The Gate of Sorrows (22 page)

The camera moved slightly to bring a reporter with a microphone into the frame. He was so excited that little drops of spittle flew out of his mouth occasionally.

“It’s a single restroom for men and women. The entrance isn’t visible from the gas station, which seems unsafe. The key has to be borrowed from the station attendant.”

Someone on the studio panel broke in. “Do we know whether or not the door was locked when the body was found?”

“The door was locked. The station opens at nine, but the attendant arrived around eight thirty to clean the restroom. That’s when he found the body.”

“In other words, the victim was killed in the restroom, or the body was dumped there, before eight thirty?”

“That’s right! You’re correct.”

Shigenori stood next to the living room table, listening. He slowly began to feel a chill.
Who on earth is behind this?

“Dear?” Toshiko was trying to get his attention. She looked worried.

“Hmm?”

“Are you all right? Your face …”

Shigenori grunted dismissively again. “The Metro and Kanagawa police are like cats and dogs. I don’t know if Kanagawa’s competent or not.”

He tore his eyes away from the screen, but the chill crawling up his spine refused to go away. He shivered.

With the laptop, the Boston bag was quite heavy. Shigenori hailed a taxi as soon as he got out onto the sidewalk. The hotel room he’d reserved on the Internet was in Yoyogi, one station from Shinjuku. Staying in Shinjuku itself would’ve been risky; he might run into someone who knew him. One station away was safer. Once evening came, he’d take a taxi to the tea caddy building as well. His leg wouldn’t stand much walking with the weight of that bag.

The first thing he did after checking into his small, spare room was lie down on the bed. He put the laptop beside him on the mattress and booted it up to see if anything new had come in, especially on the urban legends site.

There was nothing new, or at least nothing interesting. The seed he’d planted hadn’t grown. No one was adding information and embellishment. Instead the seed seemed to have died a natural death. He did find different versions of the gossip surrounding the tech mogul who built the building, including rumors about the death of a certain model, but there seemed to be much more interest in the scandal than in the gargoyle the owner left behind on the roof.

There was no news from Shigeru either. Shigenori decided to call him. He was at home. Tae hadn’t woken up yet.

“I’m out taking care of something,” Shigenori said. “I’m not at home.”

“I wouldn’t worry. There’s nothing we can do anyway.” Shigeru’s voice turned irritated. “But that son of hers. He doesn’t have any feelings.”

“Her niece was crying.”

Shigenori had a long night ahead and had to catch some sleep. When he was a detective, especially on the Edano Squad, he could fall asleep and wake up as easily as flipping a switch, even in the middle of the day if he’d had to. But today he could do neither. He had a hard time going under, and even when he did, the slightest noise had him awake again and glancing at the window.

Looking for a huge handprint.

Just to be able to lie down was magic for his leg; the tingling went away. He sat up and turned on the TV. It was time for the news. Nothing had changed: every channel was devoted to the fourth victim and new developments in the serial killer case.

The victim’s name was Saeko Komiya. She had lived with her husband and son in a large condo building in Kawasaki. The pharmacy where she’d worked was twenty minutes by bus from her home.

At five o’clock the evening before, Komiya had said goodbye to her colleagues and left the pharmacy as usual. Her hours were eight thirty to five. Her three-year-old son went to the day care center in her building. She often mentioned her luck in getting a slot at the center to her coworkers. It was convenient and she never had to worry.

She had set off for the bus stop, but she never boarded the bus. The drivers knew her by sight and were used to seeing her around the same time each day. She had even filled prescriptions for one of them. But yesterday she hadn’t gotten on the bus, nor had anyone seen her at the bus stop.

By eight that evening, when Komiya had still not appeared at the day care center and failed to answer her phone, the worried staff called her spouse. The astonished husband immediately left the office to pick up his son. When he returned to their apartment, it was cold and dark.

As soon as he called the pharmacy to confirm that his wife had left as usual, the husband called the police. The murders in Tomakomai, Akita, and Mishima were nowhere in his mind, but for his wife to change her daily routine without contacting anyone was unthinkable. It could only mean something unusual had happened.

That was the husband’s story. He emerged from his interview at the police station to find a crowd of waiting reporters. Trembling with anxiety, he retold his story for the cameras. They did not show his face, but his voice and gestures eloquently conveyed his agitation, anguish, and fear.

Komiya’s husband had searched the condo with the police. Toshiko might’ve thought this was “just terrible” too, but Shigenori wouldn’t have done it differently. The possibility that Saeko Komiya—alive or dead—was somewhere in the apartment had to be eliminated.

They found nothing, and Saeko’s husband asked the police to locate his wife. The day care center looked after his son. He called everyone he could think of who might’ve seen or heard from Saeko, while the police canvassed the emergency rooms of hospitals in the area. They walked her route from work to home, searching for witnesses.

The next morning, her body was discovered at the gas station. The cause of death was strangulation with some sort of cord, probably a rope, like all the previous victims. The mutilation had been carried out after death, again like the other victims.

At first, suspicion was focused on the station manager and his assistant, because they had access to the restroom keys. But Saeko Komiya had never visited this gas station. Her family didn’t even own a car, and she didn’t have a license. The manager and his assistant both denied ever seeing her.

