He stopped in the middle of the street and took out his notebook. As he flipped through the pages, he ran over the facts in his head. A group of schoolchildren, their heads still wet from the pool, stared curiously at him as they passed.
Suppose Mrs Yamamoto had killed her husband. The neighbours said they fought constantly, so she seemed to have sufficient motive. Anyone was capable of murder in a fit of passion. Still, she was on the small side, even for a woman, and it would have been difficult for her to do it unless he was sleeping or drunk. But they knew he'd left the casino in Shinkuku by about 10.00 p.m., and even if he'd come straight home, it would have taken him more than an hour and the effects of any alcohol he'd drunk would have worn off a bit. If they'd had a fight that was bad enough to end in murder, the neighbours should have heard something, or the kids. And they had no witness who could place the victim either on the train or at the station — as if he'd just vanished after leaving Shinjuku.
Still, for the sake of argument, suppose the wife had managed to kill him and had gone off to her job as though nothing had happened. Then, who had gone to work on the body? The bathroom at the victim's house was too small, and the crime lab hadn't turned up anything. So, let's assume some of her friends at work decided to help her. He knew that women were capable of this; in fact, they seemed to have a certain affinity for it - for the whole dismemberment thing. He'd been doing some checking into the records and had turned up two common features in past incidents involving women and chopped-up bodies. One was that the crimes tended to be unpremeditated, almost haphazard in origin, and the other was that they tended to bring out a feminine solidarity.
When a woman commits an unpremeditated murder, her first problem is what to do with the body. In general, she isn't strong enough to move it by herself, so she's often left with no choice but to cut it up. Men sometimes cut up bodies, too, but they usually do it to conceal the victim's identity or because it gives them some kind of sick thrill; women do it because they can't carry it whole. That was how you knew the crime wasn't premeditated. There was the case of a hairdresser who was murdered in Fukuoka; the woman who did it told the police that after she'd killed her, almost accidentally it seemed, she hadn't been able to move the body, so she'd carved her up and carried off the pieces.
It also seemed that women who had some shared experience tended to become accomplices in this sort of thing out of sympathy for the murderer. He'd found one case where a mother had decided that her daughter had been justified in killing her drunk and violent husband, so she decided to help her cut up and dispose of the body; and in another, two close friends had murdered one of their husbands, chopped him up in little pieces, and tossed them all in a river. The man must have been pretty annoying, since even after they were arrested the women insisted they'd done nothing wrong.
With all the time they spent in the kitchen, no doubt women were more used to dealing with meat and blood. They knew how to handle knives, and what to do with the garbage. And perhaps because they had the experience of childbirth, they seemed to feel more closely connected to the whole process of life and death, which might give them the nerve to go through with it. These were qualifications almost every woman possessed - even his own wife, he laughed to himself.
Then suppose that the woman he'd just interviewed, Masako Katori, had decided to help her friend get rid of the body. He pictured her calm, intelligent face again, and her large bathroom. She had a driver's licence, and she'd had a call from Mrs Yamamoto that evening. Suppose it had been a desperate call for help from a woman who had just killed her husband. Katori had stopped off on her way to work and loaded the body into her car. But the two of them had shown up at the factory as if nothing had happened, as had the rest of their little group, Yoshie Azuma and Kuniko Jonouchi. It all seemed too gutsy, too well planned which shot holes in his theory that the murder itself was unpremeditated.
According to her deposition, Mrs Yamamoto had gone home the next morning and spent the day there, and the neighbours seemed to confirm this. So it was unlikely that she'd had a hand in cutting up the body. Was it possible that Masako Katori had brought the body home and cut it up by herself or, more likely, with the other women in the group? But that left the wife taking it easy at home while the others were going through hell. Why would they have been willing to do something like that for her? It wasn't as if they had a grudge against the man, either. There was no way that a smart woman like Katori would have been prepared to run such a risk.
In this case, there also didn't seem to be much basis for the 'sisterhood' idea that tended to drive these things. Yayoi and Masako didn't have that much in common. First of all, there was a significant difference in their ages, and Yayoi still had small children at home. Then you had their economic circumstances: the Yamamotos were apparently just barely scraping by, but the Katoris, while not exactly rich, seemed quite comfortable - to the point that Imai had questioned Masako's motives for working the night shift. Her husband worked for a first-rate company, and they lived in a brand-new house - nice enough to make Imai himself envious, cramped as his own family was in their city-owned housing. No doubt Masako had problems of her own, especially with her son, but he was almost grown up and would soon be off her hands. Surely they could get along well enough without her salary.... At any rate, there was almost nothing to connect her to Mrs Yamamoto except the job at the factory.
