Takuda stood and bowed as she reached the table. As he presented his card, he felt a strange mixture of sympathy and satisfaction. She hadn’t slept properly in a long, long time, and she had been crying, drinking steadily, or both. It was too bad she had to suffer so, but he was glad to finally meet someone whose eyes matched the situation.
She said, “The divorce isn’t final yet, but you should call me Okamoto, my maiden name.”
He nodded. “I appreciate your coming to see me. This has been very difficult, I’m sure.”
She looked at him steadily. “The most difficult part is that this is all a mistake. Hiroyasu Ogawa is not a criminal. I wouldn’t have married such a man.”
“Of course not,” Takuda said. “Whoever he was, he is no longer the man you married. Frankly, I don’t know what he is.”
The waiter glided to her side. Okamoto fidgeted for a second before sending him away. Takuda could see her deciding whether to defend her estranged husband or to distance herself from him.
When the waiter left, she turned to Takuda. “You have experience in such things. What do you think happened to my husband, Detective?”
“I don’t know. Tell me everything, and I may find out.” He looked at the tabletop. “There’s no reason to defend him, by the way. There’s no point in pretending to love him anymore, either. You may think society expects the pretense, but it’s absurd. You know he’s gone, and you know he’s never coming back, and you want to cut yourself loose.”
Her cheeks flushed crimson, and the grayish, puffy flesh around her eyes stood out like a mask. “You mistake me. Cutting myself loose is not my goal, Detective.”
“You left him before he snapped, and you’ve agreed to meet with me,” Takuda said. “Keep doing things correctly, and you’ll be on the road to freedom.”
She gathered herself to leave. “I’m sorry, Detective. I thought this was to be a professional conversation. I have your card, so I’ll . . .”
He raised a hand to silence her. “Answer every question I ask, tell me everything about your time in the Naga River valley, tell me what you saw and heard and smelled. Everything. I’ll help you disappear.”
She sat frozen, staring at him.
“I can misplace every document that ties you to Hiroyasu Ogawa. The only solid link to your husband will be in Osaka, where you were married.”
She blinked several times. Finally, she said, “The family register at the Oku Village office . . .”
“His family register could disappear. Such things happen.”
She glanced down at his business card on the table. “May I see your identification, please?”
He handed over his ID. She studied it. She compared his face to his photograph. She apologized and bowed as she handed it back. “It’s just that I don’t know if . . .”
“You have no assurance that I’ll keep my part of the bargain,” he said. “Even worse than that, you’ll have to trust a policeman who offers to break the rules.”
“Yes. Yes, that is worse.”
When the waiter returned, she ordered a beer. They were silent until the waiter departed.
“I’ve been thinking about the newspapers,” she said. “I’ve been dreading reporters at the door.”
He shook his head. “They probably wouldn’t find you until the trial, and he may never be tried at all. Zenkoku Fiber has that valley gagged and bound.”
Music from Takuda’s youth played in the background. He sat still as she talked herself into telling the whole truth.
“Detective, what would you do if I didn’t help you?”
“Either way, your name probably wouldn’t become public until your husband’s trial, as I’ve said. Whether you help me or not, I’ll help you disappear.”
She stared. “How did you know I would be so reluctant to talk?”
He didn’t know whether to smile or frown, so he shrugged. “Our country is still just one big fishing village, no matter how rich we are. A woman in your position, with a husband who’s insane, or evil, probably homicidal—you can’t really afford to tell the truth out loud, can you? If you tell anyone what’s happening in that valley, they’ll think you’re crazier than your husband.”
She covered her face with both hands and sobbed freely. After a few moments, she stood and strode to the restroom. Every woman in the restaurant watched her go, and when she was out of sight, they turned reproachful stares on him.
He drained his tea and waited.
She was gone longer than he expected. He gripped the table leg, thinking to test his extraordinary strength. He squeezed to a normal degree. No problem, a grip slightly stronger than normal, but no problem. Then he engaged the extra, and the wood began to crack quietly. He was still amazed that it was so easy to control. Somewhat horrifying, but easy to control.
When he released the table leg, small fissures of split lacquer radiated from his cooling handprint. His palm was smooth and pale, not even red despite the wood-splitting pressure he had exerted.
Weird.
“I hate pubs like this,” Okamoto said when she returned to the table. “They seem so old and dirty.” She turned up her glass and drank half her beer in one go. “The whole valley is old and dirty like this.” Her voice was steady and full of hatred. “And it all stinks. There’s a stench of dead fish everywhere you go. Everything from the nasty little beauty parlor to the roach-hole karaoke clubs. It happens to the people, too. Nasty.”
“I was there yesterday,” he said. “Not everything in the valley smells like that.”
She frowned at him. “No, of course not. My husband brought that stink home, and I can’t get it out of my nose.”
He paused with the cigarette in his mouth. He sucked in smoke until it burned the insides of his cheeks, but he still couldn’t think of anything to cover his interest. He tried to act casual as she continued.
“He brought the stink home to Osaka. He was designing a system to keep plant runoff from the main spillway system. He didn’t really do much. He was just representing the family.”
