The Kizuna Coast: A Rei Shimura Mystery (Rei Shimura Mysteries Book 11) (16 page)

E
ventually, I returned to my senses. I was lying across the back seat of the military jeep, only there were no dogs beside me. A Red Cross medic was waving something under my nose that smelled sharp and medicinal. I struggled to lift myself onto my elbows, and I saw Mr. Ishida looking down anxiously.

“You weren’t feeling well,” he said. “I’m so sorry. Death after more than a week’s time is especially hard to encounter.”

Taking a shallow breath of air—air that was wonderfully devoid of everything except fish—I asked, “Is it her?”

“Yes.” His voice was low. “I recognized her coat.”

“Lacquer buttons…” I couldn’t say more without thinking about the body and wanting to throw up.

“Yes, those were hers. And she had knitted the scarf—during quiet times in the shop, she liked to knit.” Mr. Ishida’s voice was soothing.

“I’m sorry,” I said, tears leaking out of my eyes.

“Nobody blames you for fainting. It was difficult in there. Everyone has stepped away. They are waiting for the corpse-removal crew.”

I’d meant that I was sorry he’d had such a terrible discovery of the young apprentice he’d cared about. But I couldn’t put together those words. My head hurt, and every part of my body felt tight, as if rods inside were forcing me into a tense sitting position. I took another shallow breath and asked, “Did you tell them it was Mayumi?”

“Yes, but they would like the Kimuras to have a chance to see her before the identification is officially confirmed.”

“And Akira needs to know,” I said. This news would devastate him.

“Someone else will tell him. Don’t you worry.”

“Where’s Hachiko?” I asked.

“She is right here,” said Mr. Ishida, and I looked down the short length of his right leg to see the dog sitting on the ground. But her head was turned, as if she was still trying to see Mayumi.

“It was very hard to get Hachiko to leave.” Mr. Ishida wiped a hand across his eyes. “And despite what I said to Oshima-san, I’m sorry that now she has learned to recognize the smell of human death.”

“It’s so foul. I still smell it.”

“During my years fighting with the imperial army, it was almost impossible to erase this smell of death from around myself. I’ve been told we will be brought to a bathhouse where we can clean ourselves. This is a very good idea, if you’re willing.”

A bath sounded like good therapy. But it wasn’t as easy as Mr. Ishida thought. “I hear the nearest open bathhouse is in another town. And our clean clothing is at the volunteer shelter.”

“The driver will bring us to the shelter first, to fetch those things. He will be eager to sanitize the car after we have gone out. And then we’ll ride back, clean and calm. Don’t worry, Shimura-san. I’ll take care of you.”

It was about an hour to the town of Takamachi. You could tell there had been flooding in the town, but luckily, it was not as severe as what had happened in Sugihama. We were dropped off outside a traditional wooden-walled bathhouse that had a yellow lamp shining in welcome and a blue 
noren
curtain fluttering in the doorway. The fee for a bath was still advertised as 350 yen. Unsurprisingly, there were long queues of people patiently waiting.

People who joined the line for the women’s section stood a slight distance away from me. Perhaps Mr. Ishida’s hyperbole about the smell of death was true. My embarrassment increased when the old lady who managed the women’s section came up and whispered to me that I had special dispensation to go straight in.

“Take as long as you like in the showers,” she said emphatically. “There is much soap. But if you don’t mind, please do not enter the communal bath today. It’s a little inconvenient for you, but we have to think of everyone else. I’m very sorry, but…”

She understood the smell of death.

Inside the ladies’ changing room, I took off all my clothes and put them in a plastic bag inside a small square locker. Then, shielding my lower half with a miniscule towel, I staked out my territory in a far corner of the women’s showers. Then I did the same as everyone else: fitted myself on a tiny stool near a tap and started dousing myself with buckets of water. The warm water felt purifying and soothing. Using the liquid soap that came out of a dispenser on the wall, I lathered myself from head to toe. As I scrubbed, I glanced jealously at some female bath patrons just a few feet away from me, soaking in the deep, steaming bath. They looked so comfortable; but as their words floated back to me, I lost all envy.

“We cannot find our daughter. According to the Red Cross, it’s quite typical….”

“The insurance agents won’t pay to build another house. They say…”

“Matsumoto-san’s deceased husband was found yesterday. He was covered in so much mud they thought he was a log. But his watch alarm went off…”

Outside of my cell phone, I had lost nothing. I had no friends or loved ones who’d died in Tohoku. Mayumi wasn’t someone I’d even spoken with—so logically, I couldn’t mourn her with any more depth than I did all the people I’d heard about on the news. But I did because of all Mr. Ishida had told me.

It was especially poignant to find her curled into herself, as if sleeping in the butcher shop. In the old days, Japanese people who butchered meat were regarded as a kind of untouchable. I remembered the writhing maggots and wanted to vomit, but there was something else that disturbed me.

I glanced at the bath, where the sober conversations continued. And then I recalled the recent words one woman had said to her friend.

He was covered in so much mud he looked like a log.

Mayumi hadn’t been muddy. In the short time I’d seen her, I’d mentally cataloged that her blue jeans were dark blue and her accessories were candy pink. I could make out the floral patterns of the handmade lacquer buttons on her winter white coat. No wave could have rushed over Mayumi and kept her clothing in such immaculate condition.

Something else caused her death.

This thought was so jarring that the plastic bathing pitcher slipped out of my hand and the precious warm water spilled over the floor. Hastily I collected the pitcher and refilled it, anxiety streaming as fast as the water. Mayumi had come to the ruined butcher shop
after
the tsunami. Somehow, she’d survived the wave, and then entered the butcher shop and died.

