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  “Oh.” Shuhei couldn’t come up with a coherent answer.

  “It was easy enough to find out where the cakes came from. There was a slip of paper with the name of the shop attached to the container lid. That in itself wasn’t particularly useful. I mean, tens, maybe even hundreds of people must buy those cakes from that shop every day. Luckily, though, there was something unusual about the snack cakes in the victim’s apartment. It was a selection that included some cakes with and some without sweet bean paste filling. Usually they only sell this sort of mixed selection on request. Naturally enough, we asked them if anyone had requested a selection of cakes with and without filling on the day of the crime. The store clerk said that there had been several such orders. Unfortunately, she couldn’t remember all the individual customers, but she did remember a certain young apprentice from Matsuya.” Kaga pointed at Shuhei’s chest. “She tells me you’re around there all the time?”

  Shuhei grunted ambiguously. Now he finally knew why this detective wanted to see him.

  Shuhei was standing, rooted to the spot, when Katsuya, the other apprentice, stuck his head in. He was wondering what was keeping Shuhei.

  “Sorry, sir. I’ll be back later.” Shuhei made his excuses and left Kaga’s table.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” asked Katsuya, eyeing Shuhei suspiciously.

  “The customer was talking to me.…”

  “You’ve got to learn to handle things better. You shouldn’t allow any customer to monopolize your time like that.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  Shuhei headed for the kitchen. Monopolizing him was probably exactly what Kaga was there for.

  Shuhei went to serve Kaga several times after that, but the detective didn’t try to engage him in conversation again. He appeared to be enjoying his dinner.

  That only had the effect of making Shuhei more nervous. What was the detective’s plan? What exactly did he have up his sleeve? Why had he come tonight? No way was he there just to enjoy the food.

  “This is Japanese mustard spinach. We mix it with stock to make a paste, which is then left to harden. This is a sprinkling of dried mullet roe powder on top.”

  As he slid the plate in front of Kaga, Shuhei examined the expression on his face. Kaga’s only reaction was to comment on the exoticism of the dish and reach eagerly for his chopsticks. Shuhei turned away and started for the kitchen.

  “We found three sets of fingerprints,” Kaga said.

  Shuhei stopped in his tracks and spun around in alarm. Kaga looked right at him, as he brought the chopsticks to his mouth.

  “Very interesting. Despite being a paste, it still has that distinctive Japanese spinach taste. What else would you expect, I suppose?”

  “What do you mean?” spluttered Shuhei. “About fingerprints?”

  Not answering right away, Kaga lifted the sake cup to his lips with a self-important air.

  “We found three sets of prints. On the plastic container with the cakes, I mean. One set belonged to the victim. We’ve established that the second set belonged to the store clerk in the cake shop. That leaves us with the third set. We think it likely that those prints belong to whoever brought the cakes to the victim’s apartment. In the light of what happened, there’s every chance that that person is the murderer.”

  The word murderer shocked Shuhei. He could feel the muscles in his face tightening, and he wasn’t a good enough actor to hide his feelings.

  “They’re … they’re not the cakes I bought.” Shuhei’s voice was quivering.

  “No, because you ate all of yours, didn’t you? You told us that.”

  Shuhei gave a series of frantic nods.

  “You’re a growing lad. No surprise that you occasionally have a snack in the middle of the working day. The owner said that at that time of the afternoon you have to water the sidewalk outside the restaurant. Where did you stash the cakes after you bought them? That white smock of yours doesn’t have any pockets.”

  “That’s why I … uhm … the bicycle basket.”

  “Bicycle?”

  “I keep my bike parked in the alley beside the restaurant. I stuck the cakes in the bike’s basket. After I’d finished watering the sidewalk, I brought them inside.”

  Kaga was silently gazing off into the middle distance. Shuhei wondered if he was drawing himself a mental picture. After a while, the detective looked at Shuhei and grinned.

  “Of course you did. Polishing off a nice snack in secret is quite a challenge.”

  “Have we finished here?”

