The Hunter

by Asa Nonami

  But thanks to all that's going on, I made it through.

  Three days ago, the date of the newspaper article, was the day she'd been dreading. On that day last year she had affixed her seal to the divorce papers and moved out. It was her divorce anniversary, you could say. She'd been feeling downcast about it, wondering what she should do when the day rolled around, how she would get through it. But to her surprise, she was so busy she never gave it a second thought.

  The day she moved into this new apartment had been cloudy like today, chilly enough for snow. She'd just gotten off all-night duty, starved for sleep, and the cold was punishing. When the movers were gone and she was left alone in a home where for the first time in her life she would live alone, the loneliness was overpowering. She was full of anxiety, wondering if she'd made an irrevocable mistake, if she would rue this day forever. What a fool she was, putting on such a show of strength and not asking anyone for help.

  In retrospect it was good that she plunged back into work, leaving no time to wallow in sentimental regret. And now, a year later, she had managed to get safely past that anniversary, with too much to do to feel any foolishness. She would focus on the case. And then, one of these days, it would be spring. Sipping her coffee, enjoying its fragrance, she switched her thinking back to detective mode.

  Was the attack a random event? Coincidence? Or intentional? If intentional, that was one helluva well-trained dog. A dog trained to attack humans?

  The newspaper article was accurate enough, considering when it had been written. It was a little short on facts, however. And there were no follow-up articles in the next day's paper, nor the next, which was yesterday. The police had given out no further information.

  The body was a ghastly sight, she'd heard. The article mentioned nothing about it, but Kazuki Horikawa had actually been bitten twice in the neck: first his neck had been broken, then his throat was ripped open. There were bites on his head as well, and an autopsy showed that the skull was crushed. Any of the three things could have killed him. There were no bite marks on the limbs or torso.

  If it was a random attack, there was nothing to solve. If it was coincidence, it was a big coincidence. If it was intentional, well, whoever was behind it, the assassin—if that was the right word, whoever planned the attack—had done so with utmost care to ensure that the victim's life would be snuffed out. Chunks of flesh torn from the neck were found next to the body.

  The wounds indicated that the dog was not only large, but had an extremely powerful set of jaws. To investigators, that in itself suggested intent to kill. The police were delaying the release of this information to the media because they didn't want to cause panic by suggesting that a savage dog was roaming the streets of Tokyo at night. Also, the connection between this case and the Tachikawa Timed Combustion Belt Homicide Case remained unclear.

  The bite marks on Teruo Hara's legs also appeared to be the work of a fairly large dog, and the size of the teeth and position of the fangs were a match with the marks on the Tennozu victim. But comparing bite marks in cheese or an apple was one thing; this was quite another. It was all but impossible, they were told, to do a detailed comparison of tooth characteristics based on the marks left in human flesh. It could be determined whether the teeth marks were human or animal, and if animal, whether they belonged to a rat or a rabbit, or some larger animal like a pig or a dog; beyond that, results were bound to be uncertain. Yet in this day and age, it was odd to think that here in Tokyo there could be two attacks by wild dogs in such a short time. On the other hand, there weren't any reports of pets on the loose.

  If a direct link between Teruo Hara and Kazuki Horikawa turned up, headquarters was bound to take over the investigation of the bay area case as well. It sounded like a hassle, but Takako wasn't alone among the detectives actually hoping it would happen. As it was, they were running out of leads on the homicide by chemical fire.

  Headquarters had been eagerly awaiting the results of SRI's chemical analysis. But with those results in hand, all that had been learned, after combing through Tokyo, was the unlikelihood that benzoyl peroxide would ever lead them to a suspect.

  Under the Fire Defense Law, benzoyl peroxide was rated a class-five dangerous substance, meaning that anyone handling more than ten kilograms of it had to file a written report specifying the amount, location, and purpose. Failure to do so was punishable by a prison sentence of up to one year and a fine of up to ¥300,000. But in fact, several firms had literally tons of the chemical illegally stockpiled. Annual distribution and consumption of benzoyl peroxide was immense; moreover, whether every firm kept careful watch on its supply was open to question.

  Just as the man from SRI had said, the chemical was used in a wide variety of industries, from foods and pharmaceuticals to cosmetics and the manufacture of highly polymerized compounds. Often, since the chemical was used in a stable form mixed with oil or water, not everyone connected with its use was even aware of the danger involved. And at university laboratories and suppliers that sold chemicals wholesale, detectives found that, basically, anyone could get hold of benzoyl peroxide with ease.

  These facts weighed heavily on the investigating team, who had hoped to find a clear trail of how the chemical was obtained. Certainly, some technical knowledge of chemicals was called for. And concerning the timing device, while the parts used were widely available, only someone with the requisite knowledge and expertise could have carried out the idea of enclosing it in a belt buckle. Yet no one in Hara's circle of acquaintances fit that description.

