Nocturne of Remembrance

by Shichiri Nakayama

  Hatsuda’s expression warmed a bit, and then he sat up straight. “Certainly.”

  After Hatsuda left, Misaki sank deeply into his chair. A bit of friction didn’t stand in the way of unity among organization men when they faced a common threat. This was particularly true of civil servants. The more allies Misaki had, the better.

  With a self-deprecating smile, he silently plunged back into thought.

  Having interviewed the three police personnel, the next place Misaki headed for was the Tokyo District High Court, which was on the same block as the District Prosecutor’s Office.

  The person he was looking to see was waiting for him in the judge’s chambers on the fifteenth floor of the government office building.

  “Please excuse me for intruding suddenly, Judge Sanjo.”

  Judge Mamoru Sanjo came away from his desk and invited Misaki to sit down on the visitor’s sofa. The fact that he was courteous to someone who was seven years younger than him was one of his virtues, but Misaki felt a bit embarrassed.

  “No problem,” the judge said. “As a university junior of mine, you’re always welcome to come pay me a courtesy call.”

  He was, though, implying that he hadn’t let Misaki come to his office as a prosecutor. This fastidiousness was also one of his good points, but again Misaki felt embarrassed.

  The so-called “out-of-court oral argument”—a prosecutor in charge of an on-going case visiting the presiding judge in his chambers to mix small talk with discussion of the case—was a practice that legal observers had criticized from long ago. Every year, about forty judges were transferred to the Ministry of Justice for one tour, during which several served as investigation and trial prosecutors. Conversely, some public prosecutors went on loan to the courts. Naturally the fence between the two sides grew porous thanks to such exchanges, and out-of-court oral arguments became the norm.

  From the defense’s perspective, however, the setup was pure and simple collusion. Judge Sanjo, who was known for his integrity, had a record of strictly refraining from out-of-court oral arguments. And it was not hard to imagine that he was guarding against one when he addressed Misaki without referring to his title.

  “Even so, what turn of events brings you here today? I think this is your first visit since your official greeting upon being transferred here in April.”

  “I’m always ready to learn at your knees when it comes to recent judicial affairs. Judge Sanjo, about the Setagaya murder case appealed a few days ago—”

  “Oh, my!” the judge exclaimed with exaggerated surprise. “Fully aware that I preside over it? Well, I’m a bit troubled. Because I’m afraid we won’t be enjoying any small talk today.”

  “You mean, even if it isn’t recorded?”

  “The most reliable recording machine is not sold in stores. It’s right here,” said Sanjo, pointing to his heart. “There’s a recording machine in here. Mine is of particularly high quality. So much so that fellow judges and prosecutors frequently find it irritating.” He peered into Misaki’s eyes and added, “You must know this doctrine of mine. Isn’t that why you’ve been steering clear of my chambers?”

  “There’s no need to switch on your recorder, sir. What I hope to learn at your knees today are your private views of a person related to the case rather than the case itself.”

  “A related person?”

  “The attorney Reiji Mikoshiba.”

  “Ah, him.” Sanjo looked at Misaki meaningfully. “Is he the reason why we’re being treated to the rare sight? A Tokyo District Deputy Chief Prosecutor, taking point in court?”

  The judge had gotten to the heart of the matter, and Misaki was at a loss for words. Judges and prosecutors—their positions differed, but the legal community was a small world. News that Misaki was prosecuting the appeal trial must have spread like wildfire.

  “Are you ‘avenging in Nagasaki a grudge from Edo’?” pressed Sanjo. “No, someone of your caliber would hardly be so blinkered. Perhaps you felt that no other prosecutor would do?”

  “… Either way, I was taken aback when the attorney changed right after they appealed. I thought he was still in the hospital.”

  “It’s like a dead man coming back from the grave, isn’t it?”

  “If there’s any dead man who can argue like that guy, I want to meet him. Judge Sanjo, what do you make of it?”

