Malice (20 page)

Hidaka was in high spirits when I handed him the disk. I let him rattle on about his new place in Vancouver before asking, “You'll be giving me my things back today, right?”

“What things?” Even though there was no way he'd forgotten, it wasn't in Hidaka's nature to make anything easy.

“My notebooks. You know the ones.”

“Notebooks?” He made a show of not understanding, then said, “Ah, I remember. Sorry. It's been a while since I looked at them.”

He opened up the drawer to his desk and pulled out eight spiral-bound notebooks.

I clutched the prodigal notebooks to my chest. This, I thought, made us even. Now I would be able to prove his plagiarism.

“You look happy,” he said.

“I guess I am.”

“Great. Though I wonder—why do you want those notebooks back so badly?”

“Isn't it obvious? These prove that those books you wrote were based on my stories.”

“See, that's the thing.” He smiled again. “Couldn't someone interpret it the other way around? What if you read the books I published, and then wrote your versions in those notebooks based on them?”

“What?” A shiver ran down my spine. “Is that how you'd try to spin it?”

Hidaka looked surprised. “Why would I have to explain myself to anyone? I suppose, if you were to show those to a third party, I might have to say a few words in my own defense. It would be up to that third party to decide whom to believe. Not that I want to argue with you about this now, but I want you to understand that having those notebooks doesn't give you an advantage over me—not in the slightest.”

“Hidaka”—I glared at him—“I'm not your ghostwriter anymore—”

“I know, I know.
The Gates of Ice
is the last one. That's fine.”

“So what's this all about then?”

“Nothing. Just remember: there hasn't been any change in where things stand between us.”

When I saw the cold smile on his face, I understood. He had no intention of ever letting me go. When the time came that he needed me, he would use me again.

“Where's the tape and the knife?” I asked.

“What tape and knife?”

“Don't play the fool. You know what I'm talking about.”

“Oh those. I have them in a safe place. Only I know where.”

At that moment, a knock came at the door. Rie poked her head in and told us that Miyako Fujio was there.

I think Hidaka agreed to see her because he wanted an excuse to shoo me out of his office.

Concealing my anger, I said good-bye to Rie and left the house. She saw me only as far as the door, as Detective Kaga so astutely figured out.

Once outside, I went around to the garden and over to Hidaka's office window. Then I hid beneath the window and listened while he spoke to Miyako Fujio. As I expected, he was vague and noncommittal in response to her complaints. Of course, considering that the novel she had a problem with,
Forbidden Hunting Grounds,
was one I'd written, there wasn't much of substance he could say about it.

Eventually, Fujio departed, obviously irritated. Rie left for the hotel immediately afterward, and Hidaka stepped out of his office, apparently to go to the bathroom.

Thinking that this was my chance, I made up my mind to go after him—to end it once and for all. If I didn't act immediately, I might never be free from Hidaka's clutches.

It was my good fortune that the window was unlocked. Sneaking in, I waited behind the open door, the brass paperweight clutched in my fist.

I don't need to describe what happened next in detail. Suffice it to say, as soon as he walked in, I hit him in the back of the head as hard as I could. He crumpled to the floor. I then strangled him with the phone cord, just to be sure.

What happened from there was just as Detective Kaga surmised. I created an alibi using Hidaka's computer. The trick I used was one I'd thought up while plotting out a young-adult mystery novel. Yes, that's right—it was a trick intended to fool children. Go ahead and laugh if you like.

Still, I prayed that it would be good enough to eliminate me as a suspect. I prayed that my earlier attempt to murder Hidaka wouldn't come to light. That's why I asked Rie to let me know when Hidaka's videotapes were returned from Canada.

Yet Detective Kaga was efficient in uncovering all of my secrets. His keen powers of deduction are impressive, as much as I might loathe them. Not that the detective is in any way to blame.

As I wrote at the beginning of this confession, I was startled to find that the tape bearing the evidence of my folly had been kept in a hollowed-out copy of
Sea Ghost
.
Sea Ghost
is one of the few novels Hidaka wrote himself, and as I'm sure the reader of this account is aware, the scene within the novel describing an attempt on the main character's life by his wife and her lover was based on actual events. I believe that the image of me coming in through the window was the clue that guided Detective Kaga to the truth. Even in death, Hidaka persevered in his efforts to destroy me, and finally he's succeeded.

Now I've said all there is to say. I'm afraid I concealed my motive because I wanted to hide the truth about Hatsumi. I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused, but I hope this account helps you understand how I felt.

I am prepared to accept whatever punishment I am due.

 

6

THE PAST (PART ONE)

KYOICHIRO KAGA'S NOTES

 

May 14

Today, I visited the middle school where Nonoguchi taught until recently. Classes had just let out, and the front gates were thronged with students on their way home. Out on the sports field, a few kids were raking the track.

I checked in at the front office and asked if I could speak with any instructors who'd been close to Mr. Nonoguchi. The woman in the office went to talk to another teacher before both of them went back to the teacher's office. The wait was annoying, but I remembered that this was the way things typically worked at public schools. After a wait of almost twenty minutes, they finally brought me to a meeting room.

I met with the school headmaster, a man named Eto, and another man, Fujiwara, who taught composition. I assumed that the headmaster was there to make sure that Fujiwara toed the school-board party line.

I first asked the two men whether they'd heard about Kunihiko Hidaka's murder. They had and, in fact, knew quite a bit of detail. They told me that they knew Nonoguchi had been Hidaka's ghostwriter and had heard that his resentment over this was Nonoguchi's motive for killing him. I got the distinct impression they were eager to hear even more gritty details from me.

I asked if they'd ever noticed anything out of the ordinary during the time that Nonoguchi had been working as a ghostwriter.

