There was no need to feel for a pulse, but he did anyway, stooping to put his fingers on her neck. Her body was smashed to meat and marrow, her hip crushed and her shoulder pulped.
A small crystal bottle slipped partway out of her bag, broken open so the scent of lotus flowers drifted up as the perfume became diluted with blood and rain.
Her face pointed skyward, untouched, her eyes closed into two gentle brushstrokes and for a moment her lips looked as flushed as if she’d just been kissed, turning pale as they cooled.
Hiroshi leaned over her to push back a bloodied strand of hair. He brushed his fingers over her cheek, a moment’s comfort before her soul slipped away. He pulled her shawl over her as the raindrops washed her skin clean.
Hiroshi stood up, his ears buzzing and eyes blurry. He could hear the intercom crackle from the local train, and turned to see the driver climb down from the front compartment. The driver from the express came along the length of his train to talk with the driver of the local in a low, anxious voice. Hiroshi watched them call again on their handheld mics, their caps and shoulders already soaked, listening and nodding, waiting to be told what to do.
The drivers stared uncertainly at Hiroshi, who was barely able to stand as he pulled out his badge. He turned back toward the station, picking his way along the tracks. He did not want to stay and see her picked up with chopsticks and stuffed into a bag.
Chapter 49
The doorbell jolted Hiroshi from sleep. He pulled himself off the sofa and stumbled to the door. He clutched his ribs, his T-shirt wet from where he fell asleep with an ice pack. He pushed open his door and winced at the light and air pouring in to his apartment. He tried to focus on the two men standing there.
“Yes?” He blinked at their blue uniforms and quizzical expressions.
“ABC movers? To pick up some boxes?” A young guy with spiky hair and a dark tan looked at his clipboard, and then at the apartment number and the name beside the door, and then turned back to Hiroshi.
“Boxes?” Hiroshi scratched his head and touched his ribs again. “Oh, the boxes.” He pushed the door open a little wider, leaning across the genkan in shorts and a T-shirt.
Both of the movers stood there ready to work, or to leave—either way. The second guy pulled at the white towel tied around his head.
“Come in,” Hiroshi said, finally.
The movers sidled into the cramped entryway and toed their shoes off. “Twenty-five boxes, right?” the spiky hair mover said to confirm.
“Something like that. I can’t remember.” Hiroshi led them from the genkan to the living room. He squinted as he pulled open the curtains above the sofa, squinting and holding his side.
The boxes all had their tops sprung open and stuff poking over the edge.
“I’m not quite done, I guess,” Hiroshi said.
The clipboard guy said to his younger colleague, “Go get some tape from the truck.” Clearly, it was not the first time they had helped a deserted man send boxes to a departed woman.
Hiroshi tried to lift the first of the boxes but dropped it, wincing with the pain in his ribs and wrists.
“You OK?” the clipboard guy asked, rushing to help him.
“Been better.”
“We’ll get it. You sit down.”
“I can do a little,” Hiroshi insisted, though he wasn’t so sure.
The younger guy came back with the tape and rolled up his sleeves, revealing a tattoo of the cartoon character, Doraemon. On his bicep, Doraemon’s soft blue body, red mouth, and floppy orange tongue stood out in bright, bold colors.
Hiroshi shoved things in and held the boxes shut while the clipboard guy deftly stretched tape over the top. The Doraemon tattoo guy picked up three boxes at a time and carried them to the handcart on the walkway outside. Their calm, workmanlike pace kept Hiroshi focused on the work and not on Linda.
The two movers reminded Hiroshi of the young guys Sakaguchi, Ueno, Osaki and Sugamo had tossed around at the game center in Shibuya—the same tan, dyed hair and earrings—only these guys had energy and integrity, displaying the self-respect Japanese accorded all jobs, high or low. They worked—pure and simple.
Hiroshi went to the bedroom for things piled on the bed and slipped in Linda’s things to the still-open boxes wherever they would fit. When the movers were almost done, the clipboard guy stacked all but one of the boxes outside Hiroshi’s apartment.
