by Meg Mezeske
“Nanami, I understand that you’re upset, but some people are able to hide parts of themselves, even from their closest friends.”
“You sound like my mom.” Nanami sounded disappointed and looked away. “You don’t understand.”
“Why are you so sure Emi didn’t kill herself?” Jordan said, trying a different tack to re-engage the girl. Nanami shook her head and fell silent, but Jordan could see her hands wringing in her lap, skin white across her knuckles. “Nanami?” The girl looked around the car nervously before leaning in and cupping her hand to Jordan’s ear.
“Emi was pregnant.”
Jordan shivered as Nanami’s breath brushed against her throat. “What? You’re sure?”
“Yes.” Nanami nodded vehemently. “She told me a few weeks ago.”
“Did anyone else know? Her parents maybe.”
“No way she told her parents!” She looked aghast at even the thought. “Mrs. Takahashi though…”
“Mrs. Takahashi—the school nurse? She knows?”
“Maybe. Well, no, I don’t think so…” Nanami shrugged and continued. “Emi was feeling really dizzy one day at school and started bleeding—she thought she was having a miscarriage. Remember the day I brought her to the teachers’ lunchroom? Well, Emi went to the nurse’s office, but when she came back, she said she hadn’t told Mrs. Takahashi anything.” She paused for a moment and worried her lip as she thought. “I think she was telling the truth. Mrs. Takahashi and Emi’s mom are good friends. They probably don’t keep any secrets from each other, so I doubt Emi would tell her.”
“Emi would have been in serious trouble if she was found out,” Jordan said, realizing it was quite the understatement. The high-schoolers were discouraged from harmless dating—even from holding hands. Emi probably would have been expelled at best, possibly even thrown out by her parents for such a transgression. “Maybe her pregnancy was why she—”
“No,” Nanami said with firm certainty. “She was excited. Happy, even. She was sure the baby would convince her boyfriend to marry her.” She smiled ruefully and shook her head.
“So even the father didn’t know yet.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do you know who he is?”
“No. Emi said she was seeing a boy from Sagae High School. She never told me his name or even showed me a picture.” Nanami frowned. “She always loved having a secret.”
Nanami fell silent when the train stopped and a trickle of passengers walked by on their way to the door; she eyed them warily. Jordan had to admit that Nanami’s reasoning for why Emi wouldn’t take her own life was plausible. But the girl was still young and seemed naive about her friend’s motivations, and Emi had clearly been impetuous and volatile. Though Nanami couldn’t fathom her friend committing suicide, Jordan could see few other alternative explanations.
They both tipped sideways in their seats as the train once again continued its path down the dark tracks. Jordan spoke up after a few minutes.
“You think Emi’s death was an accident?”
“I’m not sure…” Nanami bit her bottom lip and looked on the verge of saying more when the train once again rolled to a stop. “I have to get off here, Jordan-sensei. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Jordan itched to hear more and wanted to urge Nanami to stay and talk, but she decided it wouldn’t be fair to pressure the girl.
“Okay,” she said reluctantly. “Bye, Nanami.”
The girl already had one foot on the platform before she turned around and scurried back to Jordan.
“Don’t tell anyone, okay?” She didn’t wait for agreement before rushing away into the blue-blackness of early evening and merging with the crowd of figures departing into the streets.
Eight
On the surface, school life had returned to normal. Classes ran on schedule, there were no more solemn assemblies, and the students, for the most part, seemed happy. Akira had politely declined a few of their practice sessions for the English competition, and Jordan suspected Emi’s death had stirred his not-yet-dormant remorse over Yuki’s passing. Akira still spoke to her in class and sometimes sought her out during breaks, but his subdued smiles rarely eclipsed the distracted look in his eyes.
So it was with a mix of regret and pleasure that Jordan once again watched from the bleachers as the baseball team practiced. Their season had ended not long before—after losing their final game by a large, disheartening margin—but Kenji insisted they would benefit by practicing throughout the year. Jordan suspected they might benefit more from a break but didn’t have the heart to tell him.
