Salvation of a Saint Page 5

  ‘Oh yeah, what was she saying about the coffee?’ Kusan -agi thought back on their conversation the day before.

  ‘Remember the saucers? I asked her if Mr Mashiba wasn’t in the habit of using a saucer when he drank coffee. Ms Wakayama indicated that she didn’t think he did use a saucer when he was drinking alone.’

  ‘Now that you mention it, I overheard that conversation myself,’ Mamiya said, nodding. ‘The question now becomes, assuming Ms Wakayama wasn’t making things up, how does the wife’s apprentice know something about the husband that the wife does not?’

  ‘There’s probably something I should tell you,’ Kusanagi said, leaning over to whisper to him about their hunch that Hiromi Wakayama and Yoshitaka Mashiba had more than a passing acquaintance.

  Mamiya’s glance flicked back and forth between his two subordinates, and he grinned. ‘You both think so, too?’

  ‘What, you knew about it, Chief?’ Kusanagi raised an eyebrow.

  ‘When you’ve been doing this as many years as I have, you notice things. I was pretty sure something was up yesterday.’ Mamiya tapped the side of his head with a finger.

  ‘Um, would someone mind explaining what’s going on?’ Kishitani asked.

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ Mamiya said, turning back to Kusanagi. ‘Nobody says anything in front of the wife, agreed?’

  Kusanagi and Utsumi nodded.

  ‘So the poison was in the coffee on the floor?’ Kusanagi asked.

  ‘And one other place as well.’

  ‘Do tell.’

  ‘The paper filter still in the dripper. Specifically, in the used coffee grounds.’

  ‘So they mixed the poison in with the coffee while they were making it?’ Kishitani asked.

  ‘That’s one possibility. There is one other possibility to consider, however,’ Mamiya said, raising a finger.

  ‘They could have mixed the poison in with the ground coffee beans ahead of time,’ Utsumi said.

  Mamiya beamed at her. ‘Exactly. The ground coffee was in the refrigerator. Forensics couldn’t find anything in the bag, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. There could have been just enough poison on the top layer for him to scoop out with the coffee.’

  ‘So, when was the coffee poisoned?’ Kusanagi asked.

  ‘Don’t know. Forensics snagged a bunch of used filters out of the trash, but there wasn’t any poison in them. Not that I would expect to find any in them, because that would mean someone had already used a poisoned filter, and we’d have another body.’

  ‘There was an unwashed coffee cup in the sink,’ Utsumi said. ‘I’d like to know when that coffee was drunk. And who drank it, for that matter.’

  Mamiya wet his lips. ‘We already know. Fingerprints got two matches. One was Yoshitaka Mashiba, the other was exactly who you think it was.’

  Kusanagi and Utsumi exchanged glances. Apparently, their theory already had back-up evidence.

  ‘Chief, I should mention that we’re expecting Ms Wakayama to come here at any moment,’ Kusanagi said, and told him about the phone call in the car.

  Long wrinkles formed in the space between Mamiya’s eyebrows. He nodded. ‘Sounds like an opportunity, then. You can ask her when she drank that coffee. And get specifics. None of this “Oh, the other day” stuff.’

  ‘On it,’ Kusanagi said.

  The four fell silent at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

  ‘Thanks for waiting,’ Ayane said as she reached the living room. She was wearing a light blue shirt over black trousers. She didn’t look quite as pale as she had on the way from the airport, though that may have been due to a little make-up retouch.

  ‘If you’re sure you’re not too tired, we’d like to ask a few more questions,’ Mamiya said.

  ‘Certainly. What else can I help you with?’

  ‘Please, take a seat.’ The chief waved in the direction of the sofa.

  Ayane sat down, her gaze wandering to the garden beyond the sliding glass doors.

  ‘Look at them, all wilted,’ she said. ‘I asked my husband to water them, but he was never that interested in flowers. I should have known.’

  Kusanagi joined her in looking at the garden. Flowers of various colours were blooming in pots and long planters.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Ayane said, half standing from the sofa. ‘Could I water them? I don’t think I’ll be able to focus otherwise.’

  Mamiya looked taken aback for a brief moment, then smiled. ‘Of course. We’re not in any hurry here.’

