At 2320 Higisha Nakamura was formally taken into police custody. He did not resist arrest.
Office of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department
O¯i Police Station, Shinagawa Ward, Case # 001294-23E-1994
Crime Scene Report
Date of Offence: 23 March, 1994
Time Reported: 2042 (JST)
Name of Victim: Rina Satō
Extent of Injury: Fatal
Complainant: Mr Yoshitake Sarashima
Relationship to Victim: Father
Time Officers Arrived: 2118
Reporting Officer: Detective Ichiro Soma
Police Coroner: Akihiko Ito
Assisting Officer: Masashi Hikosaka
Forensics Officers: Keigo Miyabe, Natsuo Murasaki & Akio Ogawa
Location: 03-08-20 Higoshioi, Shinagawa-ku, Tokyo
Prosecutor: Prosecutor Hideo Kurosawa was advised of a suspected homicide at 2203 and arrived on scene at 2230 with forensics officers in attendance.
Preliminary Analysis by Detective Ichiro Soma
I found the body in a sitting position on the floor of the living room, the torso supported by a wall. The victim’s arms hung straight down to the floor, her hands palm up, while her legs had been laid out in front of her. Visual examination revealed that the victim was wearing a white turtleneck shirt and denim dungarees and one white trainer – the other was lying on its side across the room 1.23 m from the body. Several injuries sustained by the victim were visibly apparent; ligature furrows in the skin and severe bruising to the neck and throat imply that she was strangled manually and also with twine or string. I delayed further inspection of her injuries until after the autopsy; however, the abrasions on her arms and hands indicate that what occurred was a physical struggle. Although it is most likely that the victim died at the scene, she was not killed in the position in which she was found.
Part of the assault evidently took place in the living room. The bureau by the front door had been overturned. The complainant, Mr Sarashima, stated that when he entered the apartment, the household phone was lying on the floor by the overturned bureau and that he used this to call the police. He stated that the phone was usually kept on the bureau. A set of footprints was found on the floor of the living room beneath the window (male, size 9). It has since been established that Mr Sarashima wears a size 8 and Higisha Nakamura wears a size 11.
The low black coffee table in the centre of the living room was askew, and the contents of a salmon and roe bento box were found lying beneath it. One upright bento remained on the table. The victim’s handbag was found next to the coffee table, its contents – a coin purse, wallet, handkerchief, notebook, and two sets of house keys – were scattered across the floor. On the other side of the coffee table was an open holdall containing clothes for an adult female, hairbrush, toiletries, one camera and a child’s formal obi. This holdall is separate from the duffel bag containing bundles of photographs that was confiscated from Higisha Nakamura and has also been taken into evidence. By the entrance to the kitchen, a box of red bean manjū was found lying on its side next to a bag of sakura sweets; the receipt indicates both were purchased from a local bakery.
There is evidence to suggest that the struggle between the victim and her assailant extended to the master bedroom. Three spots of fresh blood between 3 mm and 5 mm in diameter respectively were found on the bed covers (DNA analysis ordered). The remainder of the room was in a state of chaos: the wardrobes were open, as was a chest of drawers, and on the floor were three books, a white bedside clock with a cracked face, and two cardboard boxes haphazardly filled with clothes.
Forensic analysis has revealed that hand marks and fingerprints belonging to the victim were found on the door frame of the living room. The height, density, and distribution of oil on these prints indicate that at one point the victim grabbed at them, perhaps to avoid being pulled or dragged backwards. There were further handprints from the victim on the floor of the living room. The angle and oil distribution from these prints suggest that during the struggle the victim had either tried to crawl away from her attacker or towards the phone on the floor. A spool of white kitchen twine lay partially unravelled 33 cm from the last recorded handprint.
As of this filing, evidence remanded into the custody of forensics has been transported to the prefecture crime lab for analysis, and an inventory of items taken into evidence will be circulated to the investigating team within five days of this report. Please see Appendix A for the crime scene floorplan, diagrams on the placement of objects, and precise dimensions.
As I sat in the low light of our dining room my fingers trembled. I ran my hands over the contents of the case file. I read each document again and again, as though I would remain imprisoned at that table until I could make sense of the events. I knew that Kaitarō Nakamura had eventually signed a confession – the final one drafted for him by Prosecutor Kurosawa. I knew too that he had pled guilty to the murder of my mother. But what I realised, sitting in the soft light of my home, was the importance this plea would have given to the documents before me. Where once these reports and accounts would have been debated in open court, suddenly it was the documents themselves, line by line, that would speak.
Kaitarō’s confession altered the nature of his trial, shortening it to two days. As he stood before the District Court, his case would have been considered by a panel of three judges headed by a presiding judge, the saibanchō. There was no jury. The prosecutor would have addressed the bench and delivered the case file. He might even have discussed the contents of each document and read out his summation to the court, but once he and the defence attorney had given their opinions on the case, the files and all the documents within them would have been taken away to be considered in private by each judge. They alone debated the case between themselves, and it was the private process of reading – the relationship between a reader and the page – that would play the most important part.
