Chapter 70: Just Apologize Again
Kishida Masayoshi was, for a long, silent moment, at a complete and utter loss for words.
Any person with even a shred of common sense, any functioning adult with a basic understanding of how the world worked, when confronted with such a ridiculously flimsy, transparently fraudulent “lottery promotion,” would have seen it for the cheap, predatory scam it so clearly was.
And yet, Ōkawa Terakado had not only fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker, but had also, apparently, been so overjoyed, so completely taken in, that he had immediately packed up his entire family and headed off to a remote, unfamiliar island.
If what Ōkawa Mina had told him was the unvarnished truth, then it was almost certain that her husband, Ōkawa Terakado, had already met with a terrible fate. It was highly probable that from the very moment he had “won” that prize, Ōkawa Terakado had been walking, step by unsuspecting step, into a meticulously crafted and utterly inescapable murder trap.
But there was one thing that still didn't make sense, a glaring, illogical inconsistency that gnawed at him. Why? Why go to all the trouble of luring this man, this simple, ordinary locksmith, all the way to Mie Island just to kill him?
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Kishida said, his mind racing as he tried to piece together the first, ragged fragments of a puzzle, “did your husband, Mr. Ōkawa, have any enemies? Anyone who might have held a grudge against him, a grudge so deep that they might have wanted him dead?”
“H-how could he possibly have an enemy like that?!” Ōkawa Mina’s voice was filled with a genuine, uncomprehending shock that was impossible to fake. “My husband… he’s just an ordinary locksmith. His income isn’t high, but he’s always been kind to our relatives, our friends, our neighbors. We’re just… an ordinary family. I haven’t heard of him getting into any arguments or disagreements with anyone recently.”
Kishida Masayoshi felt a familiar, throbbing headache beginning to form behind his eyes. An ordinary, low-income locksmith… what possible reason could a killer have for going to such elaborate and presumably costly lengths to orchestrate his murder? If the victim had been a wealthy businessman, or a high-ranking member of the yakuza, it might have made some kind of twisted, internal sense. But this? This was just… bizarre.
“After your husband went missing,” he pressed on, following the standard procedure, “did anyone strange contact you? Or have you noticed anything unusual, anything out of the ordinary, at all?”
“No. The only people who have contacted me these past few days… have been the police.”
“This trip you and your husband took… was it planned long in advance?” Kishida asked, then, realizing how that might sound, quickly, and gently, clarified, “I mean, before this lottery win, had the two of you discussed wanting to go on a trip? Even just casually? Something along the lines of, ‘If only we had the money, I’d love to take a vacation by the sea’?”
Ōkawa Mina was silent for a moment, her mind clearly sifting through her memories. Then she said, with a firm, unwavering certainty, “No. Never. Because my husband’s income isn’t very high, just maintaining our current lifestyle is already a constant struggle. So, although I’ve occasionally, in my private moments, dreamed of going on a trip, I’ve never said anything about it to my husband. And he’s never mentioned anything like that to me, either. The day he came home and said he’d won the prize, and that he was planning for us to go on a trip… I was actually, honestly, quite surprised.”
That’s strange. Very, very strange.
Kishida Masayoshi frowned. Let’s assume, for the sake of argument, that this was a premeditated homicide. The killer’s method was to first use a 50,000 yen cash prize as bait to lure Ōkawa Terakado to Mie Island, and then to murder him. But the problem, the gaping, almost laughable hole in that theory, was this: how could the killer have been so absolutely certain that Ōkawa would actually go to Mie Island? What if, after winning the prize, he had been too busy with work to take a vacation? What if, given his family’s tight financial situation, he had simply sold the prize certificate for a quick and much needed infusion of cash? If Ōkawa had done any of those perfectly logical and entirely predictable things, the killer’s entire, elaborate plan would have been for nothing.
“Was your husband a good man, to you and your children, ma’am?” Kishida continued, probing for a different, more emotional angle. “Did he ever feel… frustrated, or guilty, about his modest income?”
“It might sound like I’m boasting,” she said, her voice softening, a note of sad, quiet pride in her tone, “but although we struggled financially, my husband and I had a very good, very loving relationship. When it came to raising our child, he was the one who played the role of the strict father. So, our son was probably a little afraid of him. But that was something my husband and I had discussed, and agreed on. In his heart, he loved Seiji very, very much. Oh, Seiji is our son.”
