The Drowning God (2 page)

 

CHAPTER 3

T
he interrogation room smelled of lemons. The shackled prisoner couldn't bow from the waist as the guards did, so he bobbed his head several times, slowing until he simply nodded at Takuda with a slack-­jawed grin.

Takuda knew the look, and it didn't belong on this suspect's face. The glazed eyes told the story of a hopelessly hardened criminal, a man to whom interrogation was a game. There should have been an arrest record going back to junior high school, a record as thick as a phone book. Instead, the report in Takuda's hand told Hiroyasu Ogawa's quiet life on three pages. There was nothing in the slim folder to explain the sly creature who awaited him.

He took the chair across the table from the suspect. The smell of lemons was stronger, undercut with a faint stink he couldn't quite place.

“Are you Hiroyasu Ogawa?”

“Ogawa? Hiroyasu Ogawa? Heh-­heh. He's gone.”

So he is, and whatever took him away isn't in this report.
“You are Hiroyasu Ogawa, born on February 7, 1960, in Osaka. So you just turned thirty last month.”

“Heh-­heh.”

“You attended public schools, studied civil engineering at Tsukuba, and then you went to work for a prestigious engineering firm.”

Ogawa leaned forward as if to peek at the folder. “Where did he go?”

“Who?”

“The engineer. The bright boy.” The suspect looked down at the folder. “Is he in there?”

“The real Ogawa isn't in this report. We all know that.”

With manacled hands, Ogawa swept the folder off the table. The young patrolmen almost ran to retrieve it. At a look from Takuda, they slowly straightened back to attention.

Ogawa raised his eyes from the folder on the floor back to the detective's face. “Heh-­heh.”

“There's not much in the folder, is there? You married a fellow employee. You took a job with Zenkoku Fiber and moved to this quiet little valley. A year later, your wife moved out. She lives down in the city, and you're alone.”

“Ogawa is never alone.”

“Who is with you?”

“Ogawa is never alone.”

“Come now. First, you tell me that Ogawa is gone. Then, you tell me that Ogawa is never alone. If Ogawa is gone, how can you know he isn't alone? If you are not Ogawa, then who are you?”

“Oh, yes.” The suspect smiled shyly. “I'm Ogawa. I forget sometimes.” The oily intelligence behind Ogawa's eyes peeked out to see if it was fooling anyone. When it saw Takuda waiting, it retreated, leaving gooseflesh prickling on Takuda's forearms.

Takuda sat back in his chair and lowered his eyes. “Someday, we would like to find the Hiroyasu Ogawa from the folder. Maybe he's gone for good. But let's leave that Ogawa out of this for now.”

“No, no! Let's talk about him now! What will happen to him? Will he go to the big city? A better jail?”

Takuda smiled despite himself. “If you're smart, you'll try to stay where you are. In the city, jail life would be much more difficult. For one thing, I'm sure the food is much better here.”

“Oh, fresh and hot! Fresh and hot! Not really what I've been craving, but beggars can't be choosers, as they say.” Ogawa nodded with his eyes half-­closed. “How long do you think I should stay here, Detective?”

“You don't have much say in the matter. You could be facing the prosecutor this afternoon. Then again, it could take ten days to decide whether to prosecute you, if the station chief petitions for an extension. On the other hand, you could have a quiet little hearing and be released on probation without ever having to enter a formal plea. No prosecution, no conviction, no black mark on your record. But none of that really matters to you, does it?”

“Oh, Detective, I beg of you. Please get me out of here. They beat me mercilessly.” Ogawa lolled in his chair, slapping his jail sandal against his heel. “These men are desperate. They'll do anything to get a confession out of me. I fear for my life.” He concluded with an elaborate yawn.

“I'm sure it's awful here. Let's just pretend you're going to cooperate to some degree.”

Ogawa snorted. “Me, cooperate? You should cooperate! Eventually, I'm going to call my lawyer friend. You should be afraid of that. He's very, very scary. He could get the Buddha's mother sent to Hell.”

“Let's talk about Hanako Kawaguchi. Her father works at Zenkoku. Was that how you chose her?”

“Chose her? For what?”

“To take her down to the water.”

Ogawa shook his head. “I didn't choose her.”

“That was the first time you ever saw her?”

“Me? Yes, that was the first time for me.”

Takuda kept his face immobile. “You told her someone wanted to meet her.”

“I don't remember saying that.”

“Someone magical. Someone was going to take her to a magical world.”

Ogawa made a show of straining his memory. “Oh, that. Maybe I said that.”

