Hidden Nexus (41 page)

‘Oh, I see,’ said the woman laughing. ‘No wonder you scuttled away like a frightened racoon. Still, no harm done, eh.’

‘No harm…’

‘I’ll…’

‘Can I ask you one thing, though?’
Junsa
Saito asked before the woman had time to turn away and retreat back into the interior of the massage salon. ‘If you don’t mind - it just helps with the paperwork.’

The woman hesitated for a second and she glanced nervously back inside through the main door. It appeared she was free to recruit, free to support but not free to indulge in idle chatter with people with whom she had no real business. Whatever the woman’s doubts
Junsa
Saito pressed on. ‘Was there anything that might have caused him to kill himself? Did you know him well?’

The woman thought for a second. ‘He’d been drinking a lot recently. That much I know - particularly this week, particularly since Thursday and particularly since Rumi left.’

‘Since Thursday? Why? What happened then?’

‘I couldn't tell you. But something must have shaken him up. He came back quite late – after midnight. He was completely drunk and barged into my room. He was looking for Rumi, of course. He never comes into my room. Not that I want him to. He disgusts me - like he disgusts us all.’

‘But why do you think he was suddenly drinking so much? You say it was unusual.’

The woman lowered her voice. ‘Like I said, I’ve no idea. I couldn’t tell you why. He’s a bastard! That much I do know and I’m glad he’s dead. What may have driven him to it doesn’t interest me. Now I better get back before Ishimura collars me.’

‘Right, yes… well, thank you,’ replied
Junsa
Saito bowing slightly for a final time.

The elevator arrived and she stepped inside not quite knowing the significance of what she had discovered.

Wednesday 5
^th
January 3:20pm

‘That was quick!’ said Otsuba, forensic technician on detachment to the Yamada case.

‘I’m sorry?’ queried Inspector Saito.

‘You got here quickly. I’ve just phoned through to one of your people asking to speak to someone. There are one or two things I needed to pass on concerning our discoveries yesterday.’

‘That’s a happy coincidence as it’s exactly why I’m here myself. I have no knowledge of your phone call, but none-the-less fire away.’

Otsuba beckoned Inspector into the interior of the lab and offered him a stool.

‘It concerns that tie – the Yamada tie!’

‘What about it?’

‘Well there are a number of things that don’t add up. But before I continue I must apologise for being too slow with my latest findings. I know how important this case is but the truth of the matter is that we are understaffed at the moment, what with Narase san down in Osaka and the New Year’s break work has piled up on me a bit-’

‘Fine, fine,’ interrupted Inspector Saito wishing to break Otsuba’s ever lengthening monologue concerning his problems. He was keen to get to the revelations, whatever they were.

But Otsuba was determined to proceed at his own pace. ‘What do you make of these,’ he said placing a series of ties down on the desk in front of them. ‘What is your immediate impression?’

Saito examined the collection of ties. A large number were essentially in good condition. A large number were good quality and if he wasn’t mistaken a large number, if not almost all, were made of silk. ‘This one here appears to be the odd one out,’ said Saito pointing to a flowery tie which to his untrained eye appeared to be made of polyester. ‘It’s polyester, right?’ he said checking the labels to confirm his suspicions.

‘Now the tie you’ve identified is the one I examined yesterday afternoon – the one with trace evidence of Eri Yamada’s skin. The murder weapon!’

‘So?’

‘Also what colour is it?’

‘Green… and er… yellow.’

‘Exactly!’

‘I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell me here,’ exclaimed an exasperated Saito.

‘Why then do you think that when I double checked with Sudo’s initial report – he actually examined the body, not me, that he had reported trace evidence of green
silk
, not green
polyester!
’

‘I see!’

‘Also when I examined this tie there were unmistakable signs of rock residue. Nowhere in Sudo’s report is there any mention of this. Now I for one would expect to find even the smallest amount of trace material from that stone to be found on Eri Yamada’s neck, wouldn’t you?’

‘I see what you mean.’ said Saito scratching his chin. ‘So what is your explanation?’

At this point Otsuba suddenly looked exceedingly sheepish. ‘It’s not my place to say-’

‘I rather think it actually, probably, is,’ interrupted Inspector Saito for a further time. ‘You think someone’s tampered with the evidence, don’t you?’

Otsuba nodded in agreement.

‘It did strike me as being a little odd,’ continued Otsuba. ‘I thought I’d done all the ties and this one suddenly appeared from nowhere.’

‘You didn’t see who brought it in?’

