The Kizuna Coast: A Rei Shimura Mystery (Rei Shimura Mysteries Book 11) (22 page)

How warm the bus was. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend I was lying out on a sunny Hawaiian afternoon. But I kept my eyes open as I went through all the messages and e-mails on my telephone, and began returning them. I texted Richard and Aunt Norie about my forthcoming arrival; sent e-mails to my people in Hawaii about the construction project; and after phoning and getting no answer, texted a heartfelt note to Michael about how much I’d missed him. I also remembered to text Toshi, the friend Akira had asked me to contact. I wasn’t sure what to say but eventually came up with something about meeting Akira in Tohoku and wanting to bring Toshi a message from him.

Moments later, Toshi’s return text came. Blessedly, it was in a mix of simple
hiragana
and
katakana
characters. He asked if I could meet him at seven the next evening in Ueno. He’d mentioned a place, Western, that I hadn’t heard of. A quick browser search gave me an address near Ueno. I answered that I’d see him there.

Across the aisle from me, Mr. Ishida was asleep, his white head resting against a sweater he’d folded against the window. I looked around and it seemed everyone—Hachiko included—had entered the land of nod.

My desire to let go of everything—all the tensions, unsolved questions, and sadness—overtook me. I made a pillow out of my backpack and let the bus’s motion take me to the place where my fellow travelers had already gone.

I dreamed I was in Hawaii, snorkeling with Michael at Hanama Bay. As I slowly kicked my way across the warm water, I saw bright fish flicker beneath me. But they weren’t ordinary fish, they were lacquered ones, as beautiful as the buttons that Mayumi had painted. I was slowly pursuing a fish that had swum out of view after Michael had pointed at it. Somehow I knew this was the most important one.

“Wake up, wake up! Welcome back to Tokyo. Don’t forget anything you brought, please.”

After hours of rest, Mr. Yano’s voice was disorienting. We’d made it back to the Roppongi garage where the journey had started. I saw several dozen new volunteers dressed for work lined up near a mountain of duffel bags.

“But we are not leaving for several hours.” Mr. Yano sounded surprised. “I don’t know why these people have come early. And I was expecting twenty people; this looks like double the number.”

“At least the line isn’t as long as the one for Disneyland,” I said.

I put Mr. Ishida’s plastic bag containing his few possessions on my arm while he concentrated on leading Hachiko off. She took the steps down the bus carefully, and as she alighted on the clean cement, made a yawning sound as if she was relieved to be back in the familiar city.

“Rei-san, over here!”

Hearing a familiar masculine voice, I glanced at the thick line of waiting volunteers and was startled to see my cousin Tom standing close to the front with his hospital friend, Nurse Michiko Tanaka. Tanaka-san wore the same clothes she’d worn volunteering the week before, but completely clean. Tom was dressed in an emerald-colored down jacket, crisp blue jeans, and thigh-high wading boots. The ballcap on his head had the emblem of the San Francisco Giants. He didn’t look like a doctor at all.

“You must be very tired from your long week of service, Shimura-san,” Nurse Tanaka said. “And Ishida-san, it’s very good to see you finally returning home. Yano-san sent me an e-mail with the information about your apprentice being found. I’m very sorry.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Ishida said, bowing his head.

“Are you two going on the trip together—or did Tanaka-san just come to say hello and goodbye?” I asked.

“The Sendai hospital contacted all the Tokyo hospitals asking for temporary physician assistance. I will be working at both the injured persons’ shelter in Yamagawa and a community hospital in Sendai. Nurse Tanaka was also approved for temporary duty. Before, she had to take vacation—but this time, it is no problem.”

“I appreciate your help arranging that situation,” Miss Tanaka said, blushing. I suspected the two might be excited about the trip for more than altruistic reasons. I was glad. Tom had taken entirely too long to find a serious girlfriend.

