5. The First Doubt

1

The man who rose and greeted Torigai must have been just over thirty. He was not tall, but had a sturdy, almost box-like physique. Above his youthful, healthy-looking cheeks were a pair of thick eyebrows and two round eyes.

‘Inspector Torigai? My name is Kiichi Mihara, inspector with the Second Investigative Division of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police. It’s a pleasure.’

He smiled, revealing a set of pearly-white teeth, and handed Torigai his card.

Hearing the words ‘Second Investigative Division’, Torigai understood immediately that Mihara was here to investigate Kenichi Sayama’s suicide. While the First Division dealt with violent offences, the Second handled what they call white-collar crime – cases of corruption or fraud.

By now, the Tokyo newspapers had begun to really dig their teeth into the bribery scandal at Ministry X. Kenichi Sayama’s section lay at the heart of the affair. In fact, one of his colleagues, another assistant section chief, had already been arrested. Only a week ago, two senior managers at a major private organization with close links to the ministry had also been taken into custody. The case looked set to escalate further, and it was up to the Second Division to handle it.

‘I’m here to clear a few things up in relation to the suicide of Kenichi Sayama, assistant section chief at Ministry X,’ began Mihara, once he had settled back into his chair. It was just as Torigai had guessed.

‘The chief here has just given me a rundown of the case,’ he continued, glancing at the man at his side, who nodded. ‘As you can see, I’ve been having a look at the evidence too. All very useful.’ On the desk were the photographs taken at the scene of the suicide, together with the autopsy report and other case documents. ‘But I’m informed, Inspector Torigai, that you had certain suspicions about this love suicide. Is that true?’

Torigai looked at the chief, who exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke and said: ‘You know – those observations you shared at the time. When I mentioned them to Inspector Mihara, he was very interested. Could you explain them to him?’

‘That’s right. The chief told me you had a rather different theory regarding Sayama’s suicide and, I have to say, that piqued my curiosity. I’ve been waiting here to talk to you.’ There was a friendliness in Mihara’s large eyes. The chief, meanwhile, looked sceptical.

‘Well, it’s nothing as firm as a theory. Just a few thoughts, I suppose.’ Torigai, conscious of his chief’s presence, seemed hesitant.

But he had Mihara’s attention now. ‘A few thoughts are just what I’m after. Please, go ahead – I’m all ears.’

And so, a little reluctantly, Torigai explained about the dining-car receipt that had been issued for one person only. As he spoke, his daughter’s comments about affection versus appetite came to mind, though he kept that part to himself.

‘That certainly is an interesting observation,’ nodded Mihara, a twinkle in his eyes. There was something in his cordial tone that reminded Torigai of an insurance salesman. ‘You didn’t keep the receipt?’

‘Although their deaths were not from natural causes, there was no crime to speak of, so we returned all their private effects to the relatives who came for their bodies,’ interjected the chief.

‘I see.’ A hint of disappointment flitted across Mihara’s brow.

‘The receipt was dated the fourteenth of January, correct?’ he asked Torigai.

‘That’s right.’

‘Which is the day Sayama and Toki set off from Tokyo on the Asakaze. Just a moment …’ he began, pulling a notebook from his pocket. ‘I’ve written the train timetable down here. It leaves Tokyo at 6.30 in the evening, then Atami at 8.00, Shizuoka at 9.01 and Nagoya at 11.21. After that, the next stop is Osaka, at 2 a.m. – which would be the following morning, the fifteenth of January. So, for a receipt dated the fourteenth, Nagoya would have been the last possible stop.’

Torigai began to grasp where Mihara was going with this. The inspector shared his suspicions about the case. He might come across like an insurance salesman, but he’s Tokyo Police all right, thought Torigai.

Mihara turned to the chief.

‘I’d like to visit the scene of the suicide. I know he’s a busy man, but do you think I could borrow Inspector Torigai and have him show me the way?’

The chief reluctantly agreed.

2

On the tram, Mihara, clutching one of the hanging leather straps, said to Torigai in a low voice: ‘Your boss didn’t seem too happy, did he?’

Torigai gave a wry smile, creases appearing around his eyes.

‘It’s the same story everywhere you go,’ continued Mihara. ‘I wanted to hear more about your ideas, but I could see you were finding it hard to talk in front of him. That’s why I asked you to show me to the beach.’

‘I’ll tell you all about it once we get there,’ replied Torigai, impressed by young Mihara’s thoughtfulness.

At Keirinjō-mae, they changed to a Nishitetsu train which took them to Kashii. From there it was less than ten minutes’ walk to the scene of the suicide.

When they arrived at the beach, Mihara looked around with evident interest. It was a fine day, and the sea was an almost spring-like blue. A mist hung over the islands in the distance.

‘So this is the famous Genkai sea. I glimpsed it from the train, but it’s even more impressive up close,’ said Mihara, gazing admiringly across the bay.

