“We have some evidence here regarding a certain homeless person. This includes both eyewitness accounts and surveillance camera footage showing this person talking with you as you traveled toward Shibuya Station.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Where were you going?”
“I was trying to take Yoshikazu Hara back to the construction site where he used to work.”
“Did you find him?”
“What?”
“Yoshikazu Hara. Did you find him?”
“Yes, but as soon as I find him, he disappears. I think it’s because of his illness. We’re still looking for him.”
“So where did you take the homeless man who wasn’t Yoshikazu Hara?”
“Ah, no, nowhere… I’m only looking for Yoshikazu Hara.”
“You didn’t take anyone anywhere?”
“No.”
Kitagawa tilted his head and took a breath. Then he spoke up, attempting to guide Mitsuhiro a little more.
“Have you ever thought that homeless people should be put out of the picture because they get in the way of construction work?”
Mitsuhiro’s eyes opened wide. “Of course not.”
“I heard that sort of thing wasn’t so uncommon once upon a time. People getting kidnapped over land-sale disputes and so on.”
“That’s all in the past. I’ve never even thought of such a thing.”
Kitagawa nodded, as if he hoped that was the case. Honestly, Mitsuhiro hadn’t expected the police to stand up for the homeless and their problems so much. Maybe Okuyama’s persistence had paid off. Either way, though, he couldn’t afford to be a suspect here.
“I mean,” he said, “what’s the point of chasing away one or two people? There’s so many more out there than that.”
“No, it’s definitely not one or two, Mr. Matsunaga.”
Mitsuhiro was taken aback by the matter-of-fact response. Okuyama had used the same turn of phrase with him, but he’d assumed he was padding the numbers.
“Um, are that many people missing?”
“According to Mr. Okuyama, at least fourteen people are unaccounted for.”
“Fourteen…?”
Mitsuhiro couldn’t hide his surprise. He expected three or four at the most. Indeed, if that many people disappeared at once, you’d want to know what’s going on, wouldn’t you?
Kitagawa peered at Mitsuhiro, observing his expression closely. “You don’t know anything about that, do you?”
“I’m sorry… If I find out anything, I’ll let you know…”
“Yes, please do. Here’s my contact information.”
Kitagawa handed Mitsuhiro his business card. Mitsuhiro took his own card out of his bag and gave it to Kitagawa.
“Sorry to take up your time. Thank you for your cooperation.”
“No, not at all—”
As he stood up with Kitagawa and his men, the cut on his left hand began to ache again. He let out another groan. It was impossible for the detectives not to notice. Quickly, they stopped what they were doing to look at Mitsuhiro.
“Where did you get that injury?”
“Huh?”
“Did you get hurt during your search?”
“No, it was at home. In the kitchen.”
“A burn or something?”
“No, I accidentally cut myself throwing out the trash.”
“All right. Hope it heals up soon, then.”
Kitagawa nodded to the two men, and all three left the conference room. Mitsuhiro remained behind, feeling intolerably uncomfortable, like he’d just been subjected to a strip search. He felt even more uncomfortable when he pictured them coming to his apartment and combing his trash for clues.
Just then, Takenaka swung the door open.
“It wasn’t you, was it?” he barked.
Mitsuhiro, stunned, stared back at Takenaka’s pallid face.
“I’m asking if you’re the one who burned down our house.”
“No… Do you really think that?”
His mind was in a daze, but Takenaka’s glare only sharpened; he seemed to believe the facts were obvious.
“Are you still looking for the homeless guy?”
“Yes, sir. I’m pretty close to finding him.”
“Don’t you think you’re causing a hell of a lot more problems in the process?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why do homeless people keep on disappearing? Why did my house have to burn down?”
“Um, is it completely gone, sir?”
Suddenly, he saw his old house burning down in front of his eyes. His mother’s words—“You keep on forgetting about it after a while, don’t you?”—echoed in his mind. He faintly remembered sitting on the side of the road, watching the flames shooting out of the windows and roof of his house.
“Almost,” Takenaka said, his eyes bloodshot. “The kids’ room was almost completely gone.”
“Stop it. It wasn’t me.”
“But you’re the one who pulled the trigger. Why the hell’d you poke the hornet’s nest and make everything worse? You were supposed to resolve this incident, and instead you’ve turned it into this huge deal. And now I’ve been kicked out of the shareholder conference this quarter because I didn’t kick you out of here sooner.”
“Kicked out? Why?”
“Well, I can’t be part of it if I’m involved in this huge damn scandal!” Takenaka howled in obvious fury.
Mitsuhiro flinched back, speechless before the rage and hatred in Takenaka’s eyes. His boss must have been afraid that everything he had built up in Shimaoka was about to crumble.
Maybe Takenaka should go in the hole ahead of Okuyama. The thought crossed Mitsuhiro’s mind for a moment, and he knew his father would’ve said the same thing. Not that he really meant it—
“And return the keys right now. You’re banned from car access.”
He threw the order at Mitsuhiro as he stormed out of the conference room. Now even Mitsuhiro had to admit that he would love to see Takenaka weeping at the bottom of that hole.
Disgusted, he picked up his bag from the floor. He did so with his left hand, which rewarded him with a pang of intense pain that made him stumble and drop the bag again. It felt like there were sharpened thorns all over the handle. He wanted to grab it and slam it against the wall in sheer frustration, but instead he sat down in a chair, clutched his head with his uninjured right hand, and sighed deeply.
“It’s not my fault, either…”