Red Tea

by Meg Mezeske

  “‘Inconclusive’ can’t be used as evidence against her though.” Jordan huffed.

  “True enough,” Toshihiko conceded with a sigh.

  “Did she ever explain where the cyanide came from? Or the yellow car?”

  “No. She denies any knowledge whatsoever. But, there were traces of organic matter in the mortar from the storeroom as well—fruit, the lab technicians tell me. So we can conclude that the cyanide was likely derived from fruit seeds.”

  “That’s really possible?” Jordan said, amazed that her theory had been borne out.

  “Yes. Strange, isn’t it?” Toshihiko had interpreted her reaction as surprise that such a thing could be done, and she wasn’t about to correct him. She had to know how her primary theory was faring.

  “Do agree with me, about her motive?” Jordan had built her personal investigation on the foundation that Ms. Nakamura had punished Yuki for his wrongdoing, however small, and all the other victims who had followed—or preceded. The deaths of the students in Sagae years before might be on her hands as well.

  Jordan now realized how silly she must have seemed, rushing forward with only a whiff of suspicion to fuel her efforts, when Toshihiko had DNA catalogs, ion chromatography, search warrants, honed interviewing techniques…

  Again, she felt a tide of embarrassment and looked down to hide the rising flush in her cheeks. Still, if she was right, she had managed to architect the same conclusion about Ms. Nakamura without Toshihiko’s resources.

  “Moral vigilantism seems to be a good theory. Ms. Nakamura has been known to take a…severe tack with misbehaved students,” the inspector said. Jordan raised her eyebrows and he elaborated. “Her former school, Sagae Middle School, appealed to the prefectural school board for her transfer after she continually humiliated students. She even struck some with switches, apparently. Her supervisors said they were unaware of her actions until parents raised concerns about their children’s mistreatment.”

  “So I heard,” Jordan said. She continued, undeterred by Toshihiko’s exasperated sigh. His protests meant little now that the investigation had been concluded. “I had a conversation with Sadako Kudo from Sagae. Her younger brother was one of the students Ms. Nakamura abused.”

  “You spoke with Sadako Kudo?” Toshihiko sounded surprised, but his expression seemed to say, of course she did. He shook his head. Jordan suspected all sorts of thoughts about the poisonings in Sagae were bounding through his skull, as they were in hers.

  “Speaking of what happened in Sagae—do you think you’ll be able to level any more charges against Nakamura? Yuki’s and Junichi’s murders? Hajime, Haruka…”

  “Doubtful. Finding any additional physical evidence for Yuki’s or Junichi’s case would be nearly impossible now, much less for supposed suicides that happened years ago,” Toshihiko said. “But they certainly follow a similar pattern.”

  “The deaths in Sagae and Ogawa were all relatively recent. Is there anything suspicious further back in her history?”

  “Not deaths, no. But there have been complaints about Ms. Nakamura’s treatment of students throughout her career, as far back as the schools’ records go. She was even questioned on accusations of child neglect against her own son nearly thirty years ago. Details on that are scant, however.”

  “Can’t you ask the son yourself?” Jordan wondered.

  “He has proven rather difficult to find. And he appears to be Ms. Nakamura’s only surviving relative, so there’s no one else to provide information on those old allegations,” Toshihiko said with a touch of disappointment. “Ms. Nakamura seems to have cut off all ties with anyone close to her. There’s not even a single family photograph in her entire house.”

  “Wow. That’s just creepy.”

  Toshihiko smartly disguised his snort of a laugh with a cough. “At any rate, her apparent dislike of children is something of a long-standing secret.”

  “Yet she has been in schools this whole time. And she’s a mother,” Jordan said in disbelief.

  “Unfortunately,” Toshihiko said, regaining his aura of professionalism despite the topic. “So it seems your theories stand for the moment.”

  “You really didn’t need my help at all,” Jordan blurted and ran a hand through her hair. “I thought I was doing something. I thought I could…” She stopped and sighed loudly, wondering whether she would ever shake that feeling of uselessness, of never doing enough.

