The Devotion Of Suspect X (9 page)

“Ishigami…” Yukawa muttered to himself, then his eyes went wide behind his glasses. “Ishigami the Buddha!”

“The Buddha? Huh?”

Yukawa held up a hand, motioning for them to wait, then disappeared into the next room. Kusanagi and Kishitani exchanged curious glances.

The professor returned a moment later. He was carrying a black university folder in his hand. He opened it and pointed to a page. “This Ishigami?”

There were several photographs on the page, all of them young students. At the top of the page was the heading, “Masters of Science Received in the 38th Term.”

Yukawa was pointing to the picture of a chubby-faced graduate student. Unlike the students in the other photos, this fellow wasn’t smiling; his thin eyes merely stared straight ahead impassively. The name beneath the photo read “Tetsuya Ishigami.”

“Hey, that’s him,” Kishitani said. “He’s a lot younger here, but there’s no mistaking that look.”

Kusanagi covered the top of the man’s head with one finger and nodded. “Yeah. That’s the guy. Didn’t recognize him at first with all that hair. You know him?”

“Yes, but he wasn’t an upperclassman. We were the same year. The science department in those days split us up by major after the second year. I was in physics, and Ishigami was in math.” Yukawa closed the file.

“So that guy’s the same age as us, then? Hmph.”

“He always looked old for his years, even back then.” Yukawa grinned. Then a look of surprise came over his face. “A teacher? You said he teaches high school math?”

“Yeah, at a school near where he lives. And he coaches the judo club there.”

“That’s right. I’d heard he did judo from an early age. I think his grandfather ran a dojo, or something like that. At any rate, you’re sure he teaches at a high school?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“That’s unexpected, but I’ll take your word for it. I hadn’t heard anything, so I assumed he was buried in research at a private university somewhere … Huh. Ishigami teaching math in high school…” Yukawa’s voice trailed off as he gazed into his memory.

“So he was a hotshot in school, then?” Kishitani asked.

Yukawa sighed. “I don’t use the word
genius
lightly, but it fits him well. One of our professors said he was the kind of student you only see once every fifty or a hundred years. Even though we were in separate departments, stories about him made the rounds. He didn’t care for computers, so he would lock himself in the school lab, working out problems with paper and pencil all night. When you saw him, it was usually from the back while he sat hunched over a desk—that’s how he got the nickname ‘the Buddha.’ A term of respect, of course.”

Kusanagi nodded. It was odd to hear Yukawa talk about someone even more brilliant than himself. The detective had always thought of his friend as the genius, but he supposed that even when you were at the top, there was always something higher.

“But wouldn’t someone that gifted automatically get snatched up by a university?” Kishitani asked.

“Well, it takes all types, even at a university,” Yukawa mumbled, sounding uncharacteristically perplexed. Kusanagi didn’t imagine his friend had wasted much time worrying about how old acquaintances were faring in the world.

As if on cue, Yukawa asked, “How is he doing? Did he seem well?”

“I can’t say. He didn’t seem ill, at least. We talked to him for a bit, but he was hard to get a handle on. Maybe he just wasn’t very personable…”

“No man can know the mind of the Buddha,” Yukawa said with a wry chuckle.

“That’s just it. Normally, when detectives come calling, you expect people to be surprised, or a little flustered, or give some reaction at least, but it was as if he was carved out of stone. It was like he couldn’t be bothered to react to anything external.”

“He’s not interested in anything but math. Not that he’s without any charms, of course. He was a nice enough guy in his own way. Listen, could you tell me his address? I’d love to drop in on him when I get a slow day.”

“You, paying a social call? Now that’s unusual.”

Kusanagi took out his notebook and gave Yukawa the address of the apartment building where Yasuko Hanaoka lived. Yukawa wrote it down, seeming pleased at the unexpected connection. He didn’t mention the murder again.

