Salvation of a Saint

by Keigo Higashino

Kusanagi took the book and examined it. It was titled It Can Rain Tomorrow, and it apparently chronicled the adventures of a teruterubozu – a diminutive tissue-paper ghost created by children wishing for good weather. The illustrator’s name was listed as Sumire Ucho – Violet Butterfly, Kusanagi thought. If that’s not a pen name, I don’t know what is.

  ‘Is this illustrator still connected with your company?’

  ‘No, not since she made those first illustrations. The company holds all the rights to the character.’

  ‘Did you ever meet her personally?’

  ‘I didn’t, I’m afraid. Like I said, we had to keep her existence a secret. Only the CEO and a few other people ever saw her. The contract talks and everything were handled directly by the CEO.’

  ‘By Mr Mashiba?’

  ‘Yes. I think he was the beetroot alien’s biggest fan,’ Ms Yamamoto said, staring at the detective.

  Kusanagi let his eyes drop back down to the book. There was a little ‘About the Author’ section, but no mention of her real name or age.

  Still, it was clear that this woman fitted the bill. Kusanagi lifted the book in one hand. ‘Do you mind if I borrow this?’

  ‘Not at all,’ the receptionist replied, glancing at her watch. ‘I should be getting back. I’ve told you everything I know. I hope it helps.’

  ‘Tremendously. Thank you,’ Kusanagi said, inclining his head.

  Once she had left, Kusanagi handed the book to his partner. ‘Give the publisher a ring, would you?’

  ‘Think she’s the one?’

  ‘There’s a chance. At the very least, we know there was something between this illustrator and Yoshitaka Mashiba.’

  ‘You sound confident.’

  ‘It was the look on Ms Yamamoto’s face that sold me. She suspected before today that something was up between those two.’

  ‘Then why do you think she didn’t say anything before now? The officers we sent to the company earlier asked everybody for information about Mr Mashiba’s female friends.’

  ‘Maybe she was too unsure to say anything at the time. We didn’t exactly ask her to tell us about the ex-CEO’s lovers, either. We just asked about the illustrator, and she put two and two together, and realized there was something to her hunch.’

  ‘Interesting. I’m sorry I called her a robot.’

  ‘You can make up for it by getting on the phone with that publisher now.’

  Kishitani pulled out his mobile phone and stepped out of the lounge, book tucked under his arm. Kusanagi watched him make the call in the building lobby. He drank his coffee. It had gone completely cold.

  Kishitani returned, a glum look on his face.

  ‘Couldn’t get hold of anybody?’

  ‘No, I did.’

  ‘But they’d never heard of Ms Ucho?’

  ‘No, they had.’

  ‘So what’s with the long face?’

  Kishitani opened his notebook. ‘Her real name is Junko Tsukui. This book here was published four years ago. It’s out of print now.’

  ‘You get a number for her?’

  ‘She doesn’t have a number.’ Kishitani looked up from his notebook. ‘She’s dead.’

  ‘What? When?’

  ‘Two years ago, at her home. She committed suicide.’

  NINETEEN

  Utsumi was at the Meguro Police Station writing a report when Kusanagi and Kishitani marched into the room, familiar scowls on their faces.

  ‘The old man go home already?’ Kusanagi asked when he saw her.

  ‘No, I think the chief’s over in Investigations.’

  Kusanagi left without another word, leaving Kishitani behind.

  ‘Looks like he’s in a bad mood,’ Utsumi said.

  Kishitani shrugged. ‘We finally managed to track down Yoshitaka Mashiba’s old flame.’

  ‘Really? Isn’t that a good thing?’

  ‘Well, we hit a little snag when we went to follow up.’ He dropped into a folding chair and related the story of the beetroot alien and its illustrator to a surprised Utsumi. ‘We ended up going to the publisher,’ he concluded, ‘and we got a photograph of her to show to that waitress at the tea café, who confirmed her as Yoshitaka’s ex-girlfriend. Which nicely wraps up that chapter, and leaves Kusanagi’s former-lover theory dead in the water.’

  ‘No wonder he’s grumpy.’

