Red Tea

by Meg Mezeske

  “It must have been a particularly difficult year for you. I’m so sorry,” Jordan said gently. “I won’t write anything about your, um, indiscretion. I promise.”

  “Thank you.” Sadako sniffled daintily. Her flash of grief hadn’t been an act—the emotion had shone clearly from her eyes—but she recovered herself in the time it took to bat back a few unshed tears. She smiled again, a bit embarrassed.

  Jordan continued to write in her notebook, making nonsense scribbles as she considered in which direction to head next. She had exhausted every angle to the cyanide poisoning: when Sadako had fallen ill, details of her hospital stay, the town’s brief upheaval and debate over the safety of the neighboring plastics factories.

  She couldn’t see any segues to asking about Ms. Nakamura. The vice principal simply didn’t fit into Sadako’s understanding of the situation, and Jordan wasn’t about to tell the girl that an attempt had been made on her life. Or, at least, that she suspected as much. Jordan grimaced and decided just to push forward.

  “Does the name Umiko Nakamura mean anything to you?”

  “Yes,” Sadako said and stiffened. Somehow her entire being appeared to harden, like a turtle retreating into its shell. “She has something to do with all this?”

  “Possibly,” Jordan said with purposeful vagueness.

  “That’s strange. I would have heard about her falling ill too…” Sadako tapped a finger to her lips and directed a thoughtful gaze upwards, as though the ceiling were tiled with memories for her to search through.

  “So you knew her then?” Jordan said quickly, before Sadako could ask any sticky questions about how Ms. Nakamura was connected to the cyanide poisoning.

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Ms. Nakamura was the principal of Sagae Middle School before she transferred to another town. Weren’t you at the high school during that time?”

  “Well, I only knew of her. Because of my younger brother,” Sadako said. She looked like she had smelled something putrid in the air, her nose scrunched with displeasure.

  “So you never met her?” Jordan’s insides clenched with disappointment, disbelief. Based on what she had surmised from Ryusuke’s and the others’ murders, Ms. Nakamura had given them the poisoned tea in person. If Sadako really had been Ms. Nakamura’s first victim, surely she must have met the woman. She must have. “She never came to your house…?”

  “God no. Luckily for her.” The cute, bubbly girl who had been perched before Jordan, delicately sipping her tea, had transformed into something hard and cold. Her frilly shirt and pink-kissed lips suddenly seemed very at odds with the sharp, flinty look that lanced from her dark eyes.

  “What happened? You mentioned your brother.”

  “You don’t know? It was quite the scandal,” Sadako said with a wolfish smile that held no joy.

  Jordan shook her head.

  “Umiko Nakamura was a tyrant at that school. She treated the children monstrously.” Sadako’s voice shook as she continued. “She humiliated them. Made them stand with buckets on their heads and paraded them in front of their classmates for ridicule.”

  Jordan remembered Ms. Nakamura telling her the same story and how she had recalled her actions with pride. The woman obviously hadn’t seen anything wrong with her treatment of the school’s students and even seemed to lament that she couldn’t follow the same tack with the high-schoolers.

  “But I understood that this was a standard form of punishment for unruly students? Like putting a kid in timeout.”

  “Well, to some extent, yes. She would take it to the extreme, though, and punish kids for even the smallest things. But that’s far from the worst part.” Sadako moved her cup and plate aside so that she could lean forward. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “She would beat the children.”

  “Beat them?” Jordan’s breath tripped after her words.

  “Yes. She made them find a bamboo switch or a stick and then she would hit them across the backside. Ruthlessly,” Sadako said around the catch in her throat. Her thin eyebrows jumped between a scowl and a pained look of sympathy, and Jordan could only imagine the skirmish of outrage, betrayal, and sadness within the girl. “Kouichi, my younger brother, would often come home from school in tears, but he would never say why. One day, I walked past his room as he was putting on his shirt and I saw all the bruises and welts on his back.”

  “How awful. I can’t imagine…” Jordan felt her eyes begin to water but she pushed back the pinprick of tears.

