“Actually, you rescued me from writing a particularly depressing report.” He smiled. “Come on up. I’ll call the evidence room.”
He took her to the third floor and led her to his desk.
“Dozo. Have a seat,” he said, nodding toward the visitor chair. He lifted the receiver of the landline and asked the evidence room to send up Rika’s phone. Yumi was digging in her purse, not trying to look like the girl of his dreams but succeeding all the same. The squad room suddenly seemed way too warm. Kenji removed his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair, then rolled up his sleeves.
Pen and notepad retrieved, Yumi glanced at his arms, corded with the muscles from his mandatory police judo training. “You still playing baseball?” she asked.
“Nah, they tried to recruit me for the police league but I don’t have time. I have to do judo now—we’re all required to maintain at least a first-degree black belt, but because I never learned it as a kid, I’m still playing catch-up. I work out twice as often as the rest of the guys, but any one of them can have me on the mat in about thirty seconds.” He laughed. “Some even faster. The detective who usually sits next to me is a fifth-degree. He can flatten me just by looking in my direction.”
Tommy Loud arrived with Rika’s phone. Kenji thanked him and signed for it.
“I’ve got something else for you, too,” the crime tech said. “Call me when you’re done here.”
“Thank you, Rowdy-san. Give me a few minutes.”
Kenji extracted Rika’s phone from the evidence bag, handing it to Yumi.
“Do you need the charger?” he asked.
She chimed it on and checked the battery icon. “No, looks fine. Is there somewhere you’d like me to . . . ?”
“No, go ahead and use my desk.”
Kenji excused himself and took his phone to an empty interview room, pulling the door shut behind him. He called Tommy Loud.
The crime tech picked up and said without preamble, “We were right. Your victim didn’t commit suicide. She was murdered.”
“How?” Kenji asked.
“She died of asphyxiation. There was severe congestion in her lungs.”
“But . . . the examining doctor didn’t find any marks around her neck or petechial hemorrhaging in her eyes.”
“That’s because she wasn’t strangled. Whoever did it used a pillow. Or a plastic bag.”
Kenji thought about the crime scene: no pillows in the car, no plastic bags. “Did you find anything like that at the scene?”
“No, I’d have mentioned it,” the crime tech answered, slightly offended.
“Of course. Sorry.” Kenji paused. “I guess that rules out murder-suicide.”
“And suggests premeditation. Whoever killed her brought a bag or pillow to the scene, then took it away again.”
Kenji ended the call. The section chief had given approval for the autopsy very reluctantly and he wasn’t going to like these results one bit. Plus, he was going to think Kenji was a prize idiot—not only had he sent everybody on a massive wild goose chase after the wrong suspect, he’d even been concentrating on the wrong victim.
Leaning back in the hard interview room chair, he rubbed his face. It had been a long day. He rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the tension that had settled there. He wasn’t looking forward to judo practice, but a little punishing was probably just what he needed. Oki would give him a thorough smackdown, but afterward he’d be a sympathetic listener over their customary post-workout beer. Kenji sighed and pushed back his chair. Time to go out and tell Yumi she’d been right about her friend.
Chapter 29
Thursday, April 11
10:30 A.M.
Kenji
The next morning dawned bright and clear, but no sunshine penetrated the windowless interrogation room where Kenji and Suzuki were waiting to present their progress—or rather, lack of it—to Section Chief Tanaka.
Detective Oki poked his head in. “I just ran into the chief in the staff room. He says he’ll be here as soon as his tea’s finished brewing. What’s the news on your suicide case?”
Kenji asked him to shut the door and told him it was now a homicide, but the section chief didn’t know that yet. Oki pulled up a chair as Kenji told him what he’d learned from Tommy Loud. When he finished, the big detective leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling for a moment.
“You want to know what I’d do if I were you?” Oki rocked forward. “First thing, I wouldn’t receive that call about the autopsy results from Tommy Loud until, say, one this afternoon. Tanaka’s calendar says he has an intra-agency communications meeting at noon today with the chief superintendent, but that’s actually a tee time. So even if I diligently put my memo about the Ozawa post-mortem on his desk at one thirty, he won’t see it until tomorrow at the earliest. Then I’d bust my butt finding something to make him think I’ll be able hand the main office a suspect before they get involved.”
“You think that’s possible?” asked Kenji.
“Probably not. But it doesn’t matter. All you want to do is survive the explosion when Tanaka-san finds out our unsolved homicide rate just doubled, and make it look like you’re close to moving it into the other column.”
As Oki left, the section chief arrived, his mug from last year’s National Police Chiefs Convention in hand. By the time Kenji finished reporting that there was no evidence that Chinese milk powder had ever been used by Hamada Sweets and it looked like Hiro Hamada was telling the truth, the tea in Tanaka’s cup was half gone.
The section chief asked pointedly, “You’ll be releasing Mr. and Mrs. Hamada’s remains to the family now, I hope?”
