Shadows of Tokyo

by Matthew Legare

  “What is she doing here?”

  Ryusaki-sensei gave Reiko a once over. “She’s my alibi for tonight.” He turned back to Nakajima. “But she’s come to pray as well.”

  “Is that so?”

  Reiko gave a firm nod and bowed. “I have come to give thanks to the gods…and to you, Lieutenant.”

  The statement sounded hollow and forced but Nakajima savored every syllable. In time, her words would become genuine. When the New Japan came, Reiko Watanabe would be purged of her selfish individualism forever. Ah, if this creature of decadence could be turned into a true patriot and an honorable woman, then there truly was hope for the rest of the nation.

  *****

  Aizawa ground the Rolls-Royce to a halt at the bottom of Kudan Hill, gateway to the Yasukuni Shrine. A black sedan sat parked in front of the steps that led into the main entrance. Aizawa hopped out and drew his pistol, then inspected the other automobile. It was empty but there was a metal five-pointed star on the car’s grill, the symbol of the Imperial Army. Nakajima was still here.

  Aizawa swept his gaze to and fro as he passed underneath the main torii gate and into the shrine grounds. Nobody in sight, but a fresh track of footprints leading from the courtyard to the main shrine was cause for concern.

  Stone lanterns along the sides lit the way, stretching out his shadow across a thin carpet of snow. In the near distance stood the statue of Masujiro Omura, father of the Imperial Army, who seemed to stare at him with hostile accusation. How could he have forgotten? Passing underneath that torii gate had transported him into the Shinto pantheons. And here he was, brandishing a gun like some sort of bandit.

  It had been months since he’d visited any shrine, let alone Japan’s most sacred. But even he could feel the touch of the countless souls that rested here, all pointing the way out. Whatever crime had been committed, it didn’t give him the right to desecrate their resting place with an arrest.

  Aizawa retreated back through the courtyard and under the torii, returning to the land of mortals. He’d spring the trap here. Crouching behind the Army staff car, he peered out into the darkness, lighted only by the moon and two enormous stone lanterns that marked the entrance. He kept his pistol trained and waited. Frosted breath poured from his nostrils as he struggled to keep himself steady in the chilly night air. But a flood of images shook him; Sergeant Murayama dead, the Onishis dead, and General Sakamoto as the new shogun.

  The snow crunched as three figures came into view. Two massive stone lanterns at the entrance illuminated them enough to distinguish key features. Though he was dressed in a long blue overcoat and fedora, Masaru Ryusaki’s horn-rimmed glasses were an easy giveaway. But he couldn’t identify an extravagantly dressed woman on Ryusaki’s left. Attired in a dark brown uniform, peaked cap, and cape was Lieutenant Nakajima, walking alongside his sensei on the right as if he were departing for the Manchurian front.

  “Police!” Aizawa shouted, standing up.

  The three of them stood paralyzed with confused faces. Keeping the Colt automatic trained on them, Aizawa inched away from the staff car.

  “You’re all under arrest. Surrender and—”

  A flash of fire erupted and struck the car window beside him. With his pistol drawn, Lieutenant Nakajima took refuge behind one of the stone lanterns, while Ryusaki and the woman dashed off into the darkness.

  Aizawa ducked back behind the staff car’s hood and returned fire. Nakajima shot again, shattering what was left of the car’s passenger window. Aizawa took aim at his attacker and fired, only to miss and send a bullet whizzing into the snow.

  Another bout of gunfire erupted, tearing more holes into the staff car. This needed to end soon before a bullet found its way into the gas tank. But that stone lantern provided the Lieutenant with an excellent defense and one that wouldn’t explode any time soon.

  Suddenly, the shooting stopped and Nakajima shouted, “Don’t shoot! I’m coming out!”

  A strange turnabout, considering the Lieutenant had the advantage. Regardless, Nakajima soon stepped out from behind the stone lantern with his arms raised and the pistol holstered. The heavy saber jangled at his side.

  Aizawa gestured for the Lieutenant to put his hands on the bullet-riddled staff car. Nakajima nodded and obeyed. Aizawa shoved the Colt against the Lieutenant’s neck and disarmed him of his Nambu pistol and saber. After handcuffing Nakajima, Aizawa looked around for any trace of Ryusaki, but the coward and his little whore had melted away into the night.

