The Hunter

by Asa Nonami

  On her motorbike, she had wanted nothing but a cup of hot coffee; now the cold beer felt good sliding down her throat. She exhaled and took a bite of the still-hot pizza. She relaxed and then, not liking the quiet in the room, switched on the TV with the remote control. She found a program that wasn't too demanding, and continued munching in silence.

  What am I going to do with all this pizza? she thought. It won't taste any good tomorrow. Well, so what. I'll just eat it anyway. That settles it: pizza for breakfast.

  You ordered this large pizza knowing you wouldn't be able to eat it all.

  This was true. Not wanting to give the impression that she was eating alone, she had purposely ordered a large pizza.

  Polishing off the beer in no time, she padded into the kitchen in her bare feet and brought back another. She changed the channels randomly, drank her beer, and poked at her salad—the same kind you could get at the convenience store—with a plastic fork. As her hunger abated, she slowed down; when she stopped, full, a good half of the pizza was still left. By then it was just after nine. The top of the kotatsu showed the remains of her feast for one: the half a pizza, most of the slightly greasy fried chicken, one empty salad container, and three empty cans of beer.

  "My stomach!" she groaned. "Agh—I ate too much."

  No one was around to order her to clean up. Feeling quite satisfied, slightly intoxicated, Takako looked around the room.

  "What a dump."

  When she first moved in, she'd been rather enthusiastic about taking care of the place. It represented a fresh start in life. She even thought that, in order to make it fully her own, she would put out only things she really liked. But work had kept her so busy that the apartment looked like it belonged to a college kid newly arrived in Tokyo from the countryside. The one saving grace was the curtains, a soft, pale pink.

  It's just a place to sleep, after all.

  She was thoroughly warmed now, sitting cozily on the floor with her legs under the heater. She lay all the way down. Wonderful to have no worries, no nagging problems. Her body was tired, her mind empty. The past was past; this was paradise.

  Things seemed to unfold without connection to her. Life in society and TV dramas alike—none of it seemed to have any meaning for her. It all washed over her. Lying stretched out, her eyes on the uninteresting television show, she could not resist drowsing off.

  As her eyes closed, the road through the mountains came back to her. The comforting vibrations of the motor, the rounded tank between her knees. The road stretching on and on, the center line, the bikes behind her glimpsed through the rearview mirror. Come to think of it, there had been somebody behind her for a good long way. When she pulled over at a scenic spot for a rest, a biker discovering that she was female registered curiosity, acted like he wanted to come over and talk.

  I've got no time for kids. How old does he think I am? If he knew, oh boy, would he take off.

  "Can you see it from this angle? Flames are shooting out of the building! The windy conditions have made things worse. Despite the valiant efforts of firefighters, the fire is raging out of control!"

  Takako jerked awake, thirsty, and found the TV screen filled with the scene of a fire. She stared at it foggily.

  "At one point the fire was starting to die down, but a short while ago it picked up strength again. A ladder truck has arrived on the scene, and while firefighting operations continue below, a search for people trapped in the upper floors is also going on. On the ground floor is a restaurant, and various small businesses occupy the building from the second floor up. It was past midnight when the fire broke out, and so except for the all-night restaurant, there were few people in the building, we're told. From where I stand, I don't see anyone crying for help."

  Fire? Where? Was this broadcast live?

  Takako tried to focus, but she was just too sleepy. About to drift off again, she told herself, no, mustn't sleep here, and managed somehow to drag herself out of the kotatsu.

  "That's all from the scene of the fire in Tachikawa in Tokyo."

  Tachikawa?

  A lousy place for a fire. Tachikawa was where Takako worked—at the government building in Midori-machi, Tama, which housed the Eighth District Headquarters of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, along with the local Traffic Riot Squad, Automobile Patrol Unit, and Mobile Investigative Unit. Takako was a member of the Third Mobile Investigative Unit. Takako was a cop.

  So, what this news meant for her was, things were going to be crazy tomorrow. She took a long drink of water. She wasn't going to think about it. She staggered into the bedroom, set her alarm clock, and fell into bed. She'd better get some sleep while she could.

  "A fire in Tachikawa. Oh boy," Takako mumbled to herself in the dark. She exhaled deeply, once, and then she was asleep.

  2

  At 12:05 a.m., Tamotsu Takizawa, the sergeant on call at the Tachikawa Central Station of the Metropolitan Police Department, got word of the blaze. An officer at the local police box was reporting in from the site: Fire had broken out at a popular family restaurant, and even though it had just started, the flames were spreading with surprising vigor. It had the potential of turning into a five-alarm fire.

  "Rotten luck."

  "Damn right. Who wants to lug bodies in this freezing cold?"

  Takizawa and the two young detectives with him had not relished being on call tonight. One step outside the station and a keen, cold wind sliced through you. Riding shotgun in the patrol van, its siren screaming, Takizawa kept on grumbling, "Damn it all." His waistline had ballooned of late, and he found himself sitting on the edge of his seat. He was wearing a leather coat over his uniform; if he didn't get busy and lose some weight, by next year the coat would be like a straitjacket.

