— Chapter 2: Sunday, January 4th, Morning —
The last gasp before the end of the school year meant that their weapons courses would soon be coming to a close, and course managers such as Ren would need to write their recommendations for which students would advance to the next tier and which would not. Ren had taken less than two years to advance through the final level of the Bladed Arts courses, ultimately passing a certification exam similar to the one Makoto had completed in the Martial Arts sequence. Since his exam, he'd been earning credit (and a small stipend) acting as a student instructor for an intermediate group. Last year, Daisuke was in his class, which is how the two had met.
In spite of the impending deadline, most students fail to train over winter break, and Ren's friends were generally no exception. Ren had gotten a little target practice in with Makoto at the TMPD, but nothing with a knife. Since he was now effectively a Blades instructor, he felt some responsibility to hit the ground running.
So even though he and his friends had arranged to meet at the athletics complex at nine o'clock, he was there early so he could shake off his rustiness before they arrived. The complex was closed on Sundays, but as a course instructor, he had special clearance—with a swipe of his card, the doors unlocked for him.
At the knife lockers, another swipe earned him a selection of blades from which to choose. Ren helped himself to a drop-point blade and began warming up with a basic kata. However, he didn't get very far before his alone time was interrupted.
"Good morning, sunshine!" called Jiro. "Did you think you could sneak in here and work out your fuck-ups before we arrived, and we'd all think you're just naturally badass?"
Without losing a beat, Ren continued his kata. "I suppose I should've realized you'd anticipate my schemes and get in here to ruin my plans. Curse you," he said dryly.
"Of course I knew you would try that. 'I know you better than you know yourself.'"
From the tone of his voice, it was clear Jiro was quoting something. The usual test, now, was to see if he could respond correctly. Ren gave it the old college try: "Um, okay, 'tiger something-something'… 'You're better than anybody'... Wait, that's still your line… I give up, what the fuck are you quoting?"
A look of exaggerated disappointment overtook Jiro's face. "I'm disheartened by your poor performance… The line goes, 'You never had a camera in my head'…"
Ren's mind picked through the fragments of the 90s-era film noir he could only vaguely recall, unable to picture those words coming out of the protagonist's mouth. "Soooo… you're not Robert De Niro, and that wasn't Casino…"
Jiro's eyes lit up as he suddenly realized the disconnect. "Oh, shit! I forgot they say that in Casino, too… Huh… But no, I was doing Truman Show—couldn't you tell from my delivery? Jesus, it's fuckin' amateur hour…"
"My bad, I forgot what I was really coming here to practice," said Ren, still trying not to fuck up his kata in spite of the distraction.
"And the line from Casino goes, 'You're a tiger. You're stronger than I am. When you set your mind on doing something, you do it better than anybody.' —Why would I say that to you? Think rationally—I came here to best you in mortal combat. 'Better than anybody,' my ass…"
"I thought I was saying that to you."
"Oh. Maybe. But wait, see, you were saying it, but it was my… See, you fucked it up by getting the wrong movie, so… Shut up." Jiro glanced furtively around the room, embarrassed to have gotten himself so twisted up in his own logic.
Ren laughed inwardly. "Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps you're following the wrong career path?" he asked, still moving diligently through the steps of the heian shodan. "I feel as though you could be getting paid for your autism." Ren was only partly kidding.
Jiro shook his head dismissively, having long ago considered and ultimately dismissed the thought. "I see myself as the sort of detective who catches on to all the subtle little clues that other detectives are too culturally illiterate to notice," said Jiro.
"Of course, if someone decides to commit crimes based on the Bible, you're screwed," countered Ren.
"I think you're forgetting how many movies reference the Bible. I saw Seven—I know more than you might think."
"Touché."
"Besides, I'm sure at least a few of the other detectives will know the Bible well enough to catch what I don't. I think those bases are covered."
"Probably true," said Ren, fluidly continuing with his movements until another thought struck him. "Hey, how did you even get in here? I was expecting to have to open the door for you."
"I made sure Chihiro would be here to let me in." Chihiro was one of the student instructors in the Staves cohort, and a friend of Jiro's.
"Sneaky…" said Ren, finishing up his kata.
"So," said Jiro, spinning his bo staff in circles in front of him, "just how warmed up are you? Are you ready for a little sparring?"
Ren had begun a different kata already, but he was willing to forestall it to keep his roommate happy. "Well, I haven't really done much yet, but—"
Without warning, Jiro brought his staff down in a swift, overhead strike. Ren was forced to block it with his knife hand and roll out from under it to prevent being whacked on the head.
