Кэйго Хигасино - A Midsummer’s Equation

“But you didn’t say anything.”

“Like I said, I didn’t feel it was my place to get involved.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Something Kyohei said. He was watching one of the forensics officers come down the fire escape, and he mentioned there was a chimney up on top of the roof. That surprised me, because you can’t see the chimney at all from the ground, so he must have gone up there at some point. It’s unlikely to have been the last time he came to the Green Rock Inn, because he would’ve been much smaller, and it would’ve been too dangerous. That left the night of the fireworks. From there, it was a process of connecting the dots until I realized Kyohei must have done something — unknowingly, mind you — to the chimney that caused the accident.”

“Did you ask him?” Narumi asked.

“No, I didn’t want to lead him to the same conclusions I’d reached, not before he was ready.” Yukawa smiled. “Although I did have him help me a little. He stole the master key for me.”

“Why did you need that?”

“To investigate the Ocean Room. I realized the chimney must pass through the wall in that room, and that was the only door on the floor that was locked. Nothing raises suspicion like a locked door. As I thought, I found cracks in the back wall of the closet. That’s when Kyohei supplied the final piece to the puzzle — when he told me he’d gone around the inn before setting off fireworks and had covered up every place and window a bottle rocket might accidentally fly into. That’s when I realized why he’d gone up to the chimney.”

“He covered it?”

“A slightly dampened cardboard box placed over the top would do the trick. I’m sure those were his instructions.”

“My father’s instructions,” Narumi said.

Yukawa didn’t answer. Instead he picked up a small pebble by his foot.

“It wasn’t difficult to get Tsukahara to sleep in the Ocean Room. Your uncle could have given him some excuse for why they needed to switch rooms, then moved his things back into the Rainbow Room afterward. The sleeping pill could’ve been mixed into his drink.”

Narumi felt the last shreds of her hope fade as a deep despair settled in. It was impossible to imagine it having been an accident after hearing Yukawa’s theory.

“I can’t say how serious your father was about killing him, of course,” he continued. “He couldn’t have been certain that covering the chimney would have the desired result. No, I’d say he was just crossing his fingers — but intent is still intent, which suggests a motive. Which is why I had my detective friend in Tokyo investigate your family.” Yukawa stood and tossed the small pebble in his hand into the water. “Once we started down that road, it quickly became clear that we’d have to uncover what happened sixteen years ago. Thus my meeting with Mr. Senba. Who, by the way, didn’t confirm a thing.”

Narumi noticed she was trembling, and not from the cold. The sun today was bright and strong. Her wetsuit had completely dried out some time ago.

“Are you going to tell the police?” she asked with a shiver.

Yukawa’s lips settled into a straight line, and he shook his head. “I can’t, which bothers me. In order to prove your father’s intent, I would have to tell them what Kyohei did. I don’t think he would be punished, of course. But he would have to make a very difficult choice. He would wonder whether he should tell the truth. In fact, I think he’s already wondering. I think he knows the meaning of what he did by now.”

Narumi caught her breath.

“That said, putting him on the spot right now would only make things worse. Whether he tells the truth or not, he’s going to blame himself for what happens as a result.” Yukawa looked down at Narumi. “That’s why I want you to do something.”

Narumi straightened. “What?”

“Kyohei is going to have to live with a very big secret. But someday, he’s going to want to know why his uncle made him do what he did. If he comes to you with that, I want you to tell him the truth, the whole truth. Then I want you to let him decide what he should do. I’m sure you know better than anyone what it is to live with the consequences of one’s actions.”

Every word Yukawa spoke sank deep into Narumi’s heart. It made her heart ache, but there was no helping that.

She stood and stared into Yukawa’s eyes. “Okay. I will.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear that.” Yukawa said. “There’s something else I want you to do, too.”

“I...” Narumi began, steadying her breath. “I should turn myself in, shouldn’t I?”

Yukawa looked surprised for a moment. Then his smile returned to his lips. “I want you to value life. Yours and others. More than you ever have before.”

Holding back tears, Narumi looked off into the distance, out across the sea.

Tatara flipped through the pages of the report, the wrinkles across his brow frozen in deep lines. Kusanagi sat across from him, rubbing his hands together beneath the conference table. His palms were sweating.

“So basically,” Tatara said, looking up with a deep sigh, “we have absolutely no evidence?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Kusanagi said, lowering his head. “As that says, it’s very likely that Setsuko Kawahata was involved with the murder of Nobuko Miyake. However, as long as Senba remains unwilling to talk, it will be extremely difficult to prove.”

Tatara leaned one cheek on his hand and groaned. “If Tsukahara couldn’t crack him, neither can we. Not to mention the Miyake murder was a closed case. We can’t do anything about that. Nor should we. You did a good job, though. At least, I’ve got some closure on this now.”

“What about Hari Cove?” Kusanagi asked.

Tatara groaned again and pulled a notebook out of his pocket.

“Yeah, about that, I got a call from the police. Sounds like they’re going to write the whole thing off as an accident after all. The testimony they got left no room for questions, and forensics says the chances of the accident having been arranged are next to nil. They didn’t say anything about Tsukahara’s connection to the Kawahatas, either. Of course, we haven’t told them what we know.”

“Well? Should we?”

Tatara’s eyes went a little wider. He crossed his arms across his chest and stared back at Kusanagi. “Now? What good would that do? We’re not reopening the Nobuko Miyake case.”

Kusanagi shrugged. “So what do we do then?”

Tatara picked up the report and slowly tore it in two. “This is the prefecture’s call, so we take it. I’ll explain everything to Tsukahara’s widow.”

“Are you—” Sure , Kusanagi was about to say, but he swallowed his words.

Torn report in one hand, Tatara stared straight back at him. “I meant what I said. You did good work. Now it’s time for you to go back to your regular assignment.”

Kusanagi stood, bowed stiffly, and walked over to the door. He stepped outside, glancing back at Tatara before he closed the door behind him. The white-haired director was looking out the window, lines of deep regret on his face.

Kyohei paced around the lobby while his father was settling the bill at the front desk. He checked the lounge and the pool, even though he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Yukawa was nowhere to be found.

He said we’d talk tomorrow , Kyohei thought, getting angry. Grown-ups were always breaking promises as if it didn’t matter at all. He’d thought the professor was different, though.

“Come on, we’re going,” his father called out to him. “If we leave now, we’ll get to the station right on time. Hurry up.” He began walking toward the front entrance, checking his wristwatch.