by Asa Nonami
"What would you say if we released your daughter from the hospital sometime soon?" Funatsu broached the topic that had been on his mind.
Emiko's father stared at him in surprise. "Would it be all right?"
Consternation rather than joy. Well, that was certainly understandable. "I've noticed that her spirits improve considerably when she's with Gale, which makes me think she might be better off at home. Her symptoms aren't going to show much improvement down the years, and it's still impossible for her to focus on one task for very long. But seeing that you live alone, I can appreciate that it wouldn't be easy."
At this, the man sighed deeply.
"Of course, it wouldn't have to be right away," continued Funatsu. "You have your own matters to attend to, I'm sure, and I'm certainly not suggesting that we're anxious to turn her out—nothing of the kind. But if she herself wanted it, and if there was no likelihood that she would create more problems than she does now, I'd like to see her have a chance to get out and breathe the fresh air more often."
"But she can't even be transferred to an open ward."
"That's because she runs away; she says she wants to see Gale."
The father was silent.
"If she were with Gale, she'd have no reason to run away. I'm sure she hasn't the slightest desire now to go back to her old way of life, you can be sure of that."
The father's expression remained clouded with doubt. The sound of Emiko's laughter came to their ears. They turned to see her in the act of tossing the ball, her movements unsteady. Facing Emiko, who was obviously wobbly on her feet, the bundle of gray fur eagerly wagging his tail did indeed look like her bodyguard. No matter how erratically she threw the ball, Gale would make one of his magnificent leaps into the air, bound after it, catch it in the twinkling of an eye, and return it to her. Even when the nurses called out to him or pet him on the back, Gale seemed to see no one but Emiko. Yet, at the same time, Funatsu could sense the animal retained close attention to his master's presence.
"I find it amazing that they get along so well when they see each other so rarely," he commented.
"Gale has a strong sense of responsibility. He's made up his mind that it's his job to protect Emiko. When we are alone at home, we're just a couple of carefree bachelors, but whenever she comes home for a visit, the way I see it, that dog does everything he can to be good to her."
The words were full of praise, and yet the man's tanned, leathery profile appeared sorrowful and bleak. Funatsu nodded and said, "I see." For some reason, he, too, felt a twinge of sorrow.
"No, no, Emi, stop that!"
"Emi, you mustn't hurt Gale!"
Suddenly they heard the nurses shouting. Funatsu turned to see Emiko standing firm with her legs apart, the ball under one arm, the other arm holding on to Gale's ear.
"Emi, that hurts poor Gale. Let go!"
Emiko was probably pinching the animal's ear. Funatsu glanced over at the figure beside him, but the girl's father remained calm, watching the scene without comment. Gale made no sound. Before long, as Funatsu watched, the girl put her arms around Gale and hugged him, then toppled over on the ground still clutching him. Even after she had pushed him over with her arms wound tightly around his neck, Gale's tail, the long-haired fur shading subtly from black to gray, kept on slowly wagging.
Funatsu could not keep back a cry of admiration: "They completely trust each other."
This was evident. Someone watching this might think Emiko was treating the dog with deliberate malice, but then the dog seemed also to be enjoying it. It was as if Gale asked for no greater happiness on earth than to accept Emiko's whole being with his whole being.
"As long as that dog is around, it seems to me she'd do OK, even out of the hospital," said Funatsu, returning to the topic.
The father's expression remained dubious. "But I have to go to work in the daytime, and—"
"No need to decide right here and now. Why not just give it some thought?"
Somewhat stiffly, the man nodded and said, "I'll do that." Then, turning toward the playground, he called out, "Come!" The wolf-dog, who until that instant had seemed thoroughly focused on Emiko, now snapped his head and began running toward his master at full tilt. He flew over the ground with such intensity and drive that if Funatsu hadn't known better, he would have thought the wolf-dog was coming in for the kill. But the moment Gale reached his master, he sat down in front of him, wagging his tail.
"Dad, are we going home now?"
"Yes, we are, we're going home!"
"Emiko's going, too!"
The twenty-six-year-old Emiko had evidently bathed yesterday, as instructed by Funatsu. Her hair neatly combed and bound in a pink rubber band, she came running back happily, if unsteadily. Yellow cardigan, green plaid skirt. Everything she owned had been purchased by her father.
"Say goodbye to the doctor. Tell him we'll be back next week." As her father said this, Emiko turned to Funatsu and bowed her head again and again, persistently. All the while, Gale watched them silently, lying down. When the back of the station wagon was opened, he quietly scooted into the car without being told.
"Call me if anything comes up," said Funatsu, after they were both buckled up. The father smiled and Emiko said brightly, "OK!" in a tone suggesting that nothing could ever go wrong.
"Bye-bye, Gale! See you!" the nurses, standing together, called out to the gray dog, whose face poked between the seats. Emiko was all smiles. The car started off.
"Brr, it's cold," said Funatsu. "Let's go back in."
