Lady Joker, Volume 1 by Kaoru Takamura (lightest ebook reader .txt) 📕

knows, it could very well be . . . I’ll check it out and call you with what I find.” With that, Handa peeked at his wristwatch and muttered to himself about how late it was already, then got up from his seat. Making an absent-minded excuse that his wife, who also worked full time, would have dinner waiting for him at home, he left at half past ten.

It was only three days later when Monoi received Handa’s report. Handa called in the evening from a pay phone somewhere with bustling noise in the background. “Jackpot,” he said. “Yoshiko Sugihara’s father is Takeo Sugihara. He’s the deputy manager of the beer division and a board member of Hinode Beer. Takeo Sugihara’s wife, Haruko, is the younger sister of Hinode Beer’s president, Kyosuke Shiroyama. That makes Yoshiko Sugihara the president’s niece. Monoi-san, are you listening to me?”

“You mean, when Hatano sent Hinode the letter and the tape, Hinode was desperate not to leak the scandal of Sugihara’s family, right?”

“Exactly. Hinode is a go,” Handa said. “I don’t mean to take advantage of a scandal like this, but this counts as a wound Hinode will be forced to conceal from the public at any cost. Even if we don’t say a word, Hinode will go on the defensive to protect it themselves. You can’t ask for a better situation than this.”

“But what if the police sniffs out the connection between Sugihara’s daughter and my grandson?”

“Hinode won’t let on a thing about that part of the story. And even if the police do sniff it out, it will only lead their investigation down the wrong path. Do you follow me? As long as they consider it a revenge crime, the only suspects they’ll turn up are you and your daughter. Meanwhile, Monoi-san, you’ll just be watering your morning glories and napping in front of the TV, and on Sundays you have the racetrack. No matter where they poke into, they’ll find nothing.”

Even though he was calling from a payphone, Handa chose his words carefully, one by one, apparently paying no mind to the dwindling minutes on his telephone calling card. His tone suggested that, more than explaining it to Monoi, he was trying to convince himself.

As Monoi listened to him on the other end of the phone, once again he allowed the fateful bond he had with this corporation—Hinode—to slowly chafe at him. If it weren’t for this Sugihara person—this Hinode board member—neither his grandson, Takayuki, nor Hiroyuki Hatano would be dead. Or if Hinode as a corporation had even a shred of integrity, Hatano would never have sent them a threatening letter or tape.

“So you’re saying Hinode is a go?”

“Absolutely. Oh, and also, in the Toho Weekly magazine that went on sale yesterday, in their ‘Face of Japan’ feature, there’s a photo of Kyosuke Shiroyama. He’s dressed casually—a classy, simple summer sweater and faded chino pants. He’s even got on a well-worn pair of white Reebok sneakers—this guy has pretty good style. Looks to me like they took the photo on the grounds of a small shrine. I knew I’d seen that landscape somewhere, so I went to confirm it in person, and it was just as I’d thought. You know those stone steps in front of Omori Station? Tenso Shrine is at the top of those steps.”

“Ah, I know it. So the president of Hinode lives in Sanno. Of course, a wealthy residential neighborhood.”

“The address is in Sanno Ni-chome. I looked it up and checked it out myself. An impressive home. A huge yard, dense trees offering cool shade, and a glass greenhouse. No dog.”

Handa spoke as if he were recalling each item one by one in his mind, then he murmured, “A kidnapping might work,” and seemed to snort softly.

As this word—kidnapping—echoed in Monoi’s ears, another thought—ransom—ran through his mind, where the numbing effect of the fiend still prevailed, followed by no moral judgment whatsoever. There was merely the realization that, little by little, their plan was being set into motion.

“Hey, I only just thought of this. Sanno Ni-chome is in the precinct of Omori Police Department—to the north it’s Oi, in Shinagawa. To the south it’s Kamata. All of that is my turf. The emergency deployment instructions over wireless will be leaked straight to me . . . This could get interesting.” Handa let his imagination run wild, then regained an administrative tone. “By the way, I spoke with Nunokawa yesterday. I got a good impression. It’s still the Bon holiday, so he said he would call you tomorrow or the day after. Also, that Yoshiko Sugihara we talked about got married in ’92—now her name is Itoi. I plan on scoping out the situation.”

That was the end of Handa’s phone call.

The telephone call from Jun’ichi Nunokawa came in the following afternoon. He too called from a payphone, and there must have been a playground nearby, because children squealed in the background.

Every year, during the time when the main horseracing tournaments moved to the countryside for July and August, Lady’s usual care facility also went on a summer break, so Nunokawa and his wife were kept busy looking after their daughter. When Monoi heard Nunokawa’s voice over the phone, it dawned on him that now must be that time.

“Yesterday, I put the girl into a special care facility,” Nunokawa said. “This place keeps her there over the weekend. With my wife sick, well, it’s more than I can handle on my own.”

I see, so Lady isn’t at home. Hearing this, Monoi felt a rush of both pity for Lady and relief that Nunokawa had been given a little reprieve. He was at a loss for words. Finally, he replied, “I see.”

Nunokawa also took a long pause. Even though he was the one who had made the call, perhaps he had not sorted out what he intended to say, for that the next thing Monoi heard was an abrupt, “Damn, it’s hot.” Nunokawa’s voice, as usual, bore no