After rambling on for a bit, Kenji asked, “By the way, how’s that problem of yours?”
“Thanks for the advice. I’m starting to understand what’s going on, but I’m still in the dark about some things.” Kotaro gave him a brief rundown.
“I see. So it was all about matters of the heart,” Kenji said solemnly. “Hopefully the whole thing will die down naturally.” He noticed Kotaro’s look of unease. “But you don’t seem satisfied.”
“It keeps bugging me.”
“These problems are never cut-and-dried,” Kenji agreed. Then, almost as if to himself: “Sometimes they just get worse.”
“I saw some statistics that say 49 percent of middle school students have smartphones,” he continued. “The figure for high school students is 98 percent, but no one’s teaching them net literacy. It’s scary to think about the future.”
“That’s the second time I’ve heard that today.”
Kenji laughed. “Then I’ll leave it at that.” He stood his chopsticks in the empty cup. “Listen, do you know much about the area along the Seibu-Shinjuku commuter line?”
Kotaro stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Why?”
“Well … I mean, I’m not from Tokyo.” Kotaro remembered that Kenji’s hometown faced the Sea of Japan.
“Google Street View doesn’t give you a good feel for the environment in a city like Tokyo, even though the area along the Seibu-Shinjuku is mostly residential.”
“It’s a lot more urban and busier than where I live,” said Kotaro. “There’s a large student population, too.”
Kenji nodded. “One of the cases I’m handling for the island involves middle school kids attacking homeless people. Maybe they think it’s fun, or maybe they’re just bored. These kids go out in groups of a few members to a whole gang, attacking homeless people. Sometimes they injure them. Sometimes the victims die. The police have investigated dozens of incidents. Newspapers run articles now and then. Sometimes even elementary school kids are involved. It makes you wonder what the world is coming to.”
“I know.”
“A lot of these idiots are active members of the net society. They keep in close touch, share information and try to top each other. Sometimes they upload videos of their attacks.” Kenji sounded truly disgusted. “These attacks are a big part of our work with the Hotline Center.”
Several years earlier, the National Police Agency had launched an Internet Hotline Center. Citizens could call with information about illegal or dangerous web content. The Center would notify local police and work with Internet providers to remove the offending content. In effect, the Center was Japan’s highest-level cyber patrol. Sometimes the Center also subcontracted patrol work to companies like Kumar, which bid for one-year contracts. The year before last, Kumar had been awarded one of those contracts.
Kotaro hoped Kumar would win another contract while he was working there. He knew it wouldn’t affect his day-to-day work, and corporate consulting contracts were much more profitable, but working for the NPA sounded cool.
“I’ve been monitoring this for a while,” Kenji said. “Sometimes the kids just make fun of the homeless, or kick down their cardboard shelters. Steal their stuff. But you never know when things will escalate. They have a way of egging each other on, on the textboards.”
He paused. “The thing is, there’ve been some strange rumors recently. Homeless people seem to be disappearing.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re just gone. The people these kids were having so much fun mocking and harassing aren’t around, at least along the Seibu-Shinjuku Line. Kids are saying ‘There’s no game to hunt,’ and other kids along the line are reporting the same thing.”
“That’s a densely populated area. You’re talking about a lot of kids.”
“Yep. And a lot of them report the same thing.”
Kotaro looked out the window. He could see the streetlights outside. He thought for a moment and turned back to Kenji.
“So? They went somewhere else. They got tired of the harassment.”
“But they wouldn’t go far. These people have their territories and they stick to them. How far can they go? They don’t have cars.”
Kotaro mulled that over. “Maybe they went into shelters and the kids just haven’t heard. The district associations might be tightening up on people living in the streets, trying to get them into shelters where it’s safer.”
“That’s what I thought. I called a few of the ward offices. They told me nothing like that was going on. I looked through their websites and newsletters. Nothing. No new shelters have been built in and around the area. I did my homework.”
“How many people are we talking about?”
“These kid gangs usually give ‘their’ homeless people nicknames. It looks like at least five have vanished.”
That was enough to be significant. It was more than Toe-Cutter Bill’s victims.
“When did this start happening?”
“Maybe two weeks ago.” Kenji scowled. “It’s not just the five who disappeared. Something else happened on the fifth.”
Kotaro took out his phone and called up a calendar.
“This was in the Hyakunin district of Shinjuku, near a Seibu-Shinjuku Line station. A seventy-two-year-old man named Kozaburo Ino was reported missing.
“Now, this guy is no homeless person. He has an apartment in the district and is registered as a Shinjuku resident, but he makes a living collecting empty cans and cardboard for recycling. He might be mistaken for a homeless person. He disappeared suddenly. His apartment was untouched, and the cart he used to haul his stuff around in was found along the route he always took. It was piled with recyclable trash.”
“Were the kids targeting him too?”
“No. There are no ‘homeless hunting’ groups in that area. But I ran across him when I was dredging the boards. A middle-school student who lives in Hyakunin said a dirty old homeless man in the neighborhood had disappeared.”
