Keigo Higashino: Malice

“He had a strong personality,” the me on the screen said at last. “He was a real individual. Sometimes you’d think he was the most amazing guy, then other times you’d be surprised by his coldness. But perhaps you can say that about anyone.”

“Can you give an example of what you mean by his coldness?”

“Well…” Then the me on the screen shook his head. “No, not off the top of my head. And this really isn’t the time or the place.”

Of course, in my head I was picturing Hidaka killing that cat, but it wasn’t the kind of thing to announce on the public airwaves.

After a series of increasingly inappropriate questions, the female reporter asked, “Is there anything you want to say to Hidaka’s killer?”

This was it, her home-run question.

“Not at this time,” I answered. You could tell she was disappointed.

After that, they cut back to the studio, where a reporter talked about Hidaka’s novels. Behind the many varied worlds he had created, the reporter said, were the complicated human relations of the author himself. This clearly suggested that his death might be related to the intersection of his literary and private lives.

The reporter talked about the recent troubles Hidaka had had with his novel Forbidden Hunting Grounds . How the family of the man who was the model for the book’s main character had raised objections. Apparently word hadn’t yet got out that Miyako Fujio had been to Hidaka’s house the day he died.

Then they went to a panel of celebrity guests they’d brought into the studio, and they started talking about Hidaka’s death. I got a sour taste in my mouth and turned off the television.

I wished the NHK would cover the situation. For accurate information about something big, one of their networks was usually the best option. Unfortunately, the death of Hidaka wasn’t momentous enough for a publicly funded station to put together a special program.

The phone rang. I’d lost count how many times it had already rung that day, but I still picked up on the off chance it might be something to do with work.

“Yes, Nonoguchi speaking,” I said a little roughly.

“Hi, it’s me.” The firm voice on the other side was without a doubt Rie.

“Oh, hi. How did you do last night?” It was a strange question, but I couldn’t think of anything else to ask.

“I went to stay at my parents’ house. I thought I should probably call people, tell them what happened, but I just didn’t have it in me.”

“I can imagine. Where are you now?”

“Home. I got a call from the police this morning, and they said they wanted to go over the scene with me and ask me a few more questions.”

“Has that happened already?”

“Yes. Though some of the detectives are still around.”

“What about the media? They giving you any trouble?”

“Of course. But some of the people from Hidaka’s publisher and some television people that knew him came over, and they’re handling the questions. It’s taken a load off my shoulders.”

“I see.” I was going to say that was good, but swallowed my words. It didn’t seem like the right thing to say to a woman who’d lost her husband the night before.

“How about you, Mr. Nonoguchi? They must be pestering you endlessly. I didn’t see it myself, but one of the people from the publisher said you were on TV. I was worried so I called.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I think they’ve finally settled down.”

“I’m really sorry you had to go through this.” I could hear her apology was sincere, and I was impressed with her mental fortitude. By all rights, she should have been one of the saddest people in the world right then, but she was taking the time to worry about me. She really does have spine, I thought again.

“Please let me know if there’s anything I can help with. Anything at all,” I told her.

“I think I’m okay. Some of my husband’s relatives are here, and my mother, too.”

“Okay.” I remembered that Hidaka had a brother two years older than him, and that the brother and his wife had taken in his mother. “Well, if there’s anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you so much. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Thanks for calling.”

I hung up, but my thoughts remained on Rie. I wondered what she would do now, how she would live. She was still young, and I’d heard that her family was well-off, with money from the freight business, so she probably wouldn’t struggle. However, I figured it would probably take quite some time for her to recover from the shock. After all, they’d only been married a month.

Before meeting Hidaka, Rie had been a passionate fan of his novels. They’d met through her work and had started dating soon after. That meant that last night she lost two important things: one was her husband, the other was the author Kunihiko Hidaka’s new novel.

I was still lost in thought when the phone rang again. They wanted me to appear on a variety news program. I turned them down on the spot.

Detective Kaga arrived a little after six that evening. I answered the doorbell with a despondent certainty that it was the press again and found him on my doorstep instead. He wasn’t alone. He’d brought another, slightly younger detective with him, named Makimura.

“Sorry to bother you. I had two or three more questions.”

“I expected as much. Come on in.”

Detective Kaga didn’t even move to take off his shoes but asked, “Were you in the middle of dinner?”

“No, I haven’t eaten yet. I was thinking of getting something, though.”

“How about we eat out? To tell the truth, we’ve been so busy conducting interviews that we didn’t have time for a proper lunch. Did we?” He looked to his partner, and Detective Makimura obliged with a sheepish smile.

“Okay, sure. Where would you like to go? There’s a pretty good pork-cutlet place near here.”

“We’re fine anywhere.” Then Kaga hesitated as though he’d just thought of something. “There was a family restaurant just down the street, right? The one you went to with Mr. Oshima, your editor.”

“That’s right. Do you want to go there?”

“Actually, yes. It’s close, and they have free coffee refills.”

“I can get behind that,” Detective Makimura chimed in.

“It’s fine by me,” I said. “Let me get my jacket.”

I went to get changed, leaving them at the door. I wondered why Kaga wanted to go to that restaurant. Did he have some reason for wanting to see it? Or was it just because it was close and he could drink coffee?

I hadn’t come to any conclusions by the time I joined them in the hallway.

At the restaurant, I ordered shrimp Doria. Detective Kaga and Detective Makimura ordered lamb steak and meat loaf respectively.

“So, about that novel,” Kaga said once the waitress had left. “The one that was left open on Mr. Hidaka’s computer screen? The Gates of Ice, was it?”

“Right. You were wondering whether the open file was something he’d written yesterday or something already published that he was looking over, right? Did you figure it out?”

“We did. It looks like it was new material, written yesterday. We talked to the editor at Somei Monthly, and he said it fit perfectly together with what had been written before.”

“So he was working hard until he was killed.”

“There was something odd, though.” Detective Kaga leaned slightly forward and rested his right elbow on the table.

“Something odd?”

“The number of pages. We worked out how many pages the file would be when printed out, and it came out to twenty-seven-odd pages. Even if he had started writing immediately after Miss Fujio went home at five o’clock, that seems like too many. Based on what you told us yesterday, he could only write four to six pages in an hour.”