‘I didn’t – but
Junsa
Deguchi had brought me all the rest of the clothing from Yamada’s house, aside from the suits that Sergeant Mori brought in last Friday.’

‘Deguchi!’

‘I’m not saying he had anything to do with it!’ replied Otsuba in some alarm.

‘No, no. You’re not. But I thank you all the same.’ He bowed to the forensic officer in thanks. ‘And if you don’t mind… just for the moment can we keep this information between ourselves. It’s a very serious accusation that you’re… we’re… making.’

Otsuba nodded again.

‘Are there any other checks you need to make?’

‘Just one, but I’ve already done it. That’s when I phoned through.’

‘And…’

‘I carried out my own examination of the body and sure enough there was trace evidence of polyester on her neck. Now I may not always see eye to eye with Sudo but there is no way he would have missed that.’

‘Good work! But like I said, let’s keep this to ourselves for now.’

Inspector Saito bowed a further time and with a broad smile spreading across his face and euphoria spreading in his chest he exited the forensics lab.

Wednesday 5
^th
January 4:10pm

Rumi Park, for her part, had found since her escape that freedom brought with it complications. It wasn’t money that had dragged her to her knees, far from it, but more the problem of identification – or more properly, the lack of it.

The first part of her plan had been simple – take the train down to Fukuoka in Kyushu with the intention of taking the ferry across to Busan in Korea. It seemed a plan that was simple in the extreme. She had worked out all the times and connections utilising those loyal customers who had willingly provided the information she needed as well as the resources to procure tickets. She had stashed away more than enough cash to see her complete her enterprise.

Accommodation had proved to be the first insurmountable hurdle, though. She’d located a modest hotel close to Fukuoka station but had panicked when the receptionist had asked for her passport or any kind of identification. Of course she had none and immediately thoughts of being turned over to the police sprang to mind. Not only that but the realisation she would also have a problem of getting through immigration also, at last, seeped into her mind. She had hastily withdrawn herself from the hotel clear in her mind that she would find no comfortable bed for the night. She was also clear that she had no desire what-so-ever to make use of the services of those on the wrong side of the law. That was a place which she never wanted to go again.

With no other option she’d bought herself a sleeping bag and nestled herself in amongst the homeless who had collected around the rear of the station. This apparently simple task bought its own dilemmas. Even amongst the homeless there appeared to be a hierarchy with those in the know, or those with experience ‘reserving’ the better positions in preference to the nobodies. Over the days and nights three or four times she’d been forced to move on by her more assertive colleagues. She had no wish for a fight and simply wished to be left alone. She wondered how low she could sink. To be a nobody amongst the nobodies but at least she consoled herself that she wasn’t hungry and steeled herself against the developing stench of her ‘comrades’ and the freezing cold air that swirled around their cardboard city.

In the mornings she had taken herself off to the nearest
sento
(public bath) and had sat for hours in the hot steam and hot water revelling in such a simple luxury. In addition she had freedom and had rejoiced in simply walking the streets, going where she pleased. She'd spent many hours within the local temples revelling in their simple peace and tranquillity.

She still hadn’t resolved her problems though and despite being clean, warm and well-fed and free, she was no nearer getting home to Korea than she had been when she’d been ‘imprisoned’ by Fujiwara.

It was then that deep from within her uneducated mind that the concept of a Korean Consulate had formed and with no other option that she could think of she had presented herself there hoping that somehow they could resolve her dilemma without resorting to turning her over to the Japanese authorities.

A day later she was still there having been given temporary accommodation by the consulate staff while they listened to her story, contacted her relatives and did what they could to repatriate her.

She hadn’t felt so safe or so Korean for a long time and was convinced that it would only be a matter of hours before she was back in her homeland.

She would need to think again – matters in Yokohama were destined to delay her.

Wednesday 5
^th
January 5:10pm

Inspector Sakamoto pulled his car over to the side of the road behind one or two others that had arrived before him. He pulled on his leather gloves, checked the tilt of his hat in the rear-view mirror and then got out. Already he could see a crowd of people beyond the white police cars and the ambulance, its blue light flashing, parked a little further ahead. He pushed his way through the disorderly group of people, some official, some not and came face to face with a pale and shaken-looking Kuroki.

‘Who are you?’ he said with undisguised aggression.

‘He found the body,’ said a man to his left.

‘And who are you?’

‘I’m… I… er…’

‘Right!’ said Sakamoto raising his voice so that everyone in the vicinity could hear him. ‘Can you all clear the area please –
Junsa,’
he said turning to one of the uniformed constables. ‘Clear the scene, would you?’