Torigai showed him the spot where the bodies had been found and explained how they had been lying. Mihara took the crime-scene photos from his pocket and compared them with what he could see, nodding away while Torigai spoke.

‘Quite a rocky beach, isn’t it?’ said Mihara, looking around.

‘Yes – as you can see, there are all these stones before you get to the sand.’

‘So, no footprints …’ murmured Mihara, as if contemplating something.

Once they had walked a little way from the scene of the suicide, and found a large rock to sit on, Mihara said, ‘Well then, Inspector Torigai, care to tell me what’s been on your mind?’ The afternoon sun warmed their shoulders through their coats. Anyone passing by would have assumed they were simply out to enjoy the sunshine.

‘The first thing is that dining-car receipt, for only one person,’ began Torigai. He explained the reasoning behind his doubts, this time including his daughter’s observation that this was a question of affection more than appetite. ‘That’s why I’ve come to suspect that Sayama was alone on that train.’

Mihara was listening attentively, his eyebrows raised. ‘That is interesting. I actually had a similar feeling myself. But there are witnesses who saw him boarding the train with a woman at Tokyo station …’

‘Exactly. Which might lead us to deduce that the woman – this Toki – got off somewhere along the way, don’t you think?’ said Torigai.

‘It certainly might,’ said Mihara, taking out his notebook. ‘And the receipt is dated the fourteenth, so if she did get off the train, it must have been at Nagoya, at 11.21 p.m., or at one of the previous two stops. But the dining car closes at ten, so we can rule out Nagoya. In other words, if Toki left the train, it was either at Atami at 8.00, or at Shizuoka at 9.01.’

‘Yes, that has to be it,’ said Torigai, nodding pensively. Mihara was putting all his own vague suspicions into words.

‘Right. It’s been a while since all this happened, so I wouldn’t hold your breath, but I’ll make enquiries at Atami and Shizuoka stations and any nearby inns. You’d be surprised how well people tend to remember a woman travelling on her own.’ Mihara went on: ‘Is there anything else?’

‘Sayama stayed alone at the Tambaya inn in Hakata from the fifteenth to the twentieth.’ Torigai then explained how Sayama had waited in his room for a phone call; how at around eight o’clock on the night of the twentieth a woman had called, asking for him under the fake name of Sugawara; and how Sayama had then left his room immediately before committing suicide later that night.

Mihara had been listening intently. ‘The caller knew Sayama’s fake name, which means it was probably Toki,’ he observed. ‘The two of them must have agreed on the inn and the name in advance.’

‘I think you’re right. Well, that clears up one mystery.’

‘Which is?’

‘Previously, I’d assumed they’d arrived together in Hakata, and Toki had then disappeared somewhere. But if, as you say, she got off the train somewhere along the way, then she would have arrived later, wouldn’t she? Toki must have disembarked at Atami or Shizuoka on the fourteenth, leaving Sayama to travel on alone, only arriving in Hakata on the twentieth. Then she called the inn. The fact that Sayama was waiting for that call implies they planned that part too. But,’ continued Torigai, ‘there was one thing they couldn’t settle in advance.’

‘What was that?’

‘The exact timing of Toki’s arrival in Hakata. Sayama sat there fretting at the inn, day after day, while he waited for her phone call. That suggests they’d been unable to set a specific date for her arrival.’

3

Mihara had been scribbling something in his notebook. When he had finished, he showed it to Torigai. ‘I suppose it would look something like this.’

‘Yes, that’s it!’ said Torigai, after studying the diagram.

‘But then why did Toki get off the train along the way?’ asked Mihara.

This was the question that Torigai had been unable to answer, no matter how much he racked his brains. ‘That’s what I just can’t figure out,’ he replied, putting a hand to his cheek.

Mihara crossed his arms and looked vaguely out at the sea, as if an explanation might be found there. The pale outline of the peninsula was visible across the bay.

‘Inspector Mihara,’ said Torigai abruptly. He had decided it was the right time to bring up something that had been weighing on his mind. ‘Why exactly have the Tokyo Police suddenly taken such an interest in Sayama’s suicide?’

Mihara did not reply immediately. First, he produced a cigarette and offered it to Torigai. He lit it, and then his own, before slowly exhaling a pale cloud of smoke.

‘Inspector Torigai, you’ve been very helpful, so I’ll let you in on this,’ he began. ‘Kenichi Sayama was a key witness in the bribery investigation at Ministry X. He might only have been an assistant section chief, but he had years of practical experience under his belt and knew a great deal about how the place was run. Which is to say, he was seriously implicated in this scandal. In fact, he was probably more of a suspect than a witness. But the details of the case were only just coming to light, and we failed to keep a close enough eye on our man. And then he went and died on us.’

Mihara tapped the ash from his cigarette and went on:

‘With him gone, all sorts of people will be breathing a sigh of relief. In fact, the more we investigate, the more we’re realizing just how much he must have known. I can’t tell you what a blow it was, losing a precious witness like that. But while we’re moping about it, others are jumping for joy. Now, maybe Sayama really did kill himself just to protect them, but we’ve begun to have suspicions about his suicide.’

