A Quiet Place Page 17

  For about four or five days after agreeing to go to Nagano, he had felt depressed. Soon afterwards, his division chief had officially informed Asai that he would be accompanying Shiraishi on the field trip. As the request had come from the director general personally, there was no way to refuse. The sick leave had been his last resort. He had barely managed to avoid the danger.

  Asai would probably have been all right in Nagano, but you never knew. Potentially, he could have run into the two men who’d given him a lift that night, and although the magazine article said they didn’t remember his face, seeing him again might conceivably have jogged their memory. He really didn’t feel like participating in a game of Russian roulette.

  One of the junior managers in the division had been scrambled to replace him at the last moment. He reported back to Asai that his absence had been deeply regretted.

  “They told me that they were determined to get you to come the next time. In fact, they’re already planning their next event. They say they’re not interested in inviting a bunch of high-level names. They want to hold a special training course and invite people with practical know-how like you to run it for them.”

  Obviously that was out of the question. If he was going to keep himself safe, it would be a while before he was able to accept invitations from anywhere in Japan.

  He hadn’t seen Director-General Shiraishi since then. He knew that he ought to apologize for the inconvenience that his feigned illness had caused, but he couldn’t bring himself to visit the director general’s office in person. When he made his reappearance at work following his supposed recovery, he went only to the division chief to express his regret. His manager didn’t seem particularly bothered.

  “You were ill. It couldn’t be helped. I’ll mention it to the director general.”

  Asai felt quite offended. At that moment he realized how easily he could be replaced by any number of different people. This division chief was also a career-track bureaucrat, and, just like Shiraishi, Asai knew he didn’t plan to be in the post for long. His type was far less interested in the content of the job than in being careful not to rock the boat.

  Asai assumed that Shiraishi would communicate his displeasure via a message sent through the division chief, but this wasn’t the case. Despite the director general having asked Asai personally to accompany him to Nagano, it turned out that he didn’t specifically want him at all – it could have been anybody. Asai supposed that when his replacement had reported how disappointed the locals had been by his absence, it was probably just flattery after all. They might well intend to invite him again sometime, but they weren’t all that bothered. Or perhaps he was just overthinking it.

  Asai knew he should take care not to become too obsessed by the Kubo case. Of course, he needed to be cautious, but he shouldn’t get neurotic about it. It was important to stay calm.

  For the moment, there was nothing too worrying. There’d been no more articles on the murder in the newspapers or the weekly magazines, nor any sign that the investigation was closing in on any one suspect. Crimes committed in idyllic, pastoral locations such as the Yatsugatake ridge or the Fujimi plateau, no matter how fascinating to the reader, always had to yield to sordid tales from the big city. There must have been no progress in the investigation, so nothing new to report.

  He told himself that he’d pay a visit to Director-General Shiraishi as soon as he could and apologize in person for his absence, but somehow time got away from him. The year came to an end and the new one began. The director general gathered his whole staff for an opening-of-year speech, but Asai was hardly going to stand up in front of everyone and start offering excuses.

  Throughout January and February, he never once had the opportunity to be alone with Shiraishi. Asai often saw him at a distance, but the director general was always surrounded by people. There were no more chance meetings in front of the lifts. That was the thing about fate – sometimes the opportunities came thick and fast, and then suddenly there’d be none whatsoever.

  And then finally, at the beginning of March, he ran into Shiraishi in the foyer of the ministry. The director general was apparently on his way out to lunch alone. Asai stopped him as he sauntered towards the door where his car was waiting.

  Three months had already passed, which made it rather late for Asai to be making his excuses, but it had been weighing on his mind and he had to get it out.

  “Sir,” he began, bowing low as he approached. “Last year… in December, I’m terribly sorry that I wasn’t able to accompany you.”

  The director general stopped in his tracks. He turned his heavy frame slowly to face Asai, and the expression in his eyes in that moment revealed he had no idea what the other man was talking about. Asai continued.

  “Er… When you went on that business trip to Nagano last year, I caught a bad cold at the last minute, and wasn’t able to accompany you.”

  He bowed once more.

  “Ah.” The vague stare in Shiraishi’s eyes finally seemed to give way to comprehension.

  “Ah yes, I see. That time… Hmm. So, are you feeling better?” Shiraishi was speaking, but there was no thought behind it, and as the words hung empty in the air he was already moving again towards his waiting car.

  “Yes, thank you, sir. I’m fine.” He’d hardly still be suffering from a cold caught three months previously!

  “Take care of yourself.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  As he watched the clumsy figure of his boss walking away, Asai immediately regretted having brought up the subject. Director-General Shiraishi hadn’t even given a second thought to Asai’s cancellation.

  He hadn’t much cared who it was who came with him. All he’d cared about was having someone in his entourage. Those words he’d said to Asai in front of the lifts had been no more than an attempt to seem amiable.

  Directors high up in the hierarchy often came out with stuff like that. They were trying to make themselves popular with their employees. It was just hot air – there was no heart involved.