  A good police officer always tempered his emotions, but rage seized Aizawa. He spun Nakajima around and slammed him up against the car. “By sunrise, I’m going to make you wish you had turned that gun on yourself.” In the moonlight, the red and yellow rank insignia gleamed on the Lieutenant’s shoulders. Nakajima gave no response except for a glassy-eyed stare, like a shark in an aquarium.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Aizawa kept a tight grip on Lieutenant Nakajima’s handcuffs as the elevator door opened, depositing them onto the second floor of Police Headquarters. Screams and shouts echoed throughout the halls, giving this murderer a sample of what awaited him. Aizawa shoved the Lieutenant into an empty interrogation room and released his grip. Losing his balance, Nakajima fell to his knees and struggled to upright himself.

  “Don’t bother,” Aizawa said with a right cross. Nakajima tumbled backward into a corner, wincing in pain. “That was for what you did back in Marunouchi. Now, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell me where Masaru Ryusaki has been living these past few months. If not, I’m going to beat your face into a bloody smear.”

  Nakajima looked up and gave a cold glare. Aizawa slammed a foot into his gut. The Lieutenant released a rush of air, but quickly recomposed himself.

  “I know that you were Ryusaki’s spy in the Army Ministry during the March Incident. I know General Sakamoto is behind this new plot to become shogun. And I know you killed Baron Onishi. As they say in baseball, three strikes and you’re out.”

  Nakajima lost no composure. “If you say so, Aizawa-zan.”

  Aizawa grabbed Nakajima’s collar and hoisted him up.

  “You’re from Tohoku, right?”

  The Lieutenant nodded.

  “What will happen to the Nakajima family when they read that their beloved son is on trial for assassinating a statesman?”

  Nakajima lifted his head. “When they realize it was Baron Onishi, the whole village will give my family a banzai cheer!”

  “And what about the families of those you murdered? Sergeant Murayama had a wife and children.”

  For a moment, the Lieutenant’s eyes softened with regret before hardening to stone. “Unfortunate casualties. Sometimes our airplanes bomb civilians in Manchuria.”

  Shame wasn’t working, so Aizawa landed another right cross and Nakajima collapsed on the floor. Aizawa followed up with more kicks to his gut and back, before grinding his heel against Nakajima’s cheek. Aside from stifled gasps, there was no sign of fatigue. The Lieutenant was like a samurai encased in invisible armor.

  A bright glare blinded Aizawa, but he felt his fists connect again and again with Nakajima. Across his cheeks, in his gut, and on his chin. Not just the Lieutenant, but his blows reached out and landed on General Sakamoto, on Superintendent Shimura, and on Masaru Ryusaki.

  A droning noise brought him back to the interrogation room and turned into the sound of deep breathing. Aizawa loosened his tie and sank to his knees in exhaustion. Anger was getting him nowhere. He needed to calm down before proceeding any further. Nakajima righted himself up and leaned against the wall. Blood trickled from his mouth and stained his uniform like crimson tears.

  “You can beat me all you like…but I will never betray my zensei.”

  Aizawa said nothing and took large gulps of air. With every breath, his temper began to cool.

  “Ah, the gods are kind,” Nakajima said, almost laughing. “They have given me the strength to defeat you.”

  �
�What are you talking about?” Aizawa snapped.

  “They aid those who are pure of heart.”

  “You’re pure?”

  Nakajima gave a sharp nod.

  “You’re a murderer,” Aizawa said.

  “And what are you?” Nakajima asked, seemingly staring straight through Aizawa and at the Emperor’s portrait, hanging across the room.

  “A man whose duty it is to catch murderers.”

  “No, you’re a mercenary for a corrupt government.”

  “And you’re not? I was in the Army too. A good soldier obeys orders no matter what.”

  “Only if the orders are pure. Ryusaki-zensei taught me that loyal insubordination is sometimes the only pure path to take. I was once like you, Inspector, a slave to the evil men who run the government,” Nakajima said, his eyes wide and inflamed. “But Ryusaki-zensei broke my chains. Only then could I see her…”

  “Who?”

  “My sister…Chitose Nakajima. Ah, I can see her ghost, standing in this very room. She tells me how pleased the gods are!”