The afternoon was bright but cold. The players’ hands and cheeks looked red, abraded by the dry, biting air. Jordan settled gratefully into her knee-length wool coat, her cheeks and ears hidden in a winding scarf wrapped about her head, as she watched the balls’ lazy arcs through the air.
With a crack like a branch splitting, a ball sprang almost vertically into the ash-blue sky. Jordan shielded her eyes against the cold sun and watched the ball turn into a small fleck at its pinnacle. It seemed to hover for a fateful moment before racing toward the ground—straight into an unsuspecting passerby.
Jordan’s surprised gasp mixed with too-late shouts of warning from the players. The man grunted with pain as the ball thudded meatily into his shoulder. His briefcase struck the pavement and documents burst forth like confetti from a New Year’s party favor. Jordan was already on her feet, rushing to his side, and was joined by Ryusuke and two infielders. Everyone else on the field stopped to watch with curiosity.
“Are you all right, mister?”
“Hey, are you okay?” The boys nervously ran over each other’s words.
“Oh, yes, I’m fine. Thank you,” the man said pleasantly, but his smile slipped into a grimace when he rolled his shoulder. Massaging the base of his neck, the man knelt and began to collect his papers. Jordan crouched as well, already feeling the chill seep from the concrete through to her knees. She plucked up a few scattered pages of thick, cream-colored paper with gold and bronze letterhead. Curious, she looked at the bold emblem at the top of the documents: a three-pointed crest embraced by leaves, surrounded by thick kanji lettering and the English words “Yamagata Prefectural Police.” Her concern for collecting his documents vaporized instantly, and her head shot up to look at the stranger.
The man’s head was bent over his briefcase, but Jordan suddenly recognized his distinct features, from his carefully styled hair to his pressed suit and fog-grey dress shirt. Jordan’s pulse quickened when he raised his sharp eyes to meet hers, smiled, and extended his hand for the papers.
“Sorry about that,” Jordan said with an unsure smile as they both got to their feet. “Ogawa’s usually far more welcoming to guests, I promise.”
“Yeah, we’re really sorry, sir.” Ryusuke piped up and sheepishly ran his fingers through the hair at the back of his head.
“I have to say, I’m the one who’s embarrassed—I played shortstop in high school.” The man’s lips turned up in a small grin and the students laughed, looking relieved. “Go on. Get back to practice.”
Ryusuke and the others jogged away, tossing more hasty apologies and goodbyes over their shoulders as they left.
“You’re sure you’re all right?” Jordan said once the boys had gone.
“Yes, thank you for your concern. You must be the assistant language instructor,” he said in flawless English.
“That’s me,” she said, happy to be able to speak easily, and held out her hand to shake his. “I’m Jordan Howard.”
“Toshihiko Sakurai.” He nodded and returned the handshake. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Officer Sakurai, is it?”
“Inspector, actually.” His eyebrows quirked at her comment but he didn’t seem surprised by the question.
“From the Yamagata Prefectural Police Station?”
“Yes.”
“Ogawa’s small, I know, but it can’t be that small. Surely the town ha
s its own police force.”
“Indeed it does—and he’s a very fine officer. But Ogawa is not equipped to handle investigations,” Inspector Sakurai said plainly. The following pause stretched until it was clear he did not intend to offer more.
“You’re conducting an investigation…at Ogawa High School?”
“Yes.” He adjusted his tie. Jordan wasn’t sure whether she was amused or annoyed by his terseness.
“Does this have something to do with Emi and Yuki’s deaths?” An unreadable look flashed across the inspector’s features and he stood a bit straighter. For a moment, he searched her face and Jordan wondered whether he would say anything at all. Jordan spoke up again instead. “I saw you at Emi’s wake.”
“I remember.” He paused for a long moment before seeming to come to a decision. “There have been a number of recent deaths of high school students near Yamagata City. We’re investigating the possibility of a suicide club.”
