'Consult? No, not exactly. Though he did say he thought it might be hard.' That was a lie. Yoshiki had said nothing when she'd announced her decision, and Nobuki hadn't said anything at all to her for as long as she could remember.
'Really?' said Imai, as though he didn't quite believe her. He gave her a puzzled look as he opened his memo pad. 'I'm asking because your situation is the same as Yamamoto-san's, and I guess I find it hard to understand why any husband who worked regular hours himself wouldn't be against his wife working nights.' Startled by this line of reasoning, Masako looked up.
'Why do you say that?' she asked.
'Well, for one thing, you'd be on opposite schedules. How would you have any kind of life together if you were always passing each other on the way out the door? And I guess any man would wonder what his wife was doing, up and about in the middle of the night. It seems to me that a day job would be much better for everyone involved.' Masako took a deep breath. She gathered that Imai suspected Yayoi of getting up to something with other men probably par for the course for a detective's imagination.
'In Yayoi's case,' she said, 'she'd already been fired from a day job because of the children. The way she explained it to me, she didn't have any other options.'
'That's what she told us, too. But I still don't see how a night job could be worth it.'
'It isn't,' Masako said, interrupting his train of thought. His persistence got on her nerves. 'The one good thing about it is that it pays twenty-five per cent more than the day shift.'
'I don't see how that could be enough to make a difference,' he said.
'Maybe not. But if you had the choice of spending three hours less on the job for the same pay, it might make sense.'
'I see your point,' he said, though it was obvious he didn't.
'I suppose it's hard to understand if you've never had a parttime job.'
'Not many men do,' he said, failing to see the irony in this admission.
'If you did, I think you'd see that it's only natural to want to make a little extra pay for a little less work.'
'Even if it means living your life out of sync with the rest of the world?'
'Even then.'
'Okay, then perhaps you could tell me why Yamamoto-san in particular was willing to put up with this kind of life.'
'I suppose she needed the money,' said Masako.
'Couldn't they get by on what her husband made?'
'I don't really know, but I assume they couldn't.'
'Wasn't it really because her husband was fooling around? Wasn't she doing it to get back at him, and because she wanted to avoid having to see him?'
'I wouldn't know about that,' said Masako. 'She never said anything about her husband, and as far as I know, it would've been a luxury she couldn't afford.'
'Luxury?'
'You said she was doing it to get back at him, but from what I could see she was too busy with those kids and her job to bother about anything as frivolous as revenge.'
Imai nodded. 'I'm sorry - I spoke out of turn. It's just that we've learned that her husband had used up all their savings.'
'Really?' said Masako, making an effort to look as though she were hearing this for the first time. 'Doing what?'
'As far as we can tell, he was a regular at a hostess club and he played baccarat almost every night... . So I'll get to the point here. We've been told that you're Yamamoto-san's closest friend at the factory, so I need to ask you what you know about the couple's relationship.'
'I don't know much at all. She hardly ever talked about it.'
'But don't women usually tell one another this kind of thing?' he said, eyeing her doubtfully.
'I suppose some women do,' Masako said. 'But Yayoi isn't that type.'
'I see. That's to her credit. But her neighbours tell us they often heard them arguing.'
'Is that so? I'm afraid I don't know anything about it.' She suddenly wondered whether Imai already knew that she'd been at Yayoi's house that night, and she glanced at him nervously. He looked back calmly, as if still trying to size her up.
'As far as we can tell, he'd been playing around a lot lately and they weren't getting along. At least that's what his colleagues at work told us. It seems he'd been complaining about her to them, saying that she flew off the handle so easily that he tried to avoid getting home until after she'd left for work. Yet his wife insists that he'd never been late until the night he disappeared. Odd, isn't it? Why would she need to lie about something like that? Did she ever mention it to you?'
'Never,' Masako said, shaking her head. 'Then you think she might be involved?' she fired back.
