Puppet Master vol.1

by Miyuki Miyabe

  　Captain Kanzaki had called together all the investigation team members that happened to be on hand for a special meeting. “But why would anyone want to move the thing?” he asked.

  　None of the five or six officers gathered there said anything. Rather they looked mystified. What was this all about?

  　“There is a reason,” Takegami said. “And it was probably our guy who did it.” Someone sniggered.

  　“Why would he do that?”

  　“In order to have it photographed.”

  　“Photographed? You mean by that amateur photographer?”

  　“That's right. That photographer was always taking pictures in the park. He must have known that. And so he decided to have a bit of fun.”

  　Captain Kanzaki's graying eyebrows came together in a frown. “What are you talking about?”

  　“To put it bluntly, Captain, we've been taken for a ride.”

  　“By who?”

  　“By the culprit.” Takegami tapped the photograph on the desk. “The son of a bitch deliberately moved it so it would be in the photographer's shot. Then he got one of the homeless guys─probably paid him─to throw away a paper bag just as the photographer started snapping. In order to have it on record. Of course, that paper bag doesn't contain the arm─he almost certainly waited until late at night to dump that, most likely when he came to put the garbage can back in its proper position, I'd say.”

  　They all looked at each other. Nobody sniggered now. But Takegami continued undaunted. “He's a thorough bastard. He probably checked out Okawa Park several times and noticed the photographer, then got the idea to use him. If he could manage to get him to take a photo of a suspicious scene, surely the police would pick up on it. They would run around getting the photo analyzed, and no doubt start searching for the person who was throwing away the garbage thinking that the photo showed the arm actually being thrown away.”

  　Captain Kanzaki was quiet for a while. When he eventually looked up, he said, “But what was in it for him? Even if he managed to get us to mistake the time the arm was thrown away, it can't really mean all that much.”

  　“He was just having a bit of fun,” Takegami said. “He's quite knowledgeable. He knows how we investigate a case like this. He was sure that the police would find out about that amateur photographer. And he enjoyed imagining the moves the police would make. Still does.”

  　Incredulity showed on the faces of the gathered detectives.”

  　“Well, anyway,” Captain Kanzaki said. “Let's go and question that photographer again. He might have seen or heard something. If it's as Gami says, the culprit already knew about the photographer some time back and knew his pattern of working. He might also have been in direct contact with him.”

  　He called an end to the meeting and everyone quickly dispersed. Only Takegami remained. Captain Kanzaki called him over with his eyes, and Takegami took a seat at the desk facing him.

  　“Gami, there's something else you want to say too, isn't there?”

  　Takegami rubbed his hand over his face. “I'm sorry. I'm well aware it's against the rules for a desk sergeant to give his opinion on an investigation.”

  　“Don't give me that,” Kanzaki said with a wry smile. “It's just that it's really unusual for you to get so angry. You met Yoshio Arima a while ago, didn't you?”

  　“Yes, I did.”

  　“The poor old man. I bet it's because of him that the blood has gone to your head, when you're normally so coolheaded.”

  　He was right, Takegami thought. The way Arima had been treated still weighed heavily on him. But that wasn't all.

  　“The reason I'm so furious is that I was taken in by it. He even fooled me!” Takegami said. “It was here on the Desk that we noticed this photo and got all excited about it. We really thought we might have found a photo showing the moment the arm was deposited in that garbage can, and spent hours tracking down that woman as a witness …”

  　“But we've had that sort of coincidence before,” the Captain said slowly. “Often our investigations are helped along by a coincidental eyewitness, coincidental evidence, a coincidental accident─that's what investigation is, isn't it? We often bet precisely on that kind of coincidence.”

  　“Yes, exactly.”

  　“I guess I didn't really need to tell you that, did I?” The Captain smiled. This time it was a genuine smile.

