“In fact, it wasn’t one policy they issued, but two. Takaoka took them both out at the same time, four and a half years ago. The first policy pays out ten million yen, and the beneficiary is Kosuke Mishima. However, the payout on the second policy is for fifty million.”
A tense silence.
Fifty million yen! That’s serious money.
“The beneficiary of the second policy is a Ms. Kimie Naito, a forty-nine-year-old woman who lives alone and runs a restaurant in Kitasenju, Adachi Ward.”
South Hanahata, the site of Takaoka’s original family home, was also in Adachi Ward, and Kitasenju wasn’t that far from Kenichi Takaoka’s current address in Ota Ward. They all fell into Tokyo’s northern segment.
Imaizumi frowned and raised a finger.
“What connection does the woman have with Takaoka?”
“I don’t know yet,” Toyama replied. “All I can say for sure is that they’re not related.”
“Did you check out the restaurant she runs? Have a look at where she lives?”
“Yes, sir. The restaurant consists of a counter that sits six and three low tables on a raised dais. It can probably accommodate twenty people, tops. Kimie employs no staff and takes care of everything herself. She lives above the restaurant. The place is very popular. She serves a prix fixe lunch, and it was packed at lunchtime.”
Imaizumi grinned.
“You ate there?”
“Yes, sir. Today’s lunch was grilled yellowtail fish, chicken-vegetable stew, and miso soup and pickles on the side. The flavors were a little on the strong side for my taste, but it was good. The clientele’s mixed—the regulars seem to be local office workers plus a smattering of laborers. We haven’t had the chance to visit in the evening, but there were plenty of bottles of shochu with nametags on the shelf behind the bar, so it’s probably doing well. According to a local realty agent I interviewed, Kimie owns the place outright.”
“You’ve not yet spoken to her?”
Toyama shook his head.
“No. Today we just passed ourselves off as a couple of first-time customers. That’s concludes my report for today.”
“Good work, Toyama. Starting tomorrow, I want surveillance on Kimie Naito. Right, who’s next? Officer Shinjo.”
Neither Shinjo, nor the person who spoke after him, had anything of significance to report. Eventually, Reiko’s turn to speak came.
“Today we made some initial inquiries in the neighborhood where Kenichi Takaoka used to live. Unfortunately, there’s no longer…”
Reiko went on to explain that an apartment building had been erected on the site of the Takaoka family home and that they hadn’t managed to locate anyone who knew Takaoka from when he lived there. A local realty agent who’d lived in the neighborhood for decades had promised to help her with that, she said. Takaoka’s parents had owned a small candy store. Takaoka had found himself an office job after graduating from college instead of taking over the family business. The plan to build the apartment block postdated the death of both parents. There’d apparently been friction when the local residents were thrown out of their homes.
“The developer of the new apartment building was Nakabayashi Construction,” Reiko continued. “But the theory is that another Nakabayashi company, Nakabayashi Real Estate, handled the evictions.”
The response of the top brass and the other investigators was rather muted this time. The involvement of the Nakabayashi Group certainly got everybody’s attention, but Kusaka, by getting in first, had stolen Reiko’s thunder.
Imaizumi gave Reiko a quizzical look.
“Seems strange for Takaoka to get a job with Nakabayashi after something like that happened in his own neighborhood.”
“I’m with you there, sir. According to Lieutenant Kusaka’s report, Takaoka quit Nakabayashi five and a half years ago, after having worked there for five or six years. That would suggest that Takaoka joined Nakabayashi Construction almost immediately after they’d kicked him out of his own home. I mean to look into that tomorrow.”
“Is that everything, Himekawa?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any questions?” Imaizumi said to the room.
There were none.
PART III
1
It was a summer evening.
I remember the shadow of the huge steel shutter; the damp, freshly hosed earth; the thick metal slats they put down for the heavy trucks to drive on.
I remember Kosuke, loitering there.
