Blue Light Yokohama

by Nicolas Obregon

  “So really, what I’m hoping you will share with me is—”

  “I suppose”—Taba interrupts the man mid-sentence—“the main thing I’m feeling … is a desire for revenge. You can write that down. But don’t worry, I won’t do anything to him. My partner, I mean. Or to her. What has happened, happened. I just mean that I hope something fucking horrendous happens to him, you know? And I’ll be there to drink it in when it does. That’s all I have to say to you.”

  There is a swampy silence until Taba’s phone begins to buzz. The counselor tries to protest but Taba silences him with a finger.

  “Yeah, Chief?”

  “Taba, where are you?”

  “I’m in my session.”

  “You haven’t heard?”

  “Heard what?”

  “It’s Iwata. I need you to get down to the lighthouse right now.”

  At the mention of Iwata’s name, anger buzzes in Taba like a bare lightbulb. Perhaps because Chief Morimoto knows about his shame. Perhaps because Morimoto expects him to continue as if nothing has happened. Or that he expects him to share his concern. Taba pinches the bridge of his nose. He wants to say, Iwata can fuck himself. He wants to say, I hope Iwata is dead on those rocks. He wants to say, Fuck Iwata, fuck Chōshi PD, fuck therapy, and fuck you.

  But Taba takes a breath.

  “The lighthouse. I’m on my way.”

  A little over an hour later, he pulls up in the parking lot near Inubōsaki Lighthouse. Police tape surrounds the area and uniforms are keeping reporters at bay. Even a camera crew from Tokyo has turned up. Chief Morimoto is off to one side, looking down at the crashing waves. He calls Taba over solemnly.

  “Chief.”

  “Taba.”

  “What have we got?”

  “It’s Iwata. You’re going to have to speak with him.”

  “About what? You know the situation between us. There is no speaking.”

  Morimoto points to the ambulance at the cliff’s edge. Iwata, mouth open, expressionless, is wrapped in a blanket. Taba has seen many people in shock and many people in the back of ambulances. But never one of his own. It is as if Iwata has dressed up in a silly disguise.

  Realization hits Taba hard.

  “Where’s Cleo? The baby?”

  “Told him she was going for a walk.” Morimoto shakes his head and spits on the floor.

  “A walk. So?”

  “Looks like she snapped. The baby was with her.”

  Taba’s stomach lurches. He already sees the full picture, but it can’t be that way. He was never the brightest, maybe he has this wrong.

  “W-what are you saying?”

  The wind blows. They taste salt and hear seagulls screaming. The hacks behind the police tape are straining to see details, scribbling down notes. Tomorrow morning, thousands and thousands of people will buy words that tell the same story: just one of those things.

  Morimoto points at the cliff beneath the lighthouse.

  “Two types of people come here, Taba. You know this. And Cleo was not here for tourism.”

  “Oh fuck.”

  “Talk to him. You were friends once.”

  “I should … I should follow procedure.” He looks over at Iwata, pink and then blue in the light of the ambulance.

  “Procedure? What procedure is there? The kid was fucking ten months old.” Morimoto closes his eyes. “Let’s just hope the next world makes up for this one.”

  * * *

  When Iwata opened his eyes, it took him a long time to realize where he was. Long hair was splayed out on the pillow next to him.

  Cleo?

  But the hair was black. Sakai was sleeping on her side, facing away from him. She made no sound. She was completely still. Without thinking, Iwata reached out and touched her naked shoulder. Her skin hardened, the goose bumps soft and grainy as an ocean bed. He retracted his hand. It had been a mistake to touch her.

  As if sensing it, Sakai turned around to face him. Her eyes flicked from one side to another, searching his pupils.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

  She looked at his mouth for a moment, then she swept off the duvet from their bodies. Her eyes were dumb with need. Iwata gritted his teeth as Sakai used his battered shoulders for balance, hooking one leg over to straddle him.

  “Sakai.” His voice was hoarse.

  She thrust her small breasts into his face to silence him and reached behind to grip his penis.

  “Stop this.”

