Mikoshiba was a little appalled that, in short, they only had commercially available maps. He had assumed that the local ward office would have examined in detail the townscape’s transformation due to the earthquake.
On the third floor, he got both an old and a new map. Akiko’s address at that time had been 3-2-2, Komiyama, Nagata Ward. On a map from 1994, that is, the year before the earthquake, that was on the second floor of an apartment house called Glorious Nagata. The road in front was a bit curved and narrow. Small homes, apartment buildings, and a tannery workshop lined it.
Mikoshiba’s eyes ran over the vicinity in a three-mile radius from Akiko’s apartment. Kusakabe Clinic, Nagata Second Hospital, Hisaka Pediatric Clinic, Inoue Internal Medicine—hospitals started to crop up outside of the crowded residential area. It was highly likely that Akiko had visited one or more of them. The question was how many of them were still there.
Next, Mikoshiba opened the current map and flipped to the page for the same neighborhood in Komiyama. Momentarily, he thought his eyes were deceiving him.
Flustered, he confirmed the heading in the margin, but it was the right page. Looking at both maps for a while, he was stunned at the changes.
The narrow curved road was gone. Instead, wide straight roads ran vertically and horizontally. Every house was arranged neatly along them, and while there were fewer apartment buildings, they looked that much more spacious. There were remarkably fewer symbols for factories, and what stood out instead were parks and public buildings.
This was gentrification under the name of reconstruction. The earthquake had made way for a massive civic project that would normally cost considerable time and money due to protests and eviction negotiations. If the buildings, land, roads, and everything else turned to dust, demolitions and forced relocations were suddenly free and you could draw any blueprint you liked.
Mikoshiba looked for the clinics that he had found on the old map. But not one of the names was to be seen at or near the original spots.
“Don’t you have a database or something for where hospitals from before the quake moved to?” he demanded of the staffer at the desk.
She looked sorry but was evasive. “We haven’t compiled a specific database for individual relocations. Some families lost all of their members …”
When he asked where materials about the disaster were stored, he was guided to the Earthquake Archive on the seventh floor. He was already beginning to despair but headed there anyway. When he actually saw the aerial photo labeled “Damage Situation Pictorial,” he was totally devastated.
A scorched plain. Nothing in the bird’s-eye view of the area retained its original shape. Just to make sure, he compared it to his photocopy of the old map. The clinic locations that he’d noted were completely flat.
The size of each didn’t exceed that of a private practice, and most of them must have doubled as residences. The disaster had struck at 5:46:52 a.m. If the doctors had been staying at their clinics, chances were that they’d been crushed beneath the rubble. Indeed, the fact that the clinics’ original names were missing from the new map suggested that their owners were no longer of this world.
Before long, Mikoshiba had a sullen look on his face.
The further back he waded into the past, the less info. He’d been prepared for that, but not for such a catastrophic destruction of evidence.
Information was transmitted via humans and documents. A 7.3-magnitude earthquake, however, could obliterate both.
There would be no further progress here—that was Mikoshiba’s judgment as he left the Nagata Ward Office. The only remaining possibility was Akiko’s time in Kyushu, where her family lived before moving to Kobe.
He got on a bullet train for Hakata at JR Kobe Station. It was two hours and twenty-six minutes to Hakata. He would be there shortly after noon.
He was quite doubtful that he’d obtain any results even if he went. It was more than a quarter-century ago that Akiko’s family had lived in Fukuoka City. Even the Edogawa era, only sixteen years past, had failed to produce any witnesses, and as for the Kobe years, the locale itself had disappeared. The possibility that there would be any helpful evidence from even further in her past was almost zero.
Vexation, fatigue, and disappointment weighed on his shoulders. Another lawyer in his shoes would be having ulcers right around now.
If this were some other case, Mikoshiba’s response might have been a little different. He typically enjoyed the feeling of being driven into a corner. He’d been in this kind of situation numerous times, but always found a hole that only an ant could crawl through to bring down the prosecution’s dike. He’d even taken vexation and fatigue to be a harbinger of victory.
