Tokyo Zangyo

by Michael Pronko

  “I still think about Kumiko. We should go to her grave. I haven’t been this year.” Ayana pulled the covers over them and fluffed them in place. “Will you come with me?”

  “Of course. And let’s climb Mount Fuji,” Hiroshi said.

  “I’d like that,” Ayana said. “High and low.” She turned on her side and fell asleep immediately.

  Hiroshi stayed awake for a long time thinking about the case, his thoughts jumping in too many directions at once, figuring out nothing.

  Chapter 25

  When Hiroshi got out of the car near the flower shop, the sun felt especially warm. A morning without a hangover, mental fog, or nausea was a delight and made him feel in control. He hoped it would last. He knew it wouldn’t.

  Sugamo, Akiko, and Takamatsu waited in the car.

  Toshiko hurried out, dangling a set of keys and smiling politely. “Suzuna can look after the shop, but I need to be back before it gets busy. Is an hour enough?”

  “It might take longer than that, I’m afraid,” Hiroshi said.

  “Well, I’ll leave you there to look through everything.” She sighed. “I better ride my bicycle and meet you there. It’s the apartment building on the corner here.” Toshiko showed Hiroshi on her cellphone map.

  “We’ll find it,” Hiroshi said.

  “I’ll probably get there quicker than you.” Toshiko got on her bicycle and Hiroshi and Akiko went back to the car.

  Suzuna, in her working apron and sleeves with her blonde braids circled on top of her head, set down the buckets of water she carried and waved politely as they left.

  Takamatsu was unusually quiet in the front seat, but Hiroshi didn’t want to get him started.

  After a few blocks, Takamatsu turned around and said, “You want me and Sugamo to go get started with Onizuka’s widow? Meet up later?”

  Hiroshi grinned. “I don’t think we can trust you alone with a wealthy widow. Especially one who drinks in the daytime.”

  Takamatsu laughed.

  Akiko squirmed in her seat.

  Sugamo kept driving, turning and stopping in the narrow lanes.

  Toshiko was right. The car was slower through the narrow neighborhood streets. The bicycle cut through back lanes without stopping, but the car lumbered through stoplights, school crossings, and local bus stops on every other corner where elderly passengers got on and off at their own, slow pace.

  Hiroshi and Akiko got out in front of the apartment building on a busy corner of Mitaka, where Toshiko was waiting.

  Takamatsu leaned out the window and said, “We’ll see if Shibutani has recovered from his beating and can talk yet. Call us when you’re done. We need to talk to Mistress Emi again too, so I’ll get that arranged.”

  “We do?” Hiroshi asked.

  “She contacted me.” Takamatsu ducked inside as Sugamo pulled away.

  Hiroshi shook his head and looked at Akiko, who said, “He probably contacted her.”

  Toshiko led them into her apartment building. The entry area was small and finished in polished marble, with shiny mailboxes on one side and a new elevator on the other. Hiroshi introduced Akiko.

  Her apartment had a heavy door that Toshiko had to pull open using the weight of her body. Hiroshi and Akiko followed her inside, taking off their shoes and stepping onto the wood flooring. With a whoosh, the door sealed tight behind them.

  Hiroshi thought the place large for just Toshiko and Suzuna. Four bedrooms and a living-dining-kitchen area of twenty-some tatami mats. The whole place was double the size of Ayana’s apartment. Toshiko must have received a substantial settlement from the lawsuit against Senden.

  “Your place is lovely,” Akiko said.

  Toshiko led them into the living area. In the corner was a large black lacquer butsudan. The home altar had its doors folded open. In front was a low shelf, a miniature version of those at temples, with a box of incense sticks, a pot with fine sand to hold the incense, and a bell on a purple, embroidered cushion. Inside the altar, a large photo of Mayu on a black and gold pedestal looked out with intense eyes. The photo was surrounded by flowers, a pyramid of oranges and stuffed animal mascots, maybe from her schools.

  All of this was clean and carefully arranged, as if she had died the past year, not three years ago.

  “Do you mind if we offer our condolences?” Hiroshi asked, sensing Toshiko was expecting them to. She lit one of the candles on the shelf for them to use.