  ‘I’m a little disappointed myself,’ Kishitani said. ‘We do the run-around all day only to end up with this. Talk about exhausting.’ He yawned and stretched.

  Just then Utsumi’s phone rang. It was Yukawa.

  ‘Hello again,’ she said into the receiver. ‘Didn’t I just talk to you earlier today?’

  ‘Where are you now?’ Yukawa asked.

  ‘Meguro station, why?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about things, and realized I need you. Can you meet?’

  ‘Again? Sure, no problem. But what’s up?’

  ‘I’ll tell you when I see you. You pick the place,’ Yukawa said. He sounded uncharacteristically excited.

  ‘Okay, well, I could just go to the university—’

  ‘No, I’ve already left. I’m headed towards you, actually. Just pick a place somewhere in between.’

  She gave him the name of a nearby twenty-four-hour restaurant, and he hung up. Utsumi placed her half-written report in her bag and grabbed her jacket.

  ‘Was that Galileo?’ Kishitani asked.

  ‘Yes. He said he needed to talk to me about something.’

  ‘I hope he figures out the poisoning trick so we can solve this case and go home. Take notes, if you don’t mind. Sometimes his explanations can be a little dense.’

  ‘I know,’ Utsumi said as she headed out of the room.

  She was drinking tea when Yukawa hurried into the restaurant. He sat down across from her and ordered a hot chocolate.

  ‘No coffee?’

  ‘No, the two cups earlier were enough,’ Yukawa said, with a slight frown. ‘Sorry for dragging you out like this.’

  ‘It’s not a problem. So what’s this about?’

  ‘Right …’ He glanced down at the table once before looking back up at her. ‘First, I need to know if you still suspect Mrs Mashiba.’

  ‘Huh? Well, yes, I do. I suspect her.’

  ‘Right,’ Yukawa said again, reaching inside his jacket to pull out a folded piece of paper. He placed it on the table. ‘Read this.’

  Utsumi picked up the paper, unfolded it, and began to read, her eyes narrowing. ‘What is this?’

  ‘Something I want you to look into. In detail.’

  ‘And this will solve the mystery?’

  Yukawa blinked and gave a little sigh. ‘No, probably not. But this will at least prove it’s unsolvable. Think of it as a kind of way to cover the bases.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘After you left my laboratory today, I started thinking. If we hypothesize that Mrs Mashiba poisoned the coffee, then the question is: How did she do it? The answer is: I have no idea. My conclusion was that this is a problem without a solution – save one.’

  ‘Save one? So there is a solution.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s an imaginary solution.’

  ‘You lost me.’

  ‘An imaginary solution is one that, while theoretically possible, is practically impossible. There appears to be only one method by which a wife in Hokkaido can poison her husband in Tokyo. However, the chances that she pulled it off are infinitely close to zero. You see? The trick is doable, but pulling it off isn’t.’

  Utsumi shook her head. ‘I’m not sure I do see, actually. So this homework you’ve given me is to prove that the trick is impossible? Why?’

  ‘Sometimes it’s as important to prove there is no answer to a question as it is to answer it.’

  ‘Except I’m looking for answers, Professor. I’d much rather be getting to the truth of what happened than engaging in theoretical exercises, if you don’t mind. That’s my job.’

  Yukawa fell silent. H
is hot chocolate arrived. After a moment he lifted the cup and took a sip. ‘Of course,’ he muttered at last. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘Professor …’

  The physicist reached out and retrieved the piece of paper off the table. ‘It’s a habit we scientists get into,’ he said. ‘Even if the solution to a problem is imaginary, we can’t rest until we look into it. But, of course, you’re a detective, not a scientist. You can’t be wasting your valuable time proving something’s impossible.’

  He neatly refolded the paper and placed it in his jacket pocket. The edges of his mouth curled upward into a smile. ‘Forget I said anything.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell me what this impossible trick was?’ Utsumi said. ‘Then I can decide for myself whether or not it’s really impossible. Based on that, I can look into whatever you wanted me to check.’

  ‘I can’t do that,’ Yukawa replied.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘If you knew what the trick was, it would colour your opinion, rendering you unable to conduct your research objectively. And, if you’re not going to look into it anyway, there’s no need for you to know the trick. Either way, I can’t tell you.’

