Blue Light Yokohama

by Nicolas Obregon

“It’s not my business but it’s my business, you understand?”

  Iwata laughed, then grimaced.

  The older man stepped into the corridor. He paused to speak over his shoulder.

  “You want to know something funny? Day before you started, Fujimura comes down to my office. Says we’re hiring a no-mark to replace Akashi. Just a few years of experience in some backwater. I complained, of course. There were ten other better guys vying for your place. But Fujimura told me he wanted a bumpkin—low on salary and low on brainwaves. Now he’s gone and things are going to change. Me included.”

  “He was right about one thing,” Iwata croaked. “The salary is lousy.”

  Shindo laughed.

  Then his smile faded. This was good-bye.

  “I’m not going to thank you for doing your job, kid.”

  “You trusted me. That’s worth more.”

  Shindo patted the door frame and left.

  In the elevator, he wondered if they ought to have shaken hands.

  CHAPTER 38: THE NEW WAY

  TOKYO’S SUPREME COURT WAS A Dalí painting of white stone. Strange shapes cast long shadows on a beautiful spring morning. Inside Chamber Number One, Kosuke Iwata sat before three judges—One, Two, Three. Their togas were ink blue, their cravats a perfect white. Behind them, enormous paintings depicted gods and ancient history. Above the judges, an inscription ran in gold letters with the imperial chrysanthemum seal—in the name of the emperor.

  In the rows behind Iwata, various officials from the National Police Agency, TMPD, and Tokyo judiciary sat with concerned looks on their faces and mobile phones at the ready—evolving strategy and official lines to be taken.

  The three judges were of differing age and gender, yet they all wore the same expression, the same expectation in their eyes as if all carved from the same beechwood wall panels.

  Iwata cleared his throat and leaned into the microphone.

  “That’s correct, Chief Justice. It was a case of Occam’s razor.”

  “Would you be good enough to clarify, Inspector Iwata?”

  “Simply put, Hideo Akashi didn’t add up from the beginning. He was leading all the relevant cases—Mina Fong’s stalker, Ikuo Uno, the Takara Matsuu murders, and the subsequent missing persons file. But so little made sense. Until the charade in the elevator—”

  Judge Three held up her hand.

  “You’re referring to the CCTV footage from Mina Fong’s apartment building.”

  “That’s correct, Chief Justice. I realized that Akashi was the last person to see her alive. But, of course, he was dead before she was killed, so how could he have anything to do with it? The answer was simply that he was not dead. Akashi killed Mina the first time he visited her apartment. The charade inside the elevator confused the time lines and gave him a watertight alibi, not that he’d ever be suspected. But it also meant he was able to hide in plain sight. After all, who would come back to a crime scene in disguise after having killed someone? And, in any case, who would suspect the great Hideo Akashi?”

  The three judges shared furtive glances. Behind Iwata, murmuring broke out.

  Judge Two, the eldest, cleared his throat.

  “So you focused your investigation on Senior Inspector Akashi at that point?”

  “That’s correct, Chief Justice. It later transpired that a homeless man—a former colleague of Senior Inspector Akashi, Ryozo Suzuki—had been asked to formally identify the body. A body without a face. A body that was the right size for Akashi, with a recently shaved head and broken fingers to accommodate his ring. A body that I believe belonged to Takara Matsuu, a child murderer whom nobody would miss.”

  Judge One coughed and took off his spectacles.

  “Inspector, throughout this entire … situation, at no point did you raise concerns with your superiors or seek any kind of assistance. Do you accept that, perhaps, this was not the wisest course of action to take?”

  “Sir, with respect, it was the only course of action. I knew that the killer had someone inside the TMPD. The work was too perfect. Always one step ahead. And no surprise considering the dirt Akashi had on everyone—”

  Two held up his hand.

  “Inspector, you are referring to the subject of ongoing investigations so I would ask you to avoid informality.”

  Iwata smiled thinly.

  “Forgive me, Chief Justice. My only point was that, given the levels of corruption—alleged corruption—in Division One, there was no safe place for me to turn. But by keeping these things back, I was also certain my … improvisation with Yoshi Tachibana would work.”

