A Cop's Eyes

by Gaku Yakumaru

  At a loss, Yoshizawa stood stock-still staring at the closed door.

  The next morning, he woke up half an hour earlier than usual.

  Hoping to bring the conversation around to it in the morning, he’d wound back the alarm by thirty minutes.

  This shouldn’t be too hard, should it? He just needed to say he’d seen his son the night before in the park. Just ask him: what connection did he have with those guys. It had to be something trivial. Despite the said guys’ outward appearances, considering youth fashion nowadays, it didn’t necessarily mean they were bad people. You even saw many musicians and athletes with tattoos on TV. He wasn’t going to judge people by their appearances. There was no way Ryuta would associate with that kind of crowd in the first place—

  He had ended up tossing and turning in bed until dawn thinking such thoughts.

  Since he’d only dozed off for an hour, his head felt heavy, but he got up and left his bedroom. Ryuta wasn’t in the living room. Always going out to school by the time his father woke up. Before, Yoshizawa would rise at the same hour and have breakfast together, but these days he was just too tired and slept right up to the last moment.

  Usually, Ryuta would be having breakfast around now. Thinking he might still be asleep, Yoshizawa stepped toward his son’s room, but saw that Ryuta’s shoes were missing from the alcove. Maybe he’d left quietly so his father wouldn’t notice.

  Was he being considerate, or …

  Thwarted, Yoshizawa took the newspaper from the letter slot and returned to the living room. He poured himself some coffee and sat on the sofa to skim the paper. An article in the corner of the local news section almost made him spit out his coffee.

  Metal cables were disappearing from construction sites around the capital with alarming frequency.

  It couldn’t be … Uh-uh, not possible. What was he thinking? No way Ryuta was part of a gang of thieves.

  He gave Ryuta money for food and allowances every day. He made sure his son had enough.

  But … could he be absolutely certain? How well did he really know Ryuta now?

  Anxiety began to thrust up from deep in his heart.

  For about the past month, he’d barely seen Ryuta. They hadn’t talked, either. He didn’t not even know what his son was doing with his time while his father was out of the house. Because they relied on texts, he didn’t even know where Ryuta was messaging from.

  Unable to contain himself any longer, he headed to Ryuta’s room.

  When he reached the door, however, he hesitated. Believing that trust was golden in a parent-child relationship, up until now he hadn’t gone into his son’s room without permission. But he couldn’t afford that luxury at the moment. He wanted to hurry and find something to negate his anxiety.

  He opened the door and entered. The first thing that came to his attention was the desk. Six crumpled five-thousand-yen bills were scattered over the top.

  It was probably the cash Ryuta had taken from that guy yesterday.

  Yoshizawa looked into the corner and his palpitations grew worse. A pair of blackened gloves and pliers lay on the sweatshirt Ryuta had worn the day before.

  Yoshizawa left the office shortly after 6:30 p.m.

  How long had it been since he’d wrapped up so early? He’d gotten into the habit of working overtime night after night even when he didn’t have to entertain. Yet today, he hadn’t been able to focus at all.

  Given his state, there was no sense in him staying, and he had something to do as a father. He understood that, but he was scared of going straight home.

  If he did and Ryuta wasn’t there—well, he’d spend anxious hours alone, his imagination running wild. If Ryuta was home, on the other hand, he wasn’t sure what to say to him face to face.

  What a pitiful father.

  Until now, he’d never been caught up in worries like these. He’d never even imagined being troubled by such matters when it came to his Ryuta. What was he going to do? He couldn’t possibly consult anyone about this, either.

  Suddenly, a certain man’s face floated into his mind.

  He would be able to dispense sound advice.

  Though Yoshizawa didn’t doubt that, he was also reluctant to contact the man, and not because he’d be laying bare his own pitifulness. The man was his one close friend to whom he could show his shabbiest worst. But these days, his friend was …

  Yoshizawa looked at his cellphone and faltered.

  As he drank his second draft beer, he heard the establishment’s entrance swing open.

