by Asa Nonami
Until Horikawa lost consciousness. So that when his body was yanked over and he was ravished by the throat, it was as if it were happening to someone else. His body limp, the roar of his bloodstream echoed deep within his being. Horikawa felt nothing. This was mortal pain, so his oblivion was merciful. He never knew the searing pain, the biting into his flesh, the hot breath, the wetness, the sticky sounds, the coppery smell of blood, and then the odd prickling sensation, as living tissue was exposed to the cold wind. With a soft swoosh, warm blood spurted from his steaming throat. Had Horikawa's spirit been able to escape his body and look down on it, he would surely have averted his eyes and screamed.
His eyes stayed wide open, as if registering the carnage. Did his brain, still bearing a trace of life, process the two tiny round pupils in pools of pale green that were the creature's eyes? As its mouth dripped blood, the beast finished its grisly work, and detected the scent of death. Having ceased to feel anything, Horikawa's brain registered no fear and shut down without a flicker, never discerning his passage. His heart still beat, erratically, then more slowly, before vanishing into a flat line.
Horikawa's eyes were mere glass marbles now, open, seeing nothing. In the space of less than a minute, this unwillingly dedicated salaryman, who had just begun to contemplate taking his mother's advice and entering into an arranged marriage, had become a ragged corpse.
The blood continued to flow, gradually tapering off, puddling around the body, but in the darkness it was not evident. Overhead the traffic on the expressway continued without cease; now and again a taxi or truck would take the coastal road, but sidewalk shrubbery kept the body out of view. As earlier, Horikawa was left behind, alone, in this manmade environment. That he had been left behind for good was one more thing he did not know.
6
If he moved his head too fast, his brain was going to splash alcohol. Takizawa forced himself to take several deep breaths. His stomach churned. His back hurt where it leaned against the chair. Could his liver be swollen?
". . . and of all the chemicals handled in the lab today, organic peroxides are considered among the most dangerous. They belong to a particular class of chemical compound that demonstrates, if you will, uncommon instability."
This was the crime lab report they'd been waiting for, the results of the component analysis. But if it went on another thirty minutes, the contents of Takizawa's stomach were likely to have a chemical reaction of their own. Not that there was anything in there but alcohol. He faced forward, pleading silently for the speaker to make it snappy. There had to be five or six other guys who felt the same way: a bunch of them had been up all night drinking together.
"By uncommon instability I mean high sensitivity to shock, sparks, and other forms of incidental combustion. Organic peroxides are extremely sensitive to heat, friction, tremors, and light, to say nothing of strong oxidants and reductants."
The topic was actually of interest to Takizawa. You might not know it to look at him now, but at one time he had the brains for science and math. But damn—a lecture like this just didn't mix with alcohol in the blood. Taking yet another series of deep breaths, he tried to maintain the posture of an attentive listener. His breath reeked so strongly of alcohol that breathing in a lungful of it could get him drunk all over again. Technically this was no hangover; Takizawa was still bombed.
"The types of compounds known to generate peroxide include aldehyde, ether, allyl alcohol, and vinyl. In this case, the chemical on the device used to ignite the fire was a chemical compound with benzyl hydrogen. While it is impossible to be one hundred percent certain, it seems most likely to be in the benzoyl group."
At that point, the man from the Science Research Institute wrote BENZOYL PEROXIDE in large letters on the whiteboard. To the side, he wrote the chemical formula (C6H5CO)202. When he got out of here he had to go to a pharmacy and get some Sormak, thought Takizawa, calm the stomach down. Glancing beside him, he saw his goody two-shoes partner, proper as ever, busily taking notes. As long as she got everything down on paper, all he needed to do was sit here. She wasn't good for much else; let her knock herself out.
"The chemical benzoyl peroxide is a white, odorless crystalline powder formed when benzoyl chloride reacts with alkali and hydrogen or sodium peroxide. Because of its high oxidation effect, it is used to bleach flour, fats and oils, and tallow; it is an ingredient in pharmaceuticals and cosmetics and is widely used in the plastics industry as well. In this country, possession of benzoyl peroxide of 99 percent strength or greater is controlled. Usually it is used in the form of a 50-percent-strength paste made by mixing with oil or water, or a 25-percent-strength colloid. If you leave that mixture to dry naturally, then soak it overnight in methanol and then wind-dry it, you obtain a dry powder."
This SRI man might as well be delivering a lecture at the university, the way he's going on and writing stuff on the board. His eyelids feeling heavier by the moment, Takizawa forced himself to focus on the handwriting.
"This dry benzoyl peroxide spontaneously resolves at 103° Celsius; if you took a cardboard tube and packed in a kilogram of benzoyl peroxide, and lit it, you would get a three-meter-high flame. The fire does not burn as much as erupt, rather in the manner of a flamethrower."
A stir ran through the audience of detectives. Even with his drink-befuddled wits, Takizawa could see that here was a weapon of choice for a terrorist. An odorless white powder that exploded into flames. Easier, cleaner, more effective than gasoline.