  　Even the most meticulously planned crime could be derailed by the most minor coincidence. Something the criminal overlooked, rain on the day, no available taxi─some minute detail made him lose his head and leave some trace of evidence behind. Investigating was about doggedly following these leads. And that was what they'd done this time. It never occurred to them that the culprit might actually have planned it that way. That sort of thing might happen in a crime novel or movie, but not in a real-life case. But Takegami was now convinced that this was what had happened.

  　“I never read mysteries,” Takegami said. “It would seem so contrived to have a crime conveniently appear in a photo, but that sort of thing does really happen in real police work. They say reality is stranger than fiction, but actually reality is much simpler than fiction and is often like a badly written story.”

  　“Sometimes shamefully so.”

  　“Right. And that's why it never occurred to me the photo might be a trick─investigating it was a given. In any case, we'd soon find out whether it was relevant or not.” And that was precisely what the culprit had been counting on. “He moved the trash can himself. It was just a fun bet with himself─first of all, whether or not the homeless guy and the trash can would appear together in a photo, and then, whether or not the police would find the photo. And if they found it, how they would interpret it. The son of a bitch has an ego, too, so if we don't say anything about it, he's bound to blab about it to the media at some point.”

  　Captain Kanzaki folded his arms. “And laugh at us?” He gave a little grimace. “The police fell for my trick─or, they didn't even notice the photo?”

  　Takegami nodded. “That's the sort of guy we're dealing with.”

  　“Either way, it's a dangerous bridge he's crossed. Whatever his purpose, he's been in direct contact with one of the homeless guys in the park.”

  　“And a high-school girl in Shinjuku.”

  　“Yes. If we find them, we will definitely have eyewitness evidence. Maybe he's the sort of schemer who gets caught in his own trap.”

  　“Yes, and that's what worries me.”

  　“Meaning?”

  　“I never thought much of it before, but once I realized it was a trick I got shivers down my spine. The bastard must have clearly thought through the sequence of events in order to come up an elaborate trick like this─which means he also must be aware that in order to make the trick perfect and protect himself, he needs to clean up after himself. That's the type of guy he is.”

  　Captain Kanzaki looked at Takegami. Takegami held his gaze.

  　“That homeless guy and─”

  　“The schoolgirl,” Takegami said. “I wonder if they're still alive?”

  Cut to one anxious mother: her daughter, in her second year of high school, has not come home for two full days. She has rung around everyone she can think of, but nobody has seen her.

  　It isn't the first time. Not long ago she stayed away for four or five days, and when she did eventually come home she had her school uniform stuffed into a paper bag, and was wearing brand-new clothes her mother had never seen before. She was wearing makeup, too. Instead of telling her off the mother had burst into tears, pleading with her not to be so silly, but the daughter had just coldly brushed her off.

  　This time she'd run away after the mother searched her room and found a whole load of clothes, accessories, and cosmetics that were far more expensive than she could afford with her pocket money. Shuddering to think just how her daughter had got hold of such items, the mother opened the desk drawer a
nd found an address book. Flipping through it, she saw the names and numbers of friends and various shops, and some men's names, too. But on one page, ten or so numbers had been listed without any name next to them. Suspicious, the mother tried calling the first number on the list. The call was answered right away, but the person who answered it didn't identify himself. He sounded middle-aged and spoke quite properly, but all he said was, “Thank you for calling. Can you talk now? How old are you?” When she said she'd found this number in her daughter's address book, she was met with silence, followed by a subdued laugh and, more kindly, “This is a telephone club, Mom.” Then he hung up.

  　That afternoon when her daughter came home from school, she'd rounded on her in tears: “What on earth do you think you're doing? A schoolgirl playing around with a telephone club, whatever next? I thought that was only in TV dramas. Why are you doing it?” The daughter had lost her temper and yelled back that she was entitled to her own privacy. “And I go to school every day, don't I? No complaints about that, I suppose.” It was true, she did go to school, dressed properly in her uniform. But the mother had also had obscene glimpses of her daughter's private life, with miniskirts so short you could see her underwear, and that's why she'd felt the need to search her room in the first place. After that argument, the daughter had continued to go to school as if nothing were amiss, while the mother started finding out as much as she could about telephone clubs and the girls who frequented them, learning unbelievable things she'd never wanted to know about. And she didn't know what to do.

