“Prosecutor Misaki, to what do I owe this special occasion?”
A servile smile appeared on his face as soon as he saw Misaki’s, but it was obviously forced. Even as a formality, it wanted for a little more acting ability, but it was the most welcoming that the man could be.
He added, “Well, I really was a nuisance for the prosecutor in charge of the Akiko Tsuda case the other day.”
“Don’t mention it …”
“In the end, my defense was of no use at all.”
Misaki wondered why Horai was even feigning ignorance. During the trial, hadn’t the guy accepted the prosecution’s claims almost exactly as stated and not expressed any objection or doubt? Had he done anything other than plead the jury for a lenient verdict? That wasn’t defending the client at all. Even the court records revealed how little enthusiasm he had put into the case.
Soon, Horai went into a discourse criticizing the leadership of the Tokyo Bar Association. Misaki was taken aback once again. Maybe it was supposed to be welcoming, too, but if badmouthing the association, the prosecution’s opponents, was an attempt to curry favor, Horai didn’t realize that it was having the opposite effect on Misaki.
“The bar association is actually turning into a gerontocracy,” the lawyer kept up in his grating voice, unable to read his visitor’s discomfort. Misaki knew each of the leaders that Horai mentioned, but they were paragons compared to the scum sitting in front of him. Misaki had seen articles in the TBA bulletin by them regarding civil liberties, morals, and the role of lawyers which, despite their differences in position, he could empathize with.
“Thank you for your lofty opinions, but may we get to the issue at hand?” interrupted Misaki, who felt no obligation to put up with the guy’s empty attempts to sell himself. He cut to the chase: “I’m here today regarding that Akiko Tsuda case.”
“Oh. You, too.”
“Me, too?”
“Yes. But why would the Tokyo District Deputy Chief Prosecutor want to discuss it? You should know the essentials of the first judgment. At this late point, what could you possibly need to ask me?”
“Why did you resign as her defense lawyer? No, more specifically, why did you switch with Attorney Mikoshiba? I want to know your reasons.”
For a moment, there was no answer. Horai looked at the prosecutor as if he was evaluating him and said, “Does that have anything to do with the case, or rather, with the deputy chief prosecutor?”
His tone had completely changed and sounded almost obstinate, but Misaki became more intrigued.
“Horai-sensei, did you introduce him? Your notification of resignation and his notification of appointment have the same date. Was there some kind of mutual understanding between you two? If you did not have the prior approval of your client Akiko Tsuda, you could not have done that.”
As a matter of fact, however, a client who could only follow the defense’s instructions had no choice in the matter. Upon being told that the lawyer would change, she must have had to meekly sign the appointment notification. The outcome of Horai and Mikoshiba’s negotiations was still the gist of it.
“Excuse me, but that matter comes under the confidentiality clause …”
“Your reason for resigning is all I’m asking about.”
“It does.”
A bit of an emotional swing was audible. Maybe he needed to be shaken up a bit more. Misaki declared, “The treatment of confidential information is an important part of the Attorneys-at-Law Act. I believe it is covered in Article 23. However, it contains a proviso that confidentiality does not apply where another regulation is in question. In other words, if the reason for resigning is related to some other case, then you’re exempted of the confidentiality requirement. As a prosecutor, I need to thoroughly investigate anything that doesn’t seem right, particularly for cases that are appealed.”
Horai’s eyes suddenly began swimming around. Client confidentiality was probably nothing more than an excuse. No lawyer who insisted on it would put up a miserable defense in court like Horai had done.
“And the thing with people is that we become attached to secrets that we’ve uncovered on our own. We develop a sadistic interest in the person who is doing the hiding. But not so if the person in question acknowledges everything beforehand—in fact, we even feel an affinity for that person.”
This was a come-on that Misaki used often with suspects when investigating a case. But it wasn’t just effective with them; the lawyer in front of him was already rushing to fess up.
And indeed, Horai buckled. “I think that I can cooperate with you on the part that does not impact client confidentiality.”
“I would greatly appreciate that. Namely?”
“The resignation didn’t come from my side or Akiko Tsuda’s. If anything, Mikoshiba-sensei strongly requested it.”
“He strongly requested it?”
“Yes. Actually, I have an unmanageable number of other cases on my plate, and even putting aside how passionately he was coming on, it felt like a godsend that he was bringing the matter up.”
“Did Mikoshiba-sensei give any reason why?”
“No, he wasn’t clear on that point. But for sure, he was very attached to this case.”
While they talked, Misaki studied Horai’s eyes. The man had seemed ready to sing, but it appeared that he wasn’t revealing everything he knew. Putting aside his capabilities as a defense attorney, Horai was cut out to be a lawyer for at least his lying ways, Misaki noted.
“I accepted Mikoshiba-sensei’s request, conveyed words to that effect to Akiko Tsuda, got her approval, and immediately processed it.”
“What was Akiko Tsuda’s response?”
“She seemed surprised at first when I told her, but she agreed as soon as I explained Mikoshiba-sensei’s enthusiasm.”
