Oh no. No wonder they’d featured a picture of the bathroom instead of the bedroom in the lobby’s picture grid. A huge bed took up most of the room. The mirror affixed to the ceiling above it reflected the shaggy white fur coverlet and the glowing headboard that was slowly cycling through all the colors of the rainbow. A television on a swivel arm was positioned for easy viewing in one corner of the room, tuned to the erotic video menu. Ichiro switched it off as Yumi excused herself to the bathroom.
The heart-shaped bathtub took up more than half the tiled room, inviting couples to cavort in water doctored with bath salts from a famed hot spring. Examination of the medicine cabinet revealed a bowl of complimentary condoms.
Condoms. Yumi wasn’t carrying any. Was Ichiro . . . prepared? She hoped he wasn’t one of those typical Japanese boyfriends Coco had told her about, who thought that coughing up abortion money if the need arose was his only responsibility when it came to birth control. Should she choose a rubber from the love hotel’s selection and slip it under her pillow, just in case?
She pawed through the bowl of brightly wrapped packets. Which brand would he prefer? Fe+Male? Love Cannon? Super Big Boy? And . . . What size? Saved from considering Small—apparently nobody made condoms in that size—she wondered if Medium would be an insult. Better to let him choose. She moved the bowl from the cabinet to the sink, hoping he’d be reminded to palm one before they needed it.
Ignoring the heart-shaped tub, she quickly undressed and stepped into the shower. Yumi had always dated foreigners, but she had it on good authority that the one thing Japanese men were really repulsed by was failing to shower before making love. Quickly soaping herself, she tried not to make a mess, knowing Ichiro would use it after her.
She emerged, wrapped in a towel, and self-consciously nodded to him as he took her place in the bathroom. Waiting for him to finish, she perched on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the controls on the headboard, searching for some music that would put her in a more romantic mood.
By the time he came out, her damp towel had become chilly and she was relieved that soon they’d be able to crawl between the covers. Ichiro sat down beside her and for a moment, neither of them knew quite how to begin. Once he had kissed her a few times, though, he seemed to remember how it was done, and it wasn’t long before he outpaced her. Yumi didn’t know him well enough yet to confide that speed was not one of the things she longed for in bed, and they’d barely pulled the covers over themselves before she had to interrupt and ask if he’d remembered a condom.
Chapter 54
Sunday, April 14
11:30 P.M.
Yumi
Yumi gazed up at the mirrored ceiling. Ichiro’s mouth was slightly open as he slept, his face boyish without his glasses. They’d managed to turn off the rainbow-hued headboard, but had neglected to switch off the lights. She got up and turned them down to the lowest setting, then quickly crawled back into bed, pulling the sheets up over herself, embarrassed to be naked in this room that had seen so many couples. A torn condom wrapper curled on the bedside table. Ichiro had fetched it from the selection in the bathroom when she insisted, but Yumi had a feeling the subject was far from settled.
What time was it? She checked her phone. Nearly midnight.
Ichiro stirred beside her and opened his eyes. He turned to her. A sleepy smile spread across his face and he reached for her.
“Ai-shiteru,” he whispered. I love you.
It caught her completely off guard. Nobody had ever said that to her before. Suki, I like you, daisuki, I really like you; even married couples seldom said more. She couldn’t quite say it, not yet.
“Me too,” she whispered, hoping that would satisfy him. He pulled her closer and made a contented sound.
Presently he asked, “Yumi . . . ?”
“Mm?”
“Why did your policeman friend want to talk to you today outside Rika’s wake?”
She sighed and rolled onto her back. “Oh, he’s mad at me.”
Ichiro went still. “I didn’t realize he was still such a close friend. Close enough to be mad at you, that is.”
“He’s not. I mean, we’ve known each other forever, but . . . I’ve been trying to help him find out who killed Rika, but for some reason, now he’s decided it’s all ‘police business’ and wants me to stop.”
“What exactly were you ‘finding out’ for him?”
Yumi thought for a moment. She couldn’t tell him about Rika’s article—she owed her friend’s memory that much. And she definitely couldn’t tell him about the night she went to Club Nyx dressed like a Goth-Lolita. Picking her way carefully through what she’d been doing since Rika died, she told him some parts and glossed over others.
When she finished, Ichiro was silent.
“Ichiro? Are you asleep?”
He turned to her. “Why didn’t you tell me you were doing this?”
Yumi was taken aback. “I didn’t think you’d be interested. I mean, you didn’t know Rika, so . . .”
