“So the guy who gets gas there every couple of months isn’t you? It wasn’t you who lifted the key and made a copy? If the Beast inside you is doing all this, where are you when it’s happening? Answer me that.”
No reply. The man just sat there sobbing like a little girl. He didn’t even try to run away.
“Are there other victims?”
Nakasono nodded dutifully.
“You’re the Serial Amputator, aren’t you?”
“No. That woman was the first time I ever killed anyone. I thought I’d get lucky. I could make it look like the serial killer did it. I never did that before.”
The crybaby face was replaced by the two-headed monster. “I wanted to see what it was like.” The voice of the Beast was a thick wet tongue moving in a wet maw.
“You thought people would blame it on the Serial Amputator?”
“Mm-hmm.” Kosuke Nakasono was back. He nodded deeply, appealing for sympathy. “It seemed like the chance I was waiting for. If I cut off part of the body, everybody would think the Amputator did it. It worked, didn’t it?”
Black thoughts eddied in whorls in Kotaro’s head now too.
“Who else did you kill?”
“I told you, I didn’t. I just … I cut them a little, with a knife. He likes women. He likes their blood.” He wiped his nose. “It’s their fault anyway—walking alone or riding their bikes through the park late at night. That’s when the Beast goes hunting.”
Blood pouring from a laptop screen. The image was burned on Kotaro’s retina. I just cut them a little. He likes their blood.
It made a kind of sense. If Nakasono had attacked several women in his neighborhood, that would explain what Kotaro had seen on the website. A woman walking at night is slashed by an unknown attacker. It was outrageous, but the papers would only run a brief account, with no follow-up. You wouldn’t know from the media whether or not the perpetrator was ever caught. That’s just the kind of crime it was.
“How long have you been doing this?”
Nakasono had to think carefully before answering the question. He wiped his nose and eyes again. “The Beast does it. I can’t remember.”
“What about before the Beast? You must’ve been obsessed with something. Something that brought out the Beast and made it stronger.”
“I collected women’s shoes,” he said without a trace of guile. It was as if he’d said he collected Pokémon cards as a child. “When I was a kid, there was a rooming house in our neighborhood. It was a dormitory for nurses. They always left their shoes and sandals in the entryway. I couldn’t resist them.”
This guy’s a certified deviant. I’m listening to the diary of a pervert.
“I didn’t care about underwear. I specialized in shoes. They’re easy to steal, just sitting there in the entryway like that, so I had to make it more challenging. I’d snatch them right after the girl took them off.”
“That’s enough.” Kotaro was tired of struggling with his nausea. “I’ll ask you one more time. Answer truthfully. You killed Saeko Komiya, didn’t you?”
“Y-yes.”
“And no one else?”
“No, nobody. She was the first. Until I tried it, I wasn’t sure I could do such a thing.”
“Where did you kill her? You took her someplace.”
“We have a warehouse. We rent it, near my parents’ house. I’m a native of Totsuka.”
Kotaro almost groaned with disgust. “What did you do with her leg?”
“It’s in the warehouse. I wrapped it in plastic and put it in an oil drum. I’m not like the Beast. I didn’t care about the leg.”
The Beast was in hiding during this exchange. There was no flipbook effect from man to monster. But now it was back with its thick, wet voice. “Anyway, I kept her shoes.”
The black tar whorls under the beast’s translucent red skin revolved with dizzying speed. Kotaro knew it was aroused.
“So you didn’t have anything to do with the murders in Akita and Mishima?”
“Not me, pal.”
The fourth murder was another one-off. As Kotaro stood there dazed, Kosuke Nakasono returned and started muttering compulsively.
“All I care about is shoes. He’s the one with the bad habits, not me. He wants women’s blood. He wants to kill. It’s a bad habit. It’s his fault—”
The whining stopped abruptly. Kotaro realized that this nondescript, middle-aged man was staring at him in wonder.
“Are you a Beast too?”
What the hell? Why is he looking at me like that?
Nakasono looked slightly exasperated, as though waiting for a customer to settle a bill. “I mean, you’ve got huge fangs …”
Kotaro’s eyes widened in surprise as an intense flash of light exploded behind Nakasono’s neck.
It was Galla. She raised her scythe above her head and whipped the blade sideways.
The crescent hissed. Nakasono’s head took flight as his body toppled forward slowly. There was no blood.
Out of the severed surfaces gushed a red-black liquid that was somehow light and insubstantial, like smoke. The streams spiraled around each other in midair before disappearing into the blade of the scythe.
It was a double helix, like a string of DNA.
Galla held the scythe over her head, twirling it like a baton, and began an elegant dance. The red-black torrent chased the blade. Its tip shone with a pure light as the torrents twisted in the air like a charmed snake, drawn to the scythe.
The torrent was powerful, inexhaustible. Galla’s dance accelerated. She traveled the circumference of the roof, returned to where she’d been before and hurled the scythe straight upward. It rose into the air, turning end over end.
The red-black torrents chased the tip of the blade, plunging toward it with greater urgency. The spinning scythe blurred and became a pale disk high above Galla’s head.