  Yukawa reached for the bill, but Utsumi grabbed it before he could pick it up. ‘It’s on me,’ she said.

  ‘Unthinkable,’ Yukawa said. ‘I made you come out here.’

  Utsumi held out her other hand. ‘Give me that paper. I’ll look into it for you.’

  ‘But it’s an imaginary solution.’

  ‘I don’t care. If it’s the only solution we’ve got, I want to know what it is.’

  Yukawa sighed and produced the paper. Utsumi peered at it briefly before putting it in her bag. ‘So … if it turns out that the answer isn’t “imaginary”, as you call it, after all, we have a chance at solving the mystery.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Yukawa muttered noncommittally as he pushed up his glasses with one finger.

  ‘We don’t have a chance?’

  ‘If it’s not imaginary,’ the physicist said, a keen glimmer in his eye, ‘then you still won’t be able to solve it. Neither will I. It’s the perfect crime.’

  TWENTY

  Hiromi Wakayama stared at the tapestry on the wall. Linked filaments of grey and navy blue formed an irregular belt that ran through the design. Bending and twisting, the belt curved under and over itself, ultimately returning to its point of origin to complete an elaborate loop. Though it was a fairly complicated design, when seen from a distance it appeared to be a simple geometrical pattern. Yoshitaka had called it an ‘ugly DNA spiral’, but Hiromi was rather fond of it. When Ayane did her show in Ginza, the piece had been displayed right next to the entrance. It was her design, but Hiromi’s work.

  It wasn’t all that unusual in the art world for many of the works in an artist’s individual show to have actually been executed by their apprentices. In the case of patchwork particularly, where a single large piece could take several months to make, some division of labour was necessary, or an artist would be hard-pressed to make enough pieces to hold a show.

  Nonetheless, Ayane had done most of the work in the Ginza show herself. At least eighty percent of the tapestries there had been entirely her own product. And yet she had chosen to show the one that her apprentice made up front. Hiromi remembered the thrill she had felt when she saw it there – a thrill that came from knowing her talent was being recognized by her teacher.

  At the time, she had thought she wanted to work for Ayane Mashiba forever …

  Ayane’s coffee mug made a loud clink as she set it down on the worktable. The two women were sitting across from each other at Anne’s House Patchwork School. Ordinarily at this time of day a class would be in session, and several students would be there, cutting and sewing cloth. But Ayane had yet to reopen the school to students. Today there were only the two of them, and the bomb that Hiromi had dropped between them –

  ‘Oh?’ Ayane said, holding her mug in both hands. ‘Well, if that’s your decision …’

  ‘I’m sorry to spring this on you,’ Hiromi said, lowering her head.

  ‘There’s no need to apologize. I was a little worried about how things might go myself. Maybe this is really for the best.’

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ Hiromi said. ‘I … I just don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Then don’t say anything. I don’t really want to sit here watching you apologize anymore.’

  ‘Oh, right. Sorry …’ Hiromi hung her head. She felt tears stinging her eyes, but she held them back. She didn’t want to make Ayane any more uncomfortable than she already had.

  Hiromi had been the one who called, saying she needed to talk. Ayane had invited her to come to Anne’s House without even asking what she wanted to talk about.

  She really has no idea I’m going to quit, Hiromi had thought.

  She’d broken the news while Ayane was making tea.

  And now Ayane was somehow managing to be solicitous. ‘Hiromi, are you sure you’ll be okay?’ she asked.

  Swallowing a sob, Hiromi looked up.

  ‘I mean financially,’ the widow went on. ‘I’m worried you might not be able to find work so easily. Unless your family is in a position to help?’

  ‘Honestly, I haven’t figured any of that out yet. I’d like to leave my parents out of it if possible, but I might not have a choice. Still, I have a bit of savings, so I’m going to try to do things on my own as much as possible.’

  ‘Well,’ Ayane said, ‘that doesn’t sound so reassuring.’ She brushed her hair back across her ear several times – a sure sign she was irritated. ‘But maybe it’s not my place to worry about that.’

