Malice: A Mystery Page 2

  “Let me take a look.”

  He set down his cup and reached for the manuscript, beginning to read immediately. I opened a newspaper. It always made me uncomfortable to have people read my stuff in front of me.

  He was about halfway through when the cordless phone on the dining-room table began to ring.

  I got up and answered it. “Yes, Nonoguchi speaking.”

  “Hey, it’s me.” Hidaka’s voice was somewhat muted.

  “Hey there. What’s up?” What I really wanted to know, though, was what had happened with Miyako Fujio.

  He paused for a moment. “You busy?”

  “Well, I’ve got someone here right now.”

  “Right. How long before you’re free?”

  I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was just after six. “Not long, I think. What’s up?”

  “Eh, it’s not really a phone conversation. There’s something I want to ask you about. Think you could come over?”

  “Sure, no problem.” I almost asked if this was about the Fujios, but I resisted. I’d almost forgotten Oshima was sitting right next to me.

  “How about eight o’clock?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Great, I’ll be waiting.” He hung up.

  I set down the phone and Oshima started to get up from the sofa.

  “If you’re busy, I can head out—”

  “No, it’s fine.” I waved him back to his seat. “I made an appointment to meet a friend at eight. I’ve got plenty of time. Please, read.”

  “I see. Well then.” He sat back and resumed reading.

  I made another attempt to distract myself by reading the newspaper, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Hidaka. He’d written a novel a couple of years earlier, Forbidden Hunting Grounds, which was about a woodblock artist. It was supposedly fiction but its main character was based on a real person: Masaya Fujio.

  Fujio had gone to the same middle school as Hidaka and me, and a lot of what the three of us had done and seen together ended up in the book. This would have been fine, especially since he changed everyone’s name, but the novel revealed some things that Masaya Fujio wouldn’t have been particularly proud to see in print. All of the various misadventures of his student life were detailed pretty much as they’d happened in real life, including the shocking finale, where Masaya is stabbed to death by a prostitute.

  The book became a bestseller. Anyone who’d known Masaya could easily guess who the model for the novel’s main character had been. Of course, someone in the Fujio family eventually saw it.

  Masaya’s father had already passed away, but his mother and sister raised a fuss. They said it was obvious that Masaya was the model for the book and that they had never granted permission to Hidaka to write such a book about him. The book was a violation of their family’s privacy, and a stain on Masaya’s reputation. They demanded that all copies of the novel be pulled from the shelves, and that the novel be extensively rewritten before it was republished.

  As Hidaka had said, it didn’t seem to be about money. Though there was still some doubt as to whether the demand for rewrites was sincere, or simply a negotiation tactic.

  Judging from his voice on the phone, the negotiations hadn’t gone well. Still, I wondered why he’d called me. Maybe he was really in a fix. Maybe things had somehow gotten worse. I wondered how I could help.

  As I sat there lost in thought, Oshima finished reading the manuscript. “Seems good to me. Laid-back, a bit nostalgic. I like it.”

  “That’s good to hear.” I was genuinely relieved. I took a long sip of my tea. Oshima was a good kid, not the type to offer empty praise.

  Normally, we would then have discussed what was to come next, but I had agreed to go see Hidaka soon. I looked at the clock. Six thirty.

  “You good on time?” Oshima asked.

  “I’m fine, but I was thinking—there’s a decent restaurant near here. Why don’t we eat while we talk?”

  “Sure thing. I have to eat, too, after all.” Oshima put the manuscript in his bag. If I remembered correctly, he was almost thirty, but still single.

  The restaurant, one of those family places, was only a two- or three-minute walk from my apartment. We talked over casserole and mostly we just chatted about this and that. But I brought up the subject of Hidaka.

  When I did, Oshima looked surprised. “You know him?”

  “We went to the same elementary school and middle school. We grew up right around the corner from each other and not far from here. You could walk to our old neighborhood from here, though, of course, neither of our houses are still there. They were torn down to build apartment buildings years ago.”

  “So, you were childhood friends.”

  “We keep in touch.”

  “Wow.” Oshima was obviously impressed. I could see the envious longing in his eyes. “I had no idea.”

  “Actually, he was the one who brought my work to your magazine.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “Yeah, your editorial director asked Hidaka to submit a piece but he turned them down, saying he didn’t do children’s fiction. Instead, he brought me in to meet with the editor in chief. You could say I owe him one.” I lifted a forkful of macaroni to my mouth.

  “Huh! I hadn’t heard that. It’d be interesting to see what Hidaka would do with children’s literature, though.” Oshima looked up at me. “What about you, Mr. Nonoguchi? Have you ever thought of writing something for adults?”

  “Someday, maybe. If the opportunity presents itself.” I meant it.

  We left the restaurant at seven thirty and walked to the station together. We were going in different directions, so I said good-bye to Oshima at the platform. My train came soon after that.

  I reached Hidaka’s at exactly eight o’clock. I first noticed something was wrong when I got to the front door. The house was completely dark, and even the entranceway light was off.

  I tried the intercom button anyway, but there was no reply.

