What's Left of Me is Yours by Stephanie Scott

Author:Stephanie Scott [Scott, Stephanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781474610902
Publisher: Orion
Published: 2020-04-20T18:30:00+00:00

Life or Death

Do you know what a ‘lie question’ is? Psychologists put so much thought into these, so much effort; they draw them up for lie detector tests still in use in Japan today, not yet a relic of TV. The purpose of these tests is often to exclude a subject from suspicion, but they are still important, and the first real question asked, the one that gauges the pulse, the beat of your blood, is the one that matters above all. It is the difference between the person you are and the person you would like to be.

Imagine facing the examiner. He knows your name, age, occupation, lifestyle. You expect him to start slow, but he will not. In a homicide investigation, he will go straight in with a test of your nature, like ‘Have you ever thought of killing someone?’ And there, in the antechamber of the mind, between thought and speech, is the truth. We have all thought of killing someone. The answer to this question does not allow for virtue signalling or dishonesty. We are all capable of the thought. Killing is an impulse that lies within us all.

Once more, I sat in my bedroom, blocking out the traces of my childhood and focusing instead on the tape playing on the small TV screen. Kaitarō is wearing handcuffs when he enters the interrogation room. Prosecutor Kurosawa is already seated, and there is no one else with them, no typist keeping track. Yet Kaitarō must be aware of the men behind the glass screen and all who are waiting for his testimony, for when Kurosawa walks round the table to release him from his cuffs, Kaitarō’s movements are studiedly minimal. He does not rub his wrists but affects a relaxed posture, resting one arm on the table in front of him, creating his own space.

Kurosawa pushes a plastic cup of water towards Kaitarō, the gesture earning him a quiet smile, a flattening of the lips. For a moment the prosecutor glances at the camera and Kaitarō angles his body to face the viewfinder. I can see him more clearly, the lines on his face, the grooves by his mouth where his lips have learned to curve down.

‘Haven’t you got what you need?’ Kaitarō asks.

The prosecutor shrugs. ‘There is more to it than just the facts.’

‘You want my soul? Is that why you administrative idiots are here, fumbling with my head?’

‘I want to discuss something personal.’

‘More feelings?’ Kaitarō unbends and takes a sip of his water.

‘Love.’

‘You want me to define it for you?’

Kurosawa is silent.

Kaitarō reaches again for his water but pauses, the cup halfway to his lips. ‘You want to know if I really was in love?’

‘Yes.’

The expression on Kaitarō’s face is unreadable.

‘I want to be fair,’ Kurosawa says. ‘I have covered several homicides that have revolved around passion.’

‘Have they involved people like me?’

‘No.’

Kaitarō sits back, considering. ‘Will you argue that I was never in love?’

‘Tell me about your work,’ the prosecutor says.

‘You too, Kurosawa? You want to see me hang?’

‘Tell me,’ he says, his voice soft, ‘tell me about your work.

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