"Well, shit," cursed Jiro, advancing. "Still more warmed up than I'd hoped you'd be. I actually practiced over break, you know. I'm determined to fuck you up this time."
"It's good to have goals in life," said Ren, regaining his feet in a defensive crouch, knife in a saber grip.
If there was one thing the bo staff had going for it, it was its reach. As long as Jiro could keep Ren at a distance, he had the advantage. Jiro struck forward, but Ren juked out of the way. Grunting, Jiro stepped things up with a flurry of quick stabs and strikes, all aimed at Ren's upper body. Ren was able to defend, but it was a genuine workout. Between dodging, parrying, and various acrobatic displays, Ren was actually getting tired.
"I'm gonna put notches in your staff," said Ren between breaths.
Exhilarated by the sound of exertion he could hear in Ren's voice, Jiro responded with a sinister grin. "Notches make it look cooler. Notch away, motherfucker," he added, unrelenting. Jiro swung his staff at Ren's lower legs.
Ren jumped easily over the staff, but in doing so, he'd fallen right into Jiro's trap. As soon as Ren landed, Jiro's staff was headed straight for his face, and Ren had too much downward momentum to escape to the left or right. Both men's eyes went wide in surprise at the realization that Jiro was about to break Ren's nose.
Acting quickly, Ren folded himself backwards, arms outstretched, ready to catch his own fall. Jiro's staff continued its forward trajectory, across the top of Ren's nose, catching the bridge of his glasses and knocking them up off his face.
Jiro's shock that he might actually succeed in fucking Ren up today had subsided, transforming itself into pure adrenaline. Ohmygod, this is my chance! he thought. Ren was practically on his back. Jiro just needed to bring his staff down, and—
Suddenly, Ren's legs popped up off the mat, pinching Jiro's bo staff tightly between his ankles. Jiro's face fell, feeling the pull on his staff. Ren, from his backward, quasi-handstand position, jerked his legs, scissoring them open as his feet pressed inward on the staff. The torquing motion caused Jiro, whose center of gravity was already too far forward of his feet, to lose his balance, and his grip on his bo staff. As his fingers slipped off, the sudden release was like someone pulling the pin on a catapult, and the staff whipped around Ren's feet in a circle, swatting Jiro on the ass even as he was already falling down sideways.
The two men lay on the ground, panting. Jiro had bitten the dust, taking a face full of tatami mat. Ren sat on his ass with his arms propping him up from behind, quietly assessing his former roommate.
"Good… job…" huffed Ren, glad to see that the match was finally over.
Jiro shook his head, biting his lip in frustration. "God. Dammit," he cursed. "I almost fucking had you!"
"Yeah, you did!" shouted Takeshi from the open doorway. Daisuke and John were watching too, each with their cell phones out front, recording everything. "Way to go, man!"
"You whacked me in the ass with my own staff…" whined Jiro, sitting up and turning around. "What the fuck crab-walking pincer shit was that, anyway? Unfair…" he said, shaking his head dolefully.
Ren huffed in amusement, reaching for his glasses, which had fallen on the floor just a couple feet further back from where he'd landed. "You disrobed me," joked Ren, setting his frames back in place over his eyes. "You left me with little recourse."
Daisuke walked over to Ren, and Takeshi to Jiro, and each offered their weapon-mate a hand up off the floor. Ren and Jiro accepted the help, and were each back on their feet. Ren nodded his acknowledgement at Jiro, praising his friend. "You've definitely improved."
Jiro sighed. "Yeah, I know. I was hoping to surprise you with just how much I've improved—now you've seen all my cards, and I won't be able to get the drop on you again…"
"Yeah, I definitely won't let you catch me in the middle of a kata again—that was fucking cheap," said Ren, tapping Jiro pointedly in the middle of his chest. His annoyance wasn't genuine, even if it had been an objectively cheap first strike.
"Takeshi and Jiro together fuck you up," said John, taking a seat on a bench at the edge of the expansive room. He pulled out his phone, preparing to dick around for a bit while he watched his other friends practice.
"Ooh! We should do knives versus staves sometime," said Daisuke, studying the contents of the knife lockers, looking for something new to try out.
"How about blades versus staves?" suggested Ren. "What do you say, John? Wanna bust out your axe sometime and join in the fun?"
"Ha!" barked John, shaking his head dismissively. "You Japanese… You really fight bad guy with axe? I only take axe course for throw at target in bar—for to place money on hitting wood."
"Are you talking about betting?" asked Takeshi, confused by John's poor vocabulary.
