Nocturne of Remembrance (9 page)

Closing the documents, Mikoshiba just wrinkled his brow and stared at the ceiling.

The judgment was relatively concise because the defense had raised few objections and almost no points had been at issue. In court, everything hinged on how you fought those points. In other words, if there were none, there was no way to fight. Accordingly, to overturn the decision Mikoshiba had to start by discovering some points of contention.

What to do—just as he sank deeply in his chair to contemplate the matter, the door he’d asked not be opened suddenly did.

“Hey, didn’t I tell you not to let anyone …”

When he saw who it was, Mikoshiba was left speechless.

Standing there was a little girl about three feet tall. His office, full of filing cabinets and legal reference books, had an inorganic feel on purpose, and nothing could have felt more out of place. He glared at
the girl suspiciously. She, too, stared at him blankly.

Mikoshiba wanted to inquire who she was, but somehow the words didn’t come out. After thinking about it, he realized why. He barely ever conversed with children of that age.

Finally he asked, “Where did you come from?”

The little girl pointed at the door.

“No. That’s not what I am asking.”

No sooner than he regretted his interrogatory tone, Yoko came hurriedly into the office. “Ah, I knew she was in here! I’m sorry, I was in the middle of answering the phone when she suddenly disappeared.”

“I told you not to allow anyone to come in here.”

“Except unusual visitors, didn’t you say?”

Oh my
, thought Mikoshiba. Yoko rarely answered him with a rebuttal. But she paid no attention whatsoever to his reaction and bent down to the level of the girl’s eyes.

“Did you get lost, young lady?”

The girl shook her head.

“What is your name and how old are you?”

“Rinko Tsuda. I’m six.”

“Rinko Tsuda?!” exclaimed Mikoshiba.

The name was familiar. The client Akiko Tsuda’s younger daughter—the girl was the right age, too.

“Who did you come here with?”

“No one.”

Rinko held out a piece of paper. When Mikoshiba examined it, it was his own business card.

“I asked many people on the way.”

The address of Mikoshiba’s office was printed in the lower-right corner of the card. She had relied on it to get here. He hadn’t met the client’s family, so Akiko must have passed the card along to them. Mikoshiba thought about it a bit, and was surprised. The nearest station from Taishido where the Tsuda family lived was Sangenjaya, and to get from there to his office in Toranomon required changing
trains twice even if she’d taken the metro.

Yoko, too, seemed to realize this and was duly impressed. “Wow, Rinko. You made it all the way here! But why did you come alone?”

“Because nobody would take me.” Rinko pouted slightly. “You are Mikoshiba-sensei, right?”

“… Yes, I am.”

“You’re the one who’s going to help Mommy, right?”

“Yes, that’s so.”

“Rinko wants to help, too.”

“I don’t need your help,” Mikoshiba turned her down flatly.

“Is that any way to talk to a little girl?”

“Big or little, I don’t need her help. One office clerk is enough. Send her home right now.”

“It’s already past six o’clock,” Yoko noted in a very businesslike tone. “Do you plan to send her back home alone?”

“What’s the idea?” Mikoshiba stood up momentarily, but imitating Yoko he bent down to the level of Rinko’s eyes. “This isn’t a game. Kids shouldn’t be butting in on grownup work.”

“Did you squat down just to threaten her?”

“I’m not threatening her. I’m just telling it like it is.”

“Telling it like it is to a little girl is plenty threatening.”

“Um.”

Mikoshiba and Yoko reflexively turned toward the out-of-place voice. Rinko didn’t seem the least bit phased by how they were reacting to her.

“When I asked Grandpa, he told me Mr. Attorney was going to do everything in Mommy’s place … Is it true?”

Mikoshiba was about to let out a laugh, but this gave him pause. To the extent that a lawyer was a client’s proxy, the interpretation wasn’t off the mark. Gallingly enough, he’d adopted such a view now and then in the past.

“So Mikoshiba-sensei will be like my mommy, right?”

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1
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“… Be like your mommy?”

When Mikoshiba parroted her words, Rinko confidently nodded.

“Listen to me. Your Grandpa meant regarding legal matters, not everyday things like making meals and taking care of you.”

“Rinko doesn’t understand difficult stuff.”

