Not waiting for Akane to give the word, Kogami started down the center aisle and made his way to a raised platform just downstage. The riser was nearly ten feet tall and towered above the orchestra pit as well as the audience. It was a place of prominence that allowed the piano player to have an unhindered view of the stage, the pit, and the main seating areas in the auditorium.
Scanning the file that Ginoza had sent them about the accident, Kogami struggled to focus himself and clear his head for deductive reasoning. It was bad enough that every muscle in his body felt as if he had run a marathon, but now his head joined the rebellion. Weary of seeing double, he sat down at the piano and closed his eyes. Holding his head in his hands, he leaned over the keyboard of the piano and prayed for some relief to his misery.
“The eyewitness statements say that the piano player became startled, but by what, they don’t know,” Akane said. “There’s plenty of room here.” She walked the circumference of the riser. “What do you think happened?”
“There’s nothing to find here,” Kogami whispered. “Ginoza sent us here to keep us, me, out of the way.”
“You make it sound like he has it out for us, well, you.”
“He does. Ever since I texted that picture of us from Los Angeles, he’s been holding a grudge. It’s one of his better qualities.”
“Do you regret sending it?”
“No, and I’d do it again.” Desperate to clear his nostrils, Kogami sniffed. He needed a tissue and a quiet place to unburden his sinuses, if only for a few minutes. “The only reports available about this incident come from distracted eyewitnesses. The victim isn’t even conscious yet to tell his side of the story. This is busy work. Ginoza’s idea of penance.” He felt Akane’s hands at his shoulders. She said nothing, but there was no need. She was there for him and to support him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m not myself.” Massaging his temples, he paused just long enough to run his fingers over her hand. “I just can’t seem to get ahold of myself.”
“It’s understandable. You don’t feel well. Don’t apologize.”
Without warning, Kogami sneezed. It was a sudden, violent explosion that served only to redouble his misery by increasing the pressure in his already inflamed sinuses. Burying his face in his hands, he groaned and waited until his vision returned.
Akane leaned over his shoulder and pressed one of the ivory keys. The high-pitched note lingered in the air of the empty auditorium. “I always wanted to learn to play piano. Didn’t you tell Luda that you could play?”
“I did.”
“Teach me. Something simple obviously.”
Kogami craned his neck to look up at her with a coy smile, then he slid over to the right side of the bench so that she could sit down next to him. “Can you read music?”
“No. Does that really matter?”
“It helps,” Kogami said, laughing softly. “For you, we’re going to try and play a very simple version of Greensleeves.”
“The song that Henry the VIII wrote for his wife?”
Astonished that she knew the song’s history, Kogami looked down at her in surprise. “That’s a myth. The song is really about a prostitute.”
“What? Kogami, what are you trying to suggest?”
“Relax, I’m kidding. Though there is some speculation that the song is about a promiscuous woman.” He grinned at her and held his hands over the keys to model for her. “Here, give this a try.” Kogami played the first few notes of the song and paused as Akane made an honest attempt to follow his example. “Not bad, for your first try, Inspector.”
“Really?”
Kogami feigned a smile, but didn’t answer. The painful throbbing in his head had moved behind his eyes. “Let’s give it another shot.”
Though she could imitate the movements, Akane lacked the experience to truly play the song as it was intended. Kogami felt sorry for her, as he would for any novice. For the beginner, there were only the mechanics. The soul of the music came later when the heart of the musician had mastered the mechanics. He winced as she hit the wrong note, and the discordant key ruined even the mechanics of her attempt.
“This is hopeless,” Akane said.
“Not really,” Kogami replied. “With a little time, a bit of patience, and a lot of practice, you could be a relatively decent pianist.”
“You play something.” She scanned the sheet music on the pedestal in front of them. “Can you play any of these?”
It was rare to see paper music sheets used by modern-day musicians. Perhaps there was hope for society, Kogami thought, hidden among its artists. He examined the bundle of printed compositions.
“What about this one?”