"As I explained earlier, organic peroxides are among the most unstable of all organic compounds. Benzoyl peroxide is in fact safe if exposed to light, but it resolves at a low temperature and can be set off by shock or friction. While burning, moreover, it characteristically releases fumes that sting the nostrils and irritate the eyes, as well as a thick black smoke. After the fire burns out, a tarry substance is its residue."
Yes, it all fit the pattern of the fire. Instantaneous torching, thick black smoke, acute pain in the eyes. Takizawa thought back to the crime-scene investigation a week before. Who would have dreamed the case would take so many bizarre turns? And let's not forget him playing nursemaid to Otomichi.
"One chemical plant in Tokyo manufactured this chemical; in 1990 it was destroyed in an explosion and fire that claimed many lives. The greater the amount of the chemical, the greater the conflagration, it stands to reason; and the risk of such occurrence is significant. The tarry substance on the object recovered from the crime site, believed to be part of the belt the victim was wearing, has been determined to be residue of a fire caused by benzoyl peroxide."
His lecture done, the SRI man sat down, leaving the audience of detectives somewhat unsettled. The presentation had made it apparent, even to someone with a hangover, that the murderer in this case was not only cruel and exacting in his MO, he was also reckless, willfully endangering the lives of many innocent bystanders.
Captain Watanuki now stood up and cleared his throat. Through the wireless microphone his gravelly voice began:
"Until now this investigation has focused primarily on the victim—his lifestyle, means of employment, and surroundings. But no evidence or witness has shed light on the commission of the crime. As you are aware, the media have begun criticizing our approach, complaining that the investigation is likely to drag on without results. Now that the chemical used to start the fire has been identified and we have some insight into the mind of the Perpetrator, we need to shift gears and renew our determination to make a breakthrough in this case. From now on I want you to concentrate your efforts on tracing the route of acquisition of this chemical. Let's all apply ourselves to this investigation with even greater energy than before."
Erasing the chemical formulas and terms that the SRI man had left on the whiteboard, the captain began to write out the new game plan. As he did so, the desk sergeants, exhaustion on their faces, passed out photocopied material. There was a newspaper article about the benzoyl peroxide fire in 1990, along with a list
of chemical plants, pharmaceutical companies, university laboratories, and suppliers that sold chemicals wholesale in the Tokyo metropolitan area.
"Everybody who's been investigating the high school girls in the date club, or the women involved with the victim, should now switch over to work on pinning down the route of acquisition of this chemical. And everybody who was going door to door near the scene of the crime ..."
Takizawa read the headline, but the print in the reduced copy of the article was too small. His eyesight wasn't what it used to be. True, the hangover didn't help either. He'd study it later. He looked at the list of chemical wholesalers and found prices noted in the margin: For benzoyl peroxide, it was ¥900/100g. Not that much, really. A three-meter pillar of flame would set you back less than ten thousand yen. That would cover everything, including ignition device and fuse.
"... I know all of you are tired, but now is not the time to take a break. There are clues that—"
Suddenly Watanuki's voice broke off, and Takizawa lifted his head gingerly, so as not to rock anything inside, to see what was going on. Chief Wakita had come up to the podium and was conferring with Watanuki. Great, he thought; don't tell me somebody else got torched. Takizawa leaned back in his chair and stretched. By sitting perfectly still, he had started feeling better, his system working overtime to break down the alcohol.
Turning his attention back to the group, Watanuki cleared his throat and began again: "You may have heard about an incident that has been reported in the morning's papers and on the television news. If you missed it, let me bring you up to speed: Last night in Tennozu, Shinagawa Ward, a man was attacked and killed by what appears to have been a wild dog. The animal remains on the loose, whereabouts unknown. It has just come to our attention that this incident may have particular bearing on our case because the teeth marks on the Tennozu victim demonstrate a close resemblance to the bite scars on our homicide victim."
Now the room was buzzing. Takizawa moved his head a little too quickly, which made him feel like he was relapsing into drunkenness. What? Weren't we supposed to track down the peroxide? What's this with a wild pooch?
"We are in touch with the Shinagawa police and will check this new development out immediately. You will be notified of any pertinent results. In the meanwhile, proceed according to plan. Get your interim reports in by noon, everyone."
The meeting had lasted longer than usual, and it left detectives with a unpleasant sense of no movement having been achieved. By the time Takizawa left headquarters, the winter sun had lost the clarity of the morning, but when you were this hung over, sunlight, no matter how weak, was hard to take. Takizawa walked unsteadily. The assignment was for him and Otomichi to visit several chemical labs on the list.
A dog and blasting powder. Peroxide and a pooch. Wild dogs running around the city? Hard to believe. And in Tennozu?
"Where is Tennozu anyway?" Takizawa said the words half to himself. He had heard of the place, but that was all.
"The bay area." Otomichi spoke in a very calm, forthright manner.
Takizawa walked with his head down, and Otomichi's voice seemed to come less from his side than from diagonally above him. He lacked the energy to look up at her, but repeated her foreign-sounding response. "The bay area." The seaside, in other words.
"The monorail stops there on the way from Hamamatsu-cho to Haneda. It's the first station."
