Soul Cage--A Mystery

by Tetsuya Honda

  * * *

  After lunch, Kusaka returned to Kamata Police Station and dropped in on the Organized Crime Squad. Lieutenant Makihara had just got back to his desk after interrogating Mikako Kobayashi.

  “How did it go?”

  Makihara made a sour face.

  “She works in a bar in Shibuya and claims to have bought the drugs nearby. Before I take things any further, I’m going to have to contact Shibuya Precinct. If we move independently on this, they’ll have our balls. The people at Meguro Precinct are already bellyaching about us arresting the Kobayashi woman on their patch. They’re trying to make out that we muscled in on a case of theirs.… It’s complete bullshit. If they were onto the woman, they wouldn’t have to keep asking me what the broad’s address is. They’re just kicking up a great big stink over nothing.”

  Kusaka did his best to crank out a sympathetic smile.

  “Would it be okay if I had a quick word with her?”

  “Yeah, sure, be my guest. You’ll need her to consent to it too.”

  “Of course. Thanks.”

  Kusaka went up to the task force room on the sixth floor and completed all the necessary paperwork. Then he went back down to the second floor where the holding cells were.

  In Japanese police hierarchy, there was a clear separation between the divisions like Homicide, CID, and Organized Crime, which conducted investigations, and the Administrative Division, which managed the holding cells. Split responsibility was intended as a safeguard to prevent detectives from violating the rights of people in custody.

  In the office, Kusaka showed his forms to the senior officer in charge of the cells.

  “You will be interviewing Ms. Kobayashi on a voluntary basis, I presume?” he inquired, eying Kusaka sternly.

  “That’s right. On a purely voluntary basis.”

  “Follow me. She’s this way.”

  The officer led Kusaka down to the end of the passage where there was a bathroom and, just opposite, the special holding area for women. The guard seated just inside the door examined Kusaka’s paperwork, then passed it in to Mikako Kobayashi in her cell.

  “This is a request for a voluntary questioning,” the guard explained. “That means you’re free to withhold your cooperation. What do you want to do?”

  Through the steel bars and reinforced Perspex, Mikako eyed Kusaka and the guard dubiously.

  “Will you be questioning me this afternoon, Lieutenant Kusaka?”

  Kusaka had flashed his ID at Mikako before they began their search of Tobe’s apartment. He’d never expected her to remember his name. Perhaps it was a side effect of her profession: keeping track of customers’ names and jobs was part of a hostess’s skill set.

  “Yes. As the guard mentioned, it’s not a formal interview. It’s a voluntary questioning, so you have the right to say no.”

  “What do you want to talk to me about?”

  “About Makio Tobe.”

  “I don’t believe it,” she snorted contemptuously. “You’re going to try and drag him into this mess now too.”

  Kusaka smiled wanly and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Can you get me a nice deep-fried pork cutlet on rice?” she said, making beseeching eyes at him.

  “I’m sorry. That’s against the rules. You can order in food only if you pay for it yourself.”

  Kusaka knew that playing along with her could be risky. He’d expose himself to accusations of having traded favors for false testimony.

  “How about a pack of smokes, then?”

  “I can probably give you a couple of cigarettes.”

  The woman’s face brightened.

  The guard shot a disapproving look Kusaka’s way. Kusaka ignored him. A cigarette or two was hardly the end of the world.

  “All right, I’ll talk to you,” Mikako said. “It’s not fair, anyway—me banged up in this shithole while he’s free as a bird.”

  The guard jerked his chin at her.

  “Good. Stand back, please. I’m going to unlock the door.”

  Mikako obediently stepped away from the door, yawning and stretching as she did so.

  * * *

  Kusaka led the woman upstairs to an interview room on the third floor. He poured her a cup of tea and pushed an aluminum ashtray and his own pack of cigarettes across the table.

  “You got any menthol ones?”

  Kusaka shot an inquiring look over his shoulder at Sergeant Satomura. Satomura shook his head.

  “I’m sorry. That’s all there is.”

