These words seemed unreal to me. As much as the gesture of shaking her hand, while finally knowing her name.
It was as if a boundary that still kept us apart had been erased.
Sure, there would surely be other barriers to remove between us, but I already felt like I had done something huge.
Was this what it was like to really get to know someone?
Because if it was, it was nothing like all the sullen, platitudinous encounters I'd had so far. People had never tried to find out more about me, and I myself had never bothered to get to know them. So I found it rather enjoyable, although it was still a little bit out of my comfort zone.
However, I didn't have time to rave more about this new experience, because already the detective named Hiraoka Misato had given me countless tasks.
It was after 9pm on a Friday night, and I found myself tidying up the whole floor, following her instructions without a second thought.
"I'll write up an employment contract when I have time," she said without really being present in the conversation, her head buried in her fridge.
Even as I heard her say these words, I still doubted she would actually do that.
Because during the first half hour she had entrusted me with sorting through the documents piled on her desk, or carelessly spread out on the floor, I had come across several unpaid or overdue bills. Proof that the detective was not rolling in money, and seemed to be quickly running out of funds.
In my search for all the documents that had been scattered to the four winds in the main room of the agency, I had also found the receipt for the payment made by Mrs. Munehara, and its amount had greatly disconcerted me.
The price she had paid was so... ridiculous...
I could now understand the client's distraught expression when she received the bill for our services, and I wondered if it was worth so few to almost ending up being stabbed to death.
"Ah, no, Munehara-san seemed to me to be in a delicate financial position already," the detective explained. "So I gave her a big discount."
I frowned.
She had said this as if it were obvious, and as if it was customary for her to do this.
And again, I opened my mouth without having time to stop.
"That's why you're scraping to pay your rent..." I said as I looked at her from behind the couch.
She had then turned to me, and from the open kitchen where she was making herself tea again, looked me straight in the eye.
It must have been a part of her personality, to always be frank in her words as well as in her attitude.
"I only charge my customers what they deserve to pay," she replied.
Huh? What did she mean by that?
Her rates were not the same, depending on the client?
Preoccupied with the amount of paper she was putting into a metal infusor, she was no longer looking at me, so I resumed picking up several sheets of paper that had slipped under the sofa.
I noticed that all the papers were in the name she had given me earlier, which tended to prove that it was her real identity. An identity that had big accounting problems, but that had already found a way to make me work, in spite of me. I was a little tired, yes, but I didn't question her orders.
I had taken out the garbage, put the boxes of food and the unsealed bags full of dubious things in the building's containers on the first floor. Then I had spent a good while cleaning the kitchen area, washing dishes and wiping them down as I went along, before putting them away. I even got a comment from Mrs. Hiraoka, that 'I would make a very good househusband'. I didn't really mind being called that, but thinking back...
Should I call her ma'am, or miss?
It was fairly clear that she didn't have anyone in her life, the way she handled things, and seemed totally absorbed in her work. Besides, she had always been more or less familiar with me, so I didn't really know what to call her back. She was younger in appearance than me, but seemed much older mentally. Well, most of the time.
With a bundle of several more or less crumpled or grease-stained documents in hand, I walked over to her desk to put them down, and contemplated for a long time everything I had found: receipts from her clients' bills, water or electricity bills, online shopping invoices, but also flyers from home-delivery restaurants, and various advertising leaflets.
Is it me or did she never put or throw anything away?
I suddenly felt something cold against my cheek, which made me jump slightly.
The detective had come up to me while I had my back to her, and pressed a can of aloe vera drink fresh from the fridge against my face.
"Take a break for a bit, Nijima-kun," she said with a smile, as I silently took the metal can in my left hand.
I looked at the drink in my hand, then at the detective walking away to disappear into one of the closed rooms of the apartment. I wondered what could be in there...
Opening the can, I quickly started to gulp down the cold and sweet liquid.
The refreshment was welcome, especially after having spent more than three quarters of an hour moving in all directions without taking a break. I had even taken off my suit jacket, and rolled up the sleeves of my shirt to my elbows; this did not prevent the ambient heat from making me sweat and breathe loudly.
Once finished, I headed to the kitchen, and threw the metal can into the newly cleaned garbage can with a brand new plastic bag, before heading back in the direction of the wooden desk to start sorting through everything I had gathered there.
I had walked past the couch and was almost to my destination, when, passing one of the closed doors, something caught my eye.
A piece of cardboard was sticking out from under the door, which made me frown. I must have missed it until now, too focused on the center of the room for my research.
Moving forward to position myself in front of the door, I crouched down to put my hand on the thin piece of cardboard and slide it towards me. However, no matter how hard I pulled on it, even with my two hands, it wouldn't budge. It was probably stuck by something on the other side of the door. I was already anticipating the disastrous state in which the room I had not yet explored might be, and placing my hand on the handle, swung it down to open.
What struck me immediately, in addition to the total darkness in which the room in question was in, was the very cold air that had come out of it.
I reached out to the side of the door on the inside, looking for the light switch with my fingertips, when the detective's hand shot out from my left side and grabbed my arm.
The gesture and its intensity startled me, and turning my head to where her body was, I saw an expression I had never seen on her face before.
She was angry. And while looking at me with squinted eyes and furrowed brows, she said in a low, slow voice:
"This room is off limits for you."
She wasn't just angry. She was angry at me.