by Nick Tanner
Next he examined the bedroom. Together with Sakamoto he’d searched in here the evening before but on that occasion they were seeking clues as to why Eri Yamada might have been struck down. This time he was attempting to determine the hidden nature of Hideki Yamada. There were a number of books neatly housed within a glass-fronted book-case. He noted the titles nodding in recognition as he did so. It was an eclectic mix of classic literature as well as some more modern authors but there was no story here that was really being told. Shoved incongruously into whatever remaining space there was were a few manga comics. He opened them up and was not surprised at the contents. There was the usual mix of graphic sexuality and violence but even this couldn’t be twisted to prove some evil perversion. It wasn’t really enough to build a case against Yamada so he simply replaced them back where he’d taken them from and felt a great weight of dissatisfaction fall across him. He took one more look around the room but as with the main lounge there was nothing here that suggested to him that he was in the room of a murderer. Finally he slid open the door to the main closet and peered inside. There were a number of men’s suits – he counted at least six and in the middle of the row he spotted the dark green suit as described by Hideki Yamada. He pulled it out and examined it carefully. The most obvious thing he noted about it was that it was spotlessly clean. There was no evidence that in grappling with his wife in strangulation he had fallen to the ground and muddied the knees. He checked all the other suits just to make sure and as with the dark green one they were all immaculately clean. Finally he examined the tie rack. He ran his finger down the numerous colours and picked out one that matched the description of the tie that Yamada had said he'd been wearing. It hung there quite innocently. On first inspection it didn’t look like it had been used to strangle anybody. It hung quite flat – there was no sign of any tension in the material.
None of it made sense.
Or all of it made sense.
There was nothing here to suggest that Hideki Yamada had murdered his wife – absolutely nothing at all.
Nonetheless he took the suit and tie with him along with several pairs of Yamada's shoes as he exited the building.
To conclude his investigation he double-checked the waste bins around the house and for good measure called in at several dry cleaning shops. No-one had received a dark-green suit for cleaning. No muddied, dark green suit had been dumped. He then wondered whether it was possible for Yamada to have purchased a replacement suit and tie, taking advantage of the unforgivable security lapse that morning. Mori thought it highly unlikely – particularly given the short time frame. Two or Three minutes the Junsa had said he’d been away. There was really no way that Yamada could have done anything in that time, was there? In addition there was the state of the man they had languishing in the cells. He didn’t seem capable of swift, logical, clandestine action in his present condition but despite this Mori now regretted not bringing Yamada in first thing in the morning as per Sakamoto’s instruction.
However, whatever his misgivings about his own behaviour at least in terms of the present enquiry he could only conclude that once again the available evidence pointed towards a man who was entirely innocent.
Finally he chatted to the Yamada's immediate neighbours. They had nothing but kind words for the couple. Once again he was confronted with a weight of evidence that pointed away from Hideki Yamada as being the culprit and so it was with a heavy heart that Mori returned to headquarters.
It was a complete surprise therefore that when he entered Sakamoto’s office to pass on what information he had, or rather what information he didn’t have, that he was greeted by a smiling and joyous Inspector. ‘We have witness testimony that Yamada was in a convenience store not seconds after his wife was also in there – the store owner quite clearly states that it was him. Not only that but it’s been caught on CCTV. So why didn’t he mention this when we questioned him before and why didn’t he greet his wife and walk back home with her?’
‘Why indeed,’ mumbled Sergeant Mori feeling even more perplexed.
‘And there’s one other thing. There’s also evidence that Eri Yamada had sexual intercourse yesterday – so she was having an affair after all! Motive and means! It’s all coming together quite nicely, wouldn’t you say?’
Mori said nothing but took the interim pathology report from Sakamoto and sat down in his office and read it through thoroughly himself. Apparently all was not what it seemed in this case.
18 - In which gratuitous aggression creates a twist
Friday 31st December 4:15pm
‘Bad news bitch!’
He roughly drew the curtains shutting out all the light so that the flat was drenched in darkness, took a step back, placed his hands on his hips and bent over her.
Junko Iida looked up, blinking into the shadows. She was sitting on the floor, her hands were tied behind her back and her mouth was covered in masking tape. Her small, black eyes, darting back and forth within their sockets, spoke of terror – sheer terror and confusion.
He took a menacing step forward and slapped her around the face laughing manically as he did so. He appeared to be quite mad. The slap did everything to add to the bruises that already, painfully, existed.
The man, despite his physical dominance and obvious position of strength, was not necessarily in complete control of his actions. There was the semblance of a plan – a brief outline, but the specifics were sketchy at best. He was marching down the road without a route map. He slapped her again for no other reason than it appeared to expedite his own pain and that unexpectedly he seemed to derive a great deal of pleasure from it.