  She slid down onto him, making no sound as she took him all the way in. Iwata looked up at her, shocked. He saw no expression on her face. With her body revealed in this light, he saw that she was covered in bruises like a thumbed plasticine figurine. Her legs were covered, though fading into sickly greens, golds, and indigos. Sakai looked down at him with nothing in her eyes as she began to jerk her body at the rhythm she needed.

  It didn’t take her long. Iwata felt her constrict, and then she coughed once.

  She clambered off him, his penis glistening and slightly bloody. Sakai covered herself with the duvet again and turned away from him. They stayed like that for a long time.

  CHAPTER 28: IRREGULARITIES

  IWATA WOKE IN AN EMPTY apartment. Sakai was nowhere to be seen. His phone was ringing. Head pounding, he struggled to his feet and answered.

  “Hatanaka?”

  “I’ve called you, like, fifty times. Are you okay?”

  “I’m standing.”

  “Well, the boss hasn’t heard from you yet, and he’s pretty pissed off—”

  “Forget that. Now did you find out where that body was taken?”

  “I got what you need. Hideo Akashi jumped from Rainbow Bridge on February seventeenth at 1 A.M. First, he was taken to Saiseikai Central Hospital, where he was pronounced dead, then on to Chiba University Hospital for identification where a … Doctor Taniguchi signed for him.”

  “Good. Where are you?”

  “Setagaya PD.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  * * *

  A few minutes north of Minowabashi Station, between a barber’s and a secondhand electronics store, Sakai stopped outside a small apartment block. She made her way up narrow stairs and heard soap operas, and vacuum cleaners through thin doors. She stopped outside Oshino’s door and knocked three times.

  “Who is it?”

  “Open up, police.”

  Oshino opened the door, rubbing his face off with a towel. His neck and cheeks were raw pink from a recent shave, his vest bright white, and the brawn in his bare arms clearly defined.

  “Noriko, come in.”

  She smelled cloves and soap as she passed.

  “Morning, champ. Sorry I’m early.”

  She held up a bag of pastries and two polystyrene coffee cups. Smiling, Oshino led her into a sparse apartment. She tossed her jacket on his bed, sat cross-legged at the low table, and laid out the pastries on paper plates.

  “You used to have a sweet tooth,” she said. “Hopefully, you haven’t grown out of it.”

  Oshino sat across from her and ate half a croissant in one bite.

  “Nobody grows out of sweetness.”

  “How infantile.” She poured two sachets of sugar into her coffee, sipped it and looked at Oshino. He had grown into his features seamlessly, his scars beautiful. She liked the way the muscles in his face rippled when he changed expression. And she liked being able to say a few words to make that happen.

  “Never married?”

  Oshino shook his head gently. He didn’t return the question.

  “No girlfriend?”

  “Intermittently.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  He laughed, looked down at the cup, and stirred his coffee.

  “You never used to be able to take your eyes off me,” Sakai said. “Have I aged that badly?”

  “Come on, my entire gym dropped what they were doing to look at you.”

  “But not you. You can’t look at me.”

  He glan
ced up. Sakai was smiling but he couldn’t register humor in her words.

  “Noriko, it’s not easy.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “Looking at you … it’s like looking at the past.”

  “But the past holds good things too. Sweet memories.”

  “Bittersweet.” Oshino looked down at his coffee and resumed stirring. “For me.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. I was the one that walked out. And now I walk back in and give you a hard time.”

  He shook his head.

  “It’s good to see you, Noriko. I’m just bad with words.”

  They shared homesick smiles for a moment until Sakai cleared her throat. Oshino went into his bedroom and returned with a small plastic folder that he placed carefully on the table.

  “This is her, the girl that you’re looking for. But there’s hardly anything. No birth certificate, no school records, no nothing until the age of twelve. She’s a ghost.”

  “What happens at twelve?”

  “Open it.”

  Sakai opened the folder and took out a microfiche printout of a newspaper article from the Nagasaki Shimbun.