  "Was it an explosion?" he asked.

  "The report didn't mention any," answered Wada, the greener of the two young detectives, who until now had been spending most of his time on larceny investigations.

  In that case, maybe there wouldn't be any bodies to deal with, Takizawa hoped as he sucked noisily on a molar. The noodles he'd had as a late-night snack were full of thinly sliced green onions, some of which were now stuck between his teeth. Matter of fact, his whole mouth tasted kind of oniony. On the other hand, he told himself, on a windy night like this, the damage could be bad.

  For Takizawa, after twenty-seven years on the force, fifteen spent as a detective heading investigations of violent crimes, a big fire was nothing out of the ordinary. But no matter how used he was to them, no matter how many times he went through the drill, he always got depressed. People who came to gawk could stand around during the height of the fire and then go home. They might stop to think what it was like for those who had to hang around to clean up. It wasn't ever a pretty sight.

  "It's a big one, all right," Wada said as he gripped the steering wheel.

  Sure enough, the sky before them was stained bright red. At this rate, there was no chance it was going to be put out before they arrived.

  "Was that a four-story building, or what?" asked Takizawa.

  "Six, I think. There's also an underground garage."

  "Well-informed, aren't we. Don't tell me you eat at a place like that?"

  "At a family restaurant? Why not? Nothing wrong with that," Wada replied, glancing at the sergeant with surprise, then smirking to himself. All Takizawa knew about where to eat around here was the ramen and soba noodle shops that delivered, or the little joints that served one cheap special-of-the-day; other than that, he never went anywhere but places to drink. "That one does a good business, even late at night."

  "I know. Full of kids hanging around all night till the trains start up in the morning."

  "Well-informed, aren't we."

  "Go jump in the lake."

  How long ya think I been working this beat, Takizawa was about to add, and then swallowed the words. They were coming up to the site of the fire. From every gap in the building, bright red flames leaped and writhed lik
e devils' tongues, reaching up to the night sky. A siren was wailing, and the sidewalks were filling with people running toward the fire. Even if the building didn't burn to the ground, damage would be severe.

  "We may hafta bring headquarters in on this."

  Putting the fire out looked like it was going to take some time. If it turned into a really big-scale fire, somebody from headquarters would definitely have to come out.

  Ordinarily it was only five or six minutes to the restaurant, traveling swiftly by patrol car, but as they drew closer, the traffic was starting to jam. "Isn't anyone directing traffic yet?" groused Takizawa.

  "No. It's a big intersection. They could be short-handed."

  Wada maneuvered the car through the crowded streets. By the time they pulled up in front of the restaurant, the area was clogged with people who'd fled to safety and others who'd come to gawk, many with a coat tossed over their pajamas. Among them were several nicely dressed young women with disheveled hair, standing staring up at the fire, their expressions rigid. The first floor was wrapped in flames, and the blaze was starting to work its way up to the second floor and part of the third.

  "I'll be damned," Takizawa said to himself, shuddering at the building belching black smoke and flames. This was much worse than any house on fire. The three officers quickly piled out of the unmarked police van.

  In case of a fire, the police investigators first on the scene had to start gathering evidence immediately: taking down eyewitness testimony, verifying who called 119 to report the fire, identifying the wounded, ... If it was arson, the arsonist often hung around, mingling in the crowd, so the onlookers had to be carefully photographed. But until the fire was out, the firefighters' work took priority; all the police could do was handle traffic and control the crowd.

  Sorimachi, the other detective on emergency duty with them, now spoke up: "I'll go take some pictures."

  "OK, and I better ask headquarters to send backup. This fire is gonna hang around for a while."

  Takizawa watched the uniformed policemen running around, and then turned to Wada, standing motionless at his side, entranced by the flames. "Don't stand there like a dummy. Bring me a witness, the person who called emergency, somebody. Get a move on."

  He slapped Wada on the back, and the words "Yes, sir!" came out in response. Wada made as if to run off.

  "Before you get lost, ask the guys in uniform! While you're at it, find the cop who first reported the fire."

  Wada looked hastily back, said, "Yes, sir," again, and then dove into the crowd.

  "The fire is dangerous. Stand back! Stand back!" A voice roared over the loudspeaker on the fire-truck. Firefighters dressed in silver suits ran to the right and to the left, getting drenched from the spraying water. The ladder truck was there, along with a rescue squad and a special squad in case the fire spread to the underground garage. The scene was so bright it didn't seem like the middle of the night, but it wasn't only because of the fire. Lights from the media lit everything up like a film set; the building spouting flames and smoke, with water being sprayed on it from all sides, was a dramatic centerpiece. Standing at a considerable distance from the fire, Takizawa could yet feel the heat of it on his face; that's how powerful it was. He'd seen fires like this more than a few times. It was always a picture of hell.

