Shadows of Tokyo (Reiko Watanabe / Inspector Aizawa Book 1)

by Matthew Legare

  Aizawa gave an impressed nod. The Imperial Guard? Obviously, not all Kuroki men were short.

  “He shot himself last year to protest that treasonous London Naval Treaty,” Kuroki continued.

  “Is that so?” Murayama snorted. “An Army man concerned about the Navy! That’s a first!”

  “That evil treaty limits our battleships three to one against Britain and America,” Kuroki said. “My brother knew the politicians would try to poison the Army with some shameful treaty next.” Kuroki’s eyes began to water. “I tried to follow him into the Army, but,” he paused, mustache twitching and fists tightening, “I couldn’t pass the height requirement.” A heavy sigh followed. “I tried and tried but was always rejected. Instead, I planned to follow his example.”

  “By committing suicide?”

  Kuroki nodded. “Yes, in front of that treacherous bastard, Baron Onishi. Do you remember the speech when he called the Imperial Army ‘bandits in uniform stealing Manchuria like thieves in the night’? How shameful! Tomorrow morning, while fat zaibatsu capitalists and politicians drink their morning tea, they would read about how Baron Onishi’s fancy clothes were splattered with the blood and brains of a true patriot.”

  Aizawa laughed. “Are these your words? Or were they given to you by your sensei…Masaru Ryusaki?”

  Kuroki’s eyes widened.

  “Oh yes, I got that information from the Water Temple too. You realize that Japan is one national family, right? What would the Emperor think if he knew about your plans to assassinate one of our political leaders?”

  Kuroki’s entire frame began to tremble. “I told you…I was going to shoot myself!”

  Aizawa waved his hand. “A convenient story if you got caught…I’m sure Ryusaki will find another unemployed patriot to correct your failure…”

  Kuroki sprang out of his chair and lunged across the table like a mortar. They tumbled over, Kuroki’s small hands locking around Aizawa’s throat like a vice. How could this little bastard be so strong? A fighting spirit must have blazed inside Kuroki’s tiny frame like an inferno.

  The attack didn’t last long. Like a mother tiger protecting her cub, Murayama intervened and pulled Kuroki off, then hammered a thunderous punch into his gut. After a pathetic groan, Kuroki sank to his hands and knees, cursing between wheezes and gasps.

  The Sergeant helped Aizawa to his feet and gestured to the bamboo sword again. “Want me to give him another round?”

  A tempting offer but Kuroki wasn’t the type to break from a beating or forced shame. Besides, time was not on his side. He needed to know what Ryusaki was plotting soon. Two options remained. One, bring out tortures usually reserved for Communists; bamboo slivers under the fingernails and lit matches held underneath genitals. Or two, throw him in an unheated cell in the dead of winter to have him ‘chilled.’ Neither was appealing, but the first seemed especially dishonorable.

  “Sergeant,” Aizawa said, turning toward the door. “Chill him.”

  “Inspector,” Kuroki wheezed. Aizawa turned back and met the cold pair of eyes drilling into him. “Patriotism has hardened my spirit. Do your worst.”

  Aizawa turned to Murayama. “You heard him, Sergeant. Do your duty.”

  Closing the door behind him, Aizawa sighed. Needing a smoke, he fished out a Pall Mall and remembered Onishi. The Baron must have arrived by now. He cursed his forgetfulness and started toward the elevator, away from the agonized howls that echoed throughout the hall.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The elevator doors opened on the third floor, Headquarters for the First Investigative Section. Detailed with solving the major crimes of Tokyo, Aizawa and his peers had their hands full since the depression began.

  Earlier in the year, an unemployed man beheaded his landlord with a samurai sword after he was evicted. Labor unions caused unrest so often that the Police doubled as strikebreakers. Every other week, gamblers who couldn’t pay back their debts to the yakuza were fished out of the Sumida River. Even the most heinous of all Japanese crimes, arson, was on the rise. It was all too easy to ignite one of Tokyo’s many wooden buildings, usually to collect insurance money, but sometimes as a megalomaniacal suicide.

