EQMM, February 2010

by Dell Magazine Authors

  The misunderstanding might not be limited to Natsuki alone. The image of detectives that elementary school pupils had was probably that they pursued burglars and killers with no division of responsibilities between sections.

  She shoved the picture postcard into her coat pocket and passed through the gate. She walked to the station and went deep into the concourse. The cardboard-box shelters were quiet. All of the homeless seemed to be asleep. She approached the newest of the five shelters. This must be Yokozaki's.

  She wondered who was now living in the tidy apartment he had rented on the outskirts of town before he was sent to prison. Had he lost his belongings due to the civil suit brought against him? If so, how much compensation had his ex-wife demanded?

  Keiko recalled again Yokozaki's voice as she had heard it in the lockup.

  "Can you come to visit me?"

  At first she couldn't comprehend what he meant by those words, spoken in such a hoarse voice.

  "Won't you come to visit me, Ms. Hazumi?” As he repeated his request, there was nothing threatening in his tone.

  "I'm here now."

  Yokozaki slowly shook his head. “What I'm asking is that you come to the visitors’ room."

  She was at a loss for a reply. As far as she knew, there was no regulation that prohibited a detective from meeting with a suspect in the visitors’ room, but...

  "That's not possible,” Itami broke in. “Visiting hours are until four p.m. It's way after that now. You'll have to abide by the regulations."

  "I don't insist on it right now. It can be on another day.” Yokozaki stated this with his eyes glued to Keiko, not even glancing at Itami.

  Perhaps affronted by this, Itami raised his voice in anger. “It can't be tomorrow. You're being interrogated. You should be glad she came at all. The detectives are all busy with a murder case. They can't be taking time with your petty case."

  "Then day after tomorrow."

  Itami was quiet.

  Neither did Keiko respond. She couldn't answer. Because she couldn't gauge Yokozaki's true intentions.

  Why did he want her to visit? What was he scheming? Was he expecting to threaten her by saying something like, “Wash your neck and be waiting for the blade?"

  Only two points were clear.

  One was that Yokozaki had targeted her. Not only had he moved close to her house, he'd made a point of demanding that she visit him. There was no mistaking that he was planning his revenge.

  The second point was that she had no intention of falling for his scheme.

  She squatted down in front of the shelter. Just to be sure, she called out, “Good evening.” As expected, there was no response.

  Passersby on the concourse gave sideways glances toward her. Feeling their eyes on her back, Keiko opened the cardboard door of the shelter. A sour smell stung her nose. She turned on the penlight that she had brought with her. The first thing that the weak light lit up was a dirty blanket. Stifling the nausea she felt, Keiko slowly moved the circle of light.

  * * * *

  5.

  The acrylic pane was thicker than she had expected. For its thickness, its transparency was high, and she could clearly see even the second hand of the clock on the opposite wall. The walls seemed to be insulated for sound, and no noise from the outside could be heard.

  How many years had it been since she had come to the visiting room at the lockup? It must be since she had come on an observation tour during her police-academy days. If so, it had been over twenty years.

  Keiko closed her eyes. What came first to her mind was her daughter. Natsuki had refused to say a word to her since the evening of the sixth—the day before yesterday. The message that had been “How long are you planning to pursue the burglar?” that day had become “Why do you like burglars who target homes when no one is there?” on the picture postcard she had retrieved this morning just as she was leaving for work.

  It was Fusano who had brought that postcard. She had brought over this morning what had been delivered to her house yesterday. When Keiko looked at the house number on the address, she saw that Natsuki had deflated the circle on the 9 so that it looked like a 7.

  And she said she'd be careful. Keiko apologized for the trouble.

  Fusano also bowed her head deeply. “Thank you so much for the other day. I'm really in your debt."

  As Keiko hadn't done anything special and she had even forgotten to give Fusano some money, she felt uncomfortable. Keiko opened her eyes from her reverie, took out her datebook, and wrote, “Withdraw money for Fusano.” The tip of the ballpoint pen didn't quiver. No, she wasn't nervous.