Eventually after more time than he could tolerate he’d ordered things as he saw fit, not after giving a further withering rebuke to the members of the force who had completely failed in their basic duty to preserve the scene or at least keep it a respectable distance from the passing, and obtrusive, public.

He knelt down beside the body, knowing full well that an examination of the immediate area would be entirely unnecessary, and concentrated his thoughts on the body itself. The woman was fully clothed from what he could see at least. She wasn’t wearing any shoes. He didn’t know if this was significant. Next he examined her face. It would have been pretty, that is, if her eyes hadn't appeared to be horribly engorged. The marble-like pallor of her skin did nothing much to help her. It was an unpleasant death-mask to wear. Before he could make any telling deductions he heard the unmistakeable approach of the police pathologist – Takahashi. He got to his feet and bowed politely. ‘Takahashi san, how are you?’ he said warmly.

‘Good evening Inspector. I’m fine thanks and you?’ A faint smile crossed her lips.

‘You seem happy.’

‘I wouldn’t say happy, but I can’t complain.’

Sakamoto had found that he got on with Takahashi and she with him. The word had always been that she was a prickly, bad-tempered woman who rarely gave people the time of day. Sakamoto had found her to be entirely the opposite. He would have described her as refined and charming. It wasn’t that he’d deliberately set about trying to get her onside, no more than anybody else had anyway, but he’d noticed that he’d not had to invest too much time or effort in ensuring that they saw eye to eye. Their mutual love of classical music may have helped and the fact that he played the piano. This little snippet of shared information had created a definite halo effect. In each other’s eyes they could do no wrong.

‘Did you make it to the recital?’ he asked her.

‘Takai Azusa, you mean? Yes, yes, I did. She was very good – as usual.’

‘Lucky you, anyway lead on. Tell me what you can.’

This time it was Takahashi’s turn to kneel beside the body. Sakamoto left her to it and went in search of Kuroki. He found him standing modestly behind the taped line.

‘So then… I hear that you saw something six
nights ago.’ Sakamoto looked the night watchman up and down and came to the immediate conclusion that the man would be no doubt a hopeless witness.

‘I did.’

‘Well?’ said Sakamoto looking away from Kuroki and back to the body with the unmistakable manner of a man who was not remotely interested in what he was about to hear.

‘I was up on the third floor, about three rooms down from the double doors. It’s the senior corridor and there are some important offices that need keeping an eye on. Aoki’s office is particularly-’

‘What can you tell me about the body!’ Sakamoto raised his eyes to the sky.

‘Oh yes the body, right! Well. Like I said I was on the third floor in Aoki san’s office when I looked outside and saw a car pull up just er… here. I didn’t think anything of it at first, except that I suppose that it was a bit odd. Car’s don’t normally come down this way, particularly at that time of night.’

‘And what time was this?’

‘Oh, I’d say just after eleven.’

‘And?’

‘Well. This man got out-’

‘You’re sure it was a man.’

‘Pretty sure.’

‘You can’t be definite.’

‘Actually it was a man, I guess.’

‘Description?’

‘Medium…’

‘Is that it – medium?’

‘It was dark. He wore dark clothing, but I would say he was medium.’

‘Would you!’

‘Anyway, this man dragged something out of the trunk and then pushed it over the side here. I didn’t really know what to think at first. I thought he was just fly-tipping, or something but then later on I got… well, I got a bit more curious. I even came out to look, but by then it was snowing quite badly and I couldn’t see anything.’

‘You couldn’t say what kind of car it was?’

‘No, not really – a Toyota?’

‘Is that a guess or a fact?’

‘A guess, I suppose.’

‘Colour?’

‘White, I think.’

‘Hmm – I don’t suppose you got the registration?’

‘No.’

‘Right! That’s it, unless you have anything else to say to me.’

‘No, no. I don’t think I have.’

Sakamoto turned away without saying ‘Thank you’. The old man was as much use as a eunuch in a sperm bank. Kuroki, for his part, was left feeling like an athlete who'd just turned in a personal best only to find that the rest of the field were finished and back in the changing room.

Meanwhile Takahashi had finished writing up her private notes.

‘It’s not for me to say, but it looks like you have a serial killer on your hands.’

‘Come again?’

‘It’s your man again – the ligature man.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Come on Inspector are you becoming hard of hearing. It’s the same MO as last Thursday – strangulation by ligature.’

Takahashi explained some more, but this time Sakamoto really wasn’t listening. A tight sickening feeling was churning around his stomach.