“That everything?” the clipboard guy asked. “People always forget one last, little thing.”
Hiroshi said, “Wait a minute,” and went back for a handful of framed photos of Linda and him.
But once he had them in his hands, he paused, and set them back on the shelf. “Nothing else, I guess,” he shouted.
He looked at the photos, arranged like Michiko’s—a forest of memories, each covering over another. For now, it was okay to leave them there. He would call Linda to tell her the boxes were on their way.
He heard the last rip of tape and went to the entryway where the clipboard guy was calculating the bill.
“Twenty-seven boxes, all going to the US. This is the correct address?”
Hiroshi nodded.
“Normally, we charge for helping to pack, but we’ll give it to you free.”
“Let me get the cash,” Hiroshi said and went to the bedroom where he kept cash in a drawer. The clipboard guy counted out the cash out—twice—and then gave Hiroshi a receipt.
“And here, this is for you,” Hiroshi said, handing him a five-thousand yen note. “Since I threw off your schedule.”
“We don’t usually take tips.”
“It’ll buy you lunch.” The other guy with his Doraemon arm came back for the last load of boxes. “Or beer.”
“Thanks,” the clipboard guy said, tucking the money into his pocket.
Hiroshi watched them take the last load of boxes down the outside walkway on the handcart. He went back inside and let the door shut. His cell phone rang.
Akiko said, “I just got to the office. What happened?”
“I’ll tell you about it when I come in. I’m stopping by the hospital to check on my ribs first. How’s Sakaguchi?”
“He’s asking for you.”
“He’s up and around already?”
“I won’t describe how he looks,” Akiko said.
***
Akiko was talking with Sakaguchi in Hiroshi’s office when Hiroshi arrived, clutching pain pills and ice packs from the clinic. Coffee percolated and the smell filled the room. Sakaguchi’s hands were covered in gauze and one side of his face was covered in thin, neat slices, just missing his eye. On his cheek and neck, he had X-stitches holding meaty folds of skin together. The cuts on his face were deep, puffy and purple-red.
“I can’t believe you’re here today.” Hiroshi shook his head.
“Missed all the major things. Would have had to cut pretty deep to get to them, I guess,” he laughed.
“I shouldn’t have left you,” Hiroshi said.
“I missed her side-step. She used my weight against me,” Sakaguchi said.
“You could have severed an artery,” Hiroshi said, over the tinkling of fresh beans spilling into the grinder.
“One thing you learn in sumo is how to fall.”
“Not through plates of glass,” Akiko said.
“I’m still not sure all the glass is out. What about you?” Sakaguchi asked.
“Rib fracture. Nothing to do but wait.”
“I used to get bruised ribs when I started sumo. Hurts every breath.”
“This arrived,” Akiko said.
Hiroshi took the envelope and glanced through copies of bank account statements, property mortgages and investment accounts.
Hiroshi started reading. “Where did it come from?”
“Can’t you guess?” Sakaguchi chuckled. “He must have listened to us.”
“The accountant?”
“Hand-delivered to the office, no return address,” Akiko said.
&nb
sp; Hiroshi looked through the copied pages and shook his head. “Apartments in Hong Kong, Paris and London. Solid and long-term. Accounts in Switzerland, Hong Kong, and the Cayman Islands. Easy to access. Stock accounts in Japan, the United States and London. Diversified.”
“She is one smart girl,” Akiko said.
“Was,” Hiroshi said. “This is interesting. The factory in Kawasaki and a line of riverside warehouses are in the name of Sadahiko Ono.”
“Is that the old guy in the factory?”
“Must be,” Hiroshi said, nodding his head. He flipped through the documents to the accounts. “And the names on the accounts are not all Michiko’s, either. One of them is Natsumi Takada. Must be the Natsumi at the fruit stand.”
“Maybe she doesn’t know she’s going to get rich?”
“Once the accounts get cleared up,” Hiroshi said. “She also owns the building the photographer is in.”
“She knew how to work it,” Akiko said.
“She knew how to kick,” Hiroshi added, as he opened the freezer and exchanged the old ice pack for a new one.
