Nocturne of Remembrance (23 page)

Although Misaki pressed for testimony, if she was going to keep her mouth shut, then that was fine. The point was to prove that there was another factor in the defendant’s detestation of the victim.

As expected, however, Mikoshiba cut in. “Your honor. That right now was an eminently leading question. The prosecution is pressuring the defendant into offering up a black-or-white answer.”

“Acknowledged. The prosecution must modify the question.”

I’m done, your honor
—it was when Misaki was about to end his questioning.

“… Yes, I thought so.”

He turned toward the faint voice to find that Akiko had raised her face a little.

“I found him annoying. I didn’t hate him, but every day, remembering the huge debt, I felt like running away. Even when they came to try to collect it, my husband just stayed in his room and I was the one who had to deal with them. He must have heard our voices, but he never did come out.”

Misaki almost broke into a little dance. The woman had dug her own grave. “Ah, so you did feel something akin to anger.”

“I think any normal wife would have.”

When Misaki looked in Mikoshiba’s direction, even that Noh mask was twisted into a grimace. It was as if an unexploded bomb he’d taken for a dud had blown up in his face.

How flustered he must be under his mask
.

“I have no more questions for the witness.”

The atmosphere in the courtroom made it clear: the prosecution still enjoyed an overwhelming advantage. The defendant was imploding of her own accord. For the side demanding punishment, nothing was more delectable.

“Your honor. I would like to cross-examine the prosecution’s witness.”

“Proceed.”

Mikoshiba didn’t look shaken in the least by the time he stood up. Misaki had to admit the guy was tough.

“Witness, how many years have you been at your current job?”

“Over ten years.”

“You must have come across various types of clients, then.”

“Yes, of course. There are as many different types of clients as there are clients. And the ways to deal with them vary no less.”

“Now, what the defendant talked about, that is, when you visited the Tsuda residence—she was the one you spoke to on every such occasion?”

“Yes, that is right. I visited them often after we were short of collateral, but never could meet the client.”

“Did you always visit at the same hour?”

“No. Sometimes I visited their house alongside other cases, so it wasn’t always the same time of day. First of all, the client always being home is rare. I’d visit from anywhere between nine in the morning to nine at night.”

“Yet the defendant worked part-time. She should have been away at work during the day. Even so, it was always the defendant that you spoke to?”

“Ah, no …” Aoyagi, who had replied unhesitatingly so far, suddenly
faltered.

Apparently convinced about something, Mikoshiba stepped toward Aoyagi and demanded, “What’s the matter? Was it the defendant every time?”

“It wasn’t every time. When I went in the evening, sometimes she wasn’t back home yet.”

“Who met you in that case?”

“The elder daughter,” Aoyagi replied, his voice weirdly subdued. His expression, which had been so calm despite being in a courtroom, now looked troubled.

Misaki was suddenly consumed by anxiety. Why this hesitation on the part of a debt-collection machine that frequented the Tsuda residence simply on company orders?

“The elder daughter would answer the door and tell me that her father wasn’t home. But I could see the light leaking from his room. Fully aware of this, okay, the daughter would bow and say, ‘Sorry, p-please leave for today.’ ” His own voice had trembled toward the end, his mask as a debt servicer dropping at that moment.

“How did you feel about that?”

“It angered me. I shouldn’t use such words about a client, but I couldn’t forgive him as a person.”

“What couldn’t you forgive?”

“His using his daughter as a shield to cope with a debt collector. I-I’m a father, too, so I thought he was all the more despicable.”

“Despicable, huh?”

“Well, some folks … some of our clients, I should say, are like that. Both parents are home, and yet they make their kids, very young kids, answer the door or phone. We debt servicers are human, too. How do you even tell children who’re lying that their parents aren’t home to go get their parents, let alone that it concerns money? That’s why these parents use their children as a shield. Wh-What sort of parent does that?”

The courtroom fell silent.

“Shingo Tsuda was one such person. I never actually met him, so he seemed all the more horrible to me.”

“I conclude my cross-examination.”

Ouch
, Misaki winced.