“You’ve got your father’s eyes,” I told him.
That wasn’t what I was really thinking.
No. I saw my son in him. Kosuke was eleven. My son—at least in my memory—is always five years old. The two boys had a lot in common even so.
Podgy, innocent faces; big, wide-open, upturned eyes; suntanned skin; spindly shoulders; muscular legs from running around all day long; sneakers worn without socks.
Getting a grip on my emotions, I squatted down in front of the lad. I did my best to sound cheerful.
“I was a friend of your dad’s,” I said.
The reality wasn’t quite so simple. What was I really? An observer? An accomplice? A hypocrite, only looking out for Number One?
Where did I get off posing as Mr. Nice Guy? What could I do for a poor little bastard like this boy? Give him a slap-up meal? Wow, big deal! Like filling up his little belly would make any real difference. Like it would make me feel better about the crimes I’d committed—and the punishment I knew I deserved.
In fact, the time I spent with little Kosuke was sheer bliss.
His little hand in mine as we thread our way through a crowd. The excited looks we exchange as I hold up the restaurant menu and ask him what he wants to have. The fun of us both eating the same thing. The boredom of waiting in line for amusement park rides. The souvenir snaps we take with costumed cartoon characters. The sight of his face when he dozes off on the train home. His weight when I carry him on my back. The words he mutters sleepily in my ear. “Daddy! Daddy!”
My heart is racing. I am happy again.
What more can I do for the boy?
It became an obsession with me.
What more can I do for him? It’s about more than money, about something the old me could never do, something that the new me seems to have lost.…
Gradually the gray, gray city began to get its color back. It no longer felt like a giant graveyard.
Time started to mean something again. A week became more than seven units of seven days. My Sundays were no longer a yawning blank; they were a treat, a new start, precious time off.
The heat of the summer, the cold of the winter—I enjoyed it all. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel guilty for getting my zest for life back. Man cannot live on bitterness alone. I needed to move things forward. I needed to put my unforgivable crime behind me.
I felt—or rather, I remembered how to feel—the joy of having someone who depends on you; the deep contentment that comes from being needed.
I was determined not to screw things up this time. Above all, I wanted to protect the little boy. I wanted to give him everything he needed to make a go of life. I didn’t have much in the way of money, but I was ready to give him everything else I could.
I’m a wicked man, I know, but all I ask is that you let me share in your innocent joy of life, even just a little.
* * *
I’d just handed in my notice to Nakabayashi Construction, where I’d been working for the last six years. I was at a building site in Nakano, laying the floor in a new apartment complex. It was my last job for them.
“Mr. Ta-ka-o-ka?”
Someone was calling my name in a mocking singsong voice. When I turned, I saw a man—no, that man—standing in the doorway.
It was Makio Tobe, from the administration department of Kinoshita Construction. He was wearing his trademark long black coat that was out of place on a building site. He started walking toward me. His black enameled shoes made a h
ard, ringing sound on the wood of the floor.
Ignoring him, I went back to work.
I pointed the nail gun at the floor and squeezed the trigger. A nail shot out, then another. It sounded like a pistol fitted with a silencer, as in the movies.
“I heard you’re leaving Nakabayashi?”
The air compressor feeding air to the nail gun wheezed and groaned.
“You know that you can never run away from me, don’t you, Mr. Takaoka? Ever.”
His voice was soft and wheedling. With a note of insanity.
Oh shit!
“Are you listening to me, Ken-i-chi Ta-ka-o-ka?”
I kept working the nail gun. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
“You weren’t going to bother to say good-bye to me—me, the man who set you up with this job! That’s not very friendly, is it?”
Switching on the safety, I put the nail gun down on the floor.
The compressor went on groaning.
I got to my feet and stood to attention in front of him.
“Thank you for everything you did for me. After leaving Nakabayashi Construction, I’m planning to set up my own business—”
“You taking the fucking piss?”
