Soon after this incident, summer vacation started, and the timing couldn’t have been worse. Just when I’d opened my eyes to what was going on in my class, they drifted out of my sight. I suppose I could have reached out to them over vacation, but I didn’t. I was busy. I had to do a lot of work to help all of my students get into the right high schools in the next half year. I had school pamphlets to gather, and a mountain of recommendations and forms to fill out. But this is just an excuse. Yamaoka and his buddies extorted and stole over a hundred thousand yen—which is a huge amount for a schoolboy—from Maeno over the summer. Even worse than that, the tangled web of power and coercion between them grew ever stronger and more complex. I didn’t learn about this until sometime later.
At the beginning of the second semester I became aware, both from a sudden drop in Maeno’s grades and because some concerned students confided in me, that the bullying was getting worse, was happening daily. But how bad, I couldn’t have imagined. I found out later that Maeno’s hair had hid no fewer than six cigarette burns on his scalp.
Some of my colleagues thought that, since the students were about to graduate and go their separate ways, it was best to ignore bullying in the senior class. In other words, let graduation solve the problem. But I didn’t feel this was an option. I was still relatively new as a teacher and it was the first year I had a senior class assigned to me for homeroom. I didn’t want any of my students to regret having been assigned to my class.
I decided to talk to Maeno first. I wanted to find out how the bullying had started, and what had happened so far.
He refused to talk. Clearly, he was worried that if he did, the bullying would only escalate. From the sweat running down his brow and the trembling in his fingers, I could plainly see the boy was terrified.
I decided the thing to do was to try to improve his self-confidence. My first idea was kendo. I was in charge of the kendo club at school, and I’d seen many timid young boys take up the sport and transform before my eyes.
As it was a bit late in the year for him to join the kendo club officially, I offered him private lessons in the mornings before school. Though he didn’t seem particularly eager, he showed up for those lessons every morning. Maeno was smart enough to realize what I was trying to do.
He took to kendo fairly well, but showed a far keener interest in something else: knife throwing.
I had taken up the practice of knife throwing as a way to help develop focus. The idea is simple enough: throw a knife at a tatami against the wall and try to make it stick. I sometimes threw with my eyes shut, or even with my back turned to the mat. I found that doing this well required absolute concentration—being aware of everything around me, yet maintaining an intense focus on the knife, on its balance, and on the target. To avoid accidents, I always practiced before anyone else showed up at the gym; but Maeno came early one day and saw me. He told me he wanted to try it, too. It was against school rules, letting a student carry or handle an edged weapon such as a knife or sword, so I had to refuse. But I did let him watch me practice. He would stand a safe distance away, a serious look on his face as he studied my movements.
Once he asked me what the trick to it was.
“You just have to believe you can do it,” I told him.
Not long after that, Yamaoka, the ringleader of the bullies, was admitted to the hospital for appendicitis. Since I didn’t subscribe to the passive route—letting the bullying die out by itself—I saw this as the perfect opportunity to rid Maeno of his feelings of inferiority to Yamaoka.
I told Maeno to copy his class notes and bring them to the hospital every day. With tears in his eyes, he tried to refuse, but I wouldn’t hear it. I didn’t want to let him graduate feeling like a loser.
I’m not sure what transpired at the hospital. Maeno may silently have put the notes on Yamaoka’s bed and left. Maybe the two boys didn’t even see each other. I didn’t care. As far as I was concerned, as long as Yamaoka felt indebted to Maeno, and Maeno felt empowered, that was good enough.
Shortly after Yamaoka got out of the hospital, I got the confirmation I was looking for that everything was going as I’d planned. I casually asked a few of my students about the state of affairs between Maeno and the gang, and they revealed that the bullying had stopped. Of course the other kids might’ve been lying, but Maeno was clearly much happier than before, so I decided that things had resolved themselves.
After graduation, I realized just how wrong I was.
On graduation day, I was happy. All of my students were ready to move on to high schools in the area, and they wouldn’t be taking any lingering problems with them. Because of my success that year, I was starting to feel some confidence in my choice of profession.
Then that night I received a phone call from the police. The officer in charge of juvenile affairs said something that made my blood run cold: Maeno had been arrested on charges of battery and assault with a deadly weapon. He had stabbed Yamaoka at a local video arcade.
At first, I thought the officer got it wrong. Wasn’t it the other way around?
It turned out both boys were injured. At the time of his arrest, Maeno’s clothes were ripped, the side of his face was swollen, and he was bruised all over.
After graduation, Yamaoka and his cronies had found Maeno alone and ganged up on him. They’d only been holding off while they were still in school because of that nosy teacher, Mr. Kaga. But as soon as they were beyond my reach, they beat Maeno to a bloody pulp and pissed on his face.
I don’t know how long Maeno lay there, bloodied and bruised, after he was beaten. But the first thing he did after he struggled to his feet was head for the kendo room in the gym. There, he broke into my locker and took one of my throwing knives.
He knew where Yamaoka would be because over the past year they’d forced him to bring them money there time and time again. When he found them at the arcade, he didn’t hesitate. He went straight to Yamaoka and stabbed him, again and again.
