That woman had been ten years older than Satake at the time. But he'd been wrong to think she'd died all those years ago; she hadn't, she'd been living here in secret, in this dull, dusty suburb under another name. Masako Katori. She had felt it, too. She had started to ask if they'd met before, and that gave him his first glimpse of a crack in her hard protective shell. Fate, he whispered.
He thought back to that hot summer day, seventeen years ago, when he'd first seen the other woman on the streets of Shinjuku. Someone had been luring girls away from the clubs and massage parlours run by his gang. Whoever it was - and the person was rumoured to be a woman in her thirties who'd once been a hooker herself - was a slick operator. Satake had been violently offended by the idea that it was a woman jerking them around. In order to catch her, he had spent a good deal of time and energy planting bait - in the form of girls he trusted - around the neighbourhood; and at last he hooked her. She'd arranged to meet one of his decoys at a certain cafe. It was a muggy evening, with rain threatening.
He had watched her from the shadows as she approached the place, holding back so as not to scare her off. Her outfit was too flashy: a sleeveless blue mini-dress of some glossy synthetic fibre that clung to her slim figure so closely it made him hot just looking at it. She had white sandals on her bare feet; the nail polish was chipped and peeling. Short hair, and a body so thin he could see the strap of her black bra through the armhole of her dress. But the eyes told him he was looking at a strong, resourceful woman. And the eyes saw through him, spotting him almost instantly. She turned away from the cafe and ran off into the crowd.
Even now, after all these years, he could see the expression on her face at the moment she realised who he was. After a flash of anger at having fallen into his trap, she sneered at him, signalling her determination to escape. Despite the danger, she'd still found a few seconds to insult him; and it was that fleeting look that had set off an explosion in him. I'll track you down! I'll catch you and shake you like a rat till you're dead, he'd sworn. When he had laid the trap, he'd had no intention of killing her. He'd planned just to nab her and scare her a bit. But that look had released something in him that had lain hidden until then.
He'd been shocked even then at the way his excitement had mounted as he chased her through the streets. He knew he could simply catch up with her, but that would have been too easy. Better to reel her out, lull her into a sense of security, and then grab her. That would prolong the agony, make it all more interesting. As he loped through the warm, humid dusk, pushing past people on the street, his mood grew darker and more violent, his hand itching to grab her hair and drag her down from behind.
The woman was getting more desperate. She dashed through the traffic on Yasukuni Avenue and dodged down the stairs into a basement shopping arcade. She must have realised that she would be walking right into his back yard if she'd headed for Kabuki-cho. But he knew all of Shinjuku like the back of his hand. He pretended to let her slip away and then plunged into an underground garage. By running at full speed through a passage under the Oume Highway, he came out at the opposite end of the arcade; and just as she was emerging from a restroom where she'd hidden, sure that she had lost him, he grabbed her arm from behind. He could still remember the feel of her bare skin, damp with sweat from her dash through the summer streets.
Caught unawares, she turned on him with pure hatred and hissed, 'Fucking bastard! What a lousy trick.' The voice was low and raspy.
'You didn't think you'd get away, did you, bitch?'
'You don't scare me,' she said.
'Oh, but I will,' he said, nudging his knife into her side. He had
to fight the urge to stab her on the spot. As the blade poked through her dress, she seemed to understand what he had in mind and fell silent. She allowed herself to be led back to his apartment without any tears or pleas for her life. He held her arm to keep her from running off again, aware of how little flesh there was on the bones inside. The skin on her face, too, seemed paper thin, but her eyes shone with light, like those of a stray cat. He could use a woman like this, find pleasure in her resistance; but he was startled and confused by these unfamiliar feelings. Women had been nothing much more than tools for his pleasure, so he'd always preferred them pretty and submissive.
When they reached his apartment, it was like a steam bath. He turned the air-conditioner to its coldest setting, drew the curtains, and turned on the lights. While the room was cooling down, he beat her about the face. He'd wanted to do this from the moment he'd seen her. As he hit her, instead of begging for mercy she seemed to grow more angry and defiant; and her hatred made her all the more attractive to him. He wanted to go on hurting her for ever. Finally, when her face was swollen beyond recognition, he tied her to the bed and raped her - over and over again; he never knew how long they stayed there, with only the sound of the airconditioner groaning in the background.
Their bodies were smeared with sweat and blood. The leather belts binding her wrists cut into the skin, sending new trickles of red snaking down her arms. As he sucked at her swollen lips, his mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. At some point, the knife he had used to prod her in the arcade appeared in his hand. He was inside her, his lips pressed to hers, when she suddenly cried out. At that moment the hatred seemed to drain from her eyes and she surrendered to him, but he was overcome with grief and frustration that he couldn't get deeper into her. He realised that he was stabbing the knife into her side. From her screams, he could tell that she had reached her climax, and he came inside her with a rush of intense pleasure.
It had been hell on earth. He stabbed her body here and there, then worked his finger into the wounds. But the more he tried to find a way in, the more impossible he realised it was. He held her then, wild with frustration and desire, willing their flesh to melt together, seeking a way to crawl into her, whispering all the while that he loved her, he loved her. And as they lay there, joined together in this bloody union, hell had gradually become heaven. But heaven or hell, it was a moment only the two of them could understand, a thing nobody else could presume to judge.
