Honeymoon to Nowhere

by Akimitsu Takagi

  Lately her father hadn’t been complaining so much. He had met Yoshihiro a number of times over the past few weeks. Perhaps he had discovered that Yoshihiro wasn’t such a bad match after all.

  Now he started lecturing her again on the duties of a good wife. This might be his strange way of demon­strating his fatherly affection, she thought tenderly.

  After dinner Etsuko was busy in her room when her mother appeared in the doorway.

  “Etsu,” she said nervously, “I don’t know if I need to ask you this, in this day and age, but do you know what to do tomorrow night?”

  She looked at her mother wide-eyed. “What d’you mean?”

  “Come now, Etsu, how long do you think you can deceive me?”

  “Mother, I—”

  “It isn’t true you’re pregnant, is it? It’s just the opposite—there hasn’t been anything between you, has there?”

  Etsuko embraced her mother tightly. Love and poig­nant pity for her made the tears rush to her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Please forgive me.”

  “It’s all right, my little one . . .” She began to weep with her daughter without really knowing why.

  The wedding ceremony went off without a hitch, ending just before one o’clock in the afternoon. It was solemn and dignified despite the absence of religion. Following the marriage vows there was the exchange of rings, the drinking of wine from the nuptial cup, and the signing of the official papers.

  Immediately after the ceremony Yoshihiro went to the ward office to get the papers registered. Etsuko, radiant in her bridal outfit, stayed behind among the admiring relatives.

  The wedding reception commenced at four o’clock as planned. It was a fairly large affair, following the usual pattern. Kawaji proved a capable master of ceremonies. Kirishima didn’t show up, but his wife Kyoko was there, offering her formal congratulations as representative of the bride’s friends.

  The newlyweds reached room 322 in the New Tokyo Hotel in Akasaka just after seven o’clock.

  Etsuko felt physically tired but explosively happy. She shuddered with excitement as they kissed, and almost immediately undressed, watching Yoshihiro do the same. Then she let her long shiny hair down and impishly covered her breasts with it.

  He ran his fingers through her hair, and then tenderly took hold of her and kissed her on the top of the head. She looked up at him lovingly, trembling a little from excitement and weariness in the legs. He explored her body as if for the first time.

  They made love gently, without a sound. As he reached his climax, whispering “Etsu . . . Etsu,” she felt that for those few seconds she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

  Afterward they clung together fervently, without moving or saying anything. And it wasn’t long before they coupled again, this time with more violence than tenderness. Finally, damp with fatigue, they held each other loosely, their bodies sated but their minds still greedy for more.

  “I’d better go and have a bath,” she said.

  He kissed her gently. “Okay, that’ll give me time to catch my breath.” He lay on his back and looked as if he might fall asleep any minute.

  But when she got up to go into the bathroom, he came alive again, turned and watched her back. Her loose black hair reached down almost to her full buttocks. Her legs were also a little heavy but well shaped and firm all the way up, except where they joined in a rhythmic combination of curves. As she disappeared, he looked at his watch. It was just after nine o’clock. The night was young . . .

  Etsuko ran the water, adjusting the taps and testing the temperature with her fingers. Then she stepped into the bath and carefully lowered herself into the steaming water. Finally she lay back and thought how lucky she was, and what a wonderful day this had been. She almost wished she was thirty years older, so she could look back nostalgically on these golden hours of her life . . .

  Now she relaxed completely, letting her mind become delightfully blank. The caressing warmth of the water was luring her slowly into sleep. Then she heard the phone ring and sat up in the bath with a jolt. What could that be? Perhaps the usual wedding night prank by one of his friends. She heard Yoshihiro talk on the phone but couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  When his face appeared in the bathroom door he looked annoyed. “This is preposterous,” he said. “I’ve just got a call from the university—they can’t find the last batch of exam papers I’ve marked . . . I know I’ve put them in the safe in the dean’s office—there’s no question about that. I just can’t understand . . .”