  There had been nothing to fret about. Asai wasn’t even part of Shiraishi’s consciousness – to the extent that he had even forgotten that his junior had been supposed to accompany him to Nagano. Asai was both disappointed that he’d made all that fuss for nothing, and at the same time it brought him some relief. His sadness was that of the petty functionary who was always too concerned about the opinions of his superiors. Even though he thought Shiraishi a mediocre man, Asai had suffered from the oppression of the system for years and didn’t know how to change. He envied the younger employees – they seemed more able to speak their own minds.

  But then it was a good thing that the director general wasn’t concerned about him; it meant there was no danger of being forced to go to Nagano. Rather than feeling depressed over his own subservient attitude towards his bosses, Asai ought to be celebrating.

  For a while, everything carried on as normal. The weather was unstable, fluctuating between cold and milder temperatures, then finally settled down and it began to feel like spring.

  The newspapers featured new murder cases daily. The killers were always caught right away. Even if they escaped, they would eventually be found to have committed suicide. In every case, the identity of the killer was always discovered through his or her relationship with the victim. There was always some third party connected with the case who could shed light on its motive and its causes. Without this information, the police would have been at a loss.

  All kinds of books of codes and regulations were lined up across Asai’s desk, all necessary for his work as an administrator, among them of course the Roppo Zensho, the compendium of Japanese laws. Chapter 25, entitled “Corruption”, pertained to civil servants.

  Article #197: If a public official or a third party intermediary is found to have accepted a bribe or demanded a bribe, or entered into an agreement to offer or accept a bribe, he shall receive a sentence of no more than three years. If he is found to have
accepted a solicitation, he shall receive a sentence of no more than five years.

  Strangely enough, the section regarding homicide appeared right after the chapter on corruption of public officials.

  Chapter 26: Homicide

  Article #199: Persons guilty of committing murder shall be either put to death or imprisoned for a term of between three years and life.

  The fact that homicide closely succeeded corruption seemed to imply that public officials were likely to commit murder.

  The Criminal Procedure Code

  Article #250: The statute of limitations applies as follows:

  1)15 years for crimes punishable by death

  2)10 years for crimes punishable by imprisonment for life, or life with hard labour

  3)7 years for crimes punishable with a sentence of more than 10 years’ imprisonment or hard labour.

  Seven to fifteen years. Asai considered this period of time. The scale he used was the number of years of public service he had left. Fifteen years would take him to one year after retirement age. In ten he would probably already be division chief. Seven would be right around the time that his promotion was being considered.

  The whole incident in Fujimi was fading from his consciousness, but from time to time he would start making these calculations. It wasn’t out of fear of being arrested. He wanted to know how soon the statute of limitations would be up so that he’d be able to live a completely carefree existence.

  He was in the middle of one of these moments of reflection when the president of Yagishita Ham arrived on a trip from Kobe.

  “So what brings you to Tokyo?” Asai asked. He’d taken Yagishita to a nearby café. It was lunchtime, and men and women from the various government ministries were out strolling in the park.

  “A thank-you gift for all our franchise stores. We’re taking them to a spa in Hokkaido.”

  “Wow. You’re always up to something.”

  “There’s a lot of competition these days. Our firm only offers domestic travel tickets, but there are other companies who organize group tours overseas.”

  “Which ones?”

  “Kurosaki, the agricultural equipment manufacturers, for example. Well, machinery makers are a whole different ball game – their sales are on a different level to ours. We can’t make the same kind of offers to the sausage and ham vendors. I’ve heard that at the end of March they’re organizing a courtesy trip to Southeast Asia for the executive members of all the agricultural cooperatives in the Koshinetsu region.”

  “The whole of Koshinetsu? That’s going to be quite a number.”

  “Seems they’ve kept it to about forty people – the people with the most influence in the region, I imagine. This time it’s not the prefectural-level executives they’re taking, but local members from the towns and villages. The managing director at Kurosaki Machinery is a friend of mine, so I heard it from him. This rice acreage reduction policy – well, it’s got everyone in the agricultural equipment business quite worried. They’ve carefully hand-picked the local members over the big guns. They’ve decided they need to turn their attentions to the regional level.”

  “Everyone’s feeling the pinch, eh?”

  “Yep, tough times for tradesmen too.”

  A couple of days later, the division director summoned Asai.

  “Asai, the Nagano Prefectural co-op is sponsoring a short seminar. Can you attend?”

  Startled, he repeated what he thought he’d heard. “Nagano Prefecture?”

  “Yep. There’s been a joint request from both the national and prefectural unions for a series of lectures to be held in the region.”

  Asai felt irritated. Nagano again – seriously? Why were they being so stubborn?

  “Whereabouts in Nagano?”

  “The south. They want you to give a lecture in each of the southern regions over a period of five days. By the way, I got this request directly from Director-General Shiraishi’s office.”

  “From the director general?”