  Aizawa believed in ghosts as much as anyone else, but something told him that Lieutenant Nakajima might spend the rest of his life in an insane asylum rather than prison.

  “Don’t you understand, Inspector? You’re a soldier too, carrying out your duty. But the gods do not want us to be enemies…let me show you the path toward purity and patriotism!”

  Aizawa grunted. “Well, I hope you’ll pray for me then.”

  A loud knock reverberated throughout the room.

  “Come in,” Aizawa said.

  A junsa entered and snapped to attention. “Inspector Aizawa, Superintendent Shimura wants to see you right away.”

  Aizawa stood and walked toward the door. “Watch him.”

  The junsa nodded.

  “Inspector,” Nakajima called out. “I will pray for you. A true patriot is trapped inside you. Let him out.”

  Aizawa sighed. At least someone was praying for him.

  *****

  Aizawa entered Superintendent Shimura’s office and stared straight into Masaru Ryusaki’s serpentine face. It had been the first time he’d seen him up close in months. Decked out in a fancy blue suit and red silk tie, he hadn’t changed since March. The bastard still radiated such arrogance it was almost toxic. But here he was, inside Metropolitan Police Headquarters. Had he actually turned himself in? Ryusaki stood in front of the Superintendent’s desk, holding his fedora with a taunting smirk. Aizawa fought an urge to pummel him then and there.

  Instead, he straightened up and said, “Masaru Ryusaki, you’re under arrest!”

  Ryusaki laughed and cocked his head. “On what charge?”

  “Murder. Conspiracy. Treason. I’m sure there are others that I missed,” Aizawa said, grabbing Ryusaki’s lapels.

  “Unhand him, Inspector,” Shimura said from behind his desk.

  “But, sir—”

  “That’s an order.”

  Aizawa released his grip but fixed Ryusaki with a penetrating stare.

  “Ryusaki-san isn’t under arrest. In fact, he is here to lodge a complaint.”

  For a moment, Aizawa lost his voice. “A complaint?”

  Shimura nodded. “He claims that you attacked his friend…a soldier.”

  Aizawa balled his hands into fists. “Lieutenant Nakajima assassinated Baron Onishi. He also killed the Baron’s wife and Sergeant Murayama.”

  “Yes, I heard about that,” Shimura said. “I didn’t order Murayama to guard Baron Onishi. Why was he there?”

  Aizawa swallowed hard. “On my orders. I didn’t want to leave the Baron alone.”

  Superintendent Shimura’s eyes narrowed behind his thick glasses. “We will discuss that later. But for now, you are to explain your actions outside of the Yasukuni Shrine.”

  “My actions?”

  Ryusaki cut in with a sharp laugh. “Don’t you remember how you attacked us, Inspector?”

  “That’s a lie,” Aizawa said, slamming a fist on Shimura’s desk.

  “It’s the truth,” a low, female voice interrupted.

  For the first time, Aizawa noticed that woman from Yasukuni, standing off to the corner. He’d been so fixated on that crafty spider Masaru Ryusaki, he hadn’t even noticed his little whore. She was pretty and with bobbed hair, eye shadow, and lipstick, the woman looked like a moga, a modern girl. Before the depression, mogas were a common fantasy. But nowadays they looked more like spoiled children playing dress up and cheap Japanese imitations of the American flappers.

  “This is Reiko Watanabe…Ryusaki-san’s…associate. Watanabe-san,” Shimura said, beckoning her over. “Please tell us what happened.”

  The moga stepped forward but kept her eyes lowered. “Lieutenant Nakajima is about to ship out to Manchuria…so we decided to pray for him at the Yasukuni Shrine. As we were leaving, Inspector Aizawa confronted us …” Watanabe trailed off with a pitiful sob. Then, she lifted her head and stared back at him with bleary eyes. “Nakajima-san only drew his weapon after…after Inspector Aizawa began shooting at us!”

  Aizawa stood in silence for several moments, letting each word sink in. He disregarded what Watanabe had actually said and scrutinized that husky voice of hers.

  He’d found his mysterious informant at last.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Suddenly, Aizawa felt like a soldier marching across a minefield. One misstep would explode in his face. If he confronted Watanabe about the anonymous phone calls, she’d deny everything. Even worse, Ryusaki would realize her betrayal and see to it that she wouldn’t survive the night. But he couldn’t let her lies go unchallenged.