Kenji used this clue to do more digging, and ran across the website of a local FM station. The owner of a coffee shop that Ino had patronized nearly every day ran an announcement on the station saying that he’d disappeared on the fifth, and asking anyone with information to come forward.
Kotaro thought back. The fifth of December …
“There was a big storm the day before. Wind and rain like you wouldn’t believe.” Kotaro remembered it well, because Kazumi had been thoroughly freaked out about it. “The water got above floor level in some parts of Tokyo. A few power poles even fell over. There was a lot of damage.”
“Yeah. The street by my apartment was flooded. It was a mess.”
“Then Ino must’ve had his accident the day of the storm. Maybe he was out with his cart, even in the bad weather.”
Kenji shook his head. “What kind of accident? You mean like falling into a river? There are no rivers anywhere near there.”
Kotaro tried to think of some other explanation. “Maybe the wind blew something on top of him and he couldn’t get up.”
“With that many people in the area, someone would’ve noticed and taken him to a hospital. He has a place to live. Someone would’ve reported it—his landlord, or someone at the hospital. The police. Somebody.”
Kenji had clearly thought things through. Kotaro was stumped. “Maybe he disappeared like the others, then.”
“That’s what I think. In fact, he was the first to vanish. Someone mistook him for a homeless person, the same person who’s responsible for these other disappearances.”
“Did you tell your chief?”
“Sure. This isn’t like the other cases we’re monitoring, but he reported it to the Hotline Center anyway. He knows one of the people there, from the time we had that contract. But you know, I doubt the police will do anything right away.” Kenji sighed. He sat
back in his chair and put his hands behind his head.
“Why wouldn’t the police do something? You’ve got six people missing,” Kotaro said.
“Except for Kozaburo, everyone who’s gone missing was already missing, in a sense.”
Kotaro felt a stab of pity, not only because of what Kenji said, but because of the uneasy—no, clearly worried—look on his face.
“These guys do things by the book. They’re not going to swing into action because of a few rumors on the Internet. I’m thinking of doing a little investigation of my own.”
“How? Starting with what?”
“With the first person to vanish: Kozaburo Ino. And the rest in order, one by one. How about it? Do you think a rank amateur like me could come up with something?”
Kotaro wondered how he could talk Kenji out of this idea. “You must be kidding, it’s impossible” wouldn’t stop him. Still, he was likely to end up getting in over his head. There was no reason for him to go from patrolling the net to investigating a real incident. They weren’t responsible for that kind of thing. Contacting the Hotline Center was what they were supposed to do. It was more than enough.
Before Kotaro could lay out his reasoning, Kenji seemed to have read it in his face. He took his hands from behind his head and sat up straight.
“This one’s personal. I know what it’s like to lose your home. When I was in fifth grade, my family had to sneak away in the middle of the night.
“My father’s business failed. We took what we could and left. It was the only way we could escape the collection agencies. I was just a kid. It was scary and frustrating. I was miserable and embarrassed all the time. I pretty much wished I was dead.”
“I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like.”
“We kept moving around. We’d stay with relatives or friends of the family. It took almost two years to get back on our feet. I’ll never forget that time.
“A place to live. Electricity, gas, water. Three meals a day. The parents have jobs and the kids go to school. You can lose all of that so easily. One or two poor decisions topped off with a bit of bad luck and the whole thing can fall apart very quickly.
“Even now, when I see people living under a bridge, or in a shelter made of cardboard and blue plastic sheeting in a park, something hurts right here.” He tapped his chest.
“People are like grains of sand. Society is a desert of millions of tiny grains. The desert doesn’t care about a single grain of sand. It’s pointless to expect that. Still …” Kenji laughed shyly. “Grains of sand can care about each other. I want to care. When I think of people who’ve disappeared with no one to search for them, I can’t bear it.”
Kotaro gave up. He knew he couldn’t change Kenji’s mind. “Then you should give it a try.”
Kenji’s face lit up. “I knew you’d say that, Ko-chan.”
“But this is the worst time of the year to find out anything. There’s Christmas, then the New Year holidays. Are you sure you can find out much before next year?”
Kotaro had heard his mother and Kazumi just that morning, talking about what they should plan for Christmas dinner. A little Christmas tree already adorned the living room, and a wreath was hanging in the entryway.
Yes, Christmas would be here soon. Suddenly Kotaro knew that his dinner with Ayuko was an early Christmas present dropped on him from heaven. Just as suddenly, his regrets dissolved—regrets about not being a brilliant conversationalist, or having more time to be with her, and many others besides. When you get a present without expecting it, all you can do is be grateful.
“What’s wrong? Did you just think of something?” Kenji looked at him doubtfully. Kotaro snapped to attention.
“No, nothing. So anyway, it’s, um, it’s not a good time of year for detective stuff. A lot of people are going to be gone, back to their hometowns or on vacation.”
