The Drowning God (9 page)

 

CHAPTER 17

I
t was twilight in the rest of the Naga River valley, but the river gorge had been in darkness for hours. Chief Nakamura slipped and slid on the riverside trail.

“This is all very bad business. A cave full of bones? What stupidity!”

Nakamura had complained the whole way. Detective Takuda had ignored most of it. When the chief had become too shrill, Takuda had moved farther ahead.

Behind him, the chief stumbled into the under-brush. “This trail is too muddy. I can't get traction here.”

Sergeant Kuma caught up to the chief. He was breathing hard. “That's probably why the detective suggested you change your shoes.”

Takuda didn't bother looking back. He was glad of the time to think.

The disappearances were a mystery for generations, but they were wrapped in a sort of shadow. Even when schoolmates and relatives had vanished, even when everyone had been suspicious of the postcards, no one in the valley had questioned it aloud.

Now, even though Takuda and Reverend Suzuki had found the site of the worst mass murder in Japanese history, no one would believe it. If Takuda dragged the local police by the collars and threw them into the cave, they might not notice the human remains.

What was worse, Takuda couldn't really blame them. He knew the murders had occurred, but the more evidence of a murderous conspiracy Takuda found, the less sense it made.
The cult offered sacrifices to the Kappa in return for—­what? The hope of good irrigation? The hope of good fishing?
It was stupid.

There was no possible reason for all these murders.
Why did the cult bother?

There was something else at work. Just as the slicked-­back punks on the streets of the city represented the real mobsters in the background, the cult of the Kappa represented something bigger.
But what?

When the short procession finally reached the sandy bank downstream from the stone pillars, Takuda asked the sergeant to go back and fetch the doctor. They had left him retching up the previous night's drinking among the broken stone lanterns downstream. Nakamura gave a curt nod of assent, and Kuma waddled up the bank. Nakamura hissed at him to hurry and turned a cold eye to Takuda.

Things had worked out as well as they could have, Takuda thought. If Takuda had the chief to himself, without the sergeant and the doctor, he might be able to talk some sense into the man.

It was not to be.

“There is no cave of bones,” the chief said. He shifted from one foot to the other. Takuda could tell that moisture from the riverbank sand was seeping into Nakamura's street shoes. “There never was such a thing. Maybe they're remains of ­people who drowned by accident. In a place with so much water, it's inevitable.”

“The ­people in that cave didn't drown. Not without help, anyway.”

“Listen to me.” Nakamura stepped closer. His face was twisted with anger. “Don't you dare start talking about some sort of serial killings. Don't even think it! If what you say about some human bones is true, there will be reporters all over this valley very soon. Airing your wild theories would be the height of irresponsibility, and I won't have it. Don't force me to invoke higher powers!”

“The higher powers are already here waiting for us. I left Officer Mori to take pictures while I came to pick you up. He's in there now, taking photographs and laying evidence marking flags, but he called to say the uniforms were gathering outside the cave. At this point, I'm not talking to anyone but you, Chief.”

The chief stepped back and bowed. “Ah, I see. Well, that's sensible of you. Yes, quite. It's good that you understand the gravity of our situation here. I suppose our conversation last night helped you see that it's best to let things take the proper channels.”

Takuda returned the bow. “I don't care who's in charge, Chief. I just want the freedom to investigate what's really happening in this valley.”

Nakamura shook his head in disbelief. Takuda stepped forward to keep the chief from stumbling backward into the river, but he shrugged Takuda off and went around him toward the cave. Takuda followed the old man's uneven progress.

When they came around the last bend, light blazed from the darkened cave like an ironic reenactment of a tale from Japan's mythical past. Uniformed officers scurried on the sandy soil at the base of the mountain. Three men stood talking on the bank opposite the cave mouth. Talking.
Laughing.

The chief started to cross the river on the rocks below the twin obelisks. Takuda held no hope that the old man would get to the cave without soaking his trousers, at least. He chose not to aggravate Nakamura by attempting to help him.