Then maybe the whole thing was about money. He remembered how miffed Katori had been when he'd said he thought it was absurd for women to work at night. She seemed particularly concerned about the difference in salary. It was possible that Yamamoto had promised to pay for her help. She knew she needed an alibi, so she'd asked her friend to take care of the body in return for some sort of pay-off; and she could have made the same offer to Azuma and Jonouchi. But where would Yamamoto get that kind of money? Her husband's life insurance he suddenly remembered hearing she was due to benefit. Had she been planning to use that? Maybe she'd told them about it to get them to go along with the scheme. But then why had they cut up the body? In order to get the insurance money, they needed a positive ID on the victim. Another dead end. And then there was the problem of a motive; his pet theory seemed to run aground on that reef as well. He remembered how shocked Yamamoto had looked when they'd shown her the photos of her husband's body. A look like that wasn't something you could fake. He knew real horror when he saw it - and there was no way she'd cut up the body herself. But no one reported seeing Katori's red Corolla near the Yamamoto house that night, and it hadn't been seen at Koganei Park either. Reluctantly, he found himself giving up on this theory.
That left his fall-back position: that the wife had a lover who was in it with her. She was undeniably good-looking, so it wouldn't be surprising if she'd become involved with another man. But he hadn't been able to turn up any information along this line. He glanced over the places he'd highlighted in his notes, the things that had bothered him during the investigation. First, the fact that the neighbours said the Yamamotos were always quarrelling. Then, their finding that the couple no longer shared a bedroom. Followed by the fact that the older boy had originally said that he'd heard his father come home that night (though his mother insisted it was just a dream). And finally there was the cat, which had refused to come back into the house after the night in question—
'The cat . . .' he said aloud, suddenly looking around. A brown tabby was watching him warily as it crouched among the evening primroses running riot in the garden of one of the shabby cottages. He stared for a moment at its yellow eyes. What had the Yamamotos' cat seen that night? What had made it so frightened it was no longer willing to set foot in the house? Too bad there was no way to question a cat.
It was still blazing hot. He wiped his face with his wrinkled handkerchief and started walking again. A little further down the road, he found an old-style candy shop. He bought a can of cold oolong tea and drained it on the spot. The owner, a heavy-set man approaching middle age, was watching tele
vision at the back of the shop.
'Would you know where the Azumas live?' Imai asked him. The man pointed toward the house on the corner. 'I understand the husband's no longer alive.'
'That's right,' the man said. 'He died some time back. The widow takes care of his invalid mother, and now she's got a grandchild living there, too. They were in today for some candy.'
'Is that right?' Imai said, wondering whether a woman in such circumstances would have had the energy to get mixed up in something like this. He could feel his theory evaporating like mist on a sunny morning.
-
'Excuse me,' Imai called. As he pulled open the door to the Azuma house, he was assailed by a powerful smell of excrement. From the entrance, he could see all the way through the tiny house. Yoshie Azuma was in the midst of changing an old woman's diaper. 'I'm sorry to bother you,' he said.
'Who is it?' Yoshie called.
'The name's Imai, from the Musashi Yamato police station.'
'A detective? I'm afraid I'm a bit tied up at the moment. Could you come back later?' Imai hesitated but then decided he'd rather not have to make the long, hot walk again.
'Would you mind if I just ask you a few questions while I'm here?'
'Fine with me,' she replied, looking around at him. Her hair was dishevelled and her forehead covered with sweat. 'If you can stand the smell.'
'Don't worry about me,' he told her. 'I'm sorry to catch you at such a bad time.'
'Are you here to ask about Yayoi?'
'I'm told you're close friends.'
'Not particularly close. She's a lot younger.' Yoshie grunted as she hoisted the old woman's legs and began wiping her with toilet paper. Embarrassed, Imai looked down and found himself staring at a pair of tiny shoes decorated with a cartoon character. He glanced into the dark, cramped kitchen to his right and realised that a child was crouching on the floor drinking from a juice carton. The grandchild. Well, this much was certain: the body hadn't been cut up here. He wouldn't need to find an excuse to check out the bath.
'Had you noticed anything odd about Yamamoto-san lately?' he asked.
'I'm sorry, but I don't know anything about that.' She had finished wiping and was putting on a fresh diaper.
'Then perhaps you could tell me what kind of person she is.'
'She's pretty straight, so I'm sure this must have shaken her up.' Imai decided that the quaver in her voice was due to exertion.
'I was told she took a fall at the factory the day before her husband disappeared.'
'You've done your homework,' she said, looking up at him. 'That's right. She slipped on some sauce.'
'Could you say what might have caused the fall? Was she preoccupied about something?'
'I don't think so,' said Yoshie, sounding tired. 'You don't have to be "preoccupied" to slip in a place like that.' She gathered up the soiled diaper and got to her feet. Leaving it at the entrance to the kitchen where the child was still playing, she straightened up and turned to face him. 'Was there something else?'
'What were you doing on Wednesday morning?' he asked abruptly.
'The same thing I'm doing now.'
'All day?'
'All day.'
After making his apologies, Imai fled the house as fast as he could. There was something indecen t in suspecting a woman who spent her nights at work and then came home to that. When he and Kinugasa had questioned her at the factory, her answers had seemed hesitant, almost suspicious, but not today.
So that left the last member of the group, Kuniko Jonouchi, though Imai was beginning to feel discouraged. He stopped in at the candy store for another oolong tea.
'Was she home?' the man there asked.
'She was a bit busy. By the way, did you notice whether Azumasan went out somewhere last Wednesday?'
'Wednesday?' he said, eyeing him suspiciously.
