by Asa Nonami
It was enough to break your heart. The record of a cop's disintegration, the picture of slow degradation. The more you blamed someone else, the more it only came back to haunt you. You ground yourself to bits working for your family and for justice, and in the end what did you have to show for it? Content like this he would rather hear presented like business, thought Takizawa; lose the drama.
"His ex-wife, Akiko, is a rather tall woman with fair skin, and seems to have a quiet personality—"
"That's enough. We're not finished with your report, and already it's turned dark," said Wakita with a wry grin. None of the detectives felt like looking the others in the face. Awkward laughter rippled around the room as everyone had the same thought: Man, that could be me!
Takizawa had been hearing that the job of a police dog handler was not something you were fit for if you thought of it only as a job. You had to raise the dogs from the time they were pups, literally eating and sleeping with them. Three hundred sixty-five days a year, holidays and all, you had to be around the kennel, dispensing affection and discipline, putting the dogs through training. It was rewarding work for anyone who loved animals, but those with families paid a stiff price: you had to give up family trips as an impossible dream; you had to worry about the dogs more than about your own kids; you had to memorize each dog's personality and quirks.
It wasn't hard to imagine how much passion Kasahara poured into the job of handler, a man who was a hard worker to begin with and not very sociable. Nor was it hard to visualize the resulting pattern of a child in the neglected family building up resentment and ultimately losing her way, taking the wrong path.
"The report on Emiko Takagi is about ready, too, isn't it?"
Thus encouraged by Chief Wakita, another detective got up. He was a kid of twenty-six or seven, with a dismal look on his face before he ever said a word. "My partner Officer Takeuchi has laryngitis, so I'm going to make the report instead of him."
Good grief. Here it was time to go capture the suspect, and the atmosphere at headquarters was getting downright depressing. Takizawa took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and folded his arms. He thought of Takagi— even though the guy's name now was Kasahara, Takagi was the name he had responded to—as he had last seen him in the ICU. As soon as he came to, he was searching the room for someone; Takizawa couldn't forget the look in those eyes.
"Officer Takeuchi and I went to a hospital in, um, Ogose, in Saitama. The hospital where Emiko Takagi was. It's a ... a mental hospital."
In striking contrast to Tada's smoothness, this guy spoke haltingly, nervously. At the words "mental hospital" Takizawa could not keep his mood from getting gloomier, although he'd known this fact before. Kasahara's eyes, the burned house, the empty dog cage—the face of his partner as she handed him her umbrella in the snow.
"Emiko was in the hospital there for more than eight years. Before that she'd spent time in several other hospitals. The diagnosis was always the same—mental illness caused by chronic dependency on stimulant drugs. When she was seventeen—when she came to the present hospital—her face was white as a sheet and she was completely delusional, totally ... unable to respond to doctors' questions."
By putting together her medical records from the other hospitals, accounts from her family members, and things that Emiko herself told them, little by little personnel at the Ogose hospital were able to establish that she started sniffing thinner when she was thirteen. At first she tried it for kicks, but after a time she lost interest in school and stayed shut up in her room. In the beginning her mother concealed what was going on, not wanting the father to know. After a while Emiko stopped going out in the daytime, out of fear of being seen by schoolmates, and would only go out at night, to convenience stores and other places where she made new friends with people not from her school. She first spent the night away from home because she stayed late at a friend's house and it was too much trouble to go home; but the next day when she got home, her father found out what happened and gave her a severe tongue-lashing.
"As if to pay her parents back for that, she stayed out again, and was hauled home and scolded again. This went on for some time, and Emiko's delinquency got worse."
Finally, one day, she ran away to Tokyo. She wandered around with no idea where to go, and eventually met a young man.
"He took her to a disco, and that night he put her up in his apartment and they sniffed thinner together. But the next day a woman came to the apartment and threw a fit when she saw Emiko, so Emiko got scared and ran away."
Children roaming the city that never sleeps. They were a dime a dozen, even now. To Takizawa and the others it was pretty clear where they were headed; the kids flew around like moths to a flame, until one day they grew dizzy and, just like that, got sucked in.
As generally happened, Emiko progressed from thinner to speed, shabu. By the time she'd been away from home for three months, she was a full-fledged addict and had even moved on to prostitution to support her habit.
"When she was brought to the hospital, Emiko was infected with gonorrhea; she was also pregnant. She didn't know she was pregnant, and soon after arriving, she had a miscarriage."
Takizawa slowly opened his eyes. An oppressive quiet reigned in this large room. After this he would have to go see Kasahara again, an almost unbearable thought. It probably wasn't so wild a guess that the guy who introduced Emiko to speed was Teruo Hara.
"This contradicts the earlier report, but from what we learned at the mental hospital, Emiko's mother became hysterical in front of the doctors and nurses, accusing the father, telling him it was all his fault, everything that happened to Emiko."