“Representing your family, wasn’t he?”
“My family, yes. Okamoto Hydrological Systems. You’ve heard of it? It’s not a huge company, but it gets big contracts. The board members are all retired bigwig politicians.”
Takuda shook his head. “He threw it all away, didn’t he? If he had only shown up to work for a few more years, he would have had Okamoto Hydrological Systems in his pocket, but he quit to join Zenkoku?”
“As a new employee, at a new employee’s salary. A lot of the other new employees were fresh out of high school. And he was proud about it, happy about it.”
“You left Osaka to join him. Didn’t you visit the Naga River valley before moving there?”
“He made it sound wonderful. When I got there, it was a nightmare.” She leaned forward. “Zenkoku keeps employees like slaves.”
Takuda frowned. “The corporate culture of a company like Zenkoku is a pretty powerful force. I’m sure some salaried workers feel their lives are limited . . .”
“They disappear from the apartments by the main canal in the middle of the night. Whole families. Just gone.”
Chills traveled up Takuda’s spine. “Give me names. Give me names of families that disappeared.”
“Tanaka. And Yo-something. Yoshida, maybe. The Yoshidas had a boy named Junichiro.”
“Are you serious? Is that all you have? Do you even know in which units they lived?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t feel very chummy if you know what I mean.”
Useless. Utterly useless. He sat back against the polished wooden railing. She couldn’t help him solve the mysteries of the Naga River valley, but maybe he could still help her.
Okamoto motioned for the waiter. “I’m hungry for the first time in a week,” she told Takuda. I lose half a kilo every
time the phone rings.”
She wanted one order of grilled chicken livers and two orders of asparagus spears grilled in bacon. It was a hearty lunch. Takuda ordered rice in hot tea with pickled plums.
She switched from her sidesaddle pose to stretch her legs out under the table. Her face was flushed from the beer, and she looked happier and more relaxed already. You can’t fake that. “This place isn’t so bad,” she said. “It’s actually cozy. Are you buying lunch?”
He smiled and motioned the waiter to bring Okamoto another beer.
“Getting me drunk won’t help. I’ve already decided to tell you everything.”
“Getting people drunk doesn’t yield useful information. Anyway, one more glass of beer won’t hurt you. You’ve had a hard time.”
She asked for one of his cigarettes. “You’ve read me pretty well, Detective. Are detectives trained to know whom they can trust? I mean, can that be taught?”
“Can I tell you something sad?”
She blew smoke toward the rafters. “Feel free.”
“There’s a science of observation. It can be taught, but smart liars can beat it. There’s another way, though, an intuitive sense, a second sight that can’t be taught. It’s a gift, and it’s never wrong. Two days ago, I could look into people’s eyes and see straight into their hearts. Since I met your husband, I’ve completely lost that second sight.” He remembered his confusion about young Matsuo’s intentions after the aikido lesson the night before. “Now I have no idea what you’re thinking. You could stab me in the throat with a chopstick, and no one would be more surprised than I.”
“Maybe the stink clouds people’s minds. I felt that way. Once my husband came out of the canals with that stink, everything started going dark. That’s why I left.”
“He worked deep in the plant. Why was he in the canals?”
Her brow furrowed. “His job didn’t involve the canals?”
“He worked in a wastewater management control room.”
She sighed. “Ah, my lying, stinking Ogawa. Everything was a lie after we got to that valley. He was studying Ainu. He told me he was thinking of going back to work for the family and expanding our operations into Hokkaido. He said that speaking the aboriginal language of the north might help. I knew better.” “What about the Kappa pictures?”
“What about them? Another bizarre obsession. I thought he was clipping pictures of women. He was ignoring me, so to see what kind of women he wanted, I looked in his folder. All these stupid cartoon Kappa pictures came spilling out. Ridiculous.”
Takuda shook his head. “Career suicide, obsession with the canals, obsession with his Kappa, studying a language useless in this part of the country—I didn’t bother to ask, but he’s a complete loner, right?”
She rolled her eyes.
He continued: “Attacking a little girl—but you don’t think he’s insane, and you don’t think he’s a child molester.”
“I still wonder what he is.” She looked up at Takuda. “I wouldn’t have left him for simple insanity. I would have pulled him out of that valley, drugged him and carried his limp body if I had to, and I would have gotten him help. But that wasn’t the problem. He wasn’t insane.”
His phone rang. It was Officer Mori. Takuda got up and stepped away from the table to take the call. He kept his face impassive as Mori told him what had happened.
As Takuda paid the bill, Okamoto said, “Detective, do you mind if I ask what’s happening? Is it related to my husband’s case?”
“Indirectly,” he said. “It seems that there was some sort of accident in the valley yesterday afternoon, and someone is missing. An American. Apparently a sports-related accident.”
“A sports-related incident that left someone missing? How strange.”
He left her as she started to tear chicken livers from the skewer with her teeth. It’s not so strange, he thought as he walked away. Not so strange at all if the sport is swimming. If the canals can’t have a little girl, then the river will take someone. Anyone. No matter what else happens, the valley must be fed.
