Nocturne of Remembrance (6 page)

“Do you understand how difficult this will be?”

“Of course I do. That is why I am asking you to defend me. Rather than a public attorney.”

Mikoshiba tried to observe Akiko once again. She certainly couldn’t hide the wear and tear that came from age, but even allowing for that, she was hardly in the attractive category. Her voice had a coarse timber, and the tips of her fingernails, which didn’t seem to see much care, were filthy. Just the back of her hands hinted at how rough and red they were. Pulled back into a bun, her hair was full of dandruff. She didn’t appear to have any qualms about the selfishness of her request, and probably didn’t think it was selfish to begin with. Only, it was hard to reconcile her words with a woman who was unremarkable no matter how you looked at her.

The world had no shortage of people who forgot who they were: women with middling incomes who bought up all the brand-name goods in sight and declared bankruptcy; men with nominal driving experience
who coveted Ferraris and committed crimes to get their hands on one; middle-aged men with no standout features other than their gray hair and pot bellies dreaming of marrying beauties; junior-high girls, no doubt visitors from a world without mirrors, who believed they could appear together with famous stars and signed up with talent agencies. Meetings of victims of mass swindling schemes were rife with such types.

Yet Akiko didn’t seem like one of those people. It was hard to say just how she differed, but having met many such fools, Mikoshiba didn’t think she was merely clueless about herself. Those people didn’t know how high they really stood, but at least Akiko seemed to be seeing her real image.

In a corner of his head, the term “psychiatric examination” arose. Recently, the more incompetent lawyers always wanted to do one, and Mikoshiba had ignored the idea at first. But perhaps in this case it might be an effective measure.

“We might just have you take various exams.”

He said this to dig a bit more, but there was no response from Akiko. He took this to mean that he had her approval.

“I’ll come again.”

The objective was to get her sentence reduced. The way to do that was to line up circumstances that would incur sympathy for the defendant.

With those gauges set, the next thing to do was to act. Mikoshiba bid a hasty farewell and left the visitation room.

*

Once a lawyer resigned from a case, he no longer had any relationship whatsoever to a former client. Accordingly, Deputy Chief Prosecutor Misaki meeting with the accused’s previous attorney posed no problem. If there was any, it was that Misaki personally disliked the man.

Given their respective positions, the interests of prosecutors and
lawyers were usually at odds. That was only in court, however, and once they took one step outside, they were inhabitants of the same legal world. Misaki disliked Horai solely because of the latter’s personal qualities.

“Prosecutor Misaki, to what do I owe this special occasion?”

A servile smile appeared on his face as soon as he saw Misaki’s, but it was obviously forced. Even as a formality, it wanted for a little more acting ability, but it was the most welcoming that the man could be.

He added, “Well, I really was a nuisance for the prosecutor in charge of the Akiko Tsuda case the other day.”

“Don’t mention it …”

“In the end, my defense was of no use at all.”

Misaki wondered why Horai was even feigning ignorance. During the trial, hadn’t the guy accepted the prosecution’s claims almost exactly as stated and not expressed any objection or doubt? Had he done anything other than plead the jury for a lenient verdict? That wasn’t defending the client at all. Even the court records revealed how little enthusiasm he had put into the case.

Soon, Horai went into a discourse criticizing the leadership of the Tokyo Bar Association. Misaki was taken aback once again. Maybe it was supposed to be welcoming, too, but if badmouthing the association, the prosecution’s opponents, was an attempt to curry favor, Horai didn’t realize that it was having the opposite effect on Misaki.

“The bar association is actually turning into a gerontocracy,” the lawyer kept up in his grating voice, unable to read his visitor’s discomfort. Misaki knew each of the leaders that Horai mentioned, but they were paragons compared to the scum sitting in front of him. Misaki had seen articles in the TBA bulletin by them regarding civil liberties, morals, and the role of lawyers which, despite their differences in position, he could empathize with.

“Thank you for your lofty opinions, but may we get to the issue at hand?” interrupted Misaki, who felt no obligation to put up with
the guy’s empty attempts to sell himself. He cut to the chase: “I’m here today regarding that Akiko Tsuda case.”