  “It was terrible,” Sadako said with cold agreement. “I told our parents and they eventually convinced Kouichi to explain what happened. He said Ms. Nakamura would beat him regularly. We filed a formal complaint against Ms. Nakamura through Sagae’s Board of Education, and a few more kids came forward. And, well…I’m sure you can imagine how news like that would ripple through the town.”

  “But what happened? Those are serious charges.”

  “Not serious enough, I guess.” She shrugged bitterly. “For every person who wanted to pull Nakamura’s deeds into the light, there were two more who wanted to push everything under a rock. You know how it is, living in the inaka.”

  Sadako reached for her cup and took a sip of tea that had gone cold long ago. Her pursed lips left a pink smudge against the porcelain. “Anyway, she didn’t get canned, just transferred a few years earlier than she would have anyway.”

  “I’m surprised she didn’t resign,” Jordan said with a frown.

  “Are you kidding? That horrible woman doesn’t have a shred of shame, or honor, or any of those fine Japanese traits.” Sadako waved a hand dismissively. “I still can’t believe she wasn’t fired. She must have had a friend on the school board.”

  “Who would befriend a woman like that?” Jordan wondered aloud.

  “And why would someone who hates children become a teacher?” Sadako tsked and crumpled back into her chair.

  They sat in silence for a minute or two while Jordan tried to absorb everything Sadako had told her. She felt like already sodden ground relentlessly pelted by rain. The girl certainly fit the profile of the other victims in many ways: she was guilty of a wrongdoing that the murderer saw punishable, she was poisoned by cyanide, and her partner in crime had been murdered by the same methods, presumably.

  Still, Jordan was puzzled by Sadako’s claim that she had never met Ms. Nakamura. Perhaps she hadn’t recognized the woman, or she had been poisoned indirectly. Sadako was also the only one to have escaped. It was possible that Ms. Nakamura thought it was too risky to target the same person again—doubtful she had absolved the girl of her supposed sins. Not everything aligned, but there were enough connections to light a spark.

  With a sigh, Jordan shrugged off her thoughts and pulled her attention back to the present. Sadako was still nursing her long-cold tea and made a displeased grimace every time the cup touched her lips. She saw Jordan watching her and set her drink against its saucer with a clatter, shyly offering up a forced smile.

  “I’m sorry. This isn’t what you came here to talk to me about.”

  It was though, Jordan thought guiltily. She decided it best to change the subject.

  “I’m a teacher myself, actually,” Jordan said.

  “Really? Aren’t you a blogger?” Sadako welcomed the distraction and leaned forward eagerly, the conversation from before instantly discarded.

  “Blogging isn’t exactly a day job—more like a hobby. What do you do?”

  “Oh! Well I just got married, you see?” Sadako placed her hand before her, gingerly resting her fingertips on the tablecloth like it was hot to the touch. A large diamond shone from the ring that encircled her finger—big enough that Jordan was amazed she hadn’t noticed it before. “I’m sure we’ll add some little ones to the family soon enough.” Sadako giggled.

  “Congratulations,” Jordan said with a soft smile.

  As Sadako continued to talk, about her husband and where they met and how beautiful their wedding was, she grew cheerier
and more animated, stepping back—word by word—to how she had been after first bursting through the door. The coldness that had gripped her began to thaw, and Jordan felt warmed in her presence. Jordan let Sadako talk uninterrupted, content to watch the girl’s eyes light up and revel in the fact that at least one person had snatched back her life from the murderer’s gnarled grasp.

  Just as Jordan was considering another cup of coffee—Sadako didn’t seem to be losing steam—they both startled at the low hum of Sadako’s cell phone vibrating against the tabletop.

  “Oh! Oh my, it’s later than I thought,” Sadako said as she scooped up the phone and silenced it. She was on her feet in the next instant. “I’m sorry to be rude, but I really must be going.”

  “No need to apologize. And thank you for taking the time to speak with me.” Jordan collected her pen and notepad, also standing as she placed them in her purse.

  “Please do text me if you have any other questions, Jordan-chan. Oh, and send me a link when you post the blog. Make me look good!” Sadako winked and Jordan felt her throat tighten. She could only nod feebly in return. Sadako continued. “It was so nice to meet you. Really, thank you for listening to me.”