  For a moment she thought she could see a trace of that old shadow across his face. “They’ll be found in the morning,” she said hopefully. “How could they get lost?”

  “They couldn’t. They are there in the safe. I put them there myself. This isn’t something I could forget—I’ve been working on those papers for days.”

  “But isn’t this rather inconsiderate of them? They know you just got married. Why do they have to bother you on your wedding night?”

  Yoshihiro sighed heavily. “That’s just it. They know I’ll be away on my honeymoon till Sunday, and all the exam results must be put on the computer this week.”

  “Oh, I see.” She was no longer conscious of being in the bath, naked.

  The frown on his face deepened. “Etsu,” he said almost guiltily, “they want me to go over there to look for the papers.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “Go over there tonight—now?”

  “Yes, but it’ll only take an hour at the most. I know where I put those papers, and I’ll use taxis both ways . . . I’ll be just about back by the time you finish your bath.”

  Suppressing her uneasiness, she said, “All right. I don’t suppose you can do much about it . . .” She smiled wryly. “At least we’ve had the first two hours of our married life to ourselves . . . But you’ll try to get back as quickly as you can, won’t you?”

  Yoshihiro bent down to her and kissed her lips. Then he kissed her steaming face, her neck and her nipples, one after the other. She held his head, trembling in the warm water . . .

  “I won’t be long,” he whispered.

  She was reluctant to let his head go, and felt a pang of fear as the bathroom door clicked shut behind him. But she soon adjusted to being alone, and the previous glow of satisfaction returned.

  She began to re-live the previous two hours, realizing as she moved from episode to episode that their love-making had been nonetheless exciting because it was no longer stolen fruit. How long would it remain that way? How long would their elation last? She smiled at her face in the mirror. Right now she was as sure of their happiness as she was sure of her love for him.

  Carefully she dried her face and put make-up on it. She let her hair down again and brushed it. Then she switched off the bathroom light, returned to the bedroom, and opened her suitcase. Neatly folded on top was the mauve negligée she had bought specially for the wedding night. It was almost transparent, hiding nothing—the sort of thing she would never again wear after tonight. Her mother would go into a fit if she saw her in it—the poor thing. She had meant to put it on immediately after their arrival at the hotel, but somehow the urgency of their love had left no time for it.

  Etsuko slipped on the negligee and looked at herself in the wall mirror. It clearly revealed every detail of her chunky body. Adjusting the black lace on it, she thought it looked very suggestive. It was totally against her own taste, but she felt sure Yoshihiro would like it. It would remind him the night was not yet over . . .

  At half past ten, just about an hour after Yoshihiro had left, Etsuko was sitting on the big double bed with knees drawn up, her arms around her legs. She was looking at nothing in particular, but her ears were tuned to pick up any noise outside in the corridor. She was waiting for the door to open. He would be back soon—any minute now . . .

  At eleven
o’clock there was still no sign of him. Her brow furrowed and her eyes became misty as she fought back her tears. All her nerves strained toward the phone, waiting for its ring to break the silence. She wanted to hear his voice at the other end . . .

  At half past eleven she got off the bed and stood facing the door—a pathetically lonely figure in the transparent negligée. She removed her glasses as her eyes filled with blinding tears. All she could see now in the room was a blur of light—the reflection of the bedside lamp in the mirror.

  She took off the negligee and got fully dressed, just in case. She could feel herself sinking, drowning in panic. What could have happened to him? Had he met with an accident?

  At half past twelve she threw herself on the bed and began to cry helplessly, releasing the harsh sobs that had been gathering for the past two hours. She stayed there, face down, until the last spasms of grief had been drained from her.

  Then she reached for the phone to dial the police emergency number but changed her mind at the last moment. No, she thought, steeling herself, she was Etsuko Tsukamoto now, and she would do what was expected of her. She would wait.

