Soul Cage--A Mystery

by Tetsuya Honda

  What annoyed Reiko most was how Kusaka managed to contemplate every possible angle without his investigations getting bogged down. He was both thorough and fast. His reputation was so good that his nickname in the prosecutor’s office was Mr. Guilty Verdict. Strange as it was, Reiko had to accept that the man was widely trusted and respected.

  I’ve got my own personal reasons for disliking him.

  Kusaka was still droning on. Reiko summarized everything he’d said so far in her head.

  Several local residents heard the sound of angry male voices coming from the garage at around 9:30 p.m. The whine of an electric saw got on the nerves of a student studying for the university entrance exam in the house opposite; when he checked his watch, it was 10:40 p.m. Another resident, who was strolling along the street in front of the garage around the same time, reported seeing a van parked on the street outside.

  That’s the gist of what you had to say. And how long did it take you?

  If any of the households Kusaka had visited owned a dog, he’d be sure to inform you of its color and breed. If anyone was sick, he’d give you the name and address of the hospital they were in.

  You bombard us with so many factoids it’s impossible to write it all down.

  Glancing to one side, Reiko noticed that instead of taking notes, Ioka had turned Kusaka’s report into a manga. It was surprisingly well done.

  I’ve got my doubts about you too, my friend. Is it so smart to treat life as one big joke?

  Eventually, Kusaka concluded his report. Needless to say, no one had the energy to ask any questions.

  “Okay then,” sighed Imaizumi. “Next up is Sergeant Toyama, who handled Sector Two.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  None of the reports from the precinct detectives added anything new to what Kusaka had said about the garage area. Once they were done, it was, at last, Reiko’s turn.

  “Thanks,” said Imaizumi. “We’ll move on to the riverbank canvass now. Himekawa, I believe that’s your department?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Reiko believed that the best way to deliver her reports was by distilling the important points and aiming for maximum brevity. It wasn’t about getting back at Kusaka. She simply had her own style, one that worked for her.

  “My report will also incorporate information from Officer Hayama and Sergeant Shimoda. They’ve both stayed behind with their partners to keep an eye on the crime scene. When we got to the riverside this afternoon, there were plenty of people there—people walking their dogs and jogging, a group of high school kids from the school athletics club. They all come to the river regularly in the late afternoon; none of them had any knowledge about a van left on the embankment last night. There was also a tent belonging to a homeless man. The occupant—his name is Takeshi Iizuka—has been feeling unwell for the last couple of days. As he’s been in bed the whole time, including, of course, the last twenty-four hours, he claims not to have noticed the forensic investigation taking place in the immediate vicinity of his tent, let alone the van parked up on the road. He also said he heard nothing suspicious.

  “Sergeant Shimoda spoke to an Akio Ishikawa, a twenty-year-old male residing at West Rokugo, block three, number eight. Ishikawa spotted the parked minivan as he was driving home sometime after midnight. He got home just after 12:30 a.m., and since it takes five minutes maximum to drive from where the van was parked to his house, we can place the van on the river embankment at 12:25 a.m. Mr. Ishikawa does not recall seeing anyone inside the vehicle or noticing anyone suspicious nearby. Remember, of course, that it was raining at the time.

  “Various other residents spotted the van when they looked out of the windows of their homes. They either couldn’t recall the precise time or provided times later than that of Mr. Ishikawa, so in the interests of simplicity I will omit their testimony. That brings my report to an end.”

  “Any questions?” asked Imaizumi.

  Kusaka prodded his glasses higher up his nose with his index finger, but said nothing.

  * * *

  The first case meeting ended with the investigators who hadn’t had a chance to speak briefly introducing themselves to the group; then Director Hashizume droned on for a while about how important it was to keep the details of the investigation secret.

  Most of the investigators stayed behind after the meeting. They dragged their chairs into a circle and began devouring the beer and takeout food someone had ordered in.

