What was going on? Reiko turned to look.
Reiko’s parents and Detective Sata’s parents and the other rape victims and their families were all sitting in the front row. They remained seated. All the other spectators, however, had risen to their feet and had their hands to their foreheads, saluting Reiko.
The uniformed cop who had rescued Reiko in the park was there. The detective who had first tried to interview Reiko was there. There were men and women, people in suits and people in uniforms, faces that she knew and faces she didn’t know. But all of them were cops. The gallery was crammed with cops, and they were all standing and saluting Reiko. Some had clenched jaws, some were weeping, some were squaring their shoulders in indignation. But all of them were saluting her.
Reiko felt something thick and warm flood in toward her like a wave. It encircled her and rose up like a thick wall to protect her.
That’s the police for you.
They had that fierce sense of solidarity. On a daily basis, they might squabble and undercut one another to notch up more arrests, but whenever one of their number was in danger, they would unite and come to that person’s aid. Reiko suddenly realized what being a cop was all about and how their world was different from everyone else’s.
Reiko chose to believe that they were saluting not her but the spirit of Michiko Sata that had expressed itself through her. The comradeship and unity of the police force astounded her. She began to tremble.
That was the moment when Reiko made up her mind to join the police.
Simply joining the force wasn’t her only goal. She wanted to become a detective, get assigned to Homicide, and achieve the rank of lieutenant. Just like Sata, who had received a posthumous promotion, elevating her two ranks to lieutenant.
* * *
Reiko had achieved her goals. She was fighting the good fight side by side with Michiko Sata. She’d made lieutenant, shaken off the curse of her own past, and felt that she was living life to the fullest. The spirit of Detective Michiko Sata was watching over her.
Mom, I know I made the right choices.
As dawn started to break outside, Reiko finally felt sleepy.
I’ll come and see you in hospital tomorrow, Mom.
By then “tomorrow” was already today.
7
Reiko got to the hospital at two in the afternoon. She gave her name at reception and took the stairs to the third floor, room number 312. When Reiko quietly slid open the door, she saw her mother lying in bed. She had her eyes shut, possibly sleeping. She had a drip in her arm but wasn’t wearing an oxygen mask.
Reiko slipped in, closing the door gently. She walked over to the side of her mother’s bed but was too anxious about making noise to sit down.
“I’m so sorry, Mom.”
A faint smile flickered across her mother’s lips, and she opened her eyes a little way.
“I thought you were asleep.” Reiko pulled out a stool and sat down. “I’m not here to give you grief. I was shocked. I’m worried about you.”
“That’s nice.… The good news is I don’t need to have bypass surgery.”
Reiko got up and put the flowers she’d brought into a vase, then asked her mother for details about her condition. Things weren’t as bad as they could have been, but she still needed to be very careful.
I’ll avoid bringing up any sensitive topics today, Reiko thought to herself. However, it was her mother who steered the conversation onto difficult ground.
“It’s me who should be saying sorry to you.”
“What do you mean?” Reiko hated herself for asking. She knew what was coming.
“I’m sorry for trying to stampede you into getting married. I can’t help it. I want you to leave the police, get married, live a normal life. And you only joined the police because…”
“What are you talking about, Mom? I was only apologizing for not picking up when you rang yesterday. That’s got nothing to do with all that stuff from the past.”
“You can’t say that. I mean, if I—”
“Not another word,” said Reiko, cutting her off. “What happened to me and my not getting married—the two things have nothing to do with one another. The reason I’m not married is because I haven’t found anyone I want to marry.”
“You should have gone to meet the nice men I found for you, then.”
For a moment Reiko felt herself flailing. “To be completely honest, perhaps I just don’t feel like getting married.”
“I knew it.” Her mother looked away. There was sadness in her eyes.
I’ve put my foot in it again. It looked as though she was going to have to tackle the elephant in the room after all. Reiko sighed and squeezed her mother’s hand. It was desiccated and frail.
“Listen, Mom. Right now, being a cop is the only way of life that’s right for me. Being a cop is what keeps me going. That thing that happened to me—it wasn’t easy. Still, I managed to beat it and put it behind me. I stood in the witness box, and I helped close the case. I’ve got my issues with the verdict, sure, but in my mind it was still a win for me. I went out there, and I did everything that I had to do. That gave me the right to start my life over. Does starting over mean that I’ve forgotten about what happened? No way. Thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach. Sometimes I still wake up screaming. That doesn’t mean I have to despise myself and give up on life. I’ve been there, done that. Now look at me. I joined the police, made lieutenant, have a squad working under me. The police value me for who I am.”
Reiko pictured the faces of her team: Yuda, Kikuta, Otsuka, and Ishikura. Eventually Ioka’s grinning countenance pushed its way in.
“I am willing to think about marriage, but only if I meet a man who can accept me as I am—can accept what happened to me, my being a cop, a lieutenant, all of it. I’m not a complete freak, you know. I have my own ideas about what will make me happy. Right now, your ideas and my ideas on that subject are not quite the same. I just need you to step back and give me some space.”
