A Dog in Water (10 page)

It had been a very long time since Kenzo Sasagawa had taken an interest in another man.

The detective lit a cigarette, poured water and coffee grounds into the coffee maker and pressed the switch. He sat down at his desk, cigarette dangling between his lips, and got back to work on the plastic model.

Well, I guess that was my life
. A self-deprecating smile quirked up the corners of his mouth. Being told he had only twenty-two hours left, he had no idea what to do or where to go. The plastic model of the battleship
Yamato
that the informant had given him in the hospital would be done in several hours. He couldn’t fathom how he might live out his remaining time when it was finished.

He didn’t feel any urge to eat decadent food or drink expensive alcohol. He was too old to go screw his brains out. He did feel a little lonesome that he had no family to spend his last hours with.

Should I go see my daughter?
he wondered briefly but dismissed the thought. When Sasagawa had said that she was fifteen, he was surprised that she was already that old. He only knew her until she was seven. His ex-wife remarried five years after their divorce and he’d heard that his daughter got along well with her new father. If he just dropped by, it would only cause her grief.

Working independently of his thoughts, his hands made progress. Realizing that he’d be finished with the model sooner than he’d expected was a bit unpleasant. Just then he heard the door opening.

Glancing towards it, he noticed that girl from before through the crack. She looked at the detective like a child who’d been caught pulling a prank.

“U-Um, I w-wanted to ask you again … I’ll find a way to pay you. If you could just do what you can …”

She said her name was Miyuki Yoshino and that she worked at a food stall in a Shinjuku department store. Two mugs of coffee in hand, the detective headed over to the sitting area. He placed one in front of Miyuki and sat on the sofa.

“Okay, please tell me the details.”

“Oh? So you’ll take my case?” Miyuki sounded thoroughly surprised.

“I’ve decided yes. I only have until 10 a.m. tomorrow, though …”

With this the detective took a sip of hot coffee.

The streets were teeming with cop cars.

After leaving his Nakano office and heading towards Akasaka, the detective was passed by three cruisers, whose sirens blared wildly, and stopped at two different roadblocks.

He gleaned from reports coming from the radio that Kenzo Sasagawa had not been lying. Junko Tajima had been killed by a man disguised as a lawyer. Shot three times, she’d died instantly. The MPD was pulling out all the stops in pursuit of the escaped culprit. The newscaster declared the incident the biggest disgrace in the history of the police force as if it were impossible for someone to bring a firearm into a police station and commit a murder. Perhaps many people felt that way. But visitors to police stations didn’t get patted down, and it was unthinkable to search the belongings of a man wearing a lawyer’s badge and looking for all the world like he was there to interview a detained suspect. Besides, officers were prevented by law from being present when lawyers spoke with their clients. So it was quite doable if anyone with the ability had the inclination.

The national police organization was blindsided by the incident. It was likely that the perpetrator had escaped before the cops on duty in the station even realized what was going on. Even if a cop had noticed the perp, he wouldn’t have made the split-second decision to block an armed criminal’s escape without a superior’s instructions or
orders—nor did the organization at large desire such responses from individual officers.

No doubt, it was a major black eye for the MPD. A suspect being murdered while in custody at a police station was intolerable. Even if it meant abandoning all other cases, the police would have to arrest the culprit as soon as possible or risk a complete loss of face. An emergency dragnet had to be in force across the city, all off-duty cops summoned for the purpose as well.

But the detective had a feeling the perp wouldn’t be caught so easily. Someone who could pull off a stunt like that probably had a flawless getaway plan and wouldn’t have left behind any incriminating evidence.

The detective suddenly recalled the man he’d met at the gun dealer’s place. The regular customer named Yang. He had a decidedly inconspicuous appearance. Only his gaze, which seemed to see right through one’s heart, left an impression. Yang might very well be capable of this and more. The detective could hear his laugh ringing in his ears yet couldn’t for the life of him recall the man’s face.

The detective sat on a bench in Hinokicho Park on Akasaka 9th Street, waiting for Sergeant Kijima of the Azabu Precinct’s Community Safety Section.

