Kojo Suzuki - Spiral

Mai managed to transcribe Ryuji’s article and get it to his editor.

This meant that in the time between her watching the video and her death, there was at least one person she’d definitely had contact with.

He put in a call to the editorial office of the monthly that had run the article and made an appointment with the editor in charge of Ryuji’s work. Ando decided he needed to visit the publisher himself; something made him want to actually meet the guy, rather than just talk to him over the phone.

He took a JR train to Suidobashi. From there he walked for about five minutes, looking for the address, before he spotted the eleven-story building that housed the offices of Shotoku, Ryuji’s publisher. At the reception desk he asked for Kimura, an editor with the monthly Currents. Ando looked idly around the lobby as he waited. Kimura sent word that he’d meet him in the reception area right away. Ando was relieved that the editor had readily agreed to receive a total stranger. On the phone he’d sounded like a man in his twenties, but on the ball. Ando found himself imagining a handsome young man in wire-rims.

Instead, he saw a tubby man in check pants and suspenders, whose bald head glistened with sweat in spite of the season. In every way he failed to match Ando’s image of an editor at a major publishing house, especially one who worked for a magazine that chronicled the latest developments in contemporary thought.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” The man grinned broadly and offered Ando his business card. Satoshi Kimura, Executive Editor. He looked much older than he sounded. He was probably pushing forty.

Ando produced his own card and said, “Thanks for seeing me. Can I buy you a cup of coffee somewhere?” He meant to leave the building.

“There aren’t any decent cafes around here. But we have a lounge, if you don’t mind.”

“That’s fine.”

Ando decided to follow Kimura’s lead, and together they boarded an elevator.

The lounge was on the top floor of the building, overlooking the garden in the courtyard. It was quite well-appointed; as Ando sank into a sofa, he looked around and spotted faces that he recognized from newspapers and magazines. It seemed the lounge was a popular place for editors to meet with their writers. Several people were there with manuscripts in hand.

“We certainly lost a good man.”

At these words, Ando’s wandering thoughts snapped back into focus, and he looked at Kimura’s oily face directly across the table.

“It so happens that Ryuji Takayama and I were classmates in med school,” Ando said, watching for a reaction. He’d lost count of how many people he’d drawn out with this line so far.

“Is that a fact? So you knew Professor Takayama.”

Kimura glanced at the business card in his hand and nodded, seemingly reassured of something. The card bore the name of the university Ando worked for. The man had probably recalled that Ryuji had attended that same university’s medical department.

“What’s more, I performed his autopsy.”

Kimura’s eyes grew wide. He stuck out his chin and emitted a queer little cry.

“Well, now, that’s…”

Kimura lapsed into silence, staring at Ando’s hands, which held a coffee cup. He seemed interested in the fingers that had sliced Ryuji open.

“But I didn’t come here today to talk about him,” Ando said, putting down the coffee cup and bringing his hands together on the table.

“Why have you come?”

“I’d like to ask you a little about one of his students. Mai Takano.”

At the mention of her name, Kimura’s expression softened, and he leaned forward. “What about her?”

He doesn’t know, Ando intuited. But he had to find out sooner or later.

“Are you aware that Mai is dead?”

Kimura let out an even more curious groan and almost jumped out of his chair. It was almost comical how dramatically his features conveyed his emotions; he was the real Man of a Thousand Faces. He ought to audition for a sit com, Ando thought.

“You must be kidding!” Kimura cried. “Mai can’t be dead?”

“She fell into an exhaust shaft on a roof last November and died there.”

“I guess that explains why I haven’t been able to get in touch with her.”

Ando felt a certain closeness to the man, who’d been in the same boat. He had no idea if this Kimura was married or not, but he was willing to bet that the guy had had at least a slight crush on Mai.

“Do you remember the last time you saw her?” Ando asked quickly, loathe to give the man any time to wallow in sentiment.

“We were just beginning to proof the New Year’s issue, so it must have been the beginning of November.”

“Would you happen to know the exact date?”

Kimura took out a datebook for the previous year and started leafing through it.

“November the second.”

November 2nd. The day after Mai had visited Ryuji’s parents’ house and taken the videotape home with her. Mai had probably already watched the tape by then.

“Do you mind if I ask where you met?”

“She called me to say that she’d finished copying the article. I immediately went to pick it up.”

“Went where? To her apartment?”

“No, we met at a cafe in front of her station. Like we always did.” Kimura seemed to want to stress that he’d never set foot inside her apartment, knowing she lived alone.

“When you saw her, did she seem different in any way?”

Kimura looked puzzled. He couldn’t tell what Ando meant by the question. “What do you mean?”

“Well, unfortunately, there’s still some doubt surrounding the cause of her death.”

“Doubt, you say?”

Kimura folded his arms and thought for a while. The thought that what he said might influence Mai’s autopsy results made him suddenly cautious.

“Any little bit could help. Did you notice anything?”

Ando smiled, trying to put the man at ease.

“Well, she did seem a bit unlike herself that day.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“She looked pale. And she held a handkerchief over her mouth, like she was fighting back nausea.”

The nausea caught Ando’s attention. He remembered the brown clump of what had seemed to be vomit that he’d found on Mai’s bathroom floor.

“Did you ask her about her apparent nausea?”

“No. I mean, right away she told me she wasn’t feeling well because she’d pulled an all-nighter writing out Professor Takayama’s manuscript.”

“I see. So she said it was from lack of sleep.”

“Yes.”

“Did she tell you anything else?”

“I was in a hurry, you see. I thanked her for the manuscript, we had a brief discussion about the book to come, and then I said goodbye.”

“Book. You mean Ryuji’s.”

“Right. From the very beginning we ran the series of articles on the premise that we’d publish them in book form eventually.”

“When’s this book coming out?

“It’s scheduled to appear in bookstores next month.”

“Well, I hope it sells well.”

“It’s difficult material, and were not getting our hopes up. I must say, though, that it’s a really good book. Just superb.”

After that, the conversation got sidetracked into reminiscences of Ryuji, and Ando found it hard to get back on topic. By the time he’d managed to drag Mai back into the discussion so they could talk about her relationship to Ryuji, the hour Kimura had promised Ando was up. Ando hadn’t really learned anything of value yet, but he decided he’d best not overstay the editor’s welcome. He doubtless needed to see this man again, and he wanted to leave a good impression. So he thanked Kimura and took his leave.