  July 12, 1996

  A thirty-year-old woman stabbed a man to death on the Michimori Shrine Ropeway yesterday evening. Keiko Shimizu, an unemployed mother of one, of no fixed abode, jumped from the cable car to her death after committing the crime. The victim, Hirokazu Ina, was a nineteen-year-old student who worked part-time for the ropeway. It is understood that Mr. Ina was stabbed while attempting to dissuade the woman from opening the cable car door. Local police have ruled out any kind of personal relationship or vendetta between the two as the aggressor was hitherto unknown to the victim.

  Hideo Akashi, an off-duty police officer from Tokyo, happened to be on the cable car at the time of the attack. “I attempted to stop the young woman from jumping but she was very disturbed,” he said, adding, “I’m just glad that more people weren’t hurt.”

  The incident is the latest in a series of setbacks to affect the newly opened ropeway. Owned by a local energy magnate, the Michimori Shrine Ropeway has been dogged by poor ticket sales and technical difficulties since its opening early last year.

  The woman’s twelve-year-old daughter, Midori Anzai, has been taken into state care. Keiko Shimizu’s father, Yukitoshi, a Nagasaki resident, declined to comment.

  Sakai put down the article.

  “That’s her.” Oshino tapped the bottom of the clipping. “It has to be.”

  “What happens to her after the ropeway?”

  “It’s a puzzle. Orphanages, foster families all over Japan, and then nothing. Maybe she died. Maybe something else. Could be a name change. Could have moved to Botswana. Whatever happened, the trail runs out.”

  Sakai looked out of the window.

  “Who is she?” Oshino swallowed his coffee in one. “Midori Anzai?”

  “Someone you don’t ask me about.”

  “All right, understood.”

  From the back of the folder, she took out an address written on a Post-it note.

  “What’s this?”

  “The girl’s grandfather from the article,” Oshino said. “He’s still in Nagasaki.”

  Sakai closed the folder and stood up.

  “Thank you for this. I mean it, Oshino.”

  Sakai kissed him on the cheek and picked up her jacket.

  “See you around, champ.”

  Oshino jumped up and followed her to the door.

  “But I won’t see you, will I?”

  Sakai smiled and wiped sugar grains from his lip with her little finger.

  “I don’t think so.”

  * * *

  A knock came at the door of the Chiba University Hospital office of Doctor Ken Taniguchi. Iwata and Hatanaka entered, the latter now wearing a new but ill-fitting gray suit. Iwata had on his usual intent expression.

  “Doctor Taniguchi? I’m Inspector Iwata of Shibuya Division One.” He took out his police credentials. “This is Assistant Inspector Hatanaka.”

  Taniguchi gestured at the seats opposite, somewhat alarmed at the curt tone with which he was being addressed.

  “You signed for the body of Inspector Hideo Akashi last month, yes?”

  “That’s right.”

  “We have some questions. Could we see the file?”

  Taniguchi nodded, turned to his computer, and peered at the monitor over his spectacles. It took him a few moments to find the right file.

  “Here we are. Hideo Akashi. Suicide.”

  “Could you print that for me?”

  Taniguchi complied, then passed across a single page. Iwata and Hatanaka peered at it.

  “Doctor, you signed off on this body, is that correct?” Iwata said.

  “That’s right.”

  “But Doctor,” Hatanaka interjected, “this says that the medical examination wasn’t carried out by you.”

  “That’s right.”

  Iwata took back the baton.

  “You’re the chief pathologist here, correct?”

  “Yes. But this procedure was carried out by my assistant at the time. It was perfectly normal for her to carry out the examination.”

  “Name?”

  “Ayako Wakatsuki. She was a very promising student.”

  “Was?”

  “Is.”

  “I’d like to speak with her.”

  Taniguchi shifted in his seat, looking up from Iwata to Hatanaka and back again.

  “Inspector, do you mind me asking what this is about?”

  “Frankly, I do.” He pointed to the file. “Are there are no photographs of the body?”

  “No, why would there be?”

  “There was nothing strange about Akashi’s death, then?”

  Taniguchi sat back.