  Using the wireless radio in the patrol van, he called for backup.

  A uniformed officer, pushing through the crowd, came to inform Takizawa that witnesses, including workers in the restaurant, had been rounded up; Takizawa told him to get their names and addresses.

  "So far, seven people with injuries are being treated in two different hospitals," another officer reported; he was in radio contact with the ambulance team.

  Yet another officer ran up to say, "According to witnesses, the fire started in the seating area."

  "The seating area?" Takizawa frowned, perplexed. It was one thing for a fire like this to start in the kitchen; for it to start where the customers sat, and reach these proportions, didn't make sense. Even supposing a customer started the fire with a cigarette, or dropped a lighted match, how could it develop into an inferno like this? An electric short was possible but seemed unlikely out where the customers were.

  "I don't like it," mumbled Takizawa, watching as the billowing smoke gradually turned white. In the darkness and confusion, separating out the witnesses from the curious was not going to be easy.

  A little after 1:00 a.m., a representative of the arson team arrived from headquarters. At about the same time, a report came in from the officer who went to the two hospitals tending to the injured; there were twenty-two casualties. Most had suffered burns, but others had also sustained external injuries as they fell, trying to get away. All had been identified. Only one person was too badly burned to speak.

  At 1:50 a.m., the fire was extinguished, leaving the surroundings soaked as in the aftermath of a flood. Here and there, white smoke continued to rise, and depending on the direction of the wind, you could still smell the stench of the fire. The temperature reverted to the bitter cold of midwinter. One fire truck drove off, then another, bells ringing to indicate that the fire was over.

  The remaining vehicles from the fire department belonged to investigators who would survey the scene alongside Takizawa and his colleagues. The officers from the neighborhood police box speedily roped off the area to preserve the scene. A rigorous search would begin in the morning. In the meantime, Takizawa and other officers from the Tachikawa office, along with several backup investigators from headquarters, waited for the last group of firefighters in the building to finish their final check.

  The other investigators were divided into teams, some to get statements from the wounded in the hospitals, others to question building residents, restaurant workers, and other material witnesses who'd been assembled nearby. It was official policy to get the statements as soon as possible, while people were still in a state of excitement; once that initial excitement wore off, people tended to avoid saying anything that might reflect poorly on themselves.

  "Here they come!"

  It was after 2:10 a.m. when the last group of firefighters began to emerge from the building. Most of the crowd had dispersed by then. That was when Takizawa felt his stomach muscles clench. He nodded knowingly, slowly, signaling with his eyes to Wada and Sorimachi, who were standing next to him; they grimaced, their faces stiff with cold.

  The body was brought out on a stretcher covered with a blanket. You could tell from the shape of the lump that it displayed "boxer's stance," the forward-leaning posture peculiar to victims of severe burns. The firefighters set the stretcher down on the ground before officers gathered around and removed the blanket.

  "What the hell is this?" said Takizawa, pressing a handkerchief to his nose. One thing was immediately clear to him: the burns were unnatural. "What happened to him?"

  The body revealed burns of particular intensity from the waist up, mostly fourth-degree burns showing carbonization. Below the waist the burns were much milder, with fragments of clothing stuck to the skin. A victim showing so much difference in degree of burns between the upper and lower torso was unheard of.

  "Looks like suicide, eh?" said Sorimachi, leaning in from the side for a better look, holding his nose. Takizawa quickly replaced the blanket, and then he and Sorimachi began to carry the stretcher to the police van. This should have been Wada's job, but when Takizawa looked around for the younger detective, he was off in a dark corner, vomiting.

  "Gimme a break. This his first time?"

  "Yep."

  Those on emergency call had to report for duty regardless of what unit they were on; Wada, who usually spent his time chasing petty thieves, could only lament his bad luck tonight. Removing the bodies of burn victims from the still-hot ruins was the job of the fire department, but from then on the police took over. After this, the three of them would have to transport the body to the station morgue, examine it and clean it up, and light incense. "Well, he'll ge
t used to it."

  As Wada drove back to the station, Takizawa clapped him on the back. Wada responded weakly, "I'm OK," but his face was drained of color and he remained downcast, obviously uncomfortable.

  Takizawa had a good idea of the young investigator's feelings, a confused welter of embarrassment and revulsion. The first time he ever saw a corpse, Takizawa retched. Even if you became accustomed to death, you retched when a decomposed body came along, and you retched again when you saw your first drowning victim. By experiencing the same thing over and over, you maybe got used to it.

  "You never see burns like that in an ordinary fire. You think it was a suicide, or what?" Sorimachi asked, repeating his original theory.

  Sorimachi was an officer with plenty of experience around death. Sitting in the back seat, he blew his nose loudly, then lit up a cigarette and took a drag. A cigarette dangling between his own lips, Takizawa leaned his head to one side and said, "I dunno. Think what would happen if you doused yourself in kerosene or gasoline."