Now wasn’t the time to worry about stealth. Wringing the last ounce of strength from his body, Katsumata charged up, two steps at a time. The moment they reached the third floor, there were more gunshots. Himekawa came careening toward them—and then seemed to vanish into the wall.
Isn’t that the elevator shaft? Has she fallen in?
Kitami stood in front of them. He had a gun.
Katsumata was about to give Kitami the “freeze or I fire” order, until he realized the futility of it. His gun was only a replica. If he shot first and Kitami returned fire, he’d be in real trouble.
Katsumata was desperately reviewing his options when Yukari, with a shriek, flung herself on Kitami from behind. Katsumata noticed that she had something in her hand.
“What the fu—!” Kitami spun around and pumped two shots into the girl.
“Kitami, stop!”
“Freeze or I fire.”
Katsumata fired multiple rounds from his replica gun.
Kitami turned and took aim at him.
Yukari pulled herself back to her feet and swept her hand across Kitami’s throat.
Did she get him? Yes, direct hit.
Kitami pressed a hand to his throat and made a gurgling sound. He pointed the gun at Yukari again.
“Kitamiiiii,” the girl screamed.
A burst of gunfire.
As he fired, Kitami sank to the ground. Katsumata was firing his toy at Kitami. Yukari was knocked sideways by the impact of Kitami’s shots, but even as she fell to the floor, she was trying to reach Reiko in the elevator shaft.
“Kitami,” bellowed Katsumata.
“Reiko,” Ioka yelled.
Katsumata sprang over Yukari to Kitami, kicked the gun out of his hand, and dropped a knee into his solar plexus. He stuck the P228 under Kitami’s jaw to prevent him from seeing that it was a replica.
“Your little game’s over, boy wonder.”
Katsumata snapped the cuffs on the wrist of the hand Kitami was pressing to the wound in his throat. He turned out not to be bleeding badly after all. Despite having killed more than ten times, Yukari’s knack for locating the carotid artery apparently left her when her victim wasn’t strapped down and she was under pressure.
“Let go of her. Let go, creep.”
Ioka had pulled Himekawa out of the shaft and now held her in his arms. Yukari still had her hands clasped around Reiko’s wrists. Ioka tried to wrench her fingers off, but the girl was strong and wouldn’t let go. Ioka was shocked to see that beneath the girl’s fingers, Himekawa was handcuffed.
“I’m okay, Ioka.”
Himekawa sounded calmer than she had any right to be. Yukari was lying facedown on the floor. Himekawa turned her over and lay her across her lap. She stroked the thin fingers that still clutched at her wrists.
Yukari appeared to have taken shots in the stomach and the legs. One bullet had also grazed her cheek, which was bleeding. Her breathing was rasping and uneven. She probably wasn’t going to make it.
“Thank you, Yukari. You saved me. You’ve had a tough life, but you’re going to be all right now.”
Himekawa began to cry. Ioka, who was standing next to her, got out his phone and called for an ambulance. Himekawa was now wailing so loudly that Ioka had trouble making himself heard.
“Don’t die on me, Yukari. You can’t die. You mustn’t.”
Katsumata looked at her with something verging on disgust.
Birds of a feather …
Katsumata hastily consulted his watch, as if he’d just remembered something. “Oh, I forgot—Noboru Kitami, you are under arrest. What’s the date? Oh yes, August twenty-sixth … at … uh … seven ten p.m. The charges—for now, at least—are attempted murder and unlawful possession of a firearm. Got it?”
Katsumata heaved a sigh and looked out through the dust-grimed windows. The clouds looked like spilled ink on a sheet of paper. The world was a dreary gray place.
Far off in the west, Katsumata spotted a tiny glimmer of red sun.
PART V
TUESDAY, AUGUST 26
SOMETIME AFTER 7:00 P.M.
* * *
The series of incidents that began with the Mizumoto Park Dumped Bodies Case were brought to a conclusion with the arrest of Noboru Kitami, Yukari Fukazawa, and a third person.