Two points of light flashed out from the disk. Galla extended both arms above her head as a scythe fell into each hand. Her long, gauntleted fingers gripped the handles triumphantly. An instant later, the pair of scythes were stowed behind her back.
Each one had a slightly smaller blade than the original, with a shorter handle, but the blades shone with an icy brilliance that waxed and waned like peaceful breathing. They were alive.
The physical manifestations of Keiko Tashiro and Kosuke Nakasono’s cravings had been horrifying and grotesque. But with each new infusion, the beauty and power of Galla’s weapons only grew.
There was a faint noise, like dry leaves rustling. Kosuke Nakasono’s head and body, emptied of craving, crumbled into dust and blew away on a phantom wind.
“His body was little more than a vessel for his cravings,” Galla said quietly. Kotaro nodded, remembering what she had said about Keiko Tashiro.
“Without its contents, the vessel can’t maintain its existence.”
Galla could return Keiko Tashiro’s craving, but she could not be restored to her original state.
“Galla …” Kotaro found himself on his hands and knees. He looked up at the warrior. “I think something’s happening to me. When I was talking to him, I could see his true form with both eyes open. He kept changing from human to monster and back again.”
Maybe the power she lent me is growing and becoming part of me. Maybe the more I use it, the more I’ll be able to possess it.
But Galla’s answer was immediate. “It is not strange, in this place.” She walked slowly to the edge of the roof. “We are on sacred ground, a sanctum of my making. My power is everywhere here. Anyone entering this space gains the power to see words. To see the Shadow.”
“Are you saying this isn’t the tea caddy building?”
“It is not.”
Kotaro tried to get up, but his legs were so unsteady that he had to crawl to where Galla stood. He loo
ked over the edge of the building.
Immediately beyond the rooftop was a void. The warren of streets and buildings that should have been below him was nowhere to be seen. That explained why the cityscape farther away looked so bizarre, as though seen through a lens that distorted spatial relationships. Buildings that were closer were too close; those farther away looked too distant.
“I can no longer use that building. I have been too long in your region. Its reality hinders me.”
“But it’s a special place for me.” That’s why I made it a point to have Makoto meet me there.
The tea caddy building had been the setting for Kotaro’s transformation. It had shown him the way to things that were real but did not exist. It had changed his world. It was the birthplace of Kotaro, hunter of evil. His place of power.
“I cannot share your sentimentality,” Galla said drily. “I also have no reason to stop you. But I warn you: you would do well to avoid that place from now on.”
The twin blades glowed above her head. “My weapons are strong now.”
“Are you finished here, then?”
“Not yet. There is more I must do before I can vanquish the Sentinel at the Gate of Sorrows.”
“Then we should—” Kotaro caught himself midsentence.
Three of the murders were each committed by a different person. Each mutilation was carried out in imitation of another killer’s work. The simplest conclusion was that the Serial Amputator never existed. He was a fantasy, an urban legend. Akita and Mishima would probably prove to be the work of different killers with different motives as well.
In the Tomakomai case, the victim’s right toe was missing. That was the beginning. At first they called him Toe-Cutter Bill. As more people died, he became the Serial Amputator, and the legend took on a life of its own. To reveal the truth of the three killings would be to dismantle the legend.
“I’ll solve the other murders. Shigenori will help me. We’ve come this far, we can’t stop now. Whoever committed them is sure to have strong craving.”
“No one compels you to do this,” Galla said.
“It’s not an obligation. I want to.”
As he got to his feet, he had a vision of Ayuko’s face, her ivory skin and jet-black pupils. The vision left a gentle warmth before it disappeared. He even felt the touch of her hand. He’d never actually touched her, yet he was sure what he felt was real.
The legend is evil. You must bring it down, but don’t lose your bearings along the way. Your thirst for justice can blind you to the harm done by lies and violence. Don’t yield to the craving, Kotaro.
Galla was saying something. Kotaro shook his head and shut his vision of Ayuko away in his heart. His eyes were brimming.
“Um … what?”
Galla stood there looking down at him. She swept her hair behind her back, turned, and walked away. The studs in her boots made a metallic sound. She stopped at the opposite edge of the roof, her back still turned.
“Of those I encountered here—the first whose craving I harvested—some wept with loneliness, some were wracked with shame for the blunders they committed. Some were filled with despair, others begged me for forgiveness. I took their cravings, and with them the source of their suffering. Their very bodies brought power to my blade and they ceased to exist in this world. This was their wish. And yet … their cravings seemed at first a trifle. However much I harvested, they ran like sand through my fingers. I thought I had erred in coming to this region. The source of the Circle!
“But I was wrong. I knew too little of this human world. Your will gave birth to the Circle and gives you the strength to turn the Great Wheels of Inculpation. It is a power beyond anything I dreamed of. The craving that rises from your will to live is great and mighty.”
Kotaro felt the strength of Galla’s emotion, yet her tone contained no hint of admiration.
“You humans are powerful, but you are also defiled.” She turned to face him. “Were you not troubled?”
“By what?”
