She, on the other hand, had just struck gold. Determined to give Kenji something that would force him to abandon Hoshi as a suspect in Cherry’s death, she’d begun by using the information Hoshi had gleaned from Erika to search the Internet for anything connecting the names Matsuda and Kita with lumber growers in Shikoku. She’d discovered that Matsuda Lumber had been founded in the Edo era. The Kita family popped up before that—in the 1500s, as a Matsuda military ally—the two families’ histories entwined since before the Battle of Sekigahara.
Erika had said that the two men were between thirty and forty. The only family members she discovered who might be the proper age were Hiroshi Kita, Jun Matsuda, and Nobu Matsuda.
Oblique references to a childhood accident that involved Nobu Matsuda and Hiroshi Kita had brought her to the Toda University library, where a search of newspaper microfilm yielded an article written too long ago to have been digitized and posted online.
Local Youth Injured in Fireworks Mishap
TOKYO—The grandson of Matsuda Lumber Products chairman Ryōsuke Matsuda was severely injured yesterday when fireworks he was playing with at the family’s Yoyogi-Uehara home exploded prematurely. Nobu Matsuda, age 12, was rushed to Tōhō University Hospital, where he was treated for life-threatening burns.
Firefighters praised Matsuda’s friend Hiroshi Kita, age 13, for calling emergency services immediately.
“He prevented a major fire in the Yoyogi-Uehara area, and certainly saved his friend’s life by his quick thinking,” said Fire Chief Matsuo Ishihara.
When questioned, a distraught Kita claimed he shared responsibility for the accident, saying, “I ought to have prevented Nobu-kun from setting off the fireworks in such an unsafe way.”
The incident is under investigation.
Kita had saved his childhood friend from death when he was thirteen. Was he still saving him when he got into trouble?
She commandeered an empty carrel. Two hours of wading through archive materials finally brought her to an obscure collection of letters exchanged by Mr. Hiroyuki Matsuda and Miss Aoi Ochi in 1892. The old-fashioned handwritten characters were so difficult to read, they might as well have been Greek, but fortunately a Columbia University graduate student had used the letters for her dissertation. Her English translation and the family trees she’d drawn up were all it took to convince Yumi that she’d found what she was looking for.
Miss Ochi’s letters addressed the head of the Matsuda family in words so intimate they could only be from a family member…or a lover. Her final message agreed not to kill herself and her unborn child, and to submit to the fate he had arranged. The family tree showed that very shortly thereafter, she became the wife of the Kita family’s eldest son and gave birth to the boy who became Hiroshi Kita’s great-great-grandfather. Then Yumi flipped to the Matsuda family tree. Miss Ochi’s lover had not been so fortunate. The head of the Matsuda family’s wife had produced only daughters.
Yumi took her stack of evidence to the front desk to be scanned before the library closed.
Chapter 62
Tuesday, November 19
9:00 P.M.
Kenji
Kenji sat behind the two-way mirror in the observation room attached to interview room 2. Superintendent Noguchi wanted him to witness the interviews of Matsuda and his retainer in order to catch any discrepancies.
Mori’s team had interrupted Matsuda’s evening meal halfway through the sashimi course, and the two men had come along without objection. At the station, however, Nobu Matsuda had soon been reduced to hopeless stammering as questions were fired at him. Finally shutting down in frustration, he was unable to utter a single word in his own defense. Mori had impatiently sent him down to the cells, hoping Kita would incriminate his boss instead.
Now Kita sat at the table across from Mori, staring over the inspector’s left shoulder. He hadn’t made eye contact or said a word since being brought in.
“Kita-san, may I remind you that you can be prosecuted as an accessory if you continue to protect Mr. Matsuda,” Mori growled, now into a second frustrating hour of trying to get anything useful from either the daimyo’s sixteen-times-great-grandson or his staunchly loyal retainer.
The witness gave no sign of having heard.
“Right now investigators are going over the house with a fine-tooth comb,” Mori continued. “What do you think they’ll find?”