  Toshihiko’s eyebrows crept above his glasses with a questioning look, but he said nothing. After a moment, Jordan wrangled her expression into something resembling calm, though she couldn’t keep from tapping at the handle of her coffee cup as she spoke.

  “There’s something I’ve been thinking about. If I’m right about Ms. Nakamura’s motive, why didn’t she target Kenji too? Did she only know about Ryusuke?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What did Kenji have to say?”

  “I haven’t interviewed him,” Toshihiko said, then elaborated quickly when Jordan’s mouth fell open in surprise. “He ran away after Ryusuke’s death. Even his parents don’t seem to know where he is.”

  “He ran away?” Jordan gasped, her stomach sinking. Except for his fight with Tadao, Kenji had been the perfect student, upstanding and conscientious. Kenji abandoning his community and family seemed so out of character, Jordan could hardly believe it, which only concerned her more. “Was he running from Ms. Nakamura? Or maybe something happened to him? Before Ms. Nakamura was arrested, she could’ve—”

  “Jordan. Don’t let yourself get caught up in that line of thinking,” Toshihiko said gently and placed his hand over hers. Her hand remained tense, and he withdrew his touch a moment later, ducking his eyes. “I’m sure Kenji is fine.”

  “Come on, now. It’s not like you to draw conclusions without any evidence,” Jordan said with a twitch of a smile, knowing he had said it for her benefit.

  “There’s also no evidence to suggest he is in immediate danger.”

  Jordan nodded and bit her lip as she thought, far from mollified.

  “Principal Kikuchi said Kenji’s parents had enrolled him at a different school. Did he lie for them?” Jordan wondered.

  “No, Mr. and Mrs. Ito admitted they had fed a story to the principal. They are very embarrassed by their son’s actions. I’m not sure if they would speak to Kenji, or if they would inform me of his whereabouts, even if they did know.”

  The fact that Kenji hadn’t been in contact with anyone for so long—not even his parents—was worrisome, to say the least. Despite Toshihiko’s attempt to placate her fears, Jordan felt her thoughts spiraling and had to force herself to breathe calmly.

  “Are you still trying to find him?”

  “I’m doing everything possible to locate Kenji, and to ensure that he’s safe. He could bring very important testimony to the case,” Toshihiko said, and Jordan nodded, her gaze drifting over and far beyond the inspector’s shoulder. Toshihiko sighed, recognizing the signs of her plotting. “You think you can find him.”

  “I’m not sure, but I might have an idea.” Rather, she had the inspiration to once again try to track down Kenji online. To really dig into possible social networks.

  For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. Either Toshihiko was uninterested in Jordan’s idea or thought it best not to encourage her. Or there was something else on his mind.

  As Jordan added more sugar to her coffee, she spied Toshihiko glancing at her surreptitiously. He then cleaned his glasses, twice, and cleared his throat as many times. Just as Jordan geared up to dispel the strained atmosphere, or maybe simply to excuse herself to the restroom, the inspector finally spoke.

  “I apologize for cutting off communication so abruptly when the case resumed. I could have handled that better,” Toshihiko said and looked squarely at Jordan. The collar of his dress shirt rose and fell against his neck in time with his quickened pulse. “I hope you will forgive me.”

  “I forgive you,” she said but felt h
er stomach heave, feeling nervous without entirely knowing why.

  “I know you understand why I acted as I did,” Toshihiko said with an uncertainty that belied his words.

  “Professional integrity—I get it.”

  “If I had let my judgment become clouded, I might have never closed this case. My behavior was more for the sake of the victims than myself.”

  “I understand,” Jordan said, hoping the same could be said of her visit to Junichi’s mother, her faked illness in the nurse’s office, her phone calls to the Itos, her acquisition of Ms. Tatsuya’s keys. She had to swallow hard to push the coffee down her throat.

  “Good.” The inspector smiled and his shoulders relaxed, noticeably more at ease. “Perhaps we could meet again soon… Not to talk about murders or the case.”

  Jordan didn’t immediately respond, allowing the waitress to refill her mug, and took a slow sip through the ribbons of steam. She had suspected this was the destination of the conversation as soon as Toshihiko had gone down the path of apology.