“Oh. You, too.”

“Me, too?”

“Yes. But why would the Tokyo District Deputy Chief Prosecutor want to discuss it? You should know the essentials of the first judgment. At this late point, what could you possibly need to ask me?”

“Why did you resign as her defense lawyer? No, more specifically, why did you switch with Attorney Mikoshiba? I want to know your reasons.”

For a moment, there was no answer. Horai looked at the prosecutor as if he was evaluating him and said, “Does that have anything to do with the case, or rather, with the deputy chief prosecutor?”

His tone had completely changed and sounded almost obstinate, but Misaki became more intrigued.

“Horai-sensei, did you introduce him? Your notification of resignation and his notification of appointment have the same date. Was there some kind of mutual understanding between you two? If you did not have the prior approval of your client Akiko Tsuda, you could not have done that.”

As a matter of fact, however, a client who could only follow the defense’s instructions had no choice in the matter. Upon being told that the lawyer would change, she must have had to meekly sign the appointment notification. The outcome of Horai and Mikoshiba’s negotiations was still the gist of it.

“Excuse me, but that matter comes under the confidentiality clause …”

“Your reason for resigning is all I’m asking about.”

“It does.”

A bit of an emotional swing was audible. Maybe he needed to be shaken up a bit more. Misaki declared, “The treatment of confidential information is an important part of the Attorneys-at-Law Act. I believe it is covered in Article 23. However, it contains a proviso that
confidentiality does not apply where another regulation is in question. In other words, if the reason for resigning is related to some other case, then you’re exempted of the confidentiality requirement. As a prosecutor, I need to thoroughly investigate anything that doesn’t seem right, particularly for cases that are appealed.”

Horai’s eyes suddenly began swimming around. Client confidentiality was probably nothing more than an excuse. No lawyer who insisted on it would put up a miserable defense in court like Horai had done.

“And the thing with people is that we become attached to secrets that we’ve uncovered on our own. We develop a sadistic interest in the person who is doing the hiding. But not so if the person in question acknowledges everything beforehand—in fact, we even feel an affinity for that person.”

This was a come-on that Misaki used often with suspects when investigating a case. But it wasn’t just effective with them; the lawyer in front of him was already rushing to fess up.

And indeed, Horai buckled. “I think that I can cooperate with you on the part that does not impact client confidentiality.”

“I would greatly appreciate that. Namely?”

“The resignation didn’t come from my side or Akiko Tsuda’s. If anything, Mikoshiba-sensei strongly requested it.”

“He strongly requested it?”

“Yes. Actually, I have an unmanageable number of other cases on my plate, and even putting aside how passionately he was coming on, it felt like a godsend that he was bringing the matter up.”

“Did Mikoshiba-sensei give any reason why?”

“No, he wasn’t clear on that point. But for sure, he was very attached to this case.”

While they talked, Misaki studied Horai’s eyes. The man had seemed ready to sing, but it appeared that he wasn’t revealing everything he knew. Putting aside his capabilities as a defense attorney, Horai was cut out to be a lawyer for at least his lying ways, Misaki
noted.

“I accepted Mikoshiba-sensei’s request, conveyed words to that effect to Akiko Tsuda, got her approval, and immediately processed it.”

“What was Akiko Tsuda’s response?”

“She seemed surprised at first when I told her, but she agreed as soon as I explained Mikoshiba-sensei’s enthusiasm.”

Misaki thought this part was counterfeit, too. The lawyer who’d held her fate in his hands was suddenly trying to get out of it midway. Since it wasn’t something that she’d requested herself, she should have been anxious about his reason for resigning and the new lawyer’s character and record. If she consented right on the spot, it was because Horai forcibly convinced her or had instilled doubts in her about his ability to defend her.

“What do you, Horai-sensei, think is the reason for Attorney Mikoshiba’s attachment to the case?”

“Well, I really don’t know … I did explain to him that the defendant’s family isn’t wealthy.”