  At first, I thought I’d misunderstood him. Hidaka had definitely asked me to come at eight, but maybe he hadn’t meant for us to meet at his house.

  When there was no answer at the front door, I left and started walking back toward the station. Along the way was a small park with a pay phone by its entrance. I pulled out my wallet and stepped into the booth.

  I got the number for the Crown Hotel from information and then called and asked for Hidaka. The desk put me through immediately and Rie answered, “Hello?”

  “It’s me, Nonoguchi. Is Hidaka in?”

  “No, he hasn’t come to the hotel yet. I think he’s still at home. He still had some work left to do.”

  “I don’t think he’s there.” I explained that I’d been to the house and it didn’t look like anyone was home.

  “He said he wouldn’t be here until pretty late.”

  “So maybe he just went out for a bit then?”

  “That doesn’t sound right, either.” Rie went quiet. “Look, how about I come and take a look,” she said after a minute. “I should be there in about forty minutes. Where are you now?”

  I told her that I could kill time at the local café and then meet her at the house when she got there. After hanging up, I left the phone booth, but before going to the café I decided to take one more look at Hidaka’s place. When I got there, the lights were still all out. But this time, I noticed that the Saab was parked in the driveway. That bothered me.

  The café was a specialty coffee shop and one of Hidaka’s favorite places to go when he wanted a change of scenery. I’d been there several times, and the owner recognized me and asked after Hidaka. I told him I was supposed to meet up with Hidaka, but that he’d been a no-show. We talked about baseball for a good half hour before I paid my tab and left, walking quickly back toward the Hidaka residence.

  I got to the front gate just as Rie was getting out of a taxi. I called out to her and she smiled at me. But when she looked at the house, her face clouded over. “
There really isn’t a single light on.”

  “I guess he’s still out.”

  “But he didn’t say he’d be going anywhere.”

  She walked to the front door, pulling the keys out of her bag. I followed along behind her. The door was locked. She unlocked it, went inside, and started turning on lights. It was cool inside the house. Empty.

  Rie walked down the hallway to Hidaka’s office. This door was also locked.

  “Does he always lock the office door before leaving?” I asked.

  She shook her head as she fished another key from her purse. “Not much recently.”

  She opened the door. The lights in the office were off, but it wasn’t completely dark. The computer was on, and a pale glow came from the monitor. Rie felt along the wall for the light switch, then she abruptly stopped.

  Hidaka was lying in the middle of the room, his feet pointing toward the door.

  After being frozen for a few seconds, Rie dashed over to him. But before she reached him, she stopped in her tracks, frozen again, her hands pressed to her mouth.

  Gingerly, I approached. Hidaka was lying facedown with his head twisted so I could see the left side of his face. His eyes were half-open. They were the eyes of a corpse.

  “He’s dead,” I said.

  Rie slowly collapsed to the floor. The sobs came welling up the moment her knees touched the carpet.

  * * *

  While the police were examining the scene, Rie and I waited in the living room. At least, it used to be the living room; now that both the sofa and the table were gone, it felt a little bare. Rie sat on a cardboard box filled with magazines, while I paced in circles like a bear, occasionally poking my head out into the hallway to see how the investigation was proceeding. Rie was crying the whole time. I looked at my wristwatch: 10:30 p.m.

  Finally, there was a knock and the door opened. Detective Sakoda came in—a calm fellow, approaching fifty. He seemed to be in charge of the investigation.

  “Might I have a few words?” he asked me after glancing at Rie.

  “Sure, anything.”

  “I’m fine to talk, too.” Rie dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. Tears were still in her voice, but her words were clear. I remembered what Hidaka had said earlier that day, about her being able to dig in when it mattered.

  “It won’t take long.”

  Detective Sakoda asked us to tell him everything that had happened that day up until we found the body. I started first, and as I talked, I realized my story would have to include Miyako Fujio.

  “Around what time did Hidaka call?” Detective Sakoda asked.

  “It was a little after six, I think.”

  “And did he mention Ms. Fujio when you spoke?”

  “No, he just said he wanted to talk to me about something.”

  “So it could’ve been about something else?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Any idea what that might have been?”

  “No, not at all.”

  The detective nodded, then turned to Rie. “Around what time did Ms. Fujio go home?”

  “After five, I think.”

  “And did you speak with your husband after that?”

  “A little.”

  “How did he seem?”

  “Upset. The talk with Ms. Fujio hadn’t gone so well. But he told me it was nothing to worry about.”

  “And it was after that when you left the house and went to the hotel?”

  “That’s right.”

  The detective nodded. “Okay, so you were planning to stay at the Crown Hotel tonight and tomorrow night, then leave for Canada the day after tomorrow? But your husband had some work to finish, so he stayed behind at the house.” Sakoda looked over his notes as he spoke, then looked back up at Rie. “Who knew that your husband would be at home alone?”

  “Well, myself and…” She looked at me.

  “Of course I knew. And I expect that someone at the magazine, Somei Monthly, would have known as well.” I explained that Hidaka had been writing a serialized novel for them and it was the next installment that he was staying behind to finish. “Still, that hardly narrows down your suspects.”