He studied the three men talking on the bank.

The regional director general was out of uniform. Takuda had received two commendations directly from him, but he knew nothing about the man. The regional director general answered directly to the National Police Agency's commissioner general, so he was in the level of Japanese bureaucracy where management by force of personality no longer existed. At that level, power lay in the inexorable bureaucracy itself, and only the greatest of fools would allow his personal preferences to run afoul of that torturous machinery.

The uniformed officer beside him, on the other hand, could still style himself a leader of men. He was a superintendent supervisor, four ranks above Takuda, and he stood with his feet wide and his fists on his hips. He probably considered himself in charge of the site.

The third man, a broad-­shouldered, square-­jawed civilian, was a total mystery to Takuda. He pointed at the interior of the cave as if lecturing tourists about an interesting landmark. He wore spike-­soled, split-­toed fishing boots appropriate to the terrain, and his sportsman's khaki pants and houndstooth jacket gave him an air of local gentry from a bygone age. He ignored Takuda completely, as did the regional director general.

“Takuda, good job bringing the locals into this immediately,” said the superintendent supervisor. “You'll give your report to Superintendent Yamada. Take your man Mori home. We're handing it over to the village chief.”

Takuda bowed deeply, buying time. While he slowly straightened, the well-­dressed stranger murmured to the regional director general and gently led him away by the sleeve.

“Superintendent Supervisor, thank you for relieving me, but I believe Mori has this scene under control, and it's doubtful that the village station has the resources . . .”

“Detective, you are relieved. Go home. Prepare a detailed report for Superintendent Yamada.”

“Yes, Superintendent Supervisor, but I thought you might want to know something of the circumstances here before . . .”

“There's no need for a superintendent supervisor to know more about an archaeological site,” the civilian said. He had simply reappeared at the superintendent supervisor's elbow. “Let's go have a drink.”

The superintendent supervisor turned toward the stranger, smiling. “Let's go have a drink,” he said. “There are a few pubs in Oku Village, but I think we'd do better down in the city.”

“Excellent idea, Superintendent Supervisor.” They drifted across the rocks and down the muddy trail, the superintendent supervisor and the regional director general chatting amiably as the third man gently guided them along the darkling path. Takuda watched them until they disappeared in the gloom at the bend.

Chief Nakamura was wet to the knees. He stood at the opening of the cave in the glare of portable floodlights. Beyond him, jumbled skeletons and broken skulls stretched to the depths of the cave. In the middle of the cave, Mori squatted among the skulls. The only sounds were the rapids outside and Suzuki's droning chants from the ruined shrine above.

Takuda stepped up beside Nakamura. The chief stood on stray ribs.

Mori stepped carefully between the skulls. He wore plastic shoe covers and surgical gloves. He placed an evidence flag by the next skull and photographed it with the prefecture's standard camera. He had come prepared.

Nakamura looked from one side of the narrow cave to the other as if unable to comprehend the scene before him. He seemed to watch Officer Mori for several seconds, then he turned his blank, uncomprehending stare on Takuda. His face slowly twisted with rage.

“The foreigner drowned far downstream. What were you doing up here?” Nakamura's hands were shaking. His reedy voice echoed in the cave. “This was already out of hand. This will destroy the village police office. It will bring nothing but bad press, and Zenkoku—­Oh, Zenkoku. If they pull out, this valley will die.”

“Nothing like that will happen if we handle it correctly. All they'll have is helicopter shots of the ravine. We can keep them out of the valley until things cool down.”

Nakamura looked up sharply. He was interested for an instant, but then he growled, deep in his throat, like a dog.

“A fine detective you are. Liar! You tell ­people anything you need to follow your own insane agenda. First you say you can get the prefecture to take the stinking pervert out of my jail, then you say you can keep ­people out of the press . . .”

“What?”
Is he talking about Ogawa's wife or about the cave?

Nakamura shook his head. “I'll have your job if this leaks out. I'll talk to your supervisor.”

“I'll tell him you said so.”