  ‘I don’t deserve it.’

  ‘Can we please lay off the self-pity?’ Ayane said, the sudden harshness in her voice sending shivers through Hiromi’s body. Her head drooped again.

  ‘Sorry,’ Ayane added quietly. ‘That wasn’t very nice of me. But I really don’t want you acting like this. Maybe it’s impossible for us to work together, but I do want you to be happy. That’s the truth.’

  With some trepidation, Hiromi raised her head. Ayane was smiling – a thin, lonely smile; but it seemed genuine.

  ‘And the person responsible for making both of us feel like this isn’t around anymore.’ The widow’s voice was soft and distant. ‘It’s time we started looking forward, not back.’

  Hiromi nodded, though the suggestion sounded all but impossible. Her love for Yoshitaka, her sadness at losing him, and her guilt for betraying her mentor all weighed too heavily on her heart.

  ‘How many years is it since you started working for me?’ Ayane asked, abruptly and deliberately cheerful.

  ‘About … three years, maybe a little more.’

  ‘Three years already? If you were in high school, you’d have already graduated. Maybe that’s how we should think of it: your graduation!’

  Hiromi almost shook her head. I’m not so much of a fool that that would cheer me up.

  ‘You had a key for the classroom, didn’t you?’

  ‘Oh, right, I’ll give it back,’ Hiromi said, reaching into her bag.

  ‘No, you hold onto it.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I know you’ve left lots of stuff here. It will take you a while before everything is cleaned out. And if there’s anything else you need, go ahead and take it. How about that tapestry? I know you like it.’ Ayane indicated the tapestry Hiromi had been admiring before.

  ‘That one – really?’

  ‘You’re the one who made it, after all. And people loved it at the show. I didn’t sell it because I wanted to give it to you, you know.’

  Hiromi recalled with a pang of guilt that even though most of the works on display in the Ginza show had sported price tags, this tapestry had been marked ‘not for sale’.

  Now Ayane turned more brisk. ‘How many days do you think it will take to gather all your stuff?’

  ‘Only today and tomorrow, I think.’

  ‘Okay, well, then, how abo
ut you give me a call when you’re finished? The key … You can leave the key in the mail slot in the door. Be careful not to forget anything – I’m going to call a professional and have them come in to clean this place out when you’re done.’

  Hiromi blinked, not understanding.

  ‘Well, it’s not like I can go on living at that hotel forever. It’s not very frugal, or convenient. I thought I would live here until I figure out where I’m going next.’

  ‘So you’re not going back home?’

  Ayane sighed, her shoulders dropping. ‘I thought about it, but I’ve decided not to. So many happy memories … But they’re all bitter now. Twisted up. And anyhow, it’s far too large for me to live in by myself. I’m amazed he lived there alone for so long before meeting me.’

  ‘Are you going to sell it?’

  ‘I’ll try, though it might be hard with word getting out about what happened there. I thought I would talk to Mr Ikai first. I’m sure he has some connections who could help.’

  Hiromi sat looking down at the mug on the worktable, unable to think of anything more to say. The tea Ayane had made for her was probably cold by now.

  ‘Well, I’m going to leave now,’ the older woman said, picking up her now empty mug.

  ‘Just leave that, I’ll wash it before I leave,’ Hiromi offered.

  ‘Oh? Well, thanks,’ Ayane said, returning the mug to the table. ‘You brought in these mugs, didn’t you – something from a friend’s wedding, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, the pair of them.’

  Now they were sitting side by side on the worktable. Hiromi and Ayane had often drunk from them when they held their monthly curriculum meetings.

  ‘You should definitely remember to take them when you’re packing.’

  ‘Right,’ Hiromi said in a small voice. She hadn’t been planning to take the mugs at all; but it occurred to her now that leaving them might give Ayane yet another reason to remember what had happened. One more weight settled on her heart.

  Ayane hoisted her shoulder bag and made for the door. Hiromi followed.

  When she was done putting on her shoes, Ayane looked up at her assistant. ‘It’s strange, isn’t it? Me leaving first, even though it’s you who’s quitting.’