  At last night's meeting, one after another, weary detectives offered their opinions. "I think we'd be better off doing a thorough search of the witnesses," one said. Everyone was frustrated. They had identified the victim. They had a pretty good picture of his occupation and his private life. They even had their hands on a key piece of physical evidence in the form of the timed ignition device.

  Through their questioning of the high school girls in the date club, investigators had established that Teruo Hara was wearing a belt different from his usual belt, for the first time, on the day he was murdered. It was remarkable to have discovered all this without grasping any real leads. You'd think that by now they would have located somebody with a grudge against Hara, have gotten wind of some financial shenanigans or a love affair gone awry.

  Clearly, the killer had set out carefully and methodically to do away with Teruo Hara. No one would pursue their target so relentlessly without a considerable motive. This had been no random murder or act of terrorism. The killer had gone after Teruo Hara with premeditation.

  Even though Hara had a suspicious past, was using two names, and seemed likely to be up to his ears in serious trouble of one kind or another— likely, even, to have a person or two harboring murderous intentions toward him—so far they had found no one with even a grievance.

  "We're missing something, that's all I can say."

  "For one thing, we still don't know the victim's movements on the day of the fire. We haven't dug below the surface yet."

  "If whoever did the initial investigation had put his back in it, we'd have known sooner that the victim operated a date club in the same building as the restaurant."

  Takizawa was miffed when he heard this. Takako had glanced over at him curling his lip. She took the criticism to heart, reviewing mentally the faces of all those they had questioned. Had somebody been lying or suffered a memory lapse? Had the questioning missed something?

  Mired in discouragement, the meeting had finally wrapped up with these words from Chief Wakita: "We are looking at the matter very carefully, and if it does turn out that the Tennozu case is connected with this case, then there's a strong chance of a breakthrough. I know you're all tired. Take the day off tomorrow, rest up, and let's start fresh the day after tomorrow."

  There could be no doubt that the detectives' frustration was exacerbated by fatigue. The helpless sense that all their efforts had come to nothing was part of their collective mis
ery. Getting a day off now would be a welcome break not only for Takako but for everyone, she was sure. And when they came back to work, maybe there would be a clearer understanding of the connection between the two cases.

  But what if there isn't any connection? Then what? We'll have to keep going with the data we already have.

  The thing was to find someone who had benefited from Hara's death. Who would that be? The women in his life? A business rival? The husband of an older lover? But all of this had been gone over already. Without exception, the married women whom Hara—no, "Takuma Sugawara"—was involved with had managed with great adroitness to conceal the fact of his existence. None of them had loved him wholeheartedly. None of them had shed real tears.

  When you think about it, that's pretty sad. He was a pitiful man.

  Perhaps Hara himself was the one who'd been toyed with. After all this time, his body still lay unclaimed in the cold city morgue. What had his life amounted to, in the end?

  He was a fool. A foolish man.

  * * *

  She'd slept well, yet her eyelids were growing heavy again. Leaning back in the lone legless chair on the tatami floor, Takako took a deep breath. She wanted to clear her mind, think of nothing at all. Suddenly men came to mind.

  She remembered the man who had come on to her on the train several nights ago. In the end the little weasel didn't have the guts to follow her off the train. She thought of Takizawa, the emperor penguin. And then she thought of her ex-husband, who on being confronted with his infidelity had acted almost defiant, but never looked Takako in the eyes again. Unbelievably, when he realized the truth was out, he had blurted, "It's got nothing to do with you."

  Nothing to do with me? Then who was I supposed to be to him?

  "You call yourself a wife? Then why don't you try acting like one once in awhile?"

  Where was he now, what was he doing? She had never heard rumors of him setting up house with that other woman.

  Damn. She wanted to forget, but she couldn't keep the memories from flooding back. Takako opened her eyes. Wasting a perfectly good day off on thoughts like this was bad for her mental health. She'd be better off going back to bed and sleeping all day. Just then the phone rang. Headquarters? What now? She picked up the phone.

  "Takako?" It was her sister.

  "Tomoko, how are you?"

  "I'm OK. Did Mom leave you a message on your answering machine?"

  Takako had completely forgotten. She looked down at the telephone covered in dust and sighed. It suddenly occurred to her she wasn't so happy to hear the voice of her sister, who had been her closest friend during childhood. Instead of warmth and pleasure, what she felt was irritation.

  "Sorry, I've been really busy."

  "Yeah, I know. What about today? Are you on your way to work?"

  "I have the day off. Finally."

  She put deliberate extra stress on "finally," but the implication of that was totally missed by her sister. "Great! Perfect!" said Tomoko excitedly. Tomoko worked for a government agency, doing little more than pouring tea and making Xerox copies. "So, can I come see you? I'll come to your apartment after work tonight."

  "Um, sure. What's this all about?"

  "Before you talk to Mom, I want you to hear my side of things."