  “Hm. It did seem rather sudden to me, too. I heard that it was such a bad injury that for a while there he went back and forth between life and death. He must have made a fortune by now, so he could take his time healing up and still pay his bills. You’ve got to give it to him that the case he jumps into upon being discharged is this one.”

  “So the defense is indeed at a disadvantage?” lobbed Misaki, fully aware that his question touched upon the case itself. This was easy to return though, and he hoped the judge would play.

  “You hardly need to ask a judge. As far as one can tell from the foregoing materials and statement of verdict, the appeal was merely procedural. They objected that the punishment was inappropriate, but that was in fact the court’s view, too. In the sense that it should have been heavier.”

  Misaki mentally patted his chest in relief. The judge was discussing the case in general terms. This much didn’t infringe on his doctrine, and he had returned the ball to Misaki.

  Sanjo continued, “The prosecution must be quite satisfied with that judgment. A confession, physical evidence, an eyewitness, a motive, everything was there. Fine pieces all of which fell in place. So it’ll be very interesting to see what kind of argument the defense puts up at the appeal trial.”

  “Is that because Mikoshiba is the attorney?”

  “The facts couldn’t be worse, the defense just got up from his sick bed, and both public opinion and the jury are on the prosecution’s side. It’s a full-blown siege, but considering Mikoshiba’s track record, you have to be on your guard.”

  “So even a man like you thinks highly of him.”

  “Highly, no. It’s more that I don’t know what to think of him,” the judge replied amusedly. “Over the years I’ve met numerous denizens of this legal world of ours: people who’re obsessed with their status or their compensation or their own sense of justice … But he’s the odd one out who doesn’t fit into any of those categories. His tactics are singular, too. He lets loose his arrows from where the prosecution least expects. It’s almost like guerilla warfare. And if you fumble at removing one of his arrows, the poison that covered its tip courses through your body, and you end up dead.”

  “… As someone who’s been pierced by one of his arrows, I can’t help but agree with you.”

  “According to what I heard, for one case he brought a huge medical device into the Supreme Court. At that point, you’re going beyond ordinary notions of mounting a defense and entering street-performance territory. Yet that performance convinces the judge and the jury. I can only call him a unique talent.” Eyeing Misaki mischievously, Sanjo asked, “Well? Is the erstwhile champion of the Nagoya District Prosecutor’s Office so quickly raising a white flag against his guerrilla tactics?”

  “Even if my opponent is a guerilla, as things stand, my side can only counter with rulebook measures. But what’s bothering me right now is not the enemy’s tactics but his motive for adopting the cause.”

  “And what do you mean by that?”

  “I don’t see any merit, whatsoever, for him.”

  “Hm. I’ve heard that almost as if to atone for milking shady people of means, he has a thing for taking on court-appointed cases that don’t pay. It’s not one of those?”

  “Certainly he has taken on such cases, but only where the accused claims to be innocent and the verdict itself is at issue. Not cases like this one where the accused has confessed to the crime.”

  “Why are you assuming that someone would never take up a case if there’s nothing to be gained from it? That’s the whole point of the court-appointed attorney system.”

  “Do yo
u really think that miser would go into court when he has nothing to gain?”

  “Well, that, indeed, is unlikely.” Although Sanjo folded his arms, he didn’t appear to be taking the matter very seriously and readily maintained his third-party act. “Why a slave to money might defend an absolutely disadvantageous case in the absence of any gain—is that what you wanted to learn through our idle chit-chat?”

  “If I may be so bold, I’d love to hear your views on countering guerrillas. In general would be fine.”

  “A man of your caliber, begging for advice? I’m rather stunned.”

  “Even eminent and successful men invite the teachings of others. Why shouldn’t a man who is neither?”

  “Well, now, that’s quite worldly of you. As someone who’s close to retiring, I ought to follow your example. That said, I’m awfully sorry to disappoint you, but what’s stuck in your throat is a mere small bone that I advise you just wash down with something.”