‘Suspicions?’

‘Basically, we’re wondering if he committed suicide willingly. Somebody could have forced him into it.’

Torigai looked intently at him. ‘Do you have any evidence?’

‘Nothing concrete,’ replied Mihara. ‘But he didn’t leave a suicide note – and, if I’m not mistaken, neither did the woman.’

This was true. Torigai had mentioned as much to the chief.

‘Also, we looked into Sayama’s private life in Tokyo, but we couldn’t find anything linking him to Toki.’

‘What? Nothing?’

‘Well, we did learn that he had a mistress, but we haven’t been able to establish whether it was her. As for Toki herself, I visited the Koyuki to ask the waitresses about her, and the apartment block where she lived, and it seems she did have a lover. There was a man who often called the concierge, asking for her, and she would often spend the night away. The thing is, he never actually visited her apartment, so we’ve been unable to work out who he was. It may well have been Sayama, but there’s no solid evidence.’

Torigai found this a little odd. Hadn’t Sayama and Toki committed suicide together? ‘But think about it, Inspector,’ he said to Mihara. ‘Two waitresses from the Koyuki saw Sayama and Toki boarding the Asakaze together. There was even a third witness, a customer from the restaurant. Three witnesses. And then they committed suicide together, right here. I attended the scene myself, and there are the photos you brought from the station, not to mention the autopsy report.’

‘Exactly,’ replied Mihara, looking perplexed for the first time. ‘Now that I’m here, looking at all the evidence, I realize it must have been a double suicide after all. That’s what’s bothering me. I arrived from Tokyo armed with all these suspicions, but none of them tally with the facts.’

Torigai felt like he was beginning to understand what kind of suspicions Mihara was referring to.

4

‘Shall we make our way back?’ said Mihara. The two of them got up and, walking side by side, headed back the way they had come.

At the Nishitetsu station, a thought occurred to Torigai. ‘You know, there’s another Kashii station, on the main line. It’s five hundred metres from here. In fact, I dug up some information around here that might interest you.’

He told Mihara about the two couples that had been spotted, one at each station, on the night of the twentieth. Then he explained how he had timed himself walking between the two stations.

‘Intriguing,’ said Mihara, his eyes lighting up. ‘Why don’t you show me what you mean?’ And so, just as Torigai had done previously, the two men walked between the mainline station and the Nishitetsu station at three different speeds.

‘I see. Even walking fairly slowly, it would have taken them no more than seven minutes,’ said Mihara, looking at his watch. ‘Eleven is too long. Unless, of course, they stopped somewhere.’

‘Or they might have been two separate couples.’

‘True, true. But …’ Mihara began, looking pensively up at the sky. ‘Something tells me they were the same two people. They got off at the mainline station, walked past the Nishitetsu station and headed to that spot on the beach …’

Torigai told him the details of the statements he’d taken from the passengers, and from the station employee who’d been on duty on the evening in question. Mihara noted everything down carefully.

‘Hard to say either way, isn’t it? But I have to say, Inspector Torigai, this is getting interesting. Got our work cut out for us, haven’t we?’ he said, sympathetically eyeing the thin, elderly Torigai.

The following evening, Torigai was seeing Mihara off on the platform at Hakata station. The inspector was travelling back to Tokyo on the Unzen, an express that departed at 6.02.

‘When will you get to Tokyo?’

‘Tomorrow afternoon, at 3.40.’

‘Ah. You’ll be exhausted.’

‘Thank you for everything. You’ve been a great help.’ Mihara bowed slightly, his youthful face breaking into a smile.

‘Oh no, I can’t imagine I was much use to you,’ replied Torigai.

‘On the contrary, Inspector Torigai. You made my trip to Kyushu worthwhile.’ Mihara seemed very sincere and looked Torigai in the eye as he spoke.

It was still twelve minutes until the Unzen, arriving from Nagasaki, was due at the station. The two men waited side by side. Trains were constantly arriving and departing in front of them. A freight train was waiting at the platform opposite. All around them was the hustle and bustle of a large train station. Mihara’s expression hinted at the vague melancholy that long journeys, like the one he faced back to Tokyo, have a habit of producing.

‘I imagine the platforms at Tokyo station are similarly packed,’ said Torigai. He had never seen the capital’s central station but pictured it to himself now.

‘Absolutely. It’s quite the scene, you know – trains endlessly coming and going.’ Mihara made this remark casually, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth he startled as if he’d received an electric shock. He had just hit upon a crucial fact.

At Tokyo station, those witnesses had seen Toki and Sayama getting on the train together. As he recalled, they had been standing on platform 13, from which they had spotted the Asakaze at platform 15. But at Tokyo station, there were two train lines – tracks 13 and 14 – in between these two platforms. At a station like that, where trains arrived and departed so frequently, what were the chances a person could actually stand on platform 13 and still see a train at platform 15, without another train pulling up and blocking the view?