She paused a moment before going on. “Tamaki was giving me a hard time yesterday. She told me that I’d changed. It’s true. I have changed, and you’re all just going to have to deal with it. Maybe I’m a disappointment as an eldest daughter. You may think I’m shirking my family responsibilities. As an individual, though, I don’t believe I’m a total write-off. I just want you to wait and see.”
Her mother’s eyes were shut. She gave a little nod.
“One more thing, Mom. I don’t want you thinking that you had anything to with what happened to me. It wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t my fault. The only person who’s guilty of anything is my attacker. That’s it. End of story. I was the victim, so if I decide it’s over, I don’t need to hear anyone else’s opinion on the matter. Okay, that’s it. I’ve had my say. But I shouldn’t have gone into it when you’re in the hospital and so tired.”
Reiko patted the back of her mother’s hand. She felt an answering pressure as a smile spread over her mother’s face.
It wasn’t an easy thing to talk about. Still, clearing the air like that might have done her mother some good. Reiko had no idea what sort of progress her mother would make. Still, the smile on her face was one of unclouded joy. That was good enough for the time being.
The minute you get back on your feet, I bet you’ll be trying to set me up with more damn men.
Reiko put her mother’s hand under the covers. Her mother took hold of her hand and wouldn’t let go. With their fingers intertwined, Reiko looked out of the window at the lofty blue summer sky.
What gorgeous weather.
* * *
As soon as she was out of the hospital, she switched her cell phone back on. There was a message.
“Hi, Otsuka here. I know we’re off today, but have you got time to chat this afternoon? I’ve got this strange lead I’m following up on.”
The time stamp of the message was 2:51 p.m. Only fifteen minutes ago. Reiko called Otsuka right back.
“Hi, it’s me.”
“Hey, Lieutenant, thanks for getting in touch. You’re not busy?”
“No, I’m fine. What’s up?”
“There’s something I want to show you. Can we meet?”
“Sure. Ikebukuro in, say, an hour and a half?”
“Okay. You’ve been to the Countess Café, haven’t you? Let’s meet there.”
“Okay. See you at 4:30.”
Something he wants me to show me? What?
* * *
Reiko made it to Ikebukuro just after 4:20, after changing trains once.
The Countess Café was just by the north exit. The décor was on the traditional side, as typified by the suit of European armor that stood just inside the front door. Reiko looked around and spotted Otsuka waving at her from a table at the far end of the room.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
When Reiko sat across from Otsuka his eyes briefly widened.
“Wow, Lieutenant,” he stammered. “You look good outside of work.”
She was wearing white pants and a pale blue summer sweater of thin wool. Since she often got called in on short notice, she tended to dress with a certain sober formality even on weekends. Today, however, they’d been granted an official day off. Intending to do some shopping on her way back from the hospital, she’d dressed down. Otsuka, on the other hand, was in his normal work suit.
“Don’t be silly.”
Otsuka’s eyes were glued to her breasts.
“I never figured you for a dirty old man, Otsuka.”
“Hey, I’m just ordinary flesh and blood, Lieutenant.… It’s my first time with you, though.”
“That’s not very nice.”
Otsuka sniggered. “Kikuta will beat me up if I go too far.”
“Oh, puh-lease.”
Lately, Otsuka had been dropping all sorts of heavy hints about Reiko and Kikuta. Reiko simply wasn’t in the mood to play along right now. She wanted to get down to business.
“So, what is it you wanted to show me?”
Otsuka gave a sulky pout. “Oh, Miss Uncongeniality. Indulge me, won’t you?”
“Nope, I’m not going to feed the rumor mill.”
“I think it’s pretty well fed as it is.”
Reiko snorted, and Otsuka left it at that. The waitress came over to take their order. Reiko ordered an iced coffee and Otsuka a second cup of the hot stuff.
“At the evening meeting on the nineteenth, I reported that I’d interviewed a university pal of Namekawa’s, a guy called Tashiro. Do you remember?”
“I remember. Didn’t you say you’d drawn a blank with him?”
“That was true at the time. But later that same night, Tashiro called me and told me something intriguing.”
“Hang on a minute.” Reiko frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”
Otsuka scratched his head in embarrassment. “Sometimes I just want to follow up my own leads, I guess.”
He had a point. Suck-ups who used the meetings to divulge everything they’d learned seldom made good detectives. Of course, overindependence had its downsides, too. When freelancing led to slip-ups, someone had to take the fall. When it led to the bad guys getting away with it, it brought the whole force into disrepute. Detectives had to inform their direct superior about all the leads they were pursuing at some point. Until then, though, keeping what you knew between yourself and your partner was fine. Leads were like eggs. They needed to be sat on a while before they hatched. Every detective knew that.
The most important thing was that you got to follow through on your own leads. That’s how you were able to crack cases and get the credit for solving them.
However, if you had people working under you, like Reiko did, then having a handle on what your subordinates were doing was crucial. Leads that they were following on their own undermined the whole purpose of a multiman team. Reiko needed to keep sounding out her guys to find out what they were doing.
“Okay, hit me. Tell me what’s so intriguing.”