  Sadako took a step forward and lifted her arms, as though she meant to hug Jordan, but then she let them drift to her side. Jordan wondered if Sadako had read the hesitation, the guilt, in her eyes.

  “Goodbye, Jordan-chan,” she said and hurried out the door with a fleeting wave and a smile, not even seeming to hear Jordan’s farewell.

  Twenty-Five

  Jordan squinted against the white light on the ceiling she laid facing, the bulbs shining as brightly as the sun through thin clouds. She reminded herself that she was feigning a crippling headache, so she draped her arm over her eyes and groaned. Jordan heard the school nurse approach.

  “Jordan-sensei, how are you doing? I’m sure the pain relievers will start working soon,” the nurse said in a quiet, calm voice.

  “I’m sure I’ll be all right if I rest a little more, thank you,” Jordan said and peeked out from under her arm to see Mrs. Takahashi return to her desk just a few steps away. Since Jordan’s last conversation with Toshihiko—when he had reminded her that few people knew of Emi’s pregnancy, thereby eliminating Jordan’s theory that the young woman had been targeted for such—she couldn’t stop wondering just how many people did know and sheltered the secret.

  She couldn’t shake loose the idea of Ms. Nakamura appointing herself as some sort of moral vigilante—it was firmly moored to Jordan’s thoughts on the murders and the motives behind them. There was also Nanami’s story of Emi’s dizzy spell, and how she had been worried that her friend’s pregnancy would be found out by the school nurse. The simple fact that Emi hadn’t been expelled seemed to suggest her secret had gone unearthed.

  Jordan closed her eyes and waited for the opportunity she knew was coming. Not a minute later, a quiet knock shook the door and a female student stepped inside.

  “Takahashi-sensei, Akira tripped on the stairs and can’t walk—he thinks he sprained his ankle. Can you come please?”

  “Of course. Jordan-sensei, please excuse me.”

  Jordan had to keep from smiling and silently thanked Akira for agreeing to help with her ruse, though he hadn’t needed much convincing when told his faked injury could help reveal Yuki’s killer.

  Jordan waited for the door to swing shut, checked to ensure that she was alone, and sprang to the large filing cabinet near the nurse’s desk. As she had guessed, the drawers were filled with student files, but she required a minute to orient the jutting and swishing characters denoting proper names before the filing arrangement became clear. Once the system was deciphered, she soon found a manila folder with Emi’s name on the tab and hastily opened it against the desk.

  Inside were photocopied papers. Large red letters reading “COPY” were stamped on the upper corners of each page, sitting on tiny, ant-like scrawl that said the originals were with the police. She tamped down a rush of annoyance at Toshihiko and continued on quickly. The topmost page was dated the week before Emi’s death. Jordan struggled to hold her cell phone steady over the page with her nervously shaking hands as she read the notes and snapped pictures.

  “Student complained of feeling nauseous and dizzy…administered two caplets of…Student asked whether fainting was a symptom of pregnancy.”

  Jordan perked up and read closer.

  “Student also asked if prescribed pain relievers were ‘safe.’ Did not admit to being pregnant but reported last menstrual cycle occurred approximately 40 days ago. I suspect—”

  Jordan suddenly heard Akira’s voice, muffled but near. Hurriedly, she returned the papers to the file, with no time to straighten them before shoving the folder back into the cabinet. With a flash of worry, she hoped no one would think twice about the papers’ haphazardness, or even notice it.

  A shadow blocked the light from under the door as Jordan closed the cabinet drawer as quickly and noiselessly as possible. She had only just released the handle when the door opened. The nurse shuffled in, supporting Akira with an arm under his shoulder as he limped beside. The older woman gave Jordan a look of concern.

  “Are you all right, Jordan-sensei? May I get you anything?” Mrs. Takahashi guided Akira to the only other bed, separated from Jordan’s by a curtained partition. When the boy saw the nurse was looking in the other direction, he mouthed Okay? and gave a hopeful thumbs-up. Jordan nodded at Akira but answered the nurse.

