Chapter 11
What the...?
I put down the book, my hands trembling. I'm filled with even more of the same sick feeling that's been inside me ever since the police called.
Somebody was harassing her. Somebody threatened her. But what was it about?
I go back and read the entire book once more. It doesn't take too long. I focus on the last three entries. They sound very mysterious. Is the "her" she's writing about me? Did someone threaten to kill me? What kind of secret did Miki have that made them threaten people close to her? What did she do to aggravate someone to the point of doing that?
I flip back to the entry on June 4th.
Kuniko. Ohashi.
I wrack my brain trying to remember who they are. As far as I can remember, though, they're just fellow co-workers on the same label as Miki. If memory serves correctly, Kuniko is a b-grade singer (according to Miki), and Ohashi is some older guy who can dance but whose singing is nothing to write home about. Could they have done something to her?
No, that would be too obvious.
What about Noriko? I know Noriko from a party a few months ago, but she doesn't strike me as a dangerous person who would want to kill someone.
Nobody does. Nobody at her work would do that. She would have told me if there was anyone she thought was going to hurt her.
But then I look at the second last entry.
They say if I tell anyone, they'll kill her.
Why would she believe these people? She could have told me anything and nobody else would ever know. How bad was this thing she knew?
Reading this journal has caused me more confusion than I thought it could. It's answered none of my questions.
I briefly consider handing it over to the police, but I stop that thought. There will be too much to explain. I've already lied to them, and I've even involved Tsuyoshi. I have to keep silent. Anyway, the things Miki has written about are too personal. I don't want anyone to know them. I don't care that they involve me. I just want to protect her last bits of dignity. She wouldn't want her life to be an open book to just anyone.
So that leaves me with a big question mark floating over my head. Who was harassing Miki, who killed her, and why?
I need to answer these questions, because once I do, I will find the people responsible and rip their throats out.
I drop the book from my hands and grab the covers on my bed, squeezing hard. The rage resurfaces and I want to scream. I hold it in and take a deep breath, counting to ten before I let go and exhale. I open the book again and read slowly from the beginning.
I wish I'd gotten her a birthday present. I had meant to "forget" her birthday this year because I was going to surprise her after work, but then she went and got drunk at some other party and ruined it. I felt really bad, but I never told her that I had planned to do something for her. I guess now she'll never know...
It breaks my heart to read her entry where she wonders if I like her as much as she likes me. Of course I do. She's also my favourite friend and my best friend. I begin to cry because now I can't tell her that. I think she knew, though. She probably let go of that fear after writing it down. She must have known because she never wrote about it again. If it bothered her, she would have written about it. Right?
After reading about how we argued (the memory of those arguments comes back, and now I miss them more than anything), I stop at the first entry for the month of September.
"Terrace Café, five-fifteen, September third," I read out loud.
The Terrace Café is our place. We go there a lot because of the nice atmosphere, and nobody bothers us. I wonder what kind of meeting she had there.
It's odd, though. That café isn't exactly a place where one would think to have a meeting. And why that particular one? There are dozens of other places in Tokyo in which to have meetings.
She also seems to have been caught off guard by it. Her question mark probably shows that she's not the one that called the meeting.
So who did?
When I find you I'm gonna kill you, you bastard. Rip your heart out and see how you like it.
My hands itch to call Shibata and tell her about these things I've discovered, but there's no point. She's either on her way over here if she managed to get a flight for today, or she's getting ready to leave and shouldn't be disturbed. I hope she calls me as soon as she lands. I need to talk to someone I can trust completely.
I read the same few pages over and over again. It seems impossible that almost a whole year's worth of unspoken thoughts are contained within these ten pages. I guess she really does tell me everything. Did. She really did tell me everything.
(No. Thinking in the past tense hurts too much. I can't do it.)
Maybe she just doesn't like to write much. She said so herself. She's not the most eloquent writer, but then again, neither am I. At least I can get into it and get all flowery and dramatic. She's too shy, even with herself.
I flip through the blank pages mindlessly until I discover something. There's some writing on a few of the pages near the back of the book.
The third last page has a poem written on it. As I read it, I realise that it's the song that she was trying to write before she- no. Just... the song that she was trying to write. At the bottom of the page, she's scribbled some things. There are some pictures that I can't quite make out. Maybe animals or people. And there's my name with a heart around it.