  　Her daughter grew more and more openly hostile toward her, and even began flaunting details about what she was up to. “You get more middle-aged men interested in you if you dress plainly and have a clean, fresh face,” she told her. “And you get money for going out on dates with them. Or you can get them to buy clothes for you. If you're all dressed up from the start, you don't get the good ones, only the more risky ones. And of course you only meet up with guys from the telephone club once─you don't want any trouble later.” “Don't tell me you're prostituting yourself too,” the mother said fearfully. The daughter burst out laughing. “If a guy's good-looking, I'll go to a hotel with him. What's wrong with that? It doesn't hurt anyone. Everyone has some fun!” Seeing her mother in tears just made the daughter all the more angry. “There's no point you coming at me all self-righteously in tears. It's all because you're such a crap mother in the first place.”

  　That was probably true, the mother thought. What were mothers supposed to do? Where did I go wrong? At her wits' end, she called her husband, who had been sent by his company to work in another city, leaving his family behind. It was the first time she had ever called him about anything to do with their daughter's education. Raising their only daughter had been entirely her responsibility. But he'd been extremely busy and seemed totally exhausted when she called, so she didn't feel able to give him all the details, much less that their daughter was prostituting herself. As it was, all she told him was that their daughter hadn't come home for several days and she was worried that she might be going through a rebellious phase. He had reacted furiously, accusing her of being lax on discipline, and she realized that the one person she should have been able to talk to was no help at all.

  　Ever since, she had borne all her worries alone. Always groping in the dark, treating her daughter gently only to be rebuffed, getting angry with her only to be yelled back at, pleading with her only to be treated with contempt. And now the daughter had run away again, and hadn't been home for two nights. Where could she be this time? Maybe she'd be home again after a few days.

  　That evening, the telephone rang. It was someone the mother didn't know, a voice she'd never heard before. It was strange, rather like a machine. Like a cash-dispenser.

  　“Hi Mom, is she home?” it asked.

  　“You mean my daughter?”

  　“Yes, your daughter,” the voice said, and gave a screechy laugh. “But she isn't home, is she? Of course she isn't. She's with me.”

  　“What? I suppose she's causing you a lot of bother,” the mother said reflexively.

  　“Bother? Yes, she is. But she did me a big favor, so I'm giving her special treatment.”

  　The mother started to reply that was very kind of him, but he interrupted her. “Mom, won't you come and get her?”

  　“Get her?”

  　“Yes. She says she'll come home tonight.”

  　The mother's eyes filled with tears. Her daughter was coming home─and wanted her to come and get her.

  　“Where shall I come?”

  　“There's a children's park near your house, isn't there? The one with a slide that looks like an elephant.”

  　There was. She knew exactly where he meant. That elephant slide had been there ever since the family had moved to this house. Kids would clamber onto the elephant's body, and slide down its long trunk. She often used to take her daughter there when she was little. She had loved it.

  　“I know the one you mean. I should go there?”

  　“Yes,” the voice said. “Tonight, at two o'clock. It's a bit late, sorry.”

  　As she thanked him over and over, he hung up. The mother dried her tears and blew her nose. She had been so alone worrying anxiously about her daughter that all she could think about now was that her daughter was coming home. There was no room in her heart to wonder who the caller was, or how ominous the situation sounded.

