The Hunter (22 page)

"Now now. You're getting the fucking job done. Who's complaining?"

"Fucking is right," said the guy next to Kanai, snickering.

Bent over her report, Takako knew her face was crimson.
Mustn't get angry. That just plays into their hands. Let them say whatever they want. Nothing they say bothers me.
As she was desperately telling herself this, she heard Takizawa's voice on edge:

"Hey."

Oh no, she thought. Now he's going to chew me out in front of everybody.

But instead, Takizawa went on: "Kanai. Listen up. Don't say anything to upset my partner. Got it? You can say whatever you want to me, but her you treat like a lady."

"Ain't that sweet. Looking out for your little partner, are you? Taki, I didn't know ya had it in ya."

"I know you feel like blowing off steam, but knock it off with the bullshit. It only reflects badly on you. People will just think you got no character."

More detectives were beginning to file into headquarters. Some stopped, wondering what the loud exchange in one corner of the room was all about. Someone teased, "Don't get jealous, now."

"Character?" Kanai said. "Never had any to start with."

"Isn't that too bad. Guess that's why you're no judge of people."

"I don't know. I can tell you're a perfect gentleman, and she's a perfect lady. With a stinking secret."

Kanai spat this out, twisting the edges of his mouth, and Takizawa rose from his chair. Just then Chief Wakita came into the room and announced, "Let's get started, people." Sounds of coughing and throat-clearing echoed around the room as the men took their seats, and finally silence ruled.

Takako could sense that Takizawa, beside her, was seething. "Sorry about that," she whispered.

"Ssh!" he responded. His face was apoplectic, eyes focused straight ahead, "Don't say a word," he hissed through clenched teeth. "They watch everything we do."

Takizawa, letting out several jagged breaths, seemed to be struggling to regain his composure. Takako was reminded what an annoying bunch of people she was surrounded by. Whoever she'd been teamed with, it wouldn't have made much difference. If it was Persimmon Seeds, it might have been Takizawa who made those ugly insinuations. It was that sort of world. Really, her whole adult life, she had almost never had occasion to be glad she was a woman. She was past frustration, past wretchedness and anger; she was just appalled.

". . . concerning the tenants of the building, most have found new addresses. We have heard about disputes with the owner about being evicted. Some tenants are seeking compensation ..."

The meeting began with reports connected to the Tachikawa timed combustion belt homicide case. Desperate for some sort of lead, the detectives were trying to delve into Hara's background from every conceivable angle. While Takako and Takizawa had been shifted first from the neighborhood door-to-door search to the chemical unit and now to the hunt for the wolf-dog, these others had been plugging steadily along on the same assignment all this time.

"Even if the wolf-dog killings of Horikawa and Yoshii were crimes of revenge, it's more logical to assume that Hara's death wasn't connected to them, that it was carried out by someone else."

"Since the canine attacks on Horikawa and Yoshii succeeded so perfectly, how come Hara got just a couple of bites? Doesn't make sense."

"No one with a motive has appeared so far. Maybe we need to focus on finding someone who would benefit, directly or indirectly, from Hara's death."

Teruo Hara. It had all begun with his pitiful, charred body; had his remains been claimed and taken back home yet? That man who had traded on his nihilistic smile was the sole link between benzoyl peroxide and the wolf-dog. But his catching on fire, writhing in agony, and dying felt like it'd all taken place a long time ago. Tedious tension. The danger of giving into the impulse to say, That's it, I'm sick of it, who cares what happened to him anyway! The temptation to throw the whole thing aside. Awash with these conflicting emotions, Takako sat and steadily took notes. She wished she could get on her motorcycle and ride off to the sea.

From somewhere beyond the border of her consciousness came the harsh ringing of a bell. She stuck a hand out of the covers and groped unconsciously in the dark until finally her fingers found the cold smooth object.

But wherever she touched it, however she hit it, the ringing would not stop.

"What gives?"

Her eyes still closed, Takako frowned, groaned, and squeezed the metal object hard. The feel of it was real; this was no dream. The moment she realized that, she dropped the alarm clock, sat up in bed and reached for the telephone.

"Sorry to disturb you at home. I have a message from Chief Wakita."

The voice was unfamiliar. Ordinarily investigators received no emergency messages, but on hearing Chief Wakita's name, Takako made an immediate effort to banish the fog of sleep.

"Is this Officer Otomichi?"

She had to say something, but could manage only a croak. Before she could answer properly, the voice went on: "There was a fire about three hours ago. Your presence is requested at the site."

After clearing her throat a few times, she was finally able to speak: "A fire?"

Takako peered into the darkness. No need to look at the clock; dawn was far away. No need to ask further questions. She had been notified precisely because the fire was connected with the series of incidents already under investigation. But her head was still so fogged that she could not think beyond that.

"Sergeant Takizawa is your partner, is that right?"

"Yes."

"I have other calls to make, so would you mind phoning him with the news? Do you have his number?"

"Yes. I mean no."