"Yes, betting," replied John. "That all axe good for. Only good weapon is gun."
"Spoken like a true American," said Jiro. "Maximum deadly force for whatever the infraction—this is why your murder rates are so high…"
"Not so high…" countered John.
"How many murders in Boston last year?" asked Ren. "You've got your phone—google it." He wasn't trying to be argumentative—having just talked about this with Makoto last night, he was genuinely curious how the two cities compared.
Switching to English, John talked into his phone, and held the screen up for everyone to see.
"Thirty-nine last year," said Jiro, reading from the table John's phone had produced. "Down from fifty-three last year, and fifty-six the year before… Is that a lot?"
"Tokyo had a hundred and five last year," supplied Ren helpfully. "I only know that because Makoto just told me it yesterday."
"Ha! Take that, Japan," said John. "Twice Boston—Tokyo full of axe murderers, I guess."
"Hold up, what's the population of Boston?" asked Ren.
Shrugging, John sighed and spoke into his phone one more time. Everyone leaned forward to see the number it spat back: 684,379.
"Dude, Tokyo is a city of fourteen million people," said Jiro. "Do the math, man—per capita, Boston has, like, twenty times the murder rate."
John grumbled, putting his phone away. "Overpopulation bad too…"
"Aaaaaand we've come full circle," said Jiro sarcastically, "where all the world's problems can be solved by shooting something."
"When your only tool is a hammer…" said Daisuke, hurling his knife at a target on the near wall, striking it just left of center.
"… Every problem is a gun nut," said Takeshi, providing a twist on the familiar saying as he spun his bo staff around in front of his body.
"Anyway, guys, are we going to practice, or what?" asked Jiro. "Have you two loosened up enough yet?"
"Been ready for ages," said Daisuke. "I've just been waiting for you old timers to get your breath back." He smiled facetiously at his only-slightly-older schoolmate.
Scoffing, Jiro swung his bo staff quickly around, going straight for Daisuke's head. Jiro stopped suddenly, mere centimeters from where Daisuke's head would have been, had he not flinched so spectacularly.
For the next hour or so, the friends sparred in pairs, knife-on-knife and staff-on-staff. From his bench, John Irish studied his Evidence Handling text quietly on his own, glancing up only occasionally to watch those wacky Japanese duel one another with their toy weapons.
— — —
Makoto sat at her desk, clipboard in one hand and mouse in the other, clicking back and forth between different windows on her computer. She kept finding herself reaching for the cup of coffee on her desk only to find it empty, reliving that same disappointed feeling over and over again. Why she couldn't bring herself to get up and refill it, she didn't know. She wasn't even scheduled to work today, so the fact that she was doing it without a steady supply of coffee was truly mind boggling, yet it was a situation she felt unable to fix.
Working on a Sunday sucked, but there was nothing else to do. Ren was back in Utsunomiya, Futaba was back in Europe, Yusuke was studying art at some remote ascetic temple, Ann and Haru were out of town on business, and Emiko wouldn't return from Sendai until this afternoon. Even Sae was working today, in spite of it being Sunday. Ryuji was free, but the two of them never really hung out one on one.
So why not spend her Sunday at the office? It wasn't as if police work really took Sundays off, anyway—there were plenty of other people there in the office with her. From the inside of her cubicle, Makoto could make out lots of other things going on, but she did her best to ignore them—they weren't her business, and eavesdropping wouldn't get her presentation done any faster. Not that she was in a hurry, Makoto had until the end of the week to finish preparing her presentation to the department, and at this rate, even with distractions, she'd be done in a couple days.
Background din was easy enough to tune out, but the sound of encroaching footsteps was something else—she found it particularly distracting when someone would walk directly past the opening of her cubicle. She'd see them out of the corner of her eye, but by the time she looked up and turned her head, whoever it was was long gone—the people around here were always in such a rush. The tramping of their business shoes on the low-pile office carpet came and went like a gust of wind.
One set of footfalls, however, had begun to stand out. At first, Makoto hadn't noticed them at all. It was only after they'd come and gone a few times in relatively rapid succession that she really registered them, realizing they probably belonged to the same person—they were moving at a slightly slower pace than everyone else's. Just to be sure, she listened for those steps, and the next time she heard them approaching she paid very careful attention to the suit that passed in front of the opening to her cubicle. She didn't turn to look, but her eyes glazed over as she focused on her peripheral vision. The footfalls belonged to a tan suit, one she realized had already passed her cubicle a couple more times.
