Salvation of a Saint (19 page)

‘Hi.’ Kusanagi smiled. ‘Detective Kusanagi with the Metropolitan Police. I’m sorry, your name was?’

‘Hamada.’

‘Thanks for coming out to talk with me. I promise not to take up too much of your time. Please, sit down.’ Kusanagi indicated the chair across from him as he pulled out a photograph of Yoshitaka from inside his jacket. ‘I was wondering if you ever saw this man at your establishment? This pertains to an ongoing investigation, but if he came here, it would have been about two years ago.’

Mrs Hamada took the photo from him and looked at it for a while before shrugging. ‘He looks familiar, but I can’t say for sure. We have a lot of customers here, and I don’t make a habit of staring at them.’

It was the same answer he had got at the other three places.

‘Right. I’m guessing he came here with a woman …’ Kusanagi added, on the off chance that it might help.

She smiled and shrugged again. ‘We have a lot of couples here,’ she said, laying the picture back down on the table.

Kusanagi nodded and smiled again, a little thinly. He wasn’t exactly disappointed – he hadn’t expected much more. But the constant dead ends were getting a little tiresome.

‘Was that all you wanted to know?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

The manager stood and walked away just as the waitress arrived with Kusanagi’s tea. She was about to set it down on the table when she noticed the photograph and her hand stopped.

‘Oh, sorry.’ Kusanagi picked up the picture.

The waitress stood there, cup and saucer still in hand, looking at him. She blinked.

‘Yes?’ Kusanagi prompted her.

‘Is that the customer you came to ask about?’ she asked with apparent reluctance.

Kusanagi’s eyes widened, and he turned the photograph towards her so she could get a better look. ‘You know him?’

‘Yes – only as a customer, though.’

Now the manager returned; she’d been hovering nearby, and she had overheard the conversation. ‘Really?’ she asked the waitress. ‘You know him?’

‘I’m pretty sure it’s him,’ the waitress said. ‘He came in several times.’ Though there was still some hesitation in her voice, the girl seemed confident in her memory.

‘Do you mind if I speak with her a moment?’ Kusanagi asked Mrs Hamada.

‘Yes, of course,’ the manager quickly replied, turning to greet a newly arrived customer.

Kusanagi invited the waitress to sit down across from him. ‘When did you see this man?’ he asked.

‘I think the first time was about three years ago. I had just started working here, and I didn’t know all the teas yet. He got impatient with me. That’s why I remember him.’

‘Was he alone?’

‘No, he always came with his wife.’

‘His wife? What did she look like?’

‘Pretty, with long hair. I thought she might not be entirely Japanese – maybe Eurasian?’

Not Ayane Mashiba then,
Kusanagi thought. Ayane was pretty, but there was no mistaking her for anything other than pure Japanese. In any case, three years ago was well before Mashiba had met her.

‘How old did she look?’

‘Oh, early thirties. Maybe a little older.’

‘Did they say they were married?’

‘Well …’ The waitress frowned, thinking. ‘Maybe I just assumed they were. They certainly looked like a married couple. They were very close … they often came in after going shopping.’

‘Do you remember anything else about the woman? Any little detail would be helpful.’

A worried look came into the girl’s eyes. ‘Well, this might’ve just been another assumption of mine, but …’ she began slowly. ‘I think she was a painter.’

‘A painter … Like an artist?’

She nodded, looking up at him. ‘She brought a sketchbook
with her one time … or something like that, anyhow. It was in a case about this size.’ She spread her hands about sixty centimetres apart. ‘It was square and flat.’

‘But you never saw inside it?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ she replied, looking down.

Kusanagi recalled that Hiromi Wakayama had told him one of Yoshitaka’s exes was involved in publishing. If she was a painter, maybe she published books of her artwork. But that didn’t fit with what Hiromi had said about Yoshitaka not wanting to give his opinion of her books. Looking over a collection of drawings or paintings couldn’t have been that onerous a task.

‘Anything else you noticed?’ Kusanagi asked.

The waitress shook her head, then shot him a curious look. ‘Were they not married?’

‘I don’t think so, but why?’

‘Well, I don’t remember all the details,’ she said, putting a hand to her forehead, ‘but I have the feeling they talked about kids – not their own kids, but about wanting to have kids. At least, I
think
that was them. Or, I don’t know … I might be getting them mixed up with another couple.’