There is only one basic homicide statute in Japan: Article 199 of the Penal Code. It states that ‘a person who kills another shall be punished’. So it was on that day. What kind of murder had been committed, the motivation behind the killing, any remorse felt by the defendant, an appropriate punishment – all of this was decided by a panel of three, alone in their judicial chambers.
They say that a prosecutor’s duty is to find the truth, to get as close as they can to the events that have occurred, even if they can never see them perfectly. Prosecutor Kurosawa’s written address to the court would have presented his understanding of events, but it was the evidence collected, the files and the video interviews themselves, that would have led each judge to the heart of the case and, ultimately, into the mind of Kaitarō Nakamura.
Our judicial process revolves around the issue of motive. Who, how, where, when are not as important as why. The desires that dwell in the deepest parts of the mind must be examined and proven before a sentence can be determined. Even in the most brutal of murders, the emotional state of the suspect comes to the fore. The notion of love is considered: hatsukoi ‘first love’, miren ‘lingering attachment’, kataomoi ‘one-sided longing’, aishiau ‘mutual love’, fukai aijō ‘deep love’. The court will evaluate the depth of love and proffer leniency accordingly. And so it is on this intangible value that a person’s fate can rest. Love, which for so many is a matter of life and death.
Life or Death
Do you know what a ‘lie question’ is? Psychologists put so much thought into these, so much effort; they draw them up for lie detector tests still in use in Japan today, not yet a relic of TV. The purpose of these tests is often to exclude a subject from suspicion, but they are still important, and the first real question asked, the one that gauges the pulse, the beat of your blood, is the one that matters above all. It is the difference between the person you are and the person you would like to be.
Imagine facing th
e examiner. He knows your name, age, occupation, lifestyle. You expect him to start slow, but he will not. In a homicide investigation, he will go straight in with a test of your nature, like ‘Have you ever thought of killing someone?’ And there, in the antechamber of the mind, between thought and speech, is the truth. We have all thought of killing someone. The answer to this question does not allow for virtue signalling or dishonesty. We are all capable of the thought. Killing is an impulse that lies within us all.
Once more, I sat in my bedroom, blocking out the traces of my childhood and focusing instead on the tape playing on the small TV screen. Kaitarō is wearing handcuffs when he enters the interrogation room. Prosecutor Kurosawa is already seated, and there is no one else with them, no typist keeping track. Yet Kaitarō must be aware of the men behind the glass screen and all who are waiting for his testimony, for when Kurosawa walks round the table to release him from his cuffs, Kaitarō’s movements are studiedly minimal. He does not rub his wrists but affects a relaxed posture, resting one arm on the table in front of him, creating his own space.
Kurosawa pushes a plastic cup of water towards Kaitarō, the gesture earning him a quiet smile, a flattening of the lips. For a moment the prosecutor glances at the camera and Kaitarō angles his body to face the viewfinder. I can see him more clearly, the lines on his face, the grooves by his mouth where his lips have learned to curve down.
‘Haven’t you got what you need?’ Kaitarō asks.
The prosecutor shrugs. ‘There is more to it than just the facts.’
‘You want my soul? Is that why you administrative idiots are here, fumbling with my head?’
‘I want to discuss something personal.’
‘More feelings?’ Kaitarō unbends and takes a sip of his water.
‘Love.’
‘You want me to define it for you?’
Kurosawa is silent.
Kaitarō reaches again for his water but pauses, the cup halfway to his lips. ‘You want to know if I really was in love?’
‘Yes.’
The expression on Kaitarō’s face is unreadable.
‘I want to be fair,’ Kurosawa says. ‘I have covered several homicides that have revolved around passion.’
‘Have they involved people like me?’
‘No.’
Kaitarō sits back, considering. ‘Will you argue that I was never in love?’
‘Tell me about your work,’ the prosecutor says.
‘You too, Kurosawa? You want to see me hang?’
‘Tell me,’ he says, his voice soft, ‘tell me about your work.’
Kaitarō leans forward and puts his face in his hands.
‘Don’t you care what happens to you?’
‘It doesn’t matter any more what happens to me.’
‘I think it will help you,’ Kurosawa remarks.
With his fingers still pressed to his temples, Kaitarō shakes his head. ‘Nothing can.’
‘Then just tell me the truth.’
The silence stretches between them. It is only seconds on the timer ticking away at the bottom of the screen, but it seems an age.
‘Sometimes,’ Kaitarō says, ‘it is easier to be in someone else’s skin.’ He flicks a glance at Kurosawa. ‘Have you always liked yourself? Are you comfortable in every situation? In a profession like mine and a life like yours, where you have to get close to people, you need to be a shape-shifter of sorts.’
Kurosawa nods; in bemusement or agreement, it’s hard to tell.
‘There are jobs you don’t want to do, people you don’t want to meet. But, as I am sure you know, it is dangerous to show anyone – man or woman – that you don’t like them. Perhaps there are times when you are safe, times when it is even opportune to let your dislike show, but in my world and probably in yours too, showing your true feelings is forbidden.’
Kurosawa leans forward. ‘Did you dislike Rina Satō? You walked away from her at first?’
