The Hunter

by Asa Nonami

  Home.

  "Home?"

  "Your old house, you mean, the one that burned down, in Akishima?"

  Kasahara blinked slowly, once. Seeing Takizawa nod with understanding, he closed his eyes again. There was so much more Takizawa wanted to ask. But for now they had to catch that pooch—although plainly, this was no ordinary mutt, he had to admit. Anyway, while they did that, Kasahara should concentrate on getting better so he could answer questions more easily next time around.

  Gesturing to Otomichi, who was frowning, Takizawa thought: "The wolf-dog's got no place else to go. He's bound to go back and search for Kasahara and Emiko." Then he moved away from the bed. Behind him, he heard her say, "We'll find him. I promise we'll find him."

  As he left the ICU, walking fast, Takizawa spoke without looking at Takako, "You heard what the captain said?"

  Her answer, a soft "yes," followed behind him along with the sound of her shoes. With that, he clammed up. He rushed out of this depressing place, where it felt like you'd get sick just walking around, and jumped into the unmarked police car to escape the flock of reporters who had somehow sniffed them out, even though there had been no official announcement.

  Apart from the report he filed over the phone as they started for headquarters, Takizawa said nothing on the ride back. He didn't know what he was supposed to say to this female cop he would be done working with now, and she was silent, too. What, she couldn't manage a simple "Thanks, it's been nice"? Or was it possible that despite her calm exterior, on the inside she was panicking?

  When they were almost there, she finally opened her mouth. "Sergeant Takizawa." Until then, the car had been filled only with the sound of transmissions from headquarters; now, finally, the atmosphere lifted. Taking care to keep his voice no different from usual, Takizawa answered, "Yeah."

  "Would it be all right if I asked you to write up the report this time?"

  "No problem. After all, you've got better things to do, don't you? "

  Damn, he'd done it again. He hadn't meant to be sarcastic at a time like this. He clicked his tongue. But see there? Just when there was an opening for conversation, she closed up again and didn't say boo.

  3

  That afternoon, Masanori Ogawa was put on the nation's most wanted list. The morning search of his residence had turned up tools like a tabletop milling machine and a belt sander; a circuit tester, an oscilloscope, and other measuring instruments; a printed circuit board and Nichrome wire fitted with an aluminum block, a vinyl chloride sheet, a crystal oscillator and a timer IC; plus copper rivets, cables, and more. His family explained that the storeroom, where this evidence was found, was used by Ogawa to develop new health equipment. However, among the various chemicals—including methanol—was a white, odorless, dry powder. Although it had to be tested, headquarters felt confident that among the chemicals taken from Ogawa's residence they'd find benzoyl peroxide.

  "No doubt about it, Ogawa's our guy."

  Takako heard about all this while sitting in the car on stakeout. The sun had set hours before, and darkness had set in. It was two days after the fire, but a stench still emanated from the charred ruins of Kasahara's house, which was surrounded by investigators watching not for a human suspect but for a canine.

  "What about Ogawa himself?"

  "Missing since the fire." It was Takizawa who said this.

  After their partnership ended, Takako had assumed she was through with the hassle of conversation with the grumpy sergeant; but Takizawa had also been assigned to hunt down the wolf-dog, to perform the special role as Takako's backup.

  "He left his home in his car," Takizawa was saying. "They know the model and license number, and they've checked everywhere he's likely to go: his parents, relatives, and friends."

  "Then it's just a matter of time till we find him."

  "Maybe, maybe not. If Kasahara's right, it's a race between us and Gale. Who's gonna get to him first?"

  Takizawa scratched the back of his neck with a finger fat like a caterpillar. Even in the dim light, she could see what looked like flakes of dandruff fluttering down. Takako was sitting in the back seat. Up front next to Takizawa was his new partner, Imazeki, who was about Takizawa's age and had an aura of stubborn earnestness. While Takizawa and Takako talked, he stayed mum. Somebody like this was a more suitable partner for the emperor penguin, she thought. Anybody on the street looking at them would think she was an ordinary bike rider hauled in for a traffic violation.

  After a brief silence, Takizawa twisted his short, thick neck with effort and looked back at her. "How long does a person's scent last?" he asked.

  She tilted her head speculatively and said only, "I wonder."

  Headquarters had obtained a pair of pajamas worn by Emiko Takagi from the mental hospital. The pajamas had been placed atop the fence in front of the Kasahara house in hopes that Gale, when he came back in search of his master, would catch the scent and relax his wariness. However ridiculous it seemed, they had to try everything.

  "When's it ever gonna warm up?" Another mumble from Takizawa. Then, without turning back to Takako this time, he added, "What a night for a bike ride, eh?" Takako looked out the window without replying. She had a feeling that at any time, a pair of eyes might shine out of the dark. But Gale was surely too cautious to appear this early in the night, an hour when people were still hurrying home from work.