Bingo.
She wasn’t confused. The couple had definitely been Yoshitaka Mashiba and his girlfriend of the time.
A lead, finally.
Kusanagi let himself get a little excited.

He thanked the waitress and let her go, reaching out for his cup of chai. It had gone cold, but the blend of spice and sweet milk was sublime.

He drank half the cup, considering how he might track
down Mashiba’s painter. Then his mobile phone rang. He checked the display and saw with some surprise that it was Yukawa. He kept his voice low as he answered, not wanting to bother any of the other customers. ‘Kusanagi speaking.’

‘It’s me. You good to talk?’

‘Yeah. I’ll have to keep my voice down, but how could I refuse a rare call from you? What’s up?’

‘Got something I wanted to talk to you about. Any time today?’

‘I can make time, if it’s that important. What’s this about?’

‘I’ll save the details for when we meet, but suffice to say, it’s about your current case.’

Kusanagi sighed. ‘You and Utsumi got some secret plan brewing again?’

‘If it were a secret, would I be calling you? So do you want to meet or not?’

Arrogant bastard,
Kusanagi thought with a dry chuckle. ‘Fine. Where do you want me?’

‘I’ll leave that to you. Just somewhere smoke-free, if you don’t mind,’ Yukawa said, his tone suggesting that it was irrelevant whether Kusanagi minded or not.

They met in a coffee shop near Shinagawa station, close to the hotel where Ayane was staying. Kusanagi planned to wrap up the talk with Yukawa quickly so he could go and ask her about the painter ex.

He found Yukawa already there, sitting at the back of the
no smoking section, reading a magazine. Despite the fact that winter was around the corner, the physicist was wearing a short-sleeved shirt. A black leather jacket rested on the chair next to him.

Kusanagi walked over to his table and stood beside it. Yukawa didn’t look up.

‘What are you reading so intently?’ the detective asked, pulling out a chair.

Yukawa tapped his magazine with his finger. ‘It’s an article about dinosaurs. They’re talking about using CAT scan technology to analyze fossils.’

‘A science magazine, then,’ Kusanagi said, secretly disappointed that he hadn’t managed to catch Yukawa unawares. ‘So what’s so great about CAT scanning dinosaur bones?’

‘Not bones. Fossils,’ Yukawa said, finally looking up. He adjusted his glasses with one finger.

‘What’s the difference? Aren’t all dinosaur fossils bones?’

Yukawa’s eyes narrowed with mirth. ‘That’s what I like about you. You never defy expectations. You always say exactly what I think you’re going to say.’

‘Your point being that I’m an idiot.’

A waiter approached, and the detective ordered a tomato juice.

‘An unusual choice,’ Yukawa said. ‘Watching your health?’

‘So what if I don’t feel like tea or coffee right now? Cut to the chase. What’s this all about?’

‘I would’ve been happy to talk about fossils a bit more, but fine.’ Yukawa lifted his coffee cup. ‘Did you hear what Forensics had to say about my poisoning idea?’

‘I did. Doing anything with gelatin would’ve left traces, meaning the possibility such a trick was used in this case is zero. I guess even the great Galileo makes mistakes sometimes.’

‘It’s not very scientific to say things like “absolutely” and “zero possibility”. It’s also rather unorthodox to say someone made a mistake when they’ve only presented a hypothesis that proved to be incorrect. But I’ll forgive you on the grounds that you’re not a scientist.’

‘If you want to be a sore loser, you could at least be a little more straightforward about it.’

‘I don’t see how I’ve lost anything. Disproving a hypo -thesis is progress. It narrows our options by closing off a possible path of entry for the poison into the coffee.’

Kusanagi’s tomato juice arrived, complete with straw. He left the straw on the table and gulped it down. The sharp taste of the juice stung his tongue after all that tea.

‘But there’s only one path of entry,’ Kusanagi said. ‘Some -one put the poison in the kettle. Either Hiromi Waka yama, or if it wasn’t she, someone else Yoshitaka Mashiba invited in on Sunday.’

‘So you deny the possibility that the poison was mixed in with the water?’

Kusanagi’s mouth curled upward at the corners. ‘I make it a policy to believe what Forensics and the labs tell me.
They found no poison in any of the bottles. That means it wasn’t in the water.’

‘Utsumi thinks the bottles might’ve been washed out.’

‘Yeah, I heard about that. She thinks the victim washed the bottle out himself. Problem is, people don’t wash out bottles of water. I’d be willing to put money on that.’

