The Silent Dead

by Tetsuya Honda

  You’re pretty damn cocky given your history. It doesn’t compute. I’d expect you to be a whole lot less sure of yourself.

  That was what drove Katsumata crazy: Himekawa’s attitude. Just because they were the same rank, she seemed to think that his age counted for nothing. Just because she was a looker, she thought she had the right to disrespect him. Shit, the broad wasn’t even a real looker in the first place. She was tall with a baby face, and that tricked people into thinking she was cute. It was an optical illusion. A mirage. That posse of fanboys who wet their pants at the sight of her were all fools. Especially Kikuta. He was the worst of the bunch. He was completely under her thumb. A pussywhipped zombie.

  That wasn’t all. The woman lacked even the most basic grasp of how investigations were meant to be conducted. An investigation was like a game of checkers. The goal was to get your pieces safely to the other side of the board, something you did by slowly and steadily moving all of them forward. Himekawa, though, preferred bold moves, leaping over multiple squares to capture her opponent’s pieces, without bothering to occupy the center of the board first. And she had no doubts about the effectiveness of her method. She might as well have jumped up and down, flashed her panties, and chanted, “I solved the case. I solved the case.” But Himekawa was just a woman—and a damn stupid one. As for Imaizumi, who’d mobilized the Water Rescue team on her behalf, well, what could you expect? Hashizume, who had let the mobilization request go through, was the biggest fool of the lot.

  Director Hashizume, you seriously think I don’t know? About that toupee you wear?

  Despite approaching her cases ass-backward, Himekawa got results. Katsumata had to respect that. This year she seemed to be slightly off her game, but last year she’d closed a multiple street stabbing case in three days and needed just half a day to solve a robbery-with-murder. She hadn’t relied on testimony or physical evidence to find the perpetrator. It had been a matter of intuition. One look at the guy was enough for her. “He’s a killer. I can see it in his eyes.” Based on some such bullshit reason, she would pick out her prime suspect, then do all the necessary legwork to get an arrest.

  She seemed to be following the same playbook with the current case. She made an inspired guess about the bodies being dumped in a pond, then managed to link that to Yasuyuki Fukazawa’s suspicious death. The woman had something—something well beyond normal detective instincts. He was sure of that.

  Don’t tell me that she’s a frigging psychic.…

  It was time to forget about her. Katsumata was on the case, and he was going to tackle it his way. His direct boss, the captain in charge of Unit 5, was a moron. The man wouldn’t give him any trouble, though.

  Director Toupee, Captain Zoomzoom, and Little Miss Uppity, all working the case together. It’s a recipe for disaster.

  Things could get even worse if Kusaka’s squad, which was also part of Unit 10, was brought in. Kusaka was a tough bastard. His acute appendicitis would probably only keep him out of a circulation for a week, max.

  Fuck Kusaka too. I’m gonna be the one who cracks this case. End of story.

  The automatic doors of Central Medical College Hospital slid open. Katsumata strode in.

  * * *

  The slut at reception had on way too much makeup, and her dyed brown hair didn’t suit her.

  “Hi, I’m from the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. Need to see my badge?”

  The girl looked up with a deer-in-the-headlights look on her face.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I asked if you needed to see my police ID, dumbo.”

  “Wha-what do you mean?”

  She wasn’t getting it. He had no choice.

  Katsumata whipped his ID out of his jacket pocket, swung it open, and shoved it in her face.

  “The name’s Katsumata, Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, Homicide Division. I need to see Dr. Omuro of Psychiatry, now.”

  Everyone—the in-patients who were ambling aimlessly around the lobby, the emergency cases and outpatients who were sitting around waiting their turn—turned to stare at them. The penny finally dropped. The girl now realized why Katsumata had asked her if she really wanted to see his ID.

  “If you could wait a moment, sir.”

  She abandoned the reception desk and dashed into a room behind. Probably the administrative offices, thought Katsumata. The girl couldn’t be bothered to shut the door properly, and it was wide open when she began jabbering. “The police are here. What should I do? Has something happened?”