After a moment's hesitation, Fujiwara said, “I knew he was writing novels. I'd even read some of his stuff in a children's magazine. But, no, I had no idea he was a ghostwriter. Especially not for a famous author like Hidaka.”

“Did you ever witness Mr. Nonoguchi writing anything?”

“No. He kept to his teaching duties while he was at school, so I think he was writing at home, after work, or on the weekends.”

“Would you say his teaching load was light enough for him to be able to do that?”

“Well, I wouldn't say that his load at school was particularly light. But he was very clever at getting out of any extracurricular activities at school, and he did go home early every day. Particularly beginning in the fall of last year. It was, well, that he was in poor health, though we never found out exactly what the problem was. I think everyone let him coast on that a bit. Evidently, he was using that extra time to write Kunihiko Hidaka's novels! Pretty impressive, isn't it?”

“You mentioned that he started going home particularly early starting in the fall of last year. Do you have any physical record of this?”

“We don't use time cards or anything here, so no. But I'm pretty sure that's when it started. The composition teachers have a meeting to touch base every two weeks. Around that time he stopped showing up to those.”

“But he participated normally until that time?”

“Well, he wasn't the most active of participants, but he was there.”

Regarding Osamu Nonoguchi's character:

“He kept to himself, so you'd never really know what he was thinking. I caught him staring out the window more than once. Of course, he must've been really struggling. I don't think he was a bad person, deep down. I think I can understand how, after taking it for years, he just snapped. Not that I'm condoning murder, mind you.” Fujiwara smiled. “I've always enjoyed Hidaka's novels—I read quite a few of them. But knowing that it was really Mr. Nonoguchi who wrote them changes how I think of them.”

I thanked both of the men and left the school. On my way home, I passed by a large stationery shop. I went inside, showed the woman at the register a photograph of Osamu Nonoguchi, and asked whether he'd come in at all over the last year. She said she thought he looked familiar, but she couldn't remember.

May 15

Today, I went to interview Rie Hidaka. For the past week, she's been staying in an apartment in Yokohama. Presumably she moved to get away from what's been happening. She sounded miserable over the phone, and I suspect that, if I'd been a journalist, she would've refused to see me.

We arranged to meet in a café in a shopping center near her apartment. She told me she didn't want to meet me at her apartment or for me to even come by the building. She was afraid somebody would notice.

The café was right next to a boutique holding an annual bargain sale, but it was set off from the main shopping center thoroughfare in such a way that patrons couldn't be seen from the outside. Inside, the café was cluttered with displays and dividers. All of this made it a good place to talk without being seen or overheard. We sat across from each other at a table in the far back.

I first asked her how she was doing.

She gave me a wry smile. “I've been better. Honestly, I can't wait for this circus to end.”

“Whenever there's an investigation it takes a while for things to quiet down.”

She shook her head and said, irritated, “I wonder if anyone out there understands that we're the victims here? They're treating this like some kind of celebrity scandal, and the way they talk about it, it's as though my husband was the bad guy.”

It was true. The entertainment news shows on television and the weekly magazines were talking more about Kunihiko Hidaka's plagiarism than his murder. With his former wife's adultery added into the mix, tabloids that didn't normally bother with novelists had jumped all over the story.

“You have to just ignore it,” I said.

“I've been trying, believe me. If I didn't, I'd lose my mind. Unfortunately, it's not just the media that's the problem.”

“Has something happened?”

“Not something, many things. There are the phone calls, and all the letters. Hostile, threatening ones from random people. I don't know how they found their address and phone number, but they're now calling and sending them to my parents' house. I suppose they learned from the news that I'm not staying at our old house anymore.”

“Have you reported all this to the police?”

“I have. We all have. But it's not something the police can do much about, is it?”

She was right, though I wasn't inclined to admit it. “What are they saying—the letters, I mean?”

“Oh, lots of things. Some people want me to return all of the royalties his books have earned, and others are just mad, feeling that my husband betrayed them. We've had people send boxes filled with his novels. And there are a lot of letters demanding that we return all the awards he won.”

In my opinion, the majority of these people weren't actually fans of her late husband's or even lovers of literature. Many of them, I felt sure, hadn't even heard the name Kunihiko Hidaka before news of his murder broke. I bet the people harassing her got their kicks off others' unhappiness and always had their eyes out for an opportunity to make someone else miserable. It didn't matter who Rie Hidaka was, let alone that she was the victim.

I told Rie this and she agreed.

“Ironically enough, my husband's books still seem to be selling very well. I guess it's mostly morbid curiosity at this point.”

I'd heard that Hidaka's book sales were up. However, the only copies of his books on the market were the ones already on bookstore shelves. His various publishers had all issued statements that they wouldn't reprint his books. I assumed the editor who had once refuted the ghostwriter theory had wisely decided to remain publicly silent on the matter.

Then Rie related a bit of surprising news, though she said it casually. “I also got a legal letter from Mr. Nonoguchi's relatives.”

“What did it say?”

“They were demanding the profits from my husband's books. They felt they had a right to at least the advances paid for any book based on Mr. Nonoguchi's work. Their representative was Nonoguchi's uncle.”

Mr. Nonoguchi was an only child, and both his parents had already died. His uncle was probably the closest living relative. Still, it was an astonishing request to make of the widow on behalf of the man who killed her husband.
It really does take all kinds,
I thought. “How did you reply?”

“I told them my lawyer would contact them.”

“Good move.”

“Honestly, I'm amazed by all of this. I've never heard of anyone demanding money from the estate of a murder victim!”

“It's an unusual case, and I'm not clear on the legal intricacies myself. Though I'd be very surprised if you had to pay anything.”

“As would I. But the money isn't the problem. I can't stand it that everyone seems to think it was my husband's own fault he was killed. And Mr. Nonoguchi's uncle didn't seem one bit sorry.”