Keigo Higashino: Salvation of a Saint

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.

‘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.