Spring was supposedly just around the corner; yet as the sun now clouded over, the group found themselves standing in a chill. The car rolled out the hospital gates and disappeared from view. Funatsu leaned his face down to blow warm air on his cold hands, and caught a whiff of dried grass and fur. The smell of that big, goodhearted wolf-dog with fur like a winter cloud.
What a splendid dog, thought Funatsu, as he stuck the hands still smelling of Gale back into his pockets. Then, grabbing on to the bunch of keys by force of habit, he went back into the building.
4
On the night of the third day since they'd begun making the rounds of police dog training centers, having spent the entire day going to centers in Kanagawa Prefecture, Takako and Takizawa returned to headquarters with little to show for their efforts. The farther away the places they visited, the longer it took just to get there and back. It couldn't be helped, but it made them feel less efficient. Lit up by whitish fluorescent lights, headquarters was enshrouded in cigarette smoke and tired sighs. Always drab, tonight the place seemed positively unwholesome.
Tedious tension.
To tell the truth, as the case dragged on, something of that nature was building up inside Takako. She was definitely keyed up. The situation allowed for not a moment's delay. The police had announced that Kazuki Horikawa and Chieko Yoshii had been attacked by the same large canine, but word that the two victims had known each other and that their assailant was a wolf-dog was being withheld. But the media were doing their own investigations day by day, and writing up all sorts of supposition and rumor. They had fallen silent about the "Tachikawa timed combustion belt homicide case," preferring to write about what had been dubbed the "killer dog case." In response, there had been a flood of reports from the citizenry, and the phones at headquarters were ringing off the hook:
"Lately there's been a stray dog in our neighborhood."
"The neighbor's dog keeps running away."
"A friend of mine took a circular to someone's house in the neighborhood, and got bitten by the dog there."
"I saw a dog walking around with a bloody piece of meat in its mouth."
"At a house nearby there always used to be a big dog, but now all of a sudden it's gone. I bet they abandoned it somewhere."
And so on and so on.
Every tip had to be followed up on. But the connection never panned out. All they had to do was ask one question: what kind of dog is it? A collie. Nope. A bulld
og. Nope. A mutt. Certainly not.
How long would she have to go on subjecting herself to this tension? Where would it get her in the end, walking around strange neighborhoods with a partner who might be her ally but would never be her comrade? Even now, over and over again, her imagination was filled with nothing but pictures of the wolf-dog racing through the night. Ever faster, ever silently, and in the end, striking with violence.
Detectives, working to finding the wolf-dog's owner, had told her about the various wolf-dogs they had come across: power, presence, and beauty; sensitivity, timidity, fear of strangers, and nervousness; highly individual temperaments—melancholy, stubborn, tolerant, amiable. Wolf-dogs were as varied in personality as humans, it seemed, and just as individualistic. Some were friendly, while others hung back shivering and wouldn't come out of their doghouses; others only gave the investigators judicious looks. What about the wretched wolf-dog that had been forced to kill two people in accordance with its master's command—what sort of character did it have? Perhaps they should be thinking of it less as a dog and more as a being with a personality of its own; perhaps they should be trying to analyze that personality.
It seemed a long time ago that the brass had verified with Takako her status as a lizard. A motorcycle cop who pursued suspects by stealth, blending into the darkness, hiding her identity, trailing after them like a shadow. What good was that now? These days she was more like a newt, crawling around on her belly.
A police officer couldn't fear fool's errands, had to have the patience and tenacity to keep doing the same thing over and over without complaint; this she knew perfectly well. All the same, she couldn't help feeling a certain uselessness, that all her patience and tenacity were getting her nowhere. Her powers of concentration could not hold up forever either. Just keep your eye on the ball and keep moving in that direction, people said—but the ball itself was increasingly out of focus.
As she was slowly preparing to write up the daily report, sighing, a man came bounding into headquarters and called Takizawa's name in such a loud voice that everyone turned to look. The head of the wolf-dog unit, whose name was Umemoto, came hurrying over with great strides.
"That was a great lead you gave us!" he exclaimed.
"Huh? What was?" drawled Takizawa.
Takizawa truly disliked dogs, it seemed. Ever since they'd started visiting canine training facilities, he'd begun to look drained. He could hardly manage to answer when Takako spoke to him, let alone zing her with his usual snide comment. As he followed Takako around, he seemed less fed up with the investigation than barely able to hang on. Back at headquarters, there was none of his old arrogant insistence on writing up the reports himself. Just now, he had been sitting with a lit cigarette between his fingers, letting the ash grow long, his mouth hanging open as he stared up blankly at the ceiling; then, hearing Umemoto call his name, he turned around with a dull expression on his face.
"We found him, just like you said," said Umemoto excitedly. "There's a former member of the Yamanashi Prefectural Police Department, somebody from the Identification Division, who owns a wolf-dog. He was in charge of training police dogs, too."