This guy Mikoshiba—he’d only met Aoyagi in the courtroom today but had grasped the witness’s personality on the fly and fogged up the picture of Akiko that Misaki had just painted. Coming from a creditor whose interests weren’t aligned with the defendant, the testimony seemed all the more authentic. Mikoshiba probably had acquaintances engaged in collection and knew of debtors who used children as shields, but even so, he had riposted so nimbly. Was it innate talent, or had he acquired it during his legal apprenticeship?

I really mustn’t underestimate him
.

Misaki hastily raised his hand. “Your honor!”

“Yes, prosecutor.”

Facing the judges’ bench and Sanjo, Misaki kept his adversary in sight, but Mikoshiba’s profile was still devoid of emotion. “The statement made by the witness right now referred to the character of the victim, but it is doubtful that it serves as contrary evidence. It does not prove the absence of a motive as claimed by the defense, and on the contrary, provides supporting evidence of a motive.”

Sanjo nodded slightly.
Good, he agrees
.

“The testimony puts in relief an aspect of the victim that no father or husband could be proud of, but also supplements the defendant’s motive for killing the victim. And needless to say, that a father may have been lacking in affection or as a provider does not excuse his murder.” Misaki’s voice resonanted in the courtroom. “The defendant’s circumstances may be worthy of sympathy, but consultation services for domestic violence, or so-called DV, have been set up at police departments and municipal governments across the country. Even if violence had been the issue, knocking on these services’ doors would have solved the problem. She could have run away or chased him out. If we were to exonerate the accused’s deed as legitimate self-defense, we
would be saying that purging the world of its many violent husbands in such a manner is perfectly acceptable to us. The defense is trying various arguments regarding the motive for murder, but the accused’s petulant deed must not be affirmed. What is to be judged in this courtroom are not her motives, but her actions.”

When the argument got complicated, it was time to harken back to basic principles. This was true vis-à-vis Sanjo, a veteran judge, but such a cordon doubled as a precaution against Mikoshiba’s surprise attacks.

Sanjo, who seemed to understand Misaki’s intent without exchanging a word with him, looked down at Mikoshiba from the bench. “Defense. Do you have any new evidence to submit?”

I’m glad you said that
.

Sanjo’s demand was like a call in a card game: show your hand, or forfeit the match.

But unruffled by the ultimatum, Mikoshiba swiftly rose and said, “I will, at the next session.”

Sanjo’s face seemed to stiffen for a moment. No, Misaki’s own must have as well.

Was the guy still hiding something, or was he just bluffing? At any rate, Mikoshiba’s unwillingness to graciously concede defeat almost drew a sigh out of Misaki.

But his mood perked up right away. In this latest hearing, the prosecution had held on to its advantage. While Mikoshiba’s ripostes were a thing to behold, he was on the defensive, and his guard was fraying. Arguably, the overall outcome was already decided.

“The next session will be held in two weeks’ time. This court is adjourned.”

Leaving the courtroom, Misaki went down to the basement cafeteria because it was close to noon.

The Tokyo High Court’s basement was host to three eateries: Cafeteria One, Darlington Hall, and a soba noodle shop. Cafeteria
One, in particular, was popular not just among court people but the staff of other government bureaus, who came all the way here for its affordable menu.

It must have been one of the cafeteria’s rare slow days because there was nobody at the meal ticket counter. Misaki purchased a stub for Set Menu E, entered, and regretted his decision. There hadn’t been a line at the counter because the cafeteria was already full.

Still, when he looked around, there was a vacant seat at a table near a wall. Misaki approached it at a quick pace, then regretted his decision again. In front of the vacant seat sat Mikoshiba.

No law prohibited a prosecutor from chowing down with a defense attorney on the same case, but Misaki hardly relished the idea. When he rushed to turn away, however, their eyes met.

Now that they had, turning his back would seem like retreat. It was odious, but he had to take the seat.

“May I?” asked Misaki, showing some manners as the latecomer. Mikoshiba simply gave a light nod.

Misaki sat right across Mikoshiba, who he noticed was having the Sashimi Set. The prosecutor’s mindset shifted when he saw this. Rather than silently shovel food to his mouth, he might as well take advantage of the opportunity and observe the hell out of the fellow.

