. And
He regarded the falling rain, remembering. “She was so pretty, your friend.” Then he frowned. “Why did she fight it? I wanted to make it beautiful for her.” His breathing quickened. “I brought incense. I held her hand. I kissed her good-bye. She should have let me bring the pills.” His hands clenched. “She wanted to be free, but . . .”
Something creaked.
Cursing,
She struggled to raise her head as the slight figure cautiously approached. As he drew near, she saw he wasn’t a child at all, but a very small man. A priest, dressed in the familiar white linen robes and starched black mesh headdress of a Shinto kannushi.
She moaned and implored him with her eyes.
The streetlight just outside the grounds illuminated his expressionless face. He stood over her for a long moment, then turned and quickly lifted a piece of plywood that had been affixed over a damaged section of shrine siding. It wasn’t nailed down; someone had hinged it at the top. He tossed the backpack inside and clambered after it without a sound.
Yumi was astonished. What kind of a priest left someone lying bound and gagged? Why hadn’t he helped her?
Another gust of rain blew in, drenching her right side. She had to free herself;
She wrested her hands free first, chafed wrists burning. Pushing herself up to a sitting position, fingers clumsy, she fumbled with the knot that bound her feet, pulled the gag from her mouth. She tried to stand, but the scarf had been wrapped so tightly, her feet were numb. She stood awkwardly, pins and needles prickling, leaning on the building as she hobbled along the walkway. At the end, she cautiously peeped around the corner.
It was pitch black inside the shrine. Feeling her way along the wall, she guessed she must be behind the altar. She stumbled over something soft on the floor, then shuffled around it and bumped into something else, something big and heavy. It fell with a dull metallic clang. She froze.
Sliding down the wall, she crouched in the darkness, praying that
Think.
That strange priest—was he still inside the shrine? She listened. The silence was as absolute as the darkness. Was he enemy or ally? Maybe, like the kami-sama, neither. Like the kami-sama, a force of nature to be avoided if he couldn’t be enlisted. Remembering his unreadable stare, how unmoved he was by her plight, she shivered.
Through the shrine wall, she heard heavy footsteps approach and stop.
Something banged against the panel and she jumped. She heard him wail, then fall silent. He was still there. How long before he discovered the flap wasn’t nailed shut? Scooting farther from the opening, she rose painfully to her feet. The interior of the Nezu Shrine felt vast but sentient, as though the kami-sama were watching and waiting. Not hindering, but not helping, either. Far away, a pale crack of moonlight appeared between the heavy front doors. It quickly widened, then narrowed, a small shadow slipping through the gap.
A sliver of not-quite-black remained. If she could get to it, she could follow the little priest to freedom. Yumi imagined the obstacle course between herself and the doors, the noises that would draw
That soft thing she’d tripped over—perhaps it contained emergency supplies. It had felt like a student’s backpack, the right size to be the shrine’s earthquake kit. There might be a flashlight inside.
She crawled back toward the plywood opening until she encountered the bag again. Unzipping the flap, she felt around inside. A box. She opened it and the sweet fragrance of incense wafted out. No help, but maybe there would be matches to go with it. Her fingers encountered something soft and slithery. Two of them. Surgical gloves? Then a bundle of cloth, rolled around something hard. It was the wrong shape to be a flashlight, so she pulled it out and felt around. Jammed into the very corner, a lighter. Priests sure had a strange idea of what would be needed in case of emergency.
She flicked the lighter. The flame pushed back the darkness a little. Standing, she held it aloft. Maybe it would be enough.
Suddenly, the plywood hinge behind her creaked. She let go of the lighter and it winked out, dropping to the floor.
Then abruptly, he disappeared. The flap banged shut. Outside she heard a shout and footsteps pounding as he fled. Then, silence. What had scared him away? Had the priest returned?
Yumi sank down onto the musty tatami and prayed.
Chapter 63
Tuesday, April 16
9:15 P.M.
Kenji
Kenji slowed to a trot, breathing hard, then sped up again as another spike of anxiety hit. What if Shimada had harmed Yumi while he’d been obliviously eating soba?
At least the rain had let up. He sprinted down the narrow lane toward the shadowy entrance to the Nezu Shrine, past the old wooden houses with their small, frosted-glass windows, televisions flickering inside. Gusts of wind swayed the loops of wires overhead, showering him with fat droplets. He was forced to slow as he passed under the tall torii gate, his chest heaving, a stitch in his side. Stumbling across the bridge to the gate flanked by the watchful guardian deities, he bent over and braced his hands on his knees, worry urging him on, but his lungs rebelling.
