Кэйго Хигасино - A Midsummer’s Equation

That was when the last person he expected to see in the world found him: Tsukahara. He told Senba he had been searching for him for years. And when he learned that Senba was sick, he pulled some strings and got him into the hospice.

Senba wasn’t sad when he learned about the tumor. In a way, it was a relief. He much preferred to die here, in a well-appointed facility. It was all thanks to Tsukahara — which was why he felt so guilty whenever the detective would beg him to tell him the truth about what had happened.

“I know you’re protecting someone,” Tsukahara told him. “Someone very important to you. Which is why I gotta know, are you okay with it ending like this? Don’t you want them to know what’s happened to you? Don’t you want to see them one last time?”

Every time he came to visit, the detective would sit down on his bed and say the same thing. The secret became harder and harder for Senba to keep, especially when Tsukahara swore to him he would never tell a soul. By the time he relented, it was already difficult for him to speak, and it took a very long time for him to tell the whole story. Tsukahara listened patiently, barely saying a word.

When he was done, the former detective thanked him, and told him his secret was safe.

Nor did Tsukahara ever tell anyone else the truth. He even went so far as to do some sleuthing to find out where Setsuko and her family was living now. Senba felt a stirring of warmth in his chest when he heard they had returned to Kawahata’s hometown of Hari Cove.

Tsukahara found something on the Internet, too: mention of a Narumi Kawahata in an article about ongoing efforts to protect Hari Cove’s natural environment. Tsukahara learned there would be a hearing in August about the undersea development in Hari Cove she’d been fighting against. He wanted Senba to come to the hearing with him.

“You don’t have to meet her. You could just see her from a distance. Don’t you want to see the girl you protected for so long? Don’t worry, I’ll go with you. Hell, I’ll push the wheelchair.”

Tsukahara’s invitation tore at Senba’s heart. He wanted to see her more than anything else in the world, yet in the end, it wasn’t to be. A man in his condition at the hearing would draw attention. Someone might figure out who he was, causing trouble for Setsuko and Narumi.

Tsukahara went ahead and applied for the hearing without his permission anyway. He came to the hospice one day to show him the letter. He had applied for two tickets, but only received one in the lottery.

“Let’s go anyway,” he said. “I could wait for you outside,” Tsukahara had said.

Senba shook his head. He was grateful for everything the detective had done, but he would not go. Nor could he, physically. His condition had worsened to the degree that a long trip was entirely out of the question.

“It’s a shame,” Tsukahara had said. It was the last time he’d visited the hospice.

But Tsukahara hadn’t given up. He’d gone to Hari Cove by himself, probably to try to meet Setsuko and Narumi. Senba was sure he’d met them. He didn’t want to think about what happened to him there, though he had a pretty good idea.

He deeply regretted not stopping Tsukahara from going. He wished he could’ve reached out and taken that ticket from his hand and ripped it into pieces.

Senba looked down at the photograph of the baby in his hand and whispered, “I’m so sorry.” It’s my fault this happened. It’s my fault you’ve had to bear the burden of yet another sin. But don’t worry. I’ll die before I ever say a word. I only hope that you can forgive your father for being the fool that I am.

Shinagawa Station came into view. There were a lot of cars, and traffic was moving slowly.

“You can just let me out here,” Yukawa said, gathering his things.

Utsumi pulled over to the side of the road, and Yukawa opened the door. “Thanks for the lift,” he said, getting out.

“Hold on, I’ll see you to the gate,” Kusanagi said, undoing his seatbelt.

“It’s fine, it’s still a bit of a walk to the station.”

“None of that, now.” Kusanagi opened his door. “You go on back without me,” he said to Utsumi as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.

The two men walked past the line of cars toward the station. It was nearing the end of August, but the heat made it feel like midsummer. Yukawa started sweating, the grime of the city clinging to his face.

“It’s still impossible to say what’s true and what’s not,” he said abruptly. “I have my theories, but I would hesitate to even call them conjecture. In the end, it might all just be my imagination. The only reason I think Narumi might have been the one who killed Nobuko is because it answers several questions. I have no concrete evidence. And there are many things I still don’t know. The entire premise that Narumi is Senba’s daughter might be flawed. And if it is true, does Shigehiro Kawahata know? What about Nobuko’s murder, does he know about that? If so, when did he learn of it? It’s all mysteries within mysteries. The only thing that could clear any of it up would be a confession from those involved, but that’s one thing I am absolutely positive we’ll never get.”

“And what about Tsukahara’s murder?”

“You mean Tsukahara’s ‘death due to negligence.’ It’s the same situation. As long as the Nobuko Miyake case is considered closed, there would be no motive for murdering him.”

“But it is possible to connect the Kawahatas with him,” Kusanagi said. “Tsukahara was the one who arrested Senba. And Senba knew Setsuko.”

“True. But how much does a thirty-year-old connection between a barmaid at a restaurant and one of her customers count for, I wonder.”

“It’s hard to write it off as coincidence.”

“Is it?” Yukawa wondered out loud. “I see coincidences like that all the time. Regardless—” The physicist breathed a deep sigh. “Regardless, as long as Senba isn’t telling his story, I don’t see a way for us to get to the bottom of this case. And he won’t talk. He took a long prison sentence to protect the daughter he loved; he won’t throw that away now. He intends to take his secret to his grave, and he won’t have long to wait. No, I’m afraid this is one fight your side isn’t going to win, Kusanagi.”

The physicist’s tone of indifference irked him, but Kusanagi couldn’t think of a retort. Everything he said was true.

They arrived at the station. Yukawa said farewell and started to walk off toward the ticket gate.

“You’re just going to let it go?” Kusanagi asked to his turned back. “You’re okay with the way things turned out? What about that person you were trying to protect?”

Yukawa turned. “Of course it’s not okay,” he said, his voice ringing out over the din of the station. “That’s why I’m going back to Hari Cove.”

“Wait—” Kusanagi said, but Yukawa just slung his jacket over his shoulder and walked through the gates.

Setsuko was sitting across a small table from Detective Isobe. A younger detective sat next to him, taking notes.

“The temperature in here good for you? Not too cold?” Isobe asked. His face was set in a permanent scowl, but there was a look of real concern in his narrow eyes. Setsuko imagined that the scowl was something of a professional affectation, a look he’d had to wear so often it became his default mode. She’d had customers like that back in the day at Haruhi. They weren’t grumpy, they were just too shy to make a kind face.

“It’s fine,” she said, and Isobe nodded, looking back down at his case report.

The room wasn’t bad for an interrogation room. It was well air-conditioned, and the detectives weren’t smoking. She’d always pictured these rooms as stark places with frightening décor, like one-way mirrors, but there was nothing of the sort here. Well, except for the bars on the one window.