  One clucked his tongue.

  “That’s an interesting choice of words, Inspector. Do you appreciate now, with benefit of hindsight, the damage that your little ruse may have done? Not just in financial terms to the TMPD but also to public confidence in Japanese law enforcement? Frankly, I fail to see how this ‘improvisation,’ as you so blithely call it, has not yet been considered as part of Public Prosecutor Murata’s formal investigation.”

  Iwata bowed.

  “Forgive me, Chief Justice. I wholly accept responsibility for my actions. As such, I gave notice of my resignation to Superintendent Shindo last week.”

  The judges looked at each other.

  “That’s not in these pages.”

  Shindo, in the gallery, avoided eye contact.

  “I believe the superintendent may have been hoping I might stay on. However, my decision is final.”

  Judge Three accepted this with a nod.

  “All right, Inspector. Let’s proceed. At what point were you sure of Akashi’s guilt?”

  “The CCTV from Rainbow Bridge confirmed it—Akashi and Matsuu were at the bridge two days before the former’s supposed suicide. He must have killed Matsuu, shaved his head, and caused the severe facial injuries postmortem. This gave Akashi a two-day period to carry out his plan. When he was ready, he swapped clothes with the body, tied it to his own, and jumped.”

  One interjected.

  “Inspector, we appreciate that Hideo Akashi’s mental state may have been somewhat altered. But this is also a man, according to you and the body of evidence before us, capable of meticulous planning. A man capable of eluding authorities for long periods of time, inside help or no. How then would you explain the contradiction? A meticulous strategist yet also an individual disturbed enough to take a hundred-meter-plus leap at the extreme risk of death?”

  Iwata leafed through the pages before him.

  “If I may read from Doctor Hayashi’s psychiatric report, Chief Justice?”

  One nodded.

  “‘The subject displays clear signs of personality disassociation, his principal persona being ‘the shaman.’ It is likely that he came to inhabit this ‘main’ persona after leaping from Rainbow Bridge, thereby ceasing to be Hideo Akashi. The subject sees himself as the living embodiment of the destruction of the ‘old world,’ and that his entire raison d’être is to pave the way for a ‘new reality.’ The subject refuses, however, to discuss his views on this new world in any detail and shuts down whenever pressed. He does acknowledge his devout belief in, and criminal representation of, the cult known as the Children of the Black Sun. He sees himself as a warrior monk, a fervent apostle-assassin prepared to commit any act for the word of his guru—Takashi Anzai. The subject admits to an extremely close relationship to this man, a father-son dynamic as well as a leader and follower. While the subject frequently and seamlessly conflates reality and fantasy, I would strongly advise investigation into any such reanimation of this criminal sect. Akashi’s belief in a New Way should, in my view, be considered credible. If he is to be believed, the Black Sun will dawn.

  “‘As his signature at every one of his murder scenes, the significance of the black sun symbol also manifests itself in the passing of the old and the dawning of the new. Despite the subject’s psychological framework, incredibly sophisticated though it is, there can be no doubt that Hideo Akashi is a fastidious and high
ly dangerous individual. After many hours of interviews, in my opinion, there should be no doubt whatsoever that the subject will kill again if released. Once his ‘crusade’ is complete, I believe his mental framework is flexible enough to shift and latch on to a new apologia. Hideo Akashi presents, in my view, one of the most complex and dangerous criminals in Japanese history. My professional recommendation is that he remain incarcerated in a maximum security psychiatric facility indefinitely.’”

  Iwata put down the pages and he continued.

  “In answer to your original question, Chief Justice, there is clear antecedence of people falling from great heights without any kind of protection and surviving. Personally, I believe Akashi was fully aware that he was risking his life. But he also would have known that by doing this, he was completely free to act out his agenda. If we are to follow Doctor Hayashi’s analysis, it’s quite possible that he considered this a test of sorts. A baptism of fire, perhaps. To Akashi, climbing out of the bay could well have been confirmation of the divinity of his work.”

  One fingered through some papers.