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  Iwata looked over his shoulder at Hatanaka, who said nothing. Iwata turned back. Taniguchi was clearly unsettled, but his face was too uninterested, an inexperienced poker player laying down a weak hand.

  “Doctor, you’re lying.”

  Taniguchi laughed incredulously.

  “I have nothing to lie about.”

  There was a moment of silence and Iwata smiled venomously.

  “Doctor, if I ask Assistant Inspector Hatanaka to lock this door, he will. But I would rather not have to ask him. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Taniguchi exhaled, his resistance gone.

  “I don’t want to have anything to do with this once we’re done, is that understood?”

  “Talk first, Doctor. Then we’ll see.”

  Taniguchi ran a hand through his gray hair.

  “Okay. It was Wakatsuki. She found some … irregularities with Akashi’s examination.”

  Iwata could hardly breathe.

  “Go on.”

  “You should really speak with Wakatsuki herself, I’m not quite sure. Superintendent Fujimura made it clear that this matter should not be discussed.”

  Iwata and Hatanaka shared a look.

  “Fujimura,” Iwata spat. “You spoke to Fujimura?”

  “Directly. I called him to tell him there could possibly be a basis for an autopsy and the public prosecutor would have to be contacted. He became … very angry. He made it clear that it was unacceptable to create such a stink over such a sad event. He was very clear—he did not believe this matter to be anything other than a tragedy.”

  “And then?”

  “He found out Wakatsuki had carried out the examination. The next morning, she requested a transfer to a different faculty. She was a very promising student, so it’s a real shame, as I say.”

  “All right.” Iwata folded Akashi’s examination page away. “So where is Ayako Wakatsuki?”

  CHAPTER 29: KETCHUP

  AT THE BACK OF CHIBA University library, Ayako Wakatsuki was hunched over textbooks. She was cute and plump with a short bob and large hoop earrings. As Iwata and Hatanaka approached her, she looked up. Curiosity first. Then
anxiety.

  Iwata held up his police ID.

  “Are you Ayako Wakatsuki?”

  Her eyes flicked from cop to cop.

  “Why?”

  “You’re in no trouble. You remember Hideo Akashi?”

  She looked around.

  “I’d rather talk elsewhere.”

  Ayako Wakatsuki led them clear of the university grounds to a half-empty Freshness Burger a few blocks away. Despite the early hour, Hatanaka and Wakatsuki ordered cheeseburgers and lemonade, while Iwata stuck to coffee. Blushing, Hatanaka insisted on paying. They sat down in a corner booth.

  “We just have a few questions,” Iwata said. “You have nothing to worry about, Ayako.”

  Wakatsuki dabbed at her mouth with a napkin.

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Within an hour of examining that policeman’s body I was receiving threats. I was told that things could happen to me. Things could be arranged. I was followed. From my apartment, to class, even to my mother’s house—day and night. All of this by policemen, and all of this just because I did my job. So you’ll forgive me if I hold on to my worries for now.”

  Iwata held up his hands.

  “I know the way they operate. I do. But I need you to trust us now because we’re not the same as them.”

  “So what are you, then? The good ones?”

  “We’re investigating a series of murders, and we believe Akashi’s death may be linked. That’s all. If you talk to us, nobody will find out. You can rest assured. But we do need your help. People’s lives depend on this. On you, Ayako.”

  “Great, so no pressure, then.” Wakatsuki sighed gently. “I mean, I figured you weren’t the same as them the second you asked about Akashi. Those other cops had no questions whatsoever.”

  “They’re assholes,” Hatanaka blurted. “We don’t have any kind of agenda. We won’t force you to do anything.”

  She looked at Hatanaka for a moment, then back at Iwata.

  “Series of murders, huh? So you’re talking, like, a serial killer?”

  He nodded and Wakatsuki wrinkled her nose.

  “All right. Okay. I mean I can’t really say no to that.”

  Iwata produced Akashi’s death certificate.

  “Doctor Taniguchi said you found irregularities.” He unfolded the page. “But I can’t see anything irregular here.”