Silence.
He leaned in, adopting a confidential tone. “You know, even if your cleanup job passes the white glove test, our technicians can identify DNA from the smallest trace amounts. If they find anything, you’ll be just as guilty as Matsuda for helping him cover up his crimes. Are you sure you don’t want to assist us now instead of defending yourself on criminal charges later? Do you realize how long you’ll spend in prison, just for staying quiet?”
The retainer’s eyes locked with Mori’s. “Kitas do not betray Matsudas,” he said, finally breaking his silence.
“It’s not a question of betrayal. When we find the evidence—and we will—that’s what will convict Mr. Matsuda. You can make this process less painful for him if you tell us what you know.” Mori leaned forward. “And unlike accessories to assault, witnesses get to go home at the end of the day.”
Kita sat as if he hadn’t heard.
Mori sighed and gathered his notes, just as an assistant inspector burst in.
“We’ve got something, sir!” He held up an evidence bag.
Mori took it from him. The item in the bag was an antique tantō, its hilt crisscrossed with orange cord, grimy with fingerprint powder.
“Where did you find it?”
“Hidden in the room where we think the hostesses were assaulted, sir.”
“You recognize this, Mr. Kita?” Mori asked, laying the bag on the table between them. “Now is the time to tell us about it before the techs confirm beyond any doubt that it was used to assault three women.” He paused, then added, “Kitas may not betray Matsudas, but will Mr. Matsuda do the same for you?”
Kita’s mouth set in a thin line.
“Did he make you do the washing up after his little parties?” Mori pressed. “Maybe you erased the evidence linking the assaults to Mr. Matsuda, but left some of your own DNA instead? That would work out nicely for him, wouldn’t it?” Mori bent down and peered into Kita’s face. “We need to put someone away for these crimes. It would be easy to conclude you’re the one who assaulted those girls unless you convince us otherwise.”
Kita closed his eyes as if in pain.
“Do you think he’ll come visit you in Fuchu Prison? Maybe tell you about the latest girl he carved his name on? Or worse—do you think he’ll be able to stop, without you there to keep him from going further? Maybe next time he’ll—”
“Stop!” Kita cried. “Stop.” He buried his face in his hands. “It’s all my fault.”
“It was your idea to cut those girls?”
“No!”
Mori waited. Finally Kita took a ragged breath and raised his stricken face. “I should have kept him from lighting the fireworks.”
“What?”
“When we were boys. I dared him, so he held the firecrackers too long. He was burned so badly that he can’t…he can’t have a normal relationship with a woman. He’s so disfigured, no woman would be with him if he didn’t pay her.”
Kenji felt a twinge of pity—if Matsuda’s crippled right hand was an example of the damage to the other parts of his body, he’d known since he was twelve that he’d never have a girlfriend, never have a wife, never have children.
“You’re telling us he kidnapped hostesses and carved his name on them because of a childhood accident?”
Kita turned away.
“All right,” Mori said in a softer voice. He settled back in his chair. “I’m listening. Explain to me, Kita-san. Explain to me why Mr. Matsuda did what he did.”
Kita slowly brought his gaze up to meet Mori’s. “First, I need to know what will happen to
him.”
Sixteen generations of service died hard, Kenji thought.
“That depends on what you tell us.”
“He’s not evil, he’s sick, like his father.”
“What do you mean?”
“If I tell you everything, will Matsuda-san be sent somewhere they can help him?”
“If what you tell us convinces the prosecutor his crimes were committed while mentally unbalanced, then yes, he’ll be treated in a secure hospital instead of being sent to prison.”
“When will he get out?”
“When he’s well. But I have to warn you, someone who commits assaults like these, there’s a chance he’ll never be discharged because he’ll always be a danger to himself and others.”
“A danger to himself?”
“It’s not uncommon for the mentally unstable to become suicidal, especially in moments of lucidity when they realize what they’ve done. You’d be demonstrating your loyalty to Matsuda’s family if you tell us what he did and allow the judicial system to help him before it’s too late.”
