Koji Suzuki - Edge

“Why?” Both Oki and Hashiba simultaneously voiced their interest.

“Because Seiji does have debt,” Saeko replied.

Immediately, the expressions of the entire group turned grave. Only Satoyama looked vaguely disappointed.

“How much does he owe?” Oki inquired.

“Approximately two million yen. And not because his business went bankrupt. He just spent himself deeper and deeper into debt.”

“Well, that’s not uncommon.”

“But Seiji has no prospects for paying his debts off.”

“If the entire Fujimura family were to disappear, would Seiji inherit everything they had?” Hashiba probed.

Saeko nodded. “Exactly. He’s Koji’s only sibling. If the Fujimuras never reappear, Seiji is the legal heir to their estate. As I mentioned earlier, the Fujimuras had almost 35 million yen just in savings. When you factor in their home, the lot, and their other property, they were easily worth more than 50 million.”

“And if Seiji wanted to inherit that money, he would have to get rid of the entire family, right?”

“Do you know what he asked me?”

“What?”

Saeko lowered her voice and imitated Seiji’s throaty growl. “Say, does it really take seven years to close a missing persons case?”

Hashiba gave her a startled look. Up until now, Saeko had responded to the men’s questions with a perfectly sober demeanor. Then, all of a sudden, she’d launched into an uncanny impression of a brazenly greedy middle-aged man. He was so taken off guard that he didn’t have time to laugh, but it made him take a fresh look at Saeko. Delight registered on his face as on a boy’s discovering an appealing toy.

“I get it. The case has to be closed for him to inherit their estate, huh?” Oki’s speech, too, dropped into an informal, more familiar register.

“What do you think, Ms. Kuriyama? You’ve met this Seiji, right?” Hashiba asked.

“Yes.”

“Well? Is he behind this?”

The six men gazed at Saeko in tense anticipation.

“No.” Saeko delivered her verdict with an off-hand shrug.

“What? He’s not?” All at once, the six men clamored to know why Saeko could be so sure of Seiji’s innocence.

“On paper, he looks pretty suspicious. But the moment I met him, I knew he couldn’t have done it. He’s clean, all right. He doesn’t have the balls to pull off something this big.”

This was too much for Hashiba. He grimaced, barely holding in his laughter. “He’s not the criminal type, you mean?”

“Oh, he’s rotten to the core. He’s the kind who would do anything for money. But if he did, he’d be bound to screw something up. He’s that type. We’re talking about making an entire family disappear overnight without a trace, as if by magic. Seiji could never pull a stunt like that singlehandedly.”

“But we can’t be sure it was a solo job, right? Maybe he had accomplices,” Oki offered.

“Even more impossible.”

When Saeko shot down his suggestion, Oki looked slightly taken aback, slumping one shoulder dramatically. “How do you know?” he asked.

“No decent human being — or an indecent one for that matter — would ever consider partnering up with Seiji.”

The rest of the group eyed Saeko dubiously, as if wondering how she could be so sure just through her limited contact with Seiji. “Can you guarantee that?” one of the men ventured.

“He’s a little out of the ordinary. Very out of the ordinary, I should say. He hops from job to job and has virtually no social skills. He’s the black sheep of the family, and the Fujimuras didn’t have much to do with him. He lives in a shack in their neighborhood but he’s basically a hobo, frequently disappearing for a month or two, even a year at times. It would be perfectly obvious to anyone who met him. A group of kidnappers capable of abducting a family wouldn’t want to collaborate with a man like him.”

Saeko obviously held Seiji in the lowest possible regard. Hashiba gazed towards the ceiling with a vague look of satisfaction on his face, as if savoring Saeko’s vitriol. Perhaps he was imagining what unpleasantness had taken place between Saeko and Seiji when she was gathering information.

In contrast, Oki’s expression was faintly sour. “But this Seiji has the key to the Fujimuras’ home, right?” He was literally referring to the front door key to the Fujimuras’ now empty home.

“That’s right. Unfortunately, Seiji is now the caretaker of the Fujimura residence.”

“In other words, nobody can enter the house without Seiji’s permission?”

“That’s right.”

“But from what you wrote, it seems like you’ve been in the house.”

“I believe I’m one of very few journalists who have been inside.”

“Did money change hands?”

“No. Money played no part. Seiji rarely allows any journalists inside. Perhaps he only lends the key to those he perceives as allies.”

This had truly been the selling point of Saeko’s story. Her coverage was unique in providing vivid descriptions of the interior of the Fujimura home. The beer bottle on the table, the-old fashioned radio on the desk in the children’s room, the hardened banana peel in the trash can, the laundry hamper full of clothes in the bathroom … Her detached portrayal of the Fujimuras’ material belongings in the absence of their owners elicited a sort of ominous mood that made her article gripping.

“The other journalists?”

“He didn’t let them in.”

“Why did he let you in, if he turned the others away?”

“I don’t know. I think … I guess … he took a shine to me.” She said the words with such distaste that Hashiba couldn’t hold back a chuckle.

“Sorry. I can certainly understand why Seiji would like you, but I can also understand why you don’t feel the same way,” he commented.

In contrast to Hashiba’s amusement, Oki’s face was a mask of seriousness. “Actually, we’re going to need footage of the inside of the house to do this program.”

Naturally. They could hardly do a thirty-minute show about a family’s disappearance with no footage from inside their home. Saeko didn’t know much about television production, but she understood that much.

“Of course,” she agreed.

Oki laid his hands, half hidden by his sleeves, on the table top and interlaced his fingers. “Ms. Kuriyama, let me ask you something. Do you think you could persuade Seiji to let our team into the house?”

Saeko could almost hear the gears snap together in her mind. She finally understood why they had selected her from among the myriad reporters who had covered the Fujimura story to collaborate on the show. The chief director and the producer needed the key to the Fujimura home.

And they need me to get it. Lucky me, Seiji’s favorite reporter .

And here she had thought it was because her coverage had been superior. Saeko felt her ego deflate like a punctured balloon.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Hashiba offered as they exited the conference room after the meeting’s conclusion. They took the elevator down to the lobby and had just emerged when Hashiba stopped and glanced at his watch.

“Do you have a bit more time?” he asked, and proposed coffee. Saeko wasn’t in a hurry. She had planned to stop at the library on the way home, but only for personal reasons. She was under no obligation to be anywhere.

“Certainly,” she told him.

“Good. The cafeteria then?” Hashiba stood up and led the way, genuinely giving the impression that there was more he wanted to say to Saeko.

When they were seated opposite each other at a table, Hashiba bowed deeply.

“I’m so sorry,” he said contritely.

Saeko was baffled. “For what?” she asked.