“Tom-kun, if I’d known you were coming, I would have warned you to bring a lot of food for breakfasts—nobody cooks breakfast for volunteers,” I explained. “And I hope that you have enough tissue for the
potu
—”

“I know!” Tom said hurriedly. “Michiko-san explained the hygiene situation, and my mother has packed enough breakfasts to feed a whole bus. Which reminds me, Mother expects you to sleep at our home in Yokohama tonight. Do you think you can manage the train journey? Everything’s running on time, but it’s close to rush hour.”

“I’ll be on my way,” I promised. “Right after I drop off Ishida-san and Hachiko.”

A
fter the ride in from Tohoku, the forty-five-minute journey to Yokohama was quick. It felt like a dream to disembark just after nine p.m. from the cocoon of the train out into a suburb where street and shop lights glowed and cars and buses waited patiently for late-arriving commuters. Shiny bikes, motorcycles, and scooters moved smoothly through unobstructed streets. People clad in light spring clothing walked home, many of them texting or chatting into cell phones. Tulips bloomed gaily in pots set outside shops and houses. On Aunt Norie’s hilly street, the plum trees were in full, ballerina-like bloom.

I slid open the unlocked door and gently called out my arrival. Soft lights glowed from tables and ceilings, and the air was scented with sauteed ginger and onion. The big-screen TV in the dining room was showing a news story about panda bears. I exchanged my grimy boots for cheerful tartan slippers decorated with an embroidered ribbon that said “Happy Hearts.”

Aunt Norie rushed out of the kitchen and threw her arms around me. “It was too long until you texted me. How could you be that way?”

“I’m very sorry. Remember, in that text, I explained that I lost my phone for several days.”

“At least Tom heard some things from that nice Tanaka-san,” she said. “Tanaka-san told him that you found Ishida-san on the first day there. You could have come back straight away.”

“It’s a long story.”

“And our Michael-san was here in this house for one night—but now is gone away. He knew just as little as we did. Your husband deserves more respect.” My aunt talked nonstop while leading me into the little laundry alcove that was just off the first-floor bathroom. “I imagine everything in your duffel and backpack is filthy. But what’s in that plastic bag you’re carrying? Is it waste?”

“A down coat and some jeans and a sweater. I’m not even sure that cleaning will save them. The laundry service in Tohoku couldn’t get rid of the odor.”

“We will try my special detergent,” Aunt Norie said, tipping the contents of a blue bottle into the washing machine.

“Attack,” I translated the characters on the label. “That sounds extreme.”

“Yes. Each pellet contains microbugs that eat dirt. If it doesn’t clean it well the first time, I will try again. But I won’t start the washing machine until you’ve showered and bathed.”

“Bugs?” That had to be an exaggeration. I dropped the remaining soiled clothes into the high-end, fuzzy-logic Samsung washing machine. “And I really have tried to reach Michael. I don’t know why I haven’t heard anything back from him.”

Aunt Norie handed me a towel to wrap around myself while I took off my underwear. “You won’t hear from Michael. Like a maniac, he went to Fukushima two days ago. I can’t get through to him either. The telephone reception between here and there is terrible.”

I froze in place. Michael’s old texts had said nothing about Fukushima. Instead, he’d mentioned an airbase. Aunt Norie might be wrong. How I hoped she was.

“He texted that he was going to be in Misawa for a few days—”

“Yes, he was leaving with some military people to fly onto ships on the Fukushima Coast. What do you think of his travel plan?”

Picking up a bottle of Kanebo shampoo to take with me into the shower, I said, “I’m certainly concerned if Michael went to Fukushima. Even if the latest fix on those reactors is working, radiation takes a while to subside in the environment. Like months or even years—”

“I think so. But if all the international people work together, an answer will be found. Now, let’s take care of you.” Aunt Norie’s voice was cheerful as she handled me a small bucket and ladle, necessary equipment for a Japanese shower.

