The Hunter

by Asa Nonami

  "Until her marriage ten months ago, Chieko Yoshii, maiden name Inada, lived with her parents in Ichikawa, Chiba Prefecture. Her father is employed by a paint company. The family is fairly well-to-do.

  "The younger of two sisters, Chieko graduated from high school and went to work for a cosmetics manufacturer as a beauty consultant, leaving later for a job with a cosmetics outfit. Two years ago she met Tsutomu Yoshii, the son of the owner of the company, who personally manages two company stores along the Odakyu Line. He seems to be highly thought of. When their engagement was announced, her friends congratulated her on landing such a rich man."

  On the surface, the young wife appeared to be a perfectly ordinary woman. The investigation learned, however, that soon after entering high school, Chieko went through a delinquent stage and was expelled from school. Her parents were at a loss to explain this behavior; but according to Chieko's sister, the father's philandering had torn the family apart, and the subsequent death of the girls' doting grandmother had also played a role. Chieko took to staying out later and later. She helped herself to money in the house, then started staying out all night, then on several occasions ran away from home. To this day, the family does not know who her friends were at that time. Then one day she announced she wanted to go back to school, and they rejoiced in her redemption without asking what prompted her change of heart.

  "Naturally, given the unexpected turns this case has taken, we suspect a connection between this young woman and Teruo Hara and Kazuki Horikawa," said Wakita, grim-faced as ever.

  With that statement, discussion was thrown open to the investigators, who were more somber and steely-eyed with now a third victim. What was the motivation? What was the connection? Was this the work of one lone perpetrator?

  "So they knew each other more than ten years ago. Finding people who knew what was going on back then won't be easy."

  "There's no evidence that the three victims were in touch recently, or even that they still knew each other. Their old circle could've broken up."

  "Which means that if their connection has anything to do with the killings, we're probably looking at a crime of revenge."

  At the word "revenge," Takako inhaled sharply. Day in and day out, police officers encountered a wide variety of crimes, but those motivated by revenge were by no means common. The thought made the image of the wolf-dog come alive in her mind. She could almost hear his panting as he ran through the darkness, hell-bent on revenge.

  "Anyway, we've gotta get a move on, find out more about their connection, see if anyone else was involved in their circle."

  "If anyone else is being targeted, then if we can get to them first and keep them under surveillance, we could wrap this whole case up in one fell swoop."

  A mood of peculiar excitement filled headquarters. When the meeting adjourned, the teams scattered quickly.

  On this day, Takako and Takizawa headed for the Police Canine Association. This seemed the fastest approach, since the association dealt with all police dog training centers across the country. Teams assigned to finding the wolf-dog would continue the painstaking work of checking the list of owners, name by name.

  At the Police Canine Association, located in the business district of Nihombashi, Takako and Takizawa were ushered into a reception room with a worn sofa and armchairs by a man entirely unfazed at the sight of their badges. He looked to be in his early sixties and casually lit a cigarette as he sat down opposite them. According to his business card, his name was Hatakeyama and he was executive director of the association. Takako suspected that he might be a retired policeman in a cushy second career; he had that air.

  She opened her notebook, sitting erectly on the edge of the hard sofa, and looked directly at the man as she spoke. Takizawa was letting her handle this as she saw fit.

  ". . . and so," she concluded, "we thought you would be able to provide us with information on all the dog training centers in the country."

  Hatakeyama looked at Takako with an expression of great equanimity. "Pardon me for asking, miss, but how much do you know about police dogs?"

  Takako summarized: that canine units were brought in as requested by investigators, that the dogs received special training, that they were overseen by the Identification Division.

  "Yes, I guess that would be all you would know." The man, who was about the age of Takako's father, spoke with one slightly raised eyebrow. Inside, Takako felt a grating sensation. She knew when she was being patronized. Hatakeyama went on, "That might be enough for an on-scene investigation. Particularly if you were with the crime-scene unit."

  The man's every comment was barbed. Despite herself, Takako grew defiant. "Yes, well, that's why we're here, to find out more."

  Hatakeyama let a scornful smile play around the corners of his mouth. "Let me tell you about police dogs," he said.

  A police dog was one that had received special training for police work such as searches and protection. The training was designed to make the most of canine obedience, intelligence, and alacrity, not to mention a sense of smell three to four thousand times more acute than that of a human being. Police dogs came in two categories: those bred at prefectural police headquarters around the country, called department dogs, and those bred by private citizens, called contract dogs. The former currently numbered around 150; they were assigned to the Identification Division, and classified officially as "equipment," that is, consumable items like pencils and notebooks.

  The MPD had no contract dogs. Its thirty-five canines, all of them departmental, worked an average of eight or nine years before being retired. Sometimes retired police dogs went to private owners as watchdogs, sometimes they spent the rest of their natural lives in a corner of the police kennel. Once their usefulness as "equipment" was over, new dogs were purchased and trained in their stead. There was no budgetary allowance for old dogs, so their handlers scrimped and saved to buy them food.

