The Kizuna Coast: A Rei Shimura Mystery (Rei Shimura Mysteries Book 11) Page 16

  Something else caused her death.

  This thought was so jarring that the plastic bathing pitcher slipped out of my hand and the precious warm water spilled over the floor. Hastily I collected the pitcher and refilled it, anxiety streaming as fast as the water. Mayumi had come to the ruined butcher shop after the tsunami. Somehow, she’d survived the wave, and then entered the butcher shop and died.

  What did this mean? Perhaps someone had killed her elsewhere and transported her to the butcher shop after the tsunami. On the other hand, Mr. Ishida had revealed that she was emotionally troubled. I quickly dismissed the idea of suicide, reasoning anyone in such a state would not have run from the wave but straight into it. Perhaps Mayumi had been disoriented after the tsunami. If she needed a daily medication for a chronic condition and missed too many doses, she could have died.

  Half an hour later, I met Mr. Ishida, whose thin white hair was still damp from his own cleansing experience. I shivered, because I wasn’t wearing a coat. Richard’s down jacket had such a terrible stink that I’d kept it in the plastic bag with my other dirty clothing.

  “The shower was a relief,” Mr. Ishida said, sighing slightly. “I did not go into the bath, just to be careful I didn’t spread the odor.”

  “I was warned not to do that,” I said. “Ishida-san, I was thinking about something when I was showering. Did you notice anything strange about Mayumi’s body?”

  “What isn’t strange about the body after decomposition? Nature takes its course.”

  “I thought Mayumi’s clothes were unusually clean.” When he didn’t react, I added, “How could her clothes stay clean if she had been covered in eight feet of water?”

  “But surely she drowned.” Mr. Ishida looked puzzled. “One could tell that water had gone up to the ceiling of that butcher shop. All that mud.”

  “Yes, the room had been filled with water, but I think she must have entered it later on. If her clothes weren’t muddy on top, she wasn’t touched by the wave.” I continued, “This means something else caused her death. Did she have a preexisting health condition? Maybe something that required daily shots or medication?”

  “Not that I know about. When working for me, she never took any sick days.” Mr. Ishida sighed heavily. “You are right that the situation is strange. Perhaps she was confused and distraught and fell and hurt herself after the tsunami. But why would she have gone into that place?”

  “For anyone to know the cause of death, she should be examined by a coroner.” I said the word in English, because I didn’t know the Japanese version. When Mr. Ishida looked blank, I added, “I’m talking about a doctor who performs medical examinations on the dead: someone who’d know if there was a trauma injury or a knife wound.”

  “That kind of doctor is called a kenshi-kan,” Mr. Ishida said. “There must be such a doctor in this area.”

  I had never wanted to leave Tohoku more strongly. The smells and sights of death and rot had clotted themselves into a bolus of horror. Nothing should have kept me any longer. But I heard myself say, “The only way to account for Mayumi’s death is to have a kenshi-kan’s examination.”

  “You may be right. And if the death is not caused by accident or illness, there may be someone walking around who is responsible.” Mr. Ishida looked soberly at me. “Akira might have been away, but his family was here. Didn’t you say they disliked her?”

  “He did say his mother had a problem, but who has time to commit murder when a tsunami’s happening?” I shook my head. “Hey, I just thought of something. Was the family lacquer with her when they found her?”

  Mr. Ishida was still for a long moment, then shook his head. “I was overcome by the body. I don’t recall anyone finding possessions near her. She did bring her backpack to Sugihama. I saw her put her telephone inside.”

  “Okay.” But did the fact her backpack was missing point to anything else?

  “You know, if we hadn’t been right there to identify her, she might have gone straight for cremation,” Mr. Ishida said. “I would not have known anything.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ishida-san.” I took his hand, which was cold as ice.

  We made it back to shelter about an hour after supper had been served, but Nobuko-san had kept leftovers for us in the kitchen. Once again, it was miso stew—this time, with fewer vegetables. I had little hunger for it, as the death smell kept flickering through my nose.

