Kojo Suzuki - Spiral

“You are one impatient bastard,” Miyashita said by way of preface. Then he began to explain. “At first, the feeling was that they had indeed died in the collision. But further examination showed no life-threatening injuries. The car was completely wrecked, but on the other hand, mother and daughter were in the back seat. This probably raised some doubts. They did a meticulous post-mortem on both of them. And sure enough, they found bruises and lacerations from the accident on their faces, their feet, et cetera, but the wounds showed no vital reaction. And I think that brings us to your territory.”

It was easy to tell if a corpse’s injuries had been sustained before or after death based on the presence or absence of a vital reaction. In this case, there was none. Which meant only one thing: at the time of the crash, mother and daughter were already dead.

“So, what, the husband was driving his dead wife and child around?”

Miyashita spread his hands. “So it would seem.”

That would immediately justify the forensic autopsy. Perhaps the husband had decided to kill himself and taken his family with him; he’d strangled his wife and child and driven off with them looking for the best place to end his own life, but had gotten into an accident on the way. The autopsies, however, had cleared the husband, for Shizu and Yoko had both had arterial blockages identical to the other cases. They couldn’t have been murdered. They’d both died of heart attacks on the expressway, shortly before the accident.

Once that was established, it was easy to guess how the husband lost control of the vehicle… He doesn’t realize for a while that his wife and daughter are dead-maybe they just quietly stopped breathing-so he drives on, thinking they’re asleep in the back seat. They’ve been curled up like that for an awfully long while. He tries to wake them up, keeping one hand on the steering wheel and reaching with the other into the rear of the car. He shakes his wife. She doesn’t wake up. He glances back to the front again before putting his hand on his wife’s knee. Then, suddenly, he realizes the change that’s come over her. He panics and just stares at his wife and child, not realizing that the traffic’s clogged ahead of him.

That had to be more or less what happened. Having lost his own son, Ando could well understand the panic the husband must have felt. It had been the same for him. If only he’d been able to overcome the panic, maybe he needn’t have lost Takanori… In the driver’s case, though, overcoming panic wouldn’t have accomplished anything. His wife and daughter were already dead.

“So what happened to the husband?” He felt sympathy for the man, who’d lost his family only two weeks before.

“He’s hospitalized, of course.”

“How bad are his injuries?”

“Physically, he doesn’t seem to be that bad off. Mostly it’s his mind that was affected.”

“Emotional damage?”

“Ever since they brought him in with the bodies of his wife and daughter, he’s been catatonic.”

“Poor guy.” He could think of nothing else to say. The facts spoke volumes about the violence of the psychological shock Asakawa had received in losing both wife and child in a single moment. He must have loved them deeply.

Ando grabbed the faxes out of Miyashita’s grip, licked his fingertips, and began paging through the flimsy sheets again. He wanted to know which hospital the man was in. He was curious about the symptoms, and he thought that if Asakawa was in a hospital where Ando knew somebody, specifics could be obtained.

The first thing that leapt into sight was the name.

Kazuyuki Asakawa.

“What’s this?” Ando let out a stupid-sounding yell, so surprised he was. “Kazuyuki Asakawa” was the same name he’d inscribed in his planner the other day. The man who’d gone to Ryuji’s apartment the night after his death and peppered Mai with questions about some videotape.

“You know him?” Miyashita yawned.

“No, but Ryuji did.”

“Really?”

“The driver, this Asakawa guy, was a friend of Ryuji’s.”

“How do you know?”

Ando gave a brief explanation of what Mai had told him about Asakawa’s visit. “This doesn’t look good.”

There was no need for Ando to specify what didn’t look good. Including Ryuji, seven people had died of the same thing. Four on September 5th, one on October 19th, and two on October 21st. The pair at Mt Okusu had died simultaneously, as had the mother and daughter whose car had been in the accident near the Oi exit. The surviving member of that family had been a friend of Ryuji’s. All these people, who seemed to be connected in one way or another, had died from some new-found sarcoma that blocked off the coronary artery. Naturally, the first thought to occur to Ando was that he might be dealing with a contagious disease. Judging from how limited the circle of victims was so far, it probably wasn’t airborne. Perhaps, like AIDS, this new epidemic was relatively difficult to contract despite its deadliness.

He considered Mai. He had to assume she’d had physical contact with Ryuji. How he was going to explain this development to her weighed heavily on his mind. All he could tell her, basically, was that she was in danger. Would it even do any good to warn her, if it turned out that was all he could do?

I’d better go to Shuwa U.

The files he held in his hand simply didn’t contain enough information. He couldn’t do any better than to speak directly with the doctor who’d conducted the autopsies on Asakawa’s wife and daughter. He asked Miyashita if he could use the phone, and picked up the receiver to call Shuwa University.

On the Monday after the three-day weekend, Ando paid a visit to Shuwa University Medical School, located in Ota Ward. When he’d called from Miyashita’s lab he’d pressed for an immediate appointment, but the party on the other end hadn’t been impressed, calmly saying he could make time on Monday, if that would do. Ando had to acquiesce. This wasn’t a murder investigation or anything of that sort. His curiosity had been piqued, that was all.

Ando knocked on the door of the Forensic Medicine Department and waited. He heard nothing from beyond the door. He looked at his watch and realized that there were still ten minutes to his one o’clock appointment. Forensic medicine usually had a smaller staff than surgery or internal medicine. The three or four people in it here had probably all gone out to lunch.

While he stood wondering what to do, from behind him a voice called out, “May I help you?” Perfect timing.

He turned around to see a short young man who wore rimless glasses. Ando thought he looked too young to be a lecturer here, but on the other hand, he thought he recognized the slightly shrill voice. Ando offered the young man his card, introducing himself and stating his business. The young man said, “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” and handed over his card. Just as Ando thought, it was the man he’d spoken to on the phone on Friday. His name card said he was Kazuyoshi Kurahashi, Lecturer in Forensic Medicine at Shuwa University. Judging by the man’s position, Ando figured they had to be about the same age, but Kurahashi looked young enough to be in his early twenties. Probably it was to avoid being taken for a student that he spoke in an overdone tone of authority and stolidity.

“Come right this way,” Kurahashi said punctiliously, ushering Ando in.

Ando had learned just about everything he could by fax. His purpose today was to see with his own eyes things that couldn’t be faxed, and to speak directly to the doctor who’d been in charge of the autopsies. He and Kurahashi exchanged small talk, and then began to share their observations of the bodies they’d dissected. Apparently, Kurahashi had been quite surprised by the unidentified sarcomas he’d found blocking the coronary arteries. As soon as the conversation turned to them, his cool demeanor cracked.