Kasahara then disappeared from Kofu. But he went to see his daughter in the hospital two or three times a month, without fail. Her mother and siblings never went once. Then around four years ago when Emiko's symptoms started to stabilize, her father applied for permission for her to spend nights away from the hospital periodically. He would pick times when she was doing well to bring her home, first one night at a time, then gradually for longer periods.
"They couldn't tell us anything about Emiko's personality or her feelings for her father before her addiction. But she came to live for these visits home. She'd tell the doctors and the other patients, 'There's a big dog in my house,' or T want to go home and play with Gale.' She was extremely childish, probably an effect of the shabu. In many ways, she never left the mental age of a middle school student."
Takizawa could hardly breathe.
By the time father and daughter were reconciled, she was no longer herself. Most of her life was wasted in rebellion against her father and addiction to speed; and in the end, she died in flames. It really was like Tada said: the name Emiko, "laughing child," was painfully ironic.
To Takizawa, Kasahara's motive was all too understandable. But the law didn't allow vendettas. The goddamned fool. He'd gone and let loose that wolf-dog, too. A living lethal weapon. If they didn't capture that dog, then even if Masanori Ogawa was their other suspect and they managed to arrest him, they still couldn't quit. Takizawa felt a hot lump rise in the back of his throat, and quickly swallowed. He took a deep breath. If he could, he sure would like to toss down a quick one before going to see Kasahara again.
Four
1
It was morning two days later, and most of the snow that had blanketed Tokyo in white was gone without a trace. Like the day before, and the day before that, Takako and Takizawa were on their way to visit Kasahara in the hospital when the radio in the patrol car rang. Takako picked it up for Takizawa, who was driving, and heard a woman's voice say, "There was a call for you, Officer Otomichi, on an outside line."
"An outside line?"
"It was your mother. I told her you'd call her right back."
This voice doubtless belonged to the policewoman who was the lone female on the desk staff. Partly because they were both so busy, their paths rarely crossed, and even though they were the only two women around, until now they
had barely spoken. Thanking her politely, Takako hung up. What could her mother want at a time like this, she wondered, irritated. Then she realized that her family had never before called her at work, and her mind flooded with awful premonitions. Was it an accident? Illness? A fire? What's happened?
"What was that all about?" asked Takizawa, his glance flickering her way. The swelling in his face had clearly subsided from two days before; only the bruises remained.
"A personal call."
"Oh, a personal call," he rejoined with ironic displeasure. But Takako kept her eyes straight ahead. She didn't want him seeing the anxiety she felt. Besides, she had no idea yet what the trouble might be. And anyway, at a time like this she could not just drop everything and run home, no matter what the problem was. From Takizawa came a gruff snort. Perhaps her reply had been too abrupt.
"It was from my mother."
"Your mother? What does she want?"
"I don't know. I'll call her back later."
This time Takizawa nodded with a trace of satisfaction. "We'll be at the hospital soon," he said. "Where do your folks live?"
"In Urawa. They were originally from the older section of Tokyo, but they moved a few years ago."
"Urawa. That's not so far away, if you needed to go."
Takako answered noncommittally, knowing that even if it did come to that, it was unlikely she could. Her mother was as aware of this as anybody, and still she had called. This was no casual dinner invitation, no reminder of an upcoming class reunion. She began to feel jittery. Really, Mom, not now. This is not the time to burden me with some family difficulty. All I can think of now is Gale. I have to find a wolf-dog, who could be anywhere, and catch him before they shoot him to death. That's all I want to focus on now.
When they got to the hospital, Takako stepped aside and phoned home. To her surprise it was her father's voice that came on the line: "Takako, is that you?" Two days before, nothing but a gray blur of falling snow had been visible from the window in the smoking corner; today she could see piercingly blue sky. She wished Takizawa would go on ahead to Kasahara's room, but instead he was here puffing away, waiting for her to finish her call.
"Are you busy?"
"Yeah, pretty busy. I got a message somebody called."
"Oh, it must have been your mother."
Her father's voice sounded no different. He was usually reticent, rarely chatting with his daughters, but the fact that he was home on a weekday morning raised a red flag.
"Is Mom there?"
Instead of answering, her father sighed, and then murmured, "Ah. Busy, huh?" Speaking in a louder voice, he continued, "She probably wanted you to come home."
"What's going on? Did something happen to Mom?" Without meaning to, she let a note of exasperation creep into her voice.
"Nope," said her father, and sighed again. "Not to her." Takako was about to ask, "Then who?" when her father said, "It's Tomoko. She took some pills."
"Pills?" In that moment, Takako felt all her blood congeal. Oh god, she didn't want to hear this. She couldn't deal with it now. "How is she?"
"This morning she was late getting up so Koko went to wake her, and found a bottle of pills lying by the bed."