'Not at all!' Imai insisted, fluttering his hands. 'It's just that I've been trying to think of things from her point of view. Here she is, slaving away on the night shift while her husband is out throwing away their hard-earned money on women and cards, stumbling home every night drunk. It's like she'd been bailing out a sinking ship only to find out that he'd been pumping water in. She must have felt pretty helpless. Most men would have refused to let their wives work at night, but he seemed to encourage it. I can't help thinking there must have been some bad blood there somewhere.'
'I see what you mean, but Yayoi never said anything about it to me.' It struck her as almost comic how perfectly he had reconstructed the situation.
'So you'd have to say that she's just incredibly long-suffering.'
'You'd have to, yes,' she agreed.
'Katori-san,' he said, looking up from his notes. 'When a woman's put in that kind of position, would she go looking for a lover?'
'I suppose some women would. But not Yayoi, she's not the type.'
'Then she wasn't involved with someone at the factory?'
'No, I'm quite sure she wasn't,' Masako said flatly, realising that this was what Imai had wanted to ask her from the beginning.
'Someone not at the factory then?'
'I don't know,' she said. Imai hesitated for a moment before continuing.
'The fact is, I've found out that five men were off from work that night. Is any of them particularly friendly with Yamamotosan?' He turned his notebook so she could see, and her heart started pounding at the sight of Kazuo Miyamori's name at the end of the list. She shook her head gravely.
'No, none of them,' she said. 'Yayoi isn't like that.'
'I see '
'In other words,' she interrupted, 'you think Yayoi had a lover and he murdered her husband?'
'No, no!' Imai said, frowning in embarrassment. 'Not at all. I didn't mean to imply . . .' And yet it was clear that that was the scenario he probably had in mind. Yayoi must have had an accomplice, a man, who'd helped her kill Kenji and dispose of the body.
'Yayoi was a good wife, and she's a good mother. I can't think of any other way to describe her.' As she was saying it, Masako realised that she really believed it to be the case; and it was exactly because she had been such a model wife that the discovery of Kenji's betrayal had set her off, had driven her to kill him. If only she'd had a lover, perhaps none of this would ever have happened. In that sense, Imai's theory seemed completely off the mark.
'I'm sure you're right,' he said, though he went on flipping through his notes, apparently reluctant to abandon his theory. Masako went to the refrigerator and got a pitcher of cold barley tea, and poured out a glass for him. As he drained it in large gulps, the sight of his bobbing Adam's apple reminded her of Nobuki's and Kenji's, too. She watched a moment longer, almost in a trance, then slowly turned away. 'I'm sorry,' Imai said when he'd finished drinking, 'but I have to ask, just as a formality. Could you tell me what you were doing last Wednesday from the early morning until about midday?' He set his glass down on the table and cleared his throat as he looked up at her.
'I went to work as usual. I saw Yayoi there. And when I was done, I came home about the same time as always.'
'But you got to work later than usual that night,' he said, glancing at his notes. He'd noticed that she'd punched in at the last po
ssible moment. The care he'd taken with his research surprised her, but she tried not to let it show.
'I guess that's right,' she said, nodding. 'I remember that the traffic was bad.'
'Is that so?' he said. 'So you drive from here to Musashi Murayama? In the Corolla parked outside?' He gestured toward the door with his pen.
'That's right,' she said.
'Does anyone else drive that car?' he asked.
'No, not usually.' She'd cleaned the trunk as carefully as she could, but if they really started snooping around there's no telling what they'd turn up. She lit a cigarette to hide her anxiety. Fortunately, her hand didn't tremble.
'And what did you do after work?' he asked.
'I got home before 6.00 and got breakfast ready for my husband and son. After we ate, they left for work and I did the laundry and cleaning. A little after 9.00, I went to bed. That's pretty much the standard routine.'
'Did you talk to Yamamoto-san that morning?'
'No, not after we said goodbye at the factory.'
At that moment , an unexpected voice broke into their conversation: 'Didn't she call that night?' Startled, Masako turned and found her son standing in the doorway. Her jaw dropped when she realised he had just spoken to her. He hadn't come out of his room this morning, and she'd completely forgotten he was in the house.
