The Gate of Sorrows (14 page)

He paused. “The thing is, there’ve been some strange rumors recently. Homeless people seem to be disappearing.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re just gone. The people these kids were having so much fun mocking and harassing aren’t around, at least along the Seibu-Shinjuku Line. Kids are saying ‘There’s no game to hunt,’ and other kids along the line are reporting the same thing.”

“That’s a densely populated area. You’re talking about a lot of kids.”

“Yep. And a lot of them report the same thing.”

Kotaro looked out the window. He could see the streetlights outside. He thought for a moment and turned back to Kenji.

“So? They went somewhere else. They got tired of the harassment.”

“But they wouldn’t go far. These people have their territories and they stick to them. How far can they go? They don’t have cars.”

Kotaro mulled that over. “Maybe they went into shelters and the kids just haven’t heard. The district associations might be tightening up on people living in the streets, trying to get them into shelters where it’s safer.”

“That’s what I thought. I called a few of the ward offices. They told me nothing like that was going on. I looked through their websites and newsletters. Nothing. No new shelters have been built in and around the area. I did my homework.”

“How many people are we talking about?”

“These kid gangs usually give ‘their’ homeless people nicknames. It looks like at least five have vanished.”

That was enough to be significant. It was more than Toe-Cutter Bill’s victims.

“When did this start happening?”

“Maybe two weeks ago.” Kenji scowled. “It’s not just the five who disappeared. Something else happened on the fifth.”

Kotaro took out his phone and called up a calendar.

“This was in the Hyakunin district of Shinjuku, near a Seibu-Shinjuku Line station. A seventy-two-year-old man named Kozaburo Ino was reported missing.

“Now, this guy is no homeless person. He has an apartment in the district and is registered as a Shinjuku resident, but he makes a living collecting empty cans and cardboard for recycling. He might be mistaken for a homeless person. He disappeared suddenly. His apartment was untouched, and the cart he used to haul his stuff around in was found along the route he always took. It was piled with recyclable trash.”

“Were the kids targeting him too?”

“No. There are no ‘homeless hunting’ groups in that area. But I ran across him when I was dredging the boards. A middle-school student who lives in Hyakunin said a dirty old homeless man in the neighborhood had disappeared.”

Kenji used this clue to do more digging, and ran across the website of a local FM station. The owner of a coffee shop that Ino had patronized nearly every day ran an announcement on the station saying that he’d disappeared on the fifth, and asking anyone with information to come forward.

Kotaro thought back. The fifth of December …

“There was a big storm the day before. Wind and rain like you wouldn’t believe.” Kotaro remembered it well, because Kazumi had been thoroughly freaked out about it. “The water got above floor level in some parts of Tokyo. A few power poles even fell over. There was a lot of damage.”

“Yeah. The street by my apartment was flooded. It was a mess.”

“Then Ino must’ve had his accident the day of the storm. Maybe he was out with his cart, even in the bad weather.”

Kenji shook his head. “What kind of accident? You mean like falling into a river? There are no rivers anywhere near there.”

Kotaro tried to think of some other explanation. “Maybe the wind blew something on top of him and he couldn’t get up.”

“With that many people in the area, someone would’ve noticed and taken him to a hospital. He has a place to live. Someone would’ve reported it—his landlord, or someone at the hospital. The police. Somebody.”

Kenji had clearly thought things through. Kotaro was stumped. “Maybe he disappeared like the others, then.”

“That’s what I think. In fact, he was the first to vanish. Someone mistook him for a homeless person, the same person who’s responsible for these other disappearances.”

“Did you tell your chief?”

“Sure. This isn’t like the other cases we’re monitoring, but he reported it to the Hotline Center anyway. He knows one of the people there, from the time we had that contract. But you know, I doubt the police will do anything right away.” Kenji sighed. He sat back in his chair and put his hands behind his head.

“Why wouldn’t the police do something? You’ve got six people missing,” Kotaro said.

“Except for Kozaburo, everyone who’s gone missing was already missing, in a sense.”

Kotaro felt a stab of pity, not only because of what Kenji said, but because of the uneasy—no, clearly worried—look on his face.

“These guys do things by the book. They’re not going to swing into action because of a few rumors on the Internet. I’m thinking of doing a little investigation of my own.”