  “You look very clean,” Nobuko-san commented. “I hope for a ride to that bathhouse tomorrow along with the other volunteers during our free-time hours. Was the water hot?”

  “Actually, I didn’t go inside the soaking tub—just the shower, which was lukewarm. But the bath looked nice and steamy. Please tell me something honestly. I may look clean, but do I smell that way?”

  Nobuko came closer and inhaled as if she was sniffing her stew for seasonings. “You’re fine. Don’t worry.”

  “Ishida-san and I came close to a dead body, and I’ve heard that the smell can follow. That’s why I couldn’t enter the ladies’ bath, although I was allowed to shower.”

  “Oh, dear. You are not alone in this. Lots of our volunteers have come near the dead.”

  I caught a glimpse of Mr. Yano briskly passing by in the hallway. “Nobuko-san, please excuse me. I must speak with him.” I put my paper bowl in the garbage bag and hurried after him.

  “Yano-san, do you have a moment?”

  He stopped. “Yes. By the way, Ishida-san mentioned that the two of you and Hachiko found his missing apprentice. I’m very sorry about the circumstances.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Did Ishida-san mention that we don’t think she drowned?”

  “He said something strange. I wasn’t sure I understood.”

  “Here are the facts.” I told the volunteer coordinator about Mayumi’s clean clothes and the way her body had been found in a muddy butcher shop, where the water marks went all the way to the ceiling, showing that it had been flooded during the course of the storm.

  “That does seem very odd,” he said after a pause. “But we are only volunteers, not experts in disaster recovery. Miss Kimura could have died from another natural reason. Maybe she was struck by an object or she fell. By the way, the Kimura parents came to our volunteer center when you and Ishida-san were at the bathhouse in Takamachi. They’d already been alerted by the military about their daughter being found and were transported to Sugihama to identify her. They stopped to thank both of you for your search, and also Ishida-san for employing her during her months in Tokyo.”

  “Are they still nearby?”

  “Oh, no, they went back home. However, they left their business card.”

  Thank God for Japanese name-card etiquette. I grasped the card quickly as Yano-san handed it to me. It was a plain white card, tastefully bordered in red, with the kanji for “Kimura” and “lacquer” on it with an address and telephone number.

  “Please be careful not to upset them any more,” Mr. Yano cautioned. “They were very sad when they left.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Chapter 20

  Mr. Ishida was similarly wary about phoning the Kimuras. Shaking his head, he said, “If they just learned the bad news, this concern we have about unnatural death could be overwhelming. I suggest we get some sleep and speak to them tomorrow.”

  Normally, I would have agreed with him. But things didn’t operate reasonably in disaster zones. “If we aren’t able to share our concerns, the Kimuras will surely go ahead with plans for immediate cremation. And then the chance to know the truth might be lost, which they would ultimately regret.”

  He looked behind him, as if anxious that anyone else might be listening. However, most volunteers were involved with the electronic devices they’d not been near all day long. “I’m surprised by the urgency you feel for someone you didn’t know,” he murmured.

  Not only hadn’t I known her, I’d built my own picture of her as a thoroughly dislikable young woman. I’d been appalled a
t the idea that Mayumi had left Hachiko, shocked she’d tried to sell family heirlooms, and dismayed that Mr. Ishida had trusted her enough to work in his shop. With all these strong instinctive feelings, I should have thought, it’s a sad story, but at least it’s done.

  But lying in front of me was a ruined girl who’d curled up to die. Something about her physical position spoke to the hopelessness she’d felt. And this made me ashamed of my early judgment. “She would want us to know the truth. About everything: what she was going to do with the lacquer, and how her life ended.”

  “Perhaps you have a point in calling tonight, then,” Mr. Ishida said. “I believe you have more strength than I for this type of communication.”

  The first call didn’t go through; there was only some dead air that was typical of dropped phone calls since the disaster. But I kept trying, and eventually the phone did ring. But almost instantly, a pleasant woman’s voice spoke. “This is Kimura Lacquer Goods. Sales hours are ten till six daily except for Mondays. Please leave a message if you would like to place a special order. Thank you very much.”

