-Defense Forces, he’s been deconditioned of thinking for himself. It’s about time he gave some thought to his own intentions, for once.”
Monoi agreed with each of the things that Handa said as he contemplated Nunokawa’s inscrutable profile, so familiar after all their time at the racetrack. Indeed, he had never once witnessed any suggestion of individual will—all the guy ever did was sit patiently in silence. Who would be the one to decide the future and fate of that man and his family?
“I leave Nunokawa up to you, Handa-san.”
“I’ll talk to him. In terms of usefulness, you won’t get a better man. It’s not for nothing he was in the army, you know.”
Handa had already emptied his second can of beer, so Monoi offered him some shochu. “Just one,” Handa said, tilting a glass toward Monoi and politely thanking him before bringing it to his lips.
“By the way, I talked to Koh yesterday,” Monoi said.
“How’s that dude? If you’re aiming for a corporation, you’ve gotta put his craftiness to use.”
“Koh said he would cooperate fully, but it seems like he’s thinking about profiting from the manipulation of Hinode’s stock price. What do you make of that?”
“That sounds like him,” Handa said and laughed softly. “I’m sure he’s planning on hooking up with a corporate raider or a securities man he knows. As long as we make it a condition that it be entirely separate from us, he can do as he likes. Hell, at least it makes his motives clear.”
“Koh said he would keep it separate, but won’t it cause problems if we get entangled with his underworld connections?”
“Quite the opposite, actually. Those guys in the underworld are tight-lipped, so there’d be no need to worry about the plan leaking. What’s more, however they decide to manipulate the stocks, you’ll never see anything out in the open. That’s for sure.”
“If you say so, then this old man has no objection.”
“But it’s impossible for me to forget that Koh’s dad is a leader in the Korean Association. My relationship with Koh will be strictly business. I need you to understand that.”
“I’m sure that’s what Koh expects too. But he mentioned the plan to Yo-chan, and now he wants to be in on it too . . .”
“So it’s just the usual racetrack crew?” Handa said with a shrug. “Amazing. It’s like the tale of Momotaro and his gang.” He laughed again.
“If you want out, now is the time.”
“No, it’s not bad, as far as teams go. In police lingo, we call the geographical and social connections among potential suspects a ‘cross section,’ but we have almost none of that. If there is no cross section, then those conducting the investigation will have a hard time tracking the group of suspects.”
“That means from now on, we’ll have to stop gathering at Fuchu and WINS.”
“That’s for sure. It’s a problem that you and I live near each other, so from now on I won’t come by your pharmacy anymore. You and Yo-chan can keep seeing each other as usual, but let’s tell Koh to stop going to Yo-chan’s factory.”
“Anything else?”
“We all have to declare any financial debts we have.”
According to Handa, shaking down a corporation could take anywhere from a few months to a year including setup time, making it impossible for someone running from debt collectors to keep going. The police would first suspect the crime was financially motivated, and they would start by going through client lists of city financial institutions, especially loan sharks, so if any one of the conspirators was carrying debt, it would be all but impossible to execute the plan.
“Then, at last, we work out the plan,” Handa said.
“I want to make sure we pull it off.”
“So do I.”
Monoi had nothing more to say to Handa. He topped off both of their glasses with shochu and they raised them in a silent toast.
“Speaking of Hinode Beer . . .” Handa said suddenly, as if he had just remembered something. “I think you and Hinode have too many connections—the case with Seiji Okamura’s letter, and the case with your grandson. If Hinode is the target, your name will undoubtedly come up on the list of suspects the police will immediately identify.”
“But this old man can’t think of any company other than Hinode Beer. Besides, I will leave the actual groundwork to you young people—I’ll be right here watering my morning glories, and I have no so-called cross section with any of you either. I have no motive. Even if the police come to question me, I’ll be fine.”
“Let me give it some more thought,” Handa said. Then he mumbled, “Speaking of Hinode Beer . . .” again as he glanced at the family portrait on top of the chest of drawers. After a moment he tapped his own knee once and said, “Right. That’s it.” Handa turned back to face Monoi. “A change of subject, but what was the name of your grandson’s girlfriend? The one whose parents rejected her marrying him because of his background?”
“Her name? Let me see, what was it . . .”
“You told me you heard it from your daughter, Monoi-san. She was his classmate at University of Tokyo . . .”
“. . . Sugihara. That was it. Yoshiko Sugihara.”
“How do you write the characters for Yoshiko?”
“I wouldn’t know that.”
Handa jotted something in his notebook before putting it back in his pocket.
“What about my grandson’s girlfriend?” Monoi asked.
“Oh, just something that Takahashi and I had talked about four years ago. After your grandson passed away, Yoshiko’s parents came to pay their respects at Hatano’s
home, right? We were wondering why they didn’t attend the funeral.”
“I’m sure they felt guilty.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. Besides, even if he was in shock because the marriage was rejected, it’s still hard to believe that’s the only reason an accomplished university student would flee from an important job interview.”
At a certain point Handa’s eyes had once again taken on the look of a detective—they called to mind the flickering needle on some kind of sensor.
“Who knows, it could very well be . . . I’ll check it out and call you with what I find.” With that, Handa peeked at his wristwatch and muttered to himself about how late it was already, then got up from his seat. Making an absent-minded excuse that his wife, who also worked full time, would have dinner waiting for him at home, he left at half past ten.
It was only three days later when Monoi received Handa’s report. Handa called in the evening from a pay phone somewhere with bustling noise in the background. “Jackpot,” he said. “Yoshiko Sugihara’s father is Takeo Sugihara. He’s the deputy manager of the beer division and a board member of Hinode Beer. Takeo Sugihara’s wife, Haruko, is the younger sister of Hinode Beer’s president, Kyosuke Shiroyama. That makes Yoshiko Sugihara the president’s niece. Monoi-san, are you listening to me?”
“You mean, when Hatano sent Hinode the letter and the tape, Hinode was desperate not to leak the scandal of Sugihara’s family, right?”
“Exactly. Hinode is a go,” Handa said. “I don’t mean to take advantage of a scandal like this, but this counts as a wound Hinode will be forced to conceal from the public at any cost. Even if we don’t say a word, Hinode will go on the defensive to protect it themselves. You can’t ask for a better situation than this.”
“But what if the police sniffs out the connection between Sugihara’s daughter and my grandson?”
“Hinode won’t let on a thing about that part of the story. And even if the police do sniff it out, it will only lead their investigation down the wrong path. Do you follow me? As long as they consider it a revenge crime, the only suspects they’ll turn up are you and your daughter. Meanwhile, Monoi-san, you’ll just be watering your morning glories and napping in front of the TV, and on Sundays you have the racetrack. No matter where they poke into, they’ll find nothing.”
Lady Joker, Volume 1 Page 25
