A Dog in Water (9 page)

“Victims of crimes aren’t always pictures of virtue.”

“Oh, is that so? Go ahead and tell that to his bereaved family, too.”

“It has nothing to do with me.”

“Hah. You better hope they feel the same way.”

“What do you mean?”

Arita took another sip of tea, eyes fixed on the detective. “Ever hear of Kenzo Sasagawa? Sasaken Group’s boss and advisor to the junior boss of the Hishiguchi Group. He’s got a thousand men under his command in the Kanto region.”

“So what?”

“He’s the father—the victim’s, though by a mistress.”

Late at night, the place was as calm as an aquarium.

A man stood alone in the darkened hallway. This man, face pressed to the glass, eyes clinging to what lay beyond, was Kenzo Sasagawa. He had austere features. His hair was graying all over but his pin-straight posture belied the fact that he was now past sixty.

The footfalls of the nurse out on her rounds drew closer. She addressed Sasagawa’s back with trepidation. “Um, perhaps it’s time you got some rest …”

Sasagawa turned his face only slightly towards her. “Would you please allow me to stay here a while longer?” His voice was hoarse, but its timber brooked no objection.

The nurse nodded assent and walked away.

Sasagawa leaned his face towards the glass again and closed his eyes. The deep furrows between his brows suggested that he was praying or making a vow.

Someone banged on the door. The detective reluctantly opened his eyes. Apparently he’d fallen asleep on the sofa after drinking by himself in his office. He managed to pry his head from the sofa and look towards the window. Sunlight streamed in from between the slats of the blinds. He looked at his wristwatch. It was already past 11:00 a.m.

The banging at the door continued. It was fairly brusk. He figured his informant must have seen a broadcast last night or a morning edition paper with the news of Junko Tajima’s arrest and come calling. The detective sluggishly got up and cracked his neck as he walked towards the door.

He was greeted with the sight of not only the informant but a serious-looking young girl, possibly 17 or 18 but no older than 20. With one look at the detective she made a spooked noise and took a couple of steps backwards.

“He looks like that ’cause he’s got a thick wire holding his nose together. He ain’t really scary, so relax,” the informant explained. The girl made an apologetic face and bobbed her head in greeting.

“Who’s this?” the detective asked of the girl.

“Your new client. She was sittin’ here when I showed up and told me she’d been knockin’ for ages but never got a response, so I showed her the proper way of gettin’ your attention.” So saying, the informant stepped into the office without waiting to be asked and parked himself
on the sofa. The girl followed timidly.

“I’m very sorry, but I’m unable to take on new cases at the moment.” As soon as the detective said this, the girl was on the verge of tears.

“Why not? Your last one came to an end yesterday, didn’t it? The young lady went and got her hands dirty, nothin’ more you can do …” the informant quipped. A woman he was acquainted with had committed a murder, but he didn’t seem the least bit perturbed. “Bet ya never got paid, either. Lucky, your next client turning up so soon.”

“Well, there’s another reason …” The detective wasn’t sure if he should tell the informant. He was due to be arrested, and for the same crime Junko Tajima stood accused of. It might happen next week or it might happen tomorrow.

In any case, after the other body surfaced, the police wouldn’t dally long in getting to him.

“I want you to find my brother.”

When the detective turned to face the girl, she was looking at him imploringly. “Like I said—”

“Don’t just stand there, siddown,” the informant proffered the guest sofa opposite him. “Hey, you’ve got a visitor, all right? Go get drinks and some glasses,” the informant chided the detective as if he were addressing his wife.

Wordlessly, the detective placed a bottle of liquor and several glasses on the table and took the filled ashtray into the kitchenette.

“And how old is your brother?” the informant asked as if he owned the agency.

“Twenty-five,” the girl replied.

“What, so he’s an adult. Let him be, he can take care of himself.”

“But I haven’t been able to get in touch with him for a whole month …”

“I used to disappear for months at a time when I was young. No need to worry.”

Leaving the client-coddling to the informant, the detective started brushing his teeth in the kitchenette sink.

“My mother is ill. She’s going in for surgery next week …” That was as far as she got before clamming up and bowing her head. Apparently the illness was very serious.