  “But—”

  “Whatever his motive for coming to aid, your opponent’s armaments are limited, aren’t they? No matter how loudly he yells that it’s a holy war for the motherland, he’s still charging at a tank with a bamboo spear. You just need to watch which way that spear is pointing, no?” Sanjo unfolded his arms and leaned back against the sofa. “In any case, the first hearing is like a game of wait-and-see. It wouldn’t be too late to strategize after you’ve scouted out your opponent’s next move.”

  Sanjo’s words made a lot of sense, and Misaki could only nod. He did so sullenly, but the judge was not the kind of person to miss that.

  “Oh, is my answer so dissatisfying?”

  “I’m not dissatisfied, just anxious. You said you don’t know what to think of that guy. Me neither. That must be why. It’s the same as with ghosts. When you can’t tell, it makes you anxious.”

  “Hm.” Sanjo took a long hard look at Misaki.

  “… What is it, sir?”

  “How old are you these days?”

  “I’ve made it to fifty-five.”

  “Fifty-five, that’s still the prime of life. Maybe you’ve been a widower for too long and your body or mind is in decline? I can’t believe that a man I took to be the embodiment of your motto of severity is taking such an attitude.”

  “Please leave it at that. It’s already been almost fifteen years since my wife passed away, and not once have I been ill.”

  “Then did the relentless mill that is the Tokyo District Prosecutor’s Office grind you down? Are you delegating to your subordinates as you should? People who try to do everything themselves aren’t fit to lead. In the private sector, you’d quickly be let go in a restructuring.”

  Each of the barbs stuck in Misaki’s chest. It hadn’t been long since his transfer to Tokyo, and the reality was that he had yet to secure reliable hands. It was true that his workload had increased thanks to his tendency, as a skilled person, to micromanage the vast number of cases that came in.

  “You aren’t a great commander if you can’t find brilliant aides,” summarized Sanjo.

  “Your warning is painfully appropriate.”

  “Then it’s even more regrettable.”

  “What is?”

  “Your only son. Yosuke, was that his name?”

  Sanjo had uttered it so suddenly that Misaki nearly choked.

  “If he’d gone on and entered the legal profession and teamed up with you … I sometimes fantasize about it even now. Your frustration in the way of subordinates would have vanished like the mist then and there.”

  “Regarding him, please, do leave it at that. That good-for-nothing would only have been an eyesore.”

  “Really? His name pops up recently, so I was feeling impressed that he’s distinguished himself in that field, too.”

  This, Misaki thought, was Sanjo retaliating. A prosecutor had half-forced his way into the chambers of a judge who did not like out-of-court oral arguments. He was bringing up the most uncomfortable subject possible as a thank-you.

  The best thing to do now was to retreat.

  “I have interrupted you for quite a long time. I will be going now.”

  “Sure. Next time, I would like to meet you somewhere for a drink.”

  Bowing to Sanjo, who had casually raised his hand in parting, Misaki took his leave from the judge’s chambers.

  The unexpectedly mentioned name bounced around in his mind for a while. His fool son, who had passed the national bar exam and seemed to have a bright future, had chosen a career in music of all things. Five years had already passed since he had gone against his father’s wishes.

  Having expected the world from him, Misaki had felt that much more angry at his betrayal. Because he’d lost his beloved wife as well, it had felt as though his only blood and kin had become his enemy.

  That goofball as one of his subordinates?

  The judge really made him laugh. True, his son was on the sharp side and caught things that others inadvertently overlooked. He’d probably do fine if he were cast in an investigative role.

  But Sanjo didn’t know—the clown decisively lacked something that was a must for any administrator of justice.

  The guy thought little of the law.

  He worshipped the Muses rather than the goddess Themis.

  — 3 —

  Appeal Trial, First Public Hearing.