  “I think I’ll get a drink of water and sit at my desk. I’m feeling much better now, thank you.” She squinted and spoke quietly, as though trying to overcome the discomfort of her headache. Mrs. Takahashi protested a moment but acquiesced when Jordan insisted on returning to work.

  Jordan was mindful not to rush to her seat, but her phone seemed to tug at her pocket with the weight of the photographs it held. When she came to her desk, Mr. Mori, Ms. Tatsuya, and a third teacher were in quiet but animated conversation. They gave her very little notice, for which she was grateful, allowing her to inspect the pictures. She shielded the screen of her phone, loaded a photograph, and resumed reading the small text.

  “I suspect Emi may be pregnant. I recommended appointments with her regular physician and the visiting counselor next week.”

  The notes ended there. Jordan bit her bottom lip in thought. Had Mrs. Takahashi told anyone else, and if so, whom? Maybe she had kept tight-lipped on the subject because she was friends with Emi’s mother, as evidenced at the wake. Though the information in Emi’s file could broaden the sphere of suspects, Jordan felt that her suspicions of Ms. Nakamura were bolstered.

  At least one staff member at the school knew, and any other of them could have easily accessed the students’ files. Jordan felt almost happy, pulled ever closer to some truth. But like a ball tossed in the air, her lifted spirits swiftly sank as she thought of Toshihiko. He knew at least one other person within the school was aware of Emi’s pregnancy. And yet, he had called her idea into question. No doubt another strategy to distance her from the case. Even knowing that she shouldn’t, she composed a text message to the inspector.

  Did the school nurse tell anyone else?

  Jordan stabbed at the keyboard on her phone as she sent the message to Toshihiko. She doubted he would respond; if anything, he’d probably just admonish her and implore her to mind her own business. To stay safe. Still, she felt slightly better.

  Her tablemates were still talking but her attention was drawn to the head table, namely, to Ms. Nakamura.

  The woman sat so straight-backed that she seemed tied to her chair. A pair of reading glasses lay low on her nose, and she narrowed her eyes to read the paper held between her bony fingers. Everything about Ms. Nakamura, even the smallest mannerism, seemed detestable to Jordan, and she couldn’t help but glare with cold contempt.

  Seeming to sense eyes on her, Ms. Nakamura turned to glance at Jordan, expression severe. Jordan whipped her gaze to the announc
ement board behind Ms. Nakamura but guessed the gesture wasn’t very convincing. As nonchalantly as possible, Jordan turned back to her own desk and tried to fold herself into the ongoing conversation among the other teachers. Ms. Tatsuya was speaking.

  “But he stepped down from his office. Isn’t that enough?” she said.

  “Yeah, no one commits seppuku over a few embezzled yen anymore,” a young male teacher said in agreement. With one foot propped on the desks, his body leaning into his knee, he looked like a vulture perched over a meal. Ms. Tatsuya gave a small gasp at the young man’s comment, despite his support of her opinion, and shook her head in disapproval.

  “He was a public official, and he disgraced himself and his position. He should be accountable for his actions,” Mr. Mori said firmly, and a spark of heat glinted in his eyes. Jordan hadn’t the slightest clue about whom they were talking. As she listened, she trawled her memory for any similar details she may have picked up from the newspaper or television but came up short. Mr. Mori pulled back his sleeve to look at his watch. “I would like to continue this conversation, but I have a meeting at the Board of Education to attend. If you’ll please excuse me.”

  As he moved to leave, Jordan noticed her cell phone’s screen blinking like a buoy in the sea of papers on her desk. An icon of an envelope greeted her and she was surprised to see a message from Toshihiko, which read:

  What do your investigations suggest, Inspector?

  She could have kicked herself for not thinking of it earlier, Jordan thought as she approached the staff parking lot. She had left a few minutes before the final period of the day, citing her feigned headache and the need to rest, but she still surveyed the entire lot to ensure that no one else was nearby.

  About twenty small sedans and a handful of trucks and hatchbacks sat in the school’s lot, shining in the low afternoon light. The yellow car was easy enough to spot, like a single dandelion yet to seed among a field of its feathery white siblings.