Journey Under the Midnight Sun

by Keigo Higashino

  ‘So they said. And she was the one who called you, not the other way around?’

  Tomohiko nodded. He heard Hanaoka chuckle.

  ‘She always had a soft spot for pretty boys. At her age, getting all giddy over the little rock stars. And look at you. You’re young; your face fits the bill. I bet you were just her type.’

  Tomohiko clasped his hands together on his knees. There was something viscous about the man’s voice, like tar. He could almost feel the jealousy oozing out of the cracks between his words.

  ‘So you just talked?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘She never invited you to do… anything else? Like go to a hotel?’ Hanaoka was acting innocent, but there was nothing light about his tone.

  ‘Not even once.’

  ‘That’s the truth?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Tomohiko nodded seriously.

  ‘Then there was something else I was hoping you could tell me. I was wondering if you knew anyone else she met like that.’

  ‘You mean, other than me?’ Tomohiko shrugged. ‘No.’

  Tomohiko could feel Hanaoka’s gaze, a grown man’s eyes, staring daggers at him.

  Just then, someone knocked on the window by Tomohiko’s head. He looked up and saw Ryo looking in. Tomohiko opened his door.

  ‘What are you doing, Tomohiko? The teacher’s looking for you,’ Ryo said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s in the office. You better get there quick.’

  Tomohiko met Ryo’s eyes for a moment, then looked back at Hanaoka. ‘Um, are we done?’

  ‘Yeah, we’re done,’ Hanaoka said, though it was clear from his tone that he was far from satisfied.

  Tomohiko got out of the car and walked back towards the school with Ryo.

  ‘What did he ask you?’ Ryo asked in a whisper.

  ‘He wanted to know what we did.’

  ‘You play dumb?’

  ‘Course.’

  ‘Good. Very good.’

  ‘What’s going on, Ryo? What did you do?’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about that.’

  ‘Yeah, but —’

  Ryo gave him a whack on the shoulder. ‘He might be watching us, so you’d better get inside. Go out the back when you leave.’

  The two of them stood in front of the gate to the school.

  ‘OK,’ Tomohiko said.

  ‘See ya.’

  Tomohiko watched Ryo leave and then went inside as instructed.

  He never did see Yuko Hanaoka’s husband again. Nor did the detectives from Minami Precinct ever pay him a second visit.

  On a Sunday in the middle of August, Ryo took Tomohiko back to the apartment in Nishinagahori.

  This time Ryo opened the door himself with one of many keys dangling from the ring in his hand.

  ‘In you go,’ Ryo said, removing his sneakers.

  The dining room and kitchen were largely unchanged from the last time Tomohiko had been there: same cheap table, chairs, refrigerator and microwave. The only difference was a noticeable lack of perfume in the air. Ryo had called him the night before, saying he wanted to show him something, laughing and saying ‘it’s a secret’ when Tomohiko asked what it was. The laugh threw him more than anything. It was a genuine laugh, the kind he’d never heard from Ryo before.

  Tomohiko had frowned when he heard they were going back to the apartment.

  ‘Don’t worry. I won’t ask you to sell your body,’ Ryo said. He laughed again, but there was no warmth in it this time.

  Ryo went in first and opened up the divider between the two back rooms. This was where he’d first met Yuko. No one was there today, but when he saw what was his eyes went wide.

  ‘Thought you’d like it,’ Ryo said with a grin.

  Four computers were set up on a low table, along with a dozen peripherals.

  ‘Where’d you get all these?’ Tomohiko asked, amazed.

  ‘I bought them. How else?’

  ‘You know how to use these, Ryo?’

  ‘I do OK. But I need your help.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘That’s why you’re here.’

  Just then, the doorbell rang. Tomohiko stiffened. He hadn’t been expecting anyone else to be here.

  Ryo stood. ‘That’ll be Namie.’

  Tomohiko went over to the cardboard boxes stacked in the corner of the room and peeked inside the one on top. It was packed full of new cassette tapes. If all of the boxes were full of these, that made a considerable number of tapes.

  The front door opened and he heard someone coming in. ‘Tomohiko’s here,’ Ryo said. A woman answered him.

  She came in, a plain-faced woman, probably a little over thirty years old. She looked somehow familiar.

  ‘Long time no see,’ she said.