  An eerie quiet filled the room. Absently she shifted her bloodshot eyes toward the window. The eastern sky was already growing lighter. Her eyelids were still swollen, but the tears had dried up a long time ago. She felt tired, terribly tired, but couldn’t go to sleep.

  6

  Since their wedding three and a half months ago, the Kirishimas had been living at Tokiwamatsu in a house left to Kyoko by her late father. It was far too big for the two of them, but thinking of the future they decided to stay in it.

  For State Prosecutor Saburo Kirishima the morning of February 16 began like any other. He had just finished his breakfast of bacon and eggs and was looking at the paper, sipping his coffee.

  Almost the entire local news page was filled with a report on a man who had gone berserk with a rifle at Nagoya, after putting a bomb on the express train.

  “Hmm. He was supposed to be a quiet man,” Kirishima said as he handed the paper to Kyoko. “Then suddenly some little thing set him off . . . Yes, I’ve often heard people say, ‘Who would’ve thought he’d be capable of such a thing.’”

  “It’s frightening, isn’t it? The things that can lie hidden in a man’s mind.”

  “He himself was probably unaware of it.”

  Kirishima was finishing his coffee when the phone rang.

  Kyoko got up to answer it.

  A few minutes later she came back to the dining room, her face turned to stone.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “That was Etsuko . . .”

  “Etsuko? Isn’t she supposed to be on her honeymoon?”

  “She was so upset—almost incoherent. I couldn’t quite follow her, but her husband seems to have disappeared.”

  “What?” Kirishima sat upright and stubbed out his cigarette. “Disappeared?”

  “Yes.”

  “But how?”

  “I can’t make it out.”

  “You told me they were supposed to stay at some hotel overnight and leave for Kyoto this morning?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But surely he couldn’t have gone on a spree on his wedding night, leaving her in the hotel?”

  “I wouldn’t know . . . Anyway, she asked me to go and see her at the New Tokyo Hotel. Her parents had been opposed to her marriage to Mr. Tsukamoto—maybe that’s why she contacted me.”

  Kirishima knitted his eyebrows. “Has she reported him missing to the police?”

  “Judging by her manner, I don’t think so.”

  “All right. You’d better go to her straight away. And once you get the full story, give her father a ring. You could contact the police if you think it’s necessary.”

  “Okay, I’ll get dressed.”

  “You can ring me at the office later and let me know what’s up.”

  “Okay.”

  “Oh, and one more thing. Just remember you’re now the wife of a prosecutor. So don’t do anything adven­turous, will you?”

  Kyoko’s face broke into a smile. “Don’t worry, fussy-body, I’ll uphold your dignity at all costs . . . Now, I must be off. See you later.” She dashed out of the room.

  Kirishima folded his arms and drifted into thought. A university lecturer was usually a reliable person of some standing in the community, possessing considerable self-confidence. It was most unlikely he’d run away from his wife on the first night of their married life . . . No, Tsukamoto’s disappearance looked most unusual, to say the least . . .

  As for Etsuko, he wasn’t particularly keen to meet her. Over the past twelve months Kyoko had repeatedly hinted at the reason for the Ogata girl’s conspicuous absence from their company. Not that he had anything to do with it—he certainly hadn’t encouraged her in any way. Still, it could become a little embarrassing . . . He sincerely hoped Tsukamoto would turn up soon, hale and hearty.

  It was about half past ten in the morning when Saburo Kirishima was summoned to the office of Renji Sanada, chief of the Criminal Affairs Division.

  Sanada’s face was expressionless, as always. He said, “Body of Yoshihiro Tsukamoto, lecturer, Chiyoda University. Found at Kitamicho, Setagaya ward. Report received from police headquarters.” His voice totally lacked modulation. It was part of his job to utter senten­ces like these all the year round. To him it was the most natural thing in the world. One more corpse wasn’t likely to make him either surprised or excited.