  She rose and went not over to the glass doors, but into the kitchen. Kusanagi glanced in after her and saw that she was filling a large bucket with water from the tap.

  ‘No hose in the garden?’ he asked.

  Ayane looked around and smiled. ‘This is for the flowers on the balcony,’ she said. ‘There’s no sink on the second floor.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Kusanagi recalled how, the day before, he had seen Utsumi looking up at the potted plants on the second-floor balcony.

  Full of water, the bucket looked rather heavy. Kusanagi offered to carry it.

  ‘It’s all right, I can manage.’

  ‘No, really, allow me,’ the detective insisted. ‘Up the stairs here, right?’

  ‘Thank you,’ Ayane said in a voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear her.

  The master bedroom wasn’t quite as big as the living room downstairs, but it was still large. A wide patchwork tapestry hung over the bed. Kusanagi found his eyes drawn to the vivid bands of colour.

  ‘This one of yours?’

  ‘From a while back, yes.’

  ‘It’s really impressive. It’s probably just my own ignorance, but when I heard “patchwork” I was picturing something simple, like embroidery. But this, this is fine art.’

  ‘I like to think of it as a practical art. Patchwork is about making things that are of use in our daily lives. And why not make everyday items look beautiful?’

  ‘You have quite a talent. I can only imagine how much work it is.’

  ‘It does take a lot of time, and a certain amount of persistence. But it’s fun, making them. In fact, if you don’t have fun doing it, you wind up with something that isn’t fun to look at.’

  Kusanagi nodded, looking back at the wall hanging. Though at a glance it looked like the colours that made up the patchwork had been chosen on a whim, he imagined he could see the mind of the quilter at play in the curves and arrangement of the pieces, and it brought a smile to his face.

  The balcony ran the length of one side of the room and was fairly wide, though the tightly packed planters made it difficult for even one person to navigate.

  Ayane picked up an empty aluminium can from the corner. ‘Isn’t this neat?’ she said, holding it out to Kusanagi where he waited by the sliding glass door.

  Several small holes had been opened in the bottom of the can. She used it to scoop water out of the bucket, then held the can over the planters, letting the water trickle from the holes like a shower.

  ‘Ha! A homemade watering can.’

  ‘Exactly. It would be hard to get water out of the bucket into a real watering can, so I used an awl to punch holes in this soft drink can.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  ‘Isn’t it? Of course, he never could understand why I’d even bother having flowers up here in the first place …’ Ayane’s face tensed and she squatted down on the balcony. The water from the little can was drizzling on her slipper.

  ‘Mrs Mashiba?’ Kusanagi called out.

  ‘I’m sorry. I … I just can’t believe he’s gone.’

  ‘No one expects you to.’

  ‘We were only married a year. One year. I’d just got used to my new life … started to figure out those things couples know. What he likes to eat, what he drinks … We had so many things planned.’

  Kusanagi watched her, one hand over her face, her head hanging. He couldn’t think of anything to say. The bright flowers around her suddenly looked garishly out of place.
<
br />   ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I know I’m not much help to you like this. I should be … I need to be stronger.’

  ‘We can come back to ask our questions another day,’ Kusanagi said without thinking. Immediately he saw Mamiya in his mind’s eye, grimacing.

  ‘No, that’s all right. I need to know what happened myself. I just can’t understand it. Why would he have drunk poison—?’

  She was interrupted by the chiming of the doorbell. She stood, startled, and looked over the balcony railing.

  ‘Hiromi!’ she called out, giving a little wave of her hand.

  ‘Ms Wakayama’s here?’ Kusanagi asked.

  Ayane nodded and moved back inside.

  Kusanagi followed her down the stairs. Utsumi was in the hallway, going to answer the door. Kusanagi caught up to her by the entrance and whispered, ‘It’s Hiromi Wakayama.’

  Ayane walked past them and opened the door. Hiromi Wakayama was standing outside.

  ‘Hiromi, come in,’ Ayane said, her voice choking.

  ‘Are you okay, Mrs Mashiba?’

  ‘I’m all right. Thanks …’

  Ayane stepped out through the door to embrace her visitor. Then she began to cry out loud, sobbing like a child.