  “Those are Ryusaki’s words,” he growled. “Not yours.”

  Watanabe stepped back and gave an offended look. “You shoot at us…try and frame Masaru for murder…and now you accuse me of lying?”

  “What do you mean Watanabe-san?” Shimura asked.

  “Just what I said, Superintendent. Inspector Aizawa has been harassing Masaru for months even though he’s no longer active in politics.” Reiko Watanabe’s face burned with the passion of an animal defending its home. “Superintendent Shimura, you said a politician was just assassinated…the Inspector must be trying to frame Masaru out of spite!”

  Aizawa couldn’t help but be impressed. If he didn’t recognize her voice, the theatrics might have fooled him. However, Superintendent Shimura nodded along as if hypnotized.

  “And you can testify to his whereabouts, Watanabe-san?”

  She nodded with enthusiasm. “Yes! I’ve been with them both for the past day. They were nowhere near this Baron Onishi.”

  “Watanabe-san speaks with the sincerity that only a woman can,” Ryusaki cut in from behind her. “I suspect that Inspector Aizawa is unable to solve this case, so he chose to frame me for the Baron’s assassination. There are many patriotic societies in Tokyo that could have killed him for his slanderous remarks against the Imperial Army.”

  “Do you have any idea who?” Shimura asked.

  “No,” Ryusaki said. “But I will gladly keep you informed if I hear anything.”

  “Thank you, Ryusaki-san. I’m sure Inspector Aizawa will appreciate your assistance.”

  Aizawa blinked in numb silence. He knew that Shimura sympathized with the Kusanagi Society, but it seemed impossible that he would actually ignore his duty as a police officer after everything that had happened. Masaru Ryusaki would escape again…only this time he’d leave a trail of blood behind him. It became harder to breathe, as if the office had filled with toxic fumes and Aizawa was the only one without a gas mask.

  A loud knock on the door rang out.

  “Enter,” Shimura said.

  Three more figures crammed themselves into the tightening office. They were all soldiers, uniformed in the same shade of dark brown as Lieutenant Nakajima, but with black collar patches instead of red. Two imposing sergeants wore white armbands with red kanji characters that read ‘Law Soldier’. The officer leading them had
no armband but his suspicious eyes behind oval-shaped glasses were ominous enough. They were from the Kempeitai, the Military Police.

  “Superintendent Shimura?” the officer asked.

  Shimura stood and snapped a salute. The officer clicked his heels.

  “Major Takumi Hatsu, Kempeitai. We’ve been informed that you’re holding an Army officer prisoner. Second Lieutenant Hajime Nakajima. Please release him into our custody.”

  “How did you—” Aizawa began but Shimura cut him off.

  “When Ryusaki-san told me about what happened at Yasukuni, I contacted the Kempeitai. You should know that military personnel are outside of our jurisdiction.”

  Aizawa bit his lip. No wonder Nakajima had surrendered so quickly. He must have received assurances from Ryusaki and Sakamoto that even if he were arrested, he’d be a free man by morning. Like a fool, Aizawa had played right into their hands.

  No, these kempei wouldn’t win without a fight. Too much had happened for him to submit quietly. A fire rose in Aizawa’s stomach and leaped out of his throat.

  “Superintendent, if we turn Lieutenant Nakajima over to them, he’ll never face justice!”

  Major Hatsu’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “How dare you? The Metropolitan Police has no authority over an Imperial soldier!”

  “And the Kempeitai has no jurisdiction over the Metropolitan Police!” Aizawa bypassed Hatsu and leaned over Shimura’s desk. “Superintendent, are we unable to stop a murderer because he wears the Army uniform? The pride of the Metropolitan Police is on the line!”

  Superintendent Shimura said nothing, keeping his gaze low and defeated.

  “You challenge the authority of the Imperial Army?” Major Hatsu demanded.

  Aizawa straightened back up and glared at the three kempei. “If you try and take Nakajima, then I’ll throw you in jail with him.”

  A heavy silence smothered the room. Ryusaki and Watanabe backed away in stunned silence. The three kempei didn’t speak, but behind his glasses, Major Hatsu’s eyes boiled in fury.