Journey Under the Midnight Sun

by Keigo Higashino

  ‘No dice on the contact info, huh?’

  ‘Unfortunately no. And now I have to go shopping with Yukiho.’

  He heard Kazunari sigh on the other side of the line.

  ‘I’m really sorry to put you through this.’

  ‘Hey, man, it’s fine. OK. Nine o’clock.’

  ‘See you then.’

  He hung up the phone, got changed, and opened the door to find Yukiho standing in the hallway. She had her hands behind her back and was leaning up against the wall, looking at him with a curious smile on her lips.

  ‘I came to see what was taking so long,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry, I was picking out my clothes. You coming?’ He walked past her and started down the stairs.

  ‘What’s the back-up plan?’

  Makoto almost missed a step. ‘Oh, you were listening?’

  ‘Well, I overheard.’

  ‘It’s nothing, just work,’ he said, continuing down the stairs. He was afraid of what she might ask next, but no further questions came.

  They went shopping in Ginza, hitting all the famous department stores and a few high-end boutiques.

  She’d claimed she needed to buy things for travel, but to Makoto it didn’t look as though Yukiho was intending to buy anything. When he pointed it out, she shrugged and smiled. ‘To tell you the truth, I just wanted to spend some time together. You know, a date on our last day as an unmarried couple. Nothing wrong with that, is there?’

  Makoto sighed. There was something wrong with it, but nothing he could tell her.

  He watched Yukiho window-shop, and thought back on the last four years. It was true that he’d stayed with her because he loved her. But he couldn’t pin down a particular reason for deciding to marry her. Was it because of the depths of his affection for her?

  Makoto thought that, unfortunately, that probably wasn’t the case. He’d only first seriously considered marriage two years earlier, on a morning when Yukiho called him from a small business hotel in the city.

  When he got there she was waiting for him with a look on her face more serious than he’d ever seen before.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘And why are you staying at this place?’

  She let him into the room and pointed towards the table without saying a word. There was a clear tube there, about half a cigarette in length. It was filled with a small amount of liquid. ‘Don’t touch it, look at it from the top,’ she said.

  Makoto looked, and saw two red circles on the bottom of the tube. He reported this to Yukiho, and she thrust out a piece of paper to him.

  It was the instructions for a pregnancy test. Two circles meant positive.

  ‘It says I’m supposed to check with my first pee after I wake up in the morning. I’m staying here because I wanted you to see.’

  Makoto must have frowned, because she added in a bright voice, ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to demand we have it or anything. And I can go to the hospital by myself.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course. We’re not ready to have a kid.’

  A wave of relief had washed over him when he heard her say that. He’d never even imagined being a father before that moment, and he certainly didn’t feel ready.

  True to her word, Yukiho went to the hospital by herself and had an abortion. No one was told. He didn’t see her for a week, but when he did, she was the same old Yukiho. She never spoke about it again. He tried to bring the subject up once or twice, but each time, she would seem to sense it before he spoke, and shake her head no.

  ‘It’s OK. We don’t need to talk about it.’

  This event marked the time when he began to seriously contemplate marriage. If they’d slipped up once, they could slip up again. Taking responsibility for her, legally, was taking responsibility as a man. It had all seemed very important at the time, but now, looking back, he wondered if he hadn’t made the biggest decision of his life for the wrong reasons.

  Makoto pretended to drink his coffee while he kept an eye on his watch. It was a little after nine.

  The two families, his and Yukiho’s, had been eating since seven, though much of that time had been passed listening to his mother talk. Yukiho’s adoptive mother Reiko Karasawa was an elegant woman, with intellectual substance. She smiled warmly and was a good listener. It pained Makoto to think he might be betraying her the next morning.

  It was nine-fifteen when they left the restaurant. His mother made the suggestion he thought she would – it was still early, why didn’t they all go out to a bar?

  ‘I’m sure the bars are all crowded,’ Makoto said. ‘Let’s go to the lounge on the first floor.’

  Reiko said that sounded pleasant. She wasn’t much of a drinker.

  They took the lift down to the first floor and headed for the lounge. Makoto checked his watch. Nine-twenty.

  Just as they were heading into the lounge, a voice called out ‘Makoto,’ from behind them. Makoto turned and saw Kazunari walking over.

  ‘Hey!’ Makoto said, feigning surprise.