“Then how did you come to be her lawyer? Don’t tell me she was a prior acquaintance?”

“That is not exactly correct, but not far off the mark. To tell you the truth, I have some acquaintance with the victim’s father.”

“Oh. Not the accused but her father-in-law?”

“Yes. The victim’s father, Yozo Tsuda. He’s a district welfare officer. Residents that have loan problems bring their problems to him, and he resolves them by introducing the debtors to my office. I got involved in the case out of respect for our ties.”

“By what route did Yozo first become acquainted with you, Horai-sensei? Was that, too, through someone’s introduction?”

“No. He saw our website and contacted us. Back then, I personally attended …”

Horai suddenly broke off what he was saying. For an instant there was a twitch on his face, but he was still composed enough to banish it immediately.

Misaki could easily imagine, though, the rest of the sentence. All of Horai’s debt-settlement work, from the opening of each case to the negotiation with the lenders, was left entirely to his clerks. As the man sat flopped into his chair and counted money all day long, his skills as a lawyer must have withered away. Misaki almost laughed sarcastically, as he might at a tongue-twisted comedian, but when he thought it out that far, he realized his opponent’s
modus operandi
.

Mikoshiba had threatened Horai with charges of unprofessional conduct. That was something that the foul-playing fellow was likely to try. In the meantime, Horai had little to gain from defending the case. Misaki now clearly understood why Horai had resigned without any hesitation.

But this assumption only aggravated the initial enigma. What merit did Mikoshiba see in the case to go so far as to threaten another lawyer to get it? Given that the murder victim, Shingo, wasn’t wealthy, was there some possibility that his father had something hidden away?

“What is Yozo Tsuda’s personal history?”

“I heard that he was an elementary school teacher.”

Then it wasn’t possible. You couldn’t maintain your assets or stature after retiring unless you’d been one of the parasites at the central government agencies.

“Mikoshiba-sensei said that he had a personal interest in the case. It definitely garnered public attention, but the accused is simply seen as the baddie. I don’t think that defending someone like that has much advertising value.”

It was no longer in his hands so he was talking easily about it, but Horai was declaring that there was no point in touching cases that didn’t offer hefty fees or good advertising value. The man was so rotten that it was almost refreshing.

In which case, Mikoshiba’s move seemed all the more uncanny. Misaki was well aware from their first match that his horribly logical adversary wouldn’t take on a case on a whim. Furthermore, someone who enjoyed the absolute confidence of shady sorts wouldn’t seek the
modest advertising effect of being in the local news section at this point in his career.

“The sentence was sixteen years imprisonment, just as the prosecutor requested. It was, so to speak, a total victory for the prosecution. I looked over the sentence that was handed down, but there was nothing at all that seemed to have been overlooked or distorted. What was the real reason that you deemed the punishment excessive and appealed nonetheless?”

“It was just a persistent request by the client. Frankly speaking, I, myself, thought it was useless.”

“So when you handed over the case, you didn’t discuss courtroom tactics?”

“Not at all. I was only asked by Mikoshiba-sensei to transfer the entire court records as soon as possible.”

Thinking a bit about this, it made sense. That schemer would not expound, certainly not to this fool, what tactics he would use in court.

The purpose of Misaki’s visit had been to resolve some uncertainties, but it was resulting in even deeper ones. The only thing that he managed to confirm was that Mikoshiba only requested the court records when the case was turned over to him. In other words, there was a possibility that something lurking in them was important for his court tactics.

Indeed, it was necessary to go over them thoroughly once more. If they had the same weapon at their disposal, then uncovering its usefulness early on promised an advantage.

“I understand the circumstances. Thank you for your cooperation.”

With that brief remark, and with a sidelong look at Horai, who seemed to want to say something, Misaki left the office.

*

When she returned from the meeting room to her one-person cell,
Akiko, who had been enduring the urge to go, ran to the toilet. There was one in the back of the six-foot-square space, but it only had a waist-high partition to hide herself behind while she excreted. From the window in the door, she was in full view with not a fragment of privacy. After being there for several months, though, she was completely accustomed to that, too.