  “Sure, I didn’t mean to keep you,” said Kaga, raising the hand in which he held his chopsticks. “One last thing before you go. The last set of fingerprints on the container wasn’t a match with yours.”

  Shuhei’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “My fingerprints? But how … when…?”

  “Oh, we have our little tricks.”

  Kaga’s grin stretched from ear to ear.

  That was when it hit Shuhei. He scowled. “The can of coffee!”

  Now he realized why the police had been so insistent that he have a drink with them. It wasn’t just about seeing whether he’d pick the sugarless coffee.

  “Sneaky devils,” he hissed before he could stop himself.

  “That’s how we cops operate, you know.” Kaga drained his sake.

  From then until Shuhei served the last of the dessert dishes, Kaga didn’t say another word. Shuhei took care to avoid making eye contact.

  After Kaga left, Yoriko called Shuhei over when he was carrying dirty dishes to the kitchen.

  “That detective from the Nihonbashi precinct gave you the third degree, did he?”

  “He’s from Nihonbashi?”

  “I asked around a bit. Seems he was transferred there quite recently. Anyway, what did he want to know?”

  Although flustered, Shuhei decided to be frank. He figured he’d be fine as long as he didn’t mention giving the cakes to Taiji.

  “I can’t believe it! Imagine coming here for dinner just to ask you about that!”

  “What do you think I should do?”

  “You’ve nothing to worry about. They didn’t find your fingerprints, so you’re okay. I shouldn’t have called you over. Get on with the cleanup.” Yoriko briskly turned her back on him.

  4.

  Shuhei was busy washing the dishes when Taiji stumped into the kitchen. Judging by his complexion, he’d hadn’t yet had anything to drink that evening.

  “Forget about this stupid job and come out with me for a while.”

  “Where to?”

  “Who cares? Come and you’ll find out soon enough. Chop-chop.”

  “I haven’t finished cleaning up yet.”

  “I’m the boss, and this is an order. Shut up and do as you’re told. Come on, get ready. I’ll be waiting outside.”

  “Oh … uh … okay.” Shuhei hastily dried his hands on a cloth and left the kitchen.

  This was the first time Taiji had ever invited him out. As Shuhei went out into the street, he was feeling nervous. Where was Taiji going to take him?

  “What the hell! Haven’t you got any decent clothes?” Taiji scowled as he looked at what Shuhei was wearing.

  “I’m sorry. Isn’t this good enough?” He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. “Should I go and change?”

  “No, you’re fine like that. Let’s go.”

  They went out onto the main street, where Taiji hailed a cab. Shuhei was startled when he heard him ask the driver to take them to Ginza. Ginza was one of the most expensive, upscale shopping areas in Tokyo—in the world, in fact. Shuhei had never gone out there.

  “What’s wrong with you? Why get the wind up about Ginza?” Taiji grinned. “You want to be a successful chef, you need to get to know a little something about the grown-up world.”

  Shuhei spluttered something incoherent.

  “Hey, be cool. It’s not like I’m going to ask you to foot the bill or anything.” Taiji bellowed with laughter, his mouth wide open.

  The taxi came to a halt in a street packed with cars. The sidewalk was full of businessmen in suits and what Shuhei guessed were women from nightclubs and hostess bars. Shuhei had seen similar scenes in Ningyocho, but this was the first time he had been to a district devoted to nightlife.

  “Get your head out of the clouds and follow me,” snapped Taiji.

  Shuhei hastily followed Taiji to a nightclub on the sixth floor of a building. It was spacious, but every single table was occupied. Everywhere there were flashing fairy lights, while the hostesses sitting with the male clientele exuded their own peculiar light and charm. Shuhei felt as though he’d landed on an alien planet.

  A man in a black suit guided Taiji and Shuhei to a table. They sat down, and a woman came over a moment later. She was wearing a smart dress and had a petite face with her hair pulled back.

  Taiji introduced Shuhei to her. The woman said that her name was Asami.

  “You’re seventeen? Wow! And planning to become a chef? That’s just so cool. I guess you’re too young to drink, then?” Asami was mixing Shuhei a whiskey and water when her hands came to a sudden stop.