  It was a conversation she had anticipated—rehearsed even—several times before. But each time, her imagined responses grew weaker and thinner, as though her energy for it was draining away as time passed. Had Toshihiko sought reconciliation sooner, she probably would have accepted. But now…

  Jordan knew more surely than ever that Toshihiko’s priorities lay with his work. What was to stop him from snipping another romantic entanglement with her as soon as the tendrils of a case curled around him?

  She even had to admit that part of her resented Toshihiko for breaking away in the first place, and for assuming that she would readily pick up where they had left off. Not that she would refuse his proposal out of spite, but it roused the old ache.

  Besides, her contract would expire in just a few months’ time, and she doubted she would seek to renew her employment. Not after everything that had happened. Even if she did remain in Japan, for she also couldn’t bear the thought of returning home, she’d likely move on from Ogawa, and away from Toshihiko.

  Jordan felt a pang of sadness and regret when she realized what her answer would be.

  “I’ve grown used to my own company, to tell the truth,” she said finally and tried to ignore the way Toshihiko’s lips pressed into a tense line.

  “I understand.” Toshihiko nodded, and Jordan wondered if he truly could.

  It wasn’t just an excuse. From the moment Jordan had set foot in Japan, it was as though a bubble had sprung up around her. Even when she tried to move closer to people, she could approach only so far—never quite touching—before being pushed back.

  Jordan once thought that Toshihiko had glided through the barrier. But then she wondered whether he had just pushed so close, so gradually, that the bubble had stretched yet never broken.

  Toshihiko looked at her silently from across the booth in the cafe, his eyebrows drawn and his coffee pushed aside, but he made no protest to her noncommittal reply. She felt a flicker of warm gratitude.

  “I could always use a friend,” she said and grimaced at hearing the classic brushoff come from her own lips.

  “All right. Just text me if you have the time,” Toshihiko said with forced cheerfulness.

  Jordan nodded and stood up to leave, but the inspector made a small noise to catch her attention. He smiled wryly as he spoke.

  “And let me know if you hear from Kenji.”

  “This is pointless,” Jordan said to her computer, sighing as she tossed away a bottle of oolong tea after taking one last tepid gulp. She had been searching the Mixi network for any sign of Kenji for the past two hours, with little success.

  She pressed her fingers against her closed eyes and rubbed until blossoms of muted, writhing light spouted against her eyelids. Her hands were numb from perching over her laptop, and she felt just about ready to give up.

  After searching for Kenji by name had led nowhere, she had begun exploring communities where users with common interests congregated and shared stories. Even though Kenji had run away, Jordan had little doubt that he knew of the murder investigation and Ms. Nakamura’s arrest. The Red Tea Murderer was all over the internet and news outlets, after all.

  And because homicides were relatively rare in Japan—about 0.4 per 100,000 people, according to an article she had just read—Jordan felt she would have luck in tracking down related communities and their members.

  After a bit of searching, she had found both the “Families of Victims of Violence” and “Friends of Victims” communities, which seemed promising. But hours and hundreds of posts later, Jordan felt emotionally exhausted, choked by countless expressions of grief that all began to adopt the same grey cast.

  Because of the general anonymity of the website, she harbored no delusions of stumbling upon a post entitled, “My boyfriend at Ogawa High School was fatally poisoned,” but still, she held out hope.

  With another sigh, Jordan stood up, stretched until her shoulder gave a dull pop, then settled back with mildly stoked enthusiasm. She continued scrolling until her eyes settled on a post halfway down the page.

  A suspect was arrested for my friend’s murder, but…

  The entry was dated a few days after Ms. Nakamura’s arrest. She clicked on the link with renewed interest.

  …I can’t come forward with the information I have against them. If I go to the police, I might expose myself too. But his killer has to be brought to justice. What should I do?

  Jordan’s brow knitted. It was an odd, vague message. The responses to it were few, encouraging the poster to trust in law enforcement and offering their sympathy.