“I’ll get the coffee. You two are injured,” Akiko said, pouring three cups.
Sakaguchi took his cup without a word. “Why not?” Sakaguchi said, the cup small in his hand.
Hiroshi looked at him strangely and then turned over another document, saying, “Here we go. Bentley. I knew they’d be in here.”
“What did she have on them?” Sakaguchi asked.
“It looks like Michiko kept track of Bentley’s purchases. It’s a long list here, many of them—no, all of them are clouded,” Hiroshi said.
“You’ll have to translate for me,” Sakaguchi added.
“It means there’s a dispute about the ownership of properties, so the sale is halted. Costs run up trying to determine if ownership can be clarified, wiping out part of the profit margin,” Hiroshi said.
“Why would that happen?”
“It could be another buyer tried to purchase the property and Bentley got in before them. Whatever it is, there’s doubt as to ownership. This is quite a list and will take time to get through. I’ll run these down later.”
“I can do that,” Akiko offered, holding her hand up with a smile. Hiroshi handed her the documents.
Sakaguchi swallowed his coffee with a wince and asked Akiko, “Are you going to stay?”
“Where? Here? I don’t know. Takamatsu got me transferred for this case.”
“It’d be great if you could stay,” Hiroshi said.
Sakaguchi said, “Hiroshi, you need someone who speaks English, don’t you?” Hiroshi raised his eyebrows.
“There won’t be many cases like this one, will there?” Akiko asked.
“They’re all like this,” Sakaguchi said.
“What about Takamatsu?”
“Sick leave,” Sakaguchi said. “After that, administrative leave.”
“He’ll have time to work out an explanation,” Hiroshi said.
“Takamatsu won’t get fired, will he?” Akiko asked.
Sakaguchi shrugged. “His case clear rate is still the highest in the department.”
“Where are those photos?” Hiroshi asked.
“Here,” Akiko handed them to him.
The ones showing Michiko and Takamatsu together on the platform the night he was nearly killed went in one pile. All the others, of Takamatsu with her on other nights, some from years before, he folded over and handed to Akiko.
“Shred these,” he told her.
“I’ll borrow a shredder from another office. Maybe you should buy your own if you’re going to cover up for all your colleagues,” Akiko said.
Sakaguchi stood up and steadied himself. “You’ll need a heavy-duty one.”
They sipped their coffee.
Hiroshi said, “You’re not going back to the chikan section, are you?”
“With Takamatsu recovering, I’m back at homicide.”
“Oh, and also, there’s this DVD, postmarked Roppongi, no return address. Maybe more investments?” Akiko said, waving a small mailing pouch.
Hiroshi put the DVD into his computer and pulled the viewing frame larger, expecting to see more data.
After a few seconds of white fuzz, what came on was a video of a naked woman hanging from a ceiling hook by red cord wrapped around and around her midsection. She was tied with shibori knots and a kinbaku-bi rope. Her breasts popped out between the tight loops. A knotted cord held her arms behind her and a silver rod tied behind her knees kept her legs wide apart.
She swung slowly in place face down and horizontal by a long rope from the ceiling. Her long black hair dangled to the floor. As her face rotated toward them, the camera zoomed in on her eyes—glassy and distant—looking straight at the camera, a ball held firmly in her mouth by a rubber strap around the back of her head.
It was Michiko.
“I can’t watch this!” Akiko said, turning away and walking back to her desk.
Hiroshi fast-forwarded and the place he stopped showed Michiko kneeling on the floor of a dark room with a circle of naked men around her, stroking themselves and waiting for their turn with her.
Sakaguchi said, “That’s enough for me, too.”
Hiroshi clicked eject. “We’ll send it to the tech guys. They might find something.”
Hiroshi got a plastic bag and dropped the DVD inside. He held it out for Akiko but she looked away, so he set it on his own desk.
Akiko said, “If someone did that to me. I’d kill them, too.” Hiroshi got up and poured more coffee. “Why would she be so careful about everything and then kill herself?” Akiko asked.