“Suicide club!” Jordan wasn’t sure what answer she had been expecting, but his reply caught her off-guard. She had heard of so-called suicide clubs but had dismissed the notion as a singular incidence the media had inflated into a pandemic, like America’s pregnancy pacts. “But Emi and Yuki barely knew each other.”
“Well, that’s what I’m here to find out,” Inspector Sakurai said with an assuring air.
“Yuki…died before I arrived in Ogawa, but I’d be willing to talk about Emi if it would help your investigation,” Jordan said.
“Thank you, Ms. Howard. I’ll be here throughout the week to conduct interviews, and I’ll let you know if I have any questions.”
For a moment, neither spoke. Inspector Sakurai didn’t appear inclined to leave right away, taking in the campus, the field, and Jordan with sweeping looks. She was intrigued, both by the newcomer himself and by his purpose at the high school. Though the prolonged silence seemed to slide right off the police inspector, Jordan began to feel uncomfortable.
“Your English is excellent,” she said, unsure of what else to say—and it was true.
“Thank you.” He smiled. “I studied at Doshisha University before I attended the National Police Academy.” Jordan nodded, though she knew nothing of either institution.
“You should do some guest teaching while you’re here,” she said wryly. “Show these students that English isn’t as impossible or as dumb as they make it out to be.”
He chuckled and his glasses slipped down his nose a bit.
“You’re American, aren’t you?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Americans have a…certain way about them,” he said with a smile, not quite mocking nor teasing.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Before either could say more, a distant speaker wrung out an innocuous ditty of tinny notes that echoed off the school and surrounding buildings. A network of speakers broadcast this chime across Ogawa every day, four times each day, signaling the times to wake up, eat lunch, return home from work, and go to bed. No one seemed to pay these notices much heed, or even comment on them, but the tune prompted Inspector Sakurai to look at his watch.
“I need to return to Yamagata City soon.” He reached into his breast pocket and retrieved a business card, bowing as he extended it to Jordan with both hands. “It was very nice to meet you, Ms. Howard.”
“You too, Inspector.” She bowed as she accepted the card and looked it over with careful interest, as was polite, though she could not decipher many of the kanji characters that represented his name and title. After a moment, Jordan returned her attention to his sharp, arresting face. “I’ll see you here tomorrow?”
“Yes. Have a good evening.” The inspector picked up his briefcase from the pavement and bowed once more before making his way to a nondescript white sedan.
“Goodbye,” Jordan called after him and watched his car drive away between the buildings on the darkening road. She turned the business card in her palm, feeling its sharp points press into the pads of her fingers, and slipped it into her pocket.
Nine
“Jordan-sensei.”
Jordan flinched at the sound of Vice Principal Nakamura’s voice. The words caressed her spine like an ice cube sliding down the back of her shirt.
“Yes, Ms. Nakamura?” She turned in her seat to see the rigid woman standing at the door to the break room, wearing her usual expression of disinterest bordering on annoyance.
“The inspector wishes to speak with you.” The vice principal had spent the last twenty minutes or so being interviewed. She had been preceded by the principal, head teacher, Mr. Mori, and a handful of other faculty members who had flowed in and out of the break room throughout the morning. Ms. Nakamura had left the door ajar, but Jordan knocked against its glass pane before entering.
“Come in, please,” a man’s voice said from the other side of the door.
Jordan entered to see Inspector Sakurai seated at the end of a long lunch table, surrounded by a horseshoe of stacked papers, photographs, and file folders. He leaned over a thin notebook and continued to write in quick, small letters before placing his pen aside and giving her his full attention.
“Ms. Howard, nice to see you again.” He smiled, speaking in Japanese now, and stood to bow.
“Nice to see you, too. Hopefully we won’t be interrupted by any rogue baseballs this time.”
“Indeed,” he said politely, more reserved than the day before. He motioned to a chair with his open hand. “Please have a seat.”