“How? Starting with what?”

“With the first person to vanish: Kozaburo Ino. And the rest in order, one by one. How about it? Do you think a rank amateur like me could come up with something?”

Kotaro wondered how he could talk Kenji out of this idea. “You must be kidding, it’s impossible” wouldn’t stop him. Still, he was likely to end up getting in over his head. There was no reason for him to go from patrolling the net to investigating a real incident. They weren’t responsible for that kind of thing. Contacting the Hotline Center was what they were supposed to do. It was more than enough.

Before Kotaro could lay out his reasoning, Kenji seemed to have read it in his face. He took his hands from behind his head and sat up straight.

“This one’s personal. I know what it’s like to lose your home. When I was in fifth grade, my family had to sneak away in the middle of the night.

“My father’s business failed. We took what we could and left. It was the only way we could escape the collection agencies. I was just a kid. It was scary and frustrating. I was miserable and embarrassed all the time. I pretty much wished I was dead.”

“I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like.”

“We kept moving around. We’d stay with relatives or friends of the family. It took almost two years to get back on our feet. I’ll never forget that time.

“A place to live. Electricity, gas, water. Three meals a day. The parents have jobs and the kids go to school. You can lose all of that so easily. One or two poor decisions topped off with a bit of bad luck and the whole thing can fall apart very quickly.

“Even now, when I see people living under a bridge, or in a shelter made of cardboard and blue plastic sheeting in a park, something hurts right here.” He tapped his chest.

“People are like grains of sand. Society is a desert of millions of tiny grains. The desert doesn’t care about a single grain of sand. It’s pointless to expect that. Still …” Kenji laughed shyly. “Grains of sand can care about each other. I want to care. When I think of people who’ve disappeared with no one to search for them, I can’t bear it.”

Kotaro gave up. He knew he couldn’t change Kenji’s mind. “Then you should give it a try.”

Kenji’s face lit up. “I knew you’d say that, Ko-chan.”

“But this is the worst time of the year to find out anything. There’s Christmas, then the New Year holidays. Are you sure you can find out much before next year?”

Kotaro had heard his mother and Kazumi just that morning, talking about what they should plan for Christmas dinner. A little Christmas tree already adorned the living room, and a wreath was hanging in the entryway.

Yes, Christmas would be here soon. Suddenly Kotaro knew that his dinner with Ayuko was an early Christmas present dropped on him from heaven. Just as suddenly, his regrets dissolved—regrets about not being a brilliant conversationalist, or having more time to be with her, and many others besides. When you get a present without expecting it, all you can do is be grateful.

“What’s wrong? Did you just think of something?” Kenji looked at him doubtfully. Kotaro snapped to attention.

“No, nothing. So anyway, it’s, um, it’s not a good time of year for detective stuff. A lot of people are going to be gone, back to their hometowns or on vacation.”

“I’m going to go for it anyway. People must be worried about Kozaburo Ino right now. If I can find his landlord, I might learn something. The only thing is—”

Kenji knitted his brows. “Judging from Street View, I’m surprised his apartment building didn’t get blown away in the storm. It’s falling apart. The area probably has a lot of poor residents. Worst case, they might be victims of the poverty industry.”

“Whoa. Then you better stay away from them.”

“Poverty businesses” offered shelter and meals to the poor in exchange for a cut—or all—of their welfare payments. Many of these operators had ties to criminal organizations and preyed on the poor while pretending to help them.

“Kenji, if you think that’s a possibility, then it’s way too dangerous for an amateur sleuth to be poking around in.”

“It’s a possibility. Just my guess. I told you, the police aren’t going to lift a finger based on what I have so far.”

“I know, but—”

“If I sense danger, I’ll get out fast. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you for insurance, just in case it
is
dangerous.”

“Insurance?”

“If something happens to me, I’m counting on you to fill in Seigo and the police.”

“What are you talking about? In that case I’ll help you.”

“No, that doesn’t work. It would defeat the whole purpose of having you as insurance. You have to stay out of it.” He stood up and clapped Kotaro on the shoulder. “Quit worrying. I’m just preparing for the worst case. It’s how I work. Details. Caution.”

Kotaro was in a cold sweat. Kenji was taking this too lightly. He remembered what Seigo told him when he invited him to join Kumar.