  With a sigh, Mikako picked up the pack. She stuck a cigarette between her lips, and Kusaka lit it for her with Satomura’s lighter.

  Mikako inhaled deeply, held the smoke in her lungs for a while to get the full taste, then slowly breathed it out. She seemed to be enjoying it so much that Kusaka felt like lighting one up himself.

  “Ironic, isn’t it? A hostess like me gets banged up, and what’s the first thing that happens? Suddenly men are lighting my cigarettes instead of the other way around.”

  “Very funny.”

  Mikako took another drag on her cigarette, then flicked the ash into the ashtray, which rattled on the tabletop. Kusaka noticed that the woman’s nails were still nicely painted.

  “Let’s talk about Tobe,” Kusaka began. “You don’t know where he’s got to?”

  She jerked her chin emphatically to one side.

  “I told the detective I spoke to earlier where I thought he could be. Did you check those places out?”

  “We did. All of them.”

  Kusaka held up his hand, and Satomura, who was sitting a short distance behind him, pulled a sheet of paper from a file and passed it to him over his shoulder.

  “Can you think of any places not on the list you gave us earlier? How about a movie theater he liked to go to when he had time to kill?”

  “Oh sure, Tobe the movie buff,” the woman sneered. “Give me a break! He’d never actually go anywhere to see a movie, not even a damn porno flick. Guy’s only interested in cum shots anyway.”

  “What about bars where he’s a regular? Love hotels maybe, that sort of thing?”

  “Well, he sure as shit hasn’t taken me to any love hotels lately! Back in the day, when we still had the hots for each other, we always did it at his place. I may not look it, but I’m a pretty mean cook. I think that’s why he liked me in the first place. I cook him a meal or two, and then he’s all like, ‘Move in with me. Let’s live together.’ What a joke! I was all for it at the time, though. I was thinking, you know, ‘Maybe he’s the one.’ That phase didn’t last much over three months.”

  Kusaka remembered that she had been living with Tobe for two years.

  “What about interests, hobbies, things like that? He could have made friends that way.”

  Mikako tilted her head to one side. Although she wasn’t a beauty, Kusaka could see that she had sex appeal. She’d probably look quite glamorous when she was all made up.

  “He used to be into tropical fish.”

  “How come we didn’t see any in the apartment?”

  “Because they died. I didn’t look after them right. Tobe went through the roof. I stood my ground, though. I was like, ‘Hey, if you love your stupid fishy-wishies so darn much, why don’t you take care of them, asshole.’ He stormed out of the house, and since then—no more tropical fish.”

  “Know any tropical fish stores he used to go?”

  “There was one near Yutenji Station, but it closed down.”

  “Was he friends with the owner?”

  “After all the fish he bought there died? Not likely.”

  The more Kusaka learned about Makio Tobe, the more he felt he was dealing with a man who specialized in screwing up all his relationships.

  “Doesn’t he have any friends?”

  “Not really. The guys in the gang wanted nothing to do with him. How about the girlfriend angle? Did you investigate that?”

  Kusaka nodded.

  Mikako had smoked her ciga
rette down to the filter. She stubbed it out in the ashtray.

  “He went through this phase of going to bet on motorboat races. I don’t think you make real friends in places like that.”

  “You never know.”

  “Well, I can’t think of anyone. Hang on. I remember there was this guy called Yoshiro—at least, I think it was Yoshiro—he was friends with for a while. I’ve no idea who this Yoshiro is, where he lives, anything.”

  That wasn’t much help.

  “Can I have another cigarette?”

  “Help yourself.”

  Mikako lit a second cigarette. It didn’t seem to give her quite as much pleasure as its predecessor. She looked rather fed up as she puffed out the smoke.

  “I’m trying to come up with something. I feel bad that I’m being no help.”

  “That’s not true at all.”

  “All I’ve done is bummed a couple of cigarettes.”

  “If you’re feeling guilty, the best thing you can do is talk to us some more. We’re interested in everything you have to say.”

  Mikako crossed her arms and looked pensively up at the ceiling, the cigarette clamped between her lips.

  “How about his glad rags?”