It was probably just her brain trying to trick her into avoiding her presentation, but she decided to change things up. When the steps made their next approach, Makoto turned in her chair and faced the opening of her cube.
The tan suit came into view, revealing a head that was already pointed her way. The suit belonged to a man of relatively young age—about thirty. Upon seeing her staring back, the suit's eyes widened in surprise, and the even pattern of footfalls was interrupted with stutter-stepping. "Oh!" the man said clumsily, as though he was genuinely surprised to have been caught.
"Can I help you?" asked Makoto innocently, holding her clipboard in her lap like she was about to ask him some survey questions.
"Oh, um, er… I mean no… No, I mean… You're Makoto Niijima, right?" the man asked, trying to recover from his inelegant beginning.
"Yes, I am. Can I help you?" she asked again, evaluating the slender, unoffending man as he straightened his tie a bit. His modest suit hung comfortably about his frame, and his close-cut hair, parted on the left, was combed neatly into a swoop over the top of his forehead. He gave the impression of someone trying to look nice, but on a budget.
"Well, um, I didn't mean to interrupt…" stammered the man. "I don't think we've met, but I've seen you around before. You seem so focused on your assignment—uh, what are you working on, Niijima-san, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Oh," said Makoto, turning halfway back to her computer with a shrug, "I'm putting together the annual presentation for the department—the summary report."
"On a Sunday?" he asked, surprised. "I didn't think anyone came to work on a Sunday who didn't have to. You must be really dedicated, Niijima-san," he added, smiling.
"It's nothing," she said modestly. She didn't bother to mention that she had virtually nothing better to do.
"My name is Sato. Sato Sakai," he said, bowing politely. "How long have you been with the department, Niijima-san?"
"Almost two years," she answered.
Sato Sakai couldn't entirely conceal his surprise at that answer. "Really? Two years, huh?" He paused, gesturing at her computer screen. "And they've got you… doing that?" he asked, trying not to sound rude.
Makoto gave a wry smile, trying but failing to conceal her embarrassment at having been given such a menial task. "They do."
"Well, uh, you're a detective, right? There's a case that just came down the hopper…"
Makoto leaned forward slightly, intrigued by where this was going.
"It's a missing person thing. They offered it to me, but I'm still trying to wrap up another case right now—gotta meet with the medical examiner in an hour, in fact. Anyway, why don't you check it out? Might be a good opportunity to, uh… get out of your cubicle."
Makoto's eyes lit up, and she sat a little straighter in her swivel chair. "Really? Oh, thank you so much!" Makoto realized she was starting to gush, and tried to dial things back. "Um," she said, clearing her throat, "Sakai-san, would you mind, um…"
"You want me to talk to the precinct captain for you?" he asked.
"Yes! Oh—I mean, well, uh, I've just never… been offered a case like this before, so…"
Sato Sakai smiled at her. "Come with me," he said, stepping back so she could follow him out of the cubicle.
Makoto stood up and straightened her skirt. She took a couple nervous steps forward and joined Sato in the thoroughfare between the rows of cubicles. The aisles in the cramped office space were barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side, but Sakai did his best to walk next to her as she hurried down the hall and toward the precinct captain's office.
As they approached the office, they could see the captain through the window sitting at his desk, phone glued to his ear, also working on a Sunday. He was a large man, stout, his hair cut into a sort of flat-top—it did little to hide the rolls of fat on the back of his neck as he sat hunched over his desk. He was surrounded by various rolodexes, stacks of case files, and at least three empty coffee mugs.
Though she found it uncomfortable, she just stood outside his office door, waiting for him to get off the phone. She didn't like that he would be able to see her just standing there, obviously waiting for him, but she didn't know what else to do.
Sato Sakai watched her, smiling awkwardly. After a beat, he grabbed the knob to the office door and twisted it open for her, gesturing for her to enter. Makoto turned red, but followed Sakai's urging and stepped through the threshold.
"—well I don't care what the D.A. said about it, I want those statements… No, you tell 'im I'm not fuckin' around. In fact—hold on a minute, Ken—" the precinct captain interrupted himself, laying eyes on Makoto and pulling the phone away from his face by all of about two inches. "It's about goddamn time you showed up, sweetheart. Three empty cups I have here! How many times do I have to tell you: Every twenty minutes, like clockwork! Now move, would you please?"
Makoto could only stare, perplexed, at the precinct captain, trying to figure out what he thought was going on. Sato Sakai stepped past her with a tentative arm outstretched toward the captain, stopping him before he could re-engage with his phone call.
"Sakai-san, what do you want? Did you wrap up your other case yet?" asked the captain, his hand moving to the stack of files on his right.