  “And what of Assistant Inspector Sakai? Or Midori Anzai, to give her her real name.”

  Iwata closed his eyes and imagined Sakai as a little girl, terrified, holding her mother’s hand as they boarded the cable car. He pictured Keiko pointing the knife at the crowd, her eyes locking on to Akashi—you stay away from me. He pictured Akashi picking the girl up and leaving the cable car.

  I’ll be looking after you now.

  Iwata sighed.

  “Assistant Inspector Sakai was a talented and devoted investigator. Without her, Akashi would still be at large and it’s quite possible that many more would have died. I was deeply gratified to learn that Superintendent Shindo has requested a promotion to the rank of Inspector and the very highest posthumous honors for her.”

  Judge Two snorted and looked in Shindo’s direction.

  Shindo, chest puffed out, stared back.

  “The Supreme Court does not convene to apperceive matters of gratification.”

  “The question was open-ended, Chief Justice.”

  “Well, let me put this in clearer terms: Do you believe Noriko Sakai to be innocent of any connection to the Fujimura scandal?”

  Iwata glared at him without reply for longer than the room was comfortable with.

  “If we accept, sir, that by your question you mean free of moral wrong, then I absolutely believe Noriko Sakai to be innocent. In my own modest experience in law enforcement, I’ve never served with a more honorable police officer.”

  Judge Three put her hand up; she’d heard enough. She shuffled through her papers and glanced up at the clock. She shot Two a look. Two shook his head. One shook his head.

  She shrugged.

  “Very well then, Inspector Iwata. You are dismissed.”

  * * *

  Hands in his pockets, Iwata walked along the corridor, his footsteps ringing out on the soapstone. He passed white marble sculptures of long-dead judges and prosecutors. He pictured Sakai sipping hot chocolate before shuffling through the case file.

  Seems we’re looking for a giant.

  He imagined her calling it in—suspect apprehended, case closed. He imagined how it would have electrified that smile of hers, the real one she kept hidden away, the one no one would forget once they’d seen it.

  Iwata sighed and closed his eyes in the warm sunlight. That’s when he heard footsteps—high heels. He turned to see a tall, middle-aged woman in a mauve suit coming his way. She was wearing gold earrings and a broad grin.

  “Iwata!”

  When she caught up, they exchanged bows—Iwata’s deeper than hers.

  “You know who I am?” she asked.

  “Our new public prosecutor.”

  “And a very unfit one at that. I’ll see you out, Inspector.”

  “Sooner or later people are going to have to stop calling me that.”

  Murata laughed warmly. She hadn’t bothered to hide her crow’s-feet with makeup and her hair was up in a simple ponytail. There was something at once both very likeable and fearsome about her.

  “Iwata, the importance of your work here can’t be overstated. I wanted to thank you for your courage and your determination. Tokyo is a better place today because of it.”

  “Ma’am—”

  Murata stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.

  “No, I won’t accept humility. Not on a day like today. I just want you to know that you have my gratitude.”

  “Thank you.”

  She smiled and they carried on down the corridor.

  “I understand Shindo accepted your resignation.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And I understand that you’re an intractable man.”

  “Some say.”

  They had reached the main entrance. Murata handed him her card.

  “Well, Iwata, you know I want good people in this town. Tokyo could really use you.”

  Smiling, he shook his head.

  “She’ll be fine.” Iwata skipped down the steps. “She always is in the end.”

  “Good luck, Inspector,” she called.

  “And to you.”

  Outside, Yoji Yamada, wearing a bright linen shirt and sunglasses, was leaning against the black Isuzu. He folded up his newspaper, the headline still visible—collusion, corruption, and cop killings in bold.

  “I see you’re not in handcuffs. A rare thing in this town for a cop these days.”

  “I’m the one leaving, but you look like you’re going on a cruise.”

  Yamada’s smile faded.

  “Listen, Iwata, I’ve done some digging. You’ve heard of Theta?”

  “They’re always in the discussions pieces. ‘New religion or cult.’ That kind of thing?”