  That wasn’t Reiko’s idea of fun. She preferred to head out to a local pub with Kikuta and the rest of her squad. Today, however, that wasn’t an option. She had to take part in the executive meeting to assign the sectors for the next day’s canvass and decide who was going to handle what aspect of the inquiry into the victim’s family, friends, and associates, which was also starting the next day.

  Normally, the executive meetings were held away from the main room of the task force. Maybe the police station was busy and there wasn’t another room available—or maybe the Kamata people were plain disorganized. Either way, they ended up having to hold their meeting in a corner of the big room where everyone else was eating and drinking. Six people took part: Director Hashizume, Captain Imaizumi, Captain Kawada (the chief of detectives in Kamata Precinct), Lieutenant Tanimoto (Kamata CID’s head of major crimes), Kusaka, and Reiko.

  Captain Imaizumi again took the lead. Director Hashizume acted like an observer, refusing to get directly involved. Reiko guessed that he was trying to come across as a broad-minded boss willing to delegate to his subordinates; as far as she was concerned, though, it was just a pose, and the man was failing to live up to his responsibilities. On this one point, she suspected that she and Kusaka saw eye to eye.

  Imaizumi wrote out a list of the names of all the investigators on the case.

  “We’re going to have to throw a lot of manpower at the inquiry into the victim’s family, friends, and associates,” grumbled Imaizumi. “There’s a ton of people to talk to.”

  Kusaka nodded. “That’s right, sir. In terms of Takaoka’s work associates alone, we’ll need to talk not just to the construction company where he worked before setting up in business for himself, but also to all the different outfits he currently does business with—contractors, architects, scaffolders, plumbers, electricians, gas fitters, hardware merchants, demolition contractors, scrap merchants—plus all his clients on top of that. As a sole proprietor, Takaoka dealt directly with a lot of different people.”

  Kusaka was reading the list from the initial statement of Kosuke Mishima, Takaoka’s sole employee. It was Captain Kawada, the Kamata chief of detectives, who’d interviewed him.

  “Obviously, tomorrow we’ll need someone to interview Kosuke Mishima in greater depth,” said Reiko, keen to snare the job for herself.

  An unexpected obstacle presented itself: Kusaka.

  “Hold your horses, Himekawa. There’s something I need to ask you.”

  Reiko had a bad feeling about this, but with only six people, the meeting was too intimate to just blow Kusaka off.

  “Uh-huh?”

  “How is it that the name Hiroshi Maekawa did not feature in your report just now?”

  “Pardon me?”

  Who the heck is Hiroshi Maekawa?

  “You’ve no idea what I’m talking about.”

  This doesn’t look good. Have I messed up?

  “I don’t. Who is he?”

  “Hiroshi Maekawa is a seventy-four-year-old man who lives in the sector I covered for the door-to-door in the garage area. At 5:30 this evening, Maekawa went power walking along the riverside—where you were supposedly making your inquiries—before returning home at 6:30 p.m.”

  So damn what?

  “Maekawa informed us that no one from the police approached him while he was on the riverbank. In other words, you completely overlooked a man who went from the area where the body was dismembered to the area where the body was disposed of and back again. That sounds like a very sloppily run canvass t
o me.”

  “You can’t be serious?”

  Reiko was angry. What was Kusaka trying to imply? That they should have waylaid every single person who came anywhere near the riverbank?

  “No excuses, please. Here we have a man who traveled between the two crime scenes less than twenty-four hours after the incident took place. You’ll agree, I think, that he could quite feasibly have gone to check up on the progress of the police investigation or to verify that he’d not left any evidence behind.”

  “What was your impression of Maekawa? Did he strike you as suspicious?”

  “I don’t deal in impressions, Himekawa. What I can assure you is that there’s no need for concern. Maekawa has an alibi. He works part-time as a security guard and was on the job all last night. I was able to confirm that with his employer over the phone. If anything suspicious comes up later, I will, of course, look into his alibi more deeply. You made a basic blunder, Himekawa, and there’s nothing your famous sixth sense can do to compensate for it.”