Tobe launched a kick at an empty soda can on the floor that we’d been using as an ashtray. It smacked into the cream plasterboard wall, leaving a dent and a grimy stain.
“You shut up and listen to me. You’ve no fucking right to do what you want with your life unless you get my fucking permission first. You should know that. After all, you are Kenichi Takaoka.”
“Yes … I know.”
From beneath the window I could hear the spoken warning alarm from a truck backing up. “Danger. Truck reversing,” it repeated, over and over again.
“I’m not trying to run away. I just wanted to start working on different kinds of jobs—smaller ones.”
“What about your digs? Planning to move?”
“No, I’m staying in the same old place.”
The craziness that swirled around Tobe with the unpredictability of a tornado suddenly blew itself out.
“Oh yeah?”
“That’s right. It’s just like you say, Tobe: I am Kenichi Takaoka. Changing jobs or moving house will never change that. I know that.”
Tobe didn’t seem to be interested anymore.
“Okay. You spooked me, Takaoka. That’s why I lost my shit.”
He grinned at me as he rubbed the stain he’d made on the wall.
“Sorry ’bout this. You’re going to stick wallpaper up here, right? It won’t be a problem?”
“It’s fine. I’ll use putty to smooth it out.”
Tobe went back to rubbing the wall with his grubby palm.
“Let’s go out for a drink together this evening, my friend. Your own private farewell party. Do you know Patio, the hostess club near the station? Meet me there when you finish.”
Tobe wasn’t interested when I said that I wasn’t dressed properly for a fancy-pants joint like that. I knew he’d fly off the handle again if I protested and yell at me about thinking I was too good to share a jar with him, so I thanked him and agreed to go.
* * *
By the time I got to the club, Tobe was pretty wasted.
“Hey, Takaoka, my man,” he crowed. “Over here. Come on. Sit yourself down.”
He indicated a seat between two girls on his left. There was a third girl sitting across the table from him.
“This here’s my man Takaoka. He’s my best buddy. Quite a hunk, eh?”
“Ooh, he’s gorgeous.”
The whole experience was humiliating—just as I’d expected. Those nightclub girls have a sixth sense: they can sniff out who’s got money and who doesn’t. In order not to wreck the atmosphere, they made a show of being “nice” to me, but there was a subtle difference in how they treated me and how they treated Tobe. I was an inferior being. With Tobe and me, it was blindingly obvious which of us had more dough.
“Hey, hey, Mr. Tobe,” twittered the girls. “What’s your blood type?”
“Me? I’m Type F. Know why? ’Cos I’ll fuck anything that moves.”
In hostess clubs, men with money can get away with just about anything.
“Stop it!” squeaked one of the girls. “My boobs are ready to pop out with laughing. No, seriously, what type are you?”
“A serious, responsible fellow like me? I’m type A.”
“You’re kidding! I’d never have pegged you for an A.”
“Yes, I had you down for a B,” chimed in another girl. “Strong, passionate, and independent—you’ve got to be B.”
“Yes, Mr. Tobe, you should go and get your blood tested again, but properly this time.”
All three girls exploded with laughter. I managed to force a smile.
“How about you, Mr. Takaoka? What type are you?”
“Me?… Actually, I’m A too.”
There was another outburst of laughter.
“You’re pulling my leg! You two—the same blood type. No way.”
“Mr. Tobe’s wrong. Definitely.”
The hostess sitting between Tobe and me got to her feet.
“Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
I slid across the banquette to Tobe.
“Sorry to bring this up here,” I whispered into his ear. “That business with Tadaharu Mishima from four years ago—is it all taken care of? All finished?”
Tobe popped a cigarette between his lips. The girl sitting opposite reached over and lit it with a blue plastic lighter.
“You betcha,” he grunted. “Heard you were there when it happened. Did the cops haul you in for questioning?”
“Nah. I just gave them a statement there.”
“You see what I mean? No problemo.”
“That’s not quite what I mean.”