Takako's mind had until then been foggy and vague; she hadn't been able to think of a way to start writing the report. Now she was all focused attention. She twisted around in her seat to look at Umemoto. With a smile like that of a neighborhood grocer, businesslike yet friendly in an unpretentious way, he nodded at her. The other members of the wolf-dog unit were also there, crowding around.
"We had a tough time finding him, though. His name wasn't even on that list you got from the importer. He bought a pup that was born in Japan. Not directly from the owner, but through an intermediary. We might never have found him. It just happened by coincidence."
Umemoto, who was in his forties, was a personable, round-faced little man. Having delivered that announcement, he licked his chapped lips and took a deep breath. Umemoto's partner, an officer about Takako's age, now added, "The intermediary was a breeder. Of other dogs."
Umemoto nodded his head in agreement.
"That kind," said his partner. "You know."
"Huskies."
"Right. Siberian huskies."
They seemed in perfect tune, almost able to read one another's thoughts. Both were tanned, with deep crow's feet, with a similar aura. Ideal partners. Takizawa urged them to get on with the story, and Umemoto bit and pulled his lower lip expressively, nodding to himself and saying, "Well." A dimple appeared in one cheek.
"It was awfully suspicious. This guy—name of Katsuhiro Takagi—left the Yamanashi Prefectural PD twelve years ago as a sergeant. Where he went after that, no one seems to know. Officially he retired for personal reasons, but Yamanashi PD said it was due to an illness in the family."
That in itself was not implausible. Twelve years ago was a good long time, too. Still, Takako was shocked to hear that a retired police officer was among the wolf-dog owners in the area. The sense that this might be it, the joy at a potential breakthrough, was swamped by other feelings.
"Yes, and besides . . ." Takako had said the words aloud without meaning to, which caused everyone to look at her. She went on: ". . . twelve years would match the time when Hara and the others were living it up together."
Several detectives nodded in agreement. With slowly mounting tension, Takako forced herself to think hard. Roppongi nights. Kids wandering around, out on the town. A retired police officer. Revenge, revenge ...
"Yamanashi PD say he was one of their top handlers," Umemoto picked up the thread again. "We haven't heard anything more yet. But this broker says he sold Takagi a male wolf-dog pup about three years ago. Takagi never said anything about his job—never gave any indication he'd been a cop—but he did say he knew how to train the dog himself." Umemoto was excited and triumphant at all this. But Katsuhiro Takagi's name was new; they would now have to dig around to find him.
"How come nobody knows where he is?"
"When he worked as a cop, he lived in a little house in Kofu with a wife and three children. Right after quitting the force, he left there. We have yet to find anybody who knows where he went after that. When he bought the wolf-dog three years ago, he said he was living in Fujino, in Kanagawa Prefecture. But the broker said he had no contact with him after that."
"Fujino? Out by Lake Sagami?" Takizawa asked.
Umemoto nodded, excited still.
"How old is this Takagi?"
"He was just forty when he quit the Yamanashi PD, which would make him fifty-one, fifty-two now."
"Give or take," chimed in the partner.
Takako could not feel very optimistic. She wondered what sort of life a man would lead after leaving the police force at age forty. For an ordinary salaryman, changing careers at that age involved considerable hardship. It would have to be even more wrenching for a cop, although some were able to pull off the transition by capitalizing on police-related skills. A cop who'd been assigned to fight organized crime, for example, might take a job as bodyguard or bouncer, while a cop with accounting skills who'd been working on intellectual crime might become a broker or something similar. Such cases were not so unusual.
Takizawa's face had regained some of its old animation. "You never know, you never know. Maybe he's our guy. I have a feeling he's our guy."
Deep down, Takako felt more relief that Takizawa was looking and sounding like his old self than she did that a suspect had finally emerged in the investigation. Then she caught herself. Yuck. Heaven help me. Why should I care if this papa penguin feels better?
"We never would have found him if you two hadn't gone around to the Police Canine Association and the importer. That list did the trick."
"In that case," Takizawa replied, "the credit goes to Otomichi. She's dedicated when it comes to wolf-dogs." Takizawa said this with a smile that seemed not so very ironic. Caught off guard by the praise, Takako was not sure how to react, and just smiled vaguely.
Then from behind th
em came a purposely loud voice, sighing theatrically. "Must be nice. Some guys get all the breaks!"
The investigators, who were gathered around Takako and Takizawa, all swung their heads in that direction. Members of the chemical unit and the incendiary device unit were also gathered together, looking over at the wolf-dog unit with melancholy expressions.
"What's the matter, no results yet?" Umemoto said sociably.
The man sitting back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head, stretching, spoke up. "You got that right. Day after frigging day. Hey, Otomichi."
An officer about Takizawa's age whom she had never before spoken to, with oddly pale skin and eyes shaped like persimmon seeds, was looking right at her. "Urn, yes?" she said.