Despite what Kyoko had told Hashimoto, Arima’s words did rattle her. That attitude followed her from the Chuo Ward where the police headquarters were located to the Shinsekai neighborhood. Akane Suzuki’s final residence—and place of death.
It had been about a month or so since Akane supposedly committed suicide and when Kyoko arrived at the address, she wasn’t really surprised to see that the street Akane had landed on bore no trace of her grisly fate.
That was one thing the police did really well—clean up after a crime. Sweep everything seedy out of the public eye, so only the surface of peace and tranquility remained. Appearances were everything here.
Kyoko’s eyes followed the height of the building, counting up eight floors. A corner unit, that was where Akane had jumped from—or been pushed from. She walked up the front entrance to the building and pulled open the glass door. The unit numbers were stamped on a plate next to each door and one of them had the word MANAGER under the unit number. She pushed the button for the doorbell and waited.
At first, there was no answer. Kyoko pushed the button again. She heard curses through the door before finally the sound of the lock turning. A man in his fifties with a receding hairline and dressed only in a pair of lounge pants opened the door. His skin was darkly tanned and he glared at Kyoko.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“My name is Kyoko Nakamura, I’m a private investigator.” She handed him a business card. “I’ve been asked by the parents of Akane Suzuki to look into her death.”
The man took the card and studied it for a moment, then began to close the door. “She killed herself. Investigation over.”
Kyoko stuck her foot between the door and the frame. The manager sighed and opened it again.
“That may very well be the case. But there are some things you might be able to shed a little light on.”
“What do you want me to tell you?”
“Just a few questions about the time she spent living here.”
He looked away. “I’ve got things to do.”
Another attempt at closing the door. This time, Kyoko stopped the door with the palm of her hand.
“Just a few minutes of your time. That’s all I ask. Her parents just want to know why she did it.”
The man looked down at her card. “You’re not gonna go away until I talk to you, are you?”
Kyoko shook her head.
“You’re worse than the damn NHK…” He opened the door for her. “Okay, come in, I guess.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fukui. Yoroshiku.” Kyoko gave a bow.
Fukui didn’t seem impressed. He turned from the door and walked into the apartment. Kyoko removed her shoes and left them in the genkan, then stepped up and followed him.
The apartment was just a one-room unit. Fukui still had his futon laid out and he sat on it, picking up a cup of instant ramen noodles and chopsticks from the small table between the futon and the TV set, which was on. Evidently, Kyoko had interrupted his lunch.
She walked over to the table and sat on her knees. Fukui kept his eyes glued to the television set. He picked up the remote and turned down the volume, but he left it on. Kyoko glanced at the screen and saw some sort of cooking show playing. She got the sense that it wouldn’t have mattered what was on. Right beside the TV was a stack of magazines. The one on top featured a young woman in a schoolgirl outfit bent over, looking at the camera with a look of manufactured surprise. Kyoko shook her head and turned her attention to the landlord.
“How long was Suzuki living here?”
Fukui shrugged. “Hell if I can remember.”
“Why not?”
He slurped up some noodles, digging almost frantically through the cup for more. “There’s ten floors in this building, five units per floor. Pretty much every single one is occupied. You think I remember every damn person in here?”
“No, not necessarily. But remembering a former pop idol? That would seem significant.”
Fukui raised a shrimp from the cup and tossed it into his mouth. Then he dug back in for more treasure within the broth.
“Did you ever have any encounters with Ms. Suzuki?”
His rapid eating took a pause. Just a moment, but then he went back to it. He only stopped to say, “Not really. Saw her in the hall every once in a while, but we didn’t really talk.”
“How did she pay the rent? Bank transfer?”
“Cash. First of the month, she’d drop an envelope in my slot.” Fukui pointed at the closed door with his chopsticks.
Kyoko turned her head to look back at the door and the metal mailbox affixed to the lower portion of it. “Was she ever late with the rent?”
Another silent pause from eating. Then, “Can’t remember.”
“Were there ever any complaints about her? From the other tenants?”
He shook his head. “None.”
“I’d like to talk about the night she died.”
Now, Fukui tore his eyes away from the TV to look at her. There was something in his eyes. He looked almost…scared. “Why?”
“Because I’m curious about a few things,” said Kyoko. “Do you remember that night?”
