The Hunter (11 page)

"How about if you do the talking this time?"

"Is that all right with you?"

"Suits me fine. I have a thing about fake fortune-tellers. Kinda like you do about queers."

"Well, let me see how he reacts to us, and then I'll decide. If it seems like I would be better suited to handle him, then I'll take over."

Now she was being weirdly cautious. Of course, there were times when a woman
was
better suited to ask the questions. There were people like that patient with the bad eyes, the one who couldn't deal with men. But work was work—you couldn't pick and choose. About the only time he was glad to have a woman partner for work like this was late at night, when visiting a woman who lived alone.

If only we were interviewing those harebrained high school girls.

Takizawa was curious to know what girls his daughter's age could be thinking, what reason they could have for working at a date club. If they had been assigned to investigate that angle, it might have been a strain, but Otomichi might have done herself proud.

"Date clubs, huh."

As they walked along, the words slipped out of Takizawa's mouth. Quickly he glanced over at Otomichi, but seeing that she showed no reaction, he clammed up, feeling slightly irked. It made him mad that she would ignore him, without so much as a "Pardon me, did you say something?" Anyway, today was as good a time as any to lay down the law to his younger daughter: Don't be an idiot, don't do anything you'll only live to regret.

Teruo Hara did not have a bad reputation. Regardless of how he made his living, there was no sign he had connections to
yakuza
or ran up huge debts. His relations with women were complicated, but the women he was involved with had nothing worse to say about him than "I turned all my money over to him." No one seemed to bear him any particular grudge. Surprisingly, he had been saving money regularly, and he had taken out a life insurance policy with his mother as beneficiary; he seldom used his credit card, and had apparently been a reliable guy despite appearances to the contrary.

"He got women to shell out all the money he needed, so sure, his earnings could go into savings, or whatever," one investigator said. "No decent man would run a date club."

True, thought Takako, very true, and yet this seemed like a kind of prejudice, plain and simple. Not that she was anyone to talk. She'd been prejudiced against the gay hairdresser from the start.

The date club's books were balanced, there were no reports of disturbances, and neither the girls nor the clients had anything bad to say about Hara. In fact, detectives were surprised to learn the girls had affectionately nicknamed him Taku, short for Takuma. More than a few of the girls—not just a handful—testified that they were able to tell Taku things they couldn't tell their parents or teachers, and that he listened and gave them helpful advice.

The girls had learned about the date club by word of mouth, and they came to him by themselves. Once they joined the club, he would lend them cellphones for free. The cellphones were for the purpose of contacting the girls when they had been selected by a client; but the girls were free to use them as they liked, and could give out the number to whomever they pleased. Many of the girls had joined up just so they could get a free cellphone, and had been further tempted by the chance to make easy money on the side.

"Some of them were earning more than their old man."

That night, after the meeting was over, several detectives had stayed behind at headquarters, and this bull session just seemed to evolve. They put together a simple meal, had a few drinks. It would have been easy enough to go out somewhere, but the case was not a topic that could be discussed openly and conversation would be constrained. It was more relaxing to hang around headquarters, kick back, have a few, unwind. Four days had passed since Takako and Takizawa pinned down Hara's office.

"What the girls did after the date was up to them. If they let the client fool around with them a little, they could make a bundle."

"What I don't get is, here you got a guy who's taking advantage of them, preying on them, right? Why would they trust him so much? Why would they go to him with their problems?"

"Maybe because he had so little connection with their ordinary lives. Maybe that made it easier. Even a son-of-a-bitch can be like an older brother."

After tapping each other's drinks in plastic cups, the detectives had started to express their opinions. Gradually the victim's profile was beginning to emerge, but there was nothing that tied in with his murder. It was the business of the date club that really got to them.

"They were kids! The guy was involved in prostitution since he was a teenager, if you ask me. He made his living off women. These girls sound precocious, worldly and all, playing around with men, but this Hara guy was a pro. Him getting these high school girls to do his bidding was child's play. Don't you see that?"

