Chapter 3

Hanazawa Akina's hand shook slightly as she crossed the room and took down a glass. A mirror was before her and she studied herself critically. God, she looked terrible. Deeply etched dark circles under her eyes, ashen complexion, mussed up hair. Nothing like the stunningly lovely woman with the perfectly made up face and immaculate dressing that she usually was.

The image portrayed to the world was that of a beautiful woman in full control of herself. Dignified. Stately. Elegant.

She had been like that once.

Looking away from the mirror, she grabbed a bottle of brandy and poured it into the glass. The fiery taste would do her good now. She hadn't had a decent night's sleep since Soujirou called and informed her that he would be bringing an English detective over to look at Rui's room.

Rui…

Her boy, dead.

She closed her eyes, savouring the feel of the brandy sliding down her throat. She had a beautiful throat – Mareo never failed to tell her that when they were wrapped up in the throes of passion and he couldn't refrain from kissing her there. But that was a long time ago…

Akina put down the glass. She was trembling so mightily that she had to sit down.

Again, the name echoed in her heart.

Rui…

Her eyes roved around her bedroom and came to rest on a photograph sitting on her dressing table. One which she never failed to look at every morning while dolling herself up…staring, almost adoring the handsome young man in the picture, gazing at the world through clear, solemn dark eyes. Her baby, the one whom she'd given all of herself to…Rui, who had taken away all joy and love from her life when he died and left Mareo nothing but an empty shell.

Mareo, who had once been so alive! Mareo who'd romanced her under the stars and pursued her until she fell irrevocably, uncontrollably in love with him. Mareo, whose eyes had lit up and shone with pride whenever someone mentioned his son's name. Mareo, who was a pale shadow of his old self now, throwing himself into his work and caring for little besides his dollars and cents. Once he had been a man; now he was simply a powerhouse. And all because Rui had died.

He had been dead for ten years. Sometimes it seemed to Akina that strains of his violin music still streamed down the hallway and into her room, surrounding her with comfort and bathing the entire mansion in peace. Tortured imagination. Ten years of suffering. It was all so sickening…and oh, she regretted, yes, she regretted so much…

Now Soujirou wanted to dig out the past again. He was going to bring back all the grief, all the pain of longing. Rui's room had been locked up – now it was going to be opened again. Akina dropped her head in her hands, restraining herself from letting out a scream.

Someone knocked gently on the door and she forced herself to say, "Who is it?"

"Madam, Mr. Nishikado has arrived," said her maid's voice.

"With the British detective?" Akina asked.

"Yes, Madam, along with Mr. Mimasaka and Mr. Doumyouji."

Akina cursed inwardly. How she disliked those three men, coming in and going out as though the Hanazawa mansion was a hotel. Strutting about as though they owned the whole of Japan, and possibly the entire world, too. She had never understood Rui's attachment to them. How could he, sensitive, beautiful Rui have liked three such idiots?

Deep within her, Akina knew that her dislike of them was really due to jealousy. Jealousy that they had taken up so much of Rui's time. Jealousy that his love had been shared between the silly F3, herself and Mareo. If she had it all her way, she would have restricted Rui's love and time to merely Mareo and herself. The family. The way they should always be.

"Tell them I'll meet them in fifteen minutes," she said. Just enough time to dab on enough make up and change into the new champagne red dress that she'd purchased only the day before.

---

McGill was a well-to-do man with rich connections, but even he had never seen such an outpouring of wealth. Evidently, the Hanazawas had spared no expense on establishing a Paradise as their home. Their 70, 000 sq. ft. British colonial-style mansion stood on sixty three acres of picturesque land, on which tennis courts, an Olympic-sized swimming pool with its own mini waterfall, and a small golf course were constructed.

The mansion itself was a work of art. Someone living in it was obviously an art collector, for various pieces of 16th to 18th paintings and ancient Chinese pictures lined the walls. Each room had its own vases of fresh flowers, its own collection of antiques and art and its own style of furniture. One room would belong to a 18th century English cottage, another would be a wealthy, present day New York luxury apartment. Everywhere there were huge windows spreading from ceiling to floor, letting in sunlight and forcing people to admire the view. There were no empty, wide open spaces, cold marble floors, and unfriendly white walls. The entire mansion was rich in decoration, yet it was not so excessive that it seemed overstuffed. It was a mixture of unbelievable luxury, simplicity and comfort. 

