Villain a Novel (2010) (16 page)

“This is Mr. Hayata from the prefectural police. He has a few questions for Yuichi.”

“For Yuichi?” As she said this, her mouth suddenly filled with a sour burst of flavor from the pickled plum.

Whenever she stopped by the police box to chat and have a cup of tea, the pistol at the patrolman’s hip never bothered her, but now she couldn’t take her eyes off it.

“Did Yuichi go out this past Sunday night?”

They were in the entrance to the house. The patrolman, seated on the step up to the house, had to twist around to ask her this. The detective, standing beside him, put his hand on his shoulder. “I’ll ask the questions,” he said with a stern look.

As if nestling closer to the patrolman, Fusae sat down formally next to him.

“It seems that the girl killed at Mitsuse Pass was a friend of Yuichi’s,” the patrolman said, ignoring the warning.

“What! Yuichi’s friend was killed?”

Still seated formally, legs tucked under her, Fusae leaned back. Pain shot through her knees and she groaned.

The patrolman hurriedly took her arm and helped her to her feet. “Having trouble standing again?” he said.

“If it’s one of Yuichi’s friends, you must mean someone from his junior high school?” Fusae asked.

Yuichi had attended an all-male technical high school, so it must be someone from his junior high, she thought. Which would mean that a girl from this neighborhood had been murdered.

“No, not from his junior high. A friend he made recently.”

“Recently?” she asked. She’d always been worried that there
weren’t
any girls in her grandson’s life. When it came to friends, not only did she know of zero girls, but she also knew that he had, at most, only one or two close male friends.

The detective seemed upset with the talkative patrolman, and said, frowning, “I told you I’d ask the questions here.… I’d like to ask you about last Sunday, whether …”

Before the detective’s overbearing voice had even finished, Fusae replied. “On Sunday I’m pretty sure he was at home.”

“Ah, so he was at home,” the patrolman interrupted, obviously
relieved. “Just before we came here,” he went on, “we stopped by old Mrs. Okazaki’s. When Yuichi goes out he always takes his car. She lives right next to the parking lot and she told me she can hear whenever a car goes in or out. But according to her, on Sunday Yuichi’s car never left the lot.”

Neither Fusae nor the detective said anything as the patrolman rattled on. But Fusae noticed a slight softening in the detective’s harsh eyes.

“I told you to be quiet, but you never listen, do you,” the detective said, warning the talkative patrolman again. This time, though, there was a hint of warmth in his voice.

“My husband and I go to bed early,” Fusae said, “so I’m not sure, but I think Yuichi was in his room Sunday evening.”

The patrolman turned to the detective. “With what Mrs. Okazaki told us, and what his grandmother here says, I think it’s certain he was.”

“Yes, but actually I …” the detective began where the patrolman left off, finally taking control of the conversation. Fusae suddenly noticed the pickled-plum pit in her hand.

“On the call list of the cell phone of the woman found at Mitsuse Pass, we found your grandson’s number.”

“Yuichi’s?”

“Not just his. She apparently knew a lot of people.”

“Is she from around here?”

“No, from Hakata.”

“Hakata? Yuichi has friends from Hakata? I had no idea.”

The detective figured if he explained things one by one he’d have to deal with endless questions, so he quickly outlined what they knew about the murder. Since it now seemed certain that Yuichi had been home all that night, his explanation came off sounding more like an apology for the sudden intrusion.

The dead girl was a twenty-one-year-old named Yoshino Ishibashi, a salesperson for an insurance company in Hakata. She apparently had a wide circle of friends—people from her hometown, colleagues, and other casual friends—for, according to her phone
records, in the week before the incident she’d been in contact with nearly fifty different people. And Yuichi was one of them.

“The last time your grandson e-mailed her was four days before the murder, and the last message she sent to him was the day after that. She got in touch with nearly ten other people as well after that.”

