Keigo Higashino: Salvation of a Saint

The corners of Yoshitaka’s mouth curled downward. ‘I put in too much coffee.’

‘Want me to make some more?’

‘No, don’t bother with it now. You can make the next pot. And I didn’t ask you here to chat about coffee.’ He set his cup down on the marble tabletop. ‘I talked to her yesterday.’

‘I thought you might’ve.’

‘I didn’t tell her it was you. She thinks it’s someone she doesn’t know. If she believes me at all, that is.’

Hiromi thought back to that morning, to Ayane’s face when she handed her the key. She hadn’t seen any scheme behind that smile.

‘What did she say?’

‘She accepted it.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. I told you she would.’

Hiromi shook her head. ‘Maybe it’s not my place to say this, but I can’t understand how she could just accept it.’

‘Because those were the rules. Rules I made, but still... At any rate, you’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s all settled.’

‘So we’re good, then?’

‘Better than good,’ Yoshitaka said, putting an arm around Hiromi’s shoulder and drawing her close. Hiromi let herself fall into his embrace. She felt his lips by her ear. ‘You should stay the night.’

‘In the bedroom?’

Yoshitaka’s mouth curled into a little smile. ‘We have a guest room. It’s got a double bed.’

Hiromi nodded, still feeling a strange mix of bewilderment, relief, and lingering unease.

The next morning, Hiromi was in the kitchen about to make coffee when Yoshitaka walked in and asked her to show him how.

‘I only know what Ayane taught me.’

‘Good enough. Show me,’ Yoshitaka said, crossing his arms.

Hiromi placed a paper filter in the dripper and poured in coffee grounds with a measuring spoon. Yoshitaka leaned closer to check the amount.

‘First you put in a little hot water. Just a little. Then you wait for the grounds to sort of swell.’ She poured a little boiling water from the kettle into the dripper, waited about twenty seconds, then began to pour again. ‘You pour it in a circle. The coffee rises up a touch as you pour, and you want it to stay at about the same level. Then, as you’re pouring, you watch the lines on the serving pot and take the dripper off the moment you have enough for two. Leave it on and it’ll get weak.’

‘Surprisingly complicated.’

‘Didn’t you used to make coffee for yourself?’

‘With a coffeemaker, yeah. Ayane threw it out when we got married. She said coffee brewed this way tasted better.’

‘Knowing you’re a coffee addict, she probably just wanted to make sure you were getting the best possible cup.’

Yoshitaka smiled faintly and shook his head. He always did that whenever Hiromi started talking about the depth of Ayane’s devotion to him or her school or her work.

When he drank his coffee he did admit it tasted much better.

As he sipped his coffee, Hiromi got her things together. Anne’s House was closed on Sundays, but Hiromi worked as a part-time instructor at a traditional arts school in Ikebukuro, another job she’d taken over from Ayane.

On her way out, Yoshitaka asked her to call him when she was done so they could have dinner together. Hiromi had no reason to say no.

It was after seven o’clock by the time she was done at the art school. She picked up her phone and called while she was getting ready to leave, but he wasn’t answering his mobile. She let it ring for a while, then hung up and tried the Mashibas’ landline with the same result.

Maybe he’s stepped out somewhere? But he never leaves his mobile phone behind.

Hiromi decided to go to his house anyway. She tried calling several times on her way there, but there was still no answer.

Eventually, she found herself in front of the house. She looked up from the gate and saw that the light was on in the living room. Still no one answered the phone or came to the door.

Shrugging, she fished Ayane’s key out of her bag, unlocked the front door, and went in. The light was on in the entryway.

Hiromi took off her shoes and walked down the short hallway. She detected a faint scent of coffee. Yoshitaka must have made more during the day.

She opened the door to the living room and froze.

Yoshitaka lay, sprawled on the wooden floor, motionless. Dark liquid had spilled from a coffee cup lying next to him, spreading in a small puddle on the wood.

I have to call an ambulance — what’s the number, that number they tell you to call, that number? With shaking hands, Hiromi took out her phone. But she couldn’t for the life of her remember what the number was.

Elegant houses lined the gently sloping curve of the road. Even in the thin light from the streetlights it was obvious that no expense had been spared in their upkeep. The sort of people who lived in this neighbourhood never had to save to afford a down payment.

Several police cars were parked along the street. Kusanagi tapped the taxi driver on the shoulder. ‘Right here’s good.’

He got out, checking his watch as he headed towards the scene. It was already past ten. Guess I’m not seeing that movie . He had missed it at the cinema, then held off on renting the DVD when he heard it would be on television. When the call came that evening, he left the house in such a hurry that he’d forgotten to set his recorder.

Due to the late hour, there didn’t seem to be any onlookers. Not even the news crews had arrived. Just give me a cut-and-dried case, and the movie can wait , he thought without much hope.

A police officer, his face set in an appropriately stern expression, was standing guard in front of the house. Kus — anagi flashed his badge, and the officer wished him a good evening.

He paused before going up to the door. It looked like all the lights in the place were on. There were faintly audible voices inside.

He glanced across the front lawn and saw someone standing by a hedgerow. It was too dark to make out her features, but from her stature and the length of her hair, Kusanagi had a pretty good idea who it was. He walked over.

‘What are you doing here?’

Kaoru Utsumi turned around slowly, utterly unsurprised to see him. ‘Good evening, Detective.’

‘What are you doing outside?’ he asked.

‘Nothing much. Just checking out the hedge and the flowers in the garden here. There’re some up on the balcony, too.’

‘Some what?’

She pointed upward. ‘Flowers.’

Kusanagi looked up and saw that there was, indeed, a second-storey balcony on this side of the house, with flowers and bushy leaves sticking out through the railings. Nothing about it seemed particularly noteworthy.

He returned his gaze to the young detective. ‘Let’s try this again,’ he said. ‘Why aren’t you inside?’

‘Population density. There’s already a crowd in there.’

‘Not big on mingling, are you?’

‘I just don’t think there’s much point in looking at something everyone else has already seen. I didn’t want to get in Forensics’ way, so I took it upon myself to examine the exterior of the house.’

‘But you’re not examining anything. You’re looking at flowers.’

‘I’ve already completed a circuit of the premises.’

‘Fine. Did you at least check out the scene of the crime?’

‘I haven’t checked out anything in there. I turned around at the entrance,’ Utsumi replied.

Kusanagi shot her a quizzical look. In his experience, a detective’s natural instinct was to want to examine the scene of the crime first — an instinct that apparently wasn’t shared by the department’s new recruit.

‘I appreciate that you’ve given this a lot of thought, but you’re still coming in there with me. There’s a lot of things you need to see with your own eyes if you want to do this job right.’