Salvation of a Saint (12 page)

Utsumi watched the professor’s face while he talked. Kusanagi had said that the man they called ‘Detective Galileo’ had always been very helpful when it came to working on a case. But something to do with one particular investigation had caused a rift between the detective and the physicist. Since then, the two had grown apart, though no one had told her any of the details.

‘It would be difficult to explain the need for secrecy without describing the case.’

‘Unlikely. Tell me, when you go out questioning people, do you describe the whole case to everyone you question? Just use whatever streamlining techniques you would use then. And please be quick about it. The more time we waste, the more likely it is that one of my students will return.’

Utsumi didn’t like the professor’s acerbic tone, and it almost showed on her face. She was struck with an irrational desire to ruffle the cool physicist’s feathers.

‘Something wrong?’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Don’t feel like talking?’

‘That’s not it.’

‘Then, swiftness is your ally. I’m really short on time here.’

‘Right,’ Utsumi said, gathering herself. ‘Detective Kus -anagi …’ she began, staring Yukawa in the eye, ‘… is in love.’

‘Huh?’ The cool light in Yukawa’s eyes faded and his focus softened, so that he looked like a little lost boy for a brief moment until he looked back up at Utsumi. ‘Did you just say “love”?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Detective Kusanagi is in it.’

Yukawa leaned back, straightening his glasses. When he again returned his gaze to Utsumi, there was wariness in his eyes. ‘With whom?’

‘Our suspect,’ Utsumi replied. ‘He’s in love with the suspect in our current case, which is affecting his view of certain details. That’s why I didn’t want him to know I was coming here.’

‘So he’s not expecting me to offer you any advice about the case?’

‘Not in the least.’ Utsumi nodded.

Yukawa crossed his arms and let his eyelids fall shut. He leaned back in his chair, breathing out a long breath. ‘I think I underestimated you. In fact, I was ready to refuse as soon as you’d said whatever it was you were going to say, but this … was unexpected. Love, is it? You sure we’re talking about the same Detective Kusanagi?’

‘Can I tell you about the case?’ Utsumi said, tasting victory.

‘First, we drink coffee. I need to let things settle a bit before I can focus.’

Yukawa stood and poured coffee into two mugs.

‘This is perfect, actually,’ Utsumi said as he handed her one of the mugs.

‘What is?’

‘This coffee. You see, the case begins with a cup of coffee.’

‘“From a cup of coffee what dreams may bloom …” There was a song about that once. So, what’s your story?’ Yukawa sat back in his chair, sipping from his mug.

Utsumi proceeded to tell him everything she knew about the Yoshitaka Mashiba murder, in chronological order. Officially they weren’t permitted to divulge the details of the case outside of Division, but Kusanagi once told her it was the only way to get Yukawa’s assistance. More importantly, Utsumi trusted him.

Yukawa drank his coffee and stared down into the empty mug while she finished talking.

‘So your point is: you suspect the wife, and Kusanagi doesn’t, but since he’s in love with her, his judgment is flawed.’

‘I might’ve been overstating it when I said “love”. I was just trying to get your attention. However, it’s true that Detective Kusanagi holds a special affection for the wife. He acts strangely when he’s around her, or talking about her.’

‘I won’t ask how it is that you’re so certain. I’m a great believer in female intuition about such things.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

Yukawa furrowed his brow and placed his coffee mug on the desk. ‘Still, just listening to your story, it doesn’t sound as though Kusanagi’s thinking about the case is all that off the mark. Ayane Mashiba, was it? Her alibi sounds perfect.’

‘If the murder weapon were something direct, like a knife
or a gun, I would agree. But this is a poisoning, and it’s possible to commit the act before the actual murder happens.’

‘So you want me to figure out how she did it?’

Utsumi waited in silence.

A knowing smile spread on the physicist’s lips. ‘Perhaps you’ve got the wrong impression somewhere along the line, but physics is not magic.’

‘But you’ve solved plenty of cases before now involving tricks that seemed like magic.’