  "She's young, that's all there is to it." At last a comment from the shotgun seat. "I used to ride for fun myself, but I gave it up about ten years ago." Imazeki had joined the team as backup from the neighboring precinct; his style of speech was more polite than Takizawa's.

  "Oh, I dunno. It's more than her being young. She's gotta love it, right? Wearing the leather outfit, and then zoom."

  Earlier that evening, on seeing Takako dressed in her leather motorcycle suit, Takizawa had gone goggle-eyed with astonishment. And then, his face showing a complex blend of emotions, among them embarrassment and discomfort, he said, "Look at you! Pretty cool."

  "Maybe," said Imazeki, "but riding in winter is harsh. No matter how much she might like it, still—"

  "Well, nothing we can do about it, is there? That's Officer Otomichi's assignment. Hey, Otomichi, why don't you catch a few winks while you can? You know that wolf friend of yours isn't going to show up until the middle of the night."

  Holding her helmet in her lap, Takako obediently leaned back and closed her eyes. Whether she would be able to sleep or not she didn't know, but it would be easier this way than when she was alone with Takizawa.

  Headquarters had come up with a plan for capturing Gale alive. If the killer were human, they would have him red-handed, but since Gale was an animal incapable of testifying, he constituted important physical evidence. Eventually he would have to be destroyed, but they intended to keep him alive at least until the trial, so that they could demonstrate to the judge his remarkable abilities. This decision had come as a great relief to Takako. The thought of her leading the troops to Gale for the sole purpose of killing him was heartbreaking.

  "Who'da thunk it? A lady lizard."

  She overheard this muttered comment from Takizawa. He must have thought she was already asleep. He was showing unusual solicitude, for him, in lowering his voice so far; yet the very quietness of his whisper had roused her.

  "She's really persistent. You two must have been great partners."

  The barest suggestion of a snort. Then Takizawa said sarcastically, "Is that what you think?"

  Go right ahead, thought Takako, say whatever you like; get it off your chest. Don't mind me. Once Gale shows up, I'll be rid of you once and for all.

  Some of the brass, she had heard, were of the opinion that even if Gale was shot and killed, the bite marks, dog hair, and tracks together would provide enough evidence to prove he had committed the crimes. They wanted to deploy snipers from the riot police. Inspector Miyagawa was against the idea. Instead of snipers, he turned to a private hunters' association. Hunters
assembled in response to his request were now standing by, each armed with a tranquilizer gun.

  "This is gonna be a long night."

  "Why don't you get some shut-eye, too, Takizawa? I'll stay awake."

  She could hear the two of them talk. She listened, then drifted off. She thought about Tomoko, but stopped herself. She was about to go after Gale; she couldn't let anything distract her. Clad in her leather suit, her gloves still on, she slept fitfully.

  In the end, Takako never had a chance to get on her motorcycle that night. Dawn arrived without Gale showing up; the seat of Takako's CB400 Super Four, parked in front of the patrol car, was covered in frost.

  Takako crept out of the car and was brushing off the motorcycle seat when Takizawa came out, yawning. Imazeki was still asleep in the shotgun seat. "We may be in for a helluva long wait," said Takizawa. "I wonder if everyone is too close in," said Takako. "Not good to let him see we have the place staked out."

  "Good point," Takizawa agreed. "He's supposed to be smart, after all." When the sun was up, the three of them let the next shift take over and went back to headquarters. Since they might have to go back out at any time, and the motorcycle might be indispensable, it was decided that Takako would not go home after the meeting, but would sleep in the station to save precious time.

  The other investigators, resting at last after a long night's stakeout, spent time watching television and reading newspapers, in the process learning how the story was playing out.

  "Says here Ogawa had a lover. She wants to tell the world how she feels!”

  “This one is speculating that Ogawa belongs to a terrorist organization." Media coverage of the case was heating up. For the past few days, reporters had been camped out in front of Tachikawa Central Station. As always happened when a sensational case like this broke, people connected with the main figures—at the moment, Kasahara and Ogawa—were hounded by the media. Sometimes the TV screen was filled with a montage of faces, while commentators blabbed on. A parade of experts no one ever heard of before made their appearance on television shows, were quoted in the newspapers; there were social critics, chemistry professors, veterinarians and zookeepers, all giving every conceivable opinion on every conceivable topic.

  "This guy says the animal is probably hiding out on Tsukuda Island."

  "This one says the animal's gone up north to Tohoku: 'There have been sightings of an animal too big to be an ordinary dog.' Hah."

  As they read the newspaper accounts, the detectives found themselves half-amused. For the media to talk up the case was fine, but for them to provoke a panic was only going to make things worse. To prevent this from happening, the police released details only sparingly, but the media went ahead and published any old thing they liked.

  "The humane society is coming here to protest!" an investigator exclaimed. There had been a flood of complaints from citizens demanding that police capture or kill the dog immediately. At the same time, the humane society was getting into the act: once the dog was captured, they wanted it released to their custody, or returned to Alaska.