Noboru Kitami’s injuries proved non-life-threatening. He was taken to the Tokyo Metropolitan Hospital and is cooperating with the inquiry. His accomplice, Yukari Fukazawa, is currently being held in a different hospital. She is in critical condition, having sustained two bullet wounds in the chest, one in the face, one in the stomach, and another in the left thigh. The doctors managed to save her life, but she’s not able to answer questions. Much about her history remains unclear. Her past will likely be one focus of the investigation.
The third member of the group, Harunobu Ogawa, was also arrested today. After receiving a phone call from Kitami, Ogawa drove to the crime scene in his own vehicle. Patrol cars from the Ikebukuro Station and an ambulance arrived immediately afterward. More by accident than anything, Ogawa found himself surrounded. One officer, who was suspicious about Ogawa’s car being parked directly in front of the crime scene, went to ask him some routine questions. Ogawa responded by ramming his way through the paramedics and police with his vehicle, but he soon crashed into a nearby electricity pole. The Ikebukuro police arrested him on the spot and charged him with interfering with government officials in the performance of their duties and with bodily harm.
Ogawa, a fourth-year science major at Tokyo University, is believed to have handled the information technology aspects of the gang’s work. His interrogation is ongoing.
Inquiries have shown that the sidearm that Ogawa had in his possession was the revolver checked out by Senior Officer Otsuka on the morning of his death. Noboru Kitami and Harunobu Ogawa have been charged with multiple offenses, including murder, attempted murder, instigation of murder, accessory to murder, unlawful disposal of bodies, and violations of the sword and firearms law. Their chances of avoiding the death penalty are low. A joint task force is about to be established to investigate both the case of the bodies found in the Toda Rowing Course (currently being handled by the Saitama Prefectural Police) and the shooting of Senior Officer Otsuka (currently being handled by the Ikebukuro precinct). ◆
* * *
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 27
Reiko was convalescing in one of Tokyo’s university-affiliated hospitals. She’d been convinced that Kitami had shot her right ear clean off. In fact, his bullet had only grazed her. Although there was tearing of the tympanic membrane, the prognosis was that she would eventually recover her hearing in that ear.
“Bullets revolve at extremely high speed. That alone was enough to make you feel that your whole ear had been ripped off when the bullet had only grazed it. Add in the hearing loss on that side, and it’s no surprise you thought the whole ear was gone.”
Reiko was relieved at the news that her ear was still intact. She also felt embarrassed to have kicked up such a fuss about nothing.
That was her only gunshot wound. For the rest, she had bruises and abrasions, including an all-too-noticeable graze on her forehead. The doctor assured her that she would be left with no visible scarring.
If no one shot me, why did I crash to the floor like that?
Reiko probed her memories of the moments before she tumbled down into the elevator shaft.
Kitami had fired at her—that much was certain—but apparently he’d missed. Reiko nonetheless remembered feeling an excruciating burst of pain in her leg before she went down. What was that about?
She rolled up the trouser leg of her pajamas and uncovered a horrendous bruise on her left calf just above the ankle.
Was it Yukari?
Yukari had been standing to the left of Reiko as she made her attempt to get out of the room. Yukari must have tried to help by kicking Reiko’s feet out from under her when she saw that Kitami was about to shoot.
Wha
t was it Yukari had said to her? “Mako, you came to help me.”
Reiko had no idea who this “Mako” was. Her best guess was that there must have been a physical resemblance and that Yukari, in her confused state, had mistaken Reiko for some friend from her past and so tried to help her.
Yukari was a remarkable young woman, thought Reiko. Her ghoulish appearance and innocent, girlish voice. Her scarecrowlike thinness and that iron grip. Reiko had only seen Yukari’s face spattered with blood. What did she look like underneath? What sort of history was the girl dragging behind her to throw herself so enthusiastically into the Strawberry Night show?
I’m going to find out.
As the Strawberry Night murderer, Yukari Fukazawa was guilty of multiple grave crimes. When Reiko inquired about her age, she learned that she was eighteen—old enough for the death penalty. Apparently, Yukari had spent her whole life in and out of psychiatric hospitals. A successful plea of diminished mental capacity could dramatically reduce her sentence. Reiko wasn’t sure which would be better.