Imai showed him his badge. 'She works with a woman whose husband was the victim in that murder-dismemberment.'
'You're kidding!' the man said, his eyes lighting up. 'Horrible business, that is. Now that you mention it, I did read that she worked at the factory.'
'And Azuma-san? Last Wednesday?'
'She sticks pretty close to home,' said the shopkeeper, clearly curious about why he should be investigating his neighbour. Imai left the store without another word, beginning to feel that he was wasting his time.
-
He stopped for some cold noodles at a restaurant across from Higashi Yamato Station, so it was well after noon when he reached Kuniko Jonouchi's apartment. He pressed the button on the intercom, but no one answered. After ringing several more times, he was just about to give up and head back to the station when a disgruntled woman's voice came crackling over the speaker.
'Who is it?' Imai identified himself and the door opened almost immediately, revealing a sour, groggy face.
'I'm sorry to wake you up,' he said, noting the apprehension that his sudden visit seemed to produce. 'Are you usually asleep at this time of day?' he asked, looking around the apartment.
'Yes,' she said, 'I work nights.'
'Is your husband at work?'
'Uh, yes..., ' Kuniko muttered.
'Where?' Imai asked, sensing that a quick barrage of questions might be effective in this case.
'To tell the truth, he quit his job . . . and moved out.'
'Moved out?' Imai repeated. There was no reason to suspect that this could have anything to do with the Yamamoto business, but his professional curiosity had been aroused. 'Do you mind if I ask why?'
'No particular reason,' she told him. 'We just weren't getting along.' As she fumbled in her bag for a cigarette, he could see her breasts swaying loose under the baggy T-shirt. Apparently, she hadn't bothered to get dressed before she answered the door. Noticing the unmade bed in the apartment beyond her, it occurred to him that most men would find it depressing to live with a woman like this. She'd found her cigarette now and tucked it in the corner of her mouth as she looked up at him.
'I understand that you're friendly with Yamamoto-san, and I wanted to ask you a few questions.'
'Friendly?' she said. 'Not particularly.'
'Really? 1 had the impression that you two and Azuma and Katori-san were kind of a team at the factory.'
'At work, yes, I guess you could say that. But Yayoi's a bit stuckup - I suppose because she's good-looking - and we aren't exactly "friendly".'
'I see,' Imai said, sensing her barely concealed hostility. It was interesting that she apparently felt no sympathy for a woman whose husband had just been murdered - and interesting that both she and Azuma denied being friendly with Yamamoto. Something didn't smell right. Word at the factory was that the four of them worked every shift together and then stayed around to chat afterward. Everything he knew about such cases told him that women in this kind of situation would be more than usually sympathetic. 'Then you don't see much of her outside of work?'
'Not much at all.' Getting to her feet, she went to the refrigerator and filled a glass from a bottle of mineral water. 'Would you like some? It's just tap water.'
'No thanks.' He'd caught a glimpse of the contents of the refrigerator as she pulled out the bottle. There was almost nothing to suggest that a woman kept house here, no groceries, no leftovers, not even a bottle of juice. Didn't she eat here? Come to think of it, the whole set-up was a bit strange. Her clothes and accessories looked expensive, but there wasn't a single book or a CD anywhere to be seen and the apartment itself was as basic as it could be. 'Do you cook at all?' he found himself asking as he glanced at the empty fast-food boxes scattered around the room.
'Can't stand it,' Kuniko said. She twisted her face into an exaggerated grimace, but then made a show of looking embarrassed. A real clown, Imai thought.
'I've got a question or two to ask about the Yamamoto case,' he said. 'I understand you weren't at work Wednesday night, and I was wondering if you could tell me why?'
'Wednesday?' Kuniko gulped, her plump hand going to he
r chest.
'Late Tuesday night to Wednesday morning. Her husband went missing that night and the body was discovered on Friday. I was just curious about why you missed work that night.'
'I believe I had a stomach ache,' she said, sounding a bit rattled. Imai paused for a moment.
'Do you know whether Yamamoto-san had a boyfriend?' he said eventually.
'I doubt it,' she answered with a shrug.
'And how about Katori-san?'
'Masako?' she screeched, apparently startled that he should have mentioned her.
'Yes. Masako Katori.'
'Not likely, not a scary woman like her.'
'You think she's scary?'
'Not scary exactly. . . .' Kuniko fell silent, at a loss for another word. Imai waited, satisfied that she'd meant what she said but a bit puzzled that she found the woman frightening. 'At any rate, I'm thinking of quitting,' she added, changing the subject. 'It's a bit creepy after Yayoi's trouble, almost like the place is jinxed.'
'I can see that,' said Imai, nodding. 'Then you're looking for work?'
'I'm thinking of getting a day job. There's that pervert who's been bothering us and the whole place seems to be going to hell.'
'Pervert?' he said, pulling out his notebook at the prospect of new information. 'At the factory?'
'He's tricky, they haven't been able to catch him.'
'I doubt it's got anything to do with Yamamoto-san's husband, but could you tell me what you know about it?' Imai said, suddenly eager. Kuniko launched into an account of the assaults that had begun in April. As he went on taking notes, Imai thought again how hard it was for these women working nights.
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