  “It’s been a while.”

  When Yoshizawa turned around, Nobuhito Natsume, who’d come into the pub, casually raised his hand.

  “Boss, can I get a draft beer, a skewer assortment, a sashimi appetizer … and fried tofu and edamame,” Natsume ordered from the chef at the counter before taking his seat at Yoshizawa’s table. “Did I make you wait?” he asked with a smile.

  “No, I’m just on my second glass. Sorry to borrow your time out of the blue like this …”

  He’d called Natsume’s cell after considerable hesitation. The man worked in twenty-four-hour shifts, so if he couldn’t make the time, Yoshizawa was ready to give up. But Natsume had just completed one, and they’d arranged to meet at this familiar izakaya.

  He was a close friend from high school back north in Aomori, and they’d both come to Tokyo after graduating. They’d continued to meet up while attending different colleges. Yoshizawa joined the confectionary company he still worked for right upon obtaining his bachelor’s degree. Meanwhile, Natsume, who’d wanted to become a teacher since high school and who, Yoshizawa assumed, would continue on the path, instead enrolled in the graduate program in psychology and became a “judiciary technical officer,” which involved interviewing offending youths at juvie and stuff.

  Yoshizawa thought that Natsume, considering his experience with boys who’d committed crimes, might have solid advice about the matter at hand. At the same time, he was afraid to broach the subject. Natsume had switched jobs and was now a cop; his current occupation was precisely to catch anyone who’d run afoul of the law.

  When Natsume’s beer came, they toasted to start off.

  “How’s work?” asked Natsume.

  “Ah … I made manager the other day, and I’ve been pretty busy …”

  “Really? Congratulations.”

  “What about you?”

  Natsume served with the East Ikebukuro precinct. Some time ago, when Yoshizawa had been drinking in Ikebukuro, he’d been bemused to witness a uniformed Natsume coping with a drunkard at a police box.

  “I was assigned to the detective section,” Natsume said. Yoshizawa thought his friend’s eyes gave off a glint.

  Yoshizawa couldn’t quite manage to say congratulations, though Natsume must have wanted the job. “Is that right …”

  “Is Ryuta doing fine?”

  Yoshizawa started a little at his son abruptly being brought up, but nodded and replied with a choked “Yeah …”

  “What grade was he again now?”

  “Second year of middle school.”

  “Right … he was already that age,” Natsume said wistfully.

  Yoshizawa could guess what was on his friend’s mind. Natsume’s daughter Emi was the same age as Ryuta. When their kids were little, their families often visited each other, but that had come to an end ten years ago.

  “Extracurriculars?” Natsume asked.

  “He’s in the kendo club.”

  “Just like his dad.”

  Yoshizawa had played kendo from elementary school to high school, and he was the one who had recommended the martial sport to Ryuta.

  “About a year ago, he was in a competition. Maybe he took after me, it was a tight match that had my heart pounding quite a bit.”

  “Was it … ‘lose the battle to win the war’? Your national match was amazing too, wasn’t it,” Natsume reminisced, laughing.

  Come to think of it, Natsume was in the boxing club du
ring high school. He’d participated in the same nationals, so Yoshizawa had gone and watched. Although Natsume had such a gentle face, when he put his gloves on, he headed toward his opponent with a blazing competitive spirit that belied his everyday self, Yoshizawa recalled.

  While their duels of choice differed, Natsume’s fighting style was similar to his own. Maybe that was why Yoshizawa liked the man and continued to hang out with him.

  His son faced opponents in the same daredevil manner as Yoshizawa, too, casting all caution to the wind. At the competition, Ryuta had gone all the way to the finals but had lost at the end. Dissatisfied with being the runner-up, he’d held back tears of frustration all the way home—every bit of which made Yoshizawa proud.

  When Yoshizawa came back to himself, the table was lined with several dishes. “You ordered a lot, didn’t you?” he pointed out, appalled. “Don’t ask for everything at once, it’ll just get cold.”