  ‘Huh?’ Tomohiko gaped and the woman laughed.

  ‘She’s the one who went home early. You remember,’ Ryo said.

  ‘You mean – oh!’ Tomohiko looked back at her. She didn’t have much make-up on today, which made her seem even older – or rather, how she probably really looked.

  ‘Don’t bother her with too many questions, OK? Her name’s Namie. She’s our accountant. That’s all you need to know,’ Ryo said.

  ‘Why do we need an accountant?’

  Ryo took a folded piece of paper out of his jeans pocket and handed it to Tomohiko. On it in black ink had been written:

  Unlimited Designs

  Sellers of all varieties of games for personal computers.

  ‘Unlimited Designs?’

  ‘That’s the name of our company. We sell games on cassette tapes through the mail.’

  ‘OK.’ Tomohiko nodded, a picture starting to form in his head. ‘Those might sell.’

  ‘They will sell. No doubt about it,’ Ryo said.

  ‘Where do we get the software from?’

  Ryo walked over to one of his computers and pulled a long sheet of paper out of the printer beside it. ‘Our big seller,’ he said, showing it to Tomohiko.

  A program was written out on the paper. It was long and complicated, beyond Tomohiko’s talents. At the top was written the word Submarine.

  ‘Where did you get this game? Did you make it?’

  ‘Does it matter? Namie, you come up with a good name yet?’

  ‘I came up with something. I’m not sure if you’ll like it or not.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Marine Crash,’ Namie said a little hesitantly.

  ‘Marine Crash,’ Ryo repeated, hands across his chest. ‘Great, let’s go with that.’

  Namie smiled, looking relieved.

  Ryo glanced at his watch and stood. ‘I’m going to the printers.’

  ‘The printers?’ Tomohiko asked. ‘What for?’

  ‘You can’t sell anything without advertising it first,’ he said, putting on his sneakers as he went out of the front door.

  Tomohiko sat cross-legged in the back room, scanning the code for the program. Namie was sitting at the desk, punching something into a ten-key calculator.

  ‘Hey, Namie,’ he said. ‘Do you know what the story is with Ryo?’

  ‘What do you mean? I thought you were friends.’ Her hand stopped.

  ‘I know him, he goes to my school. But I never even noticed him until he invited me here the other day. He doesn’t have any friends and I’ve never seen him do much in class – and yet he’s doing this in his free time?’

  Namie turned around to look at Tomohiko. ‘There’s more to life than school, you know.’

  ‘Sure, but, it’s just – he’s so hard to pin down.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m guessing it’s better not to pry too deep when it comes to Ryo.’

  ‘Hey, I’m not prying. I was just wondering, that’s all. I mean when —’ Tomohiko stopped, unsure of how much he should say.

  ‘When Yuko died?’ she offered, her voice calm.

  ‘Yeah,’ he nodded, relieved. ‘How did that just go away? It’s like black magic or so
mething.’

  ‘Do you really want to know?’

  ‘Yeah, of course I do.’

  Namie frowned and scratched behind her ear with a ballpoint pen. ‘From what I heard, they found the body around two in the afternoon the day after she checked into the hotel. They sent someone to speak to her since it was past checkout time, and no one was answering the room phone. They found her lying completely naked on the bed.’

  Tomohiko nodded. He could imagine that scene particularly well.

  ‘The police got there right away, but they decided pretty quickly it hadn’t been murder. Their opinion was she had a heart attack in the middle of sex. Time of death was estimated as some time after eleven o’clock the night before.’

  ‘Eleven o’clock?’ Tomohiko shook his head. ‘That doesn’t sound right —’

  ‘Room service saw her,’ Namie said, staring at him.

  ‘What do you mean, they “saw her”?’

  ‘She phoned the front desk around eleven o’clock and asked for some shampoo. They brought it to her door, and Yuko answered.’

  ‘No way. When I left that hotel —’ He stopped because Namie was shaking her head.

  ‘Room service clearly stated that they gave the woman in the room shampoo at eleven o’clock.’

  Tomohiko’s mouth hung open. If they wore Yuko’s sunglasses and big hat, anyone could have taken that shampoo. Even —

  Tomohiko looked at Namie. ‘It was you, wasn’t it.’