“Tashiro told me to go online and check out something called ‘Strawberry Night.’ Namekawa mentioned it to him, apparently. At the time, Tashiro wasn’t very interested and didn’t pay much attention. Have you heard of it, Lieutenant?”
“What?”
“Strawberry Night.”
“Never heard of it,” said Reiko. “What the hell is it?”
Otsuka looked serious. “I scoured the Internet, but I couldn’t find a Strawberry Night homepage. What I did find were people discussing it on underground message boards, the kind where people hero-worship bizarre serial killers and upload gory crime-scene photographs. All in all, I found seven message boards that contained references to Strawberry Night.”
“So what the hell is it?”
Otsuka refused to be rushed. “Well, as far as I can judge,” he said, slowly nodding his head. “It’s a murder show.”
“A murder show?”
The phrase was simple enough, but Reiko had trouble wrapping her head around the concept.
“These are printouts from the message boards.” Otsuka extracted several sheets of paper from a large manila envelope. “See for yourself.”
Driller killer 08/08/16:45:20
Anyone actually seen the real Strawberry Night page?
Decapitator 08/08/22:01:02
Good question, bro. If anyone had seen the site, they’d have posted about it here. My guess is that no one has. The comments are all hearsay—a friend of mine told me BS. Hard to know what’s true.
Entrail epicure 08/09/00:12:36
Guess you guys will think I’m a dick, but “someone I know” (LOL) really managed to access the homepage. He’s a friend in the offline world. There’s this streaming video of someone being, like, seriously fucking killed. Afterward, the words “Strawberry Night” appear in this bloody-drippy gothic-style font on the screen. They fade out and then “Do you want to see this live?” comes up. My buddy was too scared to click the “yes” button.
Decapitator 08/09/00.15.02
Click it, you pussy! (LOL). Wonder what happens?
“I’m not sure I understand what this all means,” said Reiko, putting the printouts down on the table.
“I’m not surprised.” Otsuka leaned forward confidently. “The people on the message boards all say more or less the same thing. I searched for the Strawberry Night site they refer to, but nothing came up. It must be hidden somewhere in the deep Web. The rumor is that on the homepage there’s streaming video of people actually being killed, followed by the message, ‘Do you want to see this live?’ You can choose to click ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ If you choose yes, then you’ll get an e-mail inviting you to the murder show. The e-mail doesn’t come straightaway, but some while later, when you’ve forgotten all about it. Some of the posts claim that the invitation comes in the form of a letter mailed to your house. Either way, the invitation always shows up without anyone revealing their real name, or inputting their mail address or home address. That spooks people out.”
“Did you find anyone who’d seen the actual homepage or been to the actual event?”
“Not exactly, but there’s one contributor who takes an ‘I know a whole lot more than the rest of you morons’ tone. I don’t know how much credibility his postings have, but they include some interesting details.”
Otsuka pushed another sheet of paper across to Reiko. He’d highlighted one of the entries with a magic marker.
Wicked Wizard 08/15/01:32:55
You don’t know shit. The victim is one of the spectators who was chosen at random. And the 13th is wrong. The show is held on the second Sunday of the month.
“Tha-that means—” Reiko said, her voice trailing off.
Otuska, clearly delighted with her response, nodded his head vigorously.
PART III
I loaded the body into the young guy’s car.
He was weird. I’d killed his friend, but he was happy to have me there in his car along
with the corpse, while he thought about the best way to get rid of it. He could have ditched his dead friend, run away, and reported me to the police. But he didn’t. Instead, there he was, racking his brains for a solution to the problem. He wasn’t panicky; in fact, he seemed to be enjoying the challenge.
I reached out to someone who could help us. He showed up in no time.
He looked at me with sad eyes. “You’ve killed someone else?” Then he glared at the young guy with me. “Who’s this?” he asked.
I just shook my head. What else could I do? All I knew about him was that he was friends with the dead guy.
“Shall we burn him too?”
At the sound of my voice, the young guy looked amazed. He didn’t know that the person who’d come to help me was the only person in the world I could actually speak to.
“Burning’s no good. It doesn’t do the job properly.”
“That’s right. Burning’s not a good way to get rid of a body,” the young guy chimed in.
“What shall we do?”
“Let me think.”
I had done the killing, but now I was sidelined as the other two discussed how to dispose of the body. I was cool with it. I didn’t care either way.
“What about chopping it up and throwing away the pieces?”
“Too much hassle,” replied the young guy. “We need a quick, easy method.”
“Fire’s no good? How about dumping it in a lake or something?”
“It’ll just float back up to the surface.”
“What about a weight?”
“Easier said than done,” the young guy said. “Partially encasing him in cement before dumping him in would work, but if we went cement shopping right now, we’d just leave a trail for the cops. And without cement, the body would float up to the surface like a balloon when gas builds up in the belly.”
“Gas in the belly?”
“Yes, from decomposition. The bacteria in the gut makes the intestines rot, which turns the whole body into a big buoy or float.”
The young guy really seemed to know his stuff.
“What if we slit the belly open?”
“What do you mean?”
The Silent Dead Page 17