Nocturne of Remembrance (3 page)

But they couldn’t uncover any physical evidence pointing to Mikoshiba. Above all, the accused, who would have witnessed the whole scene from start to finish, expressed an intention to completely deny the charges and fight them, which in effect also negated Mikoshiba’s complicity.

Also, even if the defendant admitted to the charges, it still couldn’t be proven that Mikoshiba had abandoned the corpse. Naturally, he counted on this, but it was only after he regained consciousness that he remembered; it hadn’t even been on his mind when the previous hearing had concluded.

“Well, it took all the prosecution’s efforts to overturn the claims of the accused, and the reality is that they just weren’t able to get around
to you.”

And so Mikoshiba’s deed still hadn’t been prosecuted.

“We cannot put doors on people’s mouths, though, and rumors spread quickly around the Bar Association. But if they want to disqualify you as an attorney on account of this, there are plenty of others that should have been expelled before you. That is probably the real reason why the members were afraid to raise their hands in support of the claim against you.”

“No, I don’t think that was it.”

“Really? Then what was it?”

“There is no one in that bunch with the backbone to make an enemy of Tanizaki-sensei.”

Tanizaki laughed heartily again. “That’s overestimating my value. Who would be afraid of an old man whose face is turning half black with senile plaque?”

“Excuse me, sir, but your humility sounds a bit put-on.”

Hearing such advice, Tanizaki looked at Mikoshiba pleasantly. “Then let me be frank, and precise about it to boot. There is no one in the Tokyo Bar Association with the backbone to make an enemy of me except for you, Mikoshiba-sensei.”

“Now that is really an overestimation. I don’t have an antiestablishment bone in me. It’s just that I’m not used to the daily conduct of the Bar Association. I’m like the delinquent who’s reluctant to show up for homeroom period.”

Tanizaki spat out, “Homeroom? It’s a bit odd to call it that. But you’re right. It’s not only limited to Tokyo, all of the bar associations have become homerooms for grownups. No one says what they really think. They think that they will be indulged if they just espouse their public positions and idealistic arguments. They impertinently go on about freedom and justice. But the bottom line is that they just love power and profit. And when their self-preservation is at stake, they think nothing of what is in the best interest of their clients.” Then, changing his tone, he said, “A moment ago you said ‘delinquent.’ The
word has a nice ring to it. Actually, Mikoshiba-sensei, that’s precisely what I want to talk to you about. Since I’m a delinquent too, how about joining up with me.”

“Excuse me, sensei. But I don’t exactly follow you.”

“When I was young I was called a delinquent lawyer. That is why I get along well with you. I’ll get right to the point. I want you to run in the bar association’s next presidential election as the Liberty Conference faction’s candidate.”

“But, sir. I have already said no to that.”

“This time I’m serious. The more we leave that ‘homeroom’ bunch to their own, the more and more rotten they’ll become. The situation will never turn around unless it’s dug up from the roots. And only a delinquent like you can do that.” Tanizaki looked composed, but his eyes were tinged hot to the bottom as he gazed fixedly at Mikoshiba.

“If I may ask … Why are you so supportive of me, sensei?”

“Hmm. For sure, it is because I am unconventional in various ways. A person who breaks up the status quo is always the one who deviates from the established rules.”

“Maybe it won’t be just breaking up the status quo, but bombing it to pieces.”

“Then better to destroy it than to let that hodgepodge of connivers continue to get worse.”

Tanizaki had to be really fed up with the Tokyo Bar Association, and probably highly valued Mikoshiba as an aloof nonconformist. Despite Tanizaki’s inclination to take much in stride, he would no doubt not be proposing this if he knew that he was addressing a literal outlaw.

However, it was not necessary for Mikoshiba to go out of his way to clarify his own origins. At the moment it was a good idea to just be evasive like the last time.

“May I think about it for a while, sensei?”

“Why, of course. The election is next April. There is plenty of time.”

“Please don’t get your hopes up, though, sensei … Good bye, sir.”

He bid farewell and was about to leave the meeting room when a voice from behind told him to wait.