“Her foot got stuck in a train switch,” Hiroshi said in a low voice, the memory flooding in again. “I think. I couldn’t see in the rain. The trains—she was trying to get away and I—”
Akiko and Sakaguchi waited in patient, attentive silence.
Hiroshi shook his head. “She must have understood every detail of their whole investing scheme, how they found out ahead, how they worked the payouts, how—”
“Doesn’t matter now,” Sakaguchi said.
“How are you going to write it up?” Akiko said.
Hiroshi’s cell phone rang.
He listened for a minute and nodded. “I’ll be there.” He clicked off his cell phone. “That’s the second thing I’ve forgotten today. I have to go.”
Hiroshi looked at the DVD in the bag. “Akiko, find out how the payments change depending on the ruling. I want to know who gets what if it is ruled suicide, accident or police responsibility.”
“You’re going to be sure the payouts go to the right people?” she asked.
Sakaguchi said, “She worked for her money.”
“Worked hard,” Hiroshi said.
Sakaguchi pulled himself up, out of the chair, handed his empty cup to Akiko and touched the stitches along the back of his neck. “It’s not bad, coffee, but it doesn’t make you feel better like green tea does. Ja ne, well then.” He walked out the door stiffly, but surely.
Akiko looked away as Hiroshi got ready to go. “Better take an umbrella,” she said. “It’s supposed to rain today.”
Chapter 50
Outside the station, Hiroshi waved down a taxi. Akiko was right—it was drizzling and the humid air smelled like more rain to come. He could catch the express from Tokyo Station, but he would have to hurry.
The buildings grew shorter and shorter, more spread out, the farther the train traveled from Tokyo Station, with each station they shot through becoming less peopled. Sprawling hillside apartments and chunky housing complexes turned into clusters of houses with small yards. Those yielded to wooden farmhouses with rice fields glistening in the rain.
After passport control, he took the spacious elevator, bigger than the hospital’s to the high-ceilinged, check-in area. Thousands of people pushed oversized luggage, blabbed into cell phones, and followed tour group leaders, fidgeting with excitement and anxiety.
“Hey, I can’t be
lieve you made it!” Hiroshi heard someone say in English. He turned to find Yukari. She looked nothing like she had in the police station. Instead of ashamed and crying, she was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, smiling in an excited, teenage-girl way. She skipped, sideways, over to him.
“I made it,” Hiroshi said. “You look so different from in the police station!”
“Do I? Aren’t you glad I called?”
“I’ve been a bit busy the past couple of days.”
“So have we, packing, yuck.”
“I wanted to see you off,” said Hiroshi, smiling back at her.
“Me or my mom?” Yukari asked, laughing.
“Both of you.”
“My mom’s over there in line getting us checked in. We’re running late, of course. I had to get some things,” she said, holding up two bags filled with odd shapes against the plastic.
Hiroshi let his eyes search out Sanae taking care of the tickets at the counter.
“I read that in America I can just take this test and get out of high school, then apply directly to colleges. Of course, I have to take the tests, but they don’t seem so bad. My dad said he’d pay for part of any school I could get into, so I think I’ll pick the most expensive one just to make him suffer. I’m thinking of a small school on the east coast, maybe a women’s school, what do you think?”
Hiroshi smiled. “Women’s school? Why not?”
“Well, I wonder. I’ll have to pick one where they won’t bore me to death. At least the women’s schools seem challenging and interesting. Mom says I should see what happens if I try to really apply myself. I’ll show her! She says she might go back to school, too, but I don’t think she will.”
“What will she do, do you think?”
Yukari smiled. “I don’t know. What do you think?”
Hiroshi laughed. “I’m not very good at guessing. Sad to say.”
“My mom isn’t either, but she guessed you’d meet her for coffee.”
“That was an easy guess.”
Sanae came out of the check-in area, putting the tickets away and looking around for Yukari. She appeared surprised to see Hiroshi, and busied herself with the passports and tickets and carry-on luggage.
The Last Train (Detective Hiroshi Series Book 1) Page 30