Nakamura took a breath as if he'd suddenly remembered how. “Detective, you're a fool. You're a fool, just as your father was. Do you really think these old bones mean anything?”

“Some of them are not very old at all,” Takuda said.

“They're ancient. They've been well preserved by the conditions of the cave.”

“That cave was under water fifty years ago. The only thing that kept the bones in was the stone wall in the mouth. How did anyone build a stone wall right there, right at the rapids?”

“Perhaps it was the Kappa. The Kappa built himself a house. If you meet a Kappa, just bow to it. It will bow in return and spill the water out of the depression on top of its head, and then you can wrestle it! That's the sort of nonsense ­people told us as children. Are you saying that there are ­people who believe that? Is Ogawa so crazy that he believes it?”

Mori pretended to work, but he was really watching Takuda.

Nakamura shook his head. “You're insane with grief, just as your wife was insane with grief. It was disgusting to watch. Disgusting. A grown man, a policeman, giving way to grief just as his woman did. You left the valley because she wanted to, because she cut herself. Honestly, acting as if that was a serious suicide attempt! If ­people want to die, they die. You coddled her, and you became a woman yourself. You act so big and strong, but you're weak, weak and womanly, just as your father was.”

Nakamura wheeled and left the cave. Suzuki came to the end of a verse.

Takuda first turned his attention to Suzuki. “Thank you for the chanting, both for the dead and the living. It helped keep me calm during that conversation with the chief. But for your prayers, we might have ended up with another heap of old bones on this floor.”

Suzuki ignored him. He was counting beats between verses, just as the whole congregation had counted silently in Takuda's youth. One hundred eight beats, one for each form of human sin. It was the most soothing silence he had ever known.

Takuda approached Mori. “Officer, you're good with computers, with plotting data and statistics and so forth?”

Mori opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. He bowed in reply.

“Right,” Takuda said. “I know I said that incorrectly, but you understood. If I want a result from a certain set of data, could you pull that data into a map? A map of the prefecture and this valley?”

Mori bowed.

“Plot drowning incidents as far back as possible,” Takuda said. “If I'm right, these ­people are from areas where no one ever drowns.”

“It's stranger than that,” Mori said. “The next time we're both at headquarters, I have something to show you.” He smiled without humor. “I have a lot to show you.”

 

CHAPTER 18

“H
eh-­heh. A policeman of a decadent state and a priest of a defunct sect, both of you in a country jail with an unemployed engineer. It's a very sad scene.” Ogawa's eyes glittered in the dim cell. “How sad for the three of us.”

“You're like a different man,” Takuda said. He stood in the center of the village police station's holding cell, and Suzuki squatted behind him, near the door.

Ogawa beamed. “I'm like a different man? How so?”

“The last time I saw you, you were acting drugged or brain-­damaged.”

“Acting? I was stunned. High school boys beat me with fencing sticks while the fat sergeant watched. These bumpkins beat me constantly. I believe I have survived a massive brain contusion. Heh-­heh.”

Takuda recounted what he had heard from patrolmen Kikuchi and Inoue. “Your new story is that the little girl dropped her bag and you were just trying to give it back.”

“That is correct,” Ogawa said with gravity.

“And she suddenly bit you.”

“I am not liked by children or dogs. I'm used to it.”

“Yet you confessed,” Takuda said.

“I would have told them anything to stop those horrible beatings.”

“Stop it. Your confession could take you straight to prison.”

“I'm sure we've all seen better days.”

“Your wife will probably go to prison as an accessory,” Takuda said.

Ogawa laughed. “Never. You'll see. That fat little slut will wriggle out of this just fine.”

“You won't.”

“Hard times all around. Shouldn't you take a moment to pray for better fortune?”

“Interesting that you bring up prayer,” Suzuki said from the doorway. “Where do you pray?”

Ogawa grinned with pleasure as he turned to Suzuki. His gums were an unhealthy gray. “Me pray? I don't pray, Priest, and I don't chant the sutras. Heh-­heh-­heh! What a waste of time!”