  “Beer will be fine for him. An aspiring chef who can’t take a drink isn’t worth his salt.”

  Shuhei felt tense and uncomfortable. He had no idea how one was supposed to behave in a place like this, nor could he think of anything to talk about.

  Someone called Asami, and she left the table. Taiji beckoned to Shuhei.

  “Come around here.”

  Shuhei slid around next to Taiji, who hissed into his ear.

  “That Asami there, she’s my woman. The cakes that you’re always buying, I give ’em to her.”

  “Ah.…” gurgled Shuhei, staring at Taiji in surpris
e.

  “The wife said something about a detective from Nihonbashi Precinct giving you grief about those cakes. There’s no need to worry. They’ve nothing to do with the murder.”

  “I wasn’t worried.…”

  “No need to playact with me, kid. I know what you were thinking: that the murdered woman was my bit on the side?” Taiji held up his pinky finger in the Japanese sign for “girlfriend.” “It was quite a coincidence, I grant you. Asami actually lives in the same apartment building where the murder happened.”

  “No?” gasped Shuhei.

  “Yeah, that’s the creepy thing. Like I said, though, I’ve got nothing to do with it, so you don’t need to worry, either.”

  Shuhei nodded. He found it hard to believe that Taiji was lying.

  “So why’s the detective all over me?”

  “Search me. Maybe cops just get off on hassling innocent people.”

  Asami came back to the table.

  “What are you two whispering about?”

  “Man talk. More importantly, how’s my secret child? Eh?”

  Shuhei’s jaw dropped. Asami, catching his reaction from the corner of her eye, giggled.

  “Oh, full of beans. Desperate to see Daddy.”

  “Jolly good, jolly good. Say hi to the little bugger from me.”

  Shuhei found their adult banter hard to follow.

  A glass of beer was placed in front of him. He picked it up and took a swig.

  Shuhei had drunk beer before, but this beer, which he was having in a Ginza nightclub, seemed to have a peculiarly bitter tang. So this is what the adult world tastes like, he thought.

  5.

  Yoriko heaved a heavy sigh. She was sitting at the far right end of the bar, the same place where she always sat. Her sigh expressed a mixture of emotions—relief that another week was safely over and done with, and pleasure at not having to wear her formal kimono here.

  A waiter sidled up to her. “The usual, please,” she said with a smile. The young man nodded and retreated. Coming by herself to this bar, hidden away in a hotel basement, was Yoriko’s Saturday-night ritual. The neighborhood wasn’t short of atmospheric old bars, but bumping into people she knew was the last thing Yoriko wanted on a weekend evening.

  “Here you go, madam.”

  The waiter placed a small glass of gin and bitters in front of her. Yoriko disliked sweet cocktails.

  She had just picked up her glass when someone slipped into the seat beside her.

  “A drink with a kick—just what I’d expect from the manager of a famous old restaurant.”

  The voice was deep and memorable enough for her to recognize.

  Sure enough, when she swiveled around, she saw whom she’d expected to see.

  “Could I possibly take a minute or two of your time?” said Kaga with a smile.

  “Be my guest,” replied Yoriko, smiling back at him. Kaga was wearing the same charcoal gray jacket as earlier.

  “Make mine a Guinness,” he said to the waiter.

  “I assume you’re off duty, if you’re drinking,” remarked Yoriko.

  “Absolutely. I’ve managed to solve one little mystery connected to the murder, so I’m planning to drink a toast to that.”

  “What, all on your lonesome? Where are your friends?”

  Kaga swayed slightly from side to side.

  “It’s hardly worth holding a party about. I just managed to track down a dog I’d been looking for a while.”

  “A dog? Is a dog involved in the murder?”

  “I don’t know. All I can say for sure is that the dog isn’t the murderer!”

  Kaga’s tone was grave. Yoriko scrutinized his face.

  “The precinct commissioner dines at Matsuya from time to time. Why, he was there with someone just the other day.”