"Uh, no, Captain Yamato, not quite. I'll be meeting with the medical examiner about that soon, but I wanted to talk to you about that missing person case they tried to give me—I was thinking that Detective Niijima here might be a good fit for it, and she's available."
Captain Yamato looked Makoto up and down, and she felt herself stiffen under his assessing gaze. "You're a detective?" he asked, squinting at her badge. "Ken, I'll call you back," he said, dropping the handset of his phone into its cradle and leaning back into his heavy leather desk chair, reclining with a creak. "'Makoto Niijima'…" he drawled out her name like he'd never heard it before, reading her badge as he continued evaluating her. She nodded, swallowing hard—her mouth felt dry. "Detective Niijima… You ever worked a missing person case, Niijima?"
Makoto shook her head. "No, sir, I haven't."
"What kinda cases you worked?"
Makoto kept her spine utterly straight, her hands at her sides. "Theft, larceny…" she said, recognizing that, though there was a technical difference between those two terms, they were still basically synonyms. She continued, doing her best to pad her resumé: "Some illegal prostitution, some blackmail schemes… drugs… vandalism…" Makoto had to stop there—her case history would only sound more lame the more things she listed. Yeah, she'd helped put down the Midnight Blade just two and half years earlier, but that was before she'd joined the force—not since her job interview had she remembered to bring it up at a time when she was supposed to be bragging.
The precinct captain plucked a case file off his desk, sighing heavily. "Well, Niijima-san… everyone else around here is busy, so I guess you get your first missing person. Probably just a husband got tired of his wife, but she wouldn't stop trying to report him missing, so they finally sent it down here. Just go talk to her and get her to calm down, would you?" He held the file out for her to take.
Makoto had to apply real effort to get her feet unstuck from where they'd fused to the floor, but she somehow managed to compel herself forward to take the file. "T-Thank you, Captain. I'll get right on it."
"Hurry along, now, Niijima-san. And if you could get me another cup of coffee while you're up, that'd be terrific. Two sugars."
Makoto nodded and retreated out of the precinct captain's office, Sato Sakai following right behind her. He shut the door to the office, and through the window, the captain could be seen lifting his phone to his ear once more. Makoto's pulse was racing and she was breathing heavily, her empty hand clenched in a fist at her side. She was glad to be out of there, but even in the aftermath, there was still the embarrassment to deal with.
Sakai did his best to play it off like it was no big deal. "Hey, you got a fun case! Congrats, Niijima-san," he said, smiling. "Look, I've gotta go meet the medical examiner, like I mentioned before, but, uh… good luck with that one," he said, gesturing to the case file in Makoto's hand. "I'll, uh, we should catch up later—I'd love to hear how it goes."
Makoto smiled, trying to recover her wits enough to be polite back to him. "Thank you, Sakai-san," she said, bowing shallowly. "I'm grateful for your help today."
"Okay, well… have a good one, eh?" he said, departing sheepishly. On his way out of the precinct headquarters, he stopped at a secretary's desk and bent over, speaking in a low voice. The secretary nodded and got up, heading for the kitchenette, and the coffee machine. At least, Makoto assumed she was a secretary—she was the only other woman Makoto had seen since leaving her cubicle.
— — — Sunday, January 4th, Midday — — —
From the Tokyo police department, it was just a few subway stops and a short walk to the Kobayashi home in Shinjuku. Makoto stepped onto the platform and looked around. She had come to Shinjuku on business before, tracking illegal prostitution and suspected drug peddling. With all the seedy business that went on here, it was easy to forget that above the nightclubs and massage parlors, there were apartment buildings with families in them. Makoto sighed, and a gust of subway air blew through her hair. She tightened her collar around her neck and took the escalator out of the station.
She already knew roughly where the apartment building was, so she only had to consult her phone a couple of times before she found the entrance. The Kobayashi home was on the third floor of a modest apartment building, above a maid cafe and an adult bookstore. Makoto knocked with what she hoped was an official-sounding rhythm, and moments later could hear someone coming.
The door opened barely a third of the way, and a meek-looking young woman stuck her head out to greet Makoto. "Hello, may I help you?" she asked nervously.
"Saki Kobayashi?" asked Makoto, holding out her TMPD identification for Ms. Kobayashi to see. "I'm Detective Makoto Niijima, with the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. I'm here in regards to the missing person's report you filed. May I come in?"
The woman's eyes lit up, and the door swung the rest of the way open. "Police! Oh, thank goodness! Yes, please come in." The woman gestured for Makoto to enter.