Reiko was reluctant to believe that Yukari was intrinsically evil. A handful of random impressions formed during the chaos of yesterday were hardly grounds for her to declare an eleven-time murderer “not a bad person,” but she could feel her heart tugging her in that direction.
What’s got into me? Siding with the perpetrator like this!
Reiko had breakfast. The nurses took her temperature and changed her bandages. With that out of the way, she was alone in her private room with nothing to do. Tamaki, her sister, showed up as soon as visiting hours started.
“I can’t look after both you and Mom, you know,” was all she said. She deposited a bag with some clothes in it and bustled off.
Outside it was raining. The air conditioning was on high, and the chilliness of the room conjured a wintry bleakness. The weather was just too depressing. If it brightened up, so would she, thought Reiko.
Otsuka was dead. Kitami had gotten the drop on her. She’d failed to make an arrest. And—this was the icing on the cake—one of the perpetrators had saved her life, and she was now starting to pity the poor girl.
God, I hate myself!
She felt as miserable as if she were stuck outside in the rain, buried up to her neck in cold mud.
Then, just after eleven o’clock:
“How are you, Himekawa?”
“Hey, Lieutenant. You look healthy as a horse.”
“Yeah, you’ve got good color.”
“Reiko, it was me! I pulled you to safety!”
It was Captain Imaizumi and her squad.
“Captain, you didn’t need to come. I know you’re busy,” Reiko protested. Inside, she was ready to burst into tears of joy. They must have come straight over from the morning meeting. The figures loitering in the corridor outside must be their partners from the precinct.
Ioka was his usual self and Ishikura’s face the usual imperturbable mask. Only Kikuta was different. There was something stiff and awkward about him. He said nothing and avoided eye contact.
Come on, Kikuta. Talk to me.
Reiko had a pretty good idea what was going on with the man. No doubt he was beating himself up for not having swung in and rescued her when she was in danger. The fact that Ioka and Katsumata had been the ones to do so must have been salt in the wound, because Kikuta disliked them both.
It’s over now. There’s nothing you can do about it.
Reiko glanced at him from time to time, but he stubbornly refused to catch her eye.
There’s really nothing I can do. Best thing is to give him some space.
Yuda was unusually hyper. Reiko suspected he was trying to fill the gap left by Otsuka. His strained efforts at jollity backfired; she found herself thinking of Otsuka more than ever. There was a hole between Kikuta and Yuda, a gap that no one else could fill. Their visit only reinforced what she already knew: Otsuka was gone. Forever.
I’m sorry, boys. I’m a crap lieutenant.
There was a short silence. Sensing that things were getting a little awkward, Ishikura called time on the visit.
“We need to be moving. Eh, Kikuta?”
Kikuta nodded. He looked as miserable as a freshly pinched suspect.
“Thanks for coming when you’ve got so much on your plates. I’ll be fine. No need to come back.”
“No fear of that, Lieutenant,” shot back Yuda. “Get a move on and come back to work.”
Yuda’s rejoinder made her injured ear sting.
Ishikura poked the younger man in the ribs to keep him in line.
“I’ll be back,” chirped Ioka.
Kikuta said nothing.
The guy’s hopeless.
“No more visits,” reiterated Reiko firmly.
In her heart, though, she hoped they would be back—though perhaps without Ioka.
“Captain, we’ll be going now,” said Ishikura.
Imaizumi nodded, and Ishikura bowed at him.
“Good luck.”
“Thanks for coming. I know you’ll all do a great job.”
“Good-bye.”
“Bye. Get well soon.”
Ishikura and Yuda left the room. Kikuta, who still hadn’t said a word, followed them out.
“Get well soon. It’s lonely without you. So lonely.”
“Oh, piss off, Ioka.”
“Parting is such sweet sorrow.”
“I’ll slam the door on you.”
“Oh, Reiko.”