  Of the half million canines registered as police dogs nationwide, contract dogs were the most able, having met the high qualifying standard; they were deployed on request to police working a particular case. Altogether there were some 1,300 in the country. A big advantage of this system was that it saved the police the considerable expense of breeding and raising dogs on their own. Also, it had great public relations appeal as a sign of police willingness to cooperate with the private sector and build good relations with the public.

  The Saitama Prefectural Police Department, for example, had no K9 units of its own, and relied on contract dogs exclusively. Some contract dogs were trained by private individuals; more often, officially licensed handlers, ranked into three classes by the Japan Police Canine Association, did the training at approximately 2,300 training centers around the country.

  Strictly speaking, the term "police dog" referred only to these two categories of highly trained dogs; in more general terms, it applied to any dog that was registered as a police dog and had undergone some police dog training. In addition to regional conventions, there were national events to raise the level and hone the abilities of police dogs; the two most important were the Japan Champion Trials and the National Police Dog Field Championship Trials. The Japan Champion Trials was something like a beauty contest. The seven breeds of dog eligible for registration as police dogs—German shepherd, Airedale terrier, boxer, collie, Doberman pinscher, Labrador retriever, and golden retriever—competed for the prize of best-looking dog in categories of adult, adolescent, young dog, and puppy.

  While participating dogs were all highly trained, they were judged less on their intelligence and the fruits of their training than on overall appearance, muscle definition, teeth, and so on. All competitors had pedigrees and were things of beauty to behold; their owners lavished care on them, polishing them like precious gems. Champions brought their owners great honor, and great fortune as well, in the form of lucrative stud fees. Some people spent millions of yen to purchase likely champions overseas. It was a world where appearance was all, and peop
le jostled to be noticed.

  The National Police Dog Field Championship Trials, as its name implied, was a test of ability. Categories included protection, tracking, and search, with protection divided into the two categories of protection and detaining. Participants in this championship trials competed not on the basis of pedigree or appearance, but on performance alone, so the atmosphere was one of serious business. Participants, all of whom had completed a rigorous course of training, obediently walked or ran along prescribed routes, jumped over hurdles, barked at a suspect, engaged and held a suspect, selected an article of clothing belonging to the suspect, and tracked the suspect using the scent on an article of his possession. They were the very image of all that a police dog should be. Every dog wore a look of eager intelligence, happy beyond measure to show off its talents and earn praise from its human. Seventy percent of the dogs who placed in the upper levels of this contest were contract dogs.

  Department police dogs, of course, were not entered in either competition. They didn't have the time; they needed to be ready to go to work at a moment's notice. And they were not allowed the luxury of mistakes. Any dog that entered the obedience event only to wander around in circles would never have been granted departmental status, but a department dog that did enter such a competition would be considered a shoo-in to win. They were professionals, and not the polished-gem type of professional dog either; no beauty contests for them.

  When he had explained all this, Hatakeyama regarded Takako with a self-satisfied expression, not bothering to look toward Takizawa, who was not saying a word. "We're a private organization, but we do work closely with the police. You're still young, miss, but I suggest you try to keep this much in mind."

  Takako said nothing, forcing herself to smile sweetly.

  Hatakeyama's response in turn was to stub out his cigarette in an oversized ashtray with the brand of a pet food printed in gold, take a deep breath, and add: "But get this straight: We do not train dogs to attack and kill people. Period."

  More than the words themselves, the tone of Hatakeyama's voice was aggressive. All but ignoring her, he went on to qualify his statement slightly: Attack dogs were indeed taught to engage and bite suspects, but exclusively on the arm or other non-vital part of the body; and the moment the suspect was felled, or clearly in no danger of escape, these dogs were trained to let go. No police dog would ever sink its teeth into anyone's throat, neck, or skull; the notion of a killer police dog was preposterous.

  "Yes," said Takako, agreeing, "but by the same token, no dog could have carried out these crimes without careful training. No matter how high an IQ a dog might have, surely the services of a professional handler would be required for it to perform at that level."

  "We have some wolf-dogs in training, I'll concede. Rottweilers also do exceptionally well in the program. As long as they have what it takes, we're prepared to accept dogs of any breed. We've even got Shiba and Akita dogs in training. But they tend not to make it through the final trials. They might have the brains, but not the stamina or strength. There must be both."

  "Yes, and a wolf-dog—"

  "What I'm saying is, police dog training is nothing like what you're talking about. With all due respect, the idea that any of our handlers would ever train a police dog to carry out a lethal attack is absurd. Besides, not all handlers are approved by us. Kennel clubs and other outfits also certify people as dog handlers."