Quickly she switched on the bedside lamp, got out of bed, and found a pen. Only then was she able to read the numbers on the clock face. 4:20. She'd gone to bed after one, so the three hours' sleep was going to have to do. She wrote down the number that the desk staff read her, repeated it back, and then reconfirmed the location of the fire.

"Haijima-machi, Akishima. Got it. The Chuo Expressway to Hachioji Interchange. Then Route 16 north. Toward Yokota Air Base?"

"Not that far. Take a left when you come to the New Okutama Kaido, and you'll see it."

Takako had a general picture of the location in her head. It was right across the Tama River. What was it this time? Arson? She sat back down on the bed and let her mind go vacant just for a second. It was taking a bit to resist the temptation to lay her head back on the pillow. She raised her chin as high as she could, stretching her neck, took a deep breath, and reached out for the receiver she had just set back in its cradle. Dialed the number she had just jotted down. After three and a half rings, she heard a "Hello." The thin, high voice of a girl.

"Urn—" For a moment no words came out.

The girl, a teenager from the sound of her voice, said "Takizawa residence," and Takako hastily said who she was.

"You're my father's partner, right? Nice to meet you. Wait one moment, please."

The girl's telephone manners were impeccable. Takako realized how tense she herself was. At the other end of the line was the unknown universe of Takizawa's home life. A house with no mother. A child trained to answer the phone. Holding the receiver between chin and shoulder, undoing pajama buttons in the cold, Takako listened to the on-hold music-box melody issuing from the receiver. So the emperor penguin was somebody's father—a girl's father, at that. Unlikely thought. The melody played over and over. "Home Sweet Home," that was it. After a while, there was a gruff "Hello?"

"Sorry to call in the middle of the night. This is Otomichi."

"Ah."

This was the first time she'd heard her partner's voice over the telephone, and it sounded deeper than it really was, almost like a growl. It was like the voice of a total stranger. Takako briefly filled him in.

"How are you getting there?" he asked.

"At this hour, I'll drive."

"Then could you stop by and pick me up on the way? I'm a little . . . I'm not in shape to drive right now."

His voice was now extremely hoarse. Takako put two and two together. He'd been drinking. He'd drunk himself into a stupor, and he hadn't sobered up yet.

"I can meet you at the station near my house," he said slowly and meekly, almost despondent.

Was it because of the earlier flap with Kanai, when he was on the verge of grabbing the loudmouth by the collar, or because after all this time it still galled him to be stuck with her, be the butt of jokes about her? After she hung up, Takako quickly began changing her clothes, again feeling put-upon. Why did
she
have to go pick up the emperor penguin? Easy: she was his partner. Maybe this was a sign of a new level of acceptance?

She remembered the furious look on Takizawa's face a few hours before when he stood up in Kanai's face. Had Takizawa been angry on his own behalf, or was he trying to protect her?

No, mustn't go there. Don't ever let down your guard. Nobody who spends his whole life immersed in a male-dominated society is going to change his ways overnight. Safer by far to assume this.

4:30 a.m. Ten minutes after she'd received the phone call, Takako was ready to go. She'd put on minimal makeup, got her clothes on, slipped on her shoes. Outside, to her surprise there were snowflakes coming down. She had attributed the quiet to the pre-dawn hour, when it was the peculiar quiet of snow falling. Paved areas gleamed with dark wetness, while the perimeters of small gardens and the rooftops of houses were getting covered in white. Well, this snow ought to help her wake up.

Hurriedly she went back into her apartment and grabbed an umbrella. The hushed hallway rang with the clang of the iron door, followed by the soft click of the lock.

By the time she reached the parking lot at the side of the building, she was completely awake. The car she was too busy to use much these days was awaiting her in the rear of the lot; there was a light dusting of snow on it. She climbed into the frigid car and immediately turned on the ignition; the engine sprang, gratifyingly, to life. She let the engine warm up for a few minutes while she checked her appearance in the mirror and applied lipstick. She looked all right. Her eyes were a little bloodshot, but the circles beneath her eyes were hidden, and she didn't look too sleepy.

As she punched the CD player on and eased out of her space, she suddenly remembered: Once, long ago, she'd driven somewhere before dawn like this. The sense of haste, the need to get moving quickly was the same; but that other time hadn't involved work.

"Oh yeah—that was it."

She'd gone to pick up her husband. He'd gotten an emergency call, and he was at his parents' for some reason, so she dashed out to get him. She'd been tired herself but hadn't minded, bothering only to throw a sweater over her pajamas. She remembered it well. It was back when they hadn't been married long; she'd been foolishly earnest about everything, and had derived enormous pleasure from her own foolishness.

This was a heavy, moist snow. It didn't sweep lightly from the windshield the way powdery snow did. It stuck fast. The wipers changed the snow to drops of water and flicked them away. The music on the CD was Sade's first album, which didn't seem appropriate for snow. Takako hadn't seen the CD around recently, and no wonder—it had been stuck in the car here. Everything she did, everything she heard, was connected to some memory. Was that what happened as you got older? Was that what life meant, filling yourself with memories of times you didn't even want to remember?