  Hiroshi knelt down on the square zabuton in front of the shiny gold interior of the altar. Akiko knelt beside him and Toshiko to the side. He turned on his knees and bowed to Toshiko, then twisted back to the altar.

  A black and white photo of Mayu gazed back. Hiroshi took three sticks of incense from a small box and lit them from the candle before burying the ends in the ash-filled burner. The smell of sandalwood drifted up and around the room.

  He took a small wooden stick and rang the brass bell on the cushion. The strike was loud and full, and filled the room, before lingering with a sustained tone. Hiroshi bowed his head deeply and then leaned back, lingering on Mayu’s photo as the bell’s pure tone decayed, remembering his mother’s butsudan, and how he had knelt there on a cushion after her death, too numb to comprehend.

  After a quiet minute on the zabuton, Hiroshi moved aside, bowing to Toshiko again, and scooting aside. Akiko followed Hiroshi.

  When she climbed off the cushion, the three of them kneeled there in deep silence, legs folded below their bent bodies, the incense calling forth thoughts and memories and feelings that would go unsaid.

  Toshiko stood up and said, “I have so many things to do at the shop. Why don’t I just leave you two here to go through her things.”

  She led them down the hall. “Here’s Suzuna’s room. She keeps it so neat, and cleans up the rest of the apartment, too. Mayu did that, too. I feel guilty I don’t do enough.” At the end of the hall, she stopped at a closed door and took a breath. She opened the door and musty air flowed out.

  The room was filled with moving boxes in neat stacks.

  Toshiko glanced around, then looked at Hiroshi and Akiko. “I’ve unpacked a few things, but it was so painful to even move it from our old place. I didn’t… I can’t… well, I’ll sort through it one of these days. Everything of hers is in here.”

  Akiko said, “We’ll be careful with everything and put it back in the same place.”

  Toshiko looked down, remaining in the hall. “I don’t know what I was thinking to bring it all here.”

  Hiroshi said, “It’ll help the investigation.”

  “What are you looking for exactly?” Toshiko asked.

  “It’s just procedure.” Hiroshi looked around the room. Photos of Mayu were arranged along a desk and two stacks of clothing still on hangers lay folded on the bed.

  Toshiko hesitated at the door, as if her daughter was somehow going to appear out of one of the boxes. “Call me and I’ll come back to lock up.”

  Akiko said, “We’ll call.”

  Toshiko bowed and left.

  Hiroshi looked at the boxes in despair.

  Akiko cleared her throat and dug into her bag. “I brought this.” It was an orange box cutter.

  “And tape?”

  Akiko pulled out a roll of tape and set it by the photos of Mayu on the desk.

  “And gloves?”

  Akiko pulled out a box of latex gloves.

  “I couldn’t do anything without you. But I did bring these.” Hiroshi pulled out a couple of small plastic evidence bags.

  “You always carry those.” Akiko cut open the first box and handed the box cutter to Hiroshi. The several dozen boxes, all the same size, made Hiroshi feel shrunken, like a kid in a room of blocks.

  Hiroshi was not surprised at the cute knick-knacks, omiyage souvenirs, college logo goods, and stuffed animals, but he was startled by the sheer volume. After going through five boxes, he wondered when they’d discover something of use.

  He slowed down when he got into a box wi
th vinyl records, all jazz, no doubt from her boyfriend Steve—Mingus, Coltrane, Miles, Monk, Art Blakey, Stan Getz, Clifford Brown, Jimmy Smith, Ornette Coleman.

  “Are you reading the back covers of all of those? We’ll never get out of here,” Akiko said, handing him the tape. “And what are we really looking for anyway?”

  “Bank books. Anything with money transfers, credit cards, whatever.”

  “Well, unless she used the album covers to hide stuff…” Akiko ripped a loud, long strip of tape from the roll to close the box.

  Hiroshi put the vinyl back, taped the box and moved it to the other side of the room. The next box held an amazing array of undershirts, T-shirts, and blouses that seemed incredibly small. All were folded perfectly.

  “Can you take this box?” Hiroshi asked. “This is kind of obscene, rifling through a young woman’s things.”

  “It’s just gotten more obscene.” Akiko held up a metal container that once held gift cookies or desserts. When Akiko shook it, it gave off a muffled rattle. She smiled as she held the cover aside.

  “What’s that?” Hiroshi took a step closer and looked inside.