‘Criminal tricks are different from magic tricks. Do you know what the difference is?’ He waited for Utsumi to shake her head before continuing: ‘They both contain a secret, but the fate of that secret is not the same. With a magic trick, as soon as the show is over, the opportunity for the audience to perceive the secret is gone. However, with a criminal trick, investigators can pore over every detail of the crime scene until they’re satisfied. If a trick was used, some trace always remains. The most difficult thing when committing a crime is to perfectly cover one’s tracks, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘What if the tracks
were
covered?’

‘Going on what you’ve told me, I would have to say that the possibility is extremely low. What was the other girl’s name again, the lover?’

‘Hiromi Wakayama.’

‘She’s testified that she drank coffee with the victim, correct? Not only that, but she made the coffee. If the coffee
had already been poisoned, why didn’t it kill both of them? That’s the biggest mystery here. I liked your conjecture about the magic powder that makes coffee taste better – in other words, setting the victim up to poison himself. That sort of thing makes for an excellent murder mystery, but it’s not a method a real criminal would choose.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Imagine that you were the guilty party. What if you gave him the poison and he used it somewhere outside the house? What if he went over to a friend’s place and told them about this great powder his wife had given him, and they drank it together?’

Utsumi bit her lip. He had a point. Worse, she realized she had been clinging to the theory as a real possibility.

‘If the wife was indeed the murderer, there would be at least three hurdles for her to clear,’ Yukawa said, holding up three fingers. ‘One, no one must notice or have reason to believe that the poison had been placed before it was ingested. Otherwise, there’d be no point in constructing an alibi. Two, she would have to be sure that it was Mr Mashiba who took the poison. She might not mind getting the lover, too, as collateral damage, but she would have to be sure to also get her mark. Third, the whole plan would have to be something easily prepared in a short amount of time. There was a dinner party at their house the night before she left for Hokkaido, correct? If she’d placed the poison before then, there’d be too much danger of someone else taking it. I think she would’ve placed it afterwards.’ He raised his
hands. ‘And I can’t think of how anyone would be able to do that. Sorry.’

‘Are those hurdles all that difficult?’

‘They seem pretty difficult to me. The first, in particular. I think it makes far more sense to assume that the guilty party is not the wife.’

Utsumi sighed. If the physicist, the so-called Detective Galileo himself, was telling her it was impossible, then maybe it was.

Her mobile rang. She picked up, watching Yukawa refill his coffee mug out of the corner of her eye.

‘Where are you?’ It was Kusanagi. There was a roughness in his voice.

‘Asking questions at a pharmacy. I was told to investigate possible routes for obtaining arsenous acid. Is something wrong?’

‘Forensics came through. They found poison somewhere other than the coffee.’

Utsumi gripped her phone tighter. ‘Where?’

‘The hot water kettle on the stove.’

‘The kettle? Really?’

‘Just a trace amount, but it was definitely there. I’m going to be taking Hiromi Wakayama in for questioning.’

‘Her? Why?’

‘Her prints were on the kettle.’

‘Of course they were. She made coffee on Sunday morning.’

‘Which means she had the opportunity to put poison in it.’

‘Were hers the only fingerprints they found?’

‘No, the victim’s were on there, too.’

‘What about the wife’s fingerprints?’

She heard a deep sigh on the other side of the line. ‘Of course they were, she lives there. But she wasn’t the last one who touched it. They can tell by the way that the fingerprints overlap. Also, there was no indication that anyone had touched it wearing gloves.’

‘I understand that glove marks don’t always remain.’

‘I know that. But look at the circumstantial evidence as a whole: no one but Ms Wakayama could have put the poison in. We’re going to be questioning her down at Division, and I want you there. Now.’

He hung up before she could answer.

‘Sounds like a development,’ Yukawa said, standing while he drank.

Utsumi related to him what Kusanagi had told her. He listened, lips on his mug, not even nodding while she spoke.

‘The kettle? Really?’

‘That’s what I said. Maybe I have been thinking too much. On Sunday morning, Hiromi Wakayama used the same kettle to put on coffee, and drank it with the victim. That has to mean that there was no poison in the kettle at that point. Ayane Mashiba couldn’t have done it.’

‘Why not go a little further and say that there was no reason for the wife to put poison in the kettle? There’s no trick to that at all.’

Utsumi cocked her head, unsure of what he was saying.

