Hi, Mikan. Nice to see you again. Well, we'll see about those ten chapters of happy, fluffy AM.
This next chapter took me far too long to finish. I spent the entire day on it. I don't understand why, but I kept getting distracted even though I had plenty of ideas.
Chapter 14I end up staying the night at Shibata's camped out on her floor beside her bed.
After I finish crying, we get ready for bed because she's exhausted. She hasn't slept since she bought her plane ticket to come back. We lie down in her room and talk. I somehow find the power to speak about something other than the tragedy. I tell her about the days before Miki's death and what we did, but when I playfully scold Miki in absentia for being silly and childish, I feel an instant pang in my heart that reminds me to cherish every single moment, annoying or not, because there will be no more new ones made from now on. Forever.
We talk a bit about what to do with my investigation. At first Shibata is a little reluctant. She tells me it's neither very smart nor safe to go against the police, but she quickly descends from that moral high ground and tells me she'll help me out. Our next move, we agree, is to go to the Terrace Café and ask the owner about Miki. The owner knows my face since Miki and I have been going to that café for quite a while now. She's a mysterious woman, the owner, but she seems like the type who can keep quiet and offer a bit of assistance from the shadows. I'm sure she likes me and Miki since we patronise her shop loyally.
Shibata yawns all through our talk, but not once does her voice or mood give away how desperately she must want to fall asleep. She stays attentive to what I have to say until I fall asleep first, and that's just one of the countless things that shows what a wonderful and selfless person Shibata is.
The next morning I wake up feeling much more rested. It still hurts, of course.
I look up and see that Shibata's already out of bed. The poor girl's internal clock is still haywire.
I hear soft sounds coming from outside the bedroom, and when I open the door, the strong smell of coffee attacks my senses.
"Good morning," Shibata greets me.
She's standing in the living room, a cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other. She's just about to sit down. She's already dressed for the day, making me feel like a late-rising sloth.
"Good morning," I reply, looking up at the clock on the shelf beside her. It's only half past seven.
"Want some coffee?" she asks me, starting to get up.
I wave a hand no, but my stomach growls. It occurs to me that I can't remember the last time I had a meal.
"But could I have something to eat?" I ask. I don't like to ask, but it's now about my third day with no meal. I'm beyond manners.
"Of course," she says, getting up to prepare something for me. I sulk behind her guiltily.
"So, are we going to that café today?" she asks out of the blue.
My jaw hardens. That's right. We're on a mission.
"Yes. As soon as it opens."
Shibata finds me something to eat, and I'm surprised that I'm able to hold food down in my stomach. The sick feeling inside me recognises that my body needs nutrition in order to continue. Although the truth is that I feel my anger could fuel me for centuries without food and water.
We discuss what to ask the owner of the café. Shibata is indeed clever. I would have gone in there and asked questions recklessly. She takes a more controlled approach. It's as if all my organisation skills and all my common sense have ceased to exist. She has to tell me things that, three days ago, I would have been telling Miki to keep in mind.
I ask her to tell me about Spain to distract me. She talks about the things she was able to do in her short time there, how she met the family she stayed with, and other interesting facts that I try to focus on. But at the back of my mind, I can only think about myself and about Miki.
We could have gone to Spain. We could have had fun there.
In the middle of relating a story about her plane ride home, my cell phone rings. I pick it up and am not happy to hear Sugiura's voice coming from the receiver.
"What is it?" I ask rudely.
"Ah, I'm sorry to bother you, but as you know, we have searched through Fujimoto-san's apartment and her workplace," he says.
Congratulations, I think bitterly.
"Good," I say flatly.
"And I just want to apologise for, um, the second interview I had with you."
I frown. This
seems like a good thing, but is it really?
"Oh?"
Sugiura clears his throat almost nervously.
"I made an error," he admits. "I even implied that you might have had ill intentions. But upon further review of the case details and of the victim's personal effects, I find I misjudged you hastily."
"Huh?" I stammer, a strange feeling starting to rise up in me.
"We found several letters in her apartment, including a will-like note in the event that anything unspeakable ever happened to her. It's clear that my suspicion of you and your fingerprints being all over her apartment was spawned because I was not aware of all of the facts."
Oh brother. This is uncomfortable.
"Oh..." I mumble into the mouthpiece.
Now I know what he's talking about. He's somehow pieced together just how close Miki and I are. Were. And now he's changing his mind about previous suspicions. I would much rather he remained clueless, but if it clears my name, I guess I have to allow it.
