The Gate of Sorrows (15 page)

“I have to thank you. Shigeru told me the two of you checked the building.”

“I thought there might be others who saw the statue move. After we visited the building, I did a little research. You’re not the only one.”

The fourth floor and the roof of the tea caddy building dominated the view from the large bay window. From this distance, the gargoyle crouching on the roof was about the size of Shigenori’s palm.

“It moved again this morning.”

“What did you notice that was different?”

“It’s about four inches to the left of where it was yesterday.”

The gargoyle faced away from the window. Tae was very confident about this new development, though given the distance it was hard to say if such a small movement would be visible even to someone next to the statue.

“Shigeru thinks I’m seeing things, doesn’t he? You told him people’s eyes often deceive them.”

“That’s true. Still, I’m not completely comfortable that’s the case here. I’m sorry to bring it up again. Let’s not mention this to Shigeru. It’s just a little preoccupation of mine.”

“That’s fine with me.” Tae didn’t seem to have any reservations. “Shigeru is a kind man, but he’s also a businessman. He’s a realist. He doesn’t pay attention to things that aren’t concrete. Still, there’s no one else nearby to consult. I could tell the woman from home nursing care, but she’d think I was getting senile.”

Tae had little to add to what she’d already told Shigeru. The decorative wall surrounding the roof had kept her from noticing the scattered fragments of the previous gargoyle. Still, her memory of when she first noticed something out of place was as clear as ever.

“There was a huge storm the night of December 4. I noticed that the gargoyle was different the next day, though not until late afternoon. After I consulted Shigeru, I felt hesitant to look at it too often. It seemed like it might be bad luck. I usually keep these curtains drawn, but I happened to look outside. That statue has always seemed sinister to me. Ominous.”

“Well, it’s a statue of a monster. Not exactly cheerful.”

She gazed at the statue. “I don’t know why, but when the New Year came, my feelings changed, somehow. Now it seems more lonely than sinister.

“The weather’s been so nice, as it always is this time of year. The sky is so blue. The skyscrapers near Shinjuku Station seem close enough to touch. They’re lit up at night. It’s almost too bright, really. But the tea caddy building is always dark, with that monster on the roof. I thought, ‘You’re all alone.’ ”

Somehow Shigenori wasn’t surprised. No matter how comfortably she lived or how successful her son was, Tae was an elderly woman who had to spend the New Year holidays by herself.

“After that the statue didn’t seem ominous anymore. Now I greet him every morning and say goodnight to him before I go to bed.”

Something about this bothered Shigenori. “So you never look at the statue at night?”

“No. I close the curtains after sunset. If I left them open, people in the neighborhood could see right into this living room. I don’t need to advertise that there’s an older woman living here alone.”

“True. Keeping them closed is a good idea, for your security as well as your privacy. But then you haven’t seen the statue at night? Not once?”

“Should I be watching it? If it will help your investigation, I will.”

“Oh no, this isn’t an investigation. Nothing so serious. It’s just—if the statue can actually move, it seems to me it would be more likely to do so under cover of darkness.”

For a fleeting moment, Shigenori pictured the monster spreading its wings and rising to its full height, holding the Reaper’s scythe.

“I see. All right, then I should take a look at the statue when it’s dark. In the middle of the night?”

“That would be perfect, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ll set the alarm to wake me.”

Tae seemed very game. Daily life probably didn’t offer much variety. Something different would be welcome.

As Shigenori was leaving, she remembered something suddenly. “By the way, that young man said that Cart Man is missing.”

“Yes. The circumstances aren’t clear. So you heard us talking at the party?”

“Shigeru told me afterward.”

“You haven’t met him yourself, have you? This Mr. Ino?”

“I only saw him now and then. But he was living alone too, I hear. For someone like that to suddenly vanish hits close to home.”

Tae’s earnest tone suddenly made Shigenori sad. “Don’t worry about a thing, Mrs. Chigusa. You have a lot of friends in the neighborhood, especially Shigeru. If it would make you feel better, I’ll give you my mobile number. We’ll be speaking about the gargoyle too.”

“Let me get my phone,” she said excitedly. “It’s easier that way.” The two of them donned reading glasses and swapped contact information by infrared link.

“I almost never have a chance to do this,” she said. “Now we’re mail friends.” She seemed genuinely happy.

Shigenori went home and sat at his computer to rest his leg. He’d already sent feelers by email and through the forums to witnesses of the gargoyle.

I live near the building in question. I’ve always been interested in strange tales and urban legends, and I’m collecting information. Would anyone be willing to share their story in a bit more detail? I would prefer to interview you in person if possible.

The responses were all over the map, including no response at all. “It’s not really important enough to talk about.” “Sorry, I actually heard about it from a friend.” “It’s just a rumor going around the office.” Others made pointless comments like “Are you a writing a book?” or “Aren’t you actually _____, the urban legend researcher?”

Then there was the person, apparently a middle school student, who wrote back, “If we meet, will you pay me an interview fee?” That was the kind of thing people thought of first.

No one seemed willing to just come forward and tell his story. People seemed to think Shigenori was making too much of something minor, or perhaps his polite tone had put people on their guard. It was a problem he understood well. Dealing with people at a distance is difficult.

