Blue Light Yokohama

by Nicolas Obregon

  “It’s Sakai,” he said, his voice breaking. “It’s about Sakai.”

  CHAPTER 35: INTRODUCTIONS

  AT 5:50 A.M., A BONE-WEARY Iwata clambered out of the Isuzu and entered the Medical Examiner’s Office in Bunkyō. Doctor Eguchi was standing at the entrance, smoking a lonely cigarette, looking up at the branches above her. She nodded to Iwata but said nothing.

  I’m happy with you.

  Inside the building, Iwata paused to get his breath back several times. His balance was fragile as he stepped out of the elevator.

  It’s Sakai.

  Iwata shook his head, unable to accept it. He had already relented so many times to cobble his theory together. He had bled for it. He couldn’t be wrong again.

  Please let me hear. Those words of love from you.

  The elevator doors slid open on the long corridor leading to the morgue. Only one of the autopsy rooms had its lights on. Iwata breathed in then exhaled before entering.

  The Lord is my light and my salvation.

  Whom shall I fear?

  Sakai’s dead body occupied one of the four autopsy tables. Shindo was on his knees, sobbing. Seeing Iwata, he clambered to his feet and left the room.

  In death, Sakai’s face had lost none of its cold beauty. If anything, it was sharper, free of the distortion of expression. Cuts and bruises around her face and neck showed that she had died fighting. Iwata closed his eyes and felt the echo of the Black Sun Killer’s blows, the raw power he had wielded over him. Sakai wouldn’t have stood a chance. Numbly, Iwata pulled back the sheet to see her ravaged body. The cavity beneath her rib cage gaped open. He knew the heart was gone.

  “Why you?”

  He brushed the hair out of her face and was about to cover her when he saw that she gripped something in her left hand. Iwata snapped on a rubber glove and eased her fingers open. It was a small black wallet. He knew what it contained because he had one too. He opened it carefully.

  SAKAI, NORIKO—ASSISTANT INSPECTOR, DIVISION ONE

  In the photo, a young Sakai, not quite smiling, but brimming with defiant hope. Blood had leaked around the edges of the photo. He had seen her flash it dozens of times. But he had never noticed the seal on the corner of her photo. The seal of the issuing police station was from Nagasaki.

  Iwata thought back to their first day in the car. She had said Kanazawa.

  That’s where you’re from?

  I got my badge there.

  Sakai had lied to him reflexively.

  He put the wallet back carefully and, as he closed her fingers, it all fell into place.

  He sagged against the counter, shaking his head.

  Looking at Sakai’s pale face, he felt a wave of sad relief.

  “So that’s who you are,” Iwata whispered. He finally understood. But too late. “Forgive me, Noriko.”

  He bowed deeply before her, forty-five degrees, and held it for a long time. Then he left the room. As he stepped into the corridor, Shindo spun him by the shoulder and punched him hard in the face. Slumping back against the wall, Iwata spat out blood.

  “You hit hard.”

  Shindo stepped over him, his eyes red, his voice uncertain.

  “Was it you?”

  “What?”

  “Was it you!?”

  “Shindo, you can hit me, but you’re not making any sense.”

  “They’re saying you’re a suspect.”

  “What?”

  “Your DNA was found at Sakai’s apartment. You were seen leaving.”

  Iwata thought back to Fujimura’s office.

  And outside of work? You’re friends, are you not?

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “Were you there?!”

  “I was there, but this is ridiculous. That must be obvious. Come on, you know it.”

  Shindo began to pace.

  “Fuck, I shouldn’t be telling you this … Fujimura is pushing to arrest you as a suspect in Sakai’s murder. You don’t have long.” He punched the wall, a loud, whooshing echo down the corridor. “You should have looked after her!”

  “Shindo, you know as well as I do, there was no looking after Sakai.”

  The older man slumped back against the wall next to Iwata, his anger drained. There were tears in his eyes.

  “I feel old,” he said.

  Iwata clutched his numb jaw and felt it hardening. “It was the Black Sun Killer.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He sighed. “Which is why I spoke to my judge. Your arrest warrant for Yoshi Tachibana will be issued tomorrow at midday. But we’re going to have to get this right or we won’t catch him.”