  It seemed they hadn't yet found any physical evidence that Yokozaki was the burglar. The interrogation would no doubt proceed until the extension of his sentence was up. That meant he was behind bars for another week or so. Unless someone else, who was the actual burglar, gave himself up, there was no way he would be immediately released.

  We could move and go into hiding before he gets out.

  Keiko closed her datebook. A moment later, the door on the other side of the acrylic pane opened. Yokozaki appeared first. Then followed Itami.

  Keiko shot Itami a look that said, Are you going to be present as well?

  Itami answered, “It's regulation."

  Can't be helped.

  Only attorneys could meet with prisoners without guards present.

  When she entered the visitors’ room, Keiko had shown her identification card at the reception desk and filled out a visitor request form, just like the general public. She wasn't getting any special treatment just because she was part of the police force.

  "You're not allowed to do anything like an interrogation, of course. Also, depending on the content of the conversation, I may decide to end it. Keep that in mind,” Itami said brusquely, as he sat down on a folding steel chair nearby.

  Yokozaki sat at the counter facing Keiko. Just as he had done the other day, through the steel bars, he stared at her with expressionless eyes. Keiko studied his thin lips and waited for them to open. Yokozaki kept quiet.

  About a minute passed. There was no indication that Yokozaki would open his mouth.

  "Number Fifteen,” Itami said as he scraped the steel chair on the floor. “You want to say something, don't you? Don't hesitate."

  Keiko also became impatient. Come on, speak up. She had put aside her determination not to visit him, thinking that he might give her a hint as to what he was planning.

  Her examination of the cardboard shelter the night before last had yielded nothing. All she had as for information was what he himself had said. His remaining silent would mean she had wasted her time coming here when she was so busy. She still had to go on interviews today. There were as yet no leads in the serial street killings.

  Ten minutes passed. Yokozaki's mouth remained shut.

  "Hey, Number Fifteen.” Itami's voice showed his fatigue. “If you're just going to keep silent, I'm going to end the visit."

  At this, Yokozaki finally opened his mouth. “Thirty minutes."

  "What?"

  "I have thirty minutes. The regulations allow me thirty minutes for visiting time. It hasn't even been half that time yet."

  Itami clicked his tongue in exasperation.

  "Besides,” Yokozaki said, with a faint smile on his face, “visiting isn't just talking. It's still a visit to just look at the other person's face."

  Don't be silly. It seemed she had made a big mistake coming here. This was just the type of insidious harassment this man nicknamed “The Cat” was capable of. If so, it was best to leave quickly.

  Keiko leaned forward to stand up. But it was Itami who stood up before she did. Clucking his tongue again in obvious annoyance, he opened the door and shouted into the hallway.

  "Hey, Saito, are you busy?"

  "No, not so busy,” was the response that Keiko could hear.

  "Then trade with me."

  There were footsteps, and then Saito's trim features peeked in
from the doorway. The young officer sat down in the steel chair in place of his chief, who left this boring job midway and departed hastily from the visiting room.

  Having missed her timing to leave, Keiko sat down again.

  Another minute passed.

  Yokozaki opened his mouth again. “When I'm being interrogated, I can tell a lot from the behavior of the detectives."

  What was he saying all of a sudden? Puzzled, Keiko asked, “What can you tell?"

  "The progress of an investigation. I can tell how close a case is to being solved."

  As Yokozaki suddenly moved his upper body, Keiko stiffened. With the same faint smile on his face, he placed onto the counter his hands, which had been on his knees. “It seems the real perpetrator has been identified in the case I'm suspected of."

  "So, you didn't steal, after all?"

  "No, it wasn't me. I don't know who it is, but the real burglar is someone else."

  Using his arms as supports, Yokozaki leaned his upper body forward.

  "The detectives have figured out who it was and are secretly gathering evidence. The next stage is to seek an arrest warrant. There's no mistake. The atmosphere in the interrogation room is clear."

  Yokozaki's eyes lit up for an instant.