  “I’m just collecting facts,” Detective Sakoda said, smiling ever so slightly.

  He then asked Rie whether she’d seen any suspicious people around their house lately. She said no. That was when I remembered the woman I’d seen in the garden earlier that day. I wondered if I should say something, but ultimately kept silent. Who would commit murder to avenge a cat?

  When the questions were done, the detective said he would have one of his men take me home. I would’ve preferred to stay with Rie, but it sounded as if they had already called her parents and someone was coming to pick her up.

  As the shock of discovering Hidaka’s body gradually faded, I could feel a wave of exhaustion coming over me. I felt bleak inside when I thought of walking all the way to the station and taking the train all the way home. I decided to accept the offer of a ride home from the police.

  A crowd of police were still outside the room, mostly walking back and forth down the hall. The door to the office was open, but I couldn’t see inside and I assumed the body had already been removed.

  A uniformed officer called out to me and led me to a police car parked outside the front gate. It was the closest I’d been to a police vehicle since the time I was pulled over for speeding. A tall man was standing next to the cruiser. If he was a police officer, he was in plainclothes, but the way the streetlights fell on him made it hard to see his face.

  “Long time no see, Mr. Nonoguchi,” he said.

  “Do I know you?” I stopped, squinting at the man’s face.

  He stepped forward out of the shadows. It was a familiar face, with narrow eyebrows and close-set eyes. I knew I knew him, but it took a moment for the memory to surface.

  “Do you remember me?”

  “I do! Er…” I thought for a moment. “Kaga, right?”

  “In the flesh.” He bowed politely. “It’s been a while.”

  “It certainly has.” I nodded back to him. I looked at him again. He had good features, and age had improved them. It had been at least a decade since I’d seen him, maybe longer. “I’d heard you’d joined the police force. Never imagined our reunion would be under these circumstances.”

  “I was surprised, too. When I heard who discovered the body, I wondered if it was someone else with the same name. At least until I saw your business card.”

  “Nonoguchi isn’t the most common surname out there, I know.” I shook my head. “What a coincidence!”

  “We can talk in the car. I’ll give you a lift. Sorry it’s not a private car.” He opened the rear door for me. The uniformed officer got into the driver’s seat.

  Kaga, fresh out of graduate school, had come to work at the middle school where I used to teach social studies. Like most new teachers, he was passionate about the job. An accomplished kendo practitioner, he’d taken over the school’s kendo club, and he made quite an impression on the other teachers.

  He’d quit teaching after only two years for a number of reasons, though as far as I could tell, none of it was his fault. Still, I suspect he wasn’t cut out to be a teacher in the first place. However, I’m sure his departure from the school had more to do with the way things were going for him at the time.

  “Which school are you at now?” Kaga asked, soon after the car started down the street.

  Kaga. That’s what I’d called him when he was a new hire at the school. I’d have to remember to call him Detective Kaga now.

  I shook my head. “I was working at a middle school in my hometown until just a little while ago. I quit back in March.”

  Kaga look surprised. “You don’t say? What are you doing now?”

  “Well, it’s not glamorous, but I’m a writer. I write stories for children.”

  “No kidding! Is that how you knew Kunihiko Hidaka?”

  “Not exactly.” I explained our pa
st. Kaga nodded with every detail. I wondered if Detective Sakoda hadn’t told him anything, since I’d certainly included this in my earlier statement.

  “So you started writing while you were still teaching?”

  “That’s right. But not much. Just a couple of short stories a year. When I finally made up my mind to try my hand at being a real writer, I realized I had to quit my job.”

  “I see. That’s quite a decision.” Kaga sounded impressed. I wondered if he was comparing my choice to his own. Of course, even he had to realize there was a big difference between switching professions in your early twenties and doing it when you’re much older, with four decades already under your belt.

  “What sort of novels did Mr. Hidaka write?”

  I looked at him. “You mean you haven’t heard of Kunihiko Hidaka?”

  “Sorry. I’d heard the name, but I’ve never read any of his books. I don’t read many books these days.”

  “I’m sure you’re busy.”

  “No, just lazy. I know I should read more, two or three a month.” He put a hand to his head. Two or three books a month had been my catchphrase back when I was teaching composition. If Kaga had been making an intentional reference, it was a good one.

  I gave him the digest version of Hidaka’s career, starting with his debut ten years ago. Then there were the awards and his rise to the bestseller lists. I also mentioned that he wrote works of pure literature as well as pure entertainment.

  “Did he write anything I might be interested in?” Kaga asked. “Like murder mysteries?”

  “Only a few, but yeah.”

  “Tell me the titles so I can look them up.”

  I mentioned Hidaka’s novel Sea Ghost. I’d read it a long time ago and didn’t remember it all that well, but it was definitely about a murder.

  “Do you know why Hidaka wanted to move to Canada?” Kaga asked when I was finished.

  “I think he had a few reasons, but mostly, I think he was just tired. He’d been talking about going overseas and taking it easy for several years now. The decision to move to Vancouver was Rie’s.”

  “Rie is the wife, yes? She seemed young.”

  “They just got married last month. It was his second marriage.”