“I don’t—”
“Mr. Fukui, I should tell you that I’ve already spoken to the police, so I’d recommend you don’t lie to me.” That was stretching the truth a bit. She had spoken to the police, but she knew nothing about Fukui or his involvement with the case.
“I…” Fukui stopped and set down the cup. He pointed to the window. “I heard her body fall.”
“It woke you up?”
“No, I was awake.”
“Her time of death was around three in the morning. What were you doing up so late?”
“Watching TV, drinking.”
“What happened after you heard the sound?”
“If you talked to the police, don’t you already know this?”
“I do, but I want to hear it from you.” Lie.
Fukui sighed. “I pulled open the curtains, but I couldn’t really get a good look. So I went outside. That’s when…when I saw it was Akane.”
“And then?”
“I called the police. They came, took my statement, and then the only way I was able to sleep after seeing that was by drinking until I passed out.”
“You said you saw Ms. Suzuki in the hall on several occasions,” said Kyoko.
Fukui nodded.
“Did you ever see her with anyone else? A friend, perhaps? Or a lover?”
“No!”
Kyoko noted the abruptness in his response. “Never?”
“I-I never saw her with anyone.”
“Is there any chance I could have a look at the apartment?”
“The police have been through there, they didn’t find anything.”
“It’s for my own peace of mind,” she said.
Fukui looked away from her and drank the rest of the broth from the noodle cup. “You know I don’t have to let you up there, don’t you?”
“Of course you don’t. But then, I’ll just have to go back down to police headquarters. Tell my friends about how difficult and suspicious you were acting. Maybe have them keep an eye on this building. You know, in the interests of public safety.”
That got Fukui’s attention. Kyoko didn’t know if he was involved in anything illegal. He might have just been a paranoid old man. But the neighborhood seemed on the seedier side, and there was no doubt that some things might be going on beneath Fukui’s nose—or even with his full knowledge.
“Okay, I’ll take you.”
The futon was pushed up against a closet and when Fukui rose to his feet, he turned to open the closet door. There were piles of clothes on one of the shelves. Fukui picked out a button-down shirt and pulled it over his slim torso, but he didn’t bother fastening it shut. Walking past Kyoko, he approached the genkan, and there was an alcove above a shoe cabinet built into the wall. From the alcove, Fukui plucked a ring lined with keys.
Kyoko followed him out the door and they rode the elevator up to the eighth floor in silence. Once they came to the apartment that had been Akane Suzuki’s, Fukui began testing different keys, trying to find the right one. After several tries, he unlocked the door and pulled it open.
“Told the parents I’d box up her shit once I have the place cleaned. But didn’t have a chance yet.” Fukui moved away from the open door and rested his back against the wall. “You go on alone, I’m not dealing with any ghosts.”
Kyoko rolled her eyes and walked inside, taking off her shoes at the genkan. Reaching into the back-pocket of her jeans, Kyoko took out a small handkerchief. Many people carried them in Japan as it wasn’t uncommon for public restrooms to lack paper towels or automatic hand dryers.
With the handkerchief in hand, Kyoko opened the door of the small refrigerator. It was almost completely empty. There were some cans of chu-hi—a kind of wine cooler—and a few condiments, but not much else. Judging from the contents of the cupboards, it looked like Akane had mostly been subsisting on instant meals.
She walked around the small apartment. Opening the closet, Kyoko looked at the clothes hanging on a rack. Several beautiful, elegant dresses were there in various colors. All of them were covered with plastic wraps from the dry-cleaner. All except one.
Kyoko closed the closet and then walked across to examine the bulletin board with photographs pinned to it. There were several photographs of the man she imagined was the boyfriend. And of a girl the same age as Akane. Those two seemed to dominate the pictures.
But none of her parents.
There was also a business card pinned to the board. Shinzo Soma, of the Top Shelf Entertainment agency. The Suzukis mentioned that Akane was excited about the possibility of starting up her career again.
Kyoko took out her smartphone and held it up to take a picture of the board. As she backed up further to get all the photos in the frame, her foot knocked over a small, plastic wastebasket.
“Shit.”
“Everything okay in there?” called Fukui from outside.
“Just fine.”
Kyoko knelt down and set the wastebasket upright. There were some crumpled-up pieces of paper. Kyoko checked each one. Two past-due bills and a receipt from a convenience store dated the day of her death.
And some used condoms.