  Iwata nodded.

  “You’re a good man, Shindo.”

  “No. I’m not. Neither are you.”

  Iwata struggled to his feet. He patted the shoulder of his superior, who looked at the floor with lost eyes. There was nothing else to say.

  As Kosuke Iwata left the building, he stepped into sunlight. Eguchi flicked ash in his direction, still whistling “Greensleeves.”

  “You should get some rest, Inspector. I don’t want to see you back here in a bag.”

  Iwata was too tired to respond. He drove to his apartment slowly, almost falling asleep at the wheel several times. When he finally arrived home, he collapsed on his futon. He was gone before his head hit the pillow.

  * * *

  Iwata opened the curtains to an unremarkable, chilly dawn. The sky was gray with a pale yellow fringe where it met the horizon. He made coffee and put on Glenn Gould’s Goldberg Variations, listening only to Aria da Capo. When it was over, he washed out his cup and left his apartment.

  * * *

  At a few minutes past 1 P.M., two squad cars stopped outside the Green Gardens Community. Iwata, Hatanaka, and Yamada, along with three uniformed police officers, approached the Tachibanas’ home. There were few neighbors in sight. A weary Yoshi Tachibana opened the door. He was accustomed to police by this stage but something was different this time. He saw that now.

  “What is this?”

  One of the uniformed cops applied an arm lock, slamming him into the door. Another snapped cuffs on him and gripped him by the nape of the neck.

  “W-what are you doing?!”

  Iwata held up the warrant and spoke in a slow, loud voice.

  “Yoshi Tachibana, I’m arresting you, under Article 199 of the Penal Code, on the charge of multiple homicide. You are not obliged to speak at this point, but anything you do say may be used in court against you, thus I urge you to exercise caution. Do you understand?”

  Tachibana’s face blanched.

  “What is this, Iwata? What the fuck are you doing?”

  With a wave of his hand, Iwata gestured for Tachibana to be taken away to the waiting car.

  Yumi was now at the front door.

  “Where’s my husband?”

  Before she could become hysterical, Yamada led her back inside and closed the door.

  Hatanaka handed Iwata a cigarette and turned away from the wind to light up. “How do you think she’ll take it?”

  “Not very well,” Iwata replied.

  They watched the squad car pull away. Tachibana was in shock in the backseat.

  “So what now? What do you need?”

  Iwata shook his head. “Today’s my last day, Hatanaka. Time’s up. I’m finished. Go home.”

  The younger man looked down at the floor, disappointed.

  Iwata slapped him on the back.

  “Come on, kid. You did good work, I mean that. I’m going to ask Shindo to put in a word for you. Hopefully my name won’t smear yours.”

  Hatanaka shook his head.

  “It was an honor to work with you, Inspector.”

  They shook hands and Iwata turned away.

  After a few paces, Hatanaka called after him.

  “Boss!”

  “What?”

  “Your mandate doesn’t expire until midnight, right?”

  “So?”

  “There’s a café across
the street from Odaiba-Kaihinkōen Station. I’ll wait there if you need me. You know, just in case.”

  “Hatanaka—”

  “Just call me if anything comes up. Life takes turns.”

  Iwata nodded and the younger man smiled.

  There were no uniformed cops in sight, and life in Green Gardens had, on the surface, returned to normal. As Iwata walked back to the Isuzu, he tried not to glance up at the nearby rooftops. Though there was no sign of it, he knew the sniper squad of the Tokushu Sakusen Gun Unit would be in place. He got into the car and adjusted his rearview mirror to see if there was any movement on the rooftops, anything that might spook the killer.

  He saw nothing.

  Your move.

  Shindo was in the backseat, chewing his nails, trying to act natural.

  “How many are up there?” he asked.

  “Eleven, I think. They have every angle of approach covered. Six is the designated shooter.”

  “I don’t see shit.”

  “That’s the point, Shindo.”

  “If we’re wrong about this then I hope you’ve got some special talent to fall back on ’cos police work is out.”

  Iwata laughed.

  “What did you tell your judge?”