  Aizawa reached his office and dismissed the junsa standing guard. He entered and found Baron Onishi sitting stone-faced across from his desk, littered with papers, files, and a bloated ashtray. The Baron probably disapproved of such messiness, despite his placid expression. Aizawa felt the need to explain how a private office was a rare prize, one he earned through arrests and stakeouts, but settled for a deep bow instead.

  “Welcome Baron,” he said, sitting behind his desk. Onishi simply nodded as his eyes scanned the tiny office. “I apologize about the mess. May I offer you anything? Tea or one of your cigarettes?”

  “No thank you.”

  So much for humor. Besides, Baron Onishi looked far more interested in a framed newspaper article on the wall, with the headline “Inspectors Shimura and Aizawa Raid Yakuza Gambling Den!”

  “Your partner?” Baron Onishi asked, returning his full attention to Aizawa.

  “My superior now. That case earned him a promotion.”

  “Shouldn’t we meet with him?”

  Aizawa coughed. “We will, but may I please ask you a few questions first?”

  Baron Onishi nodded.

  “Are you familiar with Masaru Ryusaki or the Kusanagi Society?”

  “I’ve never heard of either,” Onishi replied with an irritated look. “Are they related to the man from earlier?”

  “His name is Makoto Kuroki, a member of the Kusanagi Society.”

  Aizawa reached into his desk drawer and removed a slim book. He hadn’t looked at it in months but kept it around for just such an occasion. Its cover burst with such radiant color it almost hurt his eyes; a katana sword surrounded by bright pink cherry blossoms. An image straight out of a samurai fairy tale. He handed it to the Baron, who studied it like vermin under a microscope.

  “The New Japan,” Baron Onishi read aloud. “By Masaru Ryusaki.”

  Aizawa nodded. “He leads the small but dangerous Kusanagi Society. That’s who wants you dead, Baron.”

  Onishi sighed. “Another right-wing group? They’re growing like weeds.”

  “Thank the depression. Every unemployed hothead is starting his own patriotic society.” Aizawa lit a Pall Mall. “This group takes its name from the Kusanagi, the invincible grass-cutting sword forged by the gods.”

  “Such childish fantasies,” the Baron scoffed.

  “But men like Ryusaki know how much people love those stories. He founded the group earlier this year with the purpose of overthrowing the government.”

  “I take it this man is incarcerated now?”

  “No, he’s not.” Aizawa swallowed hard and took another drag. “I need to tell you some things, Baron. But I also need your guarantee that they will not leave my office.”

  Onishi set the book on the desk and nodded his agreement.

  “Back in March, there were rumors about a plot hatched by Ryusaki and other nationalists. I infiltrated the Kusanagi Society and learned how it was planning to stage riots in front of the Diet. Dynamite would be planted around the building and throughout Tokyo. This, in turn, would allow the Army to declare martial law and install a general as the new shogun.”

  Aizawa bit his lip, trying not to let his rage show. Only six years ago Japan had finally given voting rights to all men, not just the wealthy like Masaru Ryusaki. For centuries, men like him ruled Japan while commoners toiled away in silence. And now this madman wanted to abolish what little democracy there was?

  “So, the Imperial Army was involved?” Baron Onishi asked, bringing Aizawa out of his thoughts.

  “Ryusaki bragged about how there was a junior officer in the Army Ministry who acted as a liaison with some of the top brass. Once news of his capture reached their intended shogun, he panicked and backed out. The entire scheme then collapsed.”

  “I have never e
ven heard any of this.”

  “It was kept out of the newspapers,” Aizawa said and took a drag on his cigarette. “By him.” He pointed to Shimura’s picture on the wall.

  “A fellow conspirator?”

  “I’m not sure, but definitely a sympathizer. He’s changed. I’m not sure why, but he ordered Ryusaki’s release because ‘his motives were sincere.’”

  “I take it you don’t share his views.”

  Aizawa took another puff before stubbing the Pall Mall out. “Crime is crime, regardless of how sincere the intentions might be. I have a duty to the Emperor to uphold the law. Everything else is secondary.”

  “What happened to Ryusaki?”