“The Sashimi Set at Cafeteria One. I’d heard that you were living large, but you lunch quite modestly.”

Mikoshiba glanced at him and said, “I have another case at the district court afterwards.”

So leaving the complex would be a waste of time? “I see. I’m glad your business is thriving.”

“That’s true for both of us.”

“Hm, we don’t get paid for individual cases like defense attorneys do.”

“Beats not knowing what to do with all your free time.”

“Because civil servants will be up to no good if they have too much time on their hands?”

“I’ll leave that to your imagination,” Mikoshiba muttered and started to move his chopsticks again. He seemed to be just masticating rather than tasting the food.

“I’d never know from watching you that the Sashimi Set here is supposed to be pretty delicious.”

“Forget delicious. It all ends up the same, as shit.”

“Did you have to be so blunt?”

It certainly wasn’t something you said during mealtime, and Misaki couldn’t help but mind the other guests. He wondered if it was the man’s twisted sense of humor, but his face was as calm as ever. He apparently hadn’t meant it as a joke.

“Do you wear that blank expression even while you’re eating? No joy, ever, in your life?”

“Joy?”

“Sitting around a table with loved ones, chatting about the day’s events as you dine. Isn’t that what a meal should be, a quotidian joy?”

“Being stuck with your family isn’t always a recipe for joy. Think of the Tsuda family.”

“That’s …” Misaki trailed off. According to the defendant’s confession, the Tsudas surely hadn’t been getting along in the last few years.

“With or without your joy, food travels down the throat. Children still grow.”

“Are you talking about the Tsuda daughters?”

“Their father was stabbed to death, and their mother is in custody as the culprit. There are only the sisters in the house, but they’re getting by. ‘Children grow with or without parents,’ as they say.”

“You’ve met the sisters?”

“I have.”

“What did you talk about?”

“As you know, we have a duty to ensure confidentiality.”

Had he obtained his new proof from conversing with the sisters? Misaki considered the possibility, but he knew he wouldn’t be getting
anything out of Mikoshiba.

At this late date, Misaki gnashed his teeth at the local precinct’s lax initial investigation. Obtaining testimony from the father-in-law, an eyewitness, was par for the course, but they had failed to acquire any useful information from the two daughters. When the killing occurred, both girls were supposedly asleep. Perhaps they couldn’t offer decent testimonies, but it was still a feeble effort.

“You make it sound like you grew up having joyless meals,” Misaki threw out, intrigued about Mikoshiba’s past.

There was no reply. Misaki assumed that the silence meant yes, but Mikoshiba suddenly looked up and said, “What about you?”

“Huh?”

“I heard that you lost your wife quite a while ago. Also that you haven’t been on speaking terms with your only son for some time. Unless you’re shelling out some dough for a mistress, your life can’t be replete with joy, either.”

Misaki felt as if his blood was coursing backwards, but he calmed himself. He really couldn’t let his guard down around this man.

Mikoshiba was going for psych-ops even here. Another marvelous riposte—countering as soon as his private life was being intruded on. Where on earth had he gotten that information?

Getting riled up meant walking straight into his trap.

Misaki started to count off numbers slowly in his head. One, two, three, four, five, six … A primitive method, but it helped. Contemplating a riposte of his own, he was about to open his month, but that was when Mikoshiba’s expression shifted.

“Sorry about that.”

Misaki doubted his ears at the sincere tone.

“This wasn’t the time for it. If possible, please forget what I said.”

“… So unexpectedly gracious.”

“I try to avoid ringside fights. It’s a waste of time and energy.”

“Ringside fights?”

“I already have many enemies, but that doesn’t mean I want more,”
murmured Mikoshiba, uncannily apologetic.

“I’m your enemy either way, though.”

“Then only in court, please.”

Misaki recalled why Mikoshiba had been hospitalized. He’d been knifed by the counterparty of some past case. Had he taken it to heart? Or was he underhandedly warning Misaki not to mix public and private affairs?

“You mean, your stab wound still smarts,” Misaki ventured.