The Hunter (16 page)

Mayo started running, running down the hill for dear life. All she wanted was to reach her front door.

Was everybody around him going mental?

Dad, you're always like that!

He thought of his older daughter's face glaring at him, eyes full of tears. This was the rage she turned on him last night, the daughter who never defied her parents, the one who looked after her younger brother and sister like a mother.

Always like
what?
What did I ever do? Except bust my butt day in and day out for the family and for a little law and order—wearing out my shoes, crawling around in the goddamn dirt?

The elevator reached the top floor. As soon as the doors opened, Takizawa was assaulted by the commotion of chirping birds and yapping dogs, along with the distinctive warm scent of animals. Otomichi headed toward the counter in long strides, her heels clicking loudly. Takizawa followed behind, remembering coming to places like this years ago, holding his kids' hands as they whined, we want a dog, we want a cat, and in the end buying them goldfish, as his wife stood smiling alongside.

Happy to let Otomichi do the talking, he wandered aimlessly around the cages of birds and kittens.

Go to hell!

Ever since yesterday, these words had been rising up into this throat time and again, and time and again he had forced himself to swallow them. He wanted to explode, bawl someone out. Yet he said nothing—not to his older daughter, not to her brother and sister who had both come to her defense, and not to the insolent, know-it-all Otomichi either. If he ever raised his voice to Otomichi, who was holding her badge in one hand and questioning the pet shop manager with great intensity, he'd get it back from her a hundred times over. He'd seen her menacing look. But if he didn't let some of this frustration out, sooner or later he might take a swing at somebody. He wasn't a hothead, but when he couldn't get somebody to listen, in the end his hand did the talking for him. The last person he hit... was... his wife.

As he was playing with a brown kitten that would roll around in its cage like a ball of yarn and grab at his finger, he heard Otomichi's heavy footsteps approaching him.

"Sorry that took so long. Let's go."

Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and her expression seemed animated.

"Did he say there's a place that sells wolves?" he asked as they walked along.

"No," said Otomichi with a shake of her head. "But get this." She turned to him. "There's a kind of breed known as wolf-dog. A cross between a wolf and a dog."

"A wolf and a dog? Yeah? "

"The more wolf blood it has, the closer it is to a purebred wolf. Some breeds are known to be ninety-nine percent wolf, he said."

Takizawa felt gloomy as he listened to Otomichi race on, talking nineteen to the dozen. Little dogs were OK, but he couldn't stand big ones. When he was out on a door-to-door search, they were a menace. He'd pooh-poohed the idea of a wolf, but if there were animals like a wolf-dog running around, the crime-scene unit that had examined the site of the Tennozu murder could be on to something after all.

"Who the hell would want to make a half-breed like that?" muttered Takizawa as they waited for the elevator, his lower lip sticking out. He wasn't looking for an answer. But he knew if he kept letting Otomichi ask the questions, afterward she'd only have more reason to chatter away to him. Before he knew it she'd be getting carried away, starting to act palsy-walsy.
Well, so what? Let her lose her guard, and then watch for your chance to take her down a peg.

"So what's next?" he asked.

"Pet stores don't have wolf-dogs. The guy told me we should try places specializing in large breeds, look in magazines for dog lovers, that sort of thing."

"Large breeds." Takizawa nodded, in apparent good humor. Looking relieved, Otomichi boarded the elevator that finally arrived.

"Sergeant Takizawa, do you know much about dogs?" she asked.

"Unfortunately, I'm not a dog lover," he answered, trying to sound amicable.

She nodded, and then confessed, "I like dogs myself."

Sure she did. A kid like her with no experience to speak of wouldn't know about going out on a job and a watchdog coming and growling at you. She was in the mobile investigative unit. She rode in a patrol car.

"But I'd never heard of wolf-dogs. I wonder how they're different from Siberian huskies."

"Who knows. Huskies, those are the ones with the wolfish faces, right? Might be the same kind of thing." When Takizawa said this, Otomichi inclined her head doubtfully, but her expression wasn't contrary. As long as he was polite to her, she'd stay in a good mood.