“So, you have questions about Emi?” Jordan sat close to the inspector, glancing at the paper nearest to her but not gleaning much.
“Yes. If you could please let me know generally about your relationship with and impression of Emi. Almost any information about her or her life outside of school may be helpful.” He laced his slender fingers over his notebook and looked at Jordan calmly but intently.
“Have you heard the phrase, ‘Speak no ill of the dead’?” she said. At this, the corners of his mouth twitched.
“Ms. Howard, I have interviewed nearly a dozen people about Emi. At this point, I have a…distinct impression of her personality.” Inspector Sakurai stifled a wry look and continued. “Please do not hesitate to include any details. This is a police investigation, after all.”
“I didn’t speak to her much, if at all, outside of class, during which she was disruptive at best.” Jordan continued to describe Emi as she only knew her to be: obstinate, defiant, and sometimes cruel. As she spoke, Inspector Sakurai took careful notes, only glancing at Jordan occasionally. A digital recorder stood in the center of the table like a miniature obelisk. She soon came to the end of her limited firsthand knowledge of Emi but remembered her recent conversation with Nanami. “Have you interviewed her friends yet?”
“Not all of them. Why do you ask?”
“Her close friend, Nanami, told me that Emi was pregnant,” she said after a moment of hesitation, recalling Nanami’s insistence on secrecy. If the inspector was surprised by this information, he didn’t show it. Without so much as raising his eyes from his pen, he continued his diligent note-taking. “You already knew?”
“I really can’t divulge anything, Ms. Howard,” he said, not impolitely. “Did Nanami say anything else—how Emi felt?”
“She said Emi was happy―excited, even. Apparently Emi thought she’d marry the father.”
“Who was the father?”
“I don’t know. Nanami didn’t seem to know either. Only that Emi often spoke about a boy at Sagae High School.”
“I’ll be sure to ask Nanami.” He again laced his fingers and adopted a more conversational tone. “Thank you for your cooperation, and I apologize for interrupting your schedule. I believe I have no more questions for you at this time, unless there’s anything else you’d like to add…”
“Yes, actually. Nanami’s convinced that Emi didn’t commit suicide.” Inspector Sakurai nodded and his eyes narrowed with interest as she continued. “Yuki’s younger brother w
as adamant that he didn’t kill himself either.”
“You asked them what they thought about their loved ones’ deaths?”
“No, not exactly. I spoke with them about…what had happened, and they volunteered their thoughts. I am their teacher, after all.” Jordan’s pulse rose and she felt defensive. “Seeing as you’re investigating a suicide club, I thought you’d like to know.”
“Of course, and I thank you,” he said sincerely and stood. “If you remember anything further, please don’t hesitate to contact me. Do you still have my business card?”
“Yes. Will you be in Ogawa much longer, Inspector Sakurai?”
“At least a few more days.”
“I’ll let you know if I learn anything else from the students,” Jordan said as she rose from her seat and pushed in her chair.
“I would appreciate that,” he said but a look of curiosity and vague suspicion crossed his features as she turned to leave. “That is to say, if they happen to mention anything. Please leave the questioning to me, Ms. Howard.”
“Of course. But you never know what students will share with their teachers.” She smiled as she began to slide the door shut behind her. “Goodbye, Inspector.”
Jordan breathed into her cupped hands to warm her fingers before returning them to the laptop’s keys. Though in her apartment’s living room, she felt little relief from the autumn chill. She sat on a cushion atop the wooden floorboards and folded her long legs under the kotatsu—a low table with electric coils and a quilt hanging off its edges to capture the heat. She let as little air as possible escape from under the quilt and sighed as her thighs began to warm.
On the kotatsu’s tabletop sat a Styrofoam tray and bowl, empty save for a few grains of rice and drops of broth left over from her dinner of store-bought sushi and miso soup. Despite being from the supermarket, it was better than most sushi she had back home in Nevada, thanks to the region owing its livelihood to fishing.