'And who's this?' Imai asked quite calmly.
'My son,' Masako murmured. Imai bowed slightly in Nobuki's direction and then looked curiously back and forth between mother and son.
'About what time did she call?' he asked.
Masako stared at Nobuki without answering. It had been more than a year since she'd heard her son's voice, and now he was suddenly speaking up about that phone call. She could only assume that it was some form of revenge - but what had she done to deserve it?
'Katori-san,' Imai repeated. 'What time was it?'
'I'm sorry,' she said, coming back to earth. 'It's been a long time since I've heard him say anything.' At the prospect of becoming the topic of conversation, Nobuki frowned and turned to go.
'What were you saying?' Imai called after him.
'Nothing!' Nobuki yelled, slamming the living-room door behind him and dashing out of the house.
'I'm sorry,' Masako said again, adopting the tone of a worried parent. 'He's been giving us the silent treatment ever since he dropped out of high school.'
'It's a tough age,' Imai said. 'I used to work in the Juvenile Division, so I've seen it all.'
'I almost fainted when I heard him speak.'
'Maybe it was the shock of hearing about the murder that snapped him out of it.' He sounded sympathetic, but he was obviously keen to get back to his question.
'She did call,' Masako told him. 'On Tuesday night, I think.'
'Tuesday. That would be the twentieth. About what time?' He'd perked up now. Masako appeared to think for a moment.
'Just after 11.00. She said her husband hadn't come home yet and she didn't know what to do. I think I told her to go to work and try not to worry.'
'But hadn't this sort of thing happened before? Why would she have picked that particular night to call you?'
'I'd never heard anything about it happening before. She'd always said that he got home by 11.30. That night her son seemed to be having trouble settling down and she was worried.'
'Why was that?'
'She said he was upset because the cat had disappeared.' Masako said the first thing that came into her head, noting that she would have to make sure later that her story agreed with Yayoi's. At least the part about the cat was true.
'I see,' Imai said, still sounding dubious. At that moment the buzzer on the washing machine went off, announcing the end of the cycle. 'What's that?' he asked.
'The washing machine.'
'Oh? Would you mind if I had a look at your bathroom?' he said, standing up. Masako felt a chill run down her spine but nodded and smiled weakly.
'No, go ahead.'
'We're thinking about remodelling,' he said, 'and I'm trying to see how other people have their bathrooms set up.'
'Come have a look then,' she said, leading him toward the back of the house. He followed, glancing around as he went.
'This is nice. How long have you been here?'
'About three years now,' she told him, opening the door to the bathroom.
'This is great,' he said, craning his neck to look around. 'It's really spacious.' Masako decided he was probably considering the possibility that Kenji's body had been cut up here. Warning lights began to flash.
The tour of the bathroom finished, Imai was slipping into his shapeless shoes when he turned back toward her. 'Is your son usually at home?' he asked. Though Nobuki kept very regular hours at his job, Masako decided to risk a small lie.
'Sometimes in, sometimes out. He does as he pleases.'
'I see.' Imai sounded slightly disappointed. He thanked her politely and left without another word.
As soon as he was gone, Masako went up to Nobuki's room. From his window, she could see the street out in front. She peeked through the curtains and saw Imai studying her house from the empty lot across the street. But it wasn't the house itself he was looking at; it was her car.
-
When she was sure he wasn't around, Masako phoned Yayoi for the first time since the story had come out in the paper.
'Hello,' said a quiet voice. Masako was relieved it was Yayoi herself who answered.
'It's me. Can you talk?'
'Masako!' she cried in obvious delight. 'Yes, there's nobody here.'
'I'd have thought his family or your mother would still be there.'
'My mother-in-law's at the police station, and Kenji's brother had to go home. My mother's out doing the grocery shopping.' Masako could tell from her voice that she was feeling more relaxed now that her parents were there to take care of her.