  They might be too distraught to check their shop line for messages, but I still went ahead and explained who I was, that I was sorry about Mayumi’s passing, and that I had some information about her situation.

  “Very well said,” Mr. Ishida commented after I’d clicked off. “You were calm and did not make any assertions. That is the proper manner.”

  “I just hope I wasn’t so vague they’ll put off speaking to us until after the cremation.”

  “We cannot manage their decision,” Mr. Ishida said gently. “I’ll go to sleep now, but if you like, you can take the phone with you. In case they call back… and for any other reasons you might have.”

  Mr. Ishida’s phone had come back to life after it had spent the day in a sealed plastic bag with plenty of dry rice to absorb moisture—a tip from Nobuko-san. I tapped in a brief message to Michael. We found Mayumi, but she wasn’t alive. Don’t think she died from the wave. Don’t know how the hell she died. I love and miss you.

  As I wrote, I imagined him putting his arms around me.

  I saw from the phone’s blank face the next morning that I had no e-mail, text, or phone message from Mayumi’s parents. But I couldn’t brood on that, because another problem was looming. I had no more granola bars. This meant no breakfast for me, or Mr. Ishida, who had come with nothing.

  I supposed I could have run over to the residents’ shelter and asked for a breakfast bar; that’s what the military had left for them. But we’d expressly been told by Mr. Yano not to go after military food supplies, for reasons of accounting. I had gone out of the box so many times, I didn’t think I should do so again.

  But I had to tell Mr. Ishida, because I’d had food for him the day before. When I saw him standing outdoors, slowly warming up with his tai chi routine, I apologized for not remembering to look for food when we were in Takamachi.

  “I don’t eat much at my age,” he said, obviously trying to make me feel better. “Did the Kimuras answer your call?”

  Shaking my head, I said, “I don’t know if they haven’t heard my message yet or just don’t want to talk.”

  I went through the morning exercises feeling faint. No hunger last night, but plenty this morning. Afterward, I went to the survivors’ shelter to get busy with lunch preparations. I had just started organizing my cutting board, wondering if I could sneak a carrot piece, when little Miki Haneda ran up and hugged me.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  Miki stepped back and opened her hands like a magician might when performing a show. In each palm was a plastic-wrapped rice ball. This particular o-nigiri—made of sesame-flecked rice wrapped in seaweed, with a pickled plum in the center—was ordinary in Japan. But I adored it.

  “Where did you find these?” I didn’t think any shops had reopened in town, so I was stunned by the timing of this gift.

  “There was a 7-Eleven near the hospital in Sendai. We all went yesterday and got lots of good food.”

  I couldn’t express how thrilled I was, and also touched that she’d thought of me when her father’s situation was paramount. In a community flooded by chaos, here was one thing that had gone right.

  “Thank you!” I hugged Miki, inhaling the smell of Sugihama mud overlaid with some sort of sugary pastry.

  “Okaachan wants to say hello. She’s around the corner with my sisters and Hachiko. Ishida-san is already there.” Skipping, she led me out the back of the building, where Mr. Ishida was standing with the dog at his side. I let Miki present Mr. Ishida with the o-nigiri, which he politely refused twice before gratefully accepting. He ate as slowly as I did, savoring the taste of fresh, soft rice.

  “You already had breakfast,” Mr. Ishida scolded Hachiko, who was watching as if a grain of rice might drop into her mouth at any moment.

  While we ate and chatted with Miki, Mrs. Haneda had crouched down drawing a chalk picture on the sidewalk with Chieko. When she looked up, I felt as if I were seeing a different person. She looked a decade younger.

  “Shimura-san, I’m sorry that I didn’t yet thank you and Ishida-san for rescuing my husband,” she said, her voice bubbling with warmth. “So I’ll tell you now. He owes you his life, and we owe you all our future happiness.”

  “There’s no need to thank us!” I demurred. “It was all Hachiko’s work. The most important question is, how is your husband recovering?”