The first words out of Kijima’s mouth were exactly what he had anticipated. “Whoa, the hell happened to your face?”

“Got into a bit of a traffic accident.”

“Really? You sure you didn’t go berserk again, boss?”

“Moving on, thanks for coming out. Aren’t you affected by the Roppongi incident?”

“Well, everyone with time on their hands was marshaled, but I’m real good at looking busy.”

“Ah ha. So, did you get it?”

Kijima pulled a manila envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to the detective. “This is all I’m able to sneak out.”

“Sorry for the trouble. I don’t have much time, you see …” The
detective pulled several photographs and a copy of interrogation records with handwritten notes from the envelope.

“Y’know, I knew you’d want to take on the case.”

“Why’s that?”

“Huh? Didn’t you become a private detective ’cause you wanted to take on the cases no one else would?”

“I don’t get what you’re saying. Who on earth would want to do dangerous jobs as a matter of choice?”

Kijima pointed and laughed at the detective. “I’m looking right at him!”

The detective had never thought of himself that way. It was odd that he looked like such a man to Kijima, who knew him so well. His state of mind when he’d quit the force eight years ago and elected to become a private detective eluded him.

“This case is tangled up with the Roppongi Pusher, so please don’t do anything rash. You’re not as young as you used to be. If things start heating up, gimme a ring.”

The detective was seized with the urge to tell Kijima everything. Since he was going to die tomorrow morning anyway, he had nothing left to fear. Blabbing, however, would lead to a world of trouble so he checked himself. “All right, I will.”

“I’m still on duty so I gotta head back,” Kijima said and stood up from the bench, but immediately turned around to add, “I’m aware I got you into this one, but taking out materials from investigations is a crime so this’ll be the last time, I’d have you know.”

“Yeah, it will be the last time,” the detective muttered as he pored over the documents.

Kijima laughed uncertainly and walked away.

“Whatta shock, her gettin’ killed right under the pigs’ noses …” the informant impatiently began as soon as the detective arrived. It was early afternoon yet he was already knocking back a beer. “That yakuza was involved, wasn’t he? The Sasaken Group, yeah? What did he want with you? Must be some serious shit for the boss himself to come
knocking.”

It was past lunchtime and there were only a few other customers in the Shinanomachi cafe. The detective ordered a coffee and lit a cigarette.

“Apparently the man Junko Tajima killed, Koichi Yamamoto, is Kenzo Sasagawa’s son. He merely came to ask about the circumstances.” The detective didn’t mention that he’d received a death sentence. He didn’t have the time to make small talk with the informant.

“Hunh, so that’s what it was. But even if it was his son, the boss calling for a hit on a civilian woman is cheesy.”

“Anyways, can you take a look at this?” The detective placed the photo he’d received from Miyuki Yoshino on the table. “This is Yoichi Yoshino, who’s missing. Ever seen him?”

“No, don’t recognize him.”

“What about this guy? He was cuffed along with Yoichi Yoshino.” The detective placed two of the photos that Kijima had given him on the table.

The informant picked up one photograph. The name Akio Izumi was written on the back. “Yeah, this one I’ve seen around. He parked in Imoaraizaka and walked around in flashy clothes with a girl on his arm. Dunno anything else about him, though.”

The coffee arrived and the detective took out his pocketbook and pen. “Who should I ask to get more info on him?”

“I think Marco calls the shots for drugs in that area.”

“Marco? A foreigner?”

“Man says he’s half-Spanish, half-Japanese, but who knows.”

“What does he do?”

“Officially he’s the owner of a foreign-girl strip club. Unofficially he does all kinds of things.”

“What’s the club?”

“El Dorado. Hires Romanian girls on tourist visas. I don’t think he’d cooperate with you.”

“I might still try and ask.” The detective finished taking notes, put away his pocketbook and sipped his coffee.

The informant shouted for a refill on his beer then suddenly lowered his voice. “Be careful, they’re not connected to any of the local syndicates. Loose cannons. They act like they’re New York gangsters or somethin’. You carrying what you bought from the gun dealer?”

“I actually ended up not buying anything.”