Makoto stepped into a tiny but comfortably furnished living room. Off to her left was a modest dining area and kitchen, and to her right were three doors, one of which opened into a narrow bathroom. In front of her was a tidy couch positioned in front of a too-small-for-the-space flatscreen TV mounted to the wall on the left, and a window looking out onto the Red Light District.
"Would you like some tea, Detective?" asked the woman, padding meekly into the kitchen.
"No thank you, Ms. Kobayashi," answered Makoto, still glancing around the living area. On a bookcase behind the sofa was a collection of knickknacks and photos, mostly of Saki Kobayashi and a man who looked like he might be her husband. There was a small pile of used tissues littering the coffee table. "I would like to ask you a few questions about your husband, Kosuke Kobayashi."
"I'm grateful," said Saki, nodding her head, sniffling. "I know I haven't waited long enough to report him missing, and I know they think I'm just a silly housewife with a straying husband, but I'm positive there's something the matter—Koko would never stay out this long without contacting me."
"Koko…?"
"Yes—well, Kosuke is his name, but I've called him Koko since we were kids," said Saki. "He went out with his coworkers yesterday after the close of business, and he said he'd be late, but I'm sure he didn't mean he wasn't coming home…"
Makoto pulled a notebook from her purse and prepared to write. "Childhood sweethearts?" she asked, inquisitive.
Saki blushed. "Ha, yes. We were fast friends in elementary school, and started dating in middle school. We grew up two doors down from one another, and were just always together."
"Sounds sweet," said Makoto, smiling earnestly, before getting back to business. "Can you tell me what time you last spoke to him?"
"It was after his work ended, so it must have been about… five-thirty, I think. He said they were going out for drinks."
"Does he go out after work often?" asked Makoto, in between jotting things down.
"No, he usually comes straight home so we can have dinner together. His office just closed some big deal or something, so they were celebrating. He said he'd be home no later than midnight."
"What does your husband do for a living?"
"He works for an advertising firm. He gets social media publicity for his clients, or does ads, or something like that. Honestly, I'm not really sure…" said Saki, looking a little embarrassed.
Makoto shook her head, raising her hand slightly from her notebook. "It's quite alright, Ms. Kobayashi, don't worry. How long have you and your husband been married?"
"Almost a year," she said, glancing at the photos on the bookcase. "We're going to Hawaii for our anniversary next month—we've been planning it since we were in high school together."
"And did he seem like he was looking forward to that trip?" asked Makoto, jotting some notes into her book.
"Of course!" said Saki Kobayashi. "We were going to drink Mai Tais on the beach together, just like in the movies…" Mrs. Kobayashi had a sad, faraway look in her eyes, a frown pulling at her mouth.
Makoto looked down at her notes. "Do you know the names of any of the people your husband went out with after work?"
Saki turned to look at her, her eyes puffy and red. She shook her head. "No, I don't."
"He doesn't have any work friends you know of?"
The woman shook her head. "No… It was just a job… He really wasn't very social with them, generally."
Makoto nodded, scribbling things down. "How about the name of his company?"
"Aspire Media," replied Saki. "It's in Harajuku."
"And the bar where they went for drinks?"
Saki shook her head. "Also somewhere in Harajuku, but I don't know exactly…"
"Have you tried calling his boss or any of his coworkers to find out where he could have gone?"
"No, I don't know any of their numbers, and nobody was in the office today. But I've called and texted all of our friends, and no one's heard from him."
"What did they say when you contacted them?"
Saki frowned. "They said he probably just got too drunk to come home and passed out somewhere."
"Hmm…" Makoto wrote her notes as she listened.
"They said not to worry, that he'd come home soon. And that they'd let me know if they heard from him."
"Is there anything else you could tell me? Does he have any medical conditions, epilepsy, or…?" Makoto asked, trying to pull anything else out of the young woman that might be useful.
"No, nothing."
Not useful. "And I take it nobody has contacted you about him?" said Makoto, knowing the answer.
Saki shook her head. "No."
Makoto sighed. "Okay, Ms. Kobayashi, thank you very much. I think you've given me enough information that I know what I need to do next. Is there anything else you think I should know before I leave?"
"No… It's just… It's just that Koko really isn't the sort of person who would stay out all night without telling anyone. Something is wrong—I know it," said Saki, looking glum.
"I'm going to try getting in touch with someone from his work who may know what happened. Can you tell me his boss's name?"
"Umm, I think Koko called him Matsuda—I don't know his given name."