Now, however, he felt out of sorts. The more he struggled, the farther the goal slipped away. He didn’t feel like he would win.
He arrived at JR Hakata Station at 1:20 p.m. Here he would transfer to the Kagoshima Main Line to head to the city center. His destination was Akiko’s permanent address, Ohashi, South Ward, Fukuoka City. What waited there was a quarter-century-old past.
A telecom sales outlet stood where Akiko’s natal home had been. As befitting a commercial district, there were stores and restaurants across the street as well.
Learning from his Kobe experience, Mikoshiba had already compared copies of old and new maps and was done with researching the neighborhood’s transformation. The name of the town had changed after Akiko was born, and the new one was still in use. The whole area had once been “undesignated” and dotted with farming plots. After a major electronics company was invited to set up a plant nearby, development took off.
As far as Mikoshiba could tell from comparing the two maps, most houses, including Akiko’s, had disappeared. When it came to hospitals, the old map didn’t note a single one but the new map showed five. He couldn’t glean anything beyond that.
He had, however, obtained useful information from an officer at a police booth. Old man Takamine, age 86, lived not far from the shopping area. He’d been the head of the neighborhood association back in those days, and in the manner of the elderly, he supposedly remembered the past better than the present.
What a boon.
Old man Takamine lived alone in an old wooden house. Perhaps he chatted often with his neighbors and had many visitors because he was hale, for his age, and fairly articulate for someone who lived alone.
“I remember little Akiko. Her family was very close. I saw the news of her husband’s murder in Setagaya but couldn’t believe that little Akiko … I guess she couldn’t cut ties with tragedy. Are you aware of the prior incident?”
“Yes. Until she was nine the family lived here, didn’t they?”
“But that thing happened. I felt awfully sorry, you know. The victim’s side suffering such slander from the neighbors and media.” Old man Takamine’s gentle voice bristled. “This neighborhood was no exception. People can be terribly unscrupulous and irreverent when they can remain anonymous. I heard that there were incessant calls. ‘How are you feeling now?’ they’d ask a family that had endured misfortune, or post signs that said, ‘The compassion getting to your head yet?’ The family was reduced to shopping at night to avoid prying eyes.”
Mikoshiba nodded silently, but that was to be expected. Sweet as honey, others’ misfortune—if it was within reach, people reached for a taste as if it were the most natural thing to do.
“But I felt sorriest for little Akiko. She always seemed terrified after the incident. Her parents would take her to school, but a girl who’d been so quick to laughter never smiled again.”
“Regarding Akiko … Do you remember if she visited a specific doctor at that time?”
“Doctor? Yes, there was one. A tragedy had befallen her at such a tender age. Medical care was absolutely necessary for her.”
Mikoshiba’s receiver twitched in response.
This.
He’d grabbed its tail at last.
“Do you remember the name
of the doctor she visited?”
“ ‘Remember’ isn’t the word … Hereabouts, ‘doctor’ meant Dr. Mizohata. From children to old people, most of the residents were his patients.”
“Where is this Dr. Mizohata now? I didn’t notice the name on a recent map.”
“He moved out sometime in the nineties. After closing his practice, he and his wife went to his son’s place if I’m not mistaken. I wonder how he’s doing now … Ah, pardon me. Once I start talking about the past, I’m buffeted by a host of memories. Old stories are harsh on old people.” Takamine gestured as if to scatter a damp haze.
“What kind of illness was she suffering at that time?”
“Oh, I don’t know that much. I didn’t ask her parents, nor did I pay attention to rumors. Sometimes the politest thing to do is to try not to interfere.”
Mikoshiba snorted. It was an admirable approach to life, but such piety hindered criminal investigations. It was, everywhere and always, curiosity and malice that smoked out hidden facts.