The arcade owner called the police. When they arrived, Maeno was just standing there, my knife still in his hand.
I went to the police station right away, but Maeno refused to see me. I did learn, however, that Yamaoka would recover, that his wounds were not fatal.
The next day, the officer in charge of the case told me, “You know, Maeno was ready to die in that video arcade after stabbing that kid. I asked the other kids involved why they’d beaten Maeno up in the first place, and they said it was because they didn’t like him. When I asked why they didn’t like him, do you know what they said? ‘Just because.’”
Those words devastated me.
I never spoke to either Maeno or Yamaoka again. According to Maeno’s mother, who did speak to me briefly after the incident, I was “the last person in the world” Maeno wanted to see.
When April came around and it was time for a new school year to start, I didn’t have it in me to return to the classroom. So I fled. To this day, I believe that my actions that year constitute the greatest failure of my life.
9
TRUTH
KYOICHIRO KAGA’S SOLUTION
How are you feeling? I spoke to the doctor before coming in here, and he tells me you’ve decided to go through with the surgery. I was relieved to hear that. You’ve signed all the permission forms and they’re ready to go ahead. So there’s no turning back now. Apparently, there’s a fairly high chance of success, too. I’m not telling you that to make you feel better. It’s the truth.
“I want to ask you, when did you first realize you were sick? Was it this winter? This year?
“No, I’m guessing you knew the cancer had returned by the end of last year at the latest. And you thought this time might be the last go-around. That there would be no remissions or second chances. Am I right? That’s why you didn’t bother going to the hospital?
“I have a reason for believing this. I think that’s when you started planning Kunihiko Hidaka’s murder.
“Surprised? You
shouldn’t be. There’s a logical basis for my assertion. I even have evidence. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about this afternoon. I might be here a little longer than usual today, but don’t worry, your doctor has given me permission.
“Take a look at this. Recognize this image? It’s from the video of you sneaking into Hidaka’s house. The one Hidaka supposedly made by setting up a hidden camera in his garden, catching you in the act. According to your confession, that is.
“If you’d like, I can bring a player in here and we can review the whole video, but I don’t think that’ll be necessary. This one frame will be enough. Besides, you’re probably sick of seeing that footage, right? After all, you staged it, you performed it, and you filmed it. It was your directorial and acting debut.
“Yes, I am claiming it’s a fake. Everything on this tape is a lie. That’s what I’m going to prove to you now, using this photograph. See, this video wasn’t filmed seven years ago, like the date in the bottom purports.
“Let me explain. It’s very simple. We can see Hidaka’s garden here, right? Notice the plants. I realize there aren’t many in this image. The famous cherry tree is just outside the frame, and the lawn is withered. You can tell at a glance that this was taken during the winter. Not that winter. Just a winter. That, and since it was taken in the middle of the night, it’s too dark to make out much detail. I suppose that’s why you thought it would fool us.
“Mr. Nonoguchi, unfortunately you made a big mistake. No, I’m not bluffing, you really did make a mistake. See this blotch across the lawn here? That’s the shadow of the cherry tree, cast by a streetlamp out at the road. It’s faint, yes, but it’s fatal to your subterfuge.
“I know, I know. The quality of the video and the way the light shines into the garden make it hard to determine whether this is the cherry tree of seven years or only half a year ago. On that account, you’re perfectly correct. But that’s not what I wanted to point out. The problem here isn’t the shape of the shadow, it’s that there’s only one tree.
“You seem confused, so let me explain. If this video really was taken in the Hidakas’ garden seven years ago, there would have to be two shadows across the lawn here. Do you know why? Because seven years ago, there were two cherry trees in the Hidakas’ garden standing side by side. A lovely couple.
“So, no, the video wasn’t recorded years ago. It was taken recently, and it was taken by you. Rie Hidaka seems to think it wouldn’t have been difficult for you to stage your video shoot toward the end of last year. Kunihiko Hidaka was still single at the time, she hadn’t yet moved into the house, and all you would’ve had to do was wait for a night when he was out drinking with one of his editors.
“Of course, you’d need a key to the house to make sure the office window was unlocked. It wouldn’t have made such a great video if you weren’t able to climb in the window for your big ‘murder attempt.’ Oh, I know you didn’t have a set of keys to Hidaka’s house. Rie didn’t think that would’ve been problematic, either, though. When her late husband went out drinking, he never took his keys with him. Ever since he lost his keys once while out on the town, he’d taken to hiding them behind the flower pot outside the front door. As long as you knew that, you wouldn’t need your own set of keys. Rie is fairly sure that was something you did know.
“I can guess what you’re thinking, Mr. Nonoguchi. What detective analyzes every little shadow in a videotape on the off chance something might not correspond to the vegetation present seven years ago in a garden? Well, you’re right. No one does that, not even me. See, it wasn’t the lack of an extra tree that made me realize the videotape was a fake. Rather, it was because I knew the tape was a fake that I watched it over and over again, going so far as to hunt down the one or two extant photos of the Hidakas’ garden in order to find the evidence I needed. But how did I know it was a fake? Because another piece of evidence from your confession was called into question: namely, the giant pile of manuscripts found in your apartment. The ones I was sure were connected to your motive for murdering Hidaka.