  “His clothes?”

  “Yeah. There’s this shop in Shibuya he’s crazy about. Kane, the place is called. It’s a bit ‘gangster,’ but not too over the top. He’s really into their stuff.”

  Kusaka gestured for Satomura to make a note. He didn’t think it was a very promising lead.

  “Anything else?”

  “He’s really careful about his health.”

  “That sounds intriguing. How do you mean?”

  “Like, well, maybe it’s just common sense, but he told me that when he screws other girls, he’s always careful to use a skin. ‘I’ve had my share of STDs,’ he told me. ‘Gonorrhea, chlamydia, you name it. It’s no fucking fun. That’s why I always rubber up before sticking it in.’”

  “You know which hospital he goes to?”

  “In Shibuya. Dogenzaka Central Clinic. I use it too now.”

  “Does Tobe have any medical conditions you know about?”

  If he had some chronic ailment, there was always the chance he’d have had to drop into a hospital over the last couple of weeks.

  “A preexisting medical condition? Don’t think so.”

  “Does he take any drugs regularly?”

  “Uh-uh. He’s not into speed or dope, no.”

  “I’m talking about medicine, not illegal drugs.”

  “Whoops, sorry! He’s a good sleeper, so he certainly doesn’t need sleeping pills. No problems down there either.” She pointed toward her crotch. “‘Won’t be needing Viagra till I’m ninety,’ he says. ‘Your balls will have rotted and dropped off long before then,’ I tell him.”

  Kusaka wasn’t ready to buy into Mikako’s image of her boyfriend as a paragon of healthy living.

  “I heard that Tobe likes a drink. How’s his liver?”

  “Likes a drink? Tell me about it. His liver seems to be okay. Still, they call it the silent organ, don’t they? Maybe it’s gone to shit and he hasn’t realized it yet. He has to take that annual health check through his company; so far he’s always gotten a clean bill of health. That’s what he told me, anyway.”

  “By ‘company,’ you mean Kinoshita Construction?”

  “Yes. Everyone there takes a health check in the spring.”

  Kinoshita, the CEO, hadn’t mentioned that.

  Mikako’s tea had gone cold, and she started drinking it. Her tongue was very sensitive, she explained, and she didn’t like anything too hot.

  “What’s Tobe supposed to have done, Lieutenant?”

  Kusaka didn’t reply.

  “Is it murder? It said Homicide on the ID you showed me yesterday.… Has Tobe killed someone?”

  Kusaka was skeptical that telling Mikako the truth would elicit any useful information from her, but he wasn’t getting anywhere, so why not give it a go?

  “Tobe is suspected in the murder of a forty-three-year-old building contractor by the name of Kenichi Takaoka.”

  “A building contractor?”

  The woman eyed him dubiously.

  “Any ideas?”

  “Me? Nope. None at all.”

  Just as he’d expected: a waste of time.

  Mikako’s eyes widened suddenly. She leaned over the table toward him.

  “I just remembered something about Tobe’s health. He told me that he’d had this big operation just before we met and the doctor had done a bang-up job on him.”

  “Any idea what the operation was for?”

  “I don’t know, but he had a scar around here.”

  Mikako jabbed a finger just below her right breast.

  The lung? No, no. That’s the gallbladder area.

  Something that felt like a gust of icy air surged up from the soles of Kusaka’s feet to the crown of his head.

  A scar from a gallbladder operation?

  Kusaka turned to Satomura.

  “Have you got the photographs of the body?”

  “Just a minute.”

  Satomura, visibly tense, flicked through the file until he came to the photographs. The one he slid out of its plastic pocket was the one where the scar was most visible.

  Kusaka pushed the picture toward Mikako, using the cigarette packet to cover the arm stumps.

  “Could you take a look at this for me?”

  Mikako’s face contorted with revulsion.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “This scar here. Have you seen it before?”

  Located beneath the right breast, the scar was a little away from the belly, and as such its appearance had probably not changed that much in death. And although loss of blood could have changed the coloration of the scar, its shape would be more or less the same.