He turned around to see the still-seated Tanizaki staring at him.

“To make sure there is no misunderstanding here, let me say that I don’t think that you are simply rash. And I don’t think that you are so upright and clean-handed. Because I know what you did in your boyhood.”

For a moment, Mikoshiba stopped breathing.

“Aha. Before overestimating me, did you misjudge me? Do you think that I would support you this much without looking into your past? Don’t worry, and thank our nation’s lenient juvenile law. I am not the type to reveal such a thing to anyone.”

“… Now I am even more puzzled. Knowing my past, why would you want to make me your steed, sir?”

“To the contrary, it’s precisely because I know your past that I want to get my hands on you.” Tanizaki laughed one last time. “People like you fascinate me.”

—
2
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Mikoshiba next visited an office building that stood in a prime location in Minami Aoyama.

The seventeen-floor, futuristic building was covered in glass all the way. The place he was visiting occupied the entire fourteenth to sixteenth floors.

On the door of the fourteenth-floor office was a florid gold-colored sign that said “HORAI Law Office.”

When Mikoshiba gave his name to the receptionist, who could have served in the same capacity at a major corporation and who probably did not know the first thing about legal documents, he was led to a room on the sixteenth floor.

After waiting for a considerable time, the person he wanted to see finally appeared.

“Oh, sorry to have kept you waiting.”

Kaneto Horai had a business smile pasted on his face. His attitude was precisely that of a salesman. Even so, his eyes were not laughing, so he would catch barely any customers with his smile if he went out hunting for clients.

“I heard that you just got discharged from the hospital the other day. Are you better already?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“In the hospital for three months. As I recall, you’re the only lawyer at your firm, so your absence must have been pretty taxing.”

Implicitly, Horai seemed to be boasting about the size of his own office. The HORAI law firm was a registered corporation. In addition to this Minami Aoyama location, it had branches in Osaka and Fukuoka, as well as one in Hokkaido. Horai, himself, had the title of representative. Under him he had two attorneys and one hundred forty law clerks and office workers. While Mikoshiba had never seen it, reportedly there was one whole floor where over a hundred people were crammed in earning income for the firm, much like at a large company’s call center. Rather than a law office, it was better to say this was a complete business entity in itself.

Overpayment refund claims by lawyers and judicial scriveners had become a booming business in the past few years, and an increasing number of lawyers suddenly got rich on the huge fees and other compensation they received. They all expanded their offices, but eventually the boom came to an end. It became evident that with the pie itself being limited, these lawyers’ capital would be depleted if a war over the spoils continued, which Mikoshiba expected and was watching for with much interest. How many lawyers would end up out in the cold as a result, and how many female law clerks would end up working nights in bars and cabarets? Already the signs were there, and some lawyers now had annual incomes of only three to four million yen—roughly one third of an American six-figure salary. Not many people are likely to go after markets where there is no money. Sooner or later,
a glacial period would be visiting this business, too.

“During your absence, Kume was elected the new chairman. But, frankly speaking, I think he is too old-school. And in the next election, I want to challenge him with a new circle of friends. At that time, please support us, Mikoshiba-sensei.”

Horai had published know-how books for debt consolidation, his specialty, and in recent years had appeared on TV talk shows. There was no mistake that he was a successful lawyer in the public eye, but apparently money alone wasn’t sufficient for him. In this year’s election for chairman of the Bar Association, he had run with disastrous consequences, finishing at the very bottom. Nevertheless, he had added to his business cards the line “Tokyo Bar Association Chairman Candidate,” his thirst for honor blooming into a halo of ridiculousness.

Mikoshiba was tempted to tell this guy what he was requested a little while ago by Tanizaki. For sure, it would have made him very surprised and flustered, after which he would probably ask Mikoshiba to butt out right away or to join his camp. In any event, while it was pleasant just to imagine how panicky it might make Horai, Mikoshiba stopped thinking about it because he was visiting for a different purpose.

“Anyway, I was surprised when I suddenly heard from you. What’s on your mind?”