  Yeah, yeah, I know. Applying imagination to a case is an instant black mark in your book. God knows, I’ve heard that often enough before.

  “What do you want me to say? What about the road along the embankment that we’ve reopened to traffic? Am I supposed to stop every single car and question the occupants?”

  “Is it doable?’

  “What!”

  “Listen, Himekawa, I’m not asking you to do anything extraordinary here. You like your outer space analogies, don’t you? Okay then, think of it like this: I’m not saying that the man in the moon’s a suspect. What we have here is a human being who traveled between the two crime scenes. You missed that. That’s inexcusable for the leader of a numbered squad.”

  A numbered squad in Homicide was the elite of the elite in the Tokyo Metropolitan Police. Being a squad leader came with serious responsibility.

  Oh shit!

  Reiko sighed heavily and bowed her head in apology.

  “I messed up. I’ll be more careful in the future.”

  The fact that Kusaka didn’t get loud or angry, even when he was tearing a strip off you, was some consolation. None of the investigators scarfing down their dinner in the same room would ever guess that Reiko had just been subjected to some pretty rough justice.

  Kusaka looked from Reiko to Imaizumi.

  “Captain, I’d like to interview Kosuke Mishima tomorrow.”

  You’ve got to be kidding!

  Kusaka’s timing was perfect. There was nothing Reiko could do.

  Damn it! That’s what this whole Maekawa episode was about.

  As far as Reiko could tell from skimming through Mishima’s statement, he and Takaoka, the victim, spent most of their waking hours in one another’s company.

  Interviewing Mishima was obviously the quickest way to get up to speed on Takaoka. As the person closest to him, Mishima was most likely to know about the victim’s personal enmities, woman troubles, money problems, whatever.

  Reiko was furious at the way Kusaka had swooped in on Mishima, but now wasn’t the time to try and wrestle him back. She didn’t have a leg to stand on.

  Although Captain Imaizumi kept an eye out for Reiko, he didn’t practice favoritism. “A fuckup by any other name is still a fuckup,” was one of his favorite sayings, as was, “You can’t do what you can’t do.” That was the sort of boss he was.

  “There is something you can do, Himekawa.”

  Kusaka had pulled his glasses down to the tip of his nose and was peering at Reiko over the upper rim.

  “What’s that?”

  “Mishima has a girlfriend. He claims to have been at her workplace at the time that the crime is thought to have occurred.”

  Kusaka was reading from Mishima’s written statement.

  I’ve got a copy of the statement too. And, believe it or not, I can read as well!

  Michiko Nakagawa. Nineteen years old. Studying hairdressing while working part-time at a diner.

  “Why don’t we let Himekawa handle the girlfriend, captain?” Kusaka said to Imaizumi. “They’re both young women. Might be a good fit.”

  “Sounds good to me,” replied Imaizumi, after a second’s hesitation.

  Kusaka looked around.

  “Are you all right with that, Captain Kawada?”

  As a captain, Kawada was one rank above Kusaka. In a task force, however, the rules were different: Homicide always had the whip hand, and regular seniority counted for little.

  “That’s fine by me.”

  “Good, that’s decided, then.”

  Reiko had been like a rabbit caught in the headlights. She had lost her chance to interview Mishima, a key actor in the drama, and been fobbed off with Michiko Nakagawa, a minor player in the supporting cast.

  That’s why I hate working with this guy.

  The executive meeting dragged on until midnight.

  5

  10:07 A.M.

  FRIDAY, DECEMBER 5

  It was day two of the task force.

  The moment the morning meeting ended, Lieutenant Kusaka hurried over to the CID offices on the third floor. Kosuke Mishima was coming in for voluntary questioning.

  Sergeant Takehiko Satomura, who’d been designated as Kusaka’s partner at the morning meeting, poured him a cup of tea. An easygoing man of forty-two, Satomura was a couple of years Kusaka’s junior.

  “He should be here any minute. Here, have some of this.”