CHAPTER 11
Sergeant Kuma was leaving the village police station just as Detective Takuda arrived. Kuma blocked the doorway, and he didn’t seem to know which way to go. He bowed as stiffly as his belly allowed, and he wouldn’t look Takuda in the eye.
As Takuda squeezed in past Kuma, Chief Nakamura shouted for the sergeant via the antiquated intercom. Kuma had escaped just in time. The two young patrolmen scurried around the building to find Kuma in a vain attempt to make the chief happy. Nothing was going to make the village police chief happy on a drowning day.
Nakamura answered Takuda’s questions in a cold, halfhearted manner. When Takuda asked him what progress they had made with Lee Hunt’s disappearance, the chief grimaced. “That’s our business. We can handle the foreigner’s disappearance. As to the matter that brought you here yesterday, I talked to your office.” Nakamura shook his head sadly. “Your superintendent says you didn’t come here to decide whether to recommend prosecution in Ogawa’s case. He says it’s strange that I would think so.” He looked Takuda in the eye. “He says there is some sort of—misunderstanding.”
The first real lie I tell in years, and I get caught. He pulled out his cell phone. But if I get caught, I won’t be caught by this old scarecrow.
Nakamura’s gaze wavered even though he didn’t know who Takuda was calling. Superintendent Yamada answered on the third ring. “Takuda, where are you?”
“I’m in the valley, the police station in Oku Village,” he said. “I don’t think our office should exercise jurisdiction in Lee Hunt’s disappearance, but I would like to lend logistical support.”
Nakamura blinked. His eyes were watering, and his nose seemed to twitch on its own.
Takuda’s boss snorted. “You’re doing my job now? Glad you’re doing someone’s job, since you don’t seem to be doing your own. Anyway, I was going to send you up there if you ever checked in today.”
“Of course. When I heard about the missing man, I came straight here to find out what I could.”
“Sometimes, all we have is discipline and procedure. If we don’t have discipline and procedure, we’re nothing. We’re no better than gangsters who live by their own rules.”
“I understand,” Takuda said. There was no way he would apologize for not going to the office, not in front of Nakamura.
Yamada sighed heavily into his ear. “I don’t know what’s happening with you, but if you can’t control yourself, you won’t be able to control the situation in that valley, and control is what we need right now. Do you understand? Control. I’m already getting pressure to keep this small.”
“I see. From whom?”
“Don’t worry about that.”
“I hear you, Superintendent. I promised Chief Nakamura nothing yesterday in terms of recommending prosecution or exercising jurisdiction in the attempted kidnapping of Hanako Kawaguchi.”
“I don’t care,” the superintendent said.
“Yes, that’s right. No promise at all. There was obviously some sort of—misunderstanding.”
Nakamura turned scarlet.
Takuda suddenly found the chief grotesque. He averted his eyes. “As far as the search for the missing man goes, I’ll call for Officer Mori. No divers yet. The village police can start their search of the places where bodies always wash up. They know how to find drowning victims here. They call it the water safety question. Finding corpses is what they do best.”
Chief Nakamura’s eyes burned.
Yamada growled into Takuda’s ear: “Enough! Takuda, don’t find any bodies. Don’t find anything. Just make sure they’re going in the right direction and get out of that valley till you hear from me. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” Takuda said slowly, but his mind was racing.
“And don’t bother calling for Mori. I’ll have him sent to you by dinnertime. Just stick to procedure, keep it clean, keep the details clear, and document what you see.”
“Thank you, Superintendent.”
“And Takuda—oh, never mind. Document everything on your end, but don’t sign off on their reports. Just be smart. Don’t find anything, don’t sign off on anything.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.” He hung up. Chief Nakamura stared in stony silence as Takuda explained that he would simply make sure the village had all angles covered. Then the chief bowed stiffly and left without any acknowledgment that Takuda had spoken at all.
Takuda was free of the chief, but he had to be careful of his own superintendent. Someone had reached out to Yamada. It was probably a well-placed friend of Zenkoku Fiber, probably no one from the company itself. At any rate, the call had been made, and the superintendent had been put on notice that the case was being watched.
Am I being watched as well?
He found the two young patrolmen studying a map of the canals. Takuda remembered it well. Their newer copy was laminated, and certain bends and gates had been highlighted red so many times that the washable marker residue bled a pink haze into the surrounding fields.
He said to the taller one, “You’re Kikuchi, right?”
The boy bowed, pleased the detective had remembered. He introduced the shorter one as Inoue.
Takuda took the map from them. “With the spring runoff, nothing is likely to catch higher up.” Takuda pointed to a bend in the Naga River he knew too well. “Here is the lowest point on the river where a body is going to show up. Start there, and then work your way upstream toward the site where Hunt was last seen. That eliminates the river. After that, check the choke points in the main canals.”
The patrolmen glanced at each other. “The chief has us starting at the far end of the north reservoir and working our way all around the shore.”
To give someone else time to find the body? It didn’t mean the chief was part of some specific plot. It had always been standard operating procedure with the water safety question. The longer you waited to look in the right place, the more likely the corpse would disappear.
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