  “Exactly what we agreed. That Yoshi Tachibana killed the Kaneshiro family to facilitate the VIVUS project in Setagaya. As a freelance architect in financial turmoil, his career and the well-being of his wife and unborn child depended on it. The family was his only obstacle. After killing them, he gave the killings a ritualistic slant to lead suspicion away from him.”

  Iwata nodded.

  “That’s good, go on.”

  “Next, he needed Ohba’s wife dead. Mr. Ohba had originally signed off on the project until Kaneshiro’s lawyer managed to secure a ruling against it. When Ohba died, the green light was left in the limbo of Mrs. Ohba’s study. Yoshi couldn’t afford for there to be any witnesses, so he killed her too. With the family gone and the Ohba permit magically recovered, Yoshi’s contracts with VIVUS were renewed.”

  Iwata chewed his lips.

  “It won’t take long for this to melt, Shindo.”

  “No, it won’t. My judge did, however, ask about Akashi’s connection to the case. He seemed concerned about his original handling before it was given over to you.”

  Iwata glanced at Shindo.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said that Akashi was battling with depression and stress. The only good thing in his life was Yumi, even though she was now his ex-wife. I told the judge that it seemed clear to me that a man like Hideo Akashi, who had nothing to lose anyway, would have rather died than have to investigate her current husband. After all, he would have ruined her life by arresting Yoshi. Not to mention, there’s a baby on the way.”

  Iwata started the engine.

  “This sounds like total bullshit.”

  “My judge signed it today. Whether we go to jail for it tomorrow is another matter.”

  Iwata kept his eyes on the Tachibanas’ door. There was no movement, no change, nothing out of the ordinary. Shindo scanned the windows above. The Black Sun Killer could have been behind any one of them. Or he could be half a world away.

  “You think he saw our little charade?”

  “I think he’s watching,” Iwata replied.

  “And you’re sure about leaving Yamada there?”

  “Yamada’s idea. He made a good point about it looking more natural this way if we follow standard procedure. The killer might become suspicious otherwise.”

  “All right. We better head back to HQ and make sure Yoshi hasn’t shit his pants.”

  “I’ll explain it to him, you handle the lawyer.”

  Iwata pulled away from the curb, toward TMPD Shibuya. He took one last look at the front door.

  Please God, let him take the bait.

  * * *

  A tall, hooded figure was crouching down in the filth of the sewer, one hand holding a flaming torch out in front of his body. He spoke to himself as he searched the dark tunnels. Tied around his shoulders, a squirming sack—terrified screeching came from inside.

  “O master, O Lord, O Lord of the New, of Night, of Darkness—in what manner shall I act for thee?”

  The flame quivered in the darkness, a river of discharge at his feet. His left hand gripped the obsidian blade. His tongue flicked in and out of the ancient, yellowed teeth of the shaman’s mask. His penis jutted up hard against the filthy rags that he wore.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, ma’taali’teeni’, ma’taali’teeni’. Soon, soon, soon, soon, soon.”

  The shaman was shaking with anticipation, quaking with terror.

  “There you are. Yes, yes, yes.”

  He held the flame close to the slimy bricks. There was the chalk marking on the wall. Looking up, he saw the rusted rungs. He began to climb.

  “For I am blind, I am deaf, I am an imbecile, and in excrement, in filth hath my lifetime been … perhaps thou mistaketh me for another; perhaps thou seekest another in my stead.”

  The shaman had reached the top of the ladder. He paused for breath, as though he were about to dive into deep water. He tossed away the torch, took out a key from his rags, then stabbed it into the manhole cover. In seconds, he had the cover free.

  “Titlacauan—we are his slaves. Ipalnemani—he by whom we live. Necoc Yaotl—enemy of both sides. You are the Lord of the Darkness. The Lord of the Night. Tezcatlipoca, O my Lord, I will nourish you. O Lord, I will nourish you. Allow me to serve you, allow me to nourish you. Allow me to cleanse this earth for your return. I beg of you, do not darken the skies, I will pay you, Lord.”

  The shaman clambered into the daylight and stood directly beneath the Tachibanas’ balcony.