"That'll do, thanks. And is there a good photo of your husband that you'd be willing to let me have?" she asked, gesturing to the bookcase full of keepsakes.
"Uh, yes…" Mrs. Kobayashi replied, studying the bookcase's contents. "How about this one?" she said, grabbing one of the two of them laughing together in a ferris wheel car in Suidobashi.
"That's perfect," replied Makoto, tucking her notebook under her arm. Saki Kobayashi removed the photo from its frame, and Makoto accepted it with both hands before retrieving her notebook to tuck it inside. "Thank you again, Ms. Kobayashi. Please let me know if you hear from him or anyone else," said Makoto, offering Saki Kobayashi her business card.
Mrs. Kobayashi took the card, stepping past Makoto to the front door. "Thank you, Detective, I will. Please have a good day, and thank you so much for stopping by," she said, opening the door for Makoto to leave.
"Thank you, and good day to you too," replied Makoto, nodding politely as she stepped out of the apartment. The door clicked shut behind her, and Makoto was on her own again, the weight of responsibility hanging heavy on her shoulders.
— — —
Back at the precinct office, Makoto was at her computer, notebook in hand. All the windows she'd had open for her presentation had been minimized—she was doing some internet investigating of Kosuke Kobayashi's employer, Aspire Media, hoping to maybe dig up the full name and phone number of his boss, or anyone else from there that she could get ahold of on a Sunday afternoon. She'd already called all the area hospitals to check her bases, but had come up empty—none of them had any John Does that fit Mr. Kobayashi's description. Tracking his whereabouts through his coworkers seemed like the best course of action.
"Doing research for that case?" said a voice from behind Makoto, making her nearly jump out of her chair in surprise. Sato Sakai held a hand up in apology. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you."
Makoto laughed awkwardly and waved it off as she turned to face him. "Ha, no problem, I just wasn't expecting anyone, that's all."
"So is this for the missing person thing?" he asked again, pointing at her computer.
"Yes, I was just trying to dig up the name of the missing person's boss, figuring he might have been one of the last people to see him, or know who else might have been."
"Did he disappear from work?"
"No, but he had gone out celebrating with coworkers."
"I see. Got a photo?"
Makoto lifted her notebook out of her lap and plucked out the photo of Kosuke and Saki Kobayashi, handing it to him.
Sato studied the picture. "Cute couple. The man is the missing person?"
"Yes. His wife," she said, pointing, "is who reported him missing. He never came home last night after going out."
"They look too happy for him to have decided to just run off. Is this a recent photo?"
Makoto wasn't actually sure. "Hmm, I didn't ask that, but I think so—the wife looks the same as she does in that photo. They have their one year anniversary coming up, and they were childhood sweethearts." She glanced back at the case file. "He's only twenty-four, so they probably got married right out of university."
"Huh. Interesting. Well, sounds like you've got a fun one!" he said, clapping his hands together enthusiastically.
Makoto gave an embarrassed smile, trying not to look too excited over someone else's misfortune—but this was a lot more interesting than the PowerPoint she'd been working on. She decided to change the subject. "Did you talk to the medical examiner?"
"Ha, yup. Suicide, as I'd thought." Sato shifted anxiously from one foot to the other.
"Oh, um… is everything alright?" she said, cocking her head at him as she sensed a change in his demeanor.
"Ha, it's nothing," he said, straightening his spine in an attempt to look less amateurish.
"He's probably trying to hide his boner!" shouted a brash older detective who just happened to be walking by at that exact moment. He slapped Sato heartily on the back before wrapping his arm around him and shaking him conspiratorially. "Doctor Legs has that effect on us guys, doesn't she, Sakai-san?"
Sato shrugged, trying to shake off the larger detective, but not quite succeeding. "Tamura-san, please…"
"Oh, sorry," said the detective named Tamura, removing his arm and backing away. "I didn't mean this guy—Sakai-san is a total gentleman," he added, looking right at Makoto before walking off with a pronounced wink.
Raising her eyebrows knowingly, Makoto stared at Sato, who was looking quite sheepish. "So, the medical examiner is attractive, huh?"
Sato shifted uncomfortably again. "No, she's not—I mean… yeah, she is, but… it doesn't matter, nevermind, I'm sorry."
Makoto laughed at the squirming detective. "It's okay, Sakai-san, you don't need to feel embarrassed. Anyway, it's been fun talking with you, but I should really get back to my case now."
"Yes. Good idea," he said, taking a step back from her desk. "I need to wrap up the paperwork on my own case anyway. Good day, Niijima-san."