I always thought you were looking for a way to help people. Help the world, you know?

Kotaro wasn’t the only person with this aspiration. Kenji wanted to help people too. Ayuko and Seigo had gathered many people like them at Kumar. The warnings they gave Kotaro, in different words but with the same meaning—
Don’t get too involved
—were because they knew Kotaro was that kind of person.

“I’ll be your insurance, but on one condition,” said Kotaro. “Tell your island chief about your investigation.”

Kenji waved a hand. “Of course, I get it. I might not see you again till next year. Just get ready for some juicy information in the new year.”

“Watch your back, okay?”

“Sure. I will.”

Kenji went back to work and Kotaro went home.

It was the last time he saw Kenji Morinaga alive.

Shigenori Tsuzuki wasn’t surprised to find that his little investigation of the tea caddy building had put a strain on his spine.
The pain and numbness in his leg was back with a vengeance. Even sitting was briefly painful. His ankles were swollen and his feet looked like misshapen turnips.

“That’s what you get for pushing yourself too hard,” Toshiko scolded him. Shigeru Noro was worried enough to call him and apologize.

“I’m really sorry to have put you out, Shigenori.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll get that operation and be fit in no time.”

Just before the end of the year, he’d been to see his surgeon, who was just as hard on him as Toshiko had been. “I’m telling you, you’ve got to take it easy,” he said. As he wrote out a prescription for a painkiller, he told Shigenori that a bed would open up sometime around the twentieth of January.

“You’ll be with us for about a month, you know. As long as your pre-op is clean, we’ll go in right away. Try not to catch a cold.”

Shigenori had had to wait far longer than he’d expected. Now the day was finally approaching. His body was in poor shape but his spirits were improving. The future was looking bright.

He woke on January 1 feeling much better, and spent a leisurely morning with Toshiko over a traditional New Year’s meal. As a detective, Shigenori had been known among his colleagues as a big drinker, but he’d dropped alcohol without a second thought when his leg started bothering him. He thought it would be better if he avoided relying on drink for relief from the pain and frustration. It had been so long since he’d given it up that the few tiny cups of sake with the meal were enough to make his face flush red.

Television was back-to-back New Year specials and variety shows. There was hardly any focus on news. The newspaper was fat with holiday supplements, but crime reporting was minimal. There were no updates on the serial killer. A New Year’s Eve special on the biggest stories of the year had given the case a passing nod, but since then there’d been nothing new. The identity of the second victim, in Akita, was still a mystery.

Shigenori knew from experience that the lack of fresh news didn’t mean the investigation was stalled, but he was certain that the latest murder would be giving the police a lot of trouble. Still, in the end he decided it was a waste of time to think about it, though many details of the case struck him as suggestions for potential leads. He wasn’t in a position to help the investigation, and in any case he had another problem closer to home: the moving gargoyle atop the tea caddy building. He realized there might be information about it on the Internet.

A statue on the roof of an empty building appears to move. Is it alive? The story was interesting. If there were other witnesses who were as sure of what they’d seen as Tae Chigusa was, there should also be something on the web, given the way things worked these days.

But he found nothing. His skills weren’t up to the task.

Mindful that haste just makes for slower progress, Shigenori stopped searching and started studying. He already had some books about the Internet that he’d asked Toshiko to buy, but as he struggled with his searches, he discovered that the web was its own best source of information on how to use it. If he had a question, someone had already found an answer or was willing to give one. For the first time, his eyes were opened to the potential of the Internet as a tool for communication with dynamic access to knowledge, not the static access of reference books and dictionaries. His searches improved. He took another run at the gargoyle in Ida and started discovering things.

Each nugget of information was brief and inconspicuous, and none contained enough to know where the witness had been located. There were no photos. “I can see it from my office window.” “I was on the roof of the school when I noticed it.” Comments like this made it easy to deduce the general age of the witness, but little more. People were seeing the statue move, yet it wasn’t generating excitement.

Somehow the mystery was eluding his grasp. These were sites where fans of urban legends gathered, forums where they discussed the mysterious and bizarre. For regular visitors, Shigenori realized with surprise, a story about a moving gargoyle on the roof of an empty building caused hardly a ripple of interest.