Mrs. Hamada’s sister—wife of the chairman of Ichiki Electric—had been telephoning daily, asking when funeral arrangements could be made. The section chief had been the unfortunate one who’d had to call her yesterday and break the news that, due to certain statements her nephew had made, there would be a further delay in releasing the bodies. She’d insisted that was ridiculous—Hiro was totally devastated by his parents’ deaths, and Tanaka should know better than to listen to self-accusations from a grief-stricken young man, especially one from such an old and upstanding family. Now Tanaka would have to admit she’d been right, and apologize profusely. He was not pleased to be in that position, and Kenji knew it.
“I’ll do the necessary paperwork right away, sir.”
Tanaka scowled and finished his tea. “What’s happening with Rika Ozawa? I suppose it’s too early for the post-mortem report?”
“I haven’t seen it yet, sir,” said Kenji.
He glanced at Suzuki, whose head was bent over his notes. Suzuki knew that Loud had called with the results, but Kenji was relieved to see that the Assistant Detective apparently agreed that a kohai’s duty to support his sempai trumped the truth in this case. He wasn’t volunteering the information that Kenji hadn’t seen the results, he’d merely heard them.
But the section chief had good reason not to be happy that an open-and-shut suicide might turn into a major crime. Suicides didn’t contribute to the station’s solve rate, but failing to catch a killer would. Plus, if Rika’s death was reclassified as a homicide, the elite murder squad from the downtown Chiyoda Ward headquarters would certainly descend on the Komagome Police Station. If the killer were caught, the elite squad would take the credit; if not, the local station’s initial investigation would be blamed.
“We’re completing a thorough analysis of the crime scene evidence while we wait for the post-mortem results, sir. Rowdy-san is working overtime to get the testing done,” Kenji assured him.
Tanaka frowned. “That foreigner is the tech on this case? I’ll try to get it reassigned.”
A short knock at the door interrupted him and Tommy Loud himself entered, carrying a folder. He bowed and said, “Please excuse m
y rudeness, I’m sorry to be late,” in perfect honorific-form Japanese. His pale, freckled face was flushed as though he’d been running, and his tie was askew. Noting the section chief’s disapproval, he self-consciously corrected it.
Kenji explained, “When we spoke this morning, I asked Rowdy-san to join us to share his latest findings.”
Tanaka grimaced, looked at his watch and briskly pushed his chair back. “I’ll leave you to your work, then. Keep me informed.” He looked at Kenji. “I’m going to consult with the chief superintendent this afternoon about how best to allocate resources to this case. If I decide to make any personnel changes, I’ll let you know.”
Kenji and Suzuki stood and bowed as their superior left the room.
“What was that all about?” Loud asked, dropping into the section chief’s empty seat. “He’s not thinking of replacing you as lead investigator, is he?”
Kenji thought the section chief had been talking about getting rid of Tommy Loud, but now he realized he could be the one who was reassigned. “Let’s not give him any excuse to do that. Please tell me you have good news.”
Loud grinned. “I stopped by the lab to see the technician doing Rika Ozawa’s tox screen. While he was explaining at great length why he would never do something so irregular as to give me results before circulating them through official channels, I noticed that the report was actually sitting right there on his desk. So, as he pontificated away, I read all the important bits upside down.”
“You what?”
“I can read Japanese, you know,” Loud said, slightly offended.
“Sorry Rowdy-san, that’s not what I meant.” Kenji glanced at Suzuki, who was clearly scandalized at the crime tech’s craftiness. “Sometimes ‘the way things are done’ gets in the way of actually getting things done. I’m happy to be working with someone who knows the difference.”
Loud smiled, good humor restored.
“So . . . ?” Kenji prompted.
“Rika Ozawa was nearly sober when she died. Blood alcohol 0.02, and no trace of drugs in her system.”
Kenji sat back in his chair. “Huh. So our victim goes to the Mad Hatter, eats a salad, and has a drink with her friend. Then she dresses up like Bo Peep’s evil twin, puts a blank piece of paper into an envelope addressed to her parents, meets two suicidal people at a deserted parking lot, eats fifty breath mints, throws up, drops her phone, and is attacked and suffocated by an unknown assailant.”
“There’s more,” said Loud. “We discovered why none of your victims had signs of carbon monoxide poisoning. Remember the charcoal burner we found in the back seat of the car? The only thing that went up in smoke that night was incense. There were four chunks of charcoal in the grate but they weren’t even singed. The only ash was from the sticks of Kojurin that someone lit instead of torching the sumi.”
He let Kenji puzzle over this for a moment before adding, “You want to know what I think? I think your victim never intended to commit suicide. I think she wanted the Hamadas to believe that they would all die together, but she made pretty meticulous plans to avoid following them to nirvana.”
“But why would she do that?” blurted Suzuki, whose by-the-book sensibilities had been shocked too many times that morning.
“As they say in my country,” said the crime tech, “cui bono?” He rose. “I’ve got to get back to the lab. Good luck, and I’ll let you know if I find out anything else.”