As the detective went on, Fusae pictured the girl who’d been killed. If she had so many friends, Yuichi couldn’t have anything to do with it. It was a horrible crime, of course, but there was no way she could believe that Yuichi was connected to it.

Once the detective finished his summary, Fusae suddenly recalled what Norio had told her, how the day after the murder Yuichi had had a hangover and vomited on the way to work. These had to be related, Fusae concluded. Yuichi must have heard about the girl’s death on TV or somewhere and felt sad about losing a friend, and that’s why he got sick. The instinct she’d developed over twenty years of raising him told her that this had to be true.

The detective seemed in a hurry, and after he finished he added, gently, “Anyway, I don’t think you need to worry.”

Fusae wasn’t worried, but her face was still grim. “You think so?” she asked.

“What time does Yuichi come home from work?” the detective asked.

“Usually around six-thirty,” she replied.

“Well, if I have any more questions, I’ll get in touch. Thanks for your time.”

Fusae stood up to see him out. “Thank you,” she said, and bowed. The detective’s words about getting in touch again seemed more like a formality.

After they’d seen the detective out, the patrolman sat back down in the entrance and said, a comical look on his face, “Boy, I bet you were surprised by all this, huh? When I heard they wanted to see Yuichi as a material witness, I was shocked. But Mrs. Okazaki just happened to be in the police box when the call came in, and she said that Yuichi’s car never left the parking lot on Sunday. I was so
relieved. Just between you and me, it looks like they already know who the criminal was. They just have to check out everybody else.”

“So they know who did it?” Fusae gave an exaggerated look of relief. “I just couldn’t picture him having a girlfriend in Hakata,” she added.

“Well, he’s a young guy, so what’re you going to do? Seems like that girl had lots of boyfriends she made on dating sites.”

“Dating sites? What’re those?”

“Well … it’s kind of like being pen pals.”

“I had no idea Yuichi was exchanging letters with a girl in Hakata.”

Fusae remembered the pickled-plum pit in her hand again, and tossed it outside.

The Wonderland pachinko parlor was set down in an unexpected spot on the highway. Just as the highway along the sea curved sharply to the left, there first was a huge, garish sign and then the place itself, a cheap imitation of Buckingham Palace. The gate into the mammoth parking lot that surrounded the parlor was supposed to look like the Arc de Triomphe, while next to the building entrance sat a miniature Statue of Liberty.

It was a gaudy eyesore of a building by any standard. Compared to the pachinko places in the city, however, the machines paid off better, so the parking lot was packed with cars, like bees swarming over sugar, not just on the weekends but during the week.

On the second floor by the slot machines, Hifumi Shibata shoved in the last dozen or so coins he had. The slot machine he’d had his eye on was occupied, so he had to choose another and decided he’d just play it until the coins he had in his pocket were gone.

Thirty minutes before, Hifumi had e-mailed Yuichi.

I’m at Wonder. Can you stop by on the way back from work?
To which he soon received a short reply:
Sounds good
.

Hifumi and Yuichi had been friends since they were children.
Hifumi and his parents once lived in the same school district as Yuichi, but half a year before he graduated from junior high, Hifumi’s parents sold their small house and their land to rent a condo in the city. Naturally Hifumi’s parents hadn’t expected to sell their land for very much—it was near the little harbor whose seacoast had all been filled in—and on top of that his father had gambling debts that took up most of what they earned. So when they moved to the tiny apartment in the city it almost felt as if they were skipping out in shame over their past.

After they moved, Yuichi was the only friend who contacted him and they’d kept in touch ever since.

When they were together, Yuichi never lightened up. He wasn’t much fun to be with, but still, for whatever reason, Hifumi kept on seeing him.

Some three years before, Hifumi had taken his then girlfriend for a drive to Hirado, and on their way back his engine died. He didn’t have the money to pay for a tow truck, so he called a couple of his friends, but they all turned him down, either too busy or simply unwilling to come to his aid. The only one ready to drive out to give him a tow was Yuichi.