“Is there any way to contact Dr. Mizohata?”
“Well, he is older than me. Who knows if he’s still alive.”
“Whether I can obtain Dr. Mizohata’s testimony or not is likely to decide Akiko’s fate.”
This was enough to bring Takamine to heel. “Is it that important?”
“Much more than you would imagine.”
“Like I said, though, I’ve fallen out of touch with him.”
“I’m not asking you to contact him right at this moment,” Mikoshiba said, bringing his face closer to the old man’s.
Mikoshiba’s unkind demeanor and declarative tone had a sort of intimidation effect that he himself was well aware of. He also knew that this former neighborhood association chairman was the type to spare no effort to hunt down someone once he was on board.
“The trial will go on. If it’s in time for the final argument, we stand a chance to win. But after that, we’re doomed. Do you understand, Mr. Takamine? The power of life and death over Akiko lies in your two hands.”
The old man gulped.
— 3 —
The second session of the appeal trial.
Misaki entered Courtroom #822 ten minutes in advance. The defense attorney and the accused, let alone the three judges, had yet to show up, but an empty courtroom somehow sharpened his mind. Once upon a time the swordsman Musashi had won handily by turning up late to a duel, but it usually worked the other way round in court fights. It was much more advantageous to prepare meticulously, to sound out the enemy, to settle on a plan, and to wait.
Just when the seats in the visitors’ gallery were almost full, Mikoshiba appeared. Misaki cast a sidelong glance at the fellow’s profile but couldn’t read zilch from his ever Noh mask-like face. Whether he’d won a reduced sentence, as in the previous case against Misaki, or lost ground as in the preceding session, he always looked the same. In fact, his expression didn’t change a bit even as he made his arguments.
In the courtroom, logicality had priority over sentiment. This was because the premise was not to debate the weight of a crime based on emotion. Confronted with heinous criminals and impudent defendants, however, many prosecutors adopted a harsh tone out of a sense of justice that had led them to their vocation. Indeed, Misaki was one of them. His vulnerability had been exploited and had sunk him in the previous case, so he was trying hard not to show his emotions this time, but he was woefully unsubtle compared to Mikoshiba.
Did Mikoshiba have any at all? It was difficult to imagine him, with his heartless mug, getting angry. It was even harder to picture him laughing cheerfully. And presented with that face, Misaki felt an odd discomfort. Wondering what lay at the root of it, he arrived at the conclusion before long.
Gambling—whether poker or mahjong. It was like being forced to play a game where you had to read the other players’ minds from their expressions. The courtroom was supposed to be an arena where you fought by layering evidence on logic, but Mikoshiba brought in bluffing and psych-ops. That was what unnerved Misaki.
In due course, Akiko, and finally the judges led by Sanjo, entered. Everyone stood up.
“The court is now in session.”
When everyone sat back down, Sanjo immediately turned toward Mikoshiba.
“Attorney for the defendant. Starting right where we left off, you claimed that the accused’s deed was an instance of legitimate self-defense. Among the requisites for that assertion, you were to establish by today the imminence of danger. How did that go?”
Misaki chuckled inwardly. Sanjo was being pretty mean. He seemed to remember the moment when Mikoshiba had fallen silent for the first time during the previous session. Was the judge trying to trip up the defense before it could start arguing at its own pace?
But Mikoshiba’s face was expressionless as he looked back at Sanjo. “In order to prove that, at this time we submit Defense Evidence No. 4. Because it was prepared just before the session, we could not distribute it beforehand.”
The courtroom clerk handed over the A4-size documents supplied by Mikoshiba to the judges and Misaki.
Another sneak attack. Misaki looked at Defense Evidence No. 4 with disgust. These were copies of Akiko Tsuda’s medical charts, as well as Rinko’s.
“These are the clinical records of the victim’s family until right before the incident. Both mother and child were taken care of by Dr. Tomoi, who practices in their area.”