“There were several things that struck me as odd when I read the confession you wrote following your arrest. It was possible to explain each away individually, but taken together, they gave me the impression there was something else at work in your account, Mr. Nonoguchi. There was an insincerity running through it that made me unable to simply accept what you’d written as the truth.
“That was when I found my first big clue. I was amazed that, given the number of times I’d met with you, I hadn’t noticed it before. It was staring me in the face the whole time.
“Mr. Nonoguchi, please hold out your right hand. Just your fingers will do. Note the pen callus on your middle finger. It’s quite thick.
“But that’s odd, isn’t it? You don’t write longhand, you use a word processor for your stories. You also used it for your reports and so forth you wrote back when you worked as a teacher. So why did you have such a large pen callus? Perhaps you’d like me to believe it’s not a pen callus. Then what is it? You don’t know? You can’t remember anything that could have caused that bump on your finger?
“Don’t worry about it too much. The only thing that’s important here is that, to me, it looked like a pen callus. And the only reason for someone who uses a word processor to have such a nice thick pen callus would be because he’d recently needed to write a very large quantity of material by hand.
“That got me thinking. And let me tell you, what I came up with sent a chill down my spine. If my new theory was correct, it meant that my investigation would take a full one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn.
“I’ll cut to the chase: all those manuscripts found in your apartment were not written over the last couple of decades, they weren’t written back in high school or college, but instead they were written very recently, in great haste. Chilling, I know. Because that would mean that Mr. Hidaka hadn’t stolen your work, or stolen any ideas from those manuscripts at all.
“But a theory without proof isn’t enough. I needed some way to prove it, so I did some looking around.
“Mr. Nonoguchi, do you know a man by the name of Heikichi Tsujimura? You don’t? I didn’t think so.
“In your confession, you wrote that as children you and Kunihiko Hidaka used to go watch the neighborhood fireworks maker at work. You said that it was your memory of these occasions that formed the basis for your story A Circle of Fire, the very story on which Mr. Hidaka based his novel An Unburning Flame.
“That fireworks maker’s name was Mr. Tsujimura. Yes, of course you might’ve simply forgotten the name. That’s not important. I imagine that, had I been able to ask Kunihiko Hidaka if he remembered, it’s possible he might’ve forgotten, too.
“But Mr. Tsujimura—who, by the way, is still alive; over ninety and in a wheelchair, but sharp as a tack—hadn’t forgotten the boy who came to visit. One boy, not two. I showed him your middle-school yearbook and he pointed out the boy’s face right away: Kunihiko Hidaka.
“Oh, and when I showed him your face, he said he’d never seen you before.
“It was his testimony that removed my last remaining shred of doubt. Mr. Hidaka hadn’t stolen your work, hadn’t based any of his novels on your writings. All those manuscripts were stories and novels derived by you, closely based on his books. Then I started working backward from that fact, the fact that he didn’t plagiarize a word from you. If there was no plagiarism, then there was no blackmail, and if not blackmail, ultimately, no attempted murder.
“What are we to make, then, of your alleged relationship to Hatsumi Hidaka, the supposed motive for your attempted murder? Was there really an infidelity, as you claimed? Let’s review the evidence.
“First we have the apron, the necklace, and the travel documents found in your apartment. Next we have the photograph, discovered later, of Hatsumi, taken at what appears to be the Fuji River rest area. Not to mention the photo of Mount Fuji taken from the same spot.
“That’s it. Th
ere was nothing else. Nor were there any witnesses who could testify to seeing the two of you alone together, much less testify to a relationship between you.
“Of these, the travel documents could have been written up at any time, so they prove nothing. Furthermore, the necklace you claimed was a present for Hatsumi could’ve been for anyone, or no one at all. The apron, however, does appear to have been Hatsumi’s apron. As I told you before, we found a photograph of her wearing it.
“However, it would’ve been a rather simple task for you to steal an apron out of Hidaka’s house, possibly on one of those nights when he was out drinking with an editor or perhaps when you went to help him clean out his deceased wife’s belongings before he married Rie.
“On that same occasion, you could’ve stolen a photograph. Specifically, one that fulfilled the following conditions: it had to show Hatsumi standing alone, and there needed to be no other photographs showing Kunihiko in the same place. Another photograph showing something innocuous, like a view from the same place, would be the icing on the cake. The photograph meeting all of those conditions was the one taken at the Fuji River rest area.
“No, of course I have no proof you stole anything. I’m merely saying it was possible. But, given the number of times I’ve been misled by things you’ve written, the mere possibility is enough to convince me I shouldn’t accept the details of your alleged relationship with Hatsumi at face value.
“Of course, if there was no attempted murder, no blackmail, and no plagiarism, then it would only stand to reason that the precondition necessary for all of those events to take place—Hatsumi’s adultery—also did not occur. This also clears up the matter of Hatsumi’s accidental death. It was simply that: an accident. There was no motive for suicide.
“Let’s take a look at what we have so far—specifically, what you’ve been up to since fall of last year. I’ll try to keep things in chronological order.
Malice: A Mystery Page 20