“Sorry to hear about that. The hell is your brother doin’ anyway, eh?” The informant hardly seemed to be sympathizing with her. Ill-fated young women were simply his type.

“She spends all day in bed in the hospital worrying about him.”

“Where’s your dad?”

She shook her head weakly.

“I see … Have you tried asking your brother’s friends or girlfriend?”

“Yes …”

“What about the police? Unidentified victims of crimes and accidents—”

“He has a record.”

“What for?”

“Drugs …”

“Dealing or buying?”

“Possession with intent to distribute.”

“So he was imprisoned.”

“He was released at the end of last year. He got a proper job after that, but last month he suddenly disappeared.”

The informant sighed. “Sorry, but I don’t think we can take this case.”

The girl looked to be on the verge of tears again.

“The recidivism rate for narcs is pretty high. Sucks to have to say it, but your brother probably got mixed up in the drug trade again. It’s too dangerous to try and track down someone like that. You could end up killed. I don’t think any P.I. would risk it …”

“I was told that the detective here was the only one eccentric enough to accept such a case.”

“By whom?” the detective butted in.

“A police detective from the Azabu Precinct whom my brother troubled when he was arrested.”

“Kijima?”

“Yes.”

The detective let out a small sigh. Kijima had been his partner back in Violent Crimes at the MPD.

“Is there any way I can convince you to take on the case?”

The girl’s gaze pained him. He rinsed out his mouth and left the kitchenette.

“Listen, miss,” the informant said. “It’s super expensive to search for someone. It’d be nice if they turned up after just one or two days, but it’ll cost a fortune if it takes a month. I don’t think your pocket money will cover it.”

The girl, her head bowed, was at a loss for words.

The detective sat on the sofa next to the informant. “Miss, due to a certain reason, even if I took on the case now I don’t nearly have the time to see it through to the end. I’d only complicate your situation. I’m very sorry, but please try other agencies,” he said flatly. He knew she had no other to turn to but didn’t have a choice.

“What reason?” inquired the informant. “Something to do with that murderous young lady?”

Suddenly the door creaked open. The detective looked over to find a man standing in the open doorway.

“You busy with a client?”

He looked like he might be in his early forties. An old two-inch-long scar ran past the corner of his left eyebrow. This was a kind of man who wasn’t necessarily on his way home from a funeral even though he was clad in a black suit, white dress shirt and a black tie.

The informant stood up in a hurry. “Right, there’s a job I gotta attend to. Can’t sit here chattin.” He had a bloodhound’s nose when it came to sussing out trouble. “See ya, Dick. Let’s go, miss.”

The girl stood, bowed silently to the detective and followed the informant out of the office. As if taking their place, the man in the black suit stepped inside. Now he had the gravitas of a large corporation’s chairman returning from a funereal event. Sadness played across his stern features.

The detective silently proffered the vacant sofa to the man, who remained standing, looking down at the detective.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Koichi Yamamoto’s father?” the detective responded.

“That’ll let me cut to the chase.” He sat down on the sofa. Indeed he was Kenzo Sasagawa, boss of the Sasaken Group. A man who bore a scar across his eyebrow now occupied the spot on the sofa right next to the detective where the informant had sat.

“What can I do for you?” asked the detective.

Sasagawa silently regarded the face obscured by a nose guard.

“Do you believe me to be responsible for your son’s death?”

“We’re fine about Koichi. My grandchild died.”

“What?”

“Hearing about Koichi’s death was a shock to his wife and she nearly had a miscarriage. The baby came, weighing just twenty-eight ounces.” The air in the room had suddenly grown dense. “He never even cried in the incubator …” Sasagawa lowered his eyes. “Twenty-two hours and thirteen minutes … That was my grandchild’s whole life …” His eyes seemed to stare into an endless abyss.

“Koichi is my only child. Now I’ll never hold a grandchild in my arms.” He spoke in a dry tone at odds with the solemnity of his expression. “The woman who killed Koichi will soon be dead. No, she might already be dead …”

The lapel of Yang Suchen’s understated suit bore the glittering badge that was the mark of all lawyers. A uniformed police officer showed him into the visitor’s room where he took a seat and waited.