The investigation was nearing its climax. Everyone expected things to come to a head in the next day or two, and despite near exhaustion, they were spurring themselves on. Thinking only of the pleasure of toasting each other once the case was solved, they had been out till late last night, slipping and sliding on frozen snow, and up again early this morning. The chemical unit, which had little to show for their previous efforts, were especially fired up. Right about now they would be piling into the house of Masanori Ogawa's in Tokorozawa.
"Is she all right?"
"Yes, for now. Her life isn't in danger."
At this reply, Takako's heart, which had felt as if someone had grabbed hold of it, resumed beating at a furious pace. "Why?" she said under her breath, and felt a wave of anger rise from the pit of her stomach. Why now, of all times, did her sister have to pull a stunt like this?
"We were afraid she might try something like this. She'd been acting strange the last couple of days."
"Well, anyway, she's in the hospital now, right?"
"Yes. Your mother and Koko are staying with her. Koko's taking it all right, but your mother is a nervous wreck. That's probably why she called you."
Takako felt the strength drain from her shoulders. Her mother's condition weighed on her mind. She thought of the woman who had stood rooted in front of the ICU, out of her mind with worry, the first day Kasahara was in the hospital. What happened to her, that woman who was whispering the words "please, dear god" over and over again? What became of the patient?
"I wish I could go to see her, too, but I can't, not right away. We don't have any time off."
When Takako said this, her father answered, "We know." After the two nights she'd spent in Takako's apartment, Tomoko had gone back home with some embarrassment, and evidently reported how busy she was. Tomoko sounded worried about her health, her father said.
"If she was that worried about me, why would she do such a thing to herself?"
"I don't know. You heard what the problem was, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did. But she didn't seem to be taking it all that hard. I mean, I thought she seemed kind of happy-go-lucky. The things she said sounded awfully childish to me."
"That's why she thought of doing a thing like this—because she is childish!"
For the first time, there was anger in her father's voice. Takako thought of the time when she had told her father she wanted a divorce. Then, too, he had taken the news with perfect calm, listening to her without getting emotional. "Is the marriage unendurable?" he had asked; when she answered, he said, "Then it can't be helped." Finally he had said caustically, "Just forget it ever happened." Only then did she realize what she had done to him. Feelings of a father of three daughters toward his only son-in-law, feelings aroused by her news, were contained in the loneliness of his retreating figure.
"So tell me," said Takako, lowering her voice, as Takizawa stood innocently at a nearby window, "did you find anything like a note? "
"No. I took a look around, but there wasn't anything like that. The room was the usual mess."
"Well then, you don't know if she really meant to kill herself."
"Yes, but—well, never mind. We'll take care of it. Your work is more important." He told her to look after herself, and to focus on work without worrying about Tomoko or her mother, because he and Koko were there.
"As soon as I can, I'll come home," Takako promised before hanging up with a heavy heart. She was so mad she could hardly see straight. She walked over to Takizawa, thinking her sister was the worst little troublemaker imaginable.
"Are you ready?" Takizawa asked flatly. Takako nodded silently. "Then let's get to work." He started down the hall, his paunch leading the way. "Life's full of surprises," he said.
Takako studied Takizawa's head, the scant oily hair plastered down; he had been listening, after all. In her mind she was still irritated with her sister. "That little fool," Takako grumbled. A picture of her came to mind: wearing Takako's pajamas, stomping her foot like a spoiled child. But Tomoko had also bought fever-reducing gel for Takako that night, and had prepared a curry dinner for her; she had always been Takako's baby sister, someone with whom she had felt a bond. Yet that same Tomoko had fallen in love with a married man, gotten an abortion, and now, to top it off, had overdosed on sleeping pills.
If Tomoko were a stranger, Takako would be tempted to say, "If you want to die, suit yourself." But her sister, she knew, had no idea how much trouble and anguish she would cause, how far from romantic and beautiful such a death would be. If her death were ruled not to be due to natural causes, her body would be stripped naked and handled by strangers, subjected to an autopsy, treated like an inanimate object. This reality was beyond Tomoko's imagination. God, what a little fool she was. Takako felt li
ke heading right over and slapping her face. But since Tomoko was going to be all right, maybe she had better let it go? Hold her hand, smile, say, Glad you're fine.
Today, any hand-holding she did was going to be with someone else. Takako slipped into a sterile gown, went into the ICU, and sat with Takizawa beside the suspect's bed. She held the hand of this man destined to be carried off to prison as soon as his injuries healed sufficiently. He was out of the worst danger, but his fever was still high, his consciousness dim.
"Kasahara, how're you doing?" said Takizawa. "Do you know me? Can you hear me, Kasahara?"
They were allowed fifteen minutes at a stretch. From beginning to end, Takizawa spoke to Kasahara incessantly, and Takako held his hand. After Takizawa called his name repeatedly, finally Kasahara's eyelids opened and his eyes looked dully out at them. When he recognized their faces, he slowly squeezed Takako's hand.