  None of your business, bitch.

  A man in a suit, obviously higher in the pecking order than she was, came out and beckoned Katsumata to one corner of the reception desk.

  Fuck, man. What does it matter where we talk?

  It wasn’t worth making a fuss about, so Katsumata strolled over to the corner. “I’m looking for Dr. Omuro?”

  The man started writhing and squirming. He reminded Katsumata of those wimps you sometimes see at the public bath who contort themselves to hide their tiny little todgers. The man kept bowing at him, over and over again. He was a born fucking loser.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Officer, but Dr. Omuro is currently in a meeting at the Medical Office—”

  “Which ends when?”

  “Uh, it should be over in an hour. No, sorry, in thirty minutes.”

  “Which, man? Spit it out.”

  “Uh, yes. I mean no…” Now the man was just babbling.

  “That’s enough. I’ll wait. Where is the Medical Office?”

  “Sorry?”

  “You mentioned the Medical Office. If that’s where the doctor’s meeting, then I’ll wait right outside.”

  “Oh-ah. It’s on the sixth floor of the new wing. You turn right out of the elevator.”

  “Gotcha.” Katsumata marched off. The hospital administrator looked like he had something more to say, but Katsumata didn’t intend to hang around.

  The hospital was a labyrinth. Despite the maps posted on the walls, it took Katsumata a long time to find the connecting passage to the new wing. Even then, he wasn’t home and dry: there was only one elevator, and it was stuck on the fourth floor, showing no sign of coming down anytime soon.

  This fucking hospital. Katsumata ground his teeth as he waited. Several people got in line behind him, including a few who were in wheelchairs. When the elevator finally arrived, he grudgingly let them on first. He made sure he was standing at the front so he could get off easily.

  He looked around the elevator. Damn sick people everywhere.

  Hospitals were one of the many things that Katsumata hated. His policy was to tough it out when he felt under the weather. The last time he’d been to the doctor had to have been four or five years ago. He’d been coming down with pneumonia and had gone to see his local physician. His symptoms immediately got a whole lot worse. It was the clinic and the other patients there—that’s what had fucked him up.

  The whole thing started with a cold I got from my wife. We were just about to get divorced. That damn woman—no, I’m not going to go that way.

  Katsumata shook his head to drive away the anger that was building up inside him.

  He was the only person to get off at the sixth floor.

  The creep at reception had told him to turn right out of the elevator. He decided to take a peek at the floor guide. The neuropsychiatry ward covered the whole floor. Was neuropsychiatry the same as psychiatry? He had no idea.

  Katsumata had visited a mental hospital once before. Ages ago. For an investigation in which a lobotomy patient was the prime suspect. This place was different. The patients being helped around by nurses didn’t look like they had completely lost it. That meant people who were outwardly normal needed psychiatric treatment too. That was a sure sign of a sick society.

  Well, as long as the medical profession can make a buck, eh?

  Katsumata tapped a passing nurse on the shoulder. “Hi, I’m looking for the Medical Office. I’ve got to tal
k to Dr. Omuro.” He pulled out his badge. “Can you fetch him for me?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. He’s in a meeting.”

  Her unruffled tone rubbed Katsumata the wrong way.

  Oh, so his meeting’s more important than my investigation, is it?

  “Okay. Forget it.”

  Katsumata stalked off without much idea of where he was going. He found himself in a long corridor with two doors on the right and five on the left: the men’s and women’s toilets, an unmarked door, the door leading to the emergency stairs, and another unmarked door.… The Medical Office wasn’t indicated anywhere. Not helpful.

  They’ll need a decent-sized room for a meeting.

  Katsumata pushed open the last door on the right. It was a meeting room all right, but it was empty.

  Goddammit, this hospital’s driving me crazy.

  Katsumata slammed the door shut and tried the next room. This was his last chance. If it was empty, he’d have to go back with his tail between his legs and ask the nurse a second time. He’d have to cheer himself up by giving the creep downstairs a good smacking later.

