1
It must have been just before nine o’clock in the evening that the man made his way past the Nihonbashi Bridge police station. The duty officer, who had stepped outside a little earlier to survey the street, saw him from behind.
Rather early to be quite so drunk, the officer thought. The man was visibly unsteady on his feet. Since the officer couldn’t see his face, it was hard to guess how old he was, but his hairstyle and other indicators suggested late middle age. Neither fat nor thin, tall nor short, he was dressed very respectably. Even from a distance, you could tell that his dark brown suit was of high quality. In the end, the officer decided that there was no need to bother him.
The man was walking toward the bridge, lurching from side to side as he did so. The bridge was Nihonbashi Bridge, a historic landmark dating from 1907. The man started to make his way across the bridge and appeared to be heading for the Mitsukoshi department store on the far side.
The officer looked away and took stock of his immediate environs. He got the impression that while there were slightly fewer pedestrians around than before, the number of cars crisscrossing the tangle of roads in front of him was the same as ever. Even though there was a recession—no, probably because there was a recession—people still had to work. Despite the late hour, there were plenty of trucks and other commercial vehicles out on the road. The only change from the boom times was that the goods they were transporting were probably worth less. And this place was ground zero, the place from which all the hardworking merchants and businesspeople set off for the rest of Japan.
A group of around fifteen Chinese tourists were wandering across Nihonbashi Bridge, looking up at the expressway that ran at a right angle directly above it. It wasn’t difficult for the officer to imagine the conversations they were having. They were most likely asking why on earth someone had gone and dumped something so brutish and ugly right on top of such a beautiful structure. Coming from such a vast country themselves, how could they possibly understand how, when Japan needed the expressways as part of hosting the 1964 Tokyo Olympics, it had built them above the capital’s old canals and rivers because there was no spare land available?
The officer once again let his eyes wander. They came to a stop and focused on something. It was that man again. In the middle of Nihonbashi Bridge, there is an ornamental column with a pair of kirin, mythical Chinese beasts, on either side. The man was leaning against the parapet near the base of the column.
The officer watched him for a while. He didn’t look as if he was planning to go anywhere. He was completely immobile.
“Oh, please! You’re not seriously going to fall asleep there at this time of night—”
With a disapproving click of his tongue, the officer marched onto the bridge.
There was the usual stream of people crossing the bridge, none of whom paid the man any attention. Whether homeless or simply drunk, a person lying or sitting at the side of the road wasn’t an unusual sight in central Tokyo.
The officer approached him. The man was immediately beneath one of the kirin statues, which, unlike the typical kirin, resemble dragons. His back was rounded as if bent forward in prayer.
“Excuse me, sir. What seems to be the problem?” The officer placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. He didn’t react. “Come on, rise and shine.” The officer gave him a shake.
The man began to slither down the stone base. The officer grabbed hold of him and held him upright. What’s with this guy? He must be smashed out of his mind. Then the officer sensed that something wasn’t quite right. I can’t smell any alcohol on him. He isn’t drunk. Is he sick? No, that’s not it either—
Struggling to hold him up, he looked at the man’s chest. There was something sticking out of it. And there was a blackish red stain on his shirtfront.
Oh no! I’ve got to call the station. He let the body drop and reached for his radio.
2
She opened the calendar on her phone and placed it on the table so her companion could also see the screen.
“The anniversary of his death falls on the third Wednesday of next month. What would you say to the Saturday or the Sunday before that? Timing-wise, that would work for me,” Tokiko said, pointing to the relevant days on the screen. She got no reply. Glancing up, she realized that the attention of the other person was focused somewhere else entirely; somewhere behind her.
“Mr. Kaga?” Tokiko said his name. Kaga lifted his hand, in a gesture telling her to stop. He maintained his focus behind her, his eyes glinting keenly.
Tokiko took a discreet look over her shoulder. Seated a couple of tables away was an old woman wearing glasses, busy fiddling with her phone. They looked like reading glasses.
Kyoichiro Kaga got to his feet and strode over to her. He said hello and the two of them chatted briefly in low voices. Kaga then returned to Tokiko’s table.
“What’s the problem?”
“Nothing major.” Kaga took a sip of his coffee. “I noticed her borrowing a pen from the waitress earlier.”
“So?”
“She was in the middle of a conversation on her cell phone when she borrowed the pen and jotted something down on her paper napkin. After she finished the call, I saw her looking at whatever she’d written down and doing something on her phone. I thought, ‘Uh-oh, is this what I think it is?’”
“Which is what?”
“That someone had called to tell her their new phone number. I asked and, sure enough, that was the case. It was her grandson, a university student. I told her to try the old number before replacing it with the new one.”
“Because you think…?”
“That’s right,” Kaga said. “I thought it might be a scam. It’s a common enough technique. The scammers start off by getting you to change one of the numbers in your contact list and then call you back the next day. Since it’s the grandson’s name that pops up on the screen, the recipient is primed to think that that is who’s really calling.”