“His words. He spoke of your fangs. All who enter this place see with my eyes. That is why he saw your true face—the words that give form to your Shadow. That Shadow has fangs.”
“Makoto’s Shadow was a giant,” Kotaro said. Galla nodded. “I wonder … is my Shadow a werewolf? Or a hound? They have fangs. I think it’s perfect for me. I mean, Yuriko’s a wolf too. ’Cause she’s a hunter.”
“Wolves pursue. They do not hunt. They seek to return to the Nameless Land those who have escaped, who have breached the seals meant to keep them there. Their task is eternal and it is fruitless. They are unbound by time and can cross the gap between regions. They are deathless, and they are everywhere. Yet they are also nowhere, for they do not exist, though they are real,” Galla said. “The girl who appeared before you is already becoming a phantom. That is the fate of wolves. As they pursue, their existence slips away, little by little. Would you join them?”
Kotaro returned Galla’s stare. “I’ll tell you after I find the truth behind the last two murders. You can wait, can’t you?”
Galla’s reply was to spread her wings and rise into the air. She hovered over Kotaro’s head, black wings beating, and dropped toward him like a stone. In his mind, she spoke.
You will regret this.
Galla’s voice was still ringing in his ears when Kotaro realized he was standing at the front door of his house, next to the mailbox. He felt like someone waking from an episode of sleepwalking, but he had his shoes on. The night was warm and stifling.
The front door was unlocked. He stepped inside. The sound of the TV came from the living room, and the voices of his father and mother. He raced upstairs. The clock in his room said five past nine.
So this was what it was like to travel to Galla’s sanctum and return. There was a gap in his memory of the evening; he didn’t remember actually going to Totsuka. His head felt stuffed with straw.
His pack with all his gear was in his room. Nothing was missing. His phone was where he had left it in one of the outside pockets. He was reaching for it when it started ringing. The display showed Shigenori’s number.
“Hey, detective. Are you back in Tokyo?”
There was a pause followed by an explosion on the other end of the line.
“What the hell are you talking about? I’ve been calling you for hours. Where’ve you been?”
“Ah, um … that’s hard to explain. Do you know what a sanctum is?”
They debriefed each other. Shigenori was still hot under the collar. He couldn’t fathom why Kotaro had gone off on his own with another kangaroo court.
“Why didn’t you force him to turn himself in?”
“There wasn’t time for that! What if he ran away?”
Shigenori wasn’t fazed by his description of Galla’s sanctum. Instead, he had news that left Kotaro much more surprised.
“She let me use her power for just a moment. I could tell who the killers were by touching the wishes they wrote for the Star Festival. I didn’t ask her. She just gave it to me. Let me tell you, I’ve had enough of this stuff.”
“Why? She helped you.”
“Whatever. I’ve still had enough. It’s time for you to come to your senses. Get out of this mess. Go back to your studies.”
“Sorry, can’t. Two more killers to nail.”
“There is no Serial Amputator!”
“I know. We’ve got to destroy the myth.”
“No one even knows who the woman in Akita was. It’s no job for an amateur.”
“Then I’ll tackle the Mishima case. You handle Akita.”
As they were going back and forth, Kotaro’s battery died. Good timing.
He booted up his PC. There were a few new mails. One was from Makoto. There was a large attachment. The subject line was “I had to check this out.”
I al
so wanted to understand why you had me hack that site.
Makoto knew his way around the web. He’d used Katsura Florist’s SNS blog to find the sites Kosuke Nakasono frequented, the people he shared information with, even his online payment history.
Turns out that the guy actually had a second IP address.
And walking back the traces from that address led to the two-headed monster.
This site is on BB’s watch list. Your florist seems to have a thing for women’s feet.
A site for foot fetishists. A place where they could exchange tips, stoke each other’s fantasies, and share their thrills. Kotaro mailed back.
Thx Makoto. You can forget about this guy.
That was it. Kotaro leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.
10
Kotaro’s vacation was over, but he was still cutting classes. It wasn’t helping his grades. He’d spent the rest of his ten days collecting and collating information about the last two cases, but time ran out before he had a chance to visit Mishima, much less Akita.
Ayuko’s murder had left a void that could not be filled, but somehow Kumar limped along. It was like a twin-engined aircraft with one engine flamed out. The loss of its founder made planning for the long term impossible. The plane had to land somewhere for repairs. Closing the Tokyo office and moving to Sapporo would be the chance for a needed breather.
The police were leaving Seigo alone, but his time was taken up visiting Kumar’s banks and conferring with clients. He wasn’t in the best of moods, and delegated most of the day-to-day management to his island chiefs.
Seigo wasn’t the only one acting different. A handful of regular and part-time staff had already quit, and a few of the chiefs had announced they wouldn’t be going north. The vibe was confused and unsettled. It had been like this for weeks, but Kotaro had been too preoccupied to pay much attention.
Without Ayuko, even Kotaro was losing his attachment to Kumar. Kaname planned to stay till the end, then concentrate on her studies.
“Hope things go well in Hokkaido,” she said to Makoto.
The Gate of Sorrows Page 47