Not for the first time she cried out in pain.
He turned and stumbled into the kitchenette, promptly locating a bottle of sake that he knew must be there. With fumbling hands he unscrewed the top and sloshed a generous measure into his mouth, allowing it to spill all over his face. It made little difference to his state of mind. He was already quite drunk, but he experienced a sense of self-indulgent release – in fact all his recent actions had been designed with liberation in mind.
‘You want some?’ he said teasing her. ‘Water maybe?’
Junko Iida just glared back – fear and loathing were her only thoughts.
‘You forced this upon yourself,’ he shouted. ‘None of this needed to happen.’ He waved his arm haphazardly around him and then staggered back into the room and slumped down beside her. He studied her face, surprisingly alarmed at the severity of the bruises he had inflicted upon her. With the back of his index finger he gently traced around the edge of one particularly painful-looking bruise and tucked a stray strand of hair back behind her ear.
‘You're pretty,’ he said in a low, emotionless voice slipping effortlessly into a pitying monologue, ‘and sexy. I suppose you are aware of the kind of effect you have on me? Of course you are. However, you no doubt desire to attract much younger men than me, but you seem to insist in wearing short skirts and revealing tops. But you women always know what you’re doing, don’t you? How many times have you looked with seduction in your eyes? How many times do you lean in front of men allowing them to glance down your top? You’re a calculating bitch, aren’t you? But you got more than you bargained for, didn’t you? You maybe sexy but you are stupid!’ He pushed his face into hers and Junko Iida instinctively tried to pull away but she only succeeded in unbalancing herself and toppled over.
‘Do you know what’s happened to me? Do you know what I’ve become? I…’ he collapsed, head in hands, and not for the first time in recent days struggled to hold back his emotions. Snot dribbled from his nose as tears trickled down his face. He slipped pathetically to the floor like a tantrum child. The bottle of sake also tipped over and its contents drained out over the floor.
For a while all three remained in this position - the woman prone and shaking; the man overcome by a toxic mix of anger and hopelessness and the sake bottle – just as horizontal. All three were drained and empty.
Then suddenly, as quickly as he had slipped into this whining, he snapped out of it. A severe coldness spread across his features at the same time that a dirty thought crossed his mind. What had he to lose, after all? It was stupid that he hadn’t considered it before?
He sat up and then roughly pulled at Junko Iida’s skirt laughing at the way in which she squirmed helplessly.
This was power!
There was nothing she could do.
‘You sexy bitch! You slut!’ he whispered in her ear. ‘You know you want to!’ He grabbed at the elastic of her knickers and tore them off, delighting at the aggression and the sound of the light material ripping and at the sight of her now exposed vagina.
But his raising lust quickly turned to a feeling of utter disgust.
‘You’ve soiled yourself, you dirty bitch!' He slapped her once again. 'But don’t worry.’ The tone of his voice suddenly altered to one that was much softer. ‘We can sort that. I can soon clean you up.’ He tottered back into the kitchenette gingerly holding the mucky knickers between his thumb and forefinger with one hand and with the other pinching his nose. He tossed them into the bin and then returned clutching a damp towel and then proceeded to dab it up and down her legs and around her bottom – back and front, carefully cleaning her thoroughly, being quite tender and gentle as if she were a new born babe. It was completely incongruous given his planned violent intent. Once again Junko Iida squirmed futilely. ‘There now, that’s better,’ he said once he’d finished. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have a change of underwear, but you won’t be needing them anyway, will you?’
He stood back as if admiring his work. ‘Yes – that’s much better, much more to my – taste!’
Of course there was no going back. After what he was going to do it would be foolish not to finish the job.
19 - Incidental musings in the house of Mori
Friday 31st December 7:10pm
The Tokaido line train stopped briefly at Totsuka forcing Sergeant Mori to look up from his evening paper to check the stop. It had been a long time since he had alighted here - it was where he might get out if he was to visit Inspector Saito. On this occasion he simply looked up, noted the stop and then returned to his paper, with only the most fleeting of thoughts as to the doings of his former boss fluttering across his mind. He got out at the next stop – Ofuna.
He'd for once left work quite early having completed yet another questioning session with Yamada. As he'd left Sakamoto had gone in. There was to be no let up for the wretched Yamada, who so far had stuck religiously to his story. Mori was grateful to be away from the centre of operations. It was almost as if his proximity to the interrogation had begun to cramp him. His mind was no longer capable of thinking of new questions to ask or angles to pursue. He was therefore glad to be 'free' and to take time to attend to personal matters.