  "But there'd be some trouble if they arrest the suspect, so the detectives are in a quandary."

  The faint smile disappeared from Yokozaki's face.

  "That means, Ms. Hazumi, listen up, it could be as early as tomorrow...” Keiko stopped breathing. Yokozaki placed his face close to the acrylic pane and hissed, “...that I might be released from this place."

  * * * *

  6.

  Her headache was no better in the morning. In fact, it was worse. She felt as if the inside of her skull was being hammered with a mallet. She replaced the rice she had hardly touched in the rice cooker and put the side dishes she had not eaten into the refrigerator.

  Natsuki was washing dishes at the sink without a word. As the instant water heater was broken, her hands must be numb with cold, but she continued to use the sponge and detergent without complaint. When she finished washing up, Natsuki left the kitchen. Retrieving the morning paper from the mailbox, she opened it up at the dining table.

  Keiko snatched the newspaper from her.

  Natsuki looked up, her eyes wide.

  "I'm off today."

  "Sleep in tomorrow,” last night her boss had said shortly, having peered at her face. She felt humiliated. He must have been truly concerned for her health, but for Keiko it was as if she had heard him say, “You're not up to dealing with this murder case."

  "I'm off today. I'll be home all day."

  Natsuki didn't reply. She just nodded.

  The message “Why do you like burglars who target homes when no one is there?” had changed to “Which is more important—a petty thief or your daughter?” in the picture postcard she found in the mailbox last night. Natsuki still couldn't forgive her mother's late homecomings.

  "Natsuki, I first want to say, write your number nine clearly with the circle. The way it looks, you're bothering Auntie Fusano."

  On all of the postcards Natsuki had sent, the 9s looked like 7s. That meant that it wasn't just the second postcard but the first and third ones as well that had been misdelivered to Fusano's address. So the old woman had brought over all three cards.

  "Understand?"

  Natsuki didn't say anything.

  "Stop the silent treatment and start talking, why don't you?” Keiko ripped the edge of the newspaper in irritation. “Also, this is important, so listen carefully. For the time being, from tonight, you'll go to your grandfather's to stay. You'll go to school from there. Don't worry. It's just a precaution."

  "I may be released as early as tomorrow.” If Yokozaki's words were true, he could be released today.

  But she wasn't about to swallow his bluff whole. After she had left the visiting room, she had gone to the burglary section and inquired of the chief detective in charge of the investigation whether Yokozaki would be released immediately. When she heard that it wasn't the case, rather than feel relieved, she was bewildered by Yokozaki's stupidity. What meaning did a lie that would be so easily discovered have? If all he could muster was an empty threat like that, he must in fact be the burglar who had stolen money from Fusano's house. That would make certain his re-incarceration. Then she wouldn't have to move.

  Yes. This was just a precaution.

  "All right? Your answer?"

  At that, Natsuki pulled an advertising flyer toward her and wrote “Okay” on the back.

  Keiko boiled over with rage. “Speak to me decently!” Unable to suppress her anger, she crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it at Natsuki. “Don't joke around. Can't you see that I'm really concerned for you? Grow up. You're too old to throw silent tantrums about trivial things. Why are you being so childish? We have serious things to worry about right now...."

  * * * *

  7.

  She could hardly open her eyes. It must be the sleep in the corners of them. She rubbed it out. But as she raised herself up, Keiko realized that she had fallen asleep at the dining table.

  It took her awhile to recall what had happened. After she had yelled at her daughter, she had pulled herself together.

  Natsuki had tears in her eyes. Sniffling, she had picked up her book pack, saying, “I'm sorry,” in a small voice, and then she had run out the front door.

  Keiko followed her to apologize, but by the time she made it to the door, her daughter had gone. Her headache grew worse. She staggered back to the chair and closed her eyes to rest just a bit.

  She looked at the clock. It was already past two p.m. On the table was the morning paper she had grabbed from Natsuki. Rubbing her eyes again, she opened it up first to the city page, as was her custom.