  “He only had a broken shoulder—he is quite lucky in that regard. The problem is his skin was wet for too long. He has some bad bacterial infections but is taking an antibiotic. He will feel better soon. The doctor would ordinarily release him to heal at home, if only we still had one.”

  “Yes. I’m so sorry about that. Are you going to stay with relatives?”

  “If we do, it’s just temporarily. My husband works for the town of Sugihama, so he wants to return and rebuild. By the way, Ishida-san was just saying Hachiko located someone else yesterday. How are you?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, holding back other words.

  “I think that person was dead,” Miki said in her no-nonsense tone. “Did you know that? Her parents visited our shelter yesterday, looking for you. The lady cried, and the man yelled, telling her to stop. So mean!”

  “I don’t think the father was mean. Think how angry you felt the other day about Butter,” her mother said gently. “There are strong feelings when loved ones pass away.”

  Miki shook her head. “Butter is not dead. Just lost.”

  “Maybe that’s true. Do you remember how much Butter liked swimming?” Paddling her arms, Mrs. Haneda said, “I think our Butter took a long swim on top of the wave, all the way to another part of Japan. But she will find a child there to make sure she gets fed.”

  I bowed my head, not wanting any of them to see my face. I prayed that if I ever had a child, I would not have to tell that kind of story.

  “How far away is this part of Japan?” Miki put her hands on her mother’s shoulders and gazed intently into her eyes. “Where, exactly?”

  Mrs. Haneda’s happy voice cracked. “I don’t know, Miki-chan.”

  Miki pulled away from her mother and looked straight at me. “The father who came here yesterday was not very nice! He was rude to that handsome young man.”

  “Which young man?” I asked.

  “The one with the leather jacket. He was crying in the kitchen before, remember?”

  If Akira had crossed paths with Mayumi’s father, he might have been told about the death on the spot. I needed to talk to him, to see how he was doing.

  Glancing at Mr. Ishida, I said, “I’m going to skip calisthenics this morning. Will you apologize to Yano-san for me?”

  “Why?”

  “I need to visit the Rikyo family.”

  Mr. Ishida shook his head. “You mustn’t go alone.”

  “When I’m alone, he’s more willing to speak.” I was in a difficult position, because my going against a
respected person’s wishes would make everyone present feel awkward. I threw in a second, face-saving argument. “Don’t you think one of us should remain here today? If the Kimuras return to the volunteer headquarters, someone needs to speak with them.”

  “That is true. I will stay here,” Mr. Ishida acquiesced. “You will take Hachiko, for extra protection.”

  I didn’t want to mention that Hachiko didn’t like Akira. Instead I smiled and said, “That’s a grand idea. Hachiko will get her day’s exercise going up the mountain and back.”

  “If I come with you and Hachiko, we can look for more missing people. I’m really good at it,” Miki offered.

  “Miki-chan, I’d appreciate your help here teaching more children how to play mah-jongg,” Mr. Ishida said, coming to my rescue. “Shimura-san will bring Hachiko back within two hours.”

  “Probably within three hours,” I said, thinking that the walk would take some time. Especially since I wasn’t sure where I was headed.

  The temperature had warmed to about fifty degrees when we set out. I was grateful for the sun, because I was still airing out Richard’s parka and had switched back to my fashionable fleece jacket. Hachiko strolled beside me with her tail in the air and nose hovering just above ground level. The distance was approximately two miles. I figured that a forty-minute walk would give me time to compose my thoughts and also perhaps speak to any police I saw. I’d heard that station had been swept away; my best chance was finding someone working the streets.

  When a policeman in blue emerged from a jeep, Hachiko barked happily and wagged her tail. Good public relations, I thought, waving at him. The man, who’d had his head down and been heading toward a building with a clipboard, stopped.

  “Do you need help?” He wore the typical constable’s cap of a community police officer. After all the military police gear I’d recently seen, the cap was reassuring. Hachiko’s friendly nose on his leg brought a small smile to his face.