Urban legends had a stronger flavor of the bizarre. They were fascinating. Moving statue stories, on the other hand, were a dime a dozen. The statue not only had to move, it had to talk, or attack people, or put a curse on someone that turned the victim to stone. Shigenori found version after version. The tea caddy building’s story was so simple it was boring. There had to be more—something that triggered the gargoyle’s movement, or something it did when it moved. The story had to have a logical flow.

But give it time. Even a few reports could trigger the embellishing process. That was how urban legends got started. Shigenori was well aware of this from his years as a cop. Simple movement wasn’t very interesting, but add something more, such as the statue suddenly acquiring an object it hadn’t possessed before, and public interest might soar. Once that happened, it would be impossible to tell the difference between corroborating evidence and fabrication.

He needed to be up and doing. He knew there were multiple witnesses besides Tae Chigusa. He needed to hear unembellished stories before the information was contaminated by imagination and rumors. He decided to use his proven technique: shoe leather and face-to-face interviews. If his leg started to go again, well, he’d be having that operation soon enough. Until then he wanted to do as much as he could.

Just as he settled on this plan, the phone rang. It was Shigeru. After a formulaic exchange of New Year greetings, Shigeru said: “So how are you feeling? Can you make it today?”

“What’s happening today?”

“The party with the Ida District Association. Would you be up to it?”

Shigenori looked at the calendar on the wall next to him. There it was, in his own handwriting, for January 4:
NY party, Ida Assn. office, 2 p.m.

“No worries, I’m fine. Looking forward to it.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Listen, Shigeru—has there been any new information about the tea caddy building?”

“Not a thing. Aren’t we done with that?” He sounded fed up with the topic. “I told Tae not to worry, someone’s just screwing around.” Which was not exactly untrue, but left out a lot.

“That kid—what was his name, Aizawa? Nice guy, but he’s probably too junior to know what his bosses are up to. We can drop it. The statue and the sickle aren’t going anywhere, right? No danger of anything falling into the street?”

“It’s all right, I checked.”

No new information. Shigeru had moved on. Well, Shigenori could apologize for digging around for witnesses when Shigeru found out. And he would definitely find out.

Shigenori took up his cane and walked over to the Ida association office. Low tables were spread with simple fare: beer, sake, snacks, and cooked food from the nearby supermarket. After a toast and brief, formal greetings from the association bigwigs, the party got under way. Tae Chigusa was there, sitting next to Shigeru. Shigenori wanted to hear the story directly from her, but he didn’t want to be the one to bring it up.

Shigenori was not a member of the Ida District Association. He’d been invited to the party because of his friendship with Shigeru and the respect accorded him as a former police detective. Glass in hand, he visited each table, chatting with people he knew and refilling their drinks. The captain of the crime prevention patrol, pleasantly inebriated, made a show of humility at having his glass refilled by a real detective. After the first toast, Shigenori switched from beer to oolong tea.

Shigeru was in fine form, enjoying his sake. Shigenori tried his best to relax and enjoy himself, though he didn’t feel entirely at home. He did make a point of staying alert, hoping the topic of the tea caddy building might come up naturally.

After the party had been going for about an hour, the knot of women looking after the food supply near the entrance turned to look curiously toward the door. One said “Coming!” and went to open it. She stood there talking to someone for a few moments, then turned and called out, “Excuse me, we have a visitor.”

A young man in a black down jacket, jeans and sneakers, wearing black-frame glasses, stepped inside. Shigenori put him at around five feet eight inches, maybe a hundred and fifty pounds. Probably a student. Twenty, twenty-one. Pale skin, slight build under the big down coat. Not an athlete.

“Sorry to disturb you.”

The young man bobbed his head apologetically. Definitely not an athlete. His voice betrayed a lack of guts. His mouth was twitching with nervousness or perhaps embarrassment.

“Who are you, anyway?” Shigeru called out from his place at the table. Even in this relaxed atmosphere, Shigeru was alert. He got right to the point.

“My name is Kenji Morinaga.” The young man bowed again. “Sorry to drop in like this. I was walking by and saw the flier on the notice board. It said there was a party for the association today.”

And?
thought Shigenori.

“That’s right. As you see,” the head of the association said. His speech was already a bit slurred. “What do you want?”

