Кэйго Хигасино - A Midsummer’s Equation

Though they had been given free rein of the deck, there wasn’t much to do up there. Sawamura sat and began furiously jotting down notes, but most of the others just started milling, unsure what to do. The couple went over by the railing to look down at the water. They were laughing about something. Narumi shrugged and began walking around the deck, looking at some of the devices that had already been explained to her.

She stopped by two long cylinders that looked like torpedoes with propellers attached to one end. Kuwano had mentioned these too, but she hadn’t quite caught everything he said.

“Proton magnetometers,” said a voice from behind her. She looked up to see Yukawa walking over. “You drag those along several hundred meters behind the boat. They’re able to pick up extremely faint magnetic abnormalities caused by things like undersea hydrothermal ore deposits.” He stood next to Narumi. “You have a nice tour?”

“Yes. I heard you arguing with someone downstairs. Was there some mistake?”

Yukawa grimaced. “Just an incompatibility between the mount they prepared and my coil. For every advance we make, we find two or three new problems. I can understand if delays are an issue of physical phenomena getting in the way, but human error can be a particularly aggravating source.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Narumi said. “How are we supposed to feel safe entrusting our ocean to people who make those kind of mistakes?”

Yukawa’s eyes narrowed at her, but then he reluctantly nodded. “Unfortunately, I can’t think of any good reason you should feel safe. I’ll mention this next time I talk to DESMEC.” Yukawa turned and looked out over the ocean. “Tell me,” he said after a moment, “why does a girl from Tokyo care so much about the ocean out here?”

“Why shouldn’t I? It’s beautiful.”

“I agree. I was just wondering if you had some deeper reason.”

“I think the beauty of the ocean is deep enough.”

Yukawa smiled. “You were fourteen or fifteen when you moved here, right? Didn’t you ever want to go back home?”

“Not at all.”

“Really? I’d think that for a teenager, the city would have a lot more stimulation to offer. Where were you in Tokyo?”

“Oji.”

“Ah, up north.”

“Yeah. Not exactly a stimulating part of town.”

“A little sleepy, true, but a short train ride from places like Shibuya or Shinjuku.”

Narumi stared at Yukawa’s face for a moment, then slowly shook her head. “Not every teenage girl dreams of going shopping in Shibuya. Some of them like little country towns with beautiful views of the sea.”

Yukawa adjusted his glasses with the tip of his finger and stared back at her.

“What?” she asked after a moment.

“I don’t think so,” Yukawa said, shooting her an intense look before adding quietly, “That’s not you.”

Narumi’s eyes went a little wider. “Why not? And how would you know what kind of a person I am anyway?” she asked, her voice a little louder than it should be. She could feel the blood rushing to her face.

“Narumi?” Sawamura came striding over. “What is it?” he asked, looking between her and the physicist.

“Sorry,” Narumi muttered. “It’s nothing.”

Sawamura gave Yukawa a quizzical look. “What did you say to her?”

Yukawa maintained a cold silence for a few moments more before saying, “I didn’t mean to give offense, but if I did, I apologize.”

Narumi stared at the deck in silence.

“Right. I’ll see you later,” Yukawa said, walking off.

“What’s his problem?” Sawamura spat after he left. “You okay? What did he say to you?”

Narumi realized she couldn’t stand there frowning forever. She flashed Sawamura a smile. “It was really nothing. Sorry, didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Hey, if you’re fine, I’m fine,” Sawamura said, the concern plain on his face.

“Thanks for waiting,” Kuwano announced brightly on the deck behind them. “We’re all ready, so if you’d please come to the conference room. We have cold drinks for you!”

Kusanagi stood outside a restaurant that served okonomiyaki pancakes a short walk from Azabu Juban Station. The name on the sign read “Flower,” making him wonder if the name of the place wasn’t a play on their specialty’s main ingredient. The entrance was up a flight of stairs on the second floor.

As he stood looking up at the sign, a young man came out of the door — an employee, by the red apron he was wearing. He flipped over a small placard on the door so the side facing out read “Closed” and went back in.

It was just after two in the afternoon. A couple, the restaurant’s last customers, came out and walked down the stairs. Kusanagi waited for them to leave before going up. He opened the door, hearing a small bell jingle above his head.

The employee he’d seen on the stairs looked up from the cash register. “Oh, sorry,” he said. “Lunch’s all over.”

“I know. I’m not a customer,” Kusanagi said. “Is Mr. Muroi here?” He looked around the place while he talked. The tables all had hot plates in the middle so customers could cook their own okonomiyaki. A white-haired man was sitting at the nearest one, facing away from the door, reading a newspaper. When he heard Kusanagi, he looked around. He had his fair share of wrinkles, but his skin was tan, making him look young for his age. He, too, was wearing a red apron.

“Who’re you?” the man asked.

Kusanagi flashed his badge as he walked over to the table. “Mr. Muroi?”

The man blanched. “Yeah. What do you want?”

“I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about your time at Bar Calvin.”

“Calvin? That’s ancient history. Haven’t been there in over a decade.”

“I know. I spoke to the manager last night.”

Calvin was a bar on a side street off of lower Ginza. The interior featured gaudy décor, with expensive-looking leather upholstery on the sofas, reminiscent of Japan’s economic boom days back during the bubble.

Bar Calvin was where Hidetoshi Senba and Nobuko Miyake had shared a drink the night before he killed her. Masao Muroi was the bartender who served them, and his statement led to Senba’s arrest.

When Kusanagi told him what he wanted to ask about, Muroi’s eyes went wide.

“Now that’s really ancient history. What could you possibly—” Muroi started. Then he quickly folded his paper and sat upright in his chair. “Wait a second. Is Senba out already? You think he wants revenge?”

Kusanagi chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Senba’s been out of prison for quite some time now. You haven’t seen him?”

“No. Okay. Wow. I didn’t realize he’d already done his time.”

“Did you know the two of them well?” Kusanagi asked.

“I wouldn’t say ‘well,’ but, yeah, I knew who they were. That night was the first time they’d been to Calvin in a while. I was pretty surprised when I heard what happened the following day.”

“The case report said they weren’t exactly getting along very well that night.”

“Well, they weren’t fighting or anything. But it was kind of an odd scene,” Muroi said, hesitating a bit before adding, “I mean, you don’t normally see a guy crying like that.”

Muroi asked Kusanagi whether he’d had lunch yet, and when he said he hadn’t, Muroi offered him some okonomiyaki and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“I was born up here,” Muroi told him. “But when I was in middle school, my family moved down south to Osaka. There was this fantastic okonomiyaki place down the street from us there, and it was always my dream to have a restaurant like that of my own.” Muroi stirred a bowl of batter while he talked. His hands moved with an effortlessness that bespoke long years of practice.