  Somehow, Jordan felt the post was promising, if only for its timeliness, and clicked on the poster’s name: Yakyuubi. The poster’s profile had no information besides a short welcome message, but Jordan’s pulse quickened when she explored the other communities he belonged to: the Rakuten Eagles Fan Club and the Ōfuri Hangout. Groups related to Kenji’s favorite baseball team and comic book, respectively.

  She navigated to the private messaging system and composed a brief note, reading:

  Hello. Are you Kenji Ito? This is Jordan Howard from Ogawa High School. Please reply.

  Jordan wondered whether it sounded too cagey, but she didn’t want to allude to the murders, lest she scare him off. Finally, she decided it would have to suffice. She clicked the send button and closed her laptop with a satisfying click.

  Thirty-One

  At that moment, it was impossible to believe that the people surrounding Jordan had been touched by murder so few months ago, much less unknowingly harbored the culprit in their midst.

  Principal Kikuchi literally hooted with laughter as the head teacher performed a mumbled rendition of “Living on a Prayer” while wearing a blonde wig. Everyone was hollering or giggling behind their hands. Ms. Tatsuya, Mrs. Takahashi, and even Mr. Mori were grinning openly. Jordan had taken a spin on the microphone herself, minus the wig but plus a few beers.

  She remembered how, just a few days ago, many of them had argued against the two-day staff retreat to the mountain ryokan resort. They had suggested it was unbecoming in light of the arrest of one of their senior members.

  Eventually, Principal Kikuchi had appealed to tradition and insisted that they congratulate the head teacher on his retirement during the yearly retreat. His tactic had worked, and earlier that evening, Jordan had found herself squeezed three to the back seat of a hatchback that twisted at a startling pace along the mountainous, cork-screwing roads.

  Nearly every one of Ogawa High School’s teachers—besides the few who had wandered off to play ping pong—were piled in the resort’s karaoke room. Its dark interior became celestial with dots of rotating lights and the milky glow of captioned screens in the smoky air.

  Ms. Tatsuya leaned across the table to shout at Jordan, but even then, she couldn’t hear the math instructor’s words and just nodded amicably.

  Jordan smiled, enjoying this uncharacteristic glimpse of her coworkers that
she was unlikely to see again. If she was being honest, she was enjoying letting her hair down, too. Everyone seemed to converge into one swaying, multi-limbed entity—touching shoulders, grasping elbows—that pulsed in time with the music.

  Jordan shook her head and wondered bemusedly if it was the alcohol inflating the scene in her own mind. Not caring much to examine the answer, she took another drink of beer and cheered as the head teacher relinquished his microphone to the principal.

  One person, however, did sit apart from their cluster of camaraderie: Toshihiko. Unsurprising, considering he was the only one not affiliated with Ogawa High School.

  Such staff retreats were usually very insular, extending only to the employees—excluding even their spouses. But Principal Kikuchi had insisted upon inviting Toshihiko as a way to express the school’s gratitude for the inspector’s successful work on the homicide investigation. Privately, Jordan also thought it was a way for the principal to demonstrate that there was no love lost between him and Ms. Nakamura.

  Perhaps more surprising was that Toshihiko had accepted the invitation. Jordan wondered, with admitted suspicion, whether he was trying to gather more information while everyone’s guard was down. It seemed unlikely that Toshihiko viewed the retreat as a social opportunity. He had driven himself to the mountain resort separately and booked a single room. Everyone else in the party was sharing rooms, with up to five futons to a suite.

  Toshihiko had been at his most social during dinner, when they had all knelt together at low tables throughout the dining room. By that time, they had all changed into casual yukata robes and were admiring the food laid before them: ramekins of wobbly egg potaaju, bowls of broth for shabu-shabu kept warm by Sterno, and large shrimp curled in ice bowls, their antennae and black eyes glistening.

  Jordan had occasionally heard Toshihiko’s voice as it mingled with laughter and the clinking of glasses. The two of them hadn’t spoken beyond exchanging pleasantries, but Jordan had sometimes seen him looking her way. They would smile if their eyes met, and Jordan was relieved that Toshihiko seemed unsoured by their last conversation in the cafe.