“Then you chased her. You laid hands on her, and you tried to pull her back under a fence. Why did you chase her?”

Ogawa's gaze wandered. “She ran. Boys chase pretty girls. It's an old story.”

“That's an old story, but this magical world, this is a new story. What happens in your magical world?”

After a few seconds of silence, Ogawa leaned forward to examine Takuda's face. Ogawa's lips were slack, but his eyes were bright and hard. His gaze stopped at Takuda's left eyebrow. Takuda willed himself to sit still under the scrutiny. The suspect's head bobbed slightly, as if he were counting the gaps in the eyebrow. Then his eyes traced the faint scars down Takuda's face, across the jawline, down the throat, all the way to the starched white collar.

The suspect fell back in his chair as if exhausted by the effort.

“You'll never know about a magical world. You had your chance.”

“What?” Takuda pressed his palms to the table. “What did you say?”

With the clinking of manacles, Ogawa raised his right hand in a claw. He turned it toward himself and drew it down the left side of his face.

Mockery of a detective's scars was too much for the patrolmen. One pulled the prisoner's hand away from his face while the other slapped him in the back of the head. As the slapping continued, Ogawa grinned with real pleasure.

“Heh-­heh-­heh!”

It was probably the first human touch Ogawa had felt all day.

While the young men badgered the prisoner into an apology, Takuda kept his own palms against the stainless steel tabletop. When he raised them, they shook very slightly. His palms, suddenly sweaty, had left small clouds of condensation.

Ogawa finally stood to apologize. His whole upper body seemed to undulate. The patrolmen released his arms; this sloppy, fishlike bow would have to do.

When Ogawa finally came to rest, all three men stood looking at Takuda.

It was a moment of decision.

One choice was to act offended and leave the ratty little interrogation room and the prisoner who was not what he seemed. Nakamura would be at the door, bowing a little too deeply. They could agree that the prisoner was a brain-­damaged idiot. On his way out, Takuda could clap Kuma on the shoulder. They could talk briefly about the old days in the judo club, and perhaps Takuda could put Kuma in a wristlock to demonstrate his grip strength and superior aikido technique. That would give Kuma something to talk about when he stopped by the neighborhood pub on his way home. Meanwhile, Takuda and Mori could be back to the city just after lunchtime. Takuda could report that the attempted kidnapping of Hanako Kawaguchi was an isolated incident. Really, that was what everyone wanted to hear.

Or I could do my job like a man and continue the interview.

Ogawa and his captors still waited for him to accept the apology. He sat looking at his hands. They no longer trembled. The trembling had moved down into his belly.

“So I can't go to the magical world. I've had my chance.”

“Detective, why won't you accept my apology? I have no excuse. Please forgive my . . .”

“Sit down. Don't act stupid.”

“I've caused you so much trouble.”

“How many have you killed?”

“I've killed spiders, cockroaches, the odd mosquito, lightning bugs, and a hamster.” Ogawa collapsed into his chair. “The hamster was an accident.”

“We're boring you.”

“All this talk about a magical world is boring me. It's stupid. It was a line. Haven't you ever used a line on a girl?”

“Not on a girl her age. Why Hanako Kawaguchi?”

Ogawa looked at the ceiling. “Probably because she looked—­
tender
.”

Yowarakai
. “That word could mean a lot of things. Do you mean she was impressionable? Weak-­willed? Flexible? Soft to the touch?”

“Tender like sea bream. Tender like steamed crab.”

The patrolman on Ogawa's left swayed where he stood. His face had gone gray, and his brow glistened with sweat. Takuda decided to wrap things up.

“Ogawa, did you plan to eat Hanako Kawaguchi?”

“Me? No.”

“Not just a little?”

“Maybe just a little.”

The patrolman exhaled loudly, trying to keep down his breakfast.

Takuda stood. “You men get some fresh air. I'll be done in a few minutes.”

Ogawa bounced in his chair. “A real beating! Finally!”

The patrolmen hesitated, then bowed and left. When the door clicked shut, Ogawa said, “I'll never sign a confession. You know I won't.”

“I don't want a confession.” He sat.

Ogawa cocked his head at him.

“Let's just sit here a few minutes so they think I'm doing my job.”

“Are you paid by the hour? A private security firm would probably pay better for a big boy like you.”

“Let's just sit.”

“You're trying to bore me into a confession. This is the worst party game ever.”

Takuda leaned across the table toward Ogawa. The smell was worse. “You'll stay in that cell as long as I can keep you there.”