  But the name Tsukamoto made Kirishima grow slightly pale in the face, even if the information wasn’t entirely unexpected. “I see,” he said softly.

  “Inspector Yoshioka from the homicide squad has been assigned to the job. He went out to the scene early this morning and has already made certain arrangements at Seijo police station. But I understand he’ll direct the investigation from police headquarters.” Sanada took out his handkerchief and elaborately blew his nose before adding, “Kirishima, will you take charge of the case, like a good lad?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll make contact with police headquarters straight away.” He bowed lightly and left the chief’s office.

  But on his way back to his own room he grew in­creasingly uncomfortable. This was one case he could well do without, he thought.

  His clerk, Kitahara, was holding the phone for him when he reached his desk. “It’s your wife, Mr. Prosecutor.”

  Kirishima took the receiver. “Yes. How’s Etsuko?”

  “Terrible—almost out of her mind. I called a doctor and asked him to give her a sedative.”

  “Do you know what time her husband left last night?”

  “Around half past nine,” Kyoko said. “Told her he had to go to the university.”

  “What about Mr. and Mrs. Ogata?”

  “They’re already here. Mr. Ogata is making enquiries on the phone. He says if he can’t locate Mr. Tsukamoto privately, he’ll contact the police.”

  “He’s a bit late for that, I’m afraid,” Kirishima said. “I’ve already been put in charge of the case.”

  “Oh, no!” Kyoko gave a woeful sigh. “Have they found his body?”

  “Yes . . . Where are you ringing from?”

  “From the ground-floor lobby. Mr. Ogata is using the phone in the room upstairs. Anyway, I didn’t want to talk in front of them.”

  “That was wise . . . I’ve no details yet, but I’m sure the police are checking at his apartment and at the university right now. Sooner or later they’ll learn he stayed at that hotel last night. It won’t be long before they get there.”

  “Then I don’t have to break the news to her, do I?”

  “Of course not—it’s not your responsibility. In any case, I want you to stay out of it from now on. Her parents can look after her.”

  “I’d like to see Etsuko once more.�
��

  “You can do that later—perhaps during the afternoon. I don’t want you to be there when I make the official inspection later this morning.”

  “I see.”

  “So you just go home straight away, and I’ll see you before going back to the office.”

  “Okay then.”

  Replacing the receiver Kirishima was conscious of the questioning eyes of the clerk, Kitahara. The nosy old badger wanted to be in on the act, and it would have been impracticable to keep him out. Not only was he Kirishima’s memory bank, but also the one who made the difference between order and chaos in his office.

  So Kirishima told him about the latest case in a few words.

  “Miss Etsuko Ogata . . . I think I remember her.” Kitahara screwed up his ruddy face. “We met her in Kobe last year, didn’t we?”

  “If you say so.”

  “Yes, she was a rather strange girl, wasn’t she? The way she kept looking at you all the time, Mr. Prosecutor.”

  The cunning old soak didn’t miss much, Kirishima thought, turning to the book-shelf and reaching for a volume to hide his embarrassment. Then he sat down behind his desk and dialled the number of police head­quarters.

  Inspector Yoshioka was a fast talker. “I’ll give you the details later,” he said. “There’s one interesting point—Tsukamoto got married only a few hours before his death. He was staying with his bride in the New Tokyo Hotel last night. They were to leave for Kyoto on the super-express at nine o’clock this morning. She’s still in the hotel—very close to a nervous breakdown, I under­stand. I’ll be going there shortly.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Kirishima said.

  For a moment Yoshioka remained silent at the other end. Perhaps he was surprised Kirishima wanted to move in so quickly—even before the police had a chance to complete the preliminary investigations.

  Then he said, “If you can spare the time, Mr. Prose­cutor, it’ll be a great help to us. I’ve been told the bride’s father is a lawyer, so he may feel more inclined to talk to you about any of the more delicate details . . . Well, then perhaps you’d like to come in my car—I could give you the details on the way.”