“What? The hell are you thinkin’? You screw this up, I might never see you again.”

The detective looked up from his coffee cup. “Yup, you might not.”

Masao Yano sat down near the entrance of the shop, ordered a coffee from the waitress and lit a cigarette. He spotted the detective sitting with a chubby man in the back. Probably the man he saw back in the detective agency. The detective didn’t seem to be in any grave mood.

It wasn’t that Yano was watching the detective. He wasn’t tailing him, either. Other guys were responsible for keeping tabs on his whereabouts. Not juniors in the group but outsiders, a team of men in the same business as the mark using the latest tools. Yano wasn’t interested. He drank his coffee leisurely and smoked his cigarette.

He looked up to see the detective walking straight towards him. Cigarette dangling from sneering lips, Yano trained his eyes on him.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Quit talkin’ like a hot-shot cop.” The sneer faded without a trace from Yano’s face.

The detective sat down directly across from him. “So you’ll be the one to pull the trigger when the time comes …”

“No, not my job.”

“You’re keeping watch to make sure I don’t run?”

“Run if you want. I don’t care whether you or your daughter dies.” Yano exhaled smoke towards the ceiling.

The corners of the detective’s mouth curled into a smile. “I said I wouldn’t run.”

“Plenty of people tell pretty lies.”

The detective leaned across the table, his guarded nose looming close. “What’s your job, then?”

“It’s certainly not chattin’ with you.” Yano stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, left a thousand-yen note on the table and walked out.

The detective left the cafe and headed towards Suginami. The sheet metal repair shop in Koenji where Yoichi Yoshino had worked until his disappearance turned out to be a dead end. Next he stopped by the apartment in West Eifuku listed as the address for Shingo Kono at the time he was apprehended with Yoichi, but someone else was living there now. The other accomplice, Akio Izumi, had no permanent address when he was arrested. The detective sped towards Roppongi. The sun was dipping westward. The police’s emergency dragnet had been recalled, so he wasn’t stopped at any checkpoints.

By the time he parked on the street in front of the Roi Building it was totally dark outside. The detective called El Dorado on his cell and was told that the owner Marco was not in yet. He said he’d try again later and hung up. The clock on his dashboard read just after seven.

He had less than fifteen hours left. He wondered if he would be able to live up to Miyuki’s expectations before then.

No, he knew it was hopeless from the start. He lit a cigarette and gazed absentmindedly out the windshield at the swirling waves of people moving to and fro. About half the crowd was comprised of couples, and half the people were foreigners. Whites, blacks, Middle Easterners, men, women and others whose genders were hard to tell. Every last one blended effortlessly into the streets here.

One man among the crowd snagged the detective’s attention. He wore a gaudy blue suit with a wine-red dress shirt that was unbuttoned to expose his chest, and a woman walked alongside him. He had long sideburns and sported a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. He had the Latin playboy look down.

The detective pulled the photo from his pocket to confirm. No mistake—it was Akio Izumi. He walked past talking on his cell. The detective put out his cigarette, got out of his car and pursued Izumi
and the hostess on his arm. When he caught up with them waiting for the walk signal, Izumi was still talking into his phone.

“Knock it off, you jackass. Get your shit together and do it already.” Despite his harsh words he seemed to be in high spirits and incessantly shifted his body. He spun around and met the eyes of the detective, who stood not five yards behind. Snapping his cell phone shut in mid-conversation, he snarled “The hell you starin’ at?!” and approached the detective with a bold swagger in his step.

“Are you Akio Izumi?”

“You a cop?” Izumi asked back suspiciously and probed his environs with a glare.

“No, a private detective.”

“Detective? Fuck off, bastard!”

“I wanted to ask you about Mr. Yoichi Yoshino …”

“Yoichi? Never heard of ’im!”

“You were arrested with him two years ago …”

“Arrested! Watch your mouth, asshole, can’t you see I’m with a lady?”

Izumi shoved the detective in the chest. Pain crackled along his broken ribs, but he kept his face neutral. The woman tugged at Izumi’s sleeve. The signal had turned green.

“I don’t know any Yoichi. Don’t show your face around me again!”