Ogawa's smile wavered.

“You are unique. Did you know that? You're the first one ever caught.”

“The first? The first
what
?”

“Most detectives would want to study you like a rare plant. Not me. I don't care how you became what you are.”

“What am I?”

“To me, you're nothing but bait.”

Ogawa froze.

“Why act surprised? You can't keep saying you're not alone without someone believing it.”

“You don't know anything.”

“I know you're just the latest in a long line of accomplices.”

Ogawa stared.

“We'll see who shows up to keep you quiet. All we have to do is wait for them.”

Ogawa blinked, and then his face fell back into the heavy, loose-­lipped grin. “Wait for
them
?
Them
, you say? You know nothing. I'll be in here, behind steel doors. You'll be out there in the valley with your ignorance and your notebook. You want to keep me here ten days?” He brayed sudden and sincere laughter. “You'll be begging to trade places with me before the week is out.”

“Are you finished?”

“Quite finished. Heh-­heh.”

“Behind the bars and mesh, you have a window on the shopping street and a window on the canal. I'll have the glass left open on one of them tonight. Which one do you want open?”

Ogawa closed his eyes. “I'll sleep like a baby either way.”

“Even after I tell everyone I meet on the way out how cooperative you've been?”

“Tell them what you will. Can you call the patrolmen, please? I'm missing my morning beating.”

As he left the interrogation room, the sickly patrolman stepped forward. “Detective, I'm really sorry. Maybe it's the stink. We rubbed him down with lemons, but the stink is in his hair and his skin. I want to do my job correctly, but my stomach is weak.”

“Patrolman, what's your name?”

“Kikuchi, sir.”

“Kikuchi, it's not just the stink, is it?”

Patrolman Kikuchi gave him a guarded look.

“We vomit up poison. It's natural. It shows you have a bit of a sixth sense for dangerous criminals.”

The young man bowed. “Thank you. The chief says Ogawa is an idiot, but something doesn't add up.”

Takuda nodded. “You'll never understand ­people like Ogawa. No matter how many you meet.”
I understand them less every day.
“Sometimes our bellies know better than our brains. Listen to your belly, Kikuchi. It might help you save a citizen's life someday.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Takuda exchanged bows with the boy and turned to the chief's office.
The belly always knows.
His own belly hadn't squirmed like this for years, but he ignored it. There was work to be done. He had already decided to start with Ogawa's apartment.

 

CHAPTER 4

“C
anals were the veins and arteries of Naga River valley. We lived and died by them. Detective, do you remember feasting in the flat-­bottomed boats? We ate broiled eel with cold beer in summer, and we ate roasted sweet potatoes with hot saké in the winter. Do you remember that, Detective?”

“Yes, Chief. The boats passed our dock,” Takuda said. They walked along the main canal. The water ran smooth and dark.

Nakamura sighed loudly. “No one's made a living as a boatman for decades. It's very sad, of course.”

The suspect's apartment complex was across the canal from the public ser­vices building. Nakamura had insisted that he and Sergeant Kuma accompany Takuda and Officer Mori.

“See, here's where the suspect attacked the Kawaguchi girl. That's the fence she slipped under, right there. You know, Detective, I used to go to school by boat. That was before your time. The canal used to come up behind the athletic field, but there were problems, so they filled in that section . . .”

“Chief Nakamura,” Mori said, “did your men search this area?”

Nakamura blinked at the interruption as if startled that Mori could speak. “Yes, of course they did. As you can see, there is very little to search.”

Mori pointed to a concrete cube at the water's edge. “Chief, what is that structure?”

“It's something to do with the canal, Officer. There are pairs of them at regular intervals. See, there is one on the other side.”

Another concrete cube squatted on the far bank. Water lapped at the thick steel grate in its face.

“It's a storm drain,” Kuma said. “It lets the runoff from the main canal into the spillway.”

“Quite right,” Nakamura said. “The spillway.”

Takuda walked carefully down the slope.

“Detective, don't fall in,” Nakamura called from the pathway. “The bank is slippery.”

“Oh, he's fine,” Kuma said. “When he was a kid, he could walk on top of the wall all the way around the school, even the gates. We called him ‘cat' . . .” Kuma trailed off under the chief's gaze.

Takuda stepped up onto the concrete cube. He knelt on the far edge. If he leaned out just a little farther, he could check the grate. All of a sudden, leaning over the opening was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Detective, what are you doing?”

In his mind's eye, the water itself rose faceless from the canal and dragged him down into the storm drain.
You're no longer a child.
He took a deep breath and leaned out to look at the opening.

