Chapter 4

Dust had settled thickly over everything in Rui's room, giving the place a dull, lifeless look. McGill stood in the middle and took in the double bed with its thick white quilt, the white curtains at the window, the desk of polished mahogany and the violin resting on a rack that were the only colours in the vastly white room. All white. Emotionless, distant, uncaring.

Yet, the whole room seemed flooded with a sort of quiet serenity about it, an almost unearthly peace. Of course, it had not been opened for years, but McGill got the feeling that even when Hanazawa Rui had been alive, the room had been exactly like that – so quiet and so peaceful.

The only thing, he thought, that holds feeling is the violin.

He walked to the violin and looked down at it. Nishikado had told him that the violin was Rui's most beloved possession; he had had it since he was five. McGill could imagine Hanazawa Rui holding the violin now, drawing the bow lightly over the strings, touching the wood gently and lovingly. Expressing his emotions through music…emotions that didn't come out in any other way.

The three men were also inside the room, standing together in a group and looking mutely at it. Then Mimasaka approached the bed and pointed to it, trying to smile. "Remember how Rui used to sleep fifteen hours a day?" he said. "He would be so pissed at us when we disturbed him. Originally he didn't have anything but the bed and the desk in here, but after Tsukasa whined on and on about not having anywhere to sit, he finally got in a sofa just to shut us up."

"Not that we sat much in it," said Nishikado soberly. "Rui didn't exactly like people in the room even if it was us. He was too private."

"It feels as though there's a ghost in here," Mimasaka muttered. "Like Rui is here, standing beside us."

"Cut the crap!" Doumyouji snapped. "You idiot. When can we get out of here?" He turned and glared at McGill. "Are you done yet? How long does one take to look at a violin?"

"Be a little more polite, Tsukasa," said Nishikado mildly. "Mr. McGill is doing a favour for us. It won't mortally wound you to be nice to him."

Doumyouji, glowering, stalked out of the room. He hated anything that reminded him of Rui and the image of his best friend slumped down in the rose garden, that damn gun in his hand. Breathing in deeply, he made his way to the kitchen to find if there was any beer in the kitchen. Oh yes, he had gotten to know the bottle very intimately in the past ten years. Too intimately, Mimasaka said. But he honestly couldn't care less. So what if he died from drinking? It would be a way out of this hell.

Back in the room, Nishikado had picked up the violin and was holding it almost reverentially. "Never thought that I'd see it in this state," he said, shaking his head. "The last time I saw it – or rather, whenever I saw it, it was in tiptop condition. Not a speck of dust on it."

"Rui never allowed a speck of dust on his violin," Mimasaka reminded him. "Sometimes I felt as though it was the only thing in life that he truly cared about. He was always so detached – like he was in a world of his own and didn't want to get out of it – but give him the violin and you'll see the transformation. It's a pity you can't get to know him, Mr. McGill. I think you would have liked him."

"It wasn't easy to like Rui," said Nishikado, replacing the violin. "Not many people did. But those who liked him, loved him."

McGill walked towards the door. "I think I get it," he said.

Mimasaka looked at Nishikado. "It's time for some lunch at that French place down the road."

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'That French place' turned out to be a supremely elegant, classy restaurant with only fifteen tables in the house and a menu that would make your mouth water and your wallet ache at the same time. Highly skilled waiters moved quietly about, fading into the background when they were not needed and popping out instantly when they were. Heavy tapestries were hung on the walls to reduce the talking to stifled murmurs, and the tables were placed so far apart that it was practically impossible to hear what was being said by your neighbour.

Doumyouji had refused to come, muttering something about having business matters to look after. McGill had his own doubts about the business matters, but he said nothing. If the man didn't want to come, then there was no point in forcing him to. Besides, the atmosphere was always a little easier without that scowling person lounging about.

"Tsukasa isn't that bad, you know," Nishikado said after they'd placed their orders. "He is the typical 'bad-exterior-good-interior' kind of guy."

"But he got a lot worse after Tsukushi died," Mimasaka said. "He was a bad-tempered fuse before, now he's a bad-tempered time bomb."

"Yeah…" Nishikado shook his head sadly. "I don't think he's ever gotten over her dying…he was really in love with her…the most in love I've ever seen a man with a woman. Tsukushi was the sort of woman you'd walk by on the street and not even notice, but there was something incredibly special about her once you got to know her. Her indomitable spirit, her determination, her will, her generosity…"

"Tsukasa was the first one to reach the rose garden," Mimasaka said. Upon seeing McGill's slightly confused look, he explained, "Rui shot himself in the rose garden of our summer villa – the one we were all at that summer. A holiday retreat." He laughed bitterly. "Retreat, my ass."

"You can imagine how devastating it was for Tsukasa," said Nishikado. "In a space of one week, he lost his fiancée and his best friend. The four of us are close as brothers, closer, in fact – but Tsukasa always loved Rui most."

Five minutes later, they settled down to talking about the period of time which had wrought such disturbance in their lives.

"We were all at a summer villa to get away from the real world for a while," Nishikado said. "It was hidden away in this little village miles from Tokyo. Tsukasa, Tsukushi, Rui, Akira, Yuki and myself were there. Yuki was one of Tsukushi's old friends…we don't really keep in touch anymore." His voice faltered a little, but he continued, "The villa should still be there. We can always make a trip down to it if you want."

"Of course, none of us went back there again," Mimasaka said soberly. "The memories. Too much."

Just then their dishes arrived and silence prevailed as they decided to appreciate the food fully. The decoration of the dishes were sublime, and the food itself was even better. Obviously the owner had spared no expense in getting one of the finest chefs that Japan could offer.

"To tell you the truth," said Mimasaka as they lingered over their dessert much later, "I can't remember much of what happened now. When I try to think of it, all I can think of is Tsukushi's body being carted out of the house and Rui lying dead in the garden. That's all."

"Ah," said McGill softly, "that's where you're wrong. When you get down to it and really begin to start thinking, you'll find yourself starting to remember things. Significant things and not-so-significant things and the little, barely noticeable details here and there that your sub-conscious mind noticed. I would like the two of you to do a favour for me."

His companions waited quietly.

"Write an account of it for me," said McGill. "Do not leave out anything even if it seems unimportant to you."

"You mean…in point form or…?" Mimasaka said blankly.

"Anyway you like," McGill said. "But try to include the emotions of the people as well as the facts. Because you see, bare facts do not help at all in this kind of investigation." He looked at the two of them. "The bare facts are already out on the table. You were at a summer villa, Makino Tsukushi poisoned herself, Hanazawa Rui shot himself, the police assumed the two deaths to be suicides. Now we'll have to probe a bit deeper."

"I'll do my best," Nishikado promised.

"I'm a darn lousy storyteller," Mimasaka said, "but I'll do it."

"I'll also have to meet Yuki and Tsubaki," said McGill.

Nishikado looked away. Mimasaka was the one who said, "No problem."