Where was Oki? The shrine grounds were dark and quiet, smelling of wet leaves. He had to push on. Find Shimada. Find Yumi. Suddenly, he heard a shout, coming from the main buildings. Male? Female? He couldn’t tell. Another shout, closer.
“Stop! Police!”
Distant footsteps pounded on hollow wood, then stone. Someone was coming his way.
Kenji flattened himself against the big gate as a figure burst through the door from the main courtyard. Tall. Thin. Something flapping behind: a long coat. Male. The man was running, glancing back over his shoulder. Shimada.
Kenji ducked into the shadows and relaxed into judo-ready position. As soon as Shimada was too close to change course, he stepped into his path and threw him, using the fugitive’s own momentum to flip him to the ground. That move never worked against the wily Oki, but it stopped Shimada before he knew what hit him. He rolled over the gravel and wet leaves; Kenji pounced on him, but Shimada was desperate. He wriggled away and scrambled to his feet before Kenji could pin him to the ground. Kenji clutched at his tailcoat. A seam ripped as they swung around and Kenji threw him down again, but Shimada lashed out viciously with his pointy black shoes, writhing like a snake as Kenji tried to get a grip. Kenji’s hands were wet and Shimada slipped from his grasp, but Kenji stumbled to his feet and lunged onto Shimada’s back before he ran more than a few steps. They both fell hard, plowing the wet gravel. Shimada struggled, but this time Kenji ha
d him pinned.
Oki arrived at a run, slowing when he saw Shimada hadn’t escaped. The knees of Kenji’s pants soaked through as he knelt on top of his captive on the wet ground, pinning Shimada face down. The three of them slumped in a dark tableau, panting.
“Just a minute,” Oki gasped, “I’ll get out my cuffs.” He fished in his pocket for plastic police-issue detention ties. Kenji held Shimada’s arms behind while Oki tightened the handcuffs around his wrists.
Oki hauled him to his feet. “Where’s the girl?”
Shimada hung his head, scraps of wet leaves clinging to his cheek.
Kenji grabbed him by the lapels. “Where is she?”
“Gone,” he breathed.
“Gone? What do you mean, ‘gone’?”
Kenji’s anxiety kicked up several notches. Gone, as in ran away? Or gone as in . . .
“What did you do to her?”
“She wouldn’t listen,” Shimada croaked. “She promised she would listen, but she—”
“What did you do to her?” Kenji demanded through gritted teeth, shaking him.
Shimada’s head flopped like a rag doll, but he didn’t reply.
“I’ll call for a car to take him to the station,” Oki said. “Go find Yumi.”
Kenji sprinted off toward the deserted shrine, then backtracked to the spring to hastily purify his mouth and hands before continuing. It wouldn’t do to irritate the kami-sama—he needed all the help he could get. Scattered raindrops began to tick-tick around him as he started toward the main shrine buildings.
“Yumi!” he called, his jacket darkening with spring rain.
Chapter 64
Tuesday, April 16
9:30 P.M.
Yumi
The crack of moonlight widened as the ancient shrine door creaked open.
“Yumi?” a voice echoed from the entrance.
She shrank into a corner.
“Yumi, are you in here?”
A figure paused in front of the offerings, then retreated, leaving the door wide open.
Enemy or friend? she wondered, cautiously creeping forward for a better view. Was it the strange priest, returning? No, the shape she’d seen silhouetted against the rectangle of moonlight had been tall. It was someone who knew her, knew her name.
Yumi crept from her hiding place, edging past the elaborate wooden house where the kami-sama lived, navigating by the light from the open door. She peered around the heavy doors into the courtyard.
The moon shone through a break in the clouds, throwing everything into sharp relief. The rain had stopped, but the man leaning against the granite lion-dog was drenched. His head was bowed, defeated, dark spikes of wet hair hiding his eyes. He pushed it back wearily and the familiar gesture flooded her whole body with relief.
“Ken-kun!”
His head snapped up. She stumbled down the steps and he ran to her, gathering her into his arms and wrapping his jacket around her. They stood there, holding each other heartbeat to heartbeat, until she stopped shaking.
Yumi burrowed into the shelter of his arms. “
“He was. We arrested him. Oki-san took him to the station. What happened, Yu-chan?”
“He did it. He told me. And there were others. He . . .” She took a shaky breath.
“Shh, we’ll need a statement from you,” he said, stroking her tangled hair, “But it can wait.”
She held him tighter.
“Why didn’t you listen to me?” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
She looked up and their eyes met. Relief turned to desire and flowed between them like an electric current as he lowered his lips to hers. Time stopped. Her hands found the warm silk of his back beneath his untucked shirt; his fingers entwined themselves in her hair as he kissed her face, her neck, her mouth. It began to rain again, but neither of them cared.