  “I lost track of him. Moved out of his old place and went underground. Baron, with your help, I can finally locate Ryusaki and bring him to justice. But you must appeal to my superior for protection.”

  Confusion showed on Baron Onishi’s face. “I must beg for protection from a man who favors assassins and fanatics?”

  It did sound insane when said aloud. Still, at least he’d had the foresight to send the Baron to his office, rather than directly to Superintendent Shimura. They could rehearse in privacy.

  “Baron, I must obey my superior, regardless of how I personally feel. Being a Dietman, surely you can understand. Isn’t public service a constant war between duty and emotion?”

  The Baron gave an understanding nod. All Onishi needed was an extra push to become a willing ally in the coming war.

  “Baron, Kuroki might not confess anytime soon. As of right now, he’s insisting he only wanted to kill himself as a protest.”

  “How selfless of him.”

  “Men like him are worse than crooks. They’re idealists and that means they don’t break easily. While we’re waiting for a confession, Ryusaki will send a second, third, and fourth assassin.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Nationalist or not, Superintendent Shimura is still a police officer. If you tell him about the death threats you’ve received and request protection, then he’ll be obligated to keep the case open and I can continue the investigation.”

  “And what about this mysterious informant of yours?”

  “I think it’s best if we keep that between us.”

  Onishi sat in dignified silence. Proud men might not fear death, but they could hold grudges.

  “Inspector, I do not fear these…soshi,” the Baron said, practically spitting the last word out like phlegm. Once a title applied to strong warriors with pure spirits, it had long been synonymous with political gangsters like Ryusaki. “But I understand your obligations and I will not interfere with your duty.”

  Aizawa smiled. Now, he had to convince Shimura.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Followed by Baron Onishi, Aizawa entered Superintendent Shimura’s office and presented his superior with a deep bow. In his dark uniform and flashy epaulettes, Joji Shimura cut an impressive figure, amplified by a pair of intense eyes guarded by round spectacles. His long face hadn’t aged much since his promotion to superintendent last year, but streaks of gray through his hair showcased the stress from his new position. There were no chairs in the office since Shimura always fortified himself behind a massive oak desk and below a portrait of the Emperor. Nevertheless, the Superintendent rose and greeted them with a bow.

  “May I introduce the honorable Baron Onishi,” Aizawa said at attention. “Baron, Superintendent Shimura.”

  “It is an honor,” Shimura said with a smile.

  No words from Onishi, only a stiff bow. Aizawa took quick glances from around the office, letting his mind run. What did the Baron think of the file cabinets labeled “Subversive Persons & Dangerous Thinkers”?

  “You have something to report, Inspector?” Shimura said, still smiling.

  “Yes sir, there was an incident outside the Imperial Diet earlier. A young nationalist, Makoto Kuroki, was attempting to assassinate the Baron.”

  “I’m pleased you finally informed me,” Shimura said as his smile began to fade.

  “My humblest apologies, sir. I was busy conducting Kuroki’s interrogation.”

  “Has he confessed?” Shimura asked.

  “No, sir...he insists he was going to commit suicide as a form of protest.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “The Baron saw the entire incident,” Aizawa said.

  “Yes,” Onishi said, clearing his throat. “The Inspector and this young man engaged in an altercation in the courtyard.”

  “Did Kuroki-san shoot at you?”

  “No,” Onishi conceded. “But I agree with the Inspector’s conclusions.”

  “And Inspector, did you see him draw his pistol?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then there is very little evidence that he was planning to harm anyone.”

  A lingering soreness on Aizawa’s cheek argued otherwise. “He did assault a police officer.”

  “Yes, and he will be prosecuted for that. But both illegal possession of a firearm and assault are a far cry from assassination.”

  “That being said, I have received several death threats recently,” Onishi interjected.

  Shimura’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “I’m shocked to hear this, Baron. Why didn’t you hand them over to us?”

  Probably because you’d frame them on your wall. An unfortunate truth, but aloud Aizawa said, “Kuroki will confess eventually, sir. However, in light of these threats, perhaps granting the Baron protection would be best.”