As Takuda had expected, the steel grate was missing. A torrent roared down into darkness. It triggered a memory of black current rushing, tumbling him among the river rocks, his brother's sleeve slipping from his fingertips, his son's anguished little face slipping beneath the dock, the pain raking downward across his face—­
gone
.

Takuda stood.

“Detective? Is something wrong?”

He turned to face them. “Why was Ogawa down here? Do you think Ogawa planned to take the girl down into the storm drain?”

Kuma shook his head. He hitched up his pants and took a step away from the chief. “The river is high from snowmelt, so the canal current is still too strong. No one could stand up in that spillway, not until the irrigation really gets going.”

“Where does the spillway lead?”

“Down to the runoff pond by the Zenkoku plant and then through gates to the north reservoir.”

The water rushed into the spillway. Takuda could feel it beneath his feet, through the concrete slab. He needed a wet suit, a stout rope, and spiked fishing boots. With Kuma and Mori at the other end of the rope, he could find out what was down there.

“Detective, the apartment is this way,” Nakamura said.

There was nothing down there right now, nothing but the sound of water.

“Let's have a look at that apartment then,” he said.

They crossed the narrow pedestrian bridge single file. Mori ended up behind Nakamura.

“Chief, you said students no longer take boats to school. Why is that?”

“Why? Well, it was dangerous. Kids used to get in trouble down there, smoking and all.” Nakamura turned his attention to Takuda. “But kids were tougher then. We could handle it. Later, there were too many drownings. It's as if kids forgot how to swim. Kids got soft from postwar liberalism and television.”

Takuda tried to keep his tone casual. “So you never lost classmates in your day? None ever disappeared?”

“Well, a ­couple did. But not as many as later. If they didn't show up back in those days, we assumed they had run off to the city. That was where my classmates went. Sometimes they sent us postcards, but they never came back.”

As they left the bridge, Mori moved up to Takuda's side. If the officer was curious about Takuda's history in the Naga River valley, he had yet to show it.

They turned down the winding path to the apartment complex. The complex followed a pattern common to public housing from the 1980s: identical buildings set at varying angles on park-­like grounds. The curved walks and roadways had been designed to produce a relaxed, pastoral effect. Now the grounds were overgrown with trash-­choked weeds, and several of the buildings nearest the canal appeared abandoned.

“Talks are under way with Zenkoku Fiber,” Nakamura said. “If they buy this complex, they'll clean up the grounds and turn the empty buildings into free housing for their workers.”

At that moment, Mori casually handed Takuda an evidence bag. He had produced the crinkly plastic sleeve silently, from nowhere, as if he were a carnival conjurer. Mori looked straight ahead and picked up the pace, leaving Takuda to read the evidence bag's handwritten label:

HIROYASU OGAWA, left hip pocket
.

“What do you have there, Detective?”

“I'm not sure, Chief.” The bag contained a clipping from a magazine: a cartoonish image of a smiling Kappa, a mythical water sprite.

“That's one of our evidence bags,” the chief said. Takuda handed it over, and the chief shoved it into his hip pocket without looking at it. “How did you get this?”

“I'm more interested in the picture.” He turned back toward the apartment buildings. “Why was Ogawa carrying a picture of a Kappa?”

“Well, it's obvious,” Nakamura said. “He's a pedophile, and he studies cute, cartoonish images in order to lure children.”

The sergeant hurried off as if to catch up to Mori. Neither Takuda nor the chief spoke for a few seconds.

“Chief, is there any indication that Ogawa lured Hanako Kawaguchi with images of any kind?”

“Well, no, not images as such. It was more of a picture in words, if you understand me.”

Takuda held his tongue. It made no sense for Ogawa, a grown man, to be interested in the Kappa. The Kappa was a ridiculous figure: the shell of a tortoise, greenish skin, webbed feet and hands, a simian skull with a raptor's beak, a ring of long black hair, and in some renderings a bowl-­shaped depression in the crown of its head. It had once been drawn as a lean and evil creature. Now it was cute and rounded, usually smiling, an ancient monster demoted to mascot for candies, toys, magazines, and other nonessential consumer goods.

Takuda stuck his hands in his pockets. If he stayed quiet long enough, Nakamura might say something useful.

“Ogawa did paint a picture in words, and he was talking about the Kappa,” Nakamura said. His voice was insistent. “Ogawa told Hanako that there was a god. That's the first thing he said to her before he tried to lead her off the pavement.”