“Don’t be cute. I don’t have time to fool around with kids. Go home now before I really get mad,” Mikoshiba tried to shoo her away.

Yoko immediately reeled him in. “Like you aren’t already. Let’s contact her guardian at least.”

“What’s a guardian?” Rinko asked curiously.

“It means your father and mo …” Yoko said before trailing off. Rinko’s father had been murdered, and her mother was in jail as the suspect. “… Right. Your grandfather.”

“Grandpa’s not there today. Neighborhood Association meeting.”

“Isn’t anyone at home?”

“Big sis is, but she doesn’t feel good and is always in bed.”

That had to be their older daughter, Miyuki. Her being sick and bedridden was news to Mikoshiba.

“Your sister isn’t at your grandfather’s house?” asked Yoko.

“Nope. She doesn’t like Grandpa.”

“Sensei, she needs to be taken home,” Yoko said as if to hand the responsibility over to Mikoshiba. “If we send her home alone and there’s some unfortunate accident, you might be held accountable as her custodian.”

There was no way that Mikoshiba could be held legally accountable
as a custodian, but social norms were such that he would definitely incur blame. People already didn’t have the highest opinion of him, and giving them more ammunition was hardly a good idea.

“Fine, then. Take the kid home.”

“Uh, I’m sorry, but I have an appointment and Setagaya is in the exact opposite direction.”

Yoko sounded particularly apologetic, and perhaps the note of amusement in her voice was just Mikoshiba’s imagination.

She asked Rinko, “Did you tell your sister that you were coming here?”

“Yep. And I told Grandpa, too.”

Hearing this, Mikoshiba was somewhat impressed. For a child her age, she was prepared. Telling her sister back home and her grandfather where she was going, which was actually to a law office, mitigated their anxiety.

Even so, what kind of nerves did her grandfather have to let a six year old go to a strange place all on her own?

“As for me,” Mikoshiba said, “I have research to do for the trial and haven’t the time to take her home.”

“Rinko, why don’t you stay over then.”

At this, Mikoshiba immediately withdrew his assessment that the girl was prepared and barked, “Nonsense, if she could get here on her own, she can also go home on her own!”

It was too late when he realized that he’d overdone it. Rinko’s eyes suddenly filled with tears.

“Ahh … Rinko, don’t cry. Don’t cry,” Yoko said and hugged her just in time.

Sniffling, the girl pressed her face against Yoko.

“Yelling at a little girl! What are you thinking?”

Perhaps her maternal instinct had been aroused, and Yoko castigated Mikoshiba more harshly than he was used to. Why did women become different people whenever children were involved?

As Mikoshiba watched helplessly, Yoko patted Rinko’s head and
asked, “Do you know your Grandpa’s cell number?”

Still sniffling, Rinko took a small purse out of her pocket. From it she pulled out a piece of paper. “Here, Grandpa’s cell number,” she said.

“Whoa. You have his contact info right in your purse. Good girl!”

What sort of good girl came to such a place as this alone? But Mikoshiba kept the thought to himself.

Yoko took the piece of paper and promptly reached for the office phone. “Hello. Am I speaking to Mr. Yozo Tsuda? How do you do, sir? This is Kusakabe from the Mikoshiba Law Office. Actually, I am calling because your granddaughter Rinko has given us a visit … Yes … No, don’t worry about it. She’s such a good girl.” As she spoke Yoko sounded more and more like a guardian, to Mikoshiba’s bemusement. “No, it’s not a problem for us … I understand, sir. Goodbye.”

She’d hung up before he could tell her to wait a second.

“Sorry, sensei. It seems that Mr. Yozo Tsuda won’t be getting home until late at night. Could you take her home after you finish your overtime work?”

“You really think I’d agree to that ex-post-facto?”

“I’m not seeking an agreement, but rather a measure to guard against unfortunate accidents.”

“Unfortunate accidents, huh? We already have a disaster on hand.”

“If it’s such a disaster, then we need to keep the damage to a minimum.”

On this occasion, Yoko wasn’t backing down at all. If she meant to be giving him a taste of his own medicine for his usual domineering ways, he wished she’d choose a different time.

“I won’t finish today.”