  * * *

  Takako wiped the dust off the telephone with the tip of a finger, thinking that she would have to get out the vacuum cleaner. Since the case began, she hadn't done a lick of housework. Even if it was her sister coming over, she couldn't let her see this place the way it was now.

  Boy, oh boy. Here goes.

  Getting up with a creak, feeling ancient, Takako sighed and looked around the room. Then she turned on her CD player for the first time in a while, and started to clean up. A detective needed to be tough and agile. And tenacious.

  A year ago, when she moved out of her old place, she left behind everything that might bring back memories of her husband. That meant leaving behind all but a few CDs. There were times when she regretted that decision, but she had done it for good reason. Now, she had an old Carpenters album on. These were songs that reminded her of her teenage years, long before she was married; they fell pleasantly on her ears and seeped into her heart. In those days, marriage and divorce alike had been just words.

  She cleared away the old newspapers and clothes lying around the room, as well as the empty bags of sweets and unopened junk mail, and then did a once-over with the vacuum cleaner. Before her sister came she'd run a load of laundry, go to the dry cleaner's, and do some ironing. She'd have to clean out the refrigerator, too; didn't want her sister to see the spoiled vegetables.

  As she was rushing around in jeans and a sweater, Takako was suddenly brought near tears. The song playing was "Yesterday Once More."

  8

  She'd just had a day off, but Takako hardly felt refreshed. Almost the opposite. Her sister came over after work, and they'd stayed up talking almost till dawn. Takako barely got a couple of hours of light sleep before it was time to get up for work.

  Some day off.

  So she wouldn't oversleep, Takako had stayed in the living room, dozing under the kotatsu, while her sister took the bed. As Takako was dressing, her sister awoke. "Are you leaving already?" Tomoko asked, her tone a little clingy.

  "Yes."

  "Sorry I kept you up all night."

  "What about you? Aren't you going to work?"

  "Not now. I'll take the day off."

  "Can you?"

  "It's nothing."

  Must be nice, thought Takako. As she completed her toilet, she looked over at her little sister; her unmade-up face was still youthful.

  "I'll leave you the spare key, so lock up when you leave. I'll get the key from you later."

  "You'll think over what we talked about, won't you, please?"

  Tomoko's grand idea was that she leave home and come live with Takako. At first she said she wanted to leave home because the commute from Saitama was so long and their aging father was getting increasingly irascible; but the main reason, it soon became clear, was that their parents had found out about the man Tomoko was seeing. Pouting, Tomoko said they'd hit the ceiling, and had even imposed a strict curfew.

  "Tomoko, you're twenty-seven years old! I can't believe Mom and Dad going ballistic about a boyfriend."

  Takako, the eldest of three daughters, had married at the age of twenty-six. The sister after her, now twenty-nine, was single still. Their parents had always told the daughters not to worry about their welfare, to go ahead and marry as they wished, so Takako couldn't understand why Tomoko having a boyfriend would upset them. As she asked more questions, the fuller picture emerged: Tomoko was seeing a married man. And her mother discovered the affair when she found the hospital bill for Tomoko's abortion.

  Tomoko!

  "Don't say anything. I know. I've been told over and over by Mom and Dad and Koko. But I couldn't help myself. I... love him. And I really trust him."

  Takako was astonished. She still thought of Tomoko as a child; she had never dreamed she was leading such a life. She stayed up almost the entire night listening to her sister talk. She promised herself she wouldn't get emotional, and yet she felt sick and disconsolate.

  "Please, Takako," her sister pleaded. "I'll do all the housework. I can pay part of the rent, too." Fully awake, Tomoko got up and followed Takako around the apartment like a puppy.

  "Forget it. How many times do I have to tell you? You may think that once you leave home you can see him all you want, but believe me, nothing good is going to come from a man like that."

  "Don't say that. I thought you'd understand. You're my only hope. And besides, he—"

  "Yes, I heard. He gave you his word, right? Please. I don't have time to be listening to this."

  "But you do understand, don't you?" Wearing Takako's pajamas, Tomoko padded around the apartment in her bare feet, pleading with Takako like a spoiled child. "Please."

  "Absolutely not. I'm calling Mom,
so go on home. Don't expect me to help you carry on an affair with a married man."

  Tomoko had screwed up her face like an infant, stamped the floor and yelled, "I won't go back!"

  My god. Involved with a married man. And an abortion, too.

  Whatever had become of the sunny, wholesome child her sister used to be? What had gotten into her? As the youngest, Tomoko had been indulged by their parents, raised with every opportunity, fun to be around; now, to Takako, she was a stranger, someone separated from her by a great divide. Think how it feels to be the woman whose husband you're stealing, she wanted to say. Although the man, of course, was at fault: He was a married man, but that didn't stop him from seducing a naive girl, getting her pregnant, then aborting the child. The whole thing was his fault. Totally his fault.