Kita closed his eyes for a long moment, then took a deep breath. “Matsuda-san has scars from the fireworks explosion…down there. But inside, he’s still a man. At first, he was happy visiting the sex shops and the S&M bars. He’d go to places like Slipknot where it was okay to watch from the shadows in the back rooms, then go to a pink salon and order services from the menu. The girls would provide them and didn’t make him feel ashamed. But eventually he wanted more. He wanted more of a relationship. He wanted affection and conversation, not just sex. He’d get attached to certain girls, but they weren’t supposed to go out with customers and they’d refuse. He’d wait for them after work, find out where they lived, and try to contact them outside business hours. That violated the system and pretty soon he was banned from all his favorite places.
“So I began cultivating relationships at a few hostess clubs, sort of paving the way for him. I convinced him to try it once, and he discovered he didn’t have to be a good conversationalist—if he just bought expensive drinks, hostesses would go out with him and make him feel like he was an attractive man. They were so skilled, he actually started to believe it. One night, he got it into his head to buy out a hostess named Anna and invite her back to the house. I thought she was just drunk when we helped her into the car; I didn’t realize that Matsuda-san had slipped drugs into her drink. He took her down to the bomb shelter rooms to ‘show her the collection’ and locked me out. Two hours later, he emerged in a panic. He said he’d gotten carried away and taken advantage of her while she was out cold, but she wouldn’t wake up. He was worried she was dead. I rushed down to see if she was all right, but she was gone. I thought he meant that he’d raped her. I didn’t realize what he’d actually been doing down there in that room.
“The next day I found out where she lived and sent her an apology with a very expensive present on his behalf. Matsuda-san got lucky—Anna never reported him. I made sure he realized how easily he could have been sent to prison. He agreed to start over at a different club and lay off anything kinky. I believed him, kept a close eye on him when we went out. I didn’t realize those kind of compulsions don’t go away; he just got smarter about it. He discovered that the girl I introduced him to at Club Heaven was in debt and did a deal with her.”
“What kind of deal?”
“Last Friday, around two in the morning, a scream woke me. It sounded like it came from the family museum. There was nobody upstairs, but when I went down to check the bomb shelter, a demon came rushing out of the room where we keep the Kanemoto katana. In the dark, I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. It headed for the stairs and I started to follow, but I heard Matsuda-san groaning. I was afraid the thief had attacked him, so I turned back, and discovered him in the display room, the Fire Phoenix tantō in his hand.
“I asked him what happened, but he couldn’t answer. All he said was, ‘Cherry’s dead. Cherry’s dead.’ I was afraid he was saying he’d killed her, but when he finally calmed down, I learned he’d been sneaking out behind my back to see her at Club Heaven. He admitted he’d tried to control his compulsion to ‘mark’ the girls he fell for, to make them his forever in some way, since he could never marry. But he’d discovered that Cherry was in debt, so he made a deal with her. She allowed him to cut her a little bit each time he saw her, then he gave her gifts she could use to pay off her loan. That night when he arrived at Club Heaven, he was told she’d been in a fatal accident. He was devastated. He asked for a girl named Erika, who’d entertained him before, but he drank too much, and the lid came off his compulsion. He drugged her, and when he got her back to the house, he couldn’t control himself. He was halfway through cutting his name on her chest when she woke up. She freaked out and fought him, then ran.
“The next day, I tracked her down at the hospital and sent her an apology with an expensive present, since that had worked so well with Anna. I tried to call her but she never picked up, so I went to the hospital to find out why. From a rather talkative volunteer, I learned she couldn’t remember anything about that night.
“Matsuda-san was safe from the police, but I knew I couldn’t protect him from himself anymore. I suggested he see a doctor about his…urges, but he refused.” The loyal retainer raised his sorrow-filled eyes to Mori. “He’s in your hands now. I’m counting on the justice system to succeed where I failed.”
Chapter 63
Tuesday, November 19
10:00 P.M.