“Always With You,” he read the title. Running his fingers over the music, Kogami read over the piece and marked the notes to memory in order to familiarize himself with the piece before playing it. The music seemed vaguely familiar to him, but he could not place where he might have encountered it. Placing his fingers over the keys, he began to play.
The composition was unhurried, simple, and yet there was a complexity of unrestrained passion that was evoked in each note and with every bar. Initially, Kogami played mechanically to comply with Akane’s request, but as he progressed into the heart of the music, he was inexplicably drawn into it. The composition was an elegy to love—a lost love. At the conclusion, Kogami felt emotionally exhausted.
Unexpected applause echoed through the auditorium and startled the Enforcer. He hadn’t noticed, but while he was playing, the entirety of the Kurouma Theatre company, actors and stagehands, had come out of their dressing rooms and offices to listen. In various stages of costume or street clothes, they clapped from the stage, the first-floor perimeter, as well as the second- and third-story balconies.
Director Nagano swaggered down the center aisle, clapping as he walked toward the piano platform. “I don’t know who you are, but that was exceptional work. Bravo!” He clapped harder and bowed his head with admiration and approval. Following his lead, the rest of the company interjected shouts of bravo.
“That’s annoying,” Kogami whispered. He turned to Akane and found her in tears. “W-why are you crying?”
“T-that was s-so beautiful. Kogami, it was so, so sad, and yet wonderful at the same time.” Burying her face in her hands, she laid her head on his shoulder and wept.
Kogami rolled his eyes and tried to comfort her. Ginoza was glaring at them from the front of the stage. “Stop that. You’re going to get us both in trouble.”
“Inspector Ginoza,” Mr. Nagano said, “I take it that this gentlemen is a subordinate?”
“Yes, he’s an Enforcer. Why do you ask?”
“I was planning to play the piano myself for the rehearsals, but that will add at least three hours to the schedule.” Director Nagano put his hands on his hips and grinned. “You want my people out of this theater, so that your people can get to work. I need my troupe to rehearse before they leave. If that Enforcer will play the piano, we can be out of your hair in just over an hour.”
Masaoka pursed his lips and nodded his head at Ginoza. “Not a bad idea, Inspector. If I recall correctly, Kogami was quite the pianist in high school, wasn’t he?”
“Not if my life depended on it, pops,” Kogami said. “I won’t do it.” He buried his head in his hands. His temples were throbbing so violently that he felt nauseous.
“Inspector, if your man can play the last six songs for the last six scenes, I’ll have my people vacate the premises immediately, leaving you in peace.”
“He’ll do it.” Ginoza looked over at the piano platform. “Inspector Tsunemori, a word?”
Feeling faint, Kogami groaned and let his head fall to the piano keys with a discordant pinging of notes and chords. “This is a nightmare.”
Kagari jogged up the platform steps and playfully drummed his hands across Kogami’s back and shoulders before throwing himself down on the bench next to him. “Inspector Ginoza’s been trying to get Nagano to evacuate this theater all morning. Nice work, Ko.” Grinning with mischief in his eyes, he ran his fingers over the piano keys near Kogami’s ears until the veteran slapped his hand away.
“Can’t believe the MWPSB is here investigating a ghost story? Since when did we become ghost hunters?”
Kagari unholstered his Dominator and pointed it toward the back of the theater. “Wouldn’t that be awesome! Just like those banned movies from the 20th century. I totally dig that!”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It takes a lot of weight to bring a fully-sanctioned MWPSB investigation onto a case this thin.”
“Thin, huh? It was the piano player today, and he got lucky. He’ll live to play another day. Last week, a standby was killed on stage when one of the lights came loose and fell on her. Turns out that the actress who was supposed to be on stage that day was Mr. Kurosawa’s daughter. You remember Mr. Kurosawa, don’t you?”
“Don’t start, Kagari, or you’re going to need that Dominator.” Kogami coughed into his hand until tears came to the corner of his eyes. His sides were sore from the wracking cough.
Kagari laughed off the threat. “The tech crew tells me the dead standby was not doing a very good job and that her death was a punishment from the phantom.”
“Kagari?” Kogami leaned heavily into his hands. “Just stop talking.”
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