  The box held vibrators and dildos in varying sizes, shapes, and materials.

  “Quite a collection,” Akiko said. “A rabbit, a wand, one for outside and one for the deep spots. Probably trying to unwind from all the pressure at work.”

  “I thought she had a boyfriend?” Hiroshi said.

  Akiko tilted her head to the side and stared at Hiroshi. “Maybe you need a primer on women’s bodies?”

  “Not right now,” Hiroshi said, shaking his head at the array of cosmetics filling the box he had just opened. Beside them was a cataloged collection of photos of boy bands sold to teenagers in Harajuku.

  Akiko taped up the box and cut open another.

  “This is interesting.” Akiko pulled out a binder. “These are the rules for dressing at Senden. Five-centimeter heels, acceptable shades of eye shadow, the right style of business skirts, pants, tops, jackets. The body has to fit the corporate space according to these rules. Not easy. Of course, easier for men.” Akiko flipped through the binder and put it back. “Reminds me of my two years in a company. I’m glad I took off for grad school in the States. I couldn’t hack all that.”

  Hiroshi taped his box shut, stacked it on top of the others and sliced open a new one. Akiko shoved the box against the wall.

  “Finally!” Hiroshi said. “Bankbook, ATM card, credit cards. This is it. And what’s this?”

  Akiko came over as Hiroshi opened a beige designer bag and pulled out a wrapped handful of ten-thousand-yen notes. He set it back and opened another bag, which was also full of cash. He set those back and looked at the bankbook. It was three years old, but the transfers in and out of her account were in large amounts, nothing less than a million yen, and many around ten million.

  Akiko stooped down to fish out another set of passbooks from the bottom of the box. “And here’s another stack.” She held up the hand-sized bankbook with printed transactions from different banks, all the transfers in large amounts, and all neatly organized.

  Hiroshi leaned over as Akiko flipped through them for the year before Mayu’s death. Hiroshi stared at the numbers.

  Akiko held the bankbooks up. “This is a little different from your usual investing scams.”

  “No, it’s the same. Nothing adds up. Now, all we need to do is to check these against Onizuka’s bank books.”

  “How are you going to get those?”

  “I’m going to waltz into Onizuka’s home and ask his widow for them.” Hiroshi wondered if it would be that easy.

  Chapter 26

  “Where’s Akiko?” Takamatsu asked, when Hiroshi got into the car. Sugamo looked back, curious.

  “She’s taking evidence back to headquarters. There might be prints on some of the bankbooks. We took photos of everything,” Hiroshi explained, patting his cellphone.

  Toshiko had returned to lock up, but Hiroshi and Akiko had simply said they would bring everything back. Toshiko looked surprised at the multiple bankbooks, as if she’d never seen them. Maybe she packed everything in a daze, or Suzuna had packed them.

  “How was Shibutani?”

  “Still sleeping. Nothing to do but wait.”

  “So, back to Onizuka’s home?” Sugamo asked.

  “Exactly,” Hiroshi said. “Still nothing on the security cameras?”

  “The glue looks promising,” Takamatsu said. “Lab guys told me there were two kinds of residue.”

  “Two kinds? Glue and…?”

  “Up there for different amounts of time. Glue doesn’t decay much, but enough to tell,” Takamatsu said.

  Sugamo said, “Those lab guys seem to know every substance in the universe.”

  “They were taped over twice?” Hiroshi hummed. “We need to get the tech guys to look again at the footage from the night of Mayu’s suicide.”

  Sugamo said, “Speaking of substances, Osaki and I went to that S&M hotel. More clothes than you’d think get discarded there, and not retrieved.”

  “For oh so many reasons.” Takamatsu chuckled.

  Sugamo continued, “We dug through the trash for Onizuka’s clothes, found a tailored suit and wool overcoat with his DNA. So at least we know he was there, or his clothes were. But no watch or cellphone.”

  “The cellphone would have helped immensely,” Hiroshi said.

  “The phone records haven’t turned up, either.” Takamatsu took out a cigarette and cracked a window.

  “Are they still working on the video footage?”

  Takamatsu grunted. “Used to be we could get a day’s work done without getting motion sickness from forwarding through one damn video after the next. Working a case on the street used to—”

  “Those cameras stop a certain percentage of crimes and solve another percentage,” Hiroshi said.