“I’m going to go for it anyway. People must be worried about Kozaburo Ino right now. If I can find his landlord, I might learn something. The only thing is—”
Kenji knitted his brows. “Judging from Street View, I’m surprised his apartment building didn’t get blown away in the storm. It’s falling apart. The area probably has a lot of poor residents. Worst case, they might be victims of the poverty industry.”
“Whoa. Then you better stay away from them.”
“Poverty businesses” offered shelter and meals to the poor in exchange for a cut—or all—of their welfare payments. Many of these operators had ties to criminal organizations and preyed on the poor while pretending to help them.
“Kenji, if you think that’s a possibility, then it’s way too dangerous for an amateur sleuth to be poking around in.”
“It’s a possibility. Just my guess. I told you, the police aren’t going to lift a finger based on what I have so far.”
“I know, but—”
“If I sense danger, I’ll get out fast. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you for insurance, just in case it is dangerous.”
“Insurance?”
“If something happens to me, I’m counting on you to fill in Seigo and the police.”
“What are you talking about? In that case I’ll help you.”
“No, that doesn’t work. It would defeat the whole purpose of having you as insurance. You have to stay out of it.” He stood up and clapped Kotaro on the shoulder. “Quit worrying. I’m just preparing for the worst case. It’s how I work. Details. Caution.”
Kotaro was in a cold sweat. Kenji was taking this too lightly. He remembered what Seigo told him when he invited him to join Kumar.
I always thought you were looking for a way to help people. Help the world, you know?
Kotaro wasn’t the only person with this aspiration. Kenji wanted to help people too. Ayuko and Seigo had gathered many people like them at Kumar. The warnings they gave Kotaro, in different words but with the same meaning—Don’t get too involved—were because they knew Kotaro was that kind of person.
“I’ll be your insurance, but on one condition,” said Kotaro. “Tell your island chief about your investigation.”
Kenji waved a hand. “Of course, I get it. I might not see you again till next year. Just get ready for some juicy information in the new year.”
“Watch your back, okay?”
“Sure. I will.”
Kenji went back to work and Kotaro went home.
It was the last time he saw Kenji Morinaga alive.
Grim Reaper
1
Shigenori Tsuzuki wasn’t surprised to find that his little investigation of the tea caddy building had put a strain on his spine. The pain and numbness in his leg was back with a vengeance. Even sitting was briefly painful. His ankles were swollen and his feet looked like misshapen turnips.
“That’s what you get for pushing yourself too hard,” Toshiko scolded him. Shigeru Noro was worried enough to call him and apologize.
“I’m really sorry to have put you out, Shigenori.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll get that operation and be fit in no time.”
Just before the end of the year, he’d been to see his surgeon, who was just as hard on him as Toshiko had been. “I’m telling you, you’ve got to take it easy,” he said. As he wrote out a prescription for a painkiller, he told Shigenori that a bed would open up sometime around the twentieth of January.
“You’ll be with us for about a month, you know. As long as your pre-op is clean, we’ll go in right away. Try not to catch a cold.”
Shigenori had had to wait far longer than he’d expected. Now the day was finally approaching. His body was in poor shape but his spirits were improving. The future was looking bright.
He woke on January 1 feeling much better, and spent a leisurely morning with Toshiko over a traditional New Year’s meal. As a detective, Shigenori had been known among his colleagues as a big dr
inker, but he’d dropped alcohol without a second thought when his leg started bothering him. He thought it would be better if he avoided relying on drink for relief from the pain and frustration. It had been so long since he’d given it up that the few tiny cups of sake with the meal were enough to make his face flush red.
Television was back-to-back New Year specials and variety shows. There was hardly any focus on news. The newspaper was fat with holiday supplements, but crime reporting was minimal. There were no updates on the serial killer. A New Year’s Eve special on the biggest stories of the year had given the case a passing nod, but since then there’d been nothing new. The identity of the second victim, in Akita, was still a mystery.
Shigenori knew from experience that the lack of fresh news didn’t mean the investigation was stalled, but he was certain that the latest murder would be giving the police a lot of trouble. Still, in the end he decided it was a waste of time to think about it, though many details of the case struck him as suggestions for potential leads. He wasn’t in a position to help the investigation, and in any case he had another problem closer to home: the moving gargoyle atop the tea caddy building. He realized there might be information about it on the Internet.
A statue on the roof of an empty building appears to move. Is it alive? The story was interesting. If there were other witnesses who were as sure of what they’d seen as Tae Chigusa was, there should also be something on the web, given the way things worked these days.
But he found nothing. His skills weren’t up to the task.
Mindful that haste just makes for slower progress, Shigenori stopped searching and started studying. He already had some books about the Internet that he’d asked Toshiko to buy, but as he struggled with his searches, he discovered that the web was its own best source of information on how to use it. If he had a question, someone had already found an answer or was willing to give one. For the first time, his eyes were opened to the potential of the Internet as a tool for communication with dynamic access to knowledge, not the static access of reference books and dictionaries. His searches improved. He took another run at the gargoyle in Ida and started discovering things.
The Gate of Sorrows Page 11