‘I tried,’ Kaitarō says.
‘Wasn’t that ‘dangerous’? Didn’t it go against your instincts?’
Kaitarō smiles. ‘It went against my common sense and my instructions, yes, but not my instincts.’ He pauses. ‘I have worked on many cases. There are always needy people looking to add excitement to their lives, or those who want to abdicate responsibility for their choices, buy their way out of emotional trauma. The key is to be professional, to keep some distance between yourself and the part you play. You work the case as you would any social strategy. I was successful. There was a certain sense of satisfaction in that.’
‘Was it hard on your personal life?’ Kurosawa asks.
Kaitarō smiles. ‘I didn’t have a personal life, and in the beginning I didn’t need one. I was trying on all those people for size, challenging myself, but eventually what was interesting and new became exhausting. It takes a lot of energy to step out of your own skin, to learn to be someone else.’
‘So you loved no one and no one loved you.’
Kaitarō sighs. ‘For a lot of agents it is that way. They become wary of people, find it impossible to trust anyone. If you don’t trust someone, how can you love them? These agents end up alone. But we are not meant to be alone in life, are we?’
‘So you wanted companionship?’
‘I wanted to be myself.’
‘So it was timing? When you met Rina, you needed a change.’
‘No!’ Kaitarō sits forward. ‘I know what I felt. Give me credit enough to know my own mind.’
‘I had to ask,’ Kurosawa says. ‘It’s what most people will think, that she was convenient.’
‘They would be wrong.’
Kurosawa is silent. He gestures to the glass screen at the back of the room and signals for more water. ‘So, if it wasn’t timing and it wasn’t exhaustion, what changed you? What was different?’
‘She was,’ Kaitarō says. ‘The more I got to know her, I knew that she was what I had been looking for.’
‘She was beautiful?’ Kurosawa asks, and Kaitarō laughs softly.
‘Very, but in a way that was entirely her own. She had an inner strength that I admired.’
‘So you wanted to push her away? In the beginning?’
‘I tried,’ Kaitarō says. ‘I wanted to know her as a real person, not through my job. But the more time I spent with her – we fitted. We understood each other, and I couldn’t leave her to the life she was leading.’
Kaitarō pauses as another cup of water is placed in front of him. He smiles wryly at Kurosawa, a small remark on the change in his treatment. ‘I saw myself in her; she was my mate in every way. We fought for each other and found a way to be together. I trusted her as I have never trusted anyone else.’
‘Did she trust you?’
‘She did,’ Kaitarō says, his voice firm.
‘And you thought that was enough?’
‘I hoped it would be.’
‘So she wasn’t a mark?’ Kurosawa asks, placing a photograph on the table in front of him. It is a shot of Rina in the night market; she is just about to throw an apple into the air.
‘No,’ Kaitarō says, fingering the photograph, ‘she wasn’t a mark.’
Alone in my bedroom, I thought about cause and effect. Judges can be in charge of more than two hundred cases at a time, and the majority of the pleas they hear are guilty, with confessions typed and signed. Still, guilt is no simple thing and neither are defendants. The judges’ task is to determine the full extent of guilt, to identify the truth and apply a punishment that will correct and teach. And they must do this quickly, for the speed with which they dispatch their caseload affects their rank, their chances of promotion, their future. Competence is measured by how many cases they take on, and they cannot afford to linger for long.
I had not applied for Kaitarō Nakamura’s sentence, and to my grow
ing frustration it was not in the file. Instead, I had found a handwritten list of the possible outcomes faced by him. They ranged from various forms of incarceration to the death penalty. I had assumed he would have been given a custodial sentence, as it was rare for perpetrators of only one homicide to receive capital punishment, yet Yurie Kagashima had placed a star by this final option as though she would have to guard against it and defend his very life. The only thing I had to go on was the schedule of Kaitarō’s two days in court – the first to have his case heard and the second for sentencing – and I knew from this that whatever the judges eventually decided, they did not take long to make up their minds.
Once more, my thoughts turned to the documents spread across the dining table downstairs, to the footprint mentioned in the crime scene and the DNA analysis from my mother’s postmortem. The saliva found on her skin that suggested contact with another person shortly before her death. I recalled this line and thought about Kaitarō Nakamura and his sentence, about all the people who were there on the day my mother died and all the choices that can end a life.
Rina and Kaitarō
Bloodless Black and White
Rina stood alone by the window. The marble floor of the living room was cold beneath her bare feet, sending a chill into her blood. She leaned forward and rested her forehead against the glass, rolling it from side to side so that her warm skin left a smudge. The pain in her head was bad, and it had spread throughout her body. She had ended up drinking a lot the night before, but she knew this was not the cause. Rina pressed her face hard into the window, increasing the pressure against her head. She could fold herself into the freezer right now, press herself down between the shelves, and still the cold would not help her. Still, there would be this throbbing pain, a blinding pulse behind the eyes so that she could not see.
He was gone. She had made her choice. Only now there was nothing left. It was as if the erosion of herself had begun again and she was once more powerless to stop it – a helplessness she’d chosen for herself.
What's Left of Me is Yours Page 16