'Are the police snooping around?'
'They haven't been here much in the last few days.' She sounded almost cheerful, as if she were talking about someone else's problems. 'They found Kenji's jacket at a casino in Kabuki-cho and they're busy with that.' A ray of sunshine, Masako thought with some relief, but the news made her all the more wary of the detective who had paid her a visit.
'Watch out for the one named Imai,' she said.
'The tall one? I will. But he seems nice enough.'
'Nice?' Masako said, dismayed that she could be so naive. 'There's no such thing as a nice detective.'
'But they're all pretty sympathetic.'
Could she really be so dense, Masako wondered, almost angry now.
'They found out you called me that night,' she said. 'I told them you said your son was upset because the cat had disappeared.'
'You're good,' said Yayoi, giggling quietly. Masako could feel gooseflesh rising on her arms as she realised there was no trace of guilt in her voice at all.
'Make sure you tell them the same thing.'
'Don't worry. You know, I've got a feeling this is all going to work out.'
'Don't get overconfident,' Masako told her.
'I won't By the way, a reporter from one of the talk shows is coming the day after tomorrow.'
'This soon after the funeral?'
'I told them I didn't want to be on, but they kept pushing.'
'It's asking for trouble,' said Masako. 'Tell them you changed your mind. You don't know who'll be watching.'
'I don't want to do it. It was my mother who answered the phone, and they talked her into it. They said it wouldn't last more than a couple of minutes.'
Masako wound up the conversation quickly, feeling suddenly depressed. It occurred to her that it would have been better to have Yayoi help get rid of the body. She seemed to be forgetting that she was the killer. Still, maybe this lack of any sense of her own guilt made her able to cope better with the suspicion. But what depressed Masako more was remembering the way Nobuki had betrayed her. The first time he'd opened his mouth in over a year - and it was
to the police ... ! She knew he was punishing her for having let him keep his distance, but did she really deserve it? In her own mind at least, she'd been doing all she could, both at work and at home; and how did her son repay her? By stabbing her in the back. A wail of misery rose in her throat, and she shut her eyes tight, digging her fingers into the upholstery of the sofa to keep from crying out loud.
Once, a while ago, she'd compared her career at the credit union to an empty, spinning washing machine, but now she realised it had probably been much the same at home. If that were the case, then what had been the point of her life? Why had she worked all these years? What had she been doing? It made her want to howl when she saw what she'd become - a lost, worn-out woman. That was why she'd chosen the night shift. She could sleep away the day and work at night, keep herself moving, tire herself out, and give herself no time to think. But this life at odds with her family had only increased the unhappiness and the anger. And now they couldn't help her, not Yoshiki, not Nobuki, not anyone.
She could see now why she'd crossed over the line. She hadn't understood that she'd sought this other world out of despair. That was her motive for helping Yayoi. But what had been waiting for her on the other side? Nothing. She stared down at her white hands still gripping the sofa. If they came now and arrested her, they'd never be able to find out why she'd done it; they'd find no trace of what had spurred her on. She could hear the sound of doors closing behind her, leaving her utterly alone.
5
Imai mopped the sweat from his face as he walked along the narrow street. It had probably once been a path between rice fields, but now it was lined with small, ageing houses that had been left behind as the rest of the area was developed. By the looks of the badly dented tin roofs, the splintering wood of the doors, and the rusty gutters, Imai guessed the houses had been built more than thirty years ago. They looked flimsy and unsafe, as if a single match would send them all up in flames.
Kinugasa, the detective from Central Investigation, was convinced that Kenji Yamamoto had been killed by the man whose casino Yamamoto had visited the night he disappeared, and who was now locked up in the Shinjuku station. But Imai disagreed and was continuing the investigation here on his own. The discovery that the club owner had a prior record sent Kinugasa running off to Kabuki-cho, but something still drew Imai back to the wife, Yayoi Yamamoto. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something - gut instinct, maybe - made him think that she held the key to the case.
Out Page 26