  Captain Kawada, who was sitting on the other side of the table, reached out and took another cup from Satomura without removing the cigarette from between his fingers.

  “That Lieutenant Himekawa, she’s quite something,” said Kawada, breaking off for a slurp of tea.

  “And ‘something’ means?”

  “She’s tall, a looker, and tough as nails. Mentally, I mean.”

  Kusaka grinned sourly. “When it comes to strong-mindedness, Himekawa’s in a league of her own. She’s a damned good cop, though.”

  “I got the impression that you two don’t get on so well,” said Kawada, tentatively.

  “How so?”

  “How so? It’s her eyes, I guess. There’s something a bit, I don’t know, harsh in the way she looks at you.”

  Kawada chuckled under his breath. Oh, so a cup of a tea and some nice juicy gossip about feuding homicide detectives is your idea of a nice break, is it? thought Kusaka.

  “You’re wrong. Himekawa and I have differences of opinion—that’s only to be expected in the course of an investigation—but it has nothing to do with whether we ‘get on’ or not. Life in a numbered homicide unit is no cakewalk. We haven’t time to be all buddy-buddy when we’re on the on the job.”

  “Sorry, I spoke out of turn,” murmured Kawada, shrugging as he put his teacup on the table.

  One thing Kusaka could not do was state categorically that Reiko Himekawa did not detest him. In fact, she hated him, and he had no idea why.

  As far as he could recall, he hadn’t said anything to her that would qualify as gender harassment, nor had he tried to sabotage her career. He simply couldn’t conceive what had triggered her dislike for him. It dated back to her first day with Unit 10, and they had never warmed to each other since.

  Kusaka refused to believe that their very public clashes, whenever he criticized or wrong-footed her in meetings, had anything to do with it. In the end, she just didn’t like his type. That was no skin off his nose, provided she did her job right. Besides, even if they got on like a house on fire, he wouldn’t have been a jot less critical or left her on a job that he judged she wasn’t up to handling properly.

  Still, that didn’t mean he liked it when outsiders started griping about her. He was willing to fight in her corner—provided she didn’t go too far.

  She’s a loose cannon. She’s got no idea about the impact of her behavior on other people.

  Kusaka, however, was quite sincere when he described her as a damned good cop. That and their characters’ being polar opposites wer
e two different things.

  “I think that’s our boy,” said Kawada, looking over toward the door. Kusaka swung around and saw a young man standing in the doorway. He looked slightly different from the driver’s license photo Kusaka had seen in the file.

  Kosuke Mishima wasn’t tall. Kusaka put his height at roughly five feet, six inches. His hair was cut short and dyed a fashionable light brown. He had typically Japanese features: small, alert eyes, and features compressed into the middle of a broad face. He was stockily built, and the first impression Kusaka got was one of toughness.

  “Thanks for making the time to come and see us,” said Kusaka.

  An anxious expression flashed across Mishima’s face. Perhaps he wasn’t keen on having to talk to someone other than Kawada, who’d taken his statement the previous day.

  “My name’s Lieutenant Kusaka. I’ll be interviewing you today. Could you come this way, please?”

  Kusaka went out into the passageway and indicated Interview Room III on the far side. It wasn’t the most reassuring place for an ordinary civilian, but the Kamata CID office was just too noisy for a serious interview.

  The young man looked from Kusaka to Kawada, cocking his head inquiringly. Kawada nodded brusquely but stayed in the CID offices. Satomura pushed open the door of the interview room. Mishima went in first, followed by Kusaka, with Satomura bringing up the rear.

  The room was a typical interview room: small and rather claustrophobic.

  “Could you sit over there?” said Kusaka, pointing to the chair on the far side of the table. He took a seat on the side closer to the door.

  Satomura deposited his laptop on the table and went out again to prepare some more tea.

  “Sorry to get you to come in early like this. I hope we haven’t disrupted your work schedule,” said Kusaka, making small talk in an effort to get Mishima to loosen up.

  “Not really.”

  “Are you working near here today?”