  “Oh, really? The commissioner at my last precinct was the same. Seems that precinct commissioners throughout Tokyo like nothing more than a good night out! If you want the lowdown on the best local restaurants, they’re a much better source than the internet.”

  Yoriko laughed. “That was when the commissioner told me how he had brought in a rather ‘interesting’ new detective from another precinct. I asked him what exactly he meant by ‘interesting.’ He said that the detective in question was very sharp, very eccentric, and, to top it all off, very stubborn. I imagine he was talking about you, Detective Kaga?”

  “Heaven only knows.…”

  The waiter placed a glass of Guinness in front of Kaga. “Today’s been another hard day,” he said, lifting the glass to his lips.

  “Cheers,” said Yoriko, as she took a sip of her gin.

  Kaga sighed contentedly.

  “You look just as good in western clothes as you do in your kimono; either way, you’re every inch the sophisticated, grown-up lady.”

  “Don’t tease me.”

  “I’m not. All right, maybe I am being a touch ironic.”

  Yoriko put her glass down on the counter. “What do you mean?”

  “What I’m trying to say, I guess, is that you seem to have a slightly childish aspect to your character—an immature side that takes pleasure in silly practical jokes.”

  “Detective Kaga.” Yoriko swung around to face the detective full on. “If you’ve got something you want to say, then come out and say it. Patience isn’t one of my virtues.”

  “I beg your pardon. Shall we get down to brass tacks? I’m talking about the Kodenmacho murder, of course.”

  “Are you’re implying that we have something to do with it?”

  “Let me go through this in the proper order. As I said the other day, we found some traditional small cakes at the crime scene, but we don’t yet know who purchased them. There were three sets of fingerprints on the container: the victim’s; the store clerk’s; and a third, as yet unidentified, person’s.”

  “Shuhei’s already told me. They weren’t his fingerprints either, were they?”

  “No, they weren’t.”

  “That’s what puzzles me. If they’re not his, then why come sniffing around our restaurant, Detective? Loads of people buy snack cakes from that shop. I bet Shuhei isn’t the only one to have bought a mixed selection. Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to start investigating other people?”

  “That’s precisely why I want to talk to you. As you say, Shuhei wasn’t the only customer to order a mixed selection of cakes, nor were his prints on the container. That’s why the guys from the Metropolitan Police were so quick to cross him off their list. In fact, I got the impression that they never really thought the person who bought the cakes was our murderer.”

  “What?” Yoriko’s mouth was half open.

  “Several places in the victim’s apartment were wiped down,” said Kaga in a jocular tone, before taking another swig of beer.

  “Which means?”

  “Which means that the murderer was careful to wipe down anything that he remembered touching. Which means that if the murderer and the purchaser of the snack cakes were one and the same person, he would definitely not have forgotten about the fingerprints on the plastic container. However, we could find no evidence of the plastic container having been wiped down.”

  “Aha, I see.”

  Yoriko looked into Kaga’s swarthy face.

  “In that case, Detective, why have you got such an almighty bee in your bonnet about the cakes? If they aren’t connected to the crime, then what does it matter who bought the things?”

  “That’s not the how police investigations work. We have to sift through every little detail, asking ourselves why such and such a thing occurred. That will eventually lead us to the truth, even if all those individual things have no direct connection to one another.”

  Yoriko’s glass was empty. She called the waiter and ordered a refill.

  “Shuhei claims to have eaten all the cakes himself. It’s not very professional of him, ducking out of work to stuff himself with sweets,” Yoriko said.

  “You really shouldn’t give him a hard time. He didn’t eat the cakes himself,” declared Kaga emphatically.

  “How can you be so sure? This isn’t making any sense.”

  “I almost think you mean it. But I’ll tell you what you really can’t make sense of: the fact that the cakes Shuhei bought ended up in the murdered woman’s apartment.”

  Yoriko felt slightly alarmed. How had Kaga guessed her thoughts? She quickly regained her composure.

  “Like I said before, if there’s something you want to say to me, then come right out and say it.”