Keigo Higashino - Salvation of a Saint

‘... That’s what they tell me. Are you okay? Please tell me you’re eating... Well, that’s good. You know, if it’s not too much trouble, do you think you could come over? I’d really like to talk.’

Kusanagi hadn’t expected her to invite Ms Wakayama to the house, either. From this half of the conversation, it sounded like the younger woman was keeping her composure.

‘You’re sure it’s all right? Okay, see you soon... Yes, thanks. You take care of yourself, too.’ It sounded like the call was over. Kusanagi heard a sniffle from the back seat.

‘Will Ms Wakayama be joining us?’

‘Yes. Oh! I hope that’s all right?’

‘It’s fine. She was the one who found him, it might be best if you heard it straight from her,’ the detective said, inwardly growing excited. On the one hand, he was interested, out of pure curiosity, to see how the husband’s lover would go about describing the discovery of his body to the wife. On the other, he hoped that by carefully observing Ayane, he’d be able to determine whether she had known about her husband’s infidelity.

They got off the highway onto the local road as they neared the Mashiba residence. Utsumi seemed to know the way without checking — maybe she had committed it to memory.

They arrived at the house to find Chief Mamiya waiting for them. He was standing with Kishitani in front of the gate.

They got out of the car and walked over to the other two detectives, and Kusanagi introduced Ayane.

‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Mamiya told her. He turned to Kusanagi. ‘You’ve told her the particulars?’

‘For the most part.’

Mamiya gave Ayane a sympathetic look. ‘As you might expect, we have a lot of questions we’d like to ask. I’m so sorry to put you through this just as you’ve returned home.’

‘I don’t mind.’

‘We should go inside. Kishitani, the key.’

Kishitani pulled a key from his pocket and handed it to Ayane, who accepted it with a perplexed frown.

She used the key to unlock the door, opened it, and stepped in. The others followed, with Kusanagi bringing up the rear, the widow’s suitcase in one hand.

Inside, Ayane asked: ‘Where was he?’

‘This way,’ Mamiya said, walking down the hallway.

The tape was still stuck to the floor in the living room. Ayane saw the outline and stopped, her hand over her mouth.

‘According to Ms Wakayama, he was lying here, on the floor when she came in,’ Mamiya explained.

Ayane shook, then her legs buckled and she fell to her knees. Kusanagi saw her shoulders trembling, and a quick hiccuplike sob escaped her lips. She caught her breath and asked in a thin voice: ‘Around what time was it?’

‘Near eight when she found him,’ Mamiya answered.

‘Eight... What could he have been doing?’

‘Apparently, he was drinking coffee. We’ve cleaned it up, but there was a coffee cup on the floor, and a little coffee had spilled.’

‘Coffee...’ She looked up. ‘Did he make it himself?’

‘Excuse me?’ Kusanagi asked.

Ayane shook her head. ‘It’s just, he doesn’t do that. I’ve never seen him make his own coffee.’

Kusanagi noticed Mamiya’s eyebrows twitch.

‘He never made coffee?’ the chief asked.

‘Well, I know he used to before we got married. But he had a coffeemaker back then.’

‘And you don’t have one now?’

‘No. I didn’t need it so I threw it out. I use a single-cup dripper.’

A hard light came into Mamiya’s eyes. He spoke: ‘Ma’am, I can’t say anything for sure without the autopsy results, but it’s likely that your husband was poisoned.’

Ayane’s face went blank for a moment, then her eyes opened wide. ‘Poison? Like, food poisoning?’

‘No. A very potent poison was discovered in the coffee found at the scene — though we don’t yet know exactly what kind of poison it was. Which is to say that your husband’s death was not due to illness or a simple accident.’

Ayane covered her mouth again, blinking repeatedly. Her eyes were growing redder by the moment.

‘Why would he... How could that happen?’

‘We don’t know. Which is why I wanted to ask if you had any ideas.’

This, apparently, was what Mamiya had been talking about when he’d said that the situation had changed, Kusanagi thought. Now it made sense that the chief had showed up in person.

Ayane pressed her fingers to her forehead and sat down on the nearest sofa. ‘No. No idea at all.’

‘When was the last time you spoke with your husband?’ Mamiya asked.

‘On Saturday morning. We left the house together on my way to the airport.’

‘Was there anything unusual about him, or his behaviour, at that time? Even the smallest details can help.’

Ayane sat still for a moment, as though searching inwardly; then she firmly shook her head. ‘No. I can’t think of anything.’

No wonder , Kusanagi thought. Having to bear the shock of her husband’s death, knowing only that he’d died under suspicious circumstances — and then to learn that he’d been poisoned...

‘Maybe we should let her rest a bit, Chief,’ Kusanagi said. ‘She’s probably tired after the trip from Sapporo.’

‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’

‘No, I’m fine,’ Ayane said, straightening. ‘Only, if I could change, that would be nice. I’ve been in the same clothes since last night.’ She was wearing a dark-coloured suit.

‘Since last night?’ Kusanagi asked.

‘Yes, I was hoping to find a quicker way back to Tokyo, so I got dressed for the trip ahead of time.’

‘Then you haven’t slept at all?’

‘I couldn’t have even if I’d tried.’

‘Well, that won’t do,’ Mamiya said. ‘You should probably rest before we continue.’

‘No, I’m fine. I’ll change and come right back down,’ Ayane said, standing.

Kusanagi watched her leave the room, then turned to Mamiya. ‘What do we know about the poison?’

Mamiya nodded. ‘There were traces of arsenous acid in the coffee.’

Kusanagi’s eyes opened wide. ‘Arsenous acid? Like in that school curry poisoning case?’

‘Forensics thinks the particular compound used here was sodium arsenite. From the concentration in the coffee, Mr Mashiba drank well over a lethal dose. We should have more accurate autopsy results by the afternoon, but arsenous acid poisoning fits with the condition that the body was found in.’

Kusanagi nodded, sighing. The possibility of this being an accidental death was rapidly approaching zero.

‘But if it’s true that Mr Mashiba never made his own coffee, who made that cup?’ Mamiya said, half to himself, but loud enough that everyone could hear.

Utsumi suddenly spoke up: ‘I think he did make his own coffee.’

‘How do you know that?’ Mamiya asked.

‘Because we have a witness who says he did,’ Utsumi continued, after a glance in Kusanagi’s direction. ‘Ms Wakayama.’

‘Oh yeah, what was she saying about the coffee?’ Kusanagi 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.