“I wouldn't imagine you chant sutras, no. But you've visited the shrine upriver,” Takuda said. “You left your handiwork.”

Ogawa hesitated. “Shrine? Handiwork? Did I piss on something again? Maybe I parked my bicycle in the wrong spot. Did I try to help another little girl?” He pulled on his ear and feigned a twitch in his eye, hiding unease behind a parody of unease.

Takuda pulled the photograph from his folder. “You had this photo in your apartment,” he said. “We know you've been to the shrine.”

“Me? I've never been there. Heh-­Heh! I stole that photo from the village historical center. I stole it. Look at the developer's stamp on the print.”

Takuda turned the print over. In faded blue characters:
June 1987.

“That print was made before I came to the valley. I hope stealing it won't add too many years to this prison sentence you're talking about. I've never been to this shrine.”

Suzuki's knees popped as he stood. “You've never been to this shrine, but you were so interested that you stole a photo of it. That doesn't make sense.”

“You're a priest. You believe in a whole system that doesn't make sense.”

Suzuki bowed enough to signal understanding, not agreement. “My system is about life, not death. Your system seems to be all about death.”

Ogawa laughed, but he had no reply.

“We know how much you believe in death,” Takuda said.

Ogawa cocked his head at him.

“The stink of death is on you, Ogawa. You brought it from beneath the shrine.”

“Never been there.”

Takuda leaned forward. “We know what's beneath the shrine, and we know what's in the spillway.”

Ogawa's eyes widened.

Takuda decided to gamble. “We know that you're trying to revive the cult, and we know you're not working alone.”

Ogawa looked relieved. “Cult. The ­people of this valley once had a healthy respect for native Japanese religion. They had a living religion. A living god. They didn't need fanciful ramblings of dirty Hindus and hairy Chinese.” Ogawa leaned forward, glaring at Suzuki. “Your ancestors ruined it for everyone, threw everything out of balance.”

“Who works with you?” Takuda asked.

“I'm never alone, Detective. But I'll tell you, I'm not the one you're looking for. I was here in this cell when the foreigner died. I don't know what you've found beneath this shrine you're talking about, but it has nothing to do with me.” He swung his feet up onto the cot and leaned back with his hands behind his head. “I'll just wait here for whatever case the yokels can bring against me. Then I'll call my lawyer, and he'll be down here like a fox among the rats. You will fear him.”

Takuda folded his arms. “So, all the
heh-­heh-­heh
is gone, eh?”

“Make me laugh. We'll see.”

“What if I could make sure you're never charged?”

“You're lying. You can't do it.”

Ogawa had slipped between Takuda's fingers. “All I want is the truth about the cult.”

“You wouldn't believe the truth if I told you.”

From the corner, Suzuki spoke: “Why do you study Ainu?”

“I'm a student of many different things, Priest.”

“Why the changes to the Ainu texts?”

Ogawa ignored Suzuki's question. “For example, I know about your radical sect. It's barely Buddhism at all.”

Suzuki ignored him. “It just looks like you're taking modern Ainu, changing the verb forms and removing sounds.”

“Most scholars agree that your heretical sect is a thinly veiled crusade against native Japanese religion. Not even the ­people in the valley believe in it anymore. How do you keep the temple open?”

Suzuki said, “Whose language are you trying to learn?”

“Speaking of cults, now that the detective here has joined you, you're technically a cult.” Ogawa turned to the detective. “You've placed yourself in the hands of a radical heretic. Just keep me out of it. Remember that I am a poor swimmer, and I have no claws to speak of.”

“I didn't say anything about claws,” Takuda said.

“Your face speaks for you.”

Takuda tucked the folder under his arm. “There's nothing I can do for you now. You haven't given me a single piece of information I can use here. So let me give you something.”

Ogawa sat up with his hands folded in his lap.
An attentive student.

“Today, we found human remains in a cave under the Shrine of the Returning Apprentice. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. Some of them are so old they've almost turned to clay, but some of them aren't so very old at all. Less than ten years.”