  You aren’t making my life easy.

  Was this the Medical Office? It looked just like any other stupid office. There were three men and a woman, all in white coats, around a group of six desks. The oldest-looking of the men was standing, holding a file and fiddling with his glasses. He was about to say something, but Katsumata got in first.

  “Is there a Dr. Omuro here?”

  All eyes went to a man who looked about thirty. So that was Dr. Omuro, thought Katsumata. A typical posh little mommy’s boy.

  “I am he.” The confident and authoritative tone was typical of his class. Katsumata decided to introduce himself properly. “My name’s Lieutenant Kensaku Katsumata from the Homicide Division of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. Could I have a word, please?”

  Omuro glanced uncertainly over at the older man, who cocked his head, then nodded with evident reluctance. Omuro turned toward Katsumata without getting up.

  “What do you want to talk to me about?”

  Clearly, it was beneath the doctor’s dignity to even stand.

  “I need to ask you some questions about Yukari Fukazawa.”

  Further looks were exchanged. There were frowns, questioning glances, headshakes. Is this the psychiatry department or some kind of damn telepathy lab?

  Katsumata’s patience snapped.

  “I haven’t got time for this. Here’s what I’ll do. If you’re in the middle of things, I’ll just park myself here and wait. Hurry up and finish your meeting, or reschedule it—it’s up to you, but I need to talk to you soon.”

  Omuro tried to give him a disapproving scowl. The result was unconvincing. “I don’t know who you think you are, bursting in on us like this. Just because you’re the police, it doesn’t give you the right—”

  “Oh, put a sock in it. One month ago, an officer from Nishiarai police station came here with a request to interview Yukari Fukazawa. You turned him down. Believe it or not, cops don’t visit psychiatric patients just for the fun of it. I’m here specifically to interview her. Whether this is a serious meeting or a circle jerk you’re doing here, if you’ve got a grain of civic responsibility in your body, you’ll bring it to an end and start giving me some serious cooperation on this investigation.”

  That seemed to do the trick. The doctor pulled himself to his feet, nodded briskly to the old man, his boss, and walked heavily toward Katsumata.

  I’m not asking you to run, but pick up the pace a little, Doc.

  Katsumata opened the door and, in an effort at politeness, ushered Omuro out into the corridor.

  * * *

  The doctor led him to a consulting room. The decor was bland: a PC sat on a square table beneath the window at the far end, and a curved desk jutting out from the wall divided the room in two. Presumably the doctor delivered his “What seems to be the problem?” spiel from behind there.

  Sure enough, Omuro plunked himself down on the far side of the desk. “What can I do for you, detective?” he said, in his best bedside manner.

  “I told you already. I’m here to ask about Yukari Fukazawa.”

  Now what?

  There was a frown of annoyance on Omuro’s face. “I had to say no to the last detective who came, and I’m afraid—”

  “Cut that out,” broke in Katsumata, pounding his fist on the desk. “You damn well listen to me. First off, the last guy and me—we’re two different people. You may think all cops are the same, but if you think that turning down one cop’s interview request means that the rest of us are all going to roll over and die, you’ve got another think coming. If you want to turn down my request, then go ahead and turn me down to my face, here and now. But you’d better come up with cast-iron reasons for doing so.”

  The doctor said nothing. Was the fellow finally going to stop giving him the runaround? That would be welcome. Sadly, it was not to be.

  “From what you have said, I gather that you are aware of my having turned down another similar request one month ago. In other words, you were fully apprised of the situation before you came here.”

  You pompous little prick!

  If there was one thing that Katsumata despised more than weaklings who gave him no pushback, it was uppity bastards who stood their ground.

  “Listen, doc, don’t make me repeat myself. The person you turned down last time wasn’t me. This time I’m here in connection with a homicide investigation. Yukari’s dead brother wasn’t just a freak whose brains turned to gunk; there’s a possibility he was involved in something else altogether. That’s why I need you to tell me about his sister. You read me?”