  * * *

  Two hundred meters away, on the rooftop of a self-storage warehouse, Sniper No. 6 immediately reported the movement. He described the appearance, the weapon, and the location of the shaman as he emerged from the sewer. As he began to climb the drainpipe, No. 6’s radio flickered into life.

  “Six, copy?”

  “Copy.”

  “Target endorsed. You are clear for the shot.”

  Sniper No. 6 checked his watch, as he always did.

  Time of death will be 2:46 P.M.

  He swallowed the shaman with the crosshairs of his M-24 rifle and winked at death. With expert steadiness, he froze over the head. In the next second, it would be pierced by a 175-grain round and the target would be dead. No. 6 began to squeeze his trigger, anticipating the bullet’s crack, but it was a different sound he heard.

  A metal churning.

  Then a monumental convulsion threw him off his feet and the earth bellowed into life.

  Radio traffic began roaring on every channel.

  “Earthquake! Earthquake!”

  No. 6 tried to get to his feet but it was impossible—this quake was like nothing he had ever known before. Metal scaffolding above began to come loose. The sniper glanced across the street.

  The target was gone.

  There was only a large bullet hole in the concrete a meter away from the drainpipe. Fumbling with his radio, No. 6 tried to get the message across.

  “Negative kill,” he gasped. “Repeat, negative kill.”

  Nobody was listening to him anymore. Wood was ripping. Metal was screaming. The floor was collapsing. The scaffolding was crashing down on them. He looked up and saw it come free.

  Time of death.

  * * *

  After the longest six minutes anyone could remember, the Tōhoku earthquake finally ended. From beneath a desk, Iwata crawled out. The lights were off and backup power had failed. The TMPD office was a bedlam of papers and overturned furniture.

  Iwata, one of the few people to not be openmouthed in shock, picked up the nearest phone and dialed Yamada’s number. The network was blocked. He dialed for the Tachibanas’ with the same result.

  “Fuck!”

  He ran toward Shindo’s office, hurtling
fallen chairs and pushing people out of the way. He kicked the door open.

  “Shindo! The plan is fucked! The sniper missed his shot, he’s there!”

  From beneath a fallen filing cabinet, Shindo groaned.

  “I think my arm is broken.”

  Iwata swore and raced for the emergency exit stairway. He was heading for the car park.

  CHAPTER 36: ALONE TOGETHER

  IWATA SCREECHED OUT OF THE car park and up on to street level but immediately killed the engine.

  It was as though he had just driven into a news report from a war zone. The road was ripped in half. The air was thick with white dust and carried the smell of far-off burning. The sky above was billowing black. Loose chunks of concrete, the size of family refrigerators, fell from above. Telephone poles had collapsed. Windows had shattered.

  Iwata got out of the car, his foot sinking in the liquefied tarmac. He clambered up on the hood and squinted into the distance. All the traffic lights had died. No vehicles were moving. Fearing aftershocks, many were abandoning their cars in the rush to get away from tall buildings.

  Chaos had flooded through Tokyo.

  Iwata was ten kilometers away from the Tachibanas’ house. Ordinarily, it would have been a fifteen-minute drive in good traffic, but driving was now an impossibility. Even running would be difficult, in his condition. He figured it for a two-hour walk. Taking out his phone, he tried to dial Yumi’s number but the mobile network was jammed.

  “Fuck!”

  He had chosen to explain the ruse to Yoshi Tachibana in person, never doubting the sniper unit’s ability to protect Yumi and her unborn child. But he hadn’t factored in an act of God. Now the Black Sun Killer would slaughter them all, and there was nothing he could do.

  No man was smart enough to account for dumb luck.

  Iwata put his hands on his head and bellowed.

  When he had nothing left, he slumped down on the floor.

  A man in greasy overalls ran past. Iwata saw the embroidered logo on the back as he ran toward the shop across the street. It was a snake’s head over a checkered flag, beneath which were the words: RATTLESNAKE MOTORCYCLES.

  Iwata pulled himself up from the floor and ran after the man. At the entrance to the shop, he caught him by the shoulder and thrust his police ID into his face.