"Before we go looking for a shop that specializes in big dogs, I'd like to stop by a bookstore."

"Great idea. Save time and trouble."

Otomichi spent the rest of the morning leading them from one bookstore to another, standing and reading for what seemed like ages. Then they visited a few pet shops in the Tokyo metropolitan area, and finally they were able to establish that the office for importing wolf-dogs was located in Ginza. Trailing after a policewoman who whipped from one place to the next without stopping for a moment's rest, Takizawa found his back beginning to ache. It was one thing to be in charge, deciding where to go and when, setting the pace; following someone else around wore you out.

When they finally stopped in a coffee shop for a bite to eat, Otomichi placed her order and then immediately slipped away to make a phone call. She came back full of energy and reported, "The person in charge will be back in the afternoon. I left a message that we'll be there at one. I said that we wanted him to tell us all he knew about wolf-dogs."

Takizawa's lower back and feet were killing him. It was all he could do to nod. Really, he was going to have to do something about his weight. He couldn't bear the thought of not being able to keep up with a young woman. He studied Otomichi, who was deep in thought; as far as looks went anyway, she was easy on the eyes.

When they called at the dog import office, thanks to Otomichi's phone call the guy in charge was waiting for them with an assortment of pamphlets. Otomichi greeted him with as bright a smile as Takizawa had ever seen her give anyone, bowed, and thanked him for taking the time to meet with them.

The guy was very smooth. "Wolf-dogs, as the name suggests," he started, "are a breed made by crossing wolves with dogs. In Japan and in the United States, however, wolf-dogs are not officially recognized by kennel clubs."

"What does that mean exactly?" asked Otomichi.

"Well, it means that the kennel club won't issue pedigree papers for them. And therefore they cannot be entered in any kennel club-sponsored shows or competitions. But wolf-dogs are by no means uncommon; in fact, there is a surprisingly large number of them. In France, they have official recognition."

Otomichi nodded and said, "I see," while scribbling something in her notebook. Takizawa hoped she knew that pedigree papers and kennel clubs had nothing to do with this case.

"What kinds of dogs and what kinds of wolves are crossbred to produce wolf-dogs?" Otomichi asked next. "There is, of course, the continental wolf or the Siberian wolf. Are they commonly used in breeding wolf-dogs?"

The import guy, who seemed a little nervous, nodded slightly at this and folded his hands in his lap. He had to be about the same age as Otomichi, thought Takizawa, and
not
the type to handle dogs; more like . . . one of those guys who show you around a model home. Guys like him—oval face, fair skin, businesslike and personable—gave the impression of being nice, regular fellows, but five would get you ten, below the surface they had their nasty, stubborn side.

"That's exactly right," said the guy. "There are all kinds of wolves. Our firm has a kennel in Alaska, and we import wolf-dog pups from there, in accordance with our customers' requests. The main kinds of wolves used for breeding are the arctic wolf, tundra wolf, timber wolf, and British Columbian wolf. The timber wolf, which is known for its large size and its resistance to cold, seems to be a popular choice for breeding."

"And they would be crossbred with ... ?"

"They are crossbred with local dogs. In Europe, German shepherds are the dog of choice, but at our Alaskan kennel we generally crossbreed wolves with huskies."

Having gone through his spiel, the import guy now offered them some green tea that'd been brought in by a female employee. Otomichi acknowledged the tea with a polite incline of her head, then immediately resumed her questioning. Maybe constitutionally the woman just never got thirsty. She never wanted anything to drink.

"Do you know how many wolf-dogs there are in Japan now?" she asked.

"Well, let me think…"

Takizawa studied a large photo on the wall. It was unmistakably a photo of a wolf, he thought, taken in a snowstorm. In the background was a dark grove of trees. Pelted by snowflakes and buried in a snowdrift up to its knees, the animal had white fur on its face, neck, and belly; the rest of its coat was varying shades of gray. It stood erect in the snowy expanse, face tilted skyward, as if howling. Its bushy tail hung low, its ears were laid back, its eyes were shut.