“Well, it explains all the empty storefronts.”

“You don't seem too concerned,” Takuda said, “considering that you're the only suspect in sight.”

“I'm quite comfortable here. I'm just joking about the beatings, you know. I haven't had one in days.”

“You're rejecting my help, Ogawa. I'm the most useful person you've talked to yet, and you've rejected everything I can do for you.”

Ogawa looked at Takuda in disbelief. “You honestly think that I believe you could do anything for me? You must think I'm insane.”

“I don't think you're insane. I think you have a definite reason for staying in custody as long as you can, just as you had a definite reason for staying in this valley. Just as you had a definite reason for giving up Okamoto Hydrological Systems, your wife, and your future. Why do you love this valley so much?”

“Love this valley? Who could love this dark, wet, filthy little cleft in the earth? It's disgusting in every way. The ­people are ignorant and narrow-­minded and dull. The scenery is grim at the best of times. Everything is covered with a thin layer of greenish scum, if you look closely enough. The food is . . .”

“Ogawa, why did you stay here? What kept you?”

Ogawa looked up at him mournfully. “I met someone,” he said. “I thought it was love. I really did. But it's not love. It's nothing like love. It's something like the exact opposite of love, but there's not even a word for it. It's ruined me.” He smiled. “It'll ruin you, too! I can tell, Detective!”

A heavy body slammed against the door. All three in the cell jumped in surprise.

Takuda was the first to the hallway. Just outside the holding cell, Sergeant Kuma loomed over Officer Mori. Mori guided the massive sergeant backward by the chin, by the elbow, by the rib cage, by the shoulder.

Mori had pushed Kuma's chin and rib cage upward, overbalancing the larger man. Kuma seemed perplexed. He stepped back from Mori and regained his balance, and then he charged in low, like a bull. Mori couldn't sidestep Kuma in the narrow hallway, so he retreated as he pushed the sergeant's head down, just a little. By the third step, Kuma was stumbling forward. With a little more pressure from Mori, he would have landed flat on his face. Mori released Kuma and stepped back, allowing Kuma to regain his balance.

The sergeant's panting, sweaty bulk filled the narrow passage. He looked at Takuda, and Takuda saw the same fat, shame-­filled boy he had met in the judo club so many years before. He stepped forward, but the sergeant turned away.

As Kuma disappeared into the office, Chief Nakamura stepped from the shadows.

He stared at Takuda, Mori, and Suzuki in turn.

“Resisting the sergeant was the last straw,” he hissed. “You are all being detained. Sergeant, patrolmen, put them in my office.”

Suzuki was the first to go. As he maneuvered through the crowded hallway, he raised his hands over his head, held them out to be handcuffed, and then finally let them drop to his side. Inoue, the shorter of the two patrolmen, ushered him out into the squad room. Mori followed with a bemused expression.

Takuda looked back at the suspect lying on his cot. “I'll see you later, Ogawa.”

“In the prefectural hospital mental ward, perhaps.”

“I won't be visiting. I'm not a caseworker.”

“Visiting? Caseworker? Heh-­heh! You'll be in the padded cell next to mine! Stick with it, and this case will break you, Detective.” The grin faded, and the light went out of his eyes. “I doubt you'll hold up as well as I have. You still believe the world makes sense.”

In the hallway, the chief hissed like an angry goose. The patrolmen came running to fetch the detective, as if they could budge him.

“Listen to me.” Ogawa stood on his cot. “This so-­called case you're pursuing. It's going to drive you insane if it doesn't kill you. I give you even odds between insanity and death. Do me a favor: Just don't kill anyone. It would spoil all the fun. Stay out of the violent ward, and you know what I'll do for you?”

Takuda looked away. Patrolmen Kikuchi and Inoue stood at attention in the hallway, ignoring the chief's motions for them to take the detective away.

Ogawa whispered behind him: “Detective what's-­your-­name, I'll save you a chair in the dayroom. When you finally can't take it anymore, I'll help you braid your own noose! Isn't that what friends are for?”