After a while the door opened in the room beyond the acrylic partition. A woman entered led by a jail attendant. She stood in front of Yang and gave a polite bow.

Yang waited for the attendant to leave before addressing the woman. “You’re Junko Tajima, yes?”

She nodded feebly.

“That was some serious stuff you pulled.”

A Colt M1911 shone with black luster in Yang’s right hand as he stood up. The woman stared at him with vacant eyes.

Without any makeup and somewhat haggard, she was still beautiful.
Such a shame she has to die
, thought Yang. Then he squeezed the trigger.

With a roar a .45 hollow-point bullet tore through the mouthpiece in the acrylic partition and pierced through the center of the woman’s chest. Her body struck the wall behind her.

Trailing threads of blood along the wall, her body slid down to the floor. Yang fired two more rounds. The woman’s head burst open. That beautiful face was no longer quite what it’d been.

Yang flicked the safety catch and slid the Colt into his pants pocket. He opened the door and started to run.

He ran right past the group of men that emerged from the CIS offices at the sound of gunfire. Yang heard loud shouting behind him but never once turned to see.

“If there’s still time, you should let Junko Tajima live. You’ll regret this,” said the detective.

“There’s no way I will regret it,” replied Sasagawa.

“No, you definitely will. I’d bet money.”

“What do you know?”

“You don’t understand a thing.” The detective’s words brimmed with confidence.

What is this man saying?
Sasagawa couldn’t figure him out. Nor did he care to.
How eagerly I awaited my grandchild. What could ever make me regret avenging my grandchild?

“What do you know about this case?”

“Everything you don’t.”

“Don’t get cute with us, pal.”

This came from Masao Yano, who settled down on the sofa to flank the detective. He pulled out a revolver from under his belt and aimed it at the detective’s head. Ignoring the gun, the detective continued to stare straight back at Sasagawa.

“Stop,” the boss ordered. Yano looked like he wanted to protest but lowered the gun.

“Trust me. It’ll be too late to reconsider.”

The man didn’t come across to Sasagawa as the cunning type. He didn’t sound like he was trying to smooth things over with words.
He must indeed know something I don’t. Something that could shake my desire to kill the woman. But so what? No matter what the circumstances, nothing will change the fact that a woman’s actions robbed me of my grandchild
.

“Either way, it’s too late,” Sasagawa said. The assassin would be inside Yoyogi Precinct by now. There was no contacting him at this stage. There was no canceling.

“I see …” The detective fell silent.

“I’ve decided that you must die as well.”

Even these words from Sasagawa failed to elicit any further reaction from the detective. Sasagawa was well aware that what he was about to do was unreasonable. He knew the detective hadn’t committed a crime that demanded his death. Yet his grandchild was also innocent and still died.

“On my side, Koichi and my grandchild got murdered. Killing just the woman doesn’t settle it.” Sasagawa checked his watch. “It’s nearly noon. You’ll live until 10 a.m. tomorrow.” The detective’s expression remained unchanged. “If you run I’ll kill your daughter.”

That got a reaction. The detective turned to Sasagawa with an odd look on his face.

“Didn’t you have a daughter, fifteen now, with your ex-wife?”

The detective’s mouth twitched into something resembling a smile. Sasagawa felt angry.

“You don’t care what happens to family you abandoned eight years ago?”

“I won’t run away, Mr. Sasagawa,” the detective spoke at long last.

Sasagawa stared at him in disbelief. Was this man already prepared to die? No, that couldn’t be. No one could ever accept a death sentence from a sudden visitor; in which case, was the man confident that he’d be able to survive?

“Don’t underestimate my organization.” Sasagawa rose to his feet and headed towards the door. Yano hurried past him and opened it. “You have a little more than twenty-two hours. Feel for yourself the brevity of my grandchild’s life,” he spat.

He exited the office and heard Yano pull the door shut behind him.

“Is that P.I. insane or what?” asked Yano.

Perhaps that’s it
, thought Sasagawa. At any rate, that detective was an odd one.
How will that man spend his twenty-two hours?
Sasagawa found himself wondering.