“Be sure to wash your hair several times. And every single bit of skin. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but there’s a strange smell. I hope Tsutomu doesn’t return with this same odor. What is it?”

Death,
I thought of saying, but knew it was too much.

I made sure to wash four times in the shower before lifting the lid off the square, steel-lined soaking tub. Inch by inch, I slowly lowered myself into the steamy water. It felt like being poached. I thought of the bubbling reactor, the radiation washing into the ocean, and perhaps into my husband, too. Even if Michael left Fukushima tomorrow, the radiation exposure could haunt him. What would be the long-term outcome? How ironic if this new job of his—the so-called think tank—would turn out to be more dangerous to his health than serving in the military and the CIA had ever been.

I stepped out of the bath a half hour later, unable to tolerate any more heat. I felt very clean, but I was tired. I only had the appetite to eat a bit of fluffy white rice and seaweed salad, just two of the many dishes that my aunt had prepared. I could not bear to taste the grilled mackerel after all the rotted fish I’d encountered in Tohoku.

Frowning, my aunt began putting away the leftovers and sent me to bed in Chika’s empty bedroom. I lay gratefully down on a soft futon and turned out the light. Before I knew it, though, my phone was ringing.

“Shimura-san, are you awake?” It was Mr. Ishida.

“Yes, of course, Ishida-san.” Stifling a yawn, I checked the time on the phone’s screen. Seven thirty. I was finally on Japanese time.

“Sorry to have called this early, but I didn’t want to miss you.”

“Is it about the store?” I asked. “Did you find many things stolen?”

“Not exactly… but too much is in the wrong place. An earthquake couldn’t have moved things from one side to another.”

“Are you calling the police?”

“I haven’t decided. But can you come by the shop this morning? Hopefully, you’re not too busy.”

“Michael’s still out of town, so I have no plans.” I warmed to the idea. “I’ll just have a quick breakfast here and then meet you. I could help you look through the shop. You’ve probably noticed I didn’t touch a lot of the mess before going to Tohoku.”

“I’m sure you left things so I could inspect for inconsistencies, which was a good idea,” he said. “Already I’ve looked through everything, hoping to find Mayumi’s family lacquer somewhere in the shop. But it really seems gone.”

“I see.”

“I’ve been thinking about the possibility of a professional burglar. If such a thing happened, it could perhaps be a factor in her death.”

“Hmm. If the thief thought she knew his identity, maybe he followed and killed her?” The prospect seemed convoluted, but it couldn’t be ignored.

“That’s my first thought. But I don’t want to forget about checking Mayumi’s apartment to see if the lacquer is there.”

“Do you know where she lives?”

“Yes. I dropped her there one evening by taxi. I know the building and watched her go into a second-floor door.”

“Do you think her roommates are likely to be at home on a Thursday morning?” I was skeptical, knowing that most Japanese left for work early.

“Sure. They’re neat.”

I didn’t get it. “She told you they were tidy?”

“Oh, no. N-E-E-T.” Mr. Ishida enunciated four letters in English. “It is one of those modern slangs. Not engaged in employment, education, or training.”

I chuckled. “And these NEETs can afford a Tokyo apartment?”

“Technically, it’s Chiba City.”

Chiba was known for its busy shipping port and Japan’s busiest international airport, Narita. Real estate here was increasingly popular, as it was relatively cheap and an easy train ride into Tokyo. Because of Ishida Antiques’s northeastern Tokyo location, the journey to Mayumi’s neighborhood was about sixteen minutes.

The time was ten a.m. when we got off the Chiyoda Line. The commuters had departed, so it was easy to take a good look around. The neighborhood seemed tidy and safe, although the beige midrise building that Mr. Ishida had identified as Mayumi’s seemed to sag in its position midway along the block. It wasn’t a matter of construction. But the place hadn’t been painted for a decade or so, and grime and mildew had focused on a few patches.