Kenji
A triumphant Inspector Mori asked the note-taker to print out a copy of Kita’s statement. The retainer put his hanko stamp on each page, then was driven home in a squad car. Mori called for a half-hour break so he and his elite officers could analyze the new information before subjecting Matsuda to another round of questioning.
“The thing that bothers me,” Kenji said to Oki as they sat at their desks, excluded from the strategy session, “is that according to Kita, Matsuda assaulted Erika because he went crazy after hearing about Cherry’s death. But if he was out of his mind with grief after hearing she was dead, it’s hard to believe he was the one who pushed her down the stairs. You’re the psychology expert but…”
Oki nodded. “You’re right, it doesn’t fit. But self-loathing plus lust produces some pretty strange crimes. I’d be willing to bet Matsuda’s relationship with Cherry was a lot more complicated than the straightforward transaction Kita described, so it’s hard to predict a ‘normal’ reaction to being told about her death.” Oki frowned. “But that’s not the only thing that stinks about Kita’s version of what happened that night. A guy who’d do something as crazy as cutting his name on hostesses with a prized family sword doesn’t suddenly start up at age forty. There would be a history of escalating violence.”
“Maybe there is,” Kenji countered. “Wealth and power can hide a multitude of sins, and the Matsuda family has both. His cousin the CEO admitted she’d been mopping up after him his whole life. Maybe she wasn’t as surprised to hear of the assaults as she claimed to be.”
Oki nodded and thought for a moment, then asked, “Did you say Kita told Mori that on the night Erika was attacked, Matsuda sneaked out and went to the club alone? Does that match what Erika’s manager said?”
“It doesn’t. Erika’s manager told her the night she was attacked, Matsuda offered to have his driver take her home. We assumed that meant Kita was with him.”
“So who’s lying—Kita or the club manager?” Oki sipped his tea thoughtfully.
Kenji’s phone vibrated. Text from Yumi.
You want motive? Check your e-mail.
Two attachments. He zoomed in on the tiny type. One was a twenty-three-year-old newspaper article; the other a multipage document in archaic handwritten kanji with an equally inscrutable English translation. He returned to the newspaper clipping and his eyebrows shot up.
“What do you make of this?” He showed it to Oki.
The big detective fumbled fo
r his reading glasses, and squinted at it. “Can you send it to my computer?”
Kenji e-mailed it, then dispatched the other document to Suzuki with the header, Can the All-Kanto Kanji Champion read this thing?
“Nakamura!” Mori commanded from the interrogation room doorway.
Kenji returned to his observation post as a handcuffed Nobu Matsuda was led in, his clothing now creased, his worry lines deeper than ever. When he saw the evidence bag on the table with the dagger inside, he snatched it up, his eyes widening as he recognized the tantō that matched one of the two swords in the room with the trapdoor that led to the bomb shelter.
“Why is Fire Phoenix here?”
A confident Inspector Mori dropped his case file on the table and took the chair across from his suspect. “I think you know the answer to that, Matsuda-san. We found it at your house, where you hid it after you assaulted those girls. You really ought to have destroyed the evidence, you know. I guess we’re lucky you’re a collector first and a criminal second.”
The inspector pulled a highlighted copy of Kita’s statement from his file and continued, “Mr. Kita told us all about the assaults on the three hostesses. We know you did it, we know how, and we know why. Even if you refuse to confess, it’s only a matter of time before we find the evidence to back up Mr. Kita’s statement. You’ll certainly be convicted. If you admit your guilt now, however, chances are the prosecutor will find a place for you in a secure hospital where you’ll get treatment instead of being sent to prison.”
“Bu-bu-but I didn’t do those…those…things. I d-d-didn’t…”
Mori shook his head sadly. “Matsuda-san, you’re not helping yourself. It’s only a matter of time before the technicians in our crime lab confirm your guilt.” He folded his hands atop the documents on the table and locked eyes with the suspect. “I’m going to make this as easy as possible for you. All you have to do is answer yes or no.”
“Bu-bu-but…”
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