That part of the city was changing at a fast clip, Takizawa knew, but it was out of his circuit. Even if he spent all his time running around Tokyo, there were corners of it he had nothing to do with, knew nothing about. That included Shinagawa Ward and Ota Ward, the district known as Jonan, scene of the wild dog mauling.
"Sergeant Takizawa."
Takizawa wasn't feeling so well, and Otomichi wanted to talk just as he was thinking he needed to find that pharmacy, fast. "Yeah?"
"Do you think there is any connection between the Tennozu case and ours?"
"Damned if I know."
"Well, what if both victims really were bitten by the same stray dog?"
"You could never know that for sure," Takizawa said. He let a few seconds pass and then asked, "Have you ever been to Tennozu?" but didn't wait for her answer. They were just passing a pharmacy, and without any warning, he went in, bought some Sormak, and quickly swallowed it down. It was good stuff. Liquid medicine to calm the stomach, two bottles to a pack. He stuck the other bottle in his coat pocket and came outside to find Otomichi waiting for him.
"Uh, what were you saying again?"
"Sergeant Takizawa."
"What."
"May I have that, please?"
Takizawa looked up at Otomichi with a scowl, the sun in his eyes. "Have what?"
"The Sormak."
She was looking him straight in the eye, as surly and ungracious as ever. Takizawa took the bottle out of his pocket, feeling like a kid getting caught with something. Otomichi was removing her wallet from her purse. "Forget it, keep your money," he said, and handed the bottle to her. She accepted it, and walked off a few paces without a word. Sheesh, Takizawa thought, you think she's waiting outside, but she's got her eye on you the whole time. Doesn't miss a trick. Well, if she's always so keyed up, no wonder her stomach hurts.
He turned around in time to see Otomichi swallow the Sormak and toss the empty bottle into the trash before hurrying back. "Thank you," she said, as if everything was normal. "Sorry to impose like that."
"You feeling bad or something?" He did not want her sick or needing to rest, not while they were in the middle of an investigation. But come to think of it, she did look a little off color. She had fair skin to begin with, but today she looked deathly pale.
"I'm fine."
Just what little Miss Hardliner would say. As his own stomach began to settle, Takizawa's brain started to fire on all cylinders. What should he say back to her? He didn't want her to think he'd gone soft on her, but her tough act needled him.
"Well, I guess this case is kinda rough on the nerves for a delicate little thing like you."
This didn't come out quite as clever as he'd hoped, but never mind. He was beginning to feel pretty much like his old self; then he heard her reply:
"No. It's just a little hangover."
Hangover? Her? Thought she went home early last night. Did she go out drinking with somebody after that? Ten to one she was shooting off her mouth about me. Damn. I shoulda told her, buy your own Sormak.
7
WILD KILLER DOG? SALARYMAN ATTACKED,
SLAIN IN BAY AREA AT MIDNIGHT
At 2:30 a.m., an emergency 119 call reported a man found bleeding from the neck in Higashi Shinagawa 3-chome, Shinagawa Ward, Tokyo. Medical personnel rushing to the scene found the victim already dead, lying face up on the sidewalk of a tree-lined street near Tennozu Isle Station of the Tokyo Monorail line. Police from the Jonan Precinct of the Metropolitan Police Department established the identity of the man as Kazuki Horikawa, age 32, a company worker residing at 1 Nakamachi, Meguro Ward. Despite the injury to his neck, the victim's clothing showed no sign of a struggle. His briefcase was found nearby with his wallet intact.
Examination of the neck wound revealed an oval pattern of tooth marks bracketed with sharp fang marks. A large section of the victim's windpipe was missing, and his neck was broken. On his back, by both shoulders there was subcutaneous bleeding consistent with the claw marks of an animal. Police suspect that Horikawa's death resulted from an attack by a large canine.
The incident took place in a section of the waterfront that has undergone extensive development in recent years and is populated by many new high-rises. Called Seafort Square, the area is filled with restaurants, theaters, and hotels, and is known popularly among young people as the "bay area." Horikawa was employed in a company located in an office building in Seafort Square. The neighboring area, which has many warehouses connected by canals, is said to be deserted at night; people are rarely seen walking dogs there.
According t
o Jonan police, if a dog was responsible for the attack on Horikawa, it must be of an extremely large breed. Since no households in the vicinity are known to possess a dog of that sort, police are working on the assumption that the dog is wild.
A wild dog.
Takako looked up from the evening edition of the paper from three days before. This was her first day off since the investigation headquarters was set up. On the low table in front of her lay a week's worth of newspapers, unread. Scattered alongside were an empty can of Coke and an empty container of instant ramen, a handkerchief that needed washing, and a pair of earrings. A pile of junk.
Last night when she went to bed, she had planned to spend her precious day off tending to her motorcycle and going out for a ride, but when she awoke it was already past noon. Too late to do anything. Besides, the sky out her window was cloudy and gray, with an icy cast. Thinking it might be nice to stay in and just rest, she made a cup of coffee, pulled out a newspaper from the stack, and the article jumped out at her. No wonder she didn't feel relaxed, even if it was her day off. The investigation was going nowhere. And now it looked like they were going to be drawn into this bay area death as well.