Misaki thought this part was counterfeit, too. The lawyer who’d held her fate in his hands was suddenly trying to get out of it midway. Since it wasn’t something that she’d requested herself, she should have been anxious about his reason for resigning and the new lawyer’s character and record. If she consented right on the spot, it was because Horai forcibly convinced her or had instilled doubts in her about his ability to defend her.
“What do you, Horai-sensei, think is the reason for Attorney Mikoshiba’s attachment to the case?”
“Well, I really don’t know … I did explain to him that the defendant’s family isn’t wealthy.”
“Then how did you come to be her lawyer? Don’t tell me she was a prior acquaintance?”
“That is not exactly correct, but not far off the mark. To tell you the truth, I have some acquaintance with the victim’s father.”
“Oh. Not the accused but her father-in-law?”
“Yes. The victim’s father, Yozo Tsuda. He’s a district welfare officer. Residents that have loan problems bring their problems to him, and he resolves them by introducing the debtors to my office. I got involved in the case out of respect for our ties.”
“By what route did Yozo first become acquainted with you, Horai-sensei? Was that, too, through someone’s introduction?”
“No. He saw our website and contacted us. Back then, I personally attended …”
Horai suddenly broke off what he was saying. For an instant there was a twitch on his face, but he was still composed enough to banish it immediately.
Misaki could easily imagine, though, the rest of the sentence. All of Horai’s debt-settlement work, from the opening of each case to the negotiation with the lenders, was left entirely to his clerks. As the man sat flopped into his chair and counted money all day long, his skills as a lawyer must have withered away. Misaki almost laughed sarcastically, as he might at a tongue-twisted comedian, but when he thought it out that far, he realized his opponent’s modus operandi.
Mikoshiba had threatened Horai with charges of unprofessional conduct. That was something that the foul-playing fellow was likely to try. In the meantime, Horai had little to gain from
defending the case. Misaki now clearly understood why Horai had resigned without any hesitation.
But this assumption only aggravated the initial enigma. What merit did Mikoshiba see in the case to go so far as to threaten another lawyer to get it? Given that the murder victim, Shingo, wasn’t wealthy, was there some possibility that his father had something hidden away?
“What is Yozo Tsuda’s personal history?”
“I heard that he was an elementary school teacher.”
Then it wasn’t possible. You couldn’t maintain your assets or stature after retiring unless you’d been one of the parasites at the central government agencies.
“Mikoshiba-sensei said that he had a personal interest in the case. It definitely garnered public attention, but the accused is simply seen as the baddie. I don’t think that defending someone like that has much advertising value.”
It was no longer in his hands so he was talking easily about it, but Horai was declaring that there was no point in touching cases that didn’t offer hefty fees or good advertising value. The man was so rotten that it was almost refreshing.
In which case, Mikoshiba’s move seemed all the more uncanny. Misaki was well aware from their first match that his horribly logical adversary wouldn’t take on a case on a whim. Furthermore, someone who enjoyed the absolute confidence of shady sorts wouldn’t seek the modest advertising effect of being in the local news section at this point in his career.
“The sentence was sixteen years imprisonment, just as the prosecutor requested. It was, so to speak, a total victory for the prosecution. I looked over the sentence that was handed down, but there was nothing at all that seemed to have been overlooked or distorted. What was the real reason that you deemed the punishment excessive and appealed nonetheless?”
“It was just a persistent request by the client. Frankly speaking, I, myself, thought it was useless.”
“So when you handed over the case, you didn’t discuss courtroom tactics?”
“Not at all. I was only asked by Mikoshiba-sensei to transfer the entire court records as soon as possible.”
Thinking a bit about this, it made sense. That schemer would not expound, certainly not to this fool, what tactics he would use in court.
The purpose of Misaki’s visit had been to resolve some uncertainties, but it was resulting in even deeper ones. The only thing that he managed to confirm was that Mikoshiba only requested the court records when the case was turned over to him. In other words, there was a possibility that something lurking in them was important for his court tactics.
Indeed, it was necessary to go over them thoroughly once more. If they had the same weapon at their disposal, then uncovering its usefulness early on promised an advantage.
“I understand the circumstances. Thank you for your cooperation.”
With that brief remark, and with a sidelong look at Horai, who seemed to want to say something, Misaki left the office.
*
When she returned from the meeting room to her one-person cell, Akiko, who had been enduring the urge to go, ran to the toilet. There was one in the back of the six-foot-square space, but it only had a waist-high partition to hide herself behind while she excreted. From the window in the door, she was in full view with not a fragment of privacy. After being there for several months, though, she was completely accustomed to that, too.
When she was first detained, she was bewildered by how cramped her cell was, but after a while, she realized that it was large enough since it was just for eating, sleeping, and excreting. In the absence of playthings, ornaments, and memorabilia, it seemed that one’s daily routine could fit into a three-mat room.
When she finished relieving herself, she recalled what had transpired a while ago between her and Mikoshiba. She had been confused before by the sudden change of her defense attorney, but having now had an audience with the replacement, she was greatly relieved to see that he was far more dependable than her original lawyer Horai.