Ioka finally left too. Their partners, who’d been waiting in the corridor, went with them. Now there were just the two of them left in the room—herself and Captain Imaizumi. There was a moment of silence as Imaizumi planted his hands on his hips and gazed out of the window.
“Director Kitami of Third District resigned his position. It seems his son used his father’s influence to be assigned to the task force and then again later to be assigned as your partner. Then he hanged himself.”
Reiko’s mind served up an image of a middle-aged man dangling by a kimono sash from the wooden lintel of a traditional Japanese room.
“He was found at five this morning. Taking responsibility for the scandal his kid caused, I guess. Leaves a nasty taste in the mouth.”
Captain Imaizumi grimaced as though he had bitten into a lemon. He looked up at the sky and took a deep breath.
“Stubby really wiped the floor with us this time,” he said, darting a glance at Reiko. “It’s a grand slam for him.”
“I know. Still, God only knows what would have happened if Stubby and Ioka hadn’t turned up.”
Kusaka’s warning had come true in the worst possible way. Still, Reiko refused to let herself wallow. No sour grapes. No grudges.
She still loathed Katsumata, but she was quite prepared to acknowledge that he was a cut above her as a detective. She also knew that he would make a good job of preparing the charge papers for the public prosecutor’s office. What did she have to bellyache about?
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you, Captain. Where did Katsumata get his ‘Stubby’ nickname?”
Uncharacteristically, Captain Imaizumi’s face betrayed surprise.
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
Imaizumi sighed and went back to staring out of the window.
“When he was young, he was a real stickler for procedure. His stubbornness was legendary.”
“And ‘stubborn’ got shortened to ‘stubby’?”
“Yeah. Is it so hard to believe?”
“No, it’s not that.…”
Imaizumi nodded and went on. “You see, when Katsumata was young, he wasn’t the outlaw he is now. He was very by-the-book, visiting crime scenes over and over again. He believed in the old-fashioned shoe leather approach. If you’d known him then, you’d get where the whole ‘stubby’ thing came from. Working in Public Security changed the guy. I don’t really know what happened to him in the years he was away from regular police investigations, though I’ve got one or two
ideas.…
“When he rejoined us, he’d hardened into what you see now. Did you know that he earns pocket money by selling off intel about the police department? The top brass know what he’s doing, and they more or less tolerate it. You know why? Because he has the dirt on them too.
“In one sense, though, the guy hasn’t changed at all. All the money he gets from selling information, he recycles into bribes and payments to further the investigations he’s assigned to. It’s like a rainy day fund. It’s not for him; he’d never spend a cent on himself, as far as anyone can tell, anyway. He acts like a one-man Public Security Bureau. In a way, it’s just another expression of his stubborn, all-in personality.”
Imaizumi smiled sheepishly and went back to discussing the ongoing investigation.
* * *
That evening, just as the official visiting hours were coming to an end, she had an unexpected visitor: Katsumata.
“I’m looking for the detective who kicked up a storm about losing her ear and didn’t have the decency to croak when it was a false alarm.”
“Hey, hey. No need to tell the whole world.”
“What’s with the private room? Bit fancy for a hick like you.” He snorted contemptuously, then, without being asked, plunked himself in a chair.
Katsumata handed her a rolled-up weekly magazine as a gift. Reiko assumed he’d already read whatever he wanted in it and was just using her as a dustbin. “No thanks,” she said, handing it back.
“No damn manners,” said Katsumata in mock horror. The man didn’t hold back. He ridiculed the pajamas Tamaki had brought her—“You’re not a little girl. What’s a woman of thirty doing in floral fucking pajamas!”—told her she looked awful without makeup; complained about the smell of the room, and offered to wash out her bedpan.
Reiko waited until the abuse had run its course before saying what she felt she had to.
“I have to thank you,” she stammered. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead.”
Katsumata looked away, a confused welter of emotions on his face.
“Where’s the damn sick bag? Nicely brought up girls don’t come right out and say stuff like that. You’re such a hopeless hick.”
The Silent Dead Page 28