  Kazunari stepped up close to him and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You were so late, I thought you’d called the whole thing off,’ he whispered.

  ‘Dinner ran long,’ Makoto whispered back.

  They pretended to say a few more things, then went back to Yukiho and the others. ‘Some people from Eimei University are getting together nearby,’ Makoto announced. ‘I’m going to go say hi.’

  ‘You have to go? On tonight of all nights?’ his mother said, a displeased look on her face.

  Reiko came to his rescue. ‘Why not? It’s important for a man to spend time with his friends.’

  Makoto smiled at her.

  ‘Don’t stay out too late,’ Yukiho said, watching his eyes.

  Out of the lounge, Makoto fled the hotel with Kazunari, who had his favourite Porsche parked out front.

  ‘If we get caught for speeding, the ticket’s on you,’ said Kazunari as he took off.

  Parkside Hotel was a five-minute walk from Shinagawa Station. Makoto got out of Kazunari’s Porsche at the front entrance to the hotel just a little before ten o’clock.

  He went straight to the front desk and asked whether they had a guest by the name of Chizuru Misawa. The man, with his hair perfectly cut, said politely that she did have a reservation. ‘But,’ he added, ‘Ms Misawa has yet to check in. She was supposed to be here by nine.’

  Makoto thanked him and walked away from the front desk. He looked around the lobby, found a sofa in view of the front desk, and sat down.

  ‘She’s going to be here any moment,’ he whispered to himself, and the thought made his heart beat faster.

  Chizuru arrived at Shinagawa station at ten minutes to ten. It had taken her much longer to clean up her place and pack than she’d expected. She crossed the crosswalk in front of the station through a crowd of people as she headed towards the hotel.

  The main entrance to the Parkside was along the road, but in order to go in you had to first walk through a garden in the front. Heavy bags in her hands, Chizuru made her way along the winding walkway. Small spotlights illuminated the flowers in the neatly kept beds on either side of the path, but she wasn’t in the mood to stop and appreciate them.

  Beyond the garden, taxis were pulling in one after the other, dropping off guests. Chizuru reflected that most people coming to a hotel like this would be coming by car. Not even the porters were looking out for pedestrians like her.

  Which was why she was surprised when a voice called out, ‘Excuse me, miss?’ from behind her just as she was nearing the doors to the main lobby.

  She turned and saw a young man in a dark suit. ‘I’m sorry, but are you on your way to check in?’ he asked.

  ‘I am,’ she said warily.

  ‘I’m with the police,’ he said, flashing her a badge on the inside of his jacket. ‘I was hoping we could talk. I have a request for you, actually.’

  ‘Me?’ Chizuru gaped.

  The man beckoned her
to follow him into the garden. Shrugging, she followed him.

  ‘Are you staying here alone tonight?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. What’s this about?’

  ‘I was wondering, is it absolutely necessary you have to stay at this particular hotel?’

  ‘Well, I have a reservation here, and I’m taking a train early tomorrow morning, so I need to be near the station.’

  ‘Of course. If I could get you a room at the hotel just behind this one, would that work? It’s closer to the station.’

  ‘I’m still not sure why you’re asking me this.’

  ‘A suspect in the case we’re working on is staying at this hotel tonight. We need to keep an eye on him and, unfortunately, a large group has just checked in, and we can’t get a room to use for our investigation.’

  ‘So you need my room?’

  ‘That’s right,’ the man said. ‘It’s difficult for us to switch with a customer who’s already checked in, and we don’t want to risk tipping off the person we’re watching.’

  ‘I see, I guess,’ she said, looking the detective over. He seemed very young. Maybe a new recruit. But his suit was well pressed, and she got the impression he was very serious about his request.

  ‘If you’re willing to help, we’ll pay for your stay and give you a lift to your hotel,’ he said. She thought she detected a hint of an Osaka accent in his words.

  ‘By the hotel behind this one, you mean the Queen?’ Chizuru asked. It was at least one rank above the Parkside.

  ‘Yes, we have a forty-thousand-yen room there,’ he said.

  There’s no way I could ever afford a room like that, she thought. Her mind was made up. ‘Then what are we waiting for?’

  ‘Thanks so much. Here, I’ll take those,’ he said, reaching out for her luggage.

  It was already past ten-thirty and Chizuru was nowhere in sight.