“Yumi, everything you do is important to me.” His frown was reflected in the dark ceiling mirror. “And now that we’re getting married, everything you do is important to my family, too. Did you stop to consider what people would think if they knew you were going around poking into police business, for heaven’s sake?”
Their eyes met in the mirror above.
“No,” she said coldly. “I didn’t stop to think about what the society pages would write if they found out I was trying to discover who killed my best friend.”
“Well, you should have. And it’s not the society pages I’m worried about. I know you’re not used to having your every indiscretion noticed and commented upon, but the tabloids treat the Mitsuyama name like money in the bank. You’re going to have to be more careful about what you say and how you behave in public.”
Yumi flung off the covers and jumped out of bed. “Is that so? Then I guess I’d better leave this sordid love hotel before anybody sees us. I wouldn’t want the precious Mitsuyama name dragged through the mud on my account.”
She began putting her clothes back on as fast as she could.
“Wait! Yumi! Stop, I didn’t mean it like that.” He got out of bed, then looked down, embarrassed. Pulling off the blanket, he wrapped his nakedness in it and hobbled over to Yumi, who was searching around for her purse.
Holding the blanket closed with one hand, he reached out to her with the other, but she brushed him off. Yumi tossed her phone into her bag and snatched up her wrap. “I can’t believe you’d forbid me to ask about Rika’s death because it might embarrass your parents.”
“Yumi, I—”
“You’d better think about whether you really want to be married to me after all. I’m not going to change who I am just because I change my name to Mitsuyama.”
She let herself out, leaving him speechless. Why did all Japanese men try to boss her around? First Kenji, now Ichiro.
The dark street outside was deserted. Which way to the station? She checked her phone. 11:55. Even if she found the station, she might not be on time to catch the last train. Did she have enough money for a taxi?
When did she stop worrying about that? When did she start assuming that Ichiro would pay for everything? Tears flooded her eyes and she brushed them angrily away. Even if she had to walk home, she would not go crawling back to ask him for cab fare. Fumbling in her bag, she found a ¥5,000 note tucked into a side pocket. Thank God for friends like Coco and Rika. Years ago they’d made a pact to hide taxi money in every purse, so as not to be stranded in case of bad boyfriend behavior. She started back toward the main street.
Her phone buzzed. She looked at the display. Ichiro. She dropped it back into her bag.
A cool breeze from behind lifted her hair and flung it into her eyes. A flyer tumbled along the street, advertising
a band that had played at a local club the night before. It fluttered into the shadow of a shuttered yakitori joint. She pulled her sweater tighter, wishing she’d worn a jacket.
Behind her, a trash can banged. She spun around as a cat raced across the street, disappearing between two buildings on the other side. She remembered Kenji’s warning about
She resumed walking, faster. Another two blocks and she’d be at the intersection where she could see occasional traffic passing. She glanced back again. Nothing. A little spooked now, she ran the last few paces to the busier street and hailed a cab. It swung over to the curb and the back door opened. Relieved, she scooted in.
Her phone buzzed again. Another text from Ichiro. She sighed and looked at the first one.
Yumi-san, I’m sorry. Please come back.
Next.
I guess you’re gone. Can we meet tomorrow and talk about this?
She relented and keyed in a reply.
Can’t tomorrow. Working. How about Tuesday night?
An unread e-mail was also waiting.
Date: Sun, 14 Apr, 9:12 PM
Frm:
Sub: Re: Darkboy
Yumi smiled grimly and poured a little more gasoline on the flames.
To:
What do you mean? If he’d been at the shrine like he promised, they’d have found him in that car with her the next morning. He chickened out! The last thing my best friend felt before she killed herself was that nobody cared whether she lived or died.
Send.
Chapter 55
Monday, April 15
7:30 A.M.
Yumi
Yumi snaked a hand out from under her covers and groped around on the nightstand for the phone that had suddenly started playing an unreasonably loud “Selfish Love.” She switched off the alarm and groggily checked her messages.
Text from Ichiro, sent that morning. He had to go out with his subordinates after work on Tuesday, but suggested meeting at Otemachi afterward to talk about last night.
OK. Otemachi Station, Exit B1, 9:00, see you there, she texted, sighing.
She was mad at him. She’d slept with him. She’d hurt him. She was going to marry him.
She checked her e-mail. One unread.
Date: Mon, 15 Apr, 1:07 AM
Frm:
Sub: Re: Darkboy
No! You don’t understand.
Her heart beat faster.
Kenji had warned her against having anything to do with
Date: Mon, 15 Apr, 7:32 AM
Frm:
Sub: Re: Darkboy
What do you mean?