"Two orders of business," he sets out in a completely different, strong tone. "First, we have removed any mention of your name in the official press release that we gave out earlier this morning."
Press release? Of course. The murder of a fairly high-profile singer doesn't go unnoticed. I'm sure people have been trying to reach her for the past two days and have begun to wonder. Now the world will know. But I'm curious what it would have said with my name included. And even more curious as to what made them take my name out of it. They could have easily and (truthfully) left in my name, saying I was the one to identify her- her body.
"Second, while we are still conducting our investigation at Fujimoto-san's apartment, I deemed it appropriate that you be allowed to come by and pick up several things that I believe you should have."
Great. Just great.
I suck in a breath and put all my confidence into my voice.
"Thank you, Sugiura-san. That would be nice."
But don't think this means I'm going to give you the journal, I think.
Not that he knows about it.
"Please ring before you come back down to the department so that we're ready to receive you."
"Could I head down there now?" I ask.
He says that it's fine and actually more convenient if I go now. I tell him I'll be there in an hour and a half, and I hang up, not sure what to feel. Relief? Embarrassment? Nothing?
I explain to Shibata what the conversation was about, and she asks if I want her to come with me.
"No, it's all right. I'll go alone. No use showing your face down there."
The less the police know about my friends, the better.
I finish eating, get ready quickly, and leave, thanking Shibata for letting me stay over and telling her I'll call as soon as I'm finished at the police department. We'll head to the café together later.
~
When I arrive at the department, the receptionist tells me I can go ahead to Sugiura's office. I walk there slowly, wondering what to say to him. I don't want to have to explain myself. A part of me is worried that he's going to demand why I didn't tell him the whole truth before. But why should I have to? He's the one who should be bowing down and apologising to me. I'm the one who has lost a loved one. I'm the one who was shocked with the news. I was the one who had to tell Miki's mother and Tsuyoshi, and Shibata.
I knock at the door.
"Come in!"
I walk in, shutting the door quietly and avoiding eye contact.
"Matsuura-san, thank you for coming down this morning," Sugiura says, standing up quickly from his chair.
His entire attitude has changed. His voice is back to the softer, kind one he used when he first met me. His posture is even less intimidating than when I last saw him.
"I have some things that, well, they belong to you now. Here you go," he says, picking up a paper shopping bag from his desk and handing it to me.
I don't know what to say. I've left tonnes of things at Miki's apartment over the past five years. The detectives have no way of knowing what's mine and what's hers.
I don't even know anymore. It's not like I label all my clothing. I don't write my name on the DVDs that I keep by her television set and force her to watch. Although I guess to most people, the existence of two toothbrushes and a couple of hairbrushes in the bathroom would instantly trigger the assumption that two people live there, not just one.
I accept the bag with thankfulness.
"We've included a copy of the, ah, will-like note. We've had to keep the real one for legal reasons."
I nod vacantly.
When did Miki write something like that? More importantly,
why would she have written something like that?
"I'm very sorry about all of this," he continues, becoming aware that I'm not going to be very talkative. "We're still working hard to investigate. I have to tell you the truth, though. We have very few leads. We're doing our best to involve as many people as possible, but I'm afraid with high-profile individuals, it becomes very tricky. The people we need to talk to don't speak up as much, and conversely, too many people who have nothing to do with it want to say something. It's very tricky to sort through all of the..."
I tune out as he rambles on. This man needs a lesson in sensitivity and policemanship (if such a word exists). This is not what I want to be hearing at the moment, and I question whether he should be telling me all of this anyway. Aren't there rules about having to keep things quiet and classified? Maybe I've watched too many movies.
Once he's finished speaking, he looks at me expectantly and I tune back in.
"I beg your pardon?" I ask quickly, trying to hide my clueless state from him.
"I asked if you were all right."
At least he bothers to ask.
"I'm a little overwhelmed," I say honestly.
He nods sympathetically. As if he can understand my pain.
He cannot possibly.
"We'll keep you updated on our progress. Don't lose hope," he says to me.
I say goodbye to him and I leave, holding the handle of the bag tightly in the sweaty palm of my hand.
On the train, I pull out my phone and e-mail Shibata.
Sorry, but I have to stay at home for a bit. I'll get in touch later.I need to see what's in this bag before I can go anywhere.
Shibata e-mails me back and tells me to take my time.
I sigh and rest my head back, closing my eyes, willing the train to go faster, wondering what's in the bag, and begging for Miki to be alive again.
Topic: What Needed to be Done (Read 48553 times)