Teruo Hara became Takuma Sugawara when he started working at discos as a
kurofuku
—literally, "black suit"—serving as watchman or scout, keeping track of clientele and girls. In that line of work, going from one joint to another until he was twenty-two, twenty-three, he was never hard-up for women. Then he quit the disco life and went to work in a host club; at twenty-seven he persuaded an older woman to finance a small place of his own. That was back in the days when the whole country was caught up in the bubble economy, so things went swimmingly for a while, but after a year and a half he was bankrupt. Then he went back to the host club business, working as a pimp on the side. At thirty-one he started a "telephone club," a place where guys sat around waiting for women and girls to call up and chat and, maybe, get together; but that went under as well. And then, eighteen months ago, he opened the date club in Tachikawa.

Looking at his life overall, there was no sign of any male friends. Rather, once one female entered his life, other females just materialized. That had been the pattern, investigators found; in fact, since the break in the case, a team of detectives had been doing nothing but going around talking to women of all ages and occupations who had known Hara.

"High school girls aren't the only stupid females here. Look at that Sadako Kitayama. And one of the women I talked to was fifty-four; her husband is the director of a hospital!"

"Yeah, or look at that mama-san of the bar in Kyushu, the one who sublet him the apartment—she must be pushing sixty."

*

As their drinks began to take effect, the detectives forgot about Takako's presence among them. She had no intention of taking offense at a phrase like "stupid females," so she let the remark pass unchallenged. It was true—some females
were
stupid.

"He must have been really something with the ladies."

"You can say that again. I don't know about the high school kids, but to seduce those old bags, he'd have had to—"

As the detective was tipsily going on, his eyes met Takako's and he stopped mid-sentence. He was a guy in his forties, someone she knew only by sight; but seeing her, he clammed up, embarrassed. Takako couldn't very well say "Go right ahead, don't mind me." Nor at her age could she pretend she didn't know what they were talking about. Takako did her best to look casual.

"Uh-oh. Keep it clean, guys, keep it clean," somebody stepped into the breach to make amends. For a while there was an uneasy silence. Takako was never sure how to react in these situations. From the corner of her eye she could see Takizawa, grinning at her with his reptilian eyes.

"Well, I figure," someone else spoke up, "one way or another he musta made plenty of enemies among the women, but if ya ask me, no woman is gonna use a trick like that to get rid of him."

Agreeing, Takako nodded slightly, and was finally able to look away.

Actually, I bet a man like Hara
didn't
make enemies among women all that much. He met them smoothly, gave them pleasure, and then left them smoothly.

Otherwise, how could he have lived like such a Don Juan? There was probably good reason why the high school girls liked him so much.

"Otomichi, you ready for another drink?" A young detective had come up to her holding a large bottle of sake. He filled her plastic cup without waiting for an answer and gave her a genial smile, then continued on his way. She followed him with her eyes as he went around the room offering sake to the group of men, bending down before the veteran members of the force to refill their cups.

"Anybody want some soy sauce?" asked another young detective. "It's right here." This guy had to be about Takako's age. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his hairy arms, his tie tucked between the buttons of his shirt; he was waiting on the others with ease and skill.

A world where women aren't needed.

When she first transferred to this division, Takako had felt self-conscious at times like this, wondering if she was expected to go around waiting on everyone, serving tea, pouring drinks. But when she did, she found the men either became uncomfortable or, as they got drunker, started treating her like a bar hostess. Anyway, these guys were surprisingly good at throwing a meal together and serving drinks. Years of working in an environment without women had probably made it necessary. The sight of these men waiting on each other so capably and affably was charming. And so after a time, she had made it her policy to sit tight on such occasions and do nothing.

As the night wore on and the drinks flowed more freely, the men began raking through memories of old cases.

"Right, right, that old investigator could cut through the shit like nobody else."

"That's what I heard too. Even among the pros, he was head and shoulders above the rest."

"But apparently his instincts weren't like they used to be when he was in his prime. He was always calling for more data."