At 6:28 P.M., Yasuko Hanaoka arrived home on her bicycle. Ishigami saw her from his apartment window. The desk in front of him was covered with a mountain of paper, each sheet filled with mathematical formulas. It was his custom to do battle with his formulas every evening after his return from school. He’d gotten out early today—no judo practice—but even so, he wasn’t making much progress. In fact, he hadn’t made much progress for several days now. He just sat in his room, listening for sounds next door, wondering when the detectives would come back.

They had come again the night before—the same two who had visited Ishigami’s apartment. He remembered the name Kusanagi from reading it off the senior officer’s badge.

Yasuko had told him they’d come to check her alibi at the movie theater, as expected. They’d asked if anything memorable had happened. If she had met anyone she knew on the way in, or way out, or even during the movie. Did she have the ticket stubs, by any chance? Did she buy anything in the theater? Did she have receipts? What had the movie been about, who had been the lead actor—?

As they hadn’t asked anything about the karaoke box, he assumed they’d called on that establishment already. Of course that part of the alibi checked out. Ishigami had chosen the place because he knew it would.

Yasuko said she had shown the detectives the ticket stubs, the receipt for the program, just as Ishigami had instructed. Other than describing the plot of the movie, she’d told the police nothing. She hadn’t seen anyone, and nothing memorable or out of the ordinary had occurred. Ishigami had told her to say all of this, too.

The detectives had left, seemingly satisfied, but he didn’t think for a moment that they had given up yet. The fact that they had come back to check on the movie theater alibi meant they had enough data to make them suspicious of Yasuko. Ishigami wondered just what those data were.

He stood and picked up his jacket. Telephone card, wallet, and room key in hand, he stepped out of his the apartment.

He was just on the stairs when he heard footsteps coming up from below. He slowed his pace and lowered his eyes.

It was Yasuko. She didn’t seem to notice who he was right away. Just before they passed, her feet stopped. She had seen him. Even looking down at his feet, Ishigami could tell she wanted to say something.

Ishigami spoke first. “Good evening.”

He tried to say it like he would say it to anyone he happened to meet, his tone relaxed, his voice low. He didn’t make eye contact or slow his pace. Passing Yasuko, he continued on down the stairs in silence.

There was no telling when the police might be watching, so whenever they did meet, they had to act like neighbors and nothing more. Another of Ishigami’s own instructions. Yasuko had paused for a moment in her ascent, but then—perhaps remembering what he had told her—replied, “Good evening” in a small voice, then continued up the stairs without another word.

Reaching the park, Ishigami quickly strode over to the phone, picked up the receiver, and put in his telephone card. There was a small convenience store about thirty meters away. The owner was closing up shop for the night. Other than that, no one else was around.

“Yes, it’s me,” Yasuko said, picking up the phone immediately. She sounded like she knew the call was coming from Ishigami. Somehow, that made him happy.

“Anything unusual to report?”

“Um, yes. That detective came to the store today.”

“To Benten-tei?”

“Yes.”

“What did he ask this time?”

“He was asking whether Togashi had come to the shop at all.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I said no, he hadn’t, of course. The detective said that maybe he had been there when I wasn’t in, and he went back to talk to the owners. The owner told me that the detective showed him a picture of Togashi, and asked about him. You know, I think the detective suspects me.”

“That’s nothing we didn’t expect. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Is that the only thing the detective asked?”

“No, he also asked about the club I used to work at—the bar in Kinshicho. He wanted to know if I’d been in contact with the people there. I told him no, just like you said. Then I asked him why he wanted to know where I used to work, and he told me Togashi had been there recently.”

“Ah yes. Of course.” Ishigami nodded, the receiver pressed to his ear. “So Togashi was at your old workplace, asking after you.”

“It seems so. That must be where he heard about Benten-tei. The detective said that since it sounded like Togashi had been looking for me, it would have made sense for him to drop in at Benten-tei next. And I told him, ‘Well, I suppose that’s true, but he didn’t, so I can’t help you.’ ”

Ishigami called to mind the detective named Kusanagi. He seemed like a personable man. Soft-spoken, not too imposing. But if he was a detective in Homicide, that meant he had the requisite information-gathering skills. He wasn’t the kind to scare a witness into revealing something, but the sort who casually drew the truth out of them. He had noticed the letter from Imperial University in Ishigami’s mail, too, which meant he was observant. And all of this made Kusanagi someone who required caution.