However, she felt only a transient sense of relief. For sure, Mikoshiba seemed quite used to dealing with criminal cases, but the way he’d looked at her invited anxiety. That was not the eye of someone who’d taken mercy on a hard-pressed client. It was the eye of a reptile that had grasped some prey.
That lawyer had said that his fee would be whatever she wanted to pay.
Once again, Akiko was confused.
Sitting on the tatami-mat floor and leaning her back on the wall, she pondered. Since her detention, she’d gotten into the habit of thinking. When she’d been on the outside, she’d been worked to death with household chores and her part-time job, and she’d slept like a log upon finishing. Every day had been like that, without any time to calm down and think about things. But inside the detention center, she had an inexhaustible amount of time. Of course, she was constrained here, but being constrained by a job and housework was not much different.
That lawyer had maintained that it was a publicity stunt. For sure, Akiko’s case was being treated by the press as something amusing. She also understood how the mikes not being shoved in her own face meant that the spotlight would be on her attorney.
Yet wasn’t that spotlight shining, not on some stage, but on a back-alley criminal? Even with Akiko’s poor memory, she vividly recalled famous American trials. A former nationally prominent professional football player killing his former wife. A world-renowned popular singer’s child abuse case. In both, the public deemed them guilty, but money talked and outstanding and expensive legal teams had won not-guilty verdicts. However, those legal teams were not treated as heroes, but rather in the end despised as fee-seeking lawyers. This time, the accused was her and she was in a similar position, though she wasn’t wealthy. Even if her sentence was reduced, she didn’t think that her attorney would be lauded. In other words, she began to sense that his doing this as a publicity stunt was not credible.
Then what in the world was that lawyer after?
Her thoughts raced all over but she could come to no reasonable conclusion. Horai was not a complicated person, and she could imagine what he was thinking. But Mikoshiba was the total opposite. Whatever his facial expression, she couldn’t get even a glimpse into his true feelings.
Mikoshiba had told her to speak the truth just to him. Was he kidding? There was no way she could bare her soul to such a murky character. Anyhow, he could only defend part of the case. No one could expose and defend all of it.
She didn’t mind being convicted of a killing. Spending some time behind bars was a foregone conclusion. Yet she didn’t want to stay there for too long. Her two daughters were impatiently awaiting her return, so she had to get the sentence reduced if only by a day.
Somehow or other, she had to act like she’d put all her faith in Mikoshiba. She would give him the minimal amount of information needed to get her sentence shortened. But she would have to hide the rest. She couldn’t even let him know that she was hiding something. A knife that cut very well was a convenient thing to have, but also dangerous. Mikoshiba appeared to be that kind of a person.
Once you gave his sort an opening, you were done for. He’d chase her persistently to the end. Relentless and calculating, like a cat tormenting a mouse, he’d enjoy frightening his quarry.
She couldn’t let him catch on.
She couldn’t even let him suspect anything.
He’d maintained that he was Akiko’s only ally in the world until she left the detention center. That was for sure. But there were secrets that only an ally could pry out of her. In that regard, taking Mikoshiba’s words at face value was dangerous.
A warning began to ring through Akiko’s head. Reiji Mikoshiba was her only ally while she was in the detention center, she agreed. At the same time, he was the only enemy to be feared.
She had to be vigilant.
Vigilant.
— 4 —
The court records were delivered to Mikoshiba’s office the day after he had met with Akiko. The timing was good. That guy Ho
rai might have been a bit of a rogue, but in his business dealings he certainly kept his promises.
“If there are any calls for me, tell them all that I’ll call back.”
“How about visitors?”
“Unless it’s someone very unusual, tell them that I’m not in.”
Fortunately, he wasn’t scheduled to appear in court, nor did he expect any visitors. Mikoshiba piled the court records in the corner of his desk.
He’d resolved that his strategy would be to gather factors that would make the court sympathize with her. In such cases, it was customary to start with a thorough interview of the defendant, but this time, he intended to comb through the court records in advance.
That was because of the accused Akiko Tsuda’s character. He still couldn’t figure out if she was that way on purpose, but her speech and conduct meant gaining the jurors’ sympathy was a tall order. He balked at relying on whatever came to her mind, or out of her mouth, in court. In that case, digging something out from the material prepared by the prosecutor’s office would be more helpful.
Type A-2 Document
MAY 6, 2011
Autopsy report prepared by the Tokyo University of Medicine
Even though this was very clearly a murder, the doctor in charge had attributed the death to “11 - other or external unknown.” He or she must have proceeded cautiously because an insurance issue could arise depending on the cause of death. That part had to be taken in tandem with the autopsy finding above it.
The “3 stab wounds in right jugular area” had each been deep, and lethal. The lack of hesitation wounds was a piece of supporting evidence ruling out a suicide.
Deposition
Permanent residence: X-XX Ohashi, South Ward, Fukuoka City, Fukuoka
Current residence: X-X-X Taishido, Setagaya Ward, Tokyo
Occupation: housewife; part-timer at accounting office, tel. 03-3418-XXXX
Nocturne of Remembrance Page 5