  FIVE

  Ayane stepped away from Hiromi. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured, wiping at her eyes. ‘I thought I could hold it back, but when I saw you … I’m fine now. Sorry.’

  Kusanagi felt his stomach knotting as he watched the widow attempt a smile. She needs to be alone.

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’ Hiromi asked.

  Ayane shook her head. ‘Just being here is enough. And honestly, I’m having trouble thinking of anything at all right now. Please, come in. I’d like to hear about what happened.’

  ‘Actually, Mrs Mashiba,’ Kusanagi broke in, flustered. ‘We’d also like to speak with Ms Wakayama. Things were a little rushed last night, and there are some gaps that need filling.’

  Hiromi looked confused.

  ‘You’d be welcome to join us,’ Ayane said.

  The detective cursed inwardly. She’s missed the point entirely. ‘Actually, we’ll need to speak with her first, if you don’t mind.’

  Ayane blinked. ‘But I want to hear what happened, too. That’s why I asked her here.’

  ‘Mrs Mashiba?’ Mamiya joined in. Kusanagi wasn’t sure how long the chief had been standing behind him. ‘I’m sorry, but there are certain police procedures that need to be followed. If you could let Detective Kusanagi speak with her first …? This is really all just about filling in the blanks, taking care of paperwork, but if we don’t do things in the proper manner, we might run into trouble later on.’

  Classic passive-aggressive cop, Kusanagi thought amusedly.

  Ayane frowned. ‘All right. So, where should I be?’

  ‘You can stay here, Mrs Mashiba. We’d also like to speak with you.’ Mamiya turned to Kusanagi and Utsumi. ‘Maybe you can find somewhere quiet to talk with Ms Wakayama?’

  ‘I’ll get the car.’ Utsumi strode purposefully out of the door.

  Twenty minutes later, Kusanagi was sitting beside Utsumi in a quiet corner of a twenty-four-hour restaurant. Across the table from them, Hiromi Wakayama looked tense.

  ‘Did you get some sleep last night?’ the senior detective asked after a sip of coffee.

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘I understand. You must have been in shock.’ And in tears, if Utsumi called it right. ‘It’s not every day you see a dead body.’ Especially your lover’s.

  Hiromi was looking down at the table, chewing her lip.

  ‘I was hoping we could ask a few questions we didn’t get around to yesterday, if you don’t mind?’

  Hiromi took a deep breath. ‘I really don’t know anything more than what I’ve already said. I can’t imagine how I’d be able to answer any more questions.’

  ‘You might be surprised. The questions aren’t that difficult. That is, as long as you’re willing to answer them honestly.’

  Hiromi looked up, her gaze almost a glare. ‘I haven’t lied.’

  ‘Then we’ll be just fine. So, I was wondering: you’ve told us that you discovered Yoshitaka Mashiba’s body at eight o’clock last night, and the last time you were in the Mashibas’ house before that was the party on Friday. Is this correct?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Are you sure? Ms Wakayama, the shock of seeing someone dead can play with our memories in strange ways. Try relaxing and thinking about it a little harder. Are you sure you didn’t visit the Mashiba household from the moment you left on Friday night until yesterday evening?’ Kusanagi watched Hiromi’s face.

  Her long eyelashes fluttered. After a few moments of silence, her lips parted. ‘Why are you asking me this? Why do you keep asking me when I’ve told you the truth?’

  Kusanagi smiled slightly. ‘Let’s keep it to just me asking questions, if we could. Do you have an answer?’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Think of it as a simple confirmation. I’m asking you again because I want you to very carefully consider your answer. If it turned out later that there was an inaccuracy or omission in what you’ve told us, well, then it would be a bit of a difficult situation for both of us.’

  Hiromi’s mouth snapped shut. Kusanagi could almost hear the cogs whirling in her head, as she ran the calculations. She’s considering the possibility that her lie will be uncovered, wondering whether it might be better to admit everything here and now.

  She maintained her silence, the scales in her head refusing to settle to one side or the other. Kusanagi was growing impatient.