  　And so at 2 AM she went to the park, which was shrouded in darkness. The moonless sky was heavy with clouds, with just a few blurry stars showing through. The faint chirring of insects in the grass and bushes gave a feel of autumn to the night. Immediately she noticed someone sitting on the slide. A silhouette darker than the night was on the elephant's head. She ran over to it, and upon reaching the slide recognized her daughter dressed in her school uniform. She was sitting hugging her knees. “Honey, it's Mom. I came to get you,” she called. “Come on down, I'm not angry with you.” But her daughter didn't come down. Anxiously she reached up a hand and tugged on her daughter's skirt. The daughter leaned over, and then tumbled headfirst off the elephant's round body.

  　The mother screamed and rushed to her daughter's side, putting her arms around her and sitting her up. But the body in her arms was cold, and strangely stiff. Both eyes were wide open, the mouth half-open in a voiceless scream, the cruel mark left by a rope around her neck telling her what her daughter could not.

  Chapter 11

  Okawa Park wasn't far from where Shigeko lived in the southern part of Katsushika Ward, and it was one of the best-known places in the capital to enjoy cherry blossoms, but even so she had never once been there.

  　Just two days after she'd met with Itagaki at Meiyusha, he had already supplied her with Shinichi Tsukada's address and the name of the school he was attending. Shinichi was apparently staying with the Ishiis, teachers who had been friends with his late father. Their house was within walking distance of the park, and his school, a public one, was also in the neighborhood. Shigeko had decided to first explore the park and then head over to meet Shinichi.

  　Itagaki had also somehow managed to get hold of a photo of Shinichi for her. “It was taken by one of our weekly magazine reporters at the time of the murders,” he told her. “Of course we didn't run it in the magazine. We didn't name him, either.”

  　The photo had been taken at the funeral, as the coffins were being taken out of the apartment. A teenage boy in his high-collared school uniform was standing between two hearses holding a large memorial portrait photograph in both hands. His face was slightly turned to one side, looking at the man next to him who was holding a microphone and addressing the mourners. This man was probably one of the boy's relatives. Shinichi must have been the chief mourner, but they probably felt it would have been too harsh to expect him to do the funeral address, Shigeko thought.

  　The shot had been taken with a telephoto lens, and even Shinichi's expression was clearly visib
le. If it had been trimmed to show just his face, he would have looked just like any other sleepy teenager─eyelids slightly drooping, mouth half-open, jawline slack. But he was hugging the photo of his parents and little sister closely to his chest, which gave his drowsy expression a whole different meaning. His was the face of someone who was standing in the ruins, the face of someone well aware that his whole life had been shattered and that he was left standing on a pile of rubble. He wanted to pick up the pieces, but he didn't know where to start. Which bits were his little sister's bones, his mother's hair, his father's flesh?

  　Shigeko looked more closely at the photograph the boy was holding. She couldn't see it very clearly but it appeared to show the boy's little sister standing between their parents. She wondered who had chosen that picture of them for the memorial photo, rather than separate photos for each of them. It was such a convenient shot to use for the funeral. Maybe Shinichi had taken it himself, on a family holiday─he'd probably taken the camera saying, “Let me take a picture,” and snapped the shutter at the three of them smiling there. That was why he wasn't in the photo. He might even have teased his sister, “Three's a crowd,” or “The one in the middle dies first!” Maybe Shinichi was remembering such scenes as he stood there holding the photo at their funeral.

  　He was quite cute, with regular features, a fact that brought home to her what his situation was, and gave her pause. What state was this bewildered boy in now, a year later? “Shige-chan, don't think too much about it or you'll lose your nerve,” Itagaki had insisted when he handed her the photo, she recalled.

  　She got off the train at Higashi-Mukojima and, checking the route on the map, started walking toward Okawa Park. The shopping area around the station resembled her own neighborhood, where the small buildings and shops and houses and workshops all mingled in a harmonious whole. Before marrying Shoji, she had lived in Koenji, a lively student area, and moving to Katsushika had felt like moving out into the sticks. But this place reminded her of where she lived now, and she was surprised by how at home she felt. How much she'd changed, she thought.