  Makoto had picked up a newspaper somebody left behind to read, but he kept one eye on the front desk. The desire to see her face had already overtaken his desire to confess as quickly as he could. He’d been here more than half an hour and his pulse was still racing.

  A woman walked up to the front desk. For a second his heart jumped, but then he saw her face and his eyes went down to the floor.

  ‘I don’t have a reservation, but do you have any rooms?’ he overheard her say.

  ‘Just one?’ the man at the front desk asked.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘How about a single room?’

  ‘That’ll be fine.’

  ‘We can get that for you. We have a standard room for twelve thousand yen, a room overlooking the pool for fifteen thousand, and a room for eighteen thousand with a nice view of the skyline. Do you have a preference?’

  ‘Oh, the standard is fine.’

  Makoto quickly lost interest in the conversation. He glanced towards the door then back at his newspaper. He read the words but his mind was elsewhere. Only one article held his interest for more than a few seconds: a story about members of the Japanese Communist Party having their phones tapped by the police. It had sparked a debate about invasion of privacy and the legality of wiretapping. The politics didn’t interest Makoto; what caught his attention was how the wiretapping was discovered.

  Apparently the owner of the tapped phone line had contacted the phone company because there was a lot of noise on the line and occasionally the volume of calls would drop so dramatically he couldn’t hear who they were talking to.

  I hope my phone back home isn’t tapped, he thought, chuckling to himself. It certainly had the same symptoms. Not that anyone had anything to gain by tapping his phone.

  He was folding the newspaper when the man from the front desk walked over.

  ‘You were waiting for Ms Misawa?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes?’ Makoto said, half standing from his chair.

  ‘We just had a phone call. She’s cancelled her reservation.’

  ‘What?’ Makoto felt his skin grow hot. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I’m afraid he didn’t say,’ the man shook his head.

  ‘He?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the man nodded.

  Makoto began walking towards the front door. He didn’t know what to do. The only thing that was clear was that waiting here wouldn’t do him any good. He walked out the front doors, and got into the first taxi in line.

  In the cab on the way back to Seijo, Makoto started to laugh. Clearly it wasn’t meant to be, he thought. Maybe she caught an earlier train. Maybe the guy who called was her fiancé and Makoto never had a chance in the first place. Either way, it felt bigger than coincidence. It felt like destiny.

  But thinking back on it, no supernatural power had been required to keep him apart from Chizuru. He’d had plenty of chances to confess how he felt and let every one of them slip by.

  He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his brow. He looked down at it as he put it back in his pocket. It was the blue handkerchief Chizuru had given to him. Then he closed his eyes and thought about what he needed to do to prepare for the ceremony and reception tomorrow. When the cab driver woke him, they were outside his home.

  EIGHT

  Two people walked in just before closing time: a short man of about fifty and a skinny high-school boy. Father and son, Tomohiko thought immediately. The kid had a familiar face. He’d been in the shop several times before. He never asked any questions, never bought anything. He just stared at the computers on display and went home. There were a few others like him, come to ogle the high-end machines. As a rule, Tomohiko didn’t try to engage them; he didn’t want to spook them off. ‘They’re welcome to window-shop as much as they like,’ Ryo always said. ‘When that first big pay cheque lands, or their parents offer to buy them something to celebrate a good report card, they’ll be back.’

  Ryo was the manager, and if he was happy, Tomohiko was happy.

  The father peered through wireframe glasses at the centrepiece of their display – a computer Tomohiko had seen the boy staring at before. They stood side by side, looking at it, whispering, until the father leaned in to read the price tag. ‘What?’ he exclaimed, his voice loud in the quiet shop. The son, desperate to keep him from walking out, immediately switched to damage control, telling him about all the other, cheaper options.

  Tomohiko watched his screen, feigning disinterest while continuing to observe them out of the corner of his eye. The father had a distant gaze as he moved down the rows of computers and peripheral devices, as though he were surveying the landscape of some foreign country. He was dressed casually, a wool cardigan over a turtleneck sweater, but he still smelled like a company man. Middle-level management in some industrial complex, Tomohiko guessed.

  Hiroe Nakajima looked up from the parts shipment she was examining to give Tomohiko a look to say shouldn’t you talk to them?

  Tomohiko nodded. I know, I know.

  He waited for the right moment and then stood, smiling. ‘Can I help you find something?’