"Have a nice rest of your day, Sakai-san," she replied, smiling, as he scurried away from her corner of the office, and out of sight.
— — — Sunday, January 4th, Evening — — —
The day had gone quickly, and by the time Makoto had scrounged up the cell phone number of Goro Matsuda, manager at Aspire Media, she was interrupting his dinner when she got him on the phone. After a brief but fruitful conversation, she hung up, and made notice of her own hunger pangs. "Jesus, it's almost six," she muttered to herself, checking the clock on the wall as if her cell phone could possibly be off by an hour. She knew she needed dinner, but she still had things she had to do for her case—statistically, if she didn't find Kosuke Kobayashi in the next thirty-six hours, the likelihood of bringing him home alive would shrink considerably.
She hadn't even put her phone away yet, so when it started buzzing in her hand, she was able to answer it before it had even rung once. She had barely registered the name on the caller I.D. before she was greeting the caller. "Emiko, it's you!" she answered excitedly.
"Mako-chan, there you are! I just got back to Tokyo. How are you?" she asked. It was evident from her tone how happy she was to be back.
Makoto replied with equal enthusiasm. "I'm great, Emiko! Welcome back! How was Sendai?"
Emiko hemmed and hawed. "It was… good and bad, but mostly good," she said. "Mom and Dad are super happy about how I'm doing at school, but they're…" she sighed, choosing her words, "less pleased about my other life choices."
Makoto didn't need to guess what the problem was. "Your folks don't get you and Ryuji, huh?"
"No, of course not. I didn't really expect them to—they're very traditional. They keep pushing me to find a handsome doctor at the university hospital."
"Someone with less credit card debt?" supplied Makoto helpfully, if a touch facetiously.
"You have to have a credit card before you can have credit card debt, Makoto."
Makoto genuinely balked at this revelation. "He doesn't even have a credit card? He's twenty-four years old!"
Emiko explained: "He doesn't trust himself not to rack up huge amounts of debt buying stuff online. He barely carries cash either; 'The less money I have on me, the less I have to lose,' he always says."
"Well, I guess that shows… self awareness?" laughed Makoto. "He's got a bank account, though, right?" She crossed her fingers superstitiously.
"I made him get one, yeah," said Emiko. "He was wasting money at check cashing places before that—when he wasn't just cramming his paychecks into the pockets of his jeans…"
Makoto was glad Emiko couldn't see the look on her face at that moment. "You know who has bank accounts?" she said slowly, pausing for dramatic effect. "Doctors have bank accounts…" She even wagged her finger, not that anyone could see it but her.
Emiko laughed. "Okay, thanks Mom." The women paused to share a good-natured chuckle at the mild diss. "Anyway, I'm back in town. Wanna join me and Ryuji for dinner? I'm sure he would love to hear how Ren is doing."
Makoto's instinct was to say no, to focus on the work she should be doing, and to let her friend enjoy her time back in Tokyo with her boyfriend. However, when it dawned on her that she could meet her friends for dinner and still get some important work done, she considered the offer. "How would you like to meet me at the Nightlife Bar and Grill in Harajuku?" she asked hopefully.
"In Harajuku? Uhh, sure! Sounds good. Is it expensive though? Ryuji was gonna pay for my dinner…"
"It's my treat, okay?" offered Makoto. "To welcome you back to Tokyo."
"Mako, I've only been gone two weeks…" said Emiko, incredulous.
Makoto shrugged. "Yeah, but I just… feel like going out. Where are you right now? I'm at work, only two subway stops away from Harajuku."
"I'm at Ryuji's place in Yongen-Jaya," answered Emiko. Makoto could hear Ryuji whooping in the background to signal his presence.
"Oh good, so you're not all the way in Ueno then. Let's try to be there by six-thirty, okay? I'm starving…" The University of Tokyo was located in the Ueno area, in the northeast part of Tokyo. If Emiko had been at her dorm, it would be over an hour before they could meet up.
"Okay, we'll get ready and meet you there as soon as we can. Can't wait to catch up!"
Makoto smiled. "Same." After a beat, Makoto tapped the hangup button on her phone and stared back down at the files littering her desk. She scooped up her notebook and plucked her purse from its hook on the cubicle wall. Putting her computer to sleep, she took a deep breath and mentally compartmentalized all the statistics and charts she hadn't finished compiling into a back corner of her brain, and began sifting through another set of facts. "Okay, Koko, let's go find out what happened to you…" Turning on her heel, she left her cubicle and headed for the subway. To Harajuku—and the last place anyone had seen Kosuke Kobayashi.