I read the song over and over again. It's pretty terrible, but suddenly it means a whole lot more. I can't stop the tears as I look at this ridiculous song and think of how she's never going to work on it again. I'll never hear her sing it in the shower again.
I throw the book down and yell at the top of my lungs. Nothing intelligible. A mess of gibberish. I scream out words of death and killing, and I bawl my fists up, pounding them down on my bed. I fall forward and cry into the blankets, sobbing out that I want to kill whoever killed her. That I won't rest until I've found him. I tell her that I'm sorry for letting this happen to her.
I lose control for those five minutes, and then pull myself together. I have to keep sane. Whoever did this to her is still out there, and I'm sure I can't be safe if they are.
I turn to the next page and I grow even sadder. It's an entry that she didn't write in the main part of the book for a silly reason. I read it quietly in my head.
June 23rd
I can't keep this a secret anymore!! But I have to write it back here just in case Aya reads my journal before the 25th. You never know. Sometimes I keep it at her place, but I don't tell her. I mean, of course I trust her, but still. Like I said, you never know. Hahaha! I don't think people usually flip to the back of a book when they read, so let's hope this works.
Anyway, for her birthday, I got her this stupid book she's been going on about wanting to read. Not just that, but I got it signed by the author. Yesterday he had a two-hour autograph session at Kinokuniya. Aya had to work and she complained ad nauseum about not being able to go. I ignored her pretty much all day, and I managed to get time off to go to the session. I got the book signed and addressed to her. I can't wait to see her reaction. She'll either worship me for thinking of her and taking time off, or kill me 'cause I got to meet her favourite author. I hope it's the first one!
I remember that clearly. I thought she was going to give me a taste of my own medicine and ignore me on my birthday, but no. When I woke up to my screeching alarm and grudgingly got out of bed to go to work, she was already up and in the living room watching TV. A rare thing for her. She saw me and tossed me a bag that I barely caught. I opened it and saw that book and smiled... and then when she told me to open it to the first title page, I almost died. For a moment I did feel jealous that she'd gotten to meet him, but that quickly changed into gratitude, and I didn't think that I could ever say "thank you" enough times.
I start to feel myself losing control again, so I grab my cell phone and check my e-mail for that number Shibata has sent me. She's included the directions for long distance calling. I yank my phone off the hook and dial quickly.
It takes a while to connect.
The ringing starts.
After four rings, someone picks up.
"Dígame."
"Eh... Shiba.... eh... Ayumi?"
"No. Ya se fue. Hace como veinte minutos."
This requires a different approach.
"Ahh... Japanese? English? I look for Ayumi," I say into the phone in English.
"Ahh, sorry. She has left. She buy a ticket for, eh, a plane. Ehh, twenty minutes since gone."
I just barely understand.
"So sorry. Thank you. Bye!" I say quickly, and I hang up as the other person says something along the lines of "it's okay, bye."
So she's managed to buy a plane ticket? Or she's out buying one now? Either way, I can't talk to her for a while.
My life is a waiting game right now. I pick up the journal that I threw down in a rage and I re-read it.
This time around, something nags at the back of my mind. After the Terrace Café entry in September, she speaks about her meetings as if they're separate from her work.
I've been so busy at work, plus all these extra meetings.
My time is stretched between work, meetings, and her.
It might just be my imagination or my paranoia, but something is not right about that. But there's no way for me to find out. I should have asked Tsuyoshi to grab her agenda book while he was in her office.
Tsuyoshi. Of course. Who else would know better than him? He's the secretary. He's sure to have handled scheduling, or at least seen the calendars fifty times per day. He'd probably be able to answer my questions.
I know I have to have his cell phone number somewhere. I'm fairly certain he gave it to me a few months ago, something which Miki teased me about a lot. I look through my address book and find it. There must be some lucky star on my side for the time being.
I dial up the number and wait patiently.
"Hello?" asks a tired voice.
"Hi, Tsuyoshi-kun," I say.
It takes him almost no time to identify who I am.
"Oh, hi. What can I do for you?" he asks with unimaginable hope in his voice.
"Do you have time now? I just want to ask you a question or two."
"Sure. Does this have to do with Fujimoto-san?"
His voice weakens at the mention of her name. My stomach weakens, too.
"Yes," I say quietly. His silence is my pass to continue. "Did Miki have a lot of meetings?"