Kenji brushed her streaming hair from her face. “We ought to go back to the station but I don’t want to let you go.”
She closed her eyes and buried her face against his neck.
“I’ll never let you go again.” He rested his cheek on the top of her head, then put a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. He kissed her again, but something was wrong.
“Yu-chan?”
She hung her head. Kenji bent down and tried to look into her eyes, but she shied away.
“What’s the matter? Is it that boyfriend of yours? Ichiro?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Then what’s wrong? Yu-chan? I don’t understand.”
“Not boyfriend,” she whispered, “Kon’yakusha.”
He let go of her, shocked.
She stood there miserably. “We’re getting married. In September.”
Jamming his hands into his coat pockets, Kenji walked away, then stopped and turned to face her. “Why?”
Her father’s job. Her mother’s worries. Ichiro’s face on the pillow next to her. Ai-shiteru.
“He . . . loves me.”
Kenji gave a short, bitter laugh. “I see. And what about you, Yu-chan? Ai-shiteru?”
The patter of rain filled the silence.
“Tell me you love him.”
Yumi took a ragged breath.
“You can’t say it, can you?”
Yumi was silent.
Kenji’s phone rang. Slowly he pulled it from his pocket.
“Nakamura desu.”
He listened. “Yes. I found her. She’s fine.” He listened again. “I understand. We’ll be there soon.”
He put his phone away and looked at Yumi across the gulf between them. Slowly he returned to her, standing so close they were almost touching.
“Yu-chan . . .” he whispered.
She looked up at him, with the rain on her face. “I can’t.”
Chapter 65
Tuesday, April 16
11:00 P.M.
Kenji
Kenji and Yumi rode from the shrine to the station in silence, looking out opposite windows from the back seat of a taxi as rain streaked the glass.
The Komagome Police Station was lit up like Senso-ji Temple. A uniformed officer opened the door for them when they arrived, and a man sitting in the waiting area leaped to his feet.
Ichiro.
“Yumi!” he said, rushing past Kenji and grabbing her by the shoulders. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
Yumi said in a lifeless voice, “I lost it.”
“When you didn’t show up, I called your parents, but they thought you were with me. I finally came here. I’ve been so worried.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Where were you?” He looked up and saw it was Kenji who had brought her in. An edge of anger crept into his voice. “I’m taking you home.”
Kenji stepped in. “I’m sorry, but we need to take her statement first, Mr. . . .” Kenji couldn’t remember Ichiro’s last name.
“Mitsuyama,” he supplied.
“Mitsuyama-san,” Kenji echoed. “Hata-san is a witness in an ongoing investigation. I’m afraid we need to hear what happened this evening before we can allow her to leave.”
“What do you mean?” He turned to Yumi. “What’s going on?”
“They caught Rika’s killer tonight,” Yumi said. “At the Nezu Shrine.”
Ichiro opened his mouth to say something, then noticed her torn stockings, her dripping clothes, and stopped himself. His expression softened. “You’re all wet.” He turned to Kenji. “At least let me take her home to change first.”
Kenji shook his head. “I’ll ask a policewoman to find Hata-san
something dry to wear.” He paused, then offered, “If you like, I’ll have someone call you when we’re done.”
“That’s okay,” Ichiro said. “I’ll wait here.”
“It might take a while.”
“I’ll wait.” He turned to Yumi. “However long it takes, I’ll be here.”
Kenji led Yumi to the elevator; they rode up to the fifth floor in leaden silence. The doors slid open onto a beehive of activity; the entire investigative team had been called in. Yumi and Kenji were instantly surrounded and led to an interview room. Kenji asked for dry clothes, and while Yumi was changing, took Oki aside to find out what was happening with
“He’s not talking,” Oki said. “Inspector Mori sent him down to detention until he finishes interviewing Hata-san, says he’ll try again later.”
“Nakamura-san.”
Mori was summoning him to the interview room. Kenji outlined what had happened that evening as Yumi arrived. They seated her at the narrow white table. Her face pale, her hair combed into two wet plaits, she looked vulnerable and bone-tired in her mismatched, borrowed clothes.
The inspector pulled out the chair across from Yumi and said, “Nakamura-san, please take notes.”
Kenji took a seat at the computer in the corner. He listened as Mori introduced himself and began to ask about her ordeal, starting with the e-mails she’d received from
“May we see your phone?” Noguchi asked.
“I lost it. At the shrine.
Mori dispatched one of his assistant inspectors to make sure the crime techs sent it right over when they found it. He returned his attention to Yumi and walked her through
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