  “We can talk more calmly like this.” Natsume glanced at the employee who’d brought the dishes and was returning to the counter. “Usually we sit at the counter, don’t we? Is this about Ryuta?”

  Natsume must have figured that out when he’d entered the pub. As always, the guy had keen perception.

  “Actually it is … I’m not sure if this is the type of thing I should be consulting you about, but … I don’t have anyone else to turn to.”

  Yoshizawa recounted the events of the previous night—his son getting out of a white minivan and receiving money from a young fellow—and about reading the newspaper article in the morning and becoming sick with worry. “I can’t imagine Ryuta has a hand in those cases, but try as I might, I can’t stop worrying. I wanted to ask your objective opinion …”

  Natsume just looked pensive even after Yoshizawa was done talking.

  “It’s weird, right?”

  Natsume raised his face. “What is?”

  “All I need to do is ask my son, you must be thinking. It might just be some misunderstanding.”

  “True … He might not answer truthfully even if you asked him, but I think talking to him first is important.”

  “I know. But I’m scared … that he might be getting his hands dirty with crime … The moment that comes out of my mouth, the trusting relationship that I’ve built with my son will crumble …”

  “But you can’t leave this alone, can you?”

  Yoshizawa shook his head.

  “Tomorrow … I’m off duty. Would you like to come investigate with me?”

  “When you say investigate …”

  “I don’t like what I’ll be doing, but it’s not like I don’t understand where you’re coming from as a father. So how about we investigate Ryuta’s behavior for a day … and think of what to do afterwards?”

  The next day, he had an important sales meeting—

  But this was no time to be thinking of such things. Ryuta was far more important.

  “All right,” Yoshizawa nodded.

  The next morning, when Yoshizawa heard Ryuta’s door open, he headed to the front entrance.

  “Morning,” he called out.

  Ryuta, who was putting on his shoes, turned around in surprise. “Morning …” he mumbled back. He held his school bag in one hand and was wearing a backpack.

  “Today, I’m coming home a little late.”

  “Got it …” Ryuta answered curtly and left.

  Yoshizawa immediately started the day’s preparations. First, he called the office and used a sick day to take time off. The subordinate who took his call was flustered. The key meeting wouldn’t amount to anything without the manager.

  Hanging up, he caught a glimpse of the portrait of Akiko on the living room cupboard.

  His wife, who usually looked like she was smiling, seemed to be rebuking him today. What did Akiko think of him—a father who couldn’t fully trust his own son?

  After ten, Yoshizawa also left and headed to the shopping street by the station. At a men’s attire counter in a large supermarket, he bought new clothes and a new hat. They’d naturally have to shadow Ryuta to investigate his behavior. Yoshizawa chose clothing that would make him as difficult to recognize as possible and paid the bill still wearing his fresh getup.

  As he was waiting at a roundabout by the station entrance, a car honked. He turned around to a parked, black sedan. Its window descended, and Natsume stuck his face out of it. Yoshizawa got into the passenger’s seat.

  “How was it?” Natsume asked as soon as Yoshizawa got into the car.

  “Ryuta went to school as usual.”

  “When will he be out?”

  “Today he has six periods, so after three o’clock. Even later, if he has his club.”

  Yoshizawa looked at his watch. It was only past eleven.

  The day before, asking Natsume when to meet up, he’d wavered. Since his son was in school until three, Yoshizawa could at least attend his meeting, leave early, and still make it. Ryuta, however, might use some excuse to get out of school early as well, so they’d arranged to meet at this time.

  “Have you eaten?” asked Natsume.

  “Nope.”

  “Then let’s buy food somewhere before we go to the middle school.”

  Natsume drove the car out. On the way, they stopped at a convenience store, where Yoshizawa bought a rice ball and a sandwich for his lunch. He had it in the car after they drew up near the middle school’s gate. They chatted about old times for a while. After a few hours of being stuck in a car seat, though, Yoshizawa found it intolerable. Meanwhile, he didn’t see any sign of discomfort on Natsume’s face.