  ‘When we arrived at the scene yesterday, in the sink there was a single coffee cup and two saucers. When we asked you if you knew why, you said you didn’t know. Yet, your fingerprints were found on the coffee cup. So naturally I wondered, when did you touch the cup?’

  Hiromi’s shoulders slowly rose and fell with her breathing.

  ‘You saw Yoshitaka Mashiba over the weekend, didn’t you …? When he was still alive.’

  Hiromi put her hand to her forehead, her elbow on the table. Trying to find a way out of this one? Kusanagi was confident that she wouldn’t be able to slip free, no matter how much she squirmed.

  She nodded, eyes following her hand down to the table. ‘Yes. I did. I’m sorry.’

  ‘You saw Mr Mashiba?’

  A pause, then: ‘Yes.’

  ‘When?’

  Her reply didn’t come immediately. She’s a sore loser, Kusanagi thought, growing irritated.

  ‘Do I have to answer that?’ Hiromi looked up again at the two detectives. ‘It doesn’t have anything to do with what happened. Isn’t this an invasion of privacy?’

  She looked ready to cry, but there was also growing anger in her eyes, a sharpness to her words. Kusanagi remembered something another detective once told him: no matter how soft she may look, never underestimate the power of a cheating woman.

  They didn’t have time to do this carefully. Kusanagi played his next card.

  ‘We know the cause of death,’ he said slowly. ‘Mr Mashiba was poisoned.’

  Hiromi flinched. ‘What?’

  ‘Traces of poison were found in the coffee he was drinking when he died.’

  Her eyes opened wide. ‘I don’t – that’s impossible!’

  Kusanagi leaned slightly forward, staring her directly in the eye. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because …’

  ‘Because when you drank coffee with him earlier, nothing was wrong?’

  She blinked, then, after a moment’s hesitation, slowly nodded.

  ‘You see our problem, Ms Wakayama. If Mr Mashiba put the poison in the cup himself, that’s one thing – it would either be suicide or an accident. But the possibility of either of those things is extremely low. We’re forced to consider a scenario in which someone intentionally poisoned Mr Mashiba’s coffee. Traces of the poison were also found in a used paper coffee filter. Our best guess at present is that some
one mixed poison in with the ground coffee beans.’

  Now considerably flustered, Hiromi shook her head. ‘I don’t know anything about it.’

  ‘Surely you can at least answer some of our questions? It is extremely important that we know exactly when you drank that coffee at the Mashiba household if we are going to be able to determine the time at which the coffee was poisoned. Well?’

  Kusanagi straightened in his chair, staring evenly at the woman across the table, perfectly ready to sit there in silence as long as was necessary.

  Hiromi covered her mouth with both hands. Her eyes wandered, unfocused. Then, abruptly, she said: ‘It wasn’t me.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘It wasn’t me.’ Her voice was pleading. She shook her head. ‘I didn’t poison the coffee. Really. You have to believe me.’

  Kusanagi and Utsumi exchanged glances.

  Hiromi Wakayama was a suspect, of course, and their most likely suspect at that. She’d had plenty of opportunities to poison the coffee. If she was having an affair with Yoshitaka Mashiba, then it was fairly easy to imagine some rift between lovers providing the motivation. Poisoning him, then ‘discovering’ the body, could have been merely an attempt to camouflage her role.

  At this stage, however, Kusanagi intended to avoid any preconceived notions, in order to get as unfiltered a story from her as possible. He had deliberately chosen not to say anything that might sound accusatory. All he had asked was when she had drunk that coffee with Yoshitaka Mashiba. So why was she claiming innocence all of a sudden? Was she, in fact, the guilty party? Had she just skipped ahead, anticipating where all this was leading?

  ‘We are not accusing you of poisoning him,’ Kusanagi said, with a gentle smile. ‘As I said, all we’re trying to do is establish the timing. If you met with Mr Mashiba and drank coffee, then can you tell us when that was, who made the coffee, and exactly how?’

  A pained expression rose on Hiromi’s pale face. Kusanagi still couldn’t tell whether she was simply hesitant because she was unwilling to admit she was having an affair or whether it was something more than that.

  ‘Ms Wakayama?’ Utsumi put in abruptly.