  Onishi gave a firm nod. “I find this agreeable, given the current political climate.”

  An insincere smile molded onto Shimura’s face. “Of course, Baron,” he said, reaching for his phone.

  “Thank you, Superintendent,” Onishi said. “But I’d like the Inspector to personally take charge of my security.”

  Shame and humiliation flickered on Shimura’s face. “If you insist, Baron.”

  “I do,” Onishi replied. Although his face was dry, Aizawa could see pools of joy in the Baron’s eyes. A lifetime in politics must have sharpened one’s tongue.

  “I’ll have one of the junsas from earlier escort you home and stand guard tonight, Baron,” Aizawa offered. Onishi gave a satisfied nod.

  “If you would excuse us, Baron,” Shimura said. “I need to speak to the Inspector privately.”

  “Very well. I’ll wait for you outside, Inspector.”

  After a series of bows, Onishi turned and walked out. Once alone, Shimura dropped his artificial smile.

  “Why did you wait until now to report this to me?”

  “I apologize sir…my duty was elsewhere.”

  Shimura sank into his chair. “Inspector, housewives are poisoning landlords because they can’t pay rent, children are dropping out of school to become pickpockets, and fathers are pimping out daughters for extra yen. But you’re concerned with a madman intent on shooting himself.”

  “And the Baron.”

  “Why do you think so?”

  “Political assassination has a long history in Japan. Prime Minister Hamaguchi was shot last year and Prime Minister Hara was killed ten years ago, both by right-wing nationalists. Baron Onishi admitted he’s received many death threats.”

  “Were any from Kuroki?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And why were you at the Diet today?”

  Yes, why was he there? Instinct warned against revealing his anonymous informant, just in case Shimura maintained ties with Ryusaki.

  “No special reason,” Aizawa said. “I heard about Prime Minister Wakatsuki’s resignation and felt there might be unrest.”

  A pair of narrowed eyes conveyed Shimura’s doubts.

  “I expect a confession out of Kuroki soon,” the Superintendent said. “Dismissed.”

  Aizawa bowed and slunk out of the office, closing the door behind him with a heavy sigh. He couldn’t dismiss a murky premonition that this was his last case. A word from Superintendent Shimura that he harbore
d “dangerous thoughts” would be enough to demote him back to junsa. If he was lucky.

  Aizawa turned and walked back to his office where Baron Onishi waited outside the door with a uniformed escort.

  “You’re to guard Baron Onishi around the clock. He is never to leave your sight. You’ll be relieved tomorrow afternoon.”

  The junsa snapped a salute. At least Onishi would have some protection. Aizawa considered but dismissed the idea that this policeman was a secret member of the Kusanagi Society. Although there were sympathizers, like Shimura, most of his fellow officers placed duty above politics. Besides, today had left Aizawa so fatigued that he was in no state to guard anyone himself.

  Still, he needed to find Masaru Ryusaki fast. Tomorrow, Aizawa would follow up on any leads concerning his old enemy’s whereabouts. That is, unless Kuroki confessed first.

  “Inspector, I forgot to tell you,” Onishi said. “I agreed to attend a meeting in Marunouchi tomorrow afternoon. It should take about an hour.”

  “With who, Baron?”

  Onishi frowned at such an intrusive question but answered anyway. “Prominent men in politics, military, and finance. Tsuyoshi Inukai, General Sakamoto, and Isamu Takano.”

  Aizawa rubbed his chin, picturing the three-headed beast. Being so close to such powerful men might be useful in the investigation.

  “I will personally take over your protection tomorrow afternoon, Baron,” Aizawa said.

  “Excellent. We will meet you here at four o’clock then,” Onishi said. “Until then, I’ll retire to my estate and wait for His Majesty’s summons.”

  After exchanging bows, the Baron walked toward the elevator with the junsa trailing close behind.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Reiko hadn’t set foot in the Dragonfly Tea House for years but found it more or less the same; a simple one-room tea house illuminated by several paper lanterns. But once the sliding doors were shut, it seemed as if Masaru, Lieutenant Nakajima, and she were miles away from Asakusa and in someone’s private, picturesque world.