Mikoshiba took a bundle of documents from his briefcase. It was the report that he had checked that morning to be sure that nothing was missing.

“If you read it, you should be able to understand the objective of my visit.”

Horai took the report with a skeptical face, but the moment he saw the title on the front page, he was wide-eyed:

“HORAI LAW FIRM DEBT CONSOLIDATION INCIDENT REPORT”

The smile disappeared from his face to be replaced by a look of astonishment.

Now they were talking. Watching the wrinkles between Horai’s eyebrows deepening with every page, Mikoshiba gloated: prey being forced into a blind alley and trembling, such a rare delight.

“And what is this supposed to mean?”

Before even getting to the final page, Horai looked up. His face was already spotted with anxiety and rage.

“Other than its conclusions, nothing much else. The report suggests that the business being done in your office conflicts with the provisions of the JFBA”—the Japan Federation of Bar Associations.

Mikoshiba crossed his legs and slouched arrogantly, certain that Horai would feel both annoyed and intimidated by his posture.

“I am not doing anything that is against the law.”

“Horai-sensei, that is a given because you are a specialist in debt consolidation. However, even if what you are doing is legal, how do you think the JFBA will see it? I don’t think I have to explain that according to the JFBA provisions the first condition in debt consolidation cases is that lawyers directly interview their clients.”

In fact, these requirements were listed prominently at the beginning of Article 3 of the JFBA provisions that had gone into effect on April 1, 2011.

“But your company has been handling an average of more than two hundred clients a day. Horai-sensei, including you in the capacity of president and representative, your firm has three lawyers. Even according to simple arithmetic, each of you would be interviewing sixty-seven such clients every day. However, you each only work six hours a day, from 11 a.m. until 5 p.m. Even if, for argument’s sake, you skip lunch, that comes out to only five minutes per client. How superhuman of you all to be able to discern a client’s living conditions, debt situation, family structure, and assets in five minutes.”

“Before meeting them, we give them a bulleted form which has all these questions. Calling it an ‘assembly-line setup’ might give the wrong expression, but that way, it doesn’t take long to interview them.”

Mikoshiba had expected him to say some such thing, but it was
still a pretty lame excuse.

“Indeed, such a complete and systematic setup is quite admirable. But in that case, what about this? For example, on page 16 of the report is the actual testimony of clients that requested debt-consolidation assistance from your firm. The man in Case 7 is a resident of Hiroshima. The woman in Case 11 lives in Akita. But both of them supposedly met with you, Horai-sensei, on the same day. Yet, neither came to Tokyo. By some chance, were these both done over the phone? I think that telephone counseling is contrary to the fundamental principle that these should be face-to-face interviews.”

“The Hiroshima case was a face-to-face interview entrusted to the Osaka branch office. And the Akita case to the Hokkaido office.”

“Are you referring to the local cooperation lawyers in those areas? Well, to have them do this cumbersome paperwork for a fee of only 20,000 yen couldn’t be more convenient. Unfortunately, though, Otsuki-sensei of your Osaka branch had a bar association meeting and was out of office that entire day. And the Hokkaido branch’s Yagi-sensei was in court and also out all that day.”

Horai groaned and then shut his mouth.

Yoko excelled at ferreting out such facts. These regional cooperation lawyers that Horai tasked to handle distant clients didn’t have many cases themselves, so they bought Horai’s snow job. In such one-lawyer, one-clerk offices, however, schedule management was sometimes not good, and the offices were often left unmanned.

The findings of the report showed the non-execution of face-to-face interviews. It was clear that Horai’s firm was violating this point of the JFBA provisions. And for Horai, who was seeking the chairmanship of the Tokyo Bar Association, word of this getting out would be a fatal blunder.

“Page 11 of the report has transcriptions of consultations with various money-lenders. According to that, it seems that all of the negotiation to settle your clients’ debt for a lower amount than they owed has been conducted by your clerks. There is not even one case that was
negotiated directly by a Horai lawyer.”

“The office personnel are instructed in advance about the outward amount of money that can be agreed to. They are nothing more than messengers.”