‘But you have to agree there’s a possibility he did?’

Kusanagi snorted. ‘Not a bet I’d like to make. But if that’s the way you like to play, by all means. I’m more of a sure-thing kind of guy myself.’

‘I’ll admit your current path of investigation is more of a sure thing. But remember, there are always exceptions. In science, it’s important to cover everything.’ Yukawa shot the detective a serious look. ‘I have a request.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I’d like to see the Mashiba house again. Think you can get me inside? I know you have a key.’

Kusanagi raised an eyebrow at the eccentric physicist. ‘What are you going to look at? Didn’t Utsumi show you everything the other day?’

‘Yes, but my viewpoint’s changed since then.’

‘How’s that?’

‘Call it a shift in my thinking. Maybe I did make a mistake, after all. I’d like to know for sure.’

Kusanagi tapped a finger on the table. ‘You mind being more specific?’

‘I’ll tell you once we’re there, if I find that I did, indeed, make an error. It’s better for both of us that way.’

Kusanagi leaned back in his chair and sighed deeply. ‘What are you up to, Yukawa? This is some deal you’ve made with Utsumi, isn’t it?’

Yukawa chuckled. ‘Don’t start jumping at shadows yet. Like I said, I’m only interested in this because it’s piqued my scientific curiosity. Which means, by the way, that should I lose interest, I’m out. That’s why I want you to let me into that house again. To make my final determination.’

The detective looked his friend directly in the eye. Yukawa looked back, cool as ever.

Kusanagi hadn’t the slightest idea what the physicist was thinking. This was nothing new. Kusanagi knew that there was a point when he just had to let go, and trust that Yukawa would come to the rescue as he had so many times before.

‘I’ll call Mrs Mashiba. Give me a second,’ he said, standing and pulling out his phone.

Going to a quiet corner, he dialled Ayane’s number, and when she answered he asked if it was all right for him to let himself in one more time. ‘I’m sorry to make this request yet again, but there was one last thing we really needed to check.’

He could hear her give a little sigh on the other side of the line. ‘You don’t need to check with me every time, you know,’ she said. ‘It’s an investigation; I expect you to be going in and out frequently. I hope you find something.’

‘Thanks. I’ll water the flowers while I’m there.’

‘Thank you so much. It’s a big help.’

Kusanagi went back to the table. Yukawa was looking up, observing him as he approached.

‘You got something to say?’

‘I was just wondering why you felt the need to get up in order to make the call?’ Yukawa asked. ‘Was there something you didn’t want me to hear?’

‘Of course not. All I did was get permission to go inside her house.’

‘Huh.’

‘What is it now?’ Kusanagi glared.

‘Oh, nothing. It’s just, when I watched you making the call, I couldn’t help but think you looked less like a detective, and more like a salesman making a pitch to an important customer. Is there some reason you have to tread lightly around this Mrs Mashiba?’

‘I was asking if we could go into her house. It’s a sensitive subject.’ Kusanagi picked up the bill from the table. ‘Let’s get going. It’s late already.’

They hailed a cab by the station. Sliding into the seat, Yukawa pulled out the magazine he had been reading in the café.

‘You were saying earlier that dinosaur fossils were all bones, but that assumption carries a considerable amount of risk. In fact, it’s an assumption that led many paleontologists to discard a lot of extremely valuable material.’

This again.
‘All of the dinosaur fossils I’ve seen at the museum were bones.’

‘That’s right. That’s because they threw out everything else.’

‘Everything else? Like what?’

‘Say you’re digging a hole and you find some dinosaur bones. Naturally, you get excited and dig them right up, brushing off all the dirt, so you can construct your big impressive dinosaur skeleton. Then you start making observations: “So that’s what a tyrannosaurus jaw looks like”, and “Look at those short forelimbs”. But, it turns out, you’ve already made a terrible error. In 2000, a certain research group dug up a chunk of dirt with some fossils in it and ran the whole thing through a CAT scan without cleaning it all. And guess what? They found the heart. The dirt trapped inside the skeleton had preserved the shape of the creature’s internal organs perfectly. These days, it’s standard practice to run a CAT scan on all fossils.’

Kusanagi grunted. ‘That’s pretty interesting, actually,’ he admitted. ‘I’m just not sure what it has to do with anything. Or were you just making small talk?’