“As for feeling frustrated or guilty… he never said anything out loud. Not in so many words. But sometimes, yes, I could sense it. I think he probably did have those feelings, deep down. But to protect his pride, his self-respect, I could never, ever, ask him about it.”
That… that makes sense.
In his mind, a rough, preliminary, and deeply unsettling profile of the killer began to take shape.
The killer had a certain, intimate degree of knowledge about Ōkawa Terakado. They knew his family situation, his financial struggles, and his underlying, unspoken feelings of guilt and inadequacy towards his family.
And the killer either knew, and could command, a beautiful young woman. Or, more chillingly, the killer was a beautiful young woman.
And with that thought, a new, and deeply unwelcome, possibility emerged.
A crime of passion.
“Forgive me for asking such a personal and potentially upsetting question, ma’am, but do you know if your husband had recently become acquainted with any… beautiful young women?”
“Wh-what… what are you implying?” Ōkawa Mina’s voice was suddenly sharp, defensive. “In his line of work, my husband meets all kinds of people. It’s not strange at all. But to say that he knew someone well enough for them to have a reason to… to kill him… that’s absolutely, utterly impossible.”
“So, I can take it that you believe, with absolute certainty, that there is no possibility that your husband was having an affair, is that correct?”
“An affair? My husband would never, ever do such a thing! He was not that kind of man!”
Kishida Masayoshi frowned. So, the beautiful young woman Ōkawa had mentioned, the one who had given him the lottery form, was indeed a stranger to him, not someone he was deliberately and clumsily trying to hide from his wife. Which meant… this probably wasn’t a simple, sordid crime of passion.
“Thank you for your cooperation, ma’am… Oh, by the way, has Mr. Ōkawa ever happened to mention the name ‘Yomi’…” He stopped himself, a jolt of pure, professional instinct. He suddenly realized it would be better, much better, not to mention that particular and highly sensitive name to Ōkawa Mina for the time being. Otherwise, the information might leak out through her, and he had absolutely no trust in the discretion, or the competence of the local police on Mie Island. “In any case, I will begin my investigation here immediately. I will notify you as soon as I have any results. And if you recall any other clues, any other details, no matter how small, please contact me immediately.”
Hanging up the phone, Kishida Masayoshi rubbed his throbbing temples. He had a premonition, a cold, sinking feeling in his gut, that this case was not nearly as simple, or as random, as it appeared on the surface.
“That Yomikawa girl… how could she have possibly known to ask me to investigate that specific and seemingly random lottery promotion? And for the prize to be exactly, identically, the same as the one Ōkawa Terakado received… that cannot, under any circumstances, be a simple coincidence, can it?”
“Is she connected to this case as well? Or is she, for her own inscrutable reasons, also investigating Ōkawa Terakado?”
“But it’s obvious that Yomikawa couldn’t be the one who killed him. First, she has no plausible motive. And second, if she were the killer, she would never be so foolish, so arrogant, as to ask me, a police detective, to investigate the very event that set the murder in motion.”
“Perhaps… perhaps she doesn’t yet know that Ōkawa is missing… Yes. That could be a good way to test her. A way to gauge her reaction.”
“But… what is this feeling?”
Why was it that this girl, Yomikawa, was always, somehow, connected to these cases of murder and disappearance? The hot spring inn incident was one thing. And now, this Ōkawa case as well.
“The hot spring inn incident was, in some way, connected to Kagehara Tetsuya, or rather, to the larger, more terrifying mystery of the Makeup Hunter. Is it possible that this case is also connected to them?”
“Should I be considering all these disparate, chaotic incidents as a single, interconnected web? And if so, who, or what, is the spider at its center? The Makeup Hunter? Kagehara Tetsuya? Yomikawa Tsuko? Or that mysterious, phantom-like Miss A?”
As he thought this, a new, sharp clarity began to form in Kishida Masayoshi’s mind. The one thing he could be certain of, at this point, was that Yomikawa Tsuko had her own, deeply hidden agenda. She was investigating someone, or something. She had her own methods, her own lines of inquiry. And perhaps, her own unique and terrifyingly accurate sources of information.
“The weekend is almost here. When she gives me the next part of the diary, perhaps I can… probe her a little. Test her reactions. See what she knows.”
“And if it’s all just a wild, fantastic coincidence, if I’m wrong again… then… then… I’ll just have to apologize. Again.”
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