  “That’s right. He feels strongly that with the new agricultural policies the ministry should offer as much support to the farmers at the local level as possible. I know it’s a lot of trouble for you, but we’d like you to be the one to go, seeing as you are so familiar with the politics and administration of food processing.”

  “Did they ask for me… um… I mean did the Nagano people request me specifically?”

  “Not exactly. Well, they said they wanted someone with experience, and Mr Shiraishi told me to send you.”

  “The director general wanted me?”

  “It seems you made a specific request to be dispatched. He says you told him how disappointed you were when you got ill and were unable to accompany him to Nagano back in December last year, and that you’d told him you definitely wanted to go the next time.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, that… er…”

  He hadn’t spoken to Shiraishi because he wanted to be sent to Nagano. He’d only meant to apologize for cancelling the first time. Shiraishi had misunderstood his motive. But Asai could hardly tell that to his division chief.

  “The director general clearly remembered your request. The tour will be for five days, starting 1 April. I expect you’ll get the formal request shortly.”

  “Which districts of southern Nagano exactly?”

  “Ina, Takato, Iida, Fujimi and Chino. It’ll be five nights and six days.”

  There was no way for Asai to refuse, not after last time, and now he was being recommended personally by the director general.

  Faking a sudden illness wasn’t going to work this time, either. He couldn’t play that card twice.

  His mistake had been to approach Shiraishi in the first place. The director general had long since forgotten that Asai had pulled out of the December tour, because it hadn’t been an issue for him. He’d had a bad feeling at the time that his apology was unnecessary, and he turned out to have been right. He should have let sleeping dogs lie.

  A five-night, six-day tour of a relatively small area meant he was practically guaranteed to meet Akiharu Kido and Jiro Haruta. The lectures would be attended exclusively by members of the agricultural cooperative. And it wouldn’t only be lectures – there would be receptions, dinner parties, and other get-togethers in the evenings. All the local members would look forward to attending these events, and he was sure to run into the two men there too. Asai would be seated in the place of honour, and each attendee would come in turn to drink a toast. Mr Kido and Mr Haruta would be right there in front of him. Country types could down a lot of alcohol, and their parties went on late. There’d be plenty of time for the men to remember him.

  If only I’d never met those two, thought Asai. He’d have been fine if there was no chance of Kido and Haruta turning up. He knew that he’d keep imagining their eyes on him, even while giving a lecture. He’d never be able to completely relax, have to be constantly on his guard.

  Why did he keep being reeled back in to a place that he was desperately trying to avoid? He felt as if he were slowly going crazy.

  And then he remembered his recent conversation with Yagishita.

  Kurosaki Machinery was inviting members of the agricultural cooperatives in the Koshinetsu area on a tour of Southeast Asia beginning at the end of March. Nagano was part of the Koshinetsu area. The participants were being selected from small local cooperatives according to this policy of “hand-picking”.

  What if Kido and Haruta were on the list of attendees? The end of March was around the time of the lecture tour. There was still a chance he might be able to avoid bumping into them.

  There was a glimmer of hope in Asai’s heart. He needed to get hold of a copy of Kurosaki Machinery’s list of attendees as soon as possible. If the tour was to begin at the end of March, it should already be drawn up.

  Asai waited impatiently for Yagishita to get back from his Hokkaido spa retreat.

  19

  Yagishita stopped by in Tokyo on his way back from Hokkaido, and ca
lled Asai at the ministry. Asai had left him a message at Yagishita Ham’s Tokyo branch office.

  “I’m back,” he said, coughing. “It was freezing up there; I caught a cold. Anyway, they told me you phoned.”

  His voice was more gravelly than ever.

  “It’s nothing important, but I’d really like to meet you for dinner tonight if you’re free. How about it?”

  “I don’t see why not. Shall I bring along someone from our office?”

  “No, no. Just the two of us. I’ve got a bit of a favour I want to ask you.”

  “Okay. Got it.”

  Normally it was Yagishita who played the host, but this time Asai had invited the other man to join him, so Asai made all the arrangements.

  They met in a café in Shinjuku at six that evening. Yagishita was coughing and constantly wiping his nose.

  “There was still snow on the ground in Hokkaido. We went to the hot springs in Noboribetsu. The water was hot, of course, but I still caught a chill when I got out.”

  “Why did you choose Hokkaido at this time of year?”

  “Everyone’s been to Shirahama or Atami these days. Despite the weather, I thought it would be better to travel a little further afield. My guests were all impressed that they could sit in the open-air baths in the snow, but it was way colder than I’d imagined. Still, the inns were really quiet, and the service was great.”

  So Yagishita had picked Hokkaido because Shirahama or Atami weren’t luxurious enough for his guests, but he’d deliberately gone in the off season to save money on the accommodation. Asai recalled his earlier complaint that he couldn’t afford to offer expensive freebies to his sausage and ham vendors, especially when compared with Kurosaki Machinery’s tour of Southeast Asia.