It had been over a month since he had last paid a visit to his parent’s house. It didn’t seem that long ago that he called on them regularly each Sunday but somehow he’d lapsed mainly due to his increased level of responsibility that kept him at the office, or on the case, at times he’d rather not have to be. In fact it used to be quite usual for him to join them for an evening meal, usually sushi, stay late and often stay over for the night. Recently he hadn’t been able to take them up on their offers – recently, as well as work, he’d had Narase Ren to look after him. But tonight was New Year’s eve and he thought that he ought to make the effort.
From Ofuna station he took a ten minute bus ride and then arrived a further five minutes later, cutting through the shrine and its grounds that backed onto his parent’s house. Their house was a modest building, tucked into a row of equally modest houses but it represented home and it gladdened his heart whenever he approached it. He opened the gate, recognising its familiar ‘clunk’ as it closed to and then rang the doorbell.
A few seconds later his father opened the door, suspiciously first and then with gusto second. He was surprised to see his son. ‘Good to see you Keita, I didn’t know you were coming,’ he exclaimed.
‘Ignore him,’ shouted Mori’s mother from inside the house. ‘I did tell him. He’s obviously forgotten.’
Mori smiled and pressed a bottle of Sake into his father’s hands which he’d picked up in the liquor store at the station. Mr Mori looked it up and down approvingly.
‘My favourite! Let’s crack it open!’
‘Not until you’ve finished the one you’ve already started!’ yelled his wife again from within the kitchen.
‘She’s got hearing like an owl,’ grumbled Mr Mori. Mori smiled again. The constant bickering between his parents was a given.
Mr Mori reluctantly placed the new bottle of sake in the sideboard cupboard out of which he then took out two small glasses.
‘The bath is heated if you want one. O-Ka-san how long till dinner? Does Keita have time for a bath?’
Mrs Mori popped her head round the concertinaed door that separated the kitchen from the living room. She was wearing an apron over her clothes and her sleeves were rolled up to the elbow. ‘We’ll be ready in about twenty minutes. There’s plenty of time. Tempura ok? And of course soba noodles.’
‘Lovely!’ said Mori.
He exited the living room and skipped up the stairs, feeling like a young boy once again, to a small airing room where the washing usually hung to dry in winter. He picked out a bath towel and then returned to the ground floor and entered the bathroom at the back of the house.
His head cold was still in full, fluidic flow and so consequently he sat with a feeling that his energy levels were getting weaker and his thought processes were slowing to the point of complete in-action. He was grateful for the chance to relax in a hot bath and grateful that he could really stretch out both physically and mentally. His own bath was really far too small but his parent’s was much more comfortable and he realised how much he’d missed it. However, he didn’t think of much as he lay back allowing himself to simply watch the steam rise to the ceiling and the condensation dribble down the window pane.
Try as he might however, in this relaxed state he couldn’t avoid his thoughts returning to the case and whether or not it was the right decision to be holding Hideki Yamada. All his instincts still lead him to believe that Yamada was innocent, whatever Sakamoto might think.
He was all too aware of the problems of working under Sakamoto and it was these problems that succeeded in bypassing the phlegm-filled passages to penetrate his mind. Unlike Inspector Saito who tended to shield his team from whatever wrath may cascade down from the higher ranks, Sakamoto was, in the pursuit of his endless self-promotion, quite shameless in skirting around any blame by subtly deflecting it onto his staff. These were always understated actions played out in a game of delicate balance and counter balance where an imperceptible shift in weight could tip the scales effortlessly so that Sakamoto always came out either creaming off the glory or sheltering from culpability. From Sergeant Mori’s point of view it was an entirely different proposition compared to working with Inspector Saito – Sakamoto was a proposition he never, ever enjoyed.
Sakamoto, typically, had dismissed the complete lack of corroboration in terms of incriminating clothing in a manner that suggested that Mori was entirely incompetent not to have discovered the correct items. Either that or Yamada was even more cunning than Mori (of course Mori!) had giving him credit for. To add to the lack of clinching evidence Yamada’s steadfast declaration at his innocence was twisted in a way that made it the questioner’s fault for not being brutal or wily enough during the hours of interrogation - questioning, that of course Sakamoto was curiously absent from for a large proportion of the time.
It was still a surprise to Mori, given Sakamoto’s inclination for dishing out blame, that he had yet to pick him up for not bringing in Yamada first thing in the morning as per the original instruction or for the minor breach in security. The little window of opportunity that had opened up to Yamada still nagged away at him and
Mori truly hoped that it was not something that he would later live to regret.
As for Yamada he had stuck to his story during the endless questioning, amending only that, yes – he had called into the convenience store. It was, in his opinion, a small oversight during the initial questioning explained away in that he was both in a state of shock and also more than hung-over during their first session. For five and a half hours he had submitted himself to the team's questioning, but the end result had remained the same. He declared himself innocent in equal measure to Sakamoto’s increasing exasperation – a man just as determined to establish his guilt.