What did this mean? Perhaps someone had killed her elsewhere and transported her to the butcher shop after the tsunami. On the other hand, Mr. Ishida had revealed that she was emotionally troubled. I quickly dismissed the idea of suicide, reasoning anyone in such a state would not have run from the wave but straight into it. Perhaps Mayumi had been disoriented after the tsunami. If she needed a daily medication for a chronic condition and missed too many doses, she could have died.

Half an hour later, I met Mr. Ishida, whose thin white hair was still damp from his own cleansing experience. I shivered, because I wasn’t wearing a coat. Richard’s down jacket had such a terrible stink that I’d kept it in the plastic bag with my other dirty clothing.

“The shower was a relief,” Mr. Ishida said, sighing slightly. “I did not go into the bath, just to be careful I didn’t spread the odor.”

“I was warned not to do that,” I said. “Ishida-san, I was thinking about something when I was showering. Did you notice anything strange about Mayumi’s body?”

“What isn’t strange about the body after decomposition? Nature takes its course.”

“I thought Mayumi’s clothes were unusually clean.” When he didn’t react, I added, “How could her clothes stay clean if she had been covered in eight feet of water?”

“But surely she drowned.” Mr. Ishida looked puzzled. “One could tell that water had gone up to the ceiling of that butcher shop. All that mud.”

“Yes, the room had been filled with water, but I think she must have entered it later on. If her clothes weren’t muddy on top, she wasn’t touched by the wave.” I continued, “This means something else caused her death. Did she have a preexisting health condition? Maybe something that required daily shots or medication?”

“Not that I know about. When working for me, she never took any sick days.” Mr. Ishida sighed heavily. “You are right that the situation is strange. Perhaps she was confused and distraught and fell and hurt herself after the tsunami. But why would she have gone into that place?”

“For anyone to know the cause of death, she should be examined by a coroner.” I said the word in English, because I didn’t know the Japanese version. When Mr. Ishida looked blank, I added, “I’m talking about a doctor who performs medical examinations on the dead: someone who’d know if there was a trauma injury or a knife wound.”

“That kind of doctor is called a
kenshi-kan,”
Mr. Ishida said. “There must be such a doctor in this area.”

I had never wanted to leave Tohoku more strongly. The smells and sights of death and rot had clotted themselves into a bolus of horror. Nothing should have kept me any longer. But I heard myself say, “The only way to account for Mayumi’s death is to have a
kenshi-kan’s
examination.”

“You may be right. And if the death is not caused by accident or illness, there may be someone walking around who is responsible.” Mr. Ishida looked soberly at me. “Akira might have been away, but his family was here. Didn’t you say they disliked her?”

“He did say his mother had a problem, but who has time to commit murder when a tsunami’s happening?” I shook my head. “Hey, I just thought of something. Was the family lacquer with her when they found her?”

Mr. Ishida was still for a long moment, then shook his head. “I was overcome by the body. I don’t recall anyone finding possessions near her. She did bring her backpack to Sugihama. I saw her put her telephone inside.”

“Okay.” But did the fact her backpack was missing point to anything else?

“You know, if we hadn’t been right there to identify her, she might have gone straight for cremation,” Mr. Ishida said. “I would not have known anything.”

“I’m so sorry, Ishida-san.” I took his hand, which was cold as ice.

We made it back to shelter about an hour after supper had been served, but Nobuko-san had kept leftovers for us in the kitchen. Once again, it was miso stew—this time, with fewer vegetables. I had little hunger for it, as the death smell kept flickering through my nose.

“You look very clean,” Nobuko-san commented. “I hope for a ride to that bathhouse tomorrow along with the other volunteers during our free-time hours. Was the water hot?”

“Actually, I didn’t go inside the soaking tub—just the shower, which was lukewarm. But the bath looked nice and steamy. Please tell me something honestly. I may look clean, but do I smell that way?”

Nobuko came closer and inhaled as if she was sniffing her stew for seasonings. “You’re fine. Don’t worry.”

“Ishida-san and I came close to a dead body, and I’ve heard that the smell can follow. That’s why I couldn’t enter the ladies’ bath, although I was allowed to shower.”

“Oh, dear. You are not alone in this. Lots of our volunteers have come near the dead.”

I caught a glimpse of Mr. Yano briskly passing by in the hallway. “Nobuko-san, please excuse me. I must speak with him.” I put my paper bowl in the garbage bag and hurried after him.

“Yano-san, do you have a moment?”

He stopped. “Yes. By the way, Ishida-san mentioned that the two of you and Hachiko found his missing apprentice. I’m very sorry about the circumstances.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Did Ishida-san mention that we don’t think she drowned?”

“He said something strange. I wasn’t sure I understood.”

“Here are the facts.” I told the volunteer coordinator about Mayumi’s clean clothes and the way her body had been found in a muddy butcher shop, where the water marks went all the way to the ceiling, showing that it had been flooded during the course of the storm.

“That does seem very odd,” he said after a pause. “But we are only volunteers, not experts in disaster recovery. Miss Kimura could have died from another natural reason. Maybe she was struck by an object or she fell. By the way, the Kimura parents came to our volunteer center when you and Ishida-san were at the bathhouse in Takamachi. They’d already been alerted by the military about their daughter being found and were transported to Sugihama to identify her. They stopped to thank both of you for your search, and also Ishida-san for employing her during her months in Tokyo.”