“Why don’t you just stay over at the office, then? The couch in the reception area will make a good bed.”

“Are you telling me not to go back to my condo?”

“You want to take her back to your condo?”

For a brief moment he imagined the scene, and got the willies. “… 
Come to the office early tomorrow,” he said.

Yoko nodded with apparent satisfaction and exchanged smiles with Rinko.

Why did these creatures called women always band together at such times?

After Yoko left the office, he gave Rinko a blanket and shoved her into the reception area. The heating was on, so she probably wouldn’t freeze to death. At any rate, he wanted to shut her out of his sight and give his undivided attention to his paperwork.

Trying to find anything among the court records that could make allowances for the accused Akiko Tsuda proved very difficult. Because his predecessor had made no proactive effort to take extenuating circumstances into consideration, Mikoshiba could not find any positive factors in the documents the defense had submitted to the court. And in the ones submitted by the prosecution, it went without saying that the only impression imparted was that of a venomous woman.

Traditionally, Japanese courts, for better or worse, tended to put weight on written reports. Especially in the case of an appeal, the system paid attention to determining whether or not the previous court’s decision was legally correct and hardly took impressions into consideration.

As to whether the tendency had been ameliorated since the introduction of the quasi-jury system, the answer was no. Regarding points to which the accused had confessed, appeal trials proceeded as before with emphasis on the court records. The fact was that the quasi-jury system, implemented under the banner of avoiding divergence from public opinion, had the weakness of easily being led by public opinion. If newspaper reports planted the impression of a wicked criminal, then emotions more than reason were likely to impact the decision.

Mikoshiba, himself, did not think that his compatriots were particularly rational. It wasn’t a value judgment, but rather an issue of inclinations. A national character that heated up and cooled down easily wasn’t cut out for the modern court system that was based on logic,
but rather for a lynching. That was particularly true in a case like this one. In other words, when a first trial where the jury had received a bad impression of the accused was appealed to a higher court that mostly examined the written records, it was nearly impossible to overturn the verdict.

In short, to reduce the sentence from the first trial, it was necessary to dig up either some circumstance that could win considerable sympathy or a new fact relating to the sentence that had been overlooked in the first trial.

So, what to do?

As Mikoshiba sat deep in thought before the court records, the door to the reception area opened and Rinko peered in.

“What?”

“I’m hungry.”

“Grin and bear it.”

“No way. I haven’t had dinner.”

It was already clear from the previous round that Mikoshiba’s negotiating skills wouldn’t get anywhere with her. No, in the first place, he had no clue about how to talk to children.

“There are some instant noodles in the office kitchenette. Be my guest.”

He had said this flippantly, but Rinko marched in the direction that he had pointed. He was sure that she’d start bawling that she couldn’t find the instant noodles or didn’t know how to turn on the gas. But he didn’t hear any such ruckus from the kitchenette.

He left it at that and had gone back to poring over the documents when Rinko came back carrying a tray. On top were two steaming portions of instant noodles.

Rinko put one of them down at the edge of his desk and said, “This one is sensei’s.”

Mikoshiba couldn’t help but ask, “You made it yourself?”

“It was real easy, finding the instant noodles and also putting on the gas. That lady has things well organized.”

“You used to doing these kind of things?”

“My sister and I spend a lot of time by ourselves. We take turns making meals.”

So Rinko was as precocious as she sounded.

“You think I’ll enjoy eating this stuff? If I get hungry, I’ll just step out.”

“I went to the trouble to make it, so you have to,” she scolded him, and put her own cup down on the table.

She put the palms of her hands together, picked up her chopsticks, and said “Thank you for the meal” in an entirely natural manner that didn’t seem like an act put on for his sake. “Please eat it soon so they don’t get soggy,” she added.

Pressed into the mood, Mikoshiba, too, picked up his chopsticks.

“Sensei, you should say ‘thank you for the meal’ before eating.”

Mikoshiba was too tired of it all to get mad at her or to respond.

“You’re not a good boy, are you?”

“That’s for sure.”

Come to think of it, maybe because his family had eaten separately, he’d never put his hands together to show his appreciation. In that respect, Akiko Tsuda, who’d instilled in Rinko at least basic good manners, was giving her children a better upbringing than his own mother had managed.