The experience had changed him. The person he'd been before vanished without a trace, and a new one appeared in its place. The woman had been the dividing line between the old Satake and this other one. He had never expected to meet anyone like her. She was the one thing he hadn't planned on, the one factor he couldn't control - in short, his fate. And now the cold, dark vision of her that he'd felt creeping up his spine began to fade; and in its place, Masako Katori seemed to reach out to him, beckoning him toward heaven .. . and hell.
-
As he stared up at the stars, he could imagine her, still working the line at the factory; he could picture her lonely figure as she moved about the cold concrete floor. Inside, she was probably feeling relieved, even a bit proud of herself for having fooled the police just as the other woman must have congratulated herself on giving him the slip. But she wouldn't celebrate for long. He was sure those watchful eyes would flash with the same kind of fury when he finally caught her. Blood would pour down her hollow cheeks when he beat her. As the memory of her eyes, squinting from the glare of his flashlight, floated up before him, he could feel himself honing his desire, sharpening his murderous instinct like a blade ground against a well-oiled whetstone.
He imagined how Masako must have mobilised their little group to help the wife get rid of the body. The wife lacked the guts and brains it would have taken. Satake had quickly lost interest in her as soon as he'd discovered the connection with Masako. He had no further use for her - except as a source of insurance money. He might have known to expect no more from the wife of a creep like Yamamoto. He didn't give a shit about their little domestic drama, the quarrels, the murder, the remorse. He didn't give a shit about any of them. Nothing shut down his emotions like contempt.
Now that he had found Masako, he'd all but forgotten why he'd been looking for revenge in the first place. He reached his hands ov
er his head and felt the sturdy metal frame of the bed. It was icy cold from the winter wind blowing in through the windows, and his palms grew numb from gripping it. He would strip her and tie her here. Gag her and torture her, with the windows wide open. The cold would bring out taut little goose bumps on her skin, stiff enough to scrape with his knife, like grains of millet. And if she screamed, he could always go to work on her belly, hollow it out with his blade. Let her scream for mercy - he would never spare her. He knew a woman like that could take it.
Perhaps, at the very end, she would whisper in his ear the way the other one had done, 'Hospital.' A word that marked the split in his mind between the desire to keep her alive and the temptation to share her death. At that moment, she had seemed dearer to him than anything else in the world. Never had he experienced an emotion of this power: the joy and sorrow of sharing in her death. He began to tremble at the memory of her voice, and for the first time since he'd left prison all those years ago, his cock began to stiffen. Tugging at the zipper on his pants, he pulled it free and gripped it. His breath came white and ragged in the icy air as his hand began to move.
-
The sky was just growing light in the east when Satake got up from his bed. He gazed at the purple silhouettes of the hills shimmering at the horizon, and above them a crimson cloud that seemed to retreat in the face of the rising sun. The ghostly figure of Mount Fuji soared above the hills. It would soon be time for Masako to be heading home, her eyes puffy and red from lack of sleep. Each detail was so clear it was as if he could reach out and touch her: the disgruntled look, the way she smoked her cigarette, her heavy step on the dirt of the parking lot. He even knew exactly how her face must have looked as he'd followed her on that dark road. He could see her eyes, brimming with annoyance and hostility - exactly like those other eyes.
Get some sleep then. We'll meet again soon, and you'll know your fate. But until then, sleep in peace. He looked out in the direction of her house. As the sun rose higher in the sky, he closed the door to the balcony and drew the black curtains, restoring the night to his apartment.
5
The garbled sound of a loudspeaker filtered into the room, an advertisement for some unfamiliar product. Satake opened his eyes and looked at the watch that was still strapped to his wrist: 3.00 p.m. He smoked a cigarette as he stared at the panels on the ceiling, trying to decide whether the murky brown stains were real or a trick played by the light from the cracks in the curtains. Turning on the light next to the bed, he looked down at the mound of paper on the floor. The carpet was mottled with food stains from the previous tenant, but the reports were in order and neatly stacked: the results of the investigation he'd asked a detective agency to make. Yayoi, Yoshie, Kuniko and Masako. The pile had grown in recent days after the trail had led from Kuniko and Masako to Jumonji. The investigation had already cost him nearly ten million yen.
He lit another cigarette and gathered up the stack of papers, reading once again through material he'd almost memorised by now. First, the report from Yoko Morisaki, who had managed to work her way into the Yamamoto household.
-
The older Yamamoto boy (age 5): 'That night [when Yamamoto disappeared] I heard Papa come home. I thought I heard Mama go out and say something to him, but the next morning she said I must have been dreaming, so I wasn't sure any more. But the night before, I know they had a fight and Papa hit Mama. I remember because I couldn't sleep I was so scared. I saw the bruise . Mama got that night when we were in the bath.' The younger boy (age 3): "Mama and Papa had a lot of fights. I'm usually in bed so I don't know but they were always yelling when he came home. I'd get down under, like I'm asleep. I don't remember that night [when Yamamoto disappeared]. But Milk [the cat] ran away. After that he won't come home. I don't know why.'