"Yes, but not more than any of our other employees. She's- she was popular with the bosses, so she got lots of extra opportunities."
"What about outside of the company. Did she have any extra meetings at any cafés or restaurants?"
"Um..." Tsuyoshi thinks hard. "I can't recall ever seeing one on the schedule."
"What about-"
"Wait," he says, interrupting me. "I've got my giant agenda book from work. I bring it home sometimes. I've got everybody's bookings written in there. Let me get it."
"Thanks."
I wait while he runs over to wherever he keeps the book.
"Okay, I've got it here. Do you have any particular date in mind?"
He's on the same wavelength as me.
"September 3rd. Anything out of the office scheduled for around 5:15?"
He flips through pages and then stops.
"Nope. Nothing for September 3rd. Actually, she had no meetings here or outside."
Suspicious.
"And nothing on the next day either?"
"No. Nothing."
So this meeting she had must have been... personal? But it sounded like it was work-related.
"What about after that? For the months of September and October. Can you tell me what kinds of meetings she had?"
Tsuyoshi flips through the pages of his book, no doubt memorising when and where Miki had meetings.
"They're all meetings in the office. Nothing outside. No business lunches or anything like that."
I try not to yell out in frustration. What were these meetings she was going to?!
I take a deep breath to calm myself.
"Tsuyoshi-kun, can you think hard about Miki during the months of September and October? Was there anything that seemed off about her? Did she do or say anything strange? Maybe act out of character?"
I can hear him breathing as he thinks. I've probably scared him more than I should. I can feel him wanting to ask me questions, but he's being polite.
"Nothing strange, but she did leave early quite a bit in the past half month. Well, not early. She used to stay overtime till seven or eight, but lately she was leaving at four-thirty or five. It sounded like she was just busy at home. It happened maybe two or three times a week."
An icy hand grips my heart. As far as I knew it, she was working at her U-Con office until late and then going home right after. Now I'm hearing that sometimes she left early some days and essentially disappeared for a few hours. I have never been a maniac about keeping track of her. She has - had - her own life, and who was I to need a record of how she spent every single minute of her day?
But it just seems odd that she never talked about it with me. Why wouldn't she mention these extra meetings? Why did she make everything she did sound like it was part of her official work? I have a very bad feeling.
"Did anybody strange call for her? Or did one person call her frequently? More than usual?" I ask, my voice shaking a bit.
"Um... no. I mean, you call - called - her more than anyone. Other than that, nobody seemed to call her too many times."
Oops. Did I really call her that much? No use dwelling on that now, though.
"I see..."
I run a shaky hand through my hair and try to think.
"Matsuura-san, was Fujimoto-san in any trouble? I mean, you mentioned the police earlier..." Tsuyoshi asks timidly.
"Sorry. I honestly don't know. She might have been in trouble, but as a victim. So the police didn't show up there today?"
"No."
I'm positive that they'll show up tomorrow.
"Tsuyoshi-kun, I know I'm asking a lot of you, but can you keep this quiet? That we talked about Miki's schedule? I think the police are looking in the wrong direction, and with me being nosey, they're going to think I have something to do with it. I need you to trust me for a bit..."
I know that I really am asking a lot of him. He can say no anytime to me, deny me information, and go straight to the police with what we've talked about.
But he's a very loyal boy. I've learned that. I have faith in him.
"Matsuura-san, I would rather be arrested and thrown into the slammer than let you down. If somebody did hurt Fujimoto-san, I want him brought to justice."
I almost shed a tear at the love I hear in his voice. Definitely not your typical nineteen-year-old boy.
"Thank you. You can't imagine how much that means. I have to go now, but keep in touch, okay?"
We say goodbye and hang up.
I look down at the journal entry for September third.
Terrace Café.
I have a feeling that whoever I'm looking for, he or she is connected to that meeting. It has to be. There's no other explanation.
I'm taking a gigantic leap here. I don't know how to be a cop. There's a reason why I never finished high school.
But to do what I'm going to do, I need somebody by my side. I need some brains. I need someone with common sense. I need Shiba-chan.
Hopefully she'll be here soon.
I turn off the lights and lie down on my bed, the journal right beside me, Mr. Monkey above my head.
Sleep takes a long time to come, but when it does, I'm grateful, because for a few hours, I can escape from the gut-wrenching pain that I'm trying to cover up by playing detective.