The building had outdoor stairways that went directly to each apartment’s door. I heard Mr. Ishida’s regular breathing as he followed me up. I was pretty tired, too, by the time we reached the sixth floor. Ringing the bell, I said between deep breaths, “Are you sure you want me to do the talking?”

“It’s probably better. You are of the same generation.”

The apartment door opened a few inches. The chain was still on, so I could only see a sliver of a young female face. A reddened eye bearing residue of both mascara and sleep blinked at us.

“Hello,” I said, smiling and bobbing my head slightly. “We’ve come about Mayumi-san.”

“She’s not here. She’s been away since the earthquake.” The girl’s husky voice had the sound of someone ready to end the conversation.

“Yes, we know she’s been gone—”

The reddened eye widened. “Is she okay?”

I gave Mr. Ishida a look that said,
please take it from here
. He cleared his throat. “The fact is, we have some news about what happened to her. But it’s serious. I’m sorry—is it possible for us to come inside and explain?”

“Who’s that talking? Is a man with you?” The girl’s voice was suspicious, and I realized that Mr. Ishida was not in clear view.

“Yes. I’m Mayumi-san’s old employer,” Mr. Ishida said, shifting into the space where the door opening was. “My name is Ishida Yasushi. You were speaking with the person who worked with me a bit before Mayumi did. She’s called Shimura Rei.”

“Okay, I’ve heard of you,” the girl said, unchaining the door and stepping back so we could walk inside. “I hope she’s still got her job.”

Glancing around, I understood why she’d been reluctant to open the door. The roommate was still in a fuzzy blue robe tied over checked pajama pants. The small apartment was messy, with papers and clothes strewn everywhere. The walls were painted in chaotic-looking streaks of chartreuse, gold, and black. Posters of art shows and concerts were taped up here and there. I squinted, shocked to see an old ceramic urinal leaning against one wall. Another young woman was bent over it, doing something mysterious that I couldn’t discern. The floor was covered with old
tatami
mats stained with paint and who knew what else. I wondered the last time the landlord had come around. Maybe he didn’t care because he knew he’d get a large security deposit back when they left.

“We’re artists.” The girl who answered the door confirmed my suspicion.

“Oh. What’s your name? Are you a painter?” I guessed, looking at the walls.

“I go by Glock. I specialize in graffiti. Eri-kun paints
benki
.”

“Urinals?” I repeated in disbelief.

The other one, Eri, turned her head to address us. “I appropriate masculine vehicles for female purposes. What do you think of that?”

“How interesting,” I said, thinking the comment had been aimed at Mr. Ishida, who was nodding as if the art wasn’t strange at all. I walked closer and saw the urinal was being painted with cartoonish pink and purple princesses. It was nothing I’d ever collect.

“Can you just tell us what’s going on with Mayumi? It’s rude of her not to call and tell us, don’t you think?” Glock put on a pair of smudged eyeglasses that were lying lenses down on a table and regarded us. They were Lennon-style glasses, not the most flattering.

“That’s why we came,” Mr. Ishida said. “We are wondering if Mayumi told you where she was going, the day of the earthquake.”

“That morning, she said she was going to be out all day,” Glock said. “I didn’t think anything strange was going on, but when the earthquake hit that afternoon, I was worried and tried to reach her. I got no answer on her phone—and then she didn’t get in that night.”

“We’d hoped it was because the subway was closed, and that she stayed overnight at your shop. You have an apartment upstairs, right?” Eri said.

Mr. Ishida nodded. “The thing is, I was out of town. I just returned.”

“Well, where did she go?” Glock cried. “Just tell us!”

“Don’t worry,” Eri chided. “If she was hurt, we would have heard.”

“Actually, she did get hurt,” I ventured. “Mayumi went to Tohoku, where Mr. Ishida was on business.”

“But that’s where the tsunami was!” Glock wailed.

“When Shimura-san joined me in Tohoku, we looked for her.” Mr. Ishida’s voice was soft. “But I’m sorry to say that she had died.”