This was every inch a wolf, wasn't it? How could you call this a dog?

"... I can tell you the number of wolf-dogs imported through our firm. That would be approximately two hundred in all. There are probably some people importing wolf-dogs on an individual basis, and some of our customers have had success breeding wolf-dogs themselves, using stock purchased from us. I'm afraid I can't give you a more precise estimate than that."

"Is your company the only one involved in importing wolf-dogs?"

Takizawa was sitting back, sizing up the situation. How long this outfit had been in business he didn't know, but you had to wonder what kind of profit there was in importing two hundred wolf hybrids.

The import guy, as if reading Takizawa's mind, responded in the same mild tone: "This is not our primary business by any means. We deal mainly in food imports, including Alaskan salmon. While I wouldn't go so far as to say that importing wolf-dogs is something we do in our spare time, it is rather more of a sideline with us."

Takizawa raised his eyebrows and nodded, his mouth forming an "O," saying nothing. The import guy, who had been addressing Otomichi throughout the conversation, glanced over to confirm Takizawa's reaction, and then redirected his attention back at Otomichi. When the interviewer was a woman, did people always go out of their way to be this solicitous and oh-so-polite?

Takizawa sipped his tea, feeling a bit deflated, as Otomichi went on to her next question: What are the characteristics of a wolf-dog?

The man picked up the pamphlets lying beside him, took a sip of tea, and launched into another explanation: "By external appearance, wolf-dogs generally measure three and a half feet to five feet from head to rump, with a tail some 12-20 inches long. Their shoulder height is around 28-32 inches on average, so the head would come up to about here."

He placed his hand on his head, then slid it off to one side to demonstrate. For a moment, he stared into space as if an actual wolf-dog were in the room. Takizawa couldn't help feeling distaste at the whole concept. The import guy began another flowing explanation. With his head chock full of data, he was, yup, exactly like a salesman at a model home. Someone who gave the same spiel more times than he could count.

"Their weight varies quite a bit, ranging from around 45 pounds to 155-160 pounds for the larger subspecies. On average they weigh, I would say, about a hundred pounds."

A wolf-dog also had longer legs than regular dogs, and a more highly developed musculature, which gave it extraordinary powers of leaping; it could easily bridge a distance of five and a half yards. Wolf-dogs could run at full speed for twenty minutes; at a lower speed of twenty-five or thirty miles per hour, they could keep running for a considerably longer time. There were records of wolf-dogs covering 125 miles in a day; that's how tough they were. Unlike a regular dog's profile, wolf-dogs did not feature a hollow above the muzzle; a wolf-dog's muzzle, owing to its wolf heredity, was long and rather straight. The tip of its nose was large, and the sense of smell very advanced: they were reportedly capable of detecting the scent of prey one and a half miles away. The jaw was massive and highly developed, with biting power which—while no match for that of a tiger, puma, lion, or other large feline— was around twice that of a German shepherd, exerting a force of over 1,400 pounds per square inch.

If a pair of jaws that strong got hold of your skull, of course it'd he crushed.

Takizawa felt a chill come over him. Picking up a pamphlet distractedly, he was met by the face of a wolf-dog staring straight at him. What nut dreamed up the idea of crossing a wolf with a dog? If there were pets like these all over the place, what could be more frigging unsafe?

"While their bound and sense of smell are important distinguishing characteristics, what really sets wolf-dogs apart is the excellence of their memory and their intelligence. Presently there are wolf-dogs in training as police dogs, and I understand that they have a stellar record."

The guy went on talking. Next to Takizawa, Otomichi was leaning forward, all ears. Takizawa had gotten the point: wolf-dogs were great. Now he wanted his hands on the list of customers.

Otomichi spoke up. "If they are capable of undergoing training as police dogs, does that mean they have a tractable nature?"