  It was a circus. And the detectives knew to treat it that way. In the real world, on the other hand, Gale was moving through the landscape with nimble caution, unseen. And going from his home on the western rim of Tokyo all the way to Adachi on the eastern end, traveling by night, he had brilliantly carried out his master's wishes.

  "This is weird. Says here the latest victim Mizutani was an honest man leading a sober life."

  "Slip 'em the real dope—that he was a crazed drug addict on his way to becoming a street slasher."

  "Who, me? No way. I don't want them coming after me."

  Regarding Mizutani, however, the fact of the matter was this: Finding any connection between him and Teruo Hara, whether a dozen years ago or more recently, had not been easy. But Mizutani's own past was somewhat checkered. At the time of his death he was employed at a food storage company, but in his twenties he spent two years in prison for drug possession; and on the arms of his common-law wife there were some telltale tracks.

  As far as anyone could tell, Gale had cut straight through the densely populated city center to go after Mizutani. In terms of distance, it was not that far; but how did the wolf-dog manage to avoid highways and make his way through a city with almost no empty space? They'd never find out, supposing they ever caught him.

  "You don't think he already got to Ogawa?"

  "Maybe. You never know. He might be biding his time, waiting for his chance. I bet he's got that much savvy."

  On learning that Gale had continued to go after his targets even while his master lay in the hospital, headquarters had dropped its dismissive "it's only a dog" attitude. They would never catch Gale as long as they thought of him as a dumb animal: he was a creature of the wild, something no one on the investigation team had ever faced before. A wolf possessed mystic abilities; and even if the animal had a certain percentage of dog genes, the balance of its genes was still a wolf's.

  That was clear to Takako who, rather than stand around chitchatting, decided to call and check in with her family. Today it was Koko, the middle sister, who picked up the phone.

  "How's Tomoko?"

  "So-so." Koko was almost the opposite of Takako in personality and in fact seemed to harbor some hostility toward her older sister. It was as if they weren't cut from the same piece of cloth, or were on different wavelengths; whenever they were together, there was a strained awkwardness. Even now, Takako found Koko's response irritating.

  "What do you mean, so-so? Is she better?"

  "Yes, she's better. It's everybody else who isn't."

  "Oh. Well, that's good to know."

  Conversations with Koko never seemed to go anywhere. "Urn, is Mom there?" she asked.

  "Hang on."

  "What did you say to Moko?" Those were her mother's first words to Takako when she got on the phone.

  "What do you mean? "

  "Onee-chan, didn't you talk to her?"

  Moko was Tomoko, and Koko was Kouko, the first "o" stretched out; but Takako was forever onee-chan, "elder sister." Takako was not sensitive about it, but her mother did treat her differently. Sometimes this worked to Takako's advantage; more often it was a channel for her mother's emotions, so Takako would end up as the mediator between her parents and sisters—or, as now, the villain.

  "You have important work to do, I'm sure, but I'd like to know how a person who won't lift a finger to help her sister when she's in trouble thinks she can go around keeping society safe from criminals. Tell me that."

  "Just a minute—"

  "I left a message, didn't I? You never called back. Moko wanted to ask your advice, that's why she went to see you, and I was sure you'd be a good sister and help her. I was counting on you."

  Her mother's tone was sharp and annoying, and Takako's nerves were fraying. She listened silently to her mother, who clearly had not yet recovered from yesterday's shock. Takako could think of no words to respond with.

  "Do you understand me? You came this close to letting your precious sister die. I don't care how blase you are now about people dying, since you see dead bodies on the job every day—"

  "Who could be blase about a thing like that?"

  "But you are. Yesterday you made one little phone call, and then you washed your hands of her."

  What Takako regretted was that she had bothered to call now. She didn't have time or energy to listen to her mother go on and on. She had to stay on an even keel in case she needed to climb on her bike. She needed to conserve her strength.

  "I don't know what keeps you so busy day in and day out, but if your job prevents you from rushing to your sister's side when her life is on the line, then maybe you better quit. That job is why your marriage fell apart—"

  "Urn, I only called because I wanted to check on Tomoko's condition. I'm still in the middle of work. So, how is Tomoko? Has she regained consciousness?"

  There was a brief pause. "Yes, she has. Of co
urse she has—if she hadn't, it would be terrible!"

  Takako sighed loud enough for her mother to hear, and then murmured, "That's good to hear." Having managed to suppress her mother—who might have gone on in a torrent of words like a burst dam—and having learned all she needed to know about Tomoko for now, Takako attempted to end the conversation. But her mother was not about to let her go so easily.

  "Moko relies on you, you know that, don't you? We thought that if she wouldn't listen to us, she'd listen to you, that you'd be able to talk sense into her. And instead, you—"

  "I told Tomoko to leave that guy. I told her not to ask me to help her commit adultery. And as I told Dad yesterday, when she came over, she didn't seem all that depressed. She's not a child anymore. She can think and act for herself."

  "Nonsense. If she thinks for herself and takes an overdose of pills, it is unbearable. Onee-chan, you—"