The roads were empty. As if to leave her memories behind her, Takako stepped hard on the gas. The snowfall was light, dissolving as soon as it hit the asphalt. As a result, though she expected it would take longer, it was not yet 5:10 when she arrived at the pick-up spot stipulated by Takizawa. The trains were not running, and there were no cars or taxis waiting for fares in the rotary in front of the small station. Switching off the CD player, she turned into the rotary, and her headlight picked up a round little figure. He had evidently gotten here ahead of time. Responding to her toot of the horn, he dropped his cigarette and crushed it.

"I called back to confirm. One person dead," he said as he climbed into the front seat. No hello, no thank you. The smell of alcohol filled the car. Takako opened the back windows a crack as she pulled out of the station. So she'd been right.

"First a person on fire, then a wolf-dog, and now a red cat."

"A what? " Hands on the wheel, Takako glanced over at her passenger, and did a double take. Not only was Takizawa's voice different this morning, so was his face. The only illumination was from streetlights, so she couldn't be sure, but as she turned her eyes back on the road, Takako thought,
He's been in a fight.

"Red cat—never heard of the expression?"

"Um, no."

"That's what we always said. A red, or a red cat."

"So what does it—"

"It means an arsonist. I guess nobody says it anymore."

Takako made a polite response, even as she wondered why this fire should involve a red cat. She traveled west on the Koshu Kaido, and got on the Chuo Expressway at the Chofu Interchange. Here Takako sped up and eased into the passing lane. The snow was coming down harder, almost like a live thing, dancing madly and trying to avoid the windshield wipers.

"So it's arson?"

"That's what I heard."

He still reeked of liquor. But although his voice was hoarse, his tone was milder than usual.

"There's gotta be some connection. Could be that chemical. But then why would
we
be called in?"

"The CSI won't be in till after dawn, right?"

"Right. And you and me are assigned to the wolf-dog search. Who knows."

Takako felt her nervousness spike. They were just west of Tokyo, and the snow was coming down hard now. If it snowed any more, she'd have to put on chains. Had she ever come this way for work before?

"Pretty wild driver, aren't you?" said Takizawa after a short silence. "Careful, or the swerving will make me sick. I'm already drunk."

Unusually for him, this came off sounding a little whiny. She cast a glance at her partner, who seemed oddly cramped in his seat even though her car was not particularly small. Sure enough, his face was swollen. On the side of the mouth, and up along the cheekbone. His mouth might even be bleeding on the inside. Was that why his speech sounded so meek?

They passed Kunitachi Fuchu, and seconds later the sign for the Hachioji exit came into view. If she got off the expressway there and took Route 16 north for ten minutes, they should be at the site. "I'll bite," she said. "Why do they say 'red cat'?"

"A cat goes in and out of the house from under the veranda, right? In the old days, when they set fire to a building from outside, they threw something under the veranda. The flames would leap out suddenly, like a cat. People said other things, too, though—red dog, red horse."

Whether true or not, the explanation sounded convincing. In the old days, cops used all sorts of colorful jargon. Some of the words were still in common use—like
deka,
for cop, supposedly a transposition of the first and last syllables of
kakusode,
which was the square-sleeved coat they used to wear; Takako used to think it came from
dekai,
meaning "huge," as in policemen having huge egos, lording it over others. For the most part, though, people of Takako's generation didn't use jargon. She had never expected to hear about it from Takizawa.

"Sergeant Takizawa?"

"Yeah."

"Your face . . ." From the corner of her eye, she could see his thick hand reach up to his face. He made a sound that could have been a moan or a reply. "Is that from drinking?" she ventured.

"No."

She couldn't bring herself to ask more than that. She fell silent, and when the Hachioji exit came up, she put on her turn signal, changed lanes, and got off on the sloping curve of the exit ramp. There was still no sign of morning.

"The little shit pasted me one good," Takizawa said in a half mumble.

"Someone you know?"

"Yeah. My son."

A deep sigh scattered the smell of sake in the car. Takako reopened the back window, which she had closed earlier, and sighed, too. The sound of the daughter's voice answering the phone was still in her ears.

"You have two children?"

"Three."

She said nothing.

"Honestly. Whaddaya gonna do?"

Having no idea how to respond to this, Takako again said nothing. She had no brothers, and found it hard to imagine how a quarrel between father and son could get so heated. For it to come to blows. For the son to have left a mark on his father's face—no thin-skinned face by any means. It must have been some fight.

When they got off the expressway, their surroundings were blanketed with snow. Takako headed north up Route 16, and soon came to the Tama River. The road was slightly frozen.

"Just our luck."

"Pardon?"

"The weather is shit and they drag us all the way to Akishima in the middle of the night."

She turned left at the intersection of New Okutama Kaido and drove another six hundred yards before spotting the red beacon of a police car. As she pulled over, a uniformed policeman with snow on his coat and hat approached them. He saluted when he saw her badge, and with frosty breath explained where the fire was. She was to turn left, then take a right when she saw another police car. From there she couldn't miss it. Since even Takizawa and she had been called out, Takako expected a crowd.