  Omuro sighed. Katsumata took it as a promising sign. Perhaps he was beginning to grind him down. Once people got tired of resisting, it was usually a short leap to the uncontrollable talking stage.

  “This is a very difficult situation,” said Omuro, treating Katsumata to a defiant stare. “You’re obviously very serious, so let me explain the situation. First, I will need to see your badge or your business card. You introduced yourself as Kensaku Katsumata of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, I believe. Forgive my ignorance, but the name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  You pigheaded posh fucker.

  Katsumata pulled out his card and slid it across the desk.

  “You’re a lieutenant?”

  “Quit stalling and just tell me what you know. Let’s start with Yukari Fukazawa’s condition. What’s she got?”

  “I’m not at liberty to tell you that.”

  “You’re playing the physician-patient privilege card?”

  “You know about that? That should make both our lives easier.”

  “Easier?”

  “Because you’ll understand why I can’t tell you anything.”

  Katsumata was flabbergasted. The only people he knew who took that confidentiality crap seriously were those management fast-track types. Katsumata despised them all, those Little Lord Fauntleroys who turned up for their training in fancy suits, preening themselves like managers strutting around the factory floor. Bastards!

  Come to think of it, one of those rich twits has been assigned to this case.… Noboru Kitami, the eldest son of Chief Superintendent Katsuyoshi Kitami, the director of Tokyo’s Third District. Katsumata had noticed an almost feral sharpness in the boy’s eyes. It was unusual for someone with his privileged background. Katsumata wondered whether he should make a few tactful inquiries about the boy.

  He’s not my top priority now, so bugger him.

  Katsumata ran a hand over his close-cropped head and resumed the attack. “Are you really prepared to put medical confidentiality ahead of peoples’ lives? Listen to me, doctor. People are dead. To be precise, two people have been murdered. Disorders of the psyche are a serious problem, but we’re talking about people losing their lives. See? I’m not planning to publish the details of Yukari’s mental condition in the media. I just need to know one thin
g: is the girl capable of talking to me? We can deal with everything else later—whether I can actually talk to her, or whether you’ll show me her medical history so I can try to piece together an idea of her life. How about it? You don’t need to tell me what’s wrong with her, just tell me, is she or isn’t she capable of talking to me?”

  “I’m sorry.” The doctor’s voice quavered as he looked Katsumata right in the eye. “I cannot answer that.”

  The bimbo at reception, the incomprehensible layout—hell, this whole hospital is driving me nuts.

  Katsumata glared back at the doctor. “Why, for fuck’s sake? Why can’t you even tell me if she’s capable of talking?”

  “Because whatever I tell you, I know you’ll still insist on seeing her.”

  “That’s crap. I won’t see her if it’s pointless.”

  Omuro’s eyes had a pinkish tinge, and Katsumata thought he could even see a glint of moisture. What the heck? Had the doctor developed a soft spot for the girl? That would really throw a wrench in the works. Sometimes men in love were more bullheaded than yakuza who’d sworn oaths of loyalty.

  “You’ve fallen for Yukari?”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  Omuro’s face was postbox red. He rose to his feet and planted his fists on the top of the desk.

  “That is the most ludicrous thing I have ever heard in my life.”

  Nice display of heartfelt sincerity, bro. But I know you’re bullshitting me.

  “Well, what are you sniveling for?”

  Omuro thumped the table. The guy couldn’t even take a little good-natured ribbing.

  “I’m not crying, dammit. I am just trying to fulfill my responsibilities as a doctor by keeping an overbearing bully like you as far as possible from my patient. Coming into contact with a person like you makes patients regress. Fear creeps up on them and knocks their recovery off course. From what I’ve seen of you so far, I think it would have been better to let Officer Todoroki to speak to her. He had ten times the tact and delicacy.”

  Trying to play the old insensitivity card? You are so fucking naive. You seriously think that will work on me?