Takako found these tales fascinating. But no one ever bothered to explain the details to her. She was still a relative newcomer to homicide, and with her limited experience, much of what they said went right over her head. Then the conversation came back round to the current case.

"The killer's got brains, though, that's for sure. Who would come up with the idea of a timed ignition trigger? He's got to be some kind of a professional or crazy geek."

"What about a political activist?"

"Why would a political activist want to kill a pimp?"

As the conversation rolled along, Takako looked around, and her eyes fell on Takizawa, sitting almost directly across the table from her, among officers he was evidently on good terms with. Looking stumpier than ever, her partner was talking enthusiastically with the guy next to him. Takizawa looked relaxed and friendly, a side of himself he never showed her.

"He's gotta be used to handling chemicals, for one thing."

"The lab results are due in any time now, eh?"

"Once we know what he used, it should be easy to figure out how he got hold of it."

How would they do that? Takako wondered. She would probably have opportunity to find out, but in the city of Tokyo, or in the surrounding prefectures, how many ways might there be of obtaining such chemicals? That was the conversation on her left; on her right, a vigorous discussion of motive was underway. She waited for a chance to join in.

"If it was a crime of vengeance, they picked a hell of a way to get back at the guy. A woman couldn't do it."

"Don't be too sure. As long as you had the know-how, it wouldn't take much physical strength to pull it off."

"But do you think it's in a woman's nature to pick an MO like that? Something that elaborate?"

Everybody was wrapped up in the case. Since they were running a race with no end in sight, they appreciated each other's company and support. Takako, who never once had talked the case over with another investigator, felt the same way. She had her own thoughts about it, but no one to share them with.

Not even my own partner.

Feeling downcast, she took a drink from her plastic cup, which, now that she thought about, looked like the kind used for urine samples. The situation was absurd. She wanted to yell across the room at Takizawa.

How come you won't talk to me? How come you're so nice to other people and not to me? What don't you like about me? Why are you always trying to pick a fight? Is that how you see me—some kind of shadow or mascot trailing after you?

What if I'd said, "Oh, how could you!" that time, and burst into tears
—
would that have made you happy? Would it have pleased you to think, Yup, that's a woman for you? Don't you think you should try to train your partner, whether male or female? Or do you think your attitude is going to make me a better cop?

The more she thought about it, the more rage she felt. Good, let it burn, let it grow! She wallowed in dark thoughts. But her rage was not aimed solely at Takizawa. It was aimed at everyone here—at the whole police department— at men.

Suddenly Takizawa's grating voice cut through her gloom: "Don't be an idiot. Ever since the headquarters was set up, I—" But the room was getting noisier as the party progressed, she lost track of what he was saying mid-sentence, and he wasn't even talking about her in the first place. She came to the conclusion that it was time to find the right moment for her exit.

"Want some more?" said a voice at her elbow, breaking through her reverie. Takako turned to see another young detective about her age holding a bottle of sake. She'd seen him around, but didn't know his name. As he concentrated on filling her empty cup, upending the bottle, he said, "Takizawa is a great guy, isn't he? He looks out for you, and although you wouldn't know it to look at him, he's really pretty sensitive."

Takako was stunned—unable to muster the ghost of a smile. She didn't say a word.

Sure, you people may think he's a great guy. Male bonding. One big happy family. How nice.

"Of course, he is kind of bashful. With a woman as his partner, maybe he's a little harder to approach."

"Bashful?" Takako stared at the young detective with unfeigned surprise. You call that bashful, she was about to say—but swallowed her words. These men were trained to read people's thoughts. He was studying her observantly, trying to size her up.

"Am I wrong? "

Just as she thought. As the young detective looked at her dubiously, Takako forced a smile and tilted her head to one side. "Do you know Sergeant Takizawa well?"

"We used to be teamed up."

"Too bad you weren't matched up again this time."

"Yeah, actually I kind of hoped we would be."

That would have suited me fine too. Who in hell decided to make him my partner?

"He taught me a lot. I really owe him."