A few minutes later, her phone buzzed with a new e-mail.
Date: Mon, 15 Apr, 7:37 AM
Frm:
Sub: Re: Darkboy
No! Please. The police won’t understand. They’ll just harass
Chapter 56
Monday, April 15
10:00 A.M.
Kenji
Kenji arrived at the police station to find a crowd waiting to cram into the elevator. Headquarters staff. Special Investigations Unit support. And a phalanx of elite detective inspectors from the Chiyoda Ward central office. The fifth-floor briefing room had been transformed into a command center, with a professionally calligraphed banner hanging next to the door that announced, “Komagome Shrine Murder Special Investigation Group.”
Kenji and Oki took seats at the back as Superintendent Noguchi read off the assignments. Detectives from the head office were assigned to the investigative, analytical, and profiling jobs. Kenji would become Inspector Mori’s driver. Oki would act as local guide dog to a headquarters inspector who didn’t know the area and would need help locating the backstreet addresses of witnesses. Suzuki was assigned to the support staff for the guy keeping track of all the paperwork.
Kenji went to the motor pool and signed out an unmarked car, bringing it around to the front of the station and opening the door as Inspector Mori emerged, talking on his phone. He nodded to Kenji as he got in, his conversation continuing uninterrupted.
“Komagome Shrine,” he said, covering the mouthpiece.
“Yes, sir,” Kenji replied, pulling away from the curb.
By quitting time, he had fetched tea twice, bought eleven lunches, and held the end of a tape measure countless times as head office investigators began going over the crime scene with a fine-tooth comb. As the day wore on, his hope that he’d be asked to provide insights as the detective who’d led the initial investigation faded. All Inspector Mori seemed to need from him were a pair of hands and a driver’s license.
As they packed up the car to return to the station, Kenji finally had an opportunity to mention what he and Oki had noticed about Boshi-san’s brother’s physical similarity to the Shrine Killer and how closely his release coincided with the first crime.
“Is that so?” Mori said, taking out his notepad. “Do we have his address?”
“No, but Detective Oki has been to his older brother’s house—I’m sure that Yamaboshi’s o-nii-san knows where to find him.”
Mori pulled out his mobile phone. As they made their way through traffic, Kenji overheard him calling one of his assistants, telling him to take Detective Oki and visit Boshi-san’s home address in search of the brother.
Ten minutes later, back at the station, Kenji dropped into the chair at his own desk and checked his messages. Yumi hadn’t responded to any of his calls or e-mails. He left a voicemail on Shimada’s apartment manager’s phone, asking him if his tenant was back in residence. He sighed. Unless he came up with something spectacular—like finding an eyewitness to Rika’s death—it was unlikely he’d be able to impress the inspector with anything more than being the team player who remembered that Mori liked his curry rice with extra pickles on the side.
If Shimada was back in residence, how could he talk him into telling what he’d seen the night Rika was killed? The snatch of song Shimada had taunted him with was still stuck in his head. He’d sung it in answer to Kenji’s question about Rika; it had to mean something.
The words had seemed familiar, like he’d heard them somewhere before. He typed the snippet into his browser, and a long list of sites devoted to the lyrics of Venom Vixen popped up. The words Shimada had crooned that night were apparently from a song called “Dark Rose.” He knew it wasn’t among the quotes
He found some Venom Vixen lyrics on the first site he checked; they’d been posted by a user named
ight introduction. Kenji moved on to the next site and found something even stranger:
By the time he found the snatch of “Dark Rose,” he was sure Shimada had been visiting multiple suicide websites, using different names. Calling himself
Kenji did a more thorough search of the three sites. Scrolling through the posts Shimada had made under his various aliases, Kenji discovered that
Kenji pulled a pen and notepad from his desk drawer and wrote down Shimada’s user IDs next to the IDs of the women he’d befriended. He sat back in his chair, studying the list. It looked like Shimada joined a community, met up with suicidal women, then disappeared and resurfaced on another site. Had he made jisatsu pacts with them, just like he did with Rika and the Hamadas, then walked away? Why?
Then he remembered Mori speculating that the Shrine Killer met his victims online.
A suicide website was a brilliant place to troll for victims. Shimada had befriended three women who’d disappeared from their respective online communities, leaving everyone believing they’d killed themselves. Excited, he pulled out his phone, scrolling for Inspector Mori’s number. Then he hesitated. If he was wrong, Mori would think he was even more of an idiot. He should find out Shimada’s suicidal women’s real names first, check them against the briefing materials. Instead of calling Mori, he sent a message to Ghost.
Nightshade Page 24
