would tell herself: it wasn’t him; it can’t be him; my son has his troubles, but he’d never do something like that. That was what you told yourself if your son murdered somebody. You didn’t automatically believe the worst of him; you gave him the benefit of the doubt.
Until he was the leading news story in the country. Denial had its limits. That was especially true in Shoji’s case, for she was burdened by the power of prophecy. Your child or all the others. That’s what she saw in her vision. From the beginning, she’d said the meaning wasn’t clear. Now it was coming into focus.
“Oh yes, I can. I turned to criminals to find medicine for my son. What if I hadn’t? What if he’d spent his childhood in a psychiatric ward, with no help from me or Furukawa-san? This awful Divine Wind would never exist. A hundred and thirty-nine people, Mariko-san. He’s killed a hundred and thirty-nine so far. All of them had mothers. I chose my child over theirs—”
“No, Shoji-san. He did this. You did everything a mother is supposed to do: you took care of your sick child. But I hold adults responsible for their own actions. He’s not dangerous because he’s ill. He’s dangerous because he’s willing to murder innocent people to prove a point.”
“You don’t understand,” Shoji said. “A hundred and thirty-nine dead, and still my vision has not yet come to pass. I see a number, Mariko-san. 1304. I don’t know what it means, but I know it’s awful. A hundred and thirty-nine dead already, and I can only think, it’s not so bad yet. It’s going to get so much worse.”
31
There was no consoling Shoji after that. Mariko coaxed an invitation out of her to spend the night, just so Shoji wouldn’t be alone. Mariko needed the company too; she was wrestling with her own fair share of guilt. She once had the chance to shoot Joko Daishi in self-defense but she’d chickened out. Furukawa offered her a second shot at him and she turned him down. There would not be a third, because Joko Daishi wasn’t just a lunatic, cultist, or terrorist anymore; he was a good friend’s son. Regardless of whether he deserved to die, killing him was out of the question.
She knew she couldn’t blame herself for another person’s behavior. Saori had taught her that. The only sane way to deal with addiction was to hold the addict accountable. Even so, there was no escaping that niggling thought that maybe, just maybe, if Mariko had somehow figured out the right thing to say, she could have kept her sister from using. It was pure self-abuse. Mariko knew that. She could beat herself up all night and it wouldn’t change the fact that Saori had damn near killed herself using meth. By the same token, Joko Daishi wasn’t finished with his killing spree. It wasn’t Mariko’s fault, but she couldn’t help blaming herself.
She hadn’t brought anything out to Machida except her purse, so to stay the night she had to run out and pick up a couple of necessities. On her way to the stores, she took care of some phone calls. First was Saori, to invite her to come out to Machida the next day. Shoji enjoyed her company too, and it had been a while since the fabulous Oshiro sisters had gotten together. Then a call to her mom, to break the news about her suspension. Her mom was a lousy liar; she feigned sympathy but Mariko could hear the relief in her voice. A suspended cop was unlikely to get shot or stabbed or any of the other things that happened on the syndicated American police dramas her mother followed so masochistically.
The next call was to Han, who didn’t pick up, so Mariko left a message asking for a Terminal 2 update. She knew she’d have to tell him about her suspension too—preferably over a couple of beers, so she invited him to go out the following night. Then, finally, came the call she didn’t want to make.
“I wondered when I might hear from you,” said Furukawa Ujio. “Did you have a pleasant visit with your friend Shoji-san?”
“How did you—?”
“Please. I know where your phone is. Even if I didn’t, our earlier conversation raised questions in your mind about Professor Yamada. There was only one place you could go.”
Mariko didn’t know which pissed her off more, the fact that he was