Kenji thanked him and Loud sketched a wave as he disappeared through the door. Kenji uncapped his pen and opened his notebook.
Why was killer at shrine?
—Kill Rika or other reason?
—Planned or opportunistic?
Who knew Rika would be at shrine parking lot?
—Someone who followed her from a bar? Which bar? Ask Yumi
—Was she working on a story?
—What was it about?
—Who would be hurt?
—Who was she working for?
He sat back in his chair, thinking, then looked up at Suzuki and said, “If you get lunch, I’ll start searching those suicide websites.”
Chapter 30
Thursday, April 11
12:30 P.M.
Kenji
Kenji picked up a juicy tempura-fried prawn with his chopsticks and tapped it on the side of his noodle bowl so it wouldn’t drip. Pulling out his phone with his other hand, he searched for the e-mail Yumi had forwarded with the suicide websites and wondered what she was doing right now. She’d know what Rowdy-san had meant when he tossed off that weird foreign word at the end of the meeting.
Setting down his chopsticks, he paged through his notes, looking for it. Pulling his computer over next to his noodles, he used the phonetic alphabet reserved for foreign words to type “ku-i-bo-no” into the search field. A dictionary definition appeared. It was Latin, not English. “Cui bono? Who benefits?”
He slurped up a big bite of noodles. Who did benefit from killing Rika Ozawa? She worked as a staff writer at a magazine with a small circulation and didn’t come from a wealthy family, so she probably hadn’t been murdered over money. More likely it was because of something she knew. Had Yumi continued to search for that article Rika was writing? He called her.
“Moshi-moshi?” In the background, he heard a muffled thank you, then a request for an extra napkin.
“Yumi, it’s Kenji. Did I get you at a bad time?”
“No, just a minute.” Offline, she asked for chopsticks. “Sorry, I’m at a convenience store, grabbing some lunch. What’s up?”
“Did you ever find that article Rika Ozawa was writing?”
A brief silence. “No.”
“Really?”
More silence.
“You found it, didn’t you? Or at least you discovered what it was about.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because in tenth grade I heard you tell our history teacher that you had no idea who pulled the fire alarm before that big test.”
“That was you? I thought it was Coco’s boyfriend.”
“Neither of us had studied.”
“Oh.”
“Yu-chan, you’re a terrible liar,” he said. “The article?”
Long silence. Finally, she sighed and said, “I found it on her work computer. It was about suicide websites.”
“Suicide websites? I thought you said this was going to be her big break. Suicide websites are hardly cutting-edge news.”
“Yeah, but . . .” Yumi paused, then continued reluctantly, “The piece she was writing was full of first-person stuff. She’d been using the name
Tommy Loud had guessed right. Rika had gone to the shrine intending to mislead the Hamadas. Had she planned to watch them die, then write about it for the suicide article? That was cold. It ruled out the theory someone had killed her to prevent an exposé becoming public, though. So what were the alternatives? A thrill killer? A stranger who’d followed her and murdered for the fun of it?
“Yu-chan, what bar did you and Rika go to that night?”
“The Mad Hatter.”
“Did you see anybody there who might have followed her?”
“And killed her? Someone from the Hatter?” She thought a moment. “No. But I wasn’t really paying attention. Boshi-san—the bartender—you could ask him.”
“Can you tell me how to get there?”
She hesitated. “I think I’d better go with you. He might be more helpful if I introduce you.”
“I need an introduction to a bartender?”
“Look, I’ve got to be somewhere at eight, but I could meet you after work. Say, six o’clock?”
He’d miss judo practice, but he didn’t even hesitate. “Okay, thanks. Where would you like to
meet?”
“In front of the convenience store outside the Omotesando exit, Harajuku JR station?”
“I’ll be there,” he said. “And e-mail me that article, will you?”
He hung up and grinned. He was having a drink with Yumi Hata tonight.
“Sir?” Suzuki appeared at his desk. “What would you like me to work on this afternoon?”
Kenji reviewed his notes. A bar wasn’t the only place a thrill killer might have met Rika. Those suicide websites Yumi had sent him were probably filled with crazies. Grabbing his phone, he looked up her message and copied the first three addresses onto a notepad for Suzuki. He’d investigate the one she used most often himself.
“I’d like you to check these sites and see what Rika posted there. Hata-san told me she was using the name
Kenji looked at the remaining address: whitelight.co.jp. He typed it into his browser.
Chapter 31
Thursday, April 11
12:30 P.M.
Kenji
His screen went black, then a tiny, white glow appeared in the center and spread to fill the screen. The words, “Surrender To The Light” slowly rippled to the surface in gothic lettering, both English and Japanese.
Apparently, one had to register in order to gain access. He clicked on Create New Account. What user name should he adopt? Nothing that would reveal his actual identity, of course. He fell back on
A new page appeared, welcoming him to the community of those ready to face the great beyond and explaining that he could read and post in any topic. All entries were subject to monitoring by the site administrators, who took no responsibility for the content or users’ actions. He was automatically assigned the e-mail address [email protected].
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