“Sorry about this,” Hifumi had apologized.

As Yuichi, a blank look on his face, attached the tow cable, he replied, “I was just lying around at home anyway.”

Hifumi didn’t want his girlfriend to be in the towed car so he had her ride with Yuichi in his car instead.

They towed the car to a garage that Hifumi often used, and then Yuichi left with barely a word. As the girlfriend waved goodbye, Hifumi asked her a leading question: “Nice-looking guy, huh?” But she replied, laughing, “He didn’t talk at all in the car. When I thanked him he just nodded and curtly said, ‘Um.’ I felt like I couldn’t breathe.” That, indeed, was the kind of guy he was.

The slot machine finally began to pay off. Hifumi looked around the pachinko place for one of the miniskirted young attendants who brought complimentary cups of coffee.

As he turned toward the entrance, he saw Yuichi climbing the spiral staircase. Hifumi raised a hand and Yuichi spotted him and made his way over, down the narrow aisle.

Yuichi was on his way home from the construction site and his navy blue trousers were dirty. His jacket was the same navy blue color, but from the open zipper you could see a swath of the pink sweatshirt underneath.

Yuichi sat down next to Hifumi and popped open a can of coffee he’d no doubt purchased on the first floor. Yuichi pulled a thousand-yen note from his pocket and without a word started to play the slot machine in front of him.

As Yuichi had come close, Hifumi could smell him. It wasn’t the sweaty smell he had in summer, but more the dusty cement smell of a deserted house.

“Did you hear about the murder at Mitsuse Pass?” Yuichi suddenly asked, after quickly running through the thousand yen.

“I heard that a girl got killed there,” Hifumi said, still facing his machine. His luck had turned as soon as Yuichi sat down next to him.

Yuichi had brought up the topic but sat there silently, as usual.

“They said she was involved with a bunch of guys she’d met on a dating site. I saw that on TV today.” Hifumi kept the conversation going as he went on pushing the slot-machine button.

“Think they’ll find him soon?” Yuichi asked.

“Find who?”

No response.

“You mean the criminal?”

No response again.

“Yeah, they’ll find him pretty soon. All they have to do is check the phone records.” Hifumi didn’t glance at Yuichi at all as he spoke.

After thirty minutes with the slots, the two of them exited the pachinko parlor. Hifumi wound up losing fifteen thousand yen, Yuichi two thousand. The sun had already set but the parking lot was brightly lit. Their dark shadows bisected the white parking lines as they walked.

Hifumi, unlike Yuichi, had absolutely no interest in cars and drove a cheap economy car. He unlocked it, and Yuichi quickly sat down beside him. Hifumi glanced up at the sky. The waves nearby sounded as if they were coming down from above. The sky was usually filled with stars, but tonight he could see only Venus.
Maybe it’ll rain tomorrow
, Hifumi thought.

As they drove along the coast toward Yuichi’s home, Hifumi complained about the trouble he was having finding work. He’d spent the morning at an employment agency, and as he checked through the classified ads, had invited one of the young girls working there out for a drink. He struck out on both counts—no job and no date. But after spending the morning there, he was optimistic about finding a job. “There are a lot of jobs out there if you’re looking for one,” he concluded.

After the music ended on the radio, a short news broadcast came on. The lead story was the murder at Mitsuse Pass.

Hifumi turned to Yuichi, who hadn’t said a word since he’d climbed aboard. “Speaking of Mitsuse Pass …” Hifumi began. Yuichi had been gazing out the window but he leaned back and turned toward Hifumi in the cramped car.

“You remember how I saw a ghost there?” Hifumi went on, turning into a sharp curve. The sudden curve threw Yuichi against the door.

“Remember? I went for a job interview in Hakata, and took the road over the pass on the way home? And my headlights suddenly went out. I was scared, and pulled over and started the engine again, and suddenly there was this guy sitting next to me, covered in blood. You remember when I told you that?”