McGill loved architecture and interior designing, and would have liked nothing better than to have a grand tour of the mansion, but Nishikado led him straight to the parlour and made him sit there. "Aunt Akina doesn't like strangers wandering about the place," was his explanation.

The parlour was a sunny, cheerful room painted in hues of pale yellow and green. Pots of plants and flowers hung at the windows and comfortable, oversized couches and armchairs, all white, were scattered generously around the room. McGill was suitably impressed with the arrangement of it all.

Then he turned to observing the two men whom Nishikado had brought along. Mimasaka Akira was a genial, good-natured, smiling man who could probably sell an icepack to an Eskimo. Doumyouji he'd met before; the same Doumyouji who was still glaring at him as though he was a sort of contagious, highly dangerous disease.

Not a very nice person, Mr. Doumyouji, thought McGill as Doumyouji walked impatiently up and down the parlour, hands in pockets and a fierce scowl on his face. Certainly not the kind whom you'd choose to approach for directions. He'd most probably chew your head off. "Bloody tourist, why don't you buy a map?" McGill could almost hear him saying.

The door opened and a beautifully maintained woman walked in, clothed in a stunning red dress that would've blown any normal person's bank account. Instantly Doumyouji stopped his pacing and the other two got up to greet her respectfully. "Aunt Akina," all three murmured.

So this is Hanazawa Akina, McGill said to himself as he got up. "Pleased to meet you," he said. "I'm James McGill."

Akina walked straight past him, her head held high, and sat down on an armchair with her back ramrod straight. "I shall not beat about the bush," she said in perfect, American-accented English. "I think it is absolutely ridiculous that anyone would want to investigate two decade old deaths, and I will not participate in something that I think is ridiculous."

Nishikado and Mimasaka exchanged glances. 'Akina the hard nut' was harder than ever.

Tsukasa blew his breath out impatiently. He had no time for this woman and he'd never had. But then again, when he thought about it – there were only two women on the entire planet that he'd ever had time for. One of them was his sister. The other…his jaw tightened and he walked to the window, clenching his fists.

"But you agreed over the phone," Nishikado protested.

"My dear," said Akina, her voice a trifle too sharp, "please do not argue with me. I have made up my mind that I shall not allow any outsiders inside Rui's room. Let the matter rest."

McGill did not miss the flash of pain in her eyes as she mentioned Rui's name.

"Don't you have the least bit of curiosity?" Nishikado exploded. "Don't you want to know whether Rui really committed suicide, or whether he might actually have been murdered? Don't you want to bring the killer to justice?"

"Rui killed himself," said Akina curtly. "That is all there is to it."

"He was found with the gun in his hand, but…"

"Enough!" Akina rose to her feet. Her face was taut and she was shaking, but when she spoke again her voice was perfectly controlled. "The problem with you, my dear Soujirou, is that you have an overactive imagination and when you begin to imagine things, you tend to drag everyone else in as well. Rui's room has not been opened to anyone, not even myself, for ten years and it will remain unopened. End of story."

Mimasaka almost had to restrain Nishikado from rushing at the stubborn woman and throttling her to death.

McGill, who had remained silent, observing the scene so far, now walked up to Akina and looked down gently at her. "How it must have hurt you," he said dispassionately.

Akina started. "How must what have hurt me?"

"Your son killing himself. You loved him and gave him the best of everything, yet he still shot himself in the end. What went wrong? Why did he do such a thing? Was it through any fault of yours? Perhaps you've been blaming yourself unnecessarily for ten years. Perhaps…" he paused for effect. "I can find out the answers for you now."

Akina's lips were trembling and her eyes were wet. No one had ever spoken to her like that. No one had ever understood enough to.

"But you have to give me a chance," McGill went on. "And it is imperative that I see his room." He could see her softening, see the tremulous light in the eyes which had been so flinty only a few moments before. And he knew that the battle was won.

"Rui was a wonderful son," said Akina distantly, as though she was not speaking to him, but to someone else whom none of them could see. "He never let me down in any way…he was my joy. Mine and Mareo's." She looked at McGill almost pleadingly. "You'll remember that, won't you? Whether it was suicide or murder…he was not at fault. He would never be."