“Did you ask him about anything else?”

“That was the only thing I asked. But Misato…”

Ishigami’s grip tightened on the receiver. “They went to her school?”

“Yes, I only just heard about it myself. They caught up with her on the way home after classes. I think it was the same two detectives that came here.”

“Is Misato there now?”

“Yes, hold on.”

Misato was on the phone immediately. She must have been standing right next to her mother. “Hello?”

“What did the detectives ask you?”

“They showed me his picture, asked if he’d been by the apartment…”

“Togashi. You told them he hadn’t, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What else did they want to know?”

“They wanted to know about the movie. If I’d really gone on the tenth or not. They thought maybe we’d got the date wrong. I told them I knew it was then, absolutely.”

“What did the detectives say then?”

“They wanted to know if I’d told any of my friends about the movie, or texted them.”

“And?”

“I told them I didn’t text anybody, but I did tell a friend. Then they wanted to know who my friends were.”

“Did you tell them?”

“I only gave them Mika’s name.”

“Mika’s the girl you told about the movie on the twelfth, correct?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Good. You did good. Did the detectives want to know anything else?”

“Nothing big. They wanted to know if I was enjoying school, how badminton practice was, that kind of stuff. I wonder how they knew I was on the badminton team? I didn’t have my racquet with me.”

Ishigami surmised that Kusanagi had seen her racquet when he visited the Hanaokas’ apartment. This detective was turning out to be formidable.

Yasuko got back on the phone and asked, “Well, what should we do?” Her voice sounded faint on the other end of the line.

“Nothing, for now. This isn’t a problem,” Ishigami said with conviction. He wanted to put her at ease. “Everything is going according to my calculations. I should expect that the detectives will be back again soon. Just follow my instructions and everything will be all right.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ishigami … you know I don’t have anyone to turn to but you.”

“That’s all right. Good luck. This will soon be over. I’ll speak with you again tomorrow.”

Ishigami hung up the phone and took out his phone card, already slightly regretting his final words. He shouldn’t have told her it would be over soon. Just how long was “soon”? He shouldn’t be saying things that couldn’t be quantified like that.

However, it was true that events were developing according to plan. He had known they would find out eventually that Togashi had been looking for Yasuko—that was why Ishigami had made the effort to establish an alibi. He had also expected the police to question that alibi.

And he had expected that the police would try to make contact with Misato. They must have hoped she would be the weak link in the chain, a way to take apart the alibi in the absence of any witnesses. Ishigami had taken several steps to prevent that from happening, but he thought now that it would behoove him to check once more and make sure he hadn’t overlooked anything.

Ishigami returned to his apartment, his mind racing, only to find a man standing in front of his door—a tall fellow, unfamiliar, wearing a thin, black jacket. He must have heard Ishigami coming up the steps, for he was facing toward him. His wire-rim glasses glittered.

At first, Ishigami thought it was another detective. But then he realized that no, that was wrong. The man’s shoes were in perfect condition, as good as brand-new.

He approached, warily, and the man spoke. “Ishigami?”

Ishigami looked up at the stranger’s face. The man was smiling. It was a smile he remembered.

Ishigami took a deep breath, and his eyes went wide as the memories came vividly back to him from a twenty-year distance.

“Manabu Yukawa.”

The classroom felt deserted that day, as always. The room was large enough to seat a hundred students, but there were only twenty or so there now. Most of them were in the back row so that they could slip out after attendance had been taken or work on some project of their own during the lecture.

Very few undergraduates wanted to be mathematicians. In fact, Ishigami was probably the only one in his entire class. And this course, with its lectures on the historical background of applied physics, was not a popular one.

Even Ishigami wasn’t all that interested in the lectures, but he sat in the second chair from the left edge in the front row. He always sat there, or in the closest available position, in every room, at every lecture. He avoided sitting in the middle because he thought it would help him maintain objectivity. Even the most brilliant professor could sometimes err and say something inaccurate, after all.