  The Tokyo High Court is located in the same government complex as the Tokyo District Court and Summary Criminal Court. In Wing B of Building No. 6 on the east is the Tokyo Metropolitan Public Prosecutor’s Office, while Wing C houses the Tokyo Family Court and Summary Civil Court. Across the street in Buildings No. 2 and No. 3 are the National Public Safety Commission, the Metropolitan Police Department, the Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communications, and the Ministry of Land, Infrastructure, Transport and Tourism. It is thus the temple mount of Japanese legal administration, but all of the buildings’ outer appearances are inorganic and devoid of gravitas.

  Mikoshiba headed for the eighth floor in an elevator. Courtroom #822 would be the arena for the upcoming fight.

  Entering three minutes early, he saw that the visitors’ gallery was already full and that the prosecution team had arrived.

  Prosecutor Kyohei Misaki noticed him and immediately looked away. He had no expression on his face, but his enmity still seemed to prick Mikoshiba’s skin. He recalled duking it out with Misaki on some case right after the man had transferred to his previous district office somewhere. It had ended in a complete victory for Mikoshiba, but what he remembered most clearly was that he had unusual qualities for a prosecutor. To put it nicely, he was fiery; to put it not so nicely, he was rather emotional, and his face changed color at every response by the defense. He was the type you wanted to play poker with. Of course, Misaki knew this and tried his best to keep a straight face just like now, but Mikoshiba’s provocations were a cut above him.

  Next to enter the courtroom was Akiko. She looked as worn down by life as she had at the interview, and she seemed to have on almost no makeup. She certainly didn’t have to go as far as to make eyes at the judges, but he wished she’d at least try to make a favorable impression.

  Finally, the three judges entered the courtroom. At the secretary’s request, everyone rose to their feet and bowed.

  In the middle of the three men in judge’s robes was the presiding judge, Mamoru Sanjo. He was the picture of gentleness, which probably led many a defendant to hope for a lenient sentence. However, that was only his outward appearance, and he was said to be a terribly cold judge—a reputation that Mikoshiba had looked into beforehand and verified. Even before the recent trend of harsher judgments, Sanjo had been imposing strict sentences for heinous crimes.

  Mikoshiba pondered on that as he looked at Sanjo. This trial hinged on whether or not he could touch the man’s heartstrings. Assailing the prosecution’s claims using logic was Mikoshiba’s winning formula until now, so he was having to adopt a strategy at which he didn’t exactly excel.
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br />   “The court is now in session. Before we proceed, the defense attorney.”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  “It seems that you have not submitted an opening statement summary. Can you tell the court why?”

  “Pardon me, your honor. I was busy meeting with my client and did not have the time to prepare it in writing. I would like to make my opening statement here and now.”

  “You may proceed.”

  Mikoshiba stood up.

  This was his declaration of war.

  “The defense holds that the accused Akiko Tsuda is not guilty and hereby requests that the original verdict be revoked.”

  The visitor’s gallery stirred a bit. Misaki was glaring at Mikoshiba.

  “The original trial ignored the circumstances of the accused and merely inferred a so-called motive for the murder. I intend to bring this to the attention of the court and prove that there was no motive.”

  “Is the said lack your only basis for claiming that she is innocent?”

  “I want to touch upon those details in the process of defending the case.”

  “Please begin.”

  “First witness, please.”

  Yozo was brought in by a bailiff and took the witness stand.

  “Witness, please state your name and occupation.”

  “My name is Yozo Tsuda. I am a district welfare officer.”

  His nervousness was apparent from his voice. It was understandable. Since the defendant had confessed, he hadn’t needed to take the stand during the first trial. Mikoshiba and Yozo had gone over what he was to say, but the cross-examination to follow was indeed worrisome.

  “You are the accused Akiko Tsuda’s father-in-law?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is your house near Shingo’s?”

  “Yes. It is within walking distance. Shingo’s wife worked during the day and my two granddaughters were home alone most of the time, so I frequently went to see how they were doing.”

  “Even though Shingo was in the house, they were home alone?”

  “Shingo always stayed in his room and did not take a step outside. Of course, he didn’t do any chores or work from home. My granddaughters did all the housework while Akiko was out.”