How could I ask him the question I wanted to ask without bringing Kosuke into it?
“What I mean is, are all Mishima’s debts settled for once and for all?”
Tobe blew out a big cloud of smoke and nodded breezily.
“Yes, indeedy. Hey, that’s what the whole thing was all about, right?”
“So it’s a clean slate now?”
“Yessir. I’d forgotten about the whole darn business till you brought it up.”
I felt a huge sense of relief. Going to that sordid dive hadn’t been a complete waste of time after all.
After staying a little under an hour, I decided to make a move. Tobe seemed to have got whatever had been bugging him out of his system. He clapped me on the shoulder and wished me good luck.
“If you have any more problems, just give me a call. You know that I’m here to help, Mr. Ta-ka-o-ka.”
I bowed, turned on my heel, and left the club.
I prayed I’d never have to see him again.
* * *
I thought we were done with each other, but Tobe kept popping up when I least expected.
I wasn’t surprised that he kept tabs on me, but I was surprised that he came out to check up on me in person. Either he was worried about me—or else he just had way too much free time.
Tobe kept showing up, even after Kosuke started working for me. The last thing I wanted was for him to find out about the boy.
Sure, he’d told me that the whole business with Tadaharu Mishima was over and done with. The thing is, a guy like Tobe is always looking for ways to stir up trouble. Now that Kosuke was earning decent money with me, what was to stop Tobe telling him that his father’s debt was still outstanding and insisting that he pay it back—with some outrageous interest charges stuck on top for good measure? Those guys wouldn’t think twice about doing something like that.
I worried that by having Kosuke near me, I was exposing him to danger. Still, at least he was where I could keep an eye on him and help him out, if things went south. Tobe frightened me, but the idea of parting with Kosuke frightened me much more. I took my life one day at a time. “Stay strong and there’s nothing Tobe can do to
Kosuke,” I kept telling myself.
* * *
Kosuke hadn’t been any great shakes at schoolwork, but he wasn’t by any means dumb. He picked up the job fast, and he was a whole lot tougher and stronger than I’d thought.
He worked hard, ate well, and slept like a log. By the time he was sixteen, after a year on the job, he was so burly you could hardly recognize him. He was on the road to becoming a first-rate carpenter-tradesman.
I started the boy at five thousand yen per day and bumped him up to eight starting his second year. I can’t remember all the stages, but I know that I raised his wages to eighteen thousand a day as an eighteenth birthday present. That was very generous, and I didn’t have much leeway for any further wage increases after that. If the boy wanted to earn more after that, it wouldn’t come from his regular wages—he’d need to start bringing in jobs himself. That was what I was training him up to do.
There was Kosuke and me. And all the guys we worked with on a regular basis.
We had our problems. Sometimes we’d get to the end of a job, only to have the contractor cut our fee on the grounds that Kosuke had misread the plans and not done what the client wanted. In a way, though, that was a good experience. For both of us.
Whatever happened, I always paid Kosuke exactly what I’d promised him. When he protested, I forced him to take it anyway. Was I being soft on the boy? No. Kosuke knew what my paying him meant. It meant that I expected him to do the job right the next time—something that’s a whole lot more challenging than swallowing a one-off pay cut. Sure enough, Kosuke never made the same mistake twice. That was what made me proudest of all.
One day in mid-October this year, we were working on a house when Matsumoto, the electrician, came over and hissed in my ear.
“Hey, Ken. It looks like Kinoshita Construction are up to their old tricks.”
“Up to their old tricks?”
I nervously scanned the room. Kosuke was out front having his three o’clock tea break. Matsumoto and I were alone together.
“Where?”
Matsumoto wrinkled his nose in distaste.
“At one of Nakabayashi’s places, a block of condos they’re building in Musashikosugi. A newbie scaffolder fell from the tenth floor and was killed. The guy wasn’t properly trained. What the hell are those guys thinking?”
Soul Cage--A Mystery Page 13