The young man swallowed nervously. Yes, um, it’s. … Is the chairman of the Hyakunin association here? I’ve been looking for him. There’s something I wanted to ask him.”

People exchanged glances. Shigeru spoke up.

“Look, I’m sorry, this is the Ida association. You want to talk to the Hyakunin association, go look them up.”

Kenji’s face was blank. “Then, you mean. …”

“I told you, he’s not here. If it’s about Hyakunin, you’re in the wrong place.”

Shigenori stood with effort and approached the entrance with Shigeru close behind, holding his vending-machine portion of sake.

“Maybe I can help you,” Shigenori said. He took a closer look at the visitor, who was blinking continuously but did not have the characteristic smell of the bad egg.

“Mr. Morinaga, was it? You don’t live around here, do you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Why are you looking for the head of the Hyakunin association?”

“I’m—” The young man looked from Shigenori to Shigeru. Behind them, the party got going again. Obviously things were being handled.

Perhaps because Shigenori—unlike Shigeru—seemed completely sober, the youth turned to him. “There’s an apartment house in Hyakunin. It’s called Asahi House. It’s pretty run-down, actually.”

“I know it,” Shigeru said. He nodded to Shigenori. “Built right after the war. All-wood construction.”

The young man became excited. “Do you know the landlord? I talked to some of the residents but I couldn’t get anything out of them. I don’t know why.”

“It’s full of old people,” Shigeru said. “They keep to themselves. They wouldn’t answer questions from a stranger.”

Shigenori peered levelly at the youth. “Why do you need to see the landlord?”

“Um, I. …”

Shigenori’s gaze still had the power to box people in. The young man’s nervousness increased.

“I’m looking for someone who lives there. His name is Kozaburo Ino. He’s seventy-two. He’s been missing since December 5. I thought his landlord might know something about it.”

Shigeru frowned suspiciously and set his sake on a table. “That’s Cart Man. Are you a relative of his?”

“Shigeru, do you know this person?” asked Shigenori, startled.

“Yeah. He’s this old guy who collects cans and old newspapers and loads them onto a cart he hauls around. Right?” He looked at Kenji.

Kenji nodded vigorously. “That’s the one.”

“He’s old, but I’m even older,” Shigeru said with a chuckle. “I’ve seen him myself and heard about him from my customers. He goes around the neighborhood and collects anything he can sell for recycling. He’s not shy about taking what he wants, either. There’ve been complaints.” Shigeru frowned. “You say he’s missing?”

“It’s been a month already. His landlord must be worried.”

“Of course. The rent.”

“Hold on,” Shigenori broke in. “You haven’t answered my question, Mr. Morinaga. Are you a relative of his?”

Shigenori’s voice was quiet. The voice of a detective. The young man flinched. “Y-yes. I’m a relative. That’s why I’m worried.”

He’s lying
, thought Shigenori.

“Well, of course you would be,” Shigeru said gently. “But you won’t get any information about Asahi House from the people here. As far as I know, the landlord doesn’t live in the neighborhood. The head of the Hyakunin association chairs the residents’ committee in that big condominium, I forget what it’s called. He probably wouldn’t know anything about a run-down apartment house. But listen, I know someone who sees Cart Man more often than I do. He runs a liquor store. You should ask him. He might be able to help.”

Shigeru explained how to find the store. The young man kept nodding and saying, “Okay, okay.” He avoided eye contact with Shigenori, whose eyes never left him.

“Thank you,” the young man said finally and left in a hurry. The door banged shut.

“What was all that about?” murmured Shigeru. “Why would Cart Man disappear?”

Something else bothered Shigenori more. Why would a rank amateur search for an old man and leave a trail of transparent lies?

If it isn’t one thing, it’s something else.

What was this feeling? Why was his heart pounding?

For the elderly living alone, money makes all the difference. Tae Chigusa lived very comfortably. That was immediately obvious.

“Sorry to drop by on such short notice,” Shigenori said.

Tae ushered him into an immaculate living room. She chatted about the party the day before, moved on to the topic of her son, whose elite trading-company employer had posted him to Bangladesh, and followed up with a round of complaints about her daughter, who was disturbingly headstrong. Shigenori sat drinking her aromatic green tea and listening as she covered her current events before bringing the topic around to the gargoyle next door.