  The next instant, Keiko was struck motionless. Opening her eyes wide, she read through the article twice. Then she jumped up from the table, knocking over her chair to grab the telephone.

  "Yes, this is Number Seven Elementary School.” The voice at the other end seemed to be overly slow.

  "Please let me speak to Natsuki, Hazumi Natsuki, Grade Six, Class Two. This is her mother. It's an emergency!"

  "Please wait."

  While the school staffer went to call Natsuki to the telephone, Keiko scanned the article once more.

  "Policeman Turns Himself In on Burglary Case.” She hadn't misread it. The headline was clear. “In the burglary case of the night of December 2, when cash was stolen from a private house in the district west of Kinesaka City station, a police officer of the Kinesaka precinct has turned himself in, admitting to the crime. After an interrogation, which occurred on the evening of December 8, police determined that the suspect did commit the burglary and arrested the officer."

  The actual perpetrator had been a police officer! “But there'd be some trouble if they arrest the suspect, so the detectives are in a quandary.” That was what Yokozaki had meant in the visiting room.

  More than that, what bothered Keiko was the ending to the article. “With this development, the unemployed man, 40, who had been arrested and detained as a suspect in this case was released from the Kinesaka police station."

  Yokozaki was already out. It hadn't been a bluff. His words had been the truth.

  "Hello. Natsuki has already gone home. We didn't have fifth period today."

  Keiko hung up without listening for more and, grabbing her coat, ran out the door. She sped to the station on her bicycle, clenching her teeth. Flinging her bicycle down at the entrance to the concourse, she ran toward the cardboard shelters.

  Yokozaki might be following Natsuki. She couldn't help feeling that he was. If so, it would be futile to go to his shelter. But she could think of nothing else she could do. She wasn't in any condition to worry about what others might think. She opened the door of the closest shelter. Someone was lying under the blanket in the dim, dark box.

  Who was it? Had anoth
er homeless person moved in?

  Her eyes couldn't adjust to the dark, and she couldn't see who it was. She shifted her body to the side to let in more light. She stared at the man's face. She was able to confirm the scar beneath his right eye. She drew back for a second as her expectation had missed its mark. Then she leaned into the shelter and pressed Yokozaki.

  "You...” If you touch my daughter I'll make sure you never get out of prison. She had expected to say something like that, but due to her confusion and her excitement, the next words didn't follow.

  She thought Yokozaki laughed. Keiko glared at him.

  He said, “So that's it, after all."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You were thinking about it, weren't you? Revenge, or ‘paying my respects.'” Yokozaki looked away. “I wouldn't do that. I don't want to go to prison again. Even if I'm homeless, it's better outside bars than behind them."

  "Then,” Keiko pulled her face away, “why did you come to this station?"

  "Because it's just right for someone with no place to live. No other reason."

  "What about that visit? Wasn't that to threaten me?"

  "No, it wasn't. Did you read this morning's paper?"

  Keiko nodded.

  "Then you must have seen the burglar's name and face."

  She shook her head. The article had merely said “a police officer” and there was no photograph.

  "You haven't? I guess it's not easy for reporters to get information, is it? It probably didn't make it into the early edition.” So saying, Yokozaki twisted his body to reach for the paper. “I found a late edition that was thrown out in the station trash bin. I'll give it to you. Look at it carefully."

  Yokozaki handed her the folded newspaper. Keiko drew in a sharp breath when she saw the photograph of the burglar's face. That was when she understood everything.

  "Yokozaki ... you saw this face that night."

  Being in the neighborhood, he had witnessed the burglar running away from Fusano's house.

  "Yeah, I was surprised."

  Of course he was. When he was arrested and taken to the lockup, he had seen the perpetrator there. No wonder he had been surprised. No, he wouldn't have been sure at that stage that the man in this photo was the burglar. He couldn't have seen the man's face clearly in the dark. That was why he came up with the scheme to ask for a visit. Yokozaki had bet that if the man he had seen was the perpetrator, he would turn himself in.