The gas station stood along a prefectural road and had operated in the same location long enough to become fairly dilapidated. Thousands of people must have used that restroom over the years, yet there was no other choice but to try to contact them one by one. One of them must have made a duplicate key before committing the crime. One of them knew in advance where he planned to dump the body.

Shigenori was feeling sick to his stomach with shock and irritation. He either needed to see something uplifting or turn off the TV; otherwise he would be thinking about the murders through the long night ahead.

He switched off the set and lay down again. At seven he left the hotel and went looking for a convenience store. He bought a packaged meal and a few disposable hand warmers and went back to his room.

Nine o’clock. Preparations complete, Shigenori was ready to leave the room when something occurred to him. He called Yamacho.

“Thanks for the key.”

“Ah, Detective Tsuzuki.”

“I’m about to go use it right now.”

“It wasn’t a very tough customer, but the building was impressive. It’s going to be dark as the grave with the power off.”

Tsuzuki glanced at his flashlight.

“Cold as hell, too. Hope you’re dressed for it.”

No questions about what Shigenori was planning to do once he was inside the building. Good old Yamacho.

“I’m bundled up. Look, about that note you wrote—the huge bird beating its wings?”

“Sorry about that. You must’ve thought I was crazy. But I did hear something.”

“Not crazy at all. Let me ask
you
something crazy, Yamacho. When you heard that sound, did you think at any point that you were in any danger?”

Yamacho was silent.

“I mean, in your line of business, you do have to be careful, don’t you?”

“You and me both, detective.”

“I’m finished with all that. I don’t have the same reflexes now.” Shigenori could tell Yamacho was stalling.

“Well,” he said finally. “It did seem odd. I wasn’t scared, though. A lot of things in the world are worse.”

“You speak the truth, Yamacho.”

“Sometimes you guys were pretty scary too.”

“Come on, now. We always worked hand in glove.”

“Then let’s leave it at that.” Yamacho chuckled.

“I hate to trouble you, but I have one more request, Yamacho.” Shigenori had made up his mind. “I’ll be more than happy if we can both laugh about this tomorrow. I’ll even buy you a drink. So just bear with me.”

“What gives?”

“Tomorrow, if you don’t hear from me—oh, say by around noon—I want you to call my wife. Tell her I’m in that building in West Shinjuku.”

“Is that all you want me to say?”

“Yes. Toshiko knows who to call if something happens to me. We’ve discussed it before.”

“Just what is it you’re planning to do there, Tsuzuki?”

“Just a little stakeout of my own.”

“You’re up to something dangerous, I can tell.”

Shigenori laughed. His voice sounded unnatural even to him, but he needed to laugh right now.

“Dangerous? I don’t know. Maybe I’m on a wild goose chase, or I’m so bored with life that I’m having a strange dream.” He waited for Yamacho to laugh, but there was only silence.

“An old man said he saw a huge bird near that building. Then he up and vanishes, and no one’s seen him since. He was gone as suddenly as if he’d been snatched up into the sky by the bird he saw.”

Yamacho was silent again. Then: “As far as I know, most birds are night-blind. So maybe this bird of yours isn’t really a bird. It just looks like one. Better watch your back, detective.”

“I will, Yamacho. I will.”

He hit
END
and stood there, thinking. Something that flies, but not a bird. Yamacho was right. Birds don’t leave huge handprints.

Shigenori flicked the beam of his flashlight around the base of the barricade. No good—it wasn’t bright enough to tell whether or not the mountain of chairs had been moved again.

Yamacho’s key was smooth as silk.
He always does good work
, thought Shigenori. He’d even oiled the lock. The stale air of the tea caddy building was waiting for him.

The streetlamps and buildings in the neighborhood were still bright at this hour. The space just inside the doorway was dimly visible, but toward the center of the floor, where the light petered out, there was an inky blackness so clotted that it almost looked moist. Shigenori half expected it to stick to him.

He stood inside the door, thinking. He ought to lock it behind him.

No. Just shut it. Don’t lock it.

Maybe—just maybe—something might happen. If it did, he’d have to get out of there fast. He needed an escape route.

No plastic bags this time. He walked straight up the center of the stairs, keeping the flashlight pointed at his feet so it wouldn’t be noticed from outside. Years of experience had taught him to memorize the layout of a building with a single visit.

There was nothing frightening about the darkness. Many things in society were far more terrifying.

He climbed to the fourth floor, set down his bag and went into the machine room. He remembered seeing some soiled cardboard boxes with the logo of a moving company, flattened and piled up in a corner.

He grabbed a few boxes by the edge, dragged them out into the room, and layered them around the ladder that led up to the hatch on the roof. He was alone here with a bad leg. He might slip, or fall trying to get away. He couldn’t be sure it wouldn’t happen. The cardboard would cushion his fall at least a little.

He pulled the ladder down and looked up at the hatch. The hinges were rusty and probably tight. He’d have to hold on to the ladder and push the hatch open with one hand. He cracked his knuckles, did a few quick knee bends, and climbed the ladder. He had to push hard to open the hatch.

The cold hit him in the face. It wasn’t wind, just a hard wall of freezing air that stung his eyes, making them water.