  This last statement was delivered with a look of contempt mingled with annoyance. And defensiveness. It seemed to suggest this: that here the Police Canine Association was dedicated to training dogs to be useful to society, and Takako had the audacity to suggest that an antisocial killer was a police dog in their registry. It might just be a rumor, or ignorance, but it was an outrage.

  Takako refused to give up. "Thank you for explaining in such detail," she said. "What I'm asking now is whether you can assist us in this particular matter. Do you, for instance, have knowledge of anyone who trains wolf-dogs, or have you ever observed such training in progress?"

  Hatakeyama scowled.

  Takako continued: "True, such a person might not be a member of your association. But it seems possible that you might nonetheless know of such a handler."

  "Possibly."

  "Wolf-dogs stand out. Because they're part wild, I understand they have to be walked for hours every day. That makes it all the more likely that you might have gotten word of—"

  "Nobody would come to me about anything so trivial." It was like he'd slammed the door shut.

  Wondering if her instincts were off, Takako tried to think fast, casting about for another approach. She could feel Takizawa's eyes upon her. Ever since yesterday he'd been unbelievably deferential, listening in silence as she took the lead. But the eyes she felt watching her now were not full of warmth and admiration. They were saying, See, what did I tell you?

  "Let me see if I have this right," Takako regrouped. "You're suggesting that the odds are good that someone trained the wolf-dog privately, on his own, is that it?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, then—" As she groped for words, behind her Takizawa cleared his throat.

  And then inserted himself into the conversation: "Hatakeyama-san, how about this? You ever hear anything about someone who used to train dogs buying himself a wolf-dog, anything like that?"

  "Now that I probably could ask around and find out for you."

  Takako's mood began to sour as she listened to the two men rattle on.

  "Handlers, is that what you call 'em? People who train dogs for a living. They must really like dogs, seems to me."

  "Oh yes. In fact, they often treat their dog better than they do their own family." Hatakeyama's face suddenly softened. "I'll tell you," he said, "there's nothing more lovable than a dog that obeys your every command."

  "I can see that," said Takizawa. "Must be a lot more lovable than some people. I'm no dog lover, mind you. I wouldn't know about that myself."

  "Oh, you should get yourself a dog. You'd see."

  "Not me. Are you kidding? On my salary, the best I could manage would be a turtle or a goldfish."

  Hatakeyama laughed out loud, amused. When it was Takako asking the questions, he'd answered in a flat monotone, but to Takizawa he responded heartily. The problem was not the content of her questions, the problem was her; he didn't like her. In short, he and Takizawa were two of a kind.

  "I'll bet someone like that never really settles into another kind of work," Takizawa said. "It's not a job you can do by halves, is it?"

  "Neither is yours."

  "True enough." Takizawa smiled broadly.

  So Takizawa was heading in the same direction she was headed, asking the same questions she would have asked if he hadn't butted in.

  "I've only seen wolf-dogs in photographs," said Takizawa, "but to me they look no different from wolves. One look and you can see it's no hound, it's a wolf, you know what I mean? And the more wolf blood they have, I bet the harder they are to train."

  Hatakeyama was practically leaning forward, making appropriate interested responses as Takizawa spoke. Thoroughly soured, Takako listened in tight-lipped silence as he went on.

  "The way we figure it is, since wolf-dogs are such wild creatures at heart, they'd never go after a human target without training from a handler who knew his stuff. Our two victims were done in by the exact same method. The second victim—a woman, just your ordinary housewife—was attacked in broad daylight, but nobody saw anything. Or heard anything either—no scream, no barking, no nothing. Getting a wolf-dog to pull off a trick like that had to take some serious training, if you ask me."

  From where Takako sat, Takizawa was himself now leaning toward Hatakeyama, and he'd put on a disarming smile, something like the one he'd used on that young doctor at the hospital. He went on with such facility and smoothness, it was a wonder he had kept quiet all this time.

  "So how about it? Maybe you know of a top-notch handler who hasn't been seen around a
training center for the last few years?"

  "Well, I could ask around and find out for you—but if you're talking about really skilled handlers, I would have to say there's no one better than the police. Somebody in the Identification Division, in charge of the canine unit."

  Taken aback, Takako looked at Takizawa. His face seemed to have frozen for a second, too. The idea made sense—rather than go after all the handlers in all the training centers in the country, how much smarter, and easier, to focus on policemen training department dogs.

  Acting impressed, nodding, Takizawa mumbled, "Aha, I see what you mean."

  A policeman raising a dog for revenge: by no means unthinkable. All avenues had to be explored. Hatakeyama had mentioned there were no K9 units in Saitama PD. Then maybe the next step was to request the name of anybody who had retired early from the Identification Division in Tokyo, Chiba, or Kanagawa, somebody without a clear reason.

  "Anyway, I'll get back to you if I find out anything," said Hatakeyama, as the three of them stood up.