Keigo Higashino - Journey Under the Midnight Sun

Published by Little, Brown

978-1-4055-1680-8

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright Keigo Higashino 2002

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Translation copyright Alexander O. Smith 2015

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

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A hammer struck a bell inside her head: ding, ding,ding!

Then she heard the faint sound of laughter. That got her eyes open. She saw a ray of sunlight striking the floral print on the wallpaper, the morning sun sneaking through a gap in the heavy curtains.

Mika Shinozuka twisted her neck to look at the clock by her pillow. Her father had bought it for her in London. Shed set it for seven-thirty, one minute away from now. If she just lay there a little more, a cheerful melody would play and figurines would emerge from the clock face to begin a dance. She reached out and turned off the alarm.

Mika got out of bed and opened the curtains. The sunlight poured in through the big window, illuminating every corner of her room. She saw herself in the mirror on the dresser pyjamas all wrinkly, hair a tangled mess, face like a lump of coalesced grumpiness.

Ding, the bell sounded again. Then she heard voices talking, too faint to overhear. She had an idea what they would be talking about, though, and immediately lost interest.

Mika went over to the window and looked out over the lawn, still green, though its colour was fading. Just as she had thought, her dad was teaching Yukiho how to play golf.

Yukiho stood holding the club in both hands. Then her father wrapped his arms around her from behind, holding her hands in his. It was like that comedy routine where one person does the arms for another person. Her father whispered something in Yukihos ear and together they lifted the club. It swung up and slowly back down. It looked like her fathers lips might brush the back of Yukihos neck. He was so close. In fact, he probably had done that on purpose a few times already.

After they slowly swung the club together a few times he stepped back and watched while Yukiho tried to hit the ball. Ding. Sometimes she would hit it, but most of the time she would miss. Then she would get a sheepish look on her face and Mikas father would give her some advice. Then they would start over from the beginning with the comedy routine. This would go on for half an hour.

The same scene had played out the same way almost every day for the past week. Mika wasnt sure whether Yukiho had expressed an interest in starting golf, or whether her father had pushed her into it. Regardless, it looked like the two of them were doing their utmost to find something they could enjoy together as a couple.

Even though her father had flat-out refused when Mom once said she wanted to learn how to play.

Mika stepped away from the window and stood in front of her dresser, painfully aware of her fifteen-year-old reflection. She was skinny, without any womanly roundness. Her arms and legs seemed too long for the rest of her and her shoulder bones were pointy and stuck out at all the wrong angles.

In her minds eye she saw an image of Yukihos body superimposed over her own. She had seen Yukiho naked only once, when she had mistakenly opened the bathroom door, thinking no one was inside. Yukiho had just stepped out of the shower. She wasnt wearing anything, not even a towel.

Her body was perfect, made up of curves so precise they looked like something computer-generated, yet with the simple warmth of something turned on a potters wheel. Her ample breasts were still firm, and tiny droplets of water hung on her pinkish white skin. What fat she had seemed to fit perfectly along the lines of her body, rounding out the curves. Mika had gasped. In the space of a few seconds the sight of Yukihos body was burned into her mind.

Yukiho had taken it with utmost grace. She hadnt seemed flustered in the least or unhappy at all.

Hello, Mika, shed said. Getting into the bath? She had smiled, not even hurrying to cover herself.

It was Mika whod lost it. She turned and ran without saying a word. Dashing into her room, she dove under the covers of her bed, her heart racing.

Mika frowned, remembering her embarrassment. The girl in the mirror made the same expression. Picking up her hairbrush, she started working at her hair until the brush became so entangled it stopped. She tried yanking it, and only succeeded in snapping off a few of her hairs.

She heard a knock at the door. Mika? Are you awake? Good morning.

She didnt answer, and on the third knock, the door opened and Taeko gingerly peeked in. Oh, you are awake, she said, stepping inside and immediately beginning to make the rumpled bed. Mika looked at her. She was the perfect image of a housemaid in an old movie: the dumpy body, the big apron around her waist, a sweater with the sleeves rolled up, her hair done up in a big bun on the top of her head.

I wanted to sleep more, but the noise woke me up.

Noise? Taeko said with a curious frown. Then she nodded. Ah, your father. Yes, hes been getting up early these days.