‘Just now, you admitted that it couldn’t have been the wife,’ he explained. ‘But you can only say that because there was someone who used the kettle – without dying – after she left, but before the crime was committed. What if no one else had used the kettle? Then the police would have gone straight to the wife as the most obvious suspect. Surely she would have known that, so why would she go out of her way to make an alibi at all? It wouldn’t have held up.’

‘Oh. That’s true,’ Utsumi said, her head drooping, her arms folded across her chest. ‘Either way, this removes Ayane Mashiba from the list of suspects, doesn’t it?’

Yukawa didn’t answer. He was staring at her.

After a moment, he said: ‘So, where does this leave you? If the wife wasn’t the murderer, are you going to join Kusanagi in suspecting the lover?’

She shook her head. ‘No. I don’t think so.’

‘Such confidence. Mind telling me why? Please don’t tell me you don’t think she could kill the man she loved.’ Yukawa sat in his chair and crossed his legs.

Utsumi panicked – she had been about to say that very thing. Other than that, she couldn’t think of any reason why it hadn’t been Hiromi Wakayama.

But the more she stood there, looking at Yukawa, the more she started to believe that maybe
he
didn’t think it was Hiromi Wakayama, either, and that
he
had some reason why he thought she was innocent. The only details he knew
about the case were what she’d just told him. So somewhere in there had to be a hint that it wasn’t the young apprentice who put the poison in the kettle.

With a little gasp, she looked up.

‘Something on your mind?’

‘She would’ve washed the kettle!’

‘Oh?’

‘If she put the poison in the kettle, she would have washed it before the police came. She was the one who discovered the body, after all. She had plenty of time!’

Yukawa nodded, a satisfied look on his face.

‘Precisely. We might add that, were she the murderer, she wouldn’t have just washed the kettle, but also disposed of the old coffee grounds and the paper filter. Then, if I were she, I would have placed a little baggie of poison next to the body. To make it look like a suicide.’

Utsumi gave a little bow with her head. ‘I’m glad I came. Thank you.’

She turned and started walking towards the door when Yukawa called out, ‘Oh, Detective.’ She stopped.

‘I’m guessing I won’t be able to view the crime scene, but if you had some photos …’

‘Photos of what?’

‘The kitchen where the coffee was poisoned, for starters. And a picture of the cutlery and kettle in evidence.’

Utsumi’s eyes widened. ‘You’re going to help?’

Yukawa frowned and gave his head a scratch. ‘I might think about it a bit, in my spare time. I’m curious to know
how someone in Hokkaido was able to poison someone in Tokyo, a thousand kilometres away.’

Utsumi grinned despite herself. Reaching into her shoulder bag, she produced a folder. ‘Here.’

‘What’s this?’

‘The photos you asked for. I took these this morning.’

Yukawa opened the file and pulled back a little.

‘If we figure out how she did it,’ he said with a grin, ‘we can serve Detective Kusanagi a lethal dose of humble pie.’

When Kusanagi called Hiromi Wakayama, she was in Ayane Mashiba’s patchwork classroom. He jumped in the car with Kishitani behind the wheel and they headed for the school. The place was a white apartment building with tiled walls, nestled in amidst a row of trendy stores. There was no lock on the building’s main door, unusual for that area. They took the elevator up to the third floor, where a sign on room 305 read ‘Anne’s House’.

Kusanagi pressed the doorbell and, almost immediately, the door opened. Hiromi looked out, a worried expression on her face.

‘Sorry to barge in like this,’ Kusanagi said, stepping inside. He squared his shoulders. ‘Actually …’ The words died on his lips. Ayane Mashiba was behind Hiromi, seated in the centre of the room.

‘Did you find anything out?’ Ayane got up and came towards the detectives.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Mashiba, I didn’t know you were here, too.’

‘Hiromi was helping me make some decisions about what to do now. Did you need her for something? I’m sure she’s told you everything she knows.’

Her voice was low and calm, but it held a definite tone of irritation directed towards Kusanagi. Her eyes fell on him, and the sorrow in them made him shrink back.

‘Actually, there’s been a slight development in the case,’ Kusanagi said, turning towards Hiromi. ‘I’d like you to come with us back to the station.’

Hiromi’s eyes opened wide and she blinked several times.