  “Bet on the latter. Anyway, you remember Akira Anzai?”

  “Yeah, Takashi Anzai’s eldest.”

  “Right. Well, I checked the financial services register—he’s officially the new leader of Theta. Now outwardly, they’re peaceful and happy clappy. They’ve even set up a significant disaster fund for earthquake victims. But I’m worried, Iwata. Look at their tax returns. They’re growing. You saw the same photo in the compound that I did.”

  “So?”

  “So, I think we should move to place Theta under surveillance. We’ll need a court ruling, but I think we can get it. Now you said that Akashi specifically spoke of a ‘new way.’ The Children of the Black Sun believed in a new way, a new dawn, a new guise. What if those two things are linked?”

  Iwata got into the car and wound down the window.

  “Where are you going with this, Yamada?”

  “Well, what if Akashi wasn’t just a crazy lone wolf? What if he was clearing the path for whatever it is that Theta is underneath all the PR? What if Akashi isn’t as crazy as he makes out?”

  “Take it from me. He’s crazy.”

  “Look, I know he is, but answer me this—don’t his murders seem an awful lot like tying up loose ends? Severing the past from the future? What if Akashi wanted to be part of this new way and was eliminating anyone who knew his past? What if—”

  Iwata passed him Murata’s card.

  “I’m out, Yoji.” He patted him on the arm. “Tokyo has you, now.”

  CHAPTER 39: BLUE LIGHT YOKOHAMA

  SOMETIME AFTER DAWN, IWATA BEGAN to pack up his things. It took less than a quarter of an hour to put everything he owned in the car. Shutting the trunk, he looked up at his apartment window one last time. Motoyoyogicho had never really been home. Starting the engine, he felt nothing, as though leaving behind a mid-range business hotel.

  Iwata drove toward Shibuya on quiet, hesitant streets. Tokyo was rebuilding again. It always did. Through his sunroof, he absorbed the news on the giant LED screen above a department store.

  A famous young actress had announced her engagement to a member of an up-and-coming idol band. A popular comedian had apologized for tax irregularities. There
was a new Number One record in Japan. The broadcast ended with an insurance company’s slogan:

  THIS IS WHAT JAPAN SHOULD BE.

  At the southern entrance of Shibuya Station, the first few street vendors had assembled, smoking and sharing cups of coffee as they laughed.

  Iwata drove on to Meguro, listening to the radio.

  “Six months on from the installation of specially designed blue LED lights above the platforms of dozens of Yamanote Line stations, politicians and rail executives alike are branding the scheme a success. This despite 2011 being well on course to surpass thirty thousand suicides. For Mr. Hiroshi Namba, director of a nonprofit suicide prevention group, these figures are not surprising.”

  A man with a soft voice could now be heard.

  “The situation is very serious. Of course, I hope these blue lights are helping. But it’s a Band-Aid over a gunshot wound. Train suicides account for between 4 to 6 percent of the annual total. Every positive measure is welcome, but what is really needed is constant, ongoing support. In the streets, in the homes, in the workplace. People can often find themselves struggling with multiple issues. Unemployment leads to debt, debt leads to depression, depression leads to entrenched patterns of suicidal thinking. There are no easy solutions, but what is certain is that there needs to be far more support from society as a whole—not just some blue lights.”

  The show cut back to the newsreader.

  “It’s four years ago to the day that the government released a counter-suicide white paper setting aside 12.4 billion yen in suicide prevention assets. Positive results were expected by 2017, yet nearly halfway to the target date, Japan seems a long way off from this. As for the blue lights, it looks like they’re here to stay. This is Sumiko Shimosaka reporting for—”

  Iwata turned off the radio.

  Outside Matsumoto’s storage building, he slowly loaded up the car with his boxes. When he was finished, he went back to the hole-in-the-wall and bought another plate of vegetable and shrimp dumplings.

  “You came back.” The old cook grinned. “A man that keeps his promises.”

  Chewing, Iwata watched life flow along the main road. It was impossible to tell Japan had been brutalized a few months before. At the end of the street, a fragile row of cherry trees were in a shy bloom.