  “And miss the whole point,” Takamatsu said. “Still, I think I figured out how they got past the cameras.”

  “How who got past the cameras?” Hiroshi scrolled through the photos he’d taken of the bankbooks from Mayu’s room.

  “I don’t know who yet, but the lab guys are testing out my theory on how. They’ll call later.”

  They rode the rest of the way in silence.

  ***

  Sugamo pressed the bell in the side wall of the front gate at Onizuka’s home. Without any response, the gate rolled aside and they pulled to the turnaround at the end of the drive. The son’s Mercedes-Benz was nowhere to be seen. Beyond the house, the smooth grass lawn, cut low, swept around the single pagoda with nothing else to break up the expanse. Hiroshi wondered if that was intentional, with some hidden meaning, or if it was just the indifference of people who had more money than taste.

  Despite Takamatsu’s description of the wife’s appeal, Sugamo declined to come in. “I don’t like drunk women.”

  Hiroshi and Takamatsu knocked on the door.

  Takamatsu whispered, “Don’t mention the S&M mistress.”

  Hiroshi whispered back. “Thanks for the tip.”

  “She probably knew anyway.”

  From inside, loud footsteps came stomping toward them, then a bash against something heavy and the quick crash of ceramic.

  Takamatsu turned an ear to the door.

  Silence followed.

  Hiroshi put his ear to the door.

  The door lock clicked, and Hiroshi snatched the handle, but too late. The lock clicked, and Hiroshi pulled, but it didn’t budge.

  It clicked again and Hiroshi yanked. Onizuka’s wife came tumbling out into Hiroshi’s arms. He steadied her with his hands on her shoulders and waited while she regained her balance and brushed her long, tangled hair into place. The smell of alcohol leached from her body. Her face was red beneath messy make-up.

  “Oh, you two. Lots of unexpected visitors today. I was expecting my son,” she said.

  Hiroshi gave Takamatsu a look. She was loaded.

  “Onizuka-san, a
re you OK?” Hiroshi asked, steadying her.

  “Come on in and find out,” she said, feigning sobriety and turning inside. “You’re the detectives.”

  “You remember us? I’m Hiroshi Shimizu and this is Detective Takamatsu,” Hiroshi said. A ceramic pot lay broken in the genkan.

  “Call me Natsuko. Especially if you’re going to be stopping by every day.” She laughed as she stepped up onto the inner floor. She kicked the ceramic shards aside with her feet.

  They followed her in to the living room where they’d sat before, the smell of alcohol drifting behind her like a perfume gone wrong.

  Natsuko flopped onto the sofa. She had a glass of something brown and un-iced in front of her in a tumbler. Even drunk, she was strikingly attractive. A long model’s body with lively, if glassy, eyes and thick hair. She looked at the detectives. “Did you find who killed my husband? Or did you decide he managed to do that himself?”

  Hiroshi said, “We have a few more questions.”

  “Well sit down and fire away.” Natsuko looked back and forth at them. It seemed like she’d slept on the sofa. Pillows and blankets were tossed around.

  Hiroshi said, “Was your husband upset, depressed, or distracted recently?”

  “He was always in various stages of distraction.” She looked surprised to see the drink in front of her, but reached down and took a sip.

  Takamatsu sighed and went to the kitchen.

  Hiroshi tried to determine just how drunk Natsuko was. He could smell the booze coming from deep inside her.

  Takamatsu came back with a large glass of water. “Onizuka-san—”

  “I said call me Natsuko.” She giggled. “I’m getting rid of Onizuka pretty soon. Soon as I can file the form at the city office.”

  Takamatsu said, “OK, Natsuko-san, could you get some water in yourself? And let me take this.” Takamatsu, usually the one encouraging everyone to drink, took the glass of whiskey, or whatever it was, and whisked it off to the kitchen.

  Hiroshi waited while she drank the water in big child-like gulps. “We asked this before, but was your husband having money troubles?”

  Natsuko shook her head. “I think it was just the opposite. He kept saying he was tired of being frugal. A few months ago, he bought a car for both sons, though one is still abroad. The son, not the car. He got me a new car, too, but my son took the keys away. And took the car away, too.”