  “Do cops do this sort of thing every day?” Yoshizawa asked.

  “It’s not like you shadow or stake out people all the time, but you do spend an entire night monitoring a suspect on occasion.”

  “Isn’t it difficult?”

  “Your body learns to do it.”

  “Not that. Suspecting people as your job.”

  Natsume looked at him intently.

  Yoshizawa thought it even now. The policing profession didn’t suit Natsume. Having known the man for years, he sincerely felt that doubting people had to be the most difficult thing for Natsume.

  But Natsume choosing such an occupation also made painful sense to him as a fellow father.

  Ten years ago, there had been a case involving a serial assailant in Nerima Ward. Natsume’s daughter, one of the victims, had been hit in the head with a hammer and left in critical condition, comatose.

  Several days after the incident, Natsume had gone in front of television cameras as the victim’s family in order to appeal to the culprit.

  Stop this, hurry and turn yourself in.

  As though to ridicule his tearful plea, another case occurred and resulted in the girl’s death.

  If the culprit had turned himself in or been apprehended back then, Natsume probably wouldn’t have chosen to become a police officer.

  Wasn’t Natsume spending his days now mired in hatred? There had to be a more soothing path for him than the hard life of a detective who confronted criminals day in, day out. As his close friend, it hurt to watch Natsume be this way.

  “It’s certainly true that my current job is to suspect people. People lie. Even more so, when they’ve committed crimes. My job is to catch such people,” Natsume replied unflinchingly.

  His clear gaze was just the same as in the old days; had he, then, traded in his heart instead?

  “Suspecting people, suspecting my son like this, is too much for me. Even if it means turning a blind eye, I want to keep believing …”

  They heard the sound of the bell and turned to the school. It was the bell signaling the end of the school day. After a while, students started pouring out of the gate one after another. The two men watched intently.

  Ryuta came out. He was walking with Jumpei.

  “It’s Ryuta!”

  “With the blue backpack?”

  “Yup.”

  “And the one who’s walking with him
is …”

  “His friend Jumpei Higuchi.”

  Ryuta and Jumpei had been friends since elementary. Yoshizawa remembered how the boy used to come to their house to play. It seemed that both of Jumpei’s parents worked and that he was often home alone. The two kids still frequently visited each other as far as Yoshizawa knew.

  Natsume drove out slowly. The boys got on a bus at a stop near the middle school.

  Where were they going?

  About fifteen minutes later, the two got off the bus. Walking together again, they entered a park. After some time, they came out wearing sweatshirts and jeans; they must have changed in the public bathrooms. Once more they plodded along.

  They entered a family restaurant along the main road. The place had a small parking lot, but to avoid being noticed, Natsume parked slightly further back along the road. From there they could see the building, though not what the two boys who’d gone in were up to.

  After ten minutes or so of waiting, Yoshizawa saw a familiar white minivan drive into the restaurant’s parking lot. “That white minivan …”

  “Is it the one you saw that night?”

  There were many similar vans, but there was no doubt, as it was those same men who entered the restaurant shortly after.

  What the hell were Ryuta and his friend doing here? What in the world could they be discussing with those men? Yoshizawa had a bad feeling about it, and just sitting there doing nothing was unbearable.

  “Should I try going in?” Natsume said, likely sensing Yoshizawa’s agitation. “If I sat near them, they wouldn’t notice, and I might be able to overhear their conversation.”

  “I’m counting on you …” Yoshizawa said and nodded.

  Just then, Ryuta emerged. Running diagonally across the pedestrian scramble, he went into a convenience store across from the restaurant. After some time, Jumpei and the two men also came out but headed to the parking lot in the back. Ryuta popped out of the convenience store soon enough, a shopping bag in one hand, though it wasn’t clear what he’d purchased. He made a call at a public phone, hung up, and stood at the pavement in front of the convenience store.

  It looked like he was waiting for the white minivan to come around from the parking lot.