A neighbour (age 46): 'She's so pretty that when I heard she'd started working nights I assumed there was a man involved. To tell the truth, we often heard them screaming at each other in the middle of the night or early in the morning. She looks even prettier now that he's gone - which raised some eyebrows around here.'
A neighbour (age 37): 'I heard a rumour that the cat still comes when the kids call it, but it won't have anything to do with their mother. They say it bolts at the sight of her. When we heard it had run away that night, everybody assumed it must have seen something. It gives me the creeps to think she might have cut him up in there and let his blood and guts run down the drain.'
******
Yamamoto-san is not favourably viewed in the neighbourhood, mostly because of the transformation she underwent after the incident. Suspicions were aroused by her apparent lack of feeling and the perception that she seemed to be liberated by the loss of her husband - also by the fact that she seems even better-looking than before.
During my stay in her house I saw ample evidence that she was glad her husband was dead. I also had the chance to observe her as she learned from the police that a prime suspect had disappeared, and it was clear that she considered this good news.
Perhaps because she felt the police were preoccupied with this suspect, she seemed to relax and all but forget about the incident. When I casually asked about the bruise on her stomach that her son had mentioned, she told me quite simply that her husband had hit her, but she offered no further explanation.
Perhaps because she is expecting to receive her husband's insurance settlement, she has recently begun talking about quitting her job at the factory. However, when her friends from work call the house, especially Masako Katori, she adopts a highly deferential tone with them. She seems almost frightened of Katori.
I discovered no hard evidence, nor even any rumours, of a love affair.
At the end of November, an insurance settlement of ¥50,000,000 is due to be deposited in Yayoi Yamamoto's bank account.
REPORT ON MASAKO KATORI
A neighbour (age 68): 'She seems to get along well enough with her husband - he works for a construction company, I think - although I have to say I've never seen them go out together. They say her son [age 17] isn't on speaking terms with them. His music used to bother us, but lately he's been very quiet. When you run into him on the street, he seems moody and never says a word. Masako isn't particularly sociable either, but she does nod and say hello. She's rather strange, though, and she doesn't seem to take very good care of herself.'
A young woman (age 18): studying for her entrance exams who lives across the street: "You can't miss her: she leaves in the middle of the night and comes back every morning at the crack of dawn. I can see their house from my desk, so you could say I'm watching all day long. That morning [the day after Yamamoto disappeared], two women came to see her. One was on a bike and the other in a green car. I think they went home around noon.'
A local house owner (age 75): 'That morning [the day after Yamamoto disappeared], a young woman came out of the Katori house and tried to leave the garbage she was carrying in my cans. I gave her a piece of my mind and sent her packing. The bags looked heavy, easily ten kilos apiece. She didn't put up much of a fight; just ran off with them as quick as she could go. Katori-san herself would never try a stunt like that.'
Factory manager (age 31): 'She's worked here about two years. She takes her job seriously and she's one of our best workers. I heard she used to work as an accountant, so I'm considering upgrading her to regular employee status. She's a leader on the line, though her skills seem rather wasted there. She's friendly with Yoshie Azuma, Yayoi Yamamoto and Kuniko Jonouchi. They always used to work as a team, though since that business with Yamamoto's husband, they seem to have split up. Of the four, only Katori and Azuma still come to work on a regular basis.'
Former co-worker at T Credit and Loan (age 35): 'Katori-san was good at her job, but she had a stubborn streak. I don't think management trusted her, and she wasn't particularly popular with the rest of us either. I don't know what became of her after she quit.'
******
Masako Katori is reasonably well li
ked in her neighbourhood and at her current job, but most of her acquaintances seem to feel they can never be sure what she's thinking. There are no reports of extramarital affairs, and her home life appears to be stable. However, she has never been a member of any community group and has little to do with her neighbours.
There are also no reports of infidelity by her husband. He is not particularly popular at work, and colleagues report that he seems to have little real interest in his job, an opinion confirmed by the fact that his career has apparently stalled. The Katoris' son was expelled during his first year of high school. He currently works part-time as a plasterer. It is rumoured that he doesn't speak to them at home.
On a date subsequent to the incident, Yoshie Azuma and Akira Jumonji (alias Akira Yamada) of the Million Consumers Centre gathered at the Katori home. Jumonj i arrived in a dark-blue sedan and carried a large object into the house. Three hours later, he emerged with eight parcels and loaded them in the car. I was not ^ble to determine what the boxes contained or where he took them (though I was able to identify Jumonji himself from the licence-plate number).
-
REPORT ON AKIRA JUMONJI (ALIAS AKIRA YAMADA)
Former employee at Million Consumers Centre (age 25): 'The boss was always bragging that he used to be in that gang from Adachi, the Silk Buddhas or something, and that his buddy had gone on to head the Toyosumi mob. At the drop of a hat, he'd bring up his gang connections, and I have to admit we were all a bit nervous of him. I'd even thought of quitting because of it. Everybody knew we were a loansharking outfit, but he didn't have to go around announcing that we had the mob peering over our shoulder.'
Out Page 40
