The Gate of Sorrows (55 page)

Her body’s silver threads were whispering. Kotaro could hear them with the Eye. Each was murmuring the same word, alone and in unison.

lonely lonely lonely lonelylonelylonelylonelylonelylonelylonely

Kotaro watched, entranced, as time seemed to stop.

I’m looking at a ghost. Come to think of it, Tsuzuki said something about a young woman …

Words that were spoken years ago, here, by a lost young woman. Thoughts in words, still wandering in search of acceptance.

The phantom turned away, as though satisfied that Kotaro understood its message. Still undulating gently, it drifted through a wall and disappeared.

Kotaro noticed other word traces in the room. These were fainter and less distinct than the ghost, as if they had been worn away. They writhed weakly, shapeless blobs of jelly that never quite assumed a distinct form.

They’re crying …

Was it because they were forgotten? Were they bitter at being left behind?

I won’t cry.

Yesterday, after talking to Kaname, he’d found himself crying. He was determined that that wouldn’t happen again.

Lonely? No, I’ve shut that word away for good. I’m not going to leave a trace of my loneliness anywhere in this world.

Because I’m a hunter.

“Mishima?” Makoto called down the stairs. “We’re good to go.”

Kotaro opened his right eye and banished the lonely, fluttering phantoms. He stood up.

The man who stopped Shigenori before he could open the door to Naka-chan—who led him without a word down an alley and bundled him into the back of a parked Corolla—was in his forties, not a big man, certainly not muscular. His eyebrows sloped downward, framing perpetually narrowed eyes. The way he’d blinked when Shigenori looked him in the face betrayed deep discomfort.

Another man waited behind the wheel. This one looked to be twenty-five or twenty-six at most, rail-thin, with a pale face and a nervous expression.

Shigenori didn’t resist. He knew he was heading for an unmarked police car as soon as the older man flashed his badge. They took him to a corner conference room on the fourth floor of Tomakomai Police Station South.

Shigenori wondered how many hours he’d been here. He looked at the clock on the wall; the hands were about to touch nine.

The room had a long table with five chairs. More folding chairs leaned against the wall. The cream wallpaper was sun-faded. The calendar didn’t offer anything to relieve the eye, just the dates.

Shigenori could see an ashtray on a stand outside, in a corner of the balcony. That must be the designated smoking area. Stuck in this room with no one to talk to, he suddenly felt a powerful urge for a cigarette.

He’d told them the truth: address, name, background, everything to the last detail. The only thing he’d fudged was his motivation for being here. He’d come through Tomakomai with his wife four or five years ago on a vacation. They’d dropped by Naka-chan and been impressed by the sake selection. The grilled mackerel and the scallop sashimi had been wonderful. After he heard of Nakanome’s death, he’d waited for a chance to stop by his house or the izakaya and offer a prayer. That was all. That was really the only reason he was here. He was a civilian now.

Maybe he’d pushed the “civilian” thing a little too hard. It certainly hadn’t worked as well as he’d hoped. Now the two detectives who were unlucky enough to cross his path were probably in a huddle with their superiors, planning their next move. No, they’d be finished with that; they’d be running a background check. He’d given them two references, former subordinates who could vouch for him.
Just trying to be helpful, detectives. Of course, these aren’t people who just sit around waiting for someone to call. They’ll be hard to reach, probably. More work, detectives.

They hadn’t even offered him a cup of tea. Every now and then the older one would stick his head in the door and mumble an apology for keeping him cooling his heels. Sometimes there’d be another face behind him. One of the brass, checking him out. Shigenori always waved a hand genially.
No problem, detective. Please get on with your work. Don’t mind me, detective.

But he really needed a cigarette. He was dying for one. He didn’t care if he ended up going back to them after all these years—

The door opened and the two men came in.

“We’re very sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Tsuzuki.”

The one with the drooping eyebrows apologized, pulled out a chair and sat down across from him. Fatigue had merged with the look of discomfort in his eyes. Shigenori half-expected him to complain about it. His nervous young partner stood next to him, leaning a hip against the backrest of the chair. He already needed a shave; his beard was starting to turn the pale skin around his mouth blue.

“That’s quite all right,” Shigenori said agreeably. He was enjoying the opportunity to talk, though he couldn’t hide the fatigue in his voice. “I’ve just been sitting here. You two seem to be very busy. What is it that seems to be the problem?”

The younger man’s cheek twitched. His eyes flashed with irritation and the corners of his mouth turned down. His partner chuckled uncomfortably, which made his eyebrows droop even further.

“It took us a little bit of time to check your bona fides. My boss—well, he said to make it thorough.”

He reached inside his coat and extracted a card. “Torisu, Detective Section. My partner’s Matsuyama.”

Shigenori accepted the card politely. Torisu’s rank was sergeant. Matsuyama didn’t seem to have a card. He just stood there scowling.

“I’m sorry,” Shigenori said. “I’m afraid I don’t carry cards anymore. I’m unemployed at the moment.”

Torisu waved a hand affably. “It’s all right. We know. We spoke with Detective Imai at the Metro Police. He gave us an earful about you.”

Shigenori made a mental note to drop by the station and thank Imai when he got back.

“Really? I’m afraid I’ve put you to a lot of trouble. But really all I wanted to do was say a prayer for Nakanome. That’s all.”

“Yes, yes.” Torisu nodded. Without missing a beat, he added, “Is that why you were scoping out his parents’ house earlier?”

Shigenori was startled. His reaction must’ve been obvious to both of them, but the angle of Torisu’s eyebrows didn’t budge. His squint showed no trace of acknowledgement.

“After that, you checked out his high school and the cooking school. Do I have that right?”

They tailed me. I really am over the hill. Didn’t notice a thing.