Akiko had a questioning look on her face. It seemed that Mikoshiba had submitted the evidence without telling her.
“The period of care was about one year and three months, from October 2009 to January 2011. What I would like you to confirm is the timing and nature of the exams. As you see, the defendant made five, and the younger daughter, Rinko, two visits. All of them were for external trauma. The injured areas varied from cheek, shoulder, side, to shin, but have in common that they were bruised. The defense would like to ask the defendant some questions regarding these facts.”
“You may proceed.”
When Mikoshiba turned to Akiko, she looked surprised and squirmed in her seat. Seeing that, Misaki again had a strange impression. Mikoshiba seemed to be antagonizing his own client as well.
“Defendant. These seven injuries required from at least five days to three weeks to heal completely. Every one of them was from a blow severe enough to leave a bruise. All of these were made by the victim, Shingo, weren’t they?”
“… That’s right.”
I see. So this is how he is going to try to prove it, observed Misaki.
“The blunt trauma ranged from leaving scars on the skin to impacting bone. If an injury required three weeks to heal completely, it was serious. To use simple math, you endured significant violence once every two months.” Turning to Sanjo again, Mikoshiba continued, “We might as well say that they were victims of sustained violence. In the previous argument, the prosecution denied the possibility of imminent danger because there was no violence just prior to the incident. But it was chronic, and the defendant and her children would have always been in fear.”
Misaki immediately raised his hand. “Your honor. The defense is replacing fact with inference.”
“It isn’t inference. Any violence grievously scars a person’s body and mind. Unless the memory is deleted completely, it will turn to fear.”
“Defense, please continue.”
“They may not have been beaten just before the incident, but if they were living side by side with fear, then we could say that the defendant resisted the victim to protect herself and her children from imminent danger. Of course, the defendant did go for a box cutter, a weapon. But as in the cases of abuse, it is very doubtful that the defendant could counter the force facing her by merely putting up her fists. As a frail woman she could not help grabbing a knife.”
“Your honor.”
“Yes, prosecutor.”
“The defense’s statement is leading the accused to misrecognize the facts,” Misaki began hi
s rebuttal, his copy of the charts in hand. “The latest clinical record is dated January 12th. The incident occurred on May 5th. In other words, four full months had elapsed since the last instance of violence. The defense holds that the accused was exposed to chronic fear, but we can hardly conclude that it was sustained given a blank of four months. Therefore, his assertion that the crime committed by the accused was in defense against imminent danger is far-fetched.”
Misaki glanced at his opponent’s face, but as he feared, the refutation didn’t seem to be paining Mikoshiba any more than a mosquito bite. It wasn’t clear if he was tolerating a crosscut or if he’d accounted for this level of rebuttal.
Whether or not she felt menaced after the violence had ceased for four months was hard to say. Any judgment as to her action’s basis in imminent danger entirely depended on how it appeared objectively. Misaki flattered himself, however, that he had at least succeeded in offsetting Mikoshiba’s assertion.
“Does the defense have further opinions on the matter?”
“No, your honor.”
Clinging to the point might have hurt him, but Mikoshiba’s response was magisterially lean. Misaki felt like tipping his hat to his enemy.
But so much for your agility on the attack. Now let’s see you defend.
Misaki raised his hand. “Your honor. I would like to summon a witness for the prosecution.”
“Proceed.”
Since the application for the witness had been approved, the defense already knew. Misaki was sticking to orthodox methods for his part.
A man entered led by a courtroom officer.
He walked with a slight stoop that seemed to be his habit. His expression didn’t betray any nervousness, but his ordinary mid-thirties salaryman air rendered his ease with the setting rather suspicious. Misaki would have certainly found it odd, too, if he hadn’t known the man’s line of work.
The witness’s company had come up in the course of an investigation into Shingo Tsuda’s loan relationships conducted by the Setagaya Station at Misaki’s bidding.
Nocturne of Remembrance Page 17