The old woman came bustling over.
“That was a close call. You were right. When I called the old number, my grandson picked up. He hasn’t lost his phone and he hasn’t changed his number either. And his voice was quite different too. I so nearly got taken in.”
“That’s good to hear. Why don’t you register that new number under the name scam. If it rings again, whatever you do, don’t pick up. Go as quick as you can to the nearest police station and file a report.”
“I’ll do that. You’re a lifesaver. Thank you.” The old woman bobbed her head up and down in gratitude, before making for the cash register by the door.
Kaga grinned as he sipped his coffee. The stern gleam had gone from his eyes.
“You’ve got a real nose for crime,” Tokiko commented.
“What, like a dog?”
“That’s not what I said. But it must be exhausting to keep an eye out all the time like that.”
“It’s what they call professional deformation—a condition for which, sadly, there is no cure.” Kaga put his coffee cup down and looked at the phone on the table. “Sorry about that. Shall we pick up where we left off?”
Tokiko repeated her suggestion about the dates. Kaga looked uncomfortable.
“I’ve a hunch I’m going to be busy next month. I’d prefer another day.”
“How about the Saturday of the week before, then? I can probably work something out.”
“No,” Kaga said baldly. “This month and next, we’ve a lot going on at the station. The middle of the month after next would be best for me.”
Startled, Tokiko scrutinized his well-chiseled face.
“No way. No way we can hold the memorial service after the actual anniversary.”
“I really don’t think I can make the time for it, though. The police station I work at covers a wide area and we’re short-staffed. The cases are piling up.”
“Why not have a word with your boss and get transferred back to Nerima Police Station?”
“Well,” Kaga said, scratching his eyebrow distractedly. “It’s hardly like I was at loose ends at Nerima either.”
Tokiko sighed.
“Look, I know you’re busy. I know cases come in suddenly. That’s not going to change just because we wait another month. You’re just procrastinating—and you know you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. I’m doing my best to be constructive here, so just do what I tell you to. We’ll have the memorial service for your father on the second Saturday of next month, starting at eleven in the morning. You’re happy with that, right? You’ll let me arrange everything?”
Kaga furrowed his brow and sank into thought.
Tokiko smacked the tabletop. “Mr. Kaga!”
He jerked upright with a start. “Calm down.”
“I need a clear answer from you. You’re okay with my plan?”
Kaga was in the process of agreeing—albeit with every sign of reluctance—when something started buzzing in the inside pocket of his jacket. “Sorry,” he said, pulling out his cell phone and walking off.
Resisting the urge to cluck her tongue disapprovingly, Tokiko reached for her cup of tea. She glanced at her watch as she did so. It was already after nine p.m. She had made her way to this café after having finished her shift at the hospital and having dinner at a restaurant she liked. Kaga, who worked out of the nearby Nihonbashi Precinct, had told her he wouldn’t be available until late.
He was pale when he came back to the table.
“Sorry. Something urgent’s come up,” Kaga said, rather shamefacedly.
“You’re going back to work now? That’s got to be against the Labor Standards Act!”
She meant it as a joke, but Kaga didn’t smile.
“An emergency. There’s been an incident very near here. I’ve got to get going.”
Seeing the serious look in his eyes, Tokiko realized that now wasn’t the moment for levity.
“Okay, then, what shall we do about this?” Tokiko pointed at the calendar on her cell phone.
For a second or two Kaga looked unsure, then he nodded his head.
“Let’s go with the day you just suggested. You can take care of everything. But—” Kaga fixed his eyes on Tokiko and ran his tongue over his lips. “I can’t promise that I’ll be able to make it.”
Tokiko bristled and glared up at him.
“Sorry, but I need you to promise you’ll be there. No ifs or buts.”
Kaga grimaced. Tokiko’s face softened when she noticed his discomfiture.
“Oh, I give up. Your dead father would probably urge you to put your work first too.”
Kaga scratched his head in embarrassment. “I’ll try my best,” he said.
On the sidewalk outside the café, Kaga raised his arm and hailed a taxi. “You take this one,” he said, gesturing to Tokiko. She shook her head.
“The train’s fine for me. You take it, Mr. Kaga.”
“Sure? All right. Have a safe trip home.”
“Don’t overdo it.”
Kaga nodded, smiling as he sprang into the back of the cab. His face reverted to that of a detective when he gave the driver his desired destination. The taxi moved off. As it drove past, Kaga smiled at Tokiko again. His smile was different this time; it felt forced.
Watching the taxi drive off, Tokiko thought about the day, two years ago, that Takamasa Kaga, Kaga’s father, had died. As the nurse in charge, she had been at his bedside.
Copyright © 2011 by Keigo Higashino. Copyright © 2022 by Giles Murray