After a few seconds of silence, Nakamura sighed loudly.

“So it makes sense,” Nakamura said. “Technically, a Kappa is a water god from the old faith.”

“There was nothing about a god in the final incident report,” Takuda said. “Chief, why did you leave that out?”

Chief Nakamura looked around as if for support. Mori and Kuma were still a few yards ahead. “Well, there was no way to include everything, was there? It was a single comment from an initial report. It hardly seemed important except that it showed how crazy Ogawa is.”

They reached Mori and Kuma.

The chief threw his hands in the air. “The girl Hanako even mentioned a boy at the water's edge, a boy following Ogawa, but there was no boy. We're sure of it. There's no report of a boy missing anywhere. That's not in the report, either. Ha!”

Officer Mori said, “Excuse me, but I've read the initial reports, and I think there may be a misinterpretation here. Ogawa can't have meant ‘Kappa' when he said ‘god.' All children know that Kappa near water mean danger, don't they? There are Kappa signs all over Japan to warn children of drowning danger.”

Nakamura shook his head. “Not in the Naga River valley.”

“There must be.”

Kuma shook his head. “The chief's right. Not around here. The only Kappa I ever saw were the ones I painted myself. And someone always took those down or painted them over. They looked more like ducks, anyway. Green ducks. I'm not an artist. I gave up.”

Takuda said, “Well, anyway, Ogawa didn't have that clipping for Hanako Kawaguchi's benefit. An advertisement for toilet wipes certainly wouldn't be an effective lure for a little girl.”

The other three stared.

“Kappa Kleen Wipes. You don't recognize the mascot? Mothers use them when little boys piddle on the rim.”

“Ah.” The chief nodded. “Your wife uses them at home?”

Mori and Kuma went still.

“She did when my boy was alive,” Takuda said.

“Ah, yes, of course. That's what I meant.” The chief turned away from the apartments. “You know, it's funny, but the Kappa was still very popular here when I was a boy. There was an old shrine to the Kappa somewhere below the south dam, and there was a big Kappa festival every year until the war. By the time I was old enough to go, it was just a few old farmers dancing. They finally had to quit. It's still everywhere in the language, though. They call the railing on a dock a ‘Kappa fence,' and they call stillbirths and drowned infants ‘Kappa babies.' ” Nakamura gasped. “I'm so stupid, Detective. I have such a big mouth.”

“My son was hardly an infant, Chief. He was three years old.”

“Yes, yes, I remember now. Like old times, but not very pleasant memories. Speaking of your family, it's odd that you don't know more about the Kappa. Didn't your father ever mention it to you?”

“No, not once.”
My father mentioned very little to me.

“Really? Your father was almost fanatical about destroying the old faith, if I may say so. When I was a boy, he was head of the Eagle Peak Temple lay organization. He was the one who got Oku Village to stop the Kappa dance, and he got the village symbol changed from a Kappa to an eagle. Postwar secularism, you know.”

After a few seconds of silence, Takuda said, “Let's find keys to Ogawa's apartment, shall we?”

Kuma exhaled as if he hadn't breathed properly for several minutes. Then he turned and ran toward the office. Takuda hadn't imagined the man could move so fast.

The manager was a sad-­eyed youth who balked at opening Ogawa's apartment. After Nakamura threatened the boy with arrest, he faxed a copy of the search warrant to the prefectural housing office and reluctantly handed the key to Kuma. He refused to look at Nakamura.

They smelled rotten fish as they approached the apartment door. They braced for the stench as Kuma turned the key, and Nakamura backed down the stairs with his handkerchief to his nose. When the door swung open, the smell seemed no worse. It was as if the stink had penetrated the concrete walls and spread itself evenly through the plaster and paint.

At the darkened doorway, Takuda finally recognized the smell.

He also realized why it had taken him so long to place it: Memories buried so deeply could only emerge to protect him from danger.

That stench had clung to his younger brother's corpse. That stench had wafted from below the dock just before his little son had been snatched away into the dark water. That stench had leaked from his own tattered face as he recovered from the attempt to save his son. That stench had filled his house as he struggled with his wife's violent grief and his own craving for oblivion.

It set off phantom pains in his scarred flesh, and it set off waves of panic in his gut. The worst thing that could happen was happening. As he approached the threshold, part of his mind watched as if from outside his body. That part of his mind was relaxed and ready, as if it had been waiting for this day. That made sense. Takuda had rehearsed for this day in his nightmares since he was nine years old.

As if in a dream, his nightmares come true, Detective Takuda entered darkness.