  “What?” Mikako eventually stammered. “What is this?”

  She was looking wildly around the room like a person stumbling through darkness. She was casting around for a rational explanation that could save her from her own dire imaginings.

  “Do you recognize the scar?”

  She gave a wordless, curt nod. Her face was a blank.

  “You know who this is?”

  She nodded again.

  “Who is it? Who does the scar belong to?”

  The tears welled up in her big almond eyes.

  Kusaka wasn’t expecting her to cry—least of all for a bum she’d fallen out of love with years ago.

  “It’s Tobe,” she whispered. “Makio Tobe.”

  She pushed Kusaka’s hand and the cigarette pack it was holding off the photograph and stared at it.

  “Oh, my poor, poor darling,” she wailed.

  Kusaka got up.

  “Satomura, take care of this.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Kusaka left the room. He’d been brutal, but you can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs.

  The murder victim’s Tobe, not Takaoka! I need to go back to square one. What did I do wrong? Where did the investigation go off track?

  Too agitated to stand around waiting for the elevator, Kusaka charged headlong down the stairs.

  4

  Apromise is a promise.

  Reiko was at Owada’s with Kunioku and Ioka. They’d all ordered broiled eel on rice. Before going in, Reiko had called Yuda to tell him that she wouldn’t be taking over surveillance on Kimie Naito that afternoon either.

  “You’re sure we’ve got time for this?” Ioka asked, looking around the old-fashioned restaurant with its low tables and tatami-mat floor.

  “Don’t worry. We won’t get the results of the second analysis for hours yet.”

  Reiko had called the crime lab at TMPD headquarters and ordered them to do a rerun of the DNA test. She knew that getting the okay from the top brass would be a hassle, so she’d made the decision without consulting them. There’d be plenty of time to explain things to them when she was back at the preci
nct.

  Before calling the crime lab, Reiko had grilled Kunioku on the best way to conduct DNA tests. She’d relayed his advice to the lab technicians, instructing them to follow it to the letter.

  “Guess you’re right, boss,” Ioka said.

  Reiko consulted the Longines watch she’d bought on credit. It was still only 12:30.

  “I called the lab about an hour ago. Whichever way you slice it, we won’t hear from them till midevening.”

  Kunioku’s face was wreathed in smiles as the lacquered box containing the rice and eel was placed in front of him.

  “You don’t mind me ordering the most expensive option after all?”

  “Not at all. Your input was extremely valuable.”

  “What about me, Lieutenant?”

  Why are men so damn needy? Always me, me, me.

  “You? What’ve you done to deserve it?”

  She and Ioka had the cheapest of the three lunch menus. It came with miso soup—quite good enough, in Reiko’s opinion.

  “The doctor’s soup’s got whitebait in it.”

  “Well, ours has mitsuba leaf. It looks fantastic.”

  Reiko wasn’t really in the mood for leisurely gourmandizing. She wanted to scarf her lunch and get the hell out of there.

  “Bon appétit.”

  “Hey, chimp, pass me the pepper.”

  “Here, let me serve you, Doctor,” Ioka replied.

  “Whoa! Easy, boy. You want to blow my head off?”

  Reiko reckoned she could polish off the whole lunch in about three minutes.

  “Slow down, sweetheart. You’ve got to enjoy your food.”

  “Thanks but no thanks for the advice. Good cops eat fast. Comes with the territory. Come on, Ioka. Pick up the pace.”

  “Lieutenant, you’re spilling food all over the place.”

  “Come on, Ioka. It’s time for us to go.”

  “I haven’t touched my pickled vegetables yet.”

  “Doctor, you just take your time and enjoy yourself.”

  “You’re not really going to up and leave me, are you?” Kunioku said in his most cajoling voice. “You’re breaking my heart.”

  “Look, when we’ve solved the case, we’ll go out to that dobin mushi place you’ve been talking about. Is that a deal? See you, Doc.”

  “Sweetheart,” Kunioku moaned.

  Reiko pulled her down jacket over her shoulders, slipped her shoes back on, and handed the bill to Ioka.