“You’re very thorough, detective. So you had me marked as soon as I arrived at his parents’ place.”

“Marked? Oh, I wouldn’t put it that way.”

Torisu was being slippery. Shigenori decided to go with the flow and play his next card.

“So you must have the house under surveillance. Do you think there’s a chance the killer might come back?”

“That’s none of your business,” Matsuyama snapped, with a shrill edge to his voice.
He really is wet behind the ears
, Shigenori thought. He felt a stab of nostalgia. He’d once had men just like this under his wing.

“Watch your manners, now,” Torisu said to his partner.

“But sergeant!”

Torisu ignored him and smiled grimly. “The killer issued a statement after the fifth murder, in Tokyo. We thought it might be better to stay alert, in case he decides to circle back.”

“I see. But those letters were sent to the media. There wasn’t any mention of the victim’s family. As far as I know, the killer hasn’t contacted the relatives of any other victims, either.” Shigenori smiled thinly. “Of course, maybe he did and it just hasn’t been announced.”

Torisu blinked with surprise, as though the thought had never occurred to him. “We’re foot soldiers. We just follow the policies laid down upstairs. They’re the ones with the inside dope. We don’t know the details. The case is being run out of Central.”

Tomakomai Central Police Department. Interesting.

“Can I speak freely, Mr. Tsuzuki? Your eyes … they’re a little too much on point, if you know what I mean. The way you walked your route today didn’t exactly have ‘citizen’ written all over it. So you see, we had to have a chat with you.”

“Is that so? Did I look that suspicious?”

“Not suspicious. Like a pro.”

“I’m over the hill, detective. I’m retired.”

“Are you, really?” Torisu leaned forward. His hand was on the rudder now. It was time to get down to cases.

“You were with the Metro Police, so I assume you know this even better than I do, but a gruesome killing brings a lot of different types out of the woodwork. Not only the media. Freelance journalists, so-called. Nonfiction authors, film producers, that sort.”

Shigenori smiled to show he was enjoying the ride. “Yes, yes. Definitely.”

“Just last week, this young kid, looks like a college boy, shows up at mom-and-pop Nakanome’s with a video camera. He’s badgering them at the door, trying to get an interview. So I invite myself to have a chat with him. He tells me he’s an Internet journalist. I couldn’t get a straight explanation of just what that meant.”

“It means he goes around with a camera visiting crime scenes and accidents,” Shigenori said in a helpful tone. “He shoots some footage, slaps a little commentary on it, uploads it to YouTube or wherever. Or maybe he has his own blog and fronts it there.”

For an instant, Torisu’s eyes opened almost to normal size. “That’s right. That’s what the kid told me. You know all about this stuff. Are you an expert on the Internet?”

To Shigenori, this detective on the cusp of middle age might as well be no older than his partner, but he enjoyed watching him play the clueless oldster.

“Every day is Sunday for me. I’ve got a lot of free time. Sometimes I fool around on the laptop, that’s all.”

“I see. I don’t put any stock in all that cyber-whatever stuff. I guess I’m just a hick.”

“So how did things end up with that journalist?”

“I got him to leave, finally, but only after a couple of hours getting tongue-lashed about press freedom and the citizen’s right to know and police secrecy.”

“You have my condolences.” Shigenori smiled ironically. “So is that what the two of you do all day? Shoo people away from the house?”

Torisu nodded dejectedly. “That’s exactly what we do. When I think about what his parents have gone through, I just can’t let them be bothered.”

“And then I showed up, and you decided you had a problem on your hands.”

“Well, to be honest, we thought maybe the Nakanomes had gone and hired themselves a private detective. You certainly look the part. This case has been dragging on too long with nothing to show. We’re losing credibility.”

Maybe that’s true, but you’re playing it up, mister. I can smell it.

“But this is much bigger than just the one murder. You’re dealing with the Serial Amputator,” Shigenori said insistently. “His victims are all over Japan—well, maybe that’s going too far. He hasn’t killed anyone east of Kanagawa. But he gets around.”

“He certainly does.” Torisu nodded vigorously. “Joint investigations, now those are hard. It’s not like law enforcement is always reaching out across jurisdictions. It’s hard to get people in sync. I don’t know how the guys upstairs see it, but to us foot soldiers on the front line, every local situation has its own logic.”

“I think you’re right.”

“If we didn’t have all this coordination to deal with, we’d go slow but steady, one step at a time. As it is, it’s like we gotta go three steps forward and two back just to get a step ahead. The victim’s relatives have a right to be frustrated.”

Shovel away, detective.

“If all we had were newspaper and television reporters up our noses, we’d be in clover. No, we have people calling themselves Internet reporters or investigative journalists—who knows if they’re the real deal or not—sniffing around all over the place, spreading their own theories about the case. Then we’re on the spot and we end up having to rebut all their nonsense. It might even turn out that their poking around gives the suspect—the Serial Amputator—an idea of where we are on the case. I shudder to think about it,” he growled.

“I understand completely,” Shigenori said. “It was careless of me to blunder around like I did. I’ve wasted too much of your valuable time. Please accept my deepest apologies.”

He straightened his spine, put both palms flat on the table, and bowed until his forehead touched the wood. Torisu was flustered, or at least pretended to be.

“No, we’re the ones who should apologize, for dragging you in here and treating you like a suspect,” he said, before pivoting casually. “Your wife isn’t with you on this trip, is she?”

“No, she’s not. She’s busier than I am, making a home for us both. There’s no retirement from that job. She’s got a lot of women friends her age to keep up with too.”

“She sounds fully occupied.”

“I didn’t mention this, but I had an operation at the beginning of the year. Have you heard of spinal stenosis?”

Torisu looked up questioningly at his partner. For the first time, Matsuyama’s mask of irritation and discomfort changed. His new expression was derision.