Koji Suzuki - Dark Water

As long as there was a possibility that a kidnapping had been committed with a view to financial gain, the police conducted its investigation with utmost secrecy. But as soon as that possibility was ruled out, they usually launched a public investigation and announced it to the media. That way they could obtain more information faster.

“So you’re saying that they

The super shook his head. “They never found her. For. nearly a year, the parents never gave up hope that she’d return. In any case, when there was that move to buy up the apartments, it was Mr and Mrs Kawai on the second floor who objected most. They felt that if the apartment block were demolished, their daughter would have no place to return to. But in the end, they probably did give up hope. At any rate, they moved to Yokohama last summer.”

“They were called Kawai, the family?”

“Yes, that’s right. Mitchan — that was the little girl’s name — she was a lovely little girl. There are some evil people in the world, and that’s a fact.”

“Did you say “Mitchan”?”

“Her name was Mitsuko; we called her Mitchan.”

Mi, Mitchan, Mitsuko… the imaginary playmate that Ikuko was talking to in the bath. It all began to take shape, to fit into place, with that name. That column-like figure that Ikuko had fashioned out of a soaked hand towel and set up in the middle of the washbasin, the figure resembling a road side jizo statue that Ikuko had chattered to like a friend, the figure that her daughter had called Mitsuko.

Yoshimi felt the blood drain from her face. Placing her hands on her temples, she sought support against the wall, and slowly let out a deep breath.

“Is anything the matter?”

She tried to deflect the super’s concern by glancing at her watch. There was no time to explain. If they didn’t hurry they’d miss their bus. She gave a slight bow in the direction of the super and quickly left the lobby.

To learn more, she could take advantage of the odd spare moment at work to go through the newspaper archives on microfiche. Even without an exact date, she was sure to find an article concerning the disappearance of a small girl named Mitsuko Kawai without difficulty if she looked meticulously through the newspapers from two years ago. From what the super had said, it seemed clear that Mitsuko hadn’t been found. She had probably either been abducted by some pervert or had fallen into the canal. Either way, the poor girl no doubt lay dead and undiscovered somewhere.

About eight o’clock in the evening that day, Yoshimi had just turned on the hot water for a bath when the telephone rang. She let the water run and hurried into the living room to pick up the phone.

It was from the super’s office. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’ve gone and sprained my left ankle.”

The super’s remark made no sense to Yoshimi, who was at a loss to reply with anything but an “Oh.” She had no idea why he was calling. It was only after giving an account of how he sustained the injury to his foot that he finally got to the point.

There’s a delivery for you.”

She finally caught his drift. The super would often accept her home deliveries because she was seldom home during the day. Usually he brought the deliveries up to her. What he was driving at was that his sprained ankle prevented him from doing so. If the package required urgent attention, he wanted to ask if she’d mind coming down to his office to collect it herself. She knew whom the delivery was from, and it was nothing that couldn’t wait. Still, she thanked the super for his trouble and, before putting the phone down, told him she was coming right away.

Upon reaching the super’s office, she saw that there was a cardboard box on the counter. The super stood with his elbows on the box. As she thought, it was from her friend Hiromi. Hiromi had a daughter who would soon be starting elementary school, and she had kindly taken the trouble to send Ikuko the clothes and shoes that her daughter had outgrown.

She found the box surprisingly heavy and could understand why it had been too much for the super with his sprained ankle.

“Is your ankle all right?” She affected concern by drawing her eyebrows together.

“Nature’s way of telling a foolish old man he’s not as young as he used to be.” The super laughed as he said this and betrayed signs that he wanted her to ask him how he had sprained his ankle.

However, Yoshimi’s interest lay elsewhere. During the day, she had gone to her firm’s archives to look through all the newspapers dated between July and October of the year before last. She had not succeeded in finding any article that reported Mitsuko’s case. Yoshimi found “the year before last” not precise enough for her liking. She wanted an exact date.

She didn’t really expect the old man to remember, but she tried asking all the same.

“Just a minute/ he replied as he checked inside the counter, bending down awkwardly. He brought out a thick battered notebook and thumped it down on the countertop.

The cover bore the words “Superintendent’s Log” in thick black felt pen. Apparently he was in the habit of recording each day’s events in the logbook so he could furnish his employer with some kind of report. The super muttered to himself as he licked his finger and turned the pages.

“Yes, here we are. Look.”

He turned the notebook upside down and slid it across to her. The page was dated March 17th two years ago. It was now September, so, to be precise, they were not talking about something that happened two years ago, but rather, two and a half years ago. Even the time of day was recorded in the notebook. The authorities had concluded that there was no further justification for handling the disappearance of Mitsuko Kawai of apartment 205 as a case of financially motivated abduction and consequently turned the investigation into an open inquiry, at 11.30 p.m. Yoshimi committed the exact date and time to memory. As she was about to return the notebook to the super, an image of that flesh coloured overhead water tank flashed through her mind, though she didn’t know why. No doubt the image had come through an association with some word or words. What had set it off were the following words, written higher up under the same date heading of March 17th.

Cleaning operations performed on intake tank and overhead tank. Water inspection conducted.

There it was — the overhead tank.

This was the same overhead tank that floated like a giant coffin in the starry night sky. The cleaning operations in question had been performed on the same day Mitsuko Kawai had gone missing. Two cleaners hired by the building management had come and worked inside the water tank.

Yoshimi let out an inaudible scream.

“The water tank…” Yoshimi paused to take a breath. “Is the lid of the tank usually kept locked?”

The super tilted his head to one side, puzzled as to why Yoshimi had turned the conversation to the water tank. But when he saw the entry in his own log about the cleaning operations, a look of satisfaction registered on his face.

“Ah, this? Yes, under normal circumstances, it’s kept carefully locked.”

“When is the tank opened? Only when it’s cleaned?”

“Of course, of course.”

Yoshimi put her hands around the cardboard box. “Has the tank been cleaned since?”

“Ehh, we don’t have a maintenance association here, so it’s

“Has it been cleaned?” she repeated, unable to bottle her impatience.

“Well, it’s about time they got down it again. It’s been two years.”

“I see.”

Lifting the box, Yoshimi staggered backwards and reeled out of the office. So unsteady was her gait that it was a wonder she made it back to her apartment without stumbling.