  Namie smiled and shook her head. ‘No, not me. Do I look like the kind of person that could pull something like that off? I’d be too nervous to talk clearly.’

  ‘Then who?’

  ‘Another thing not to think about too much,’ Namie said crisply. ‘Isn’t it enough to know that someone, somewhere saved your ass?’

  ‘Sure, but —’

  ‘One other thing,’ Namie said, lifting a finger. ‘The police, they pulled you out of your home for questioning, but then they just left you alone. Care to know why?’

  ‘OK, why?’

  ‘Because they know whoever was having sex with Yuko that night had type AB blood.’

  ‘They found blood on her?’

  ‘Semen, in her,’ Namie said without blinking. ‘Semen from someone with AB blood.’

  ‘That doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘But that’s what they found. AB type semen inside her vagina.’

  The word ‘inside’ struck a chord in Tomohiko’s mind and he gasped. ‘What blood type is Ryo?’

  ‘AB,’ Namie said, turning back around to the desk.

  Tomohiko put a hand to his mouth. He felt sick. A chill ran down his spine, in spite of the summer heat.

  ‘You mean he… with her —’

  ‘Sorry, we’re not having that discussion,’ Namie said, her voice cold.

  Tomohiko couldn’t think of anything to say. He noticed his fingers were trembling.

  The door opened.

  ‘We’re all set,’ Ryo said walking in. He handed the paper in his hand to Namie. ‘Exactly on budget, am I right?’

  Namie took a look at it and smiled, a little stiffly, Tomohiko thought.

  Ryo seemed to notice the atmosphere in the room had changed. He looked between the two of them, then went over to sit next to the window and have a cigarette.

  ‘What happened?’ Ryo asked, flicking his lighter.

  ‘Hey,’ Tomohiko said, looking up at him.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I just wanted to say…’ Tomohiko swallowed; his mouth was dry. ‘I’ll do anything. OK? Whatever you need. I’m good for it.’

  Ryo stared a long time at Tomohiko’s face before looking toward Namie, who nodded. A cold smile spread across Ryo’s lips, and he took a long drag of his cigarette. ‘Of course you are.’

  He turned to look out the window at the darkening blue sky.

  FOUR

  It had been raining most of the evening, the kind of thin, autumnal drizzle that wasn’t enough to warrant an umbrella, but quietly dampened hair and clothes until you were drenched. Yet, occasionally, breaks would appear in the grey clouds above, offering glimpses of the night sky. The foxes will be holding a wedding tomorrow, Masaharu thought, recalling something his mother always said when the weather was odd like this.

  He’d stashed a folding umbrella in his locker back at the university, a fact he only remembered after he was through the front gate, by which time it wasn’t worth the trouble of going back to retrieve it. He’d only get wetter.

  Masaharu glanced at the hands of his favourite quartz-crystal watch. It was five minutes after seven – he was late. He knew she’d forgive him for not showing up on time, but that was beside the point. The fact of the matter was, he couldn’t wait to see her.

  He held a newspaper over his head to keep the rain off his hair. The previous year he had taken up the habit of buying a newspaper on the day after the Yakult Swallows won a game. He was still a Swallows fan, even though the last time he’d lived in Tokyo was in high school. Sometimes he felt like he’d been born a fan. He even remembered watching games way back when they were still called the Atoms.

  Last year the Swallows had won a miraculous league victory under Manager Hirooka. But this year, it was as though they were an entirely different team. By September, they had already established themselves at the bottom of the rankings. This meant Masaharu was buying fewer papers. It was a bit of good luck that he happened to have one today.

  He reached the house several minutes later, pressing the doorbell beneath the nameplate that read Karasawa.

  Reiko Karasawa answered the door. She was wearing a purple dress, its thin fabric making her aging body seem painfully bony. On his first visit, back in March, she’d been wearing a dark grey kimono that suited her nicely, but since the start of the rainy season in early summer she’d switched to wearing dresses. Masaharu wondered if she’d go back to kimonos when the winter came.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said when she saw him. ‘I just heard from Yukiho. She’s tied up with preparations for the school festival and says she’ll be about thirty minutes late.’

  ‘That’s no problem at all,’ Masaharu said, a bit relieved. ‘I’m just glad I’m not late.’

  ‘You’re always very punctual. I just wish some of that would rub off on Yukiho,’ Reiko said.