There were no notable responses today either. The Internet had already been well established when Shigenori retired from his work as a detective, but bloggers and social media services like Twitter were much more prevalent now. The police still failed to pay much attention to activities that were limited to the web. His impression from his colleagues was that the web was an incubator for drug dealing and child pornography. But then how in the world did people trust each other enough to deal with others whom they’d never met?

Maybe the only way to catch a thief was to use a thief. Shigenori glanced at his watch. Noon.
He has to be out of bed by now
, he thought.

He picked up the phone and dialed. He still knew the number by heart. A voice like a stone Buddha came on the line.

“Hello. What’s this about?”

“It’s been a long time, Yamacho.”

Silence, then a friendly response: “Is that Detective Tsuzuki?”

“You remembered.”

“How could I forget? I’m forever in your debt.”

“Don’t exaggerate. How’ve you been?”

“Not bad. Keeping busy. What about you? How’s the arthritis?” The last time they’d spoken, Shigenori had dismissed the pain and numbness in his leg as arthritis.

“Actually I’m going under the knife soon.”

“What? That bad, huh? When?”

“Maybe the end of the month.”

“Let me know when you go in. I’ll send flowers. Or maybe you’d rather have a fruit basket?”

“Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

Veteran locksmith Choichi Yamabe, a.k.a. Yamacho, was close to Shigenori’s age. He’d run a shop out of a converted room in his home in Tokyo’s Suginami ward. Upon turning sixty, he’d handed the running of the business over to his apprentice and devoted himself to collecting and researching old locks.

A locksmith’s business never sleeps. When the customer calls, he has to be willing to get out of bed and work through the night if needed. Yamacho was a big drinker with a case of cirrhosis, and the irregular hours had finally become too much for him.

He also had another side, a clandestine side. Shigenori’s call was about that side.

“Listen, Yamacho. I need a favor.”

Here it comes
, the laugh on the other end of the line seemed to say. “What do you need to get into? On the QT from the boys upstairs, I assume?”

Shigenori smiled. Yamacho was so wrapped up in the Way of the Locksmith, as he liked to call it, that time had apparently stopped for him completely.

“I’m out, Yamacho. Been retired a long time.”

“You’re kidding!” His voice was shrill with surprise. “Say it ain’t so, detective. You’re that old?”

“Only two years older than you. We’re both old as far as society’s concerned.”

“You’re unemployed, then?”

“Yeah. I’ve got time on my hands. I’m doing a little investigation, just keeping myself entertained. I need a key so I can come and go as I please.”

Yamacho was a precious commodity, a locksmith willing to help out on black-bag jobs when you couldn’t get a warrant, or when you needed to see the inside of a place that just smelled wrong, even without signs of criminal activity. He’d never met a lock he couldn’t open, and he could make keys to match.

If he was going to follow his nose, Shigenori had to be able to get in and out of the tea caddy building freely. He’d decided to get in touch with Yamacho after his first visit with Shigeru.

“It’s a service door. I watched someone open it. It was one of those—I don’t know what you call that kind of key. The new type. It has little pits all over the surface.”

“A dimple key. Is that all? No pass code? What about an alarm system?”

“There probably was one, but the place is empty now. You won’t have to deal with anything sticky.”

“Sounds simple, then. Where?”

“Shinjuku. When can you get started?”

“Tonight, if you want. Just send me the address and the layout and I’ll take care of it myself.”

Yamacho always worked alone, preferably at night. He said the darkness helped him concentrate.

“It might get a little messy if someone sees you. I’ll go with you.”

“That would complicate things. If it’s just me, I can say I’m a lock researcher doing fieldwork.”

Shigenori laughed. Yamacho hadn’t changed a bit.

“How many keys we talking?”

“One’s enough. You can give it to me at—wait, I didn’t tell you I’ve moved.”

“Really? Give me your new address, then. Fax the whole thing. Unless the customer is tough, you’ll have a key in your mailbox tomorrow morning.” Yamacho always referred to locks as “customers.”

“The building’s empty, so there’s no power. It’s pitch-dark. Be careful, okay?”

“Sure, sure.”

“What’s the charge?”

“I’ll leave the bill with the key. How’s the wife?”

“In a lot better shape than me.”

“Same here. Are all women like that? The older they get, the more energy they have.”

“They’re stealing it from us old men.”

Yamacho laughed. “You got that right.”

Shigenori hung up with a pleasant feeling he hadn’t had in a long time. Toshiko had heard the whole conversation and was staring at him. “It’s lunchtime.”

Shigenori hadn’t noticed the aroma of soba noodles.

“What’ve you been up to recently? You seem so energetic. It’s strange.”

“You think so? Maybe I’m just less grouchy now that I’ve got a date for the operation.”

After lunch, Shigenori picked up his cane and small shoulder bag and left for the tea caddy building. If Yamacho was going to be there tonight, he wanted to walk the site again first.

He made his way to the narrow street that ran behind the building. The barrier of piled-up chairs, tied firmly with rope, was just as before.

No—it wasn’t. Someone had moved it.

The concrete walkway was faintly scored. Someone had pushed, or pulled, the heavy barrier slightly out of position. The last time he’d been here, Shigeru had watched Aizawa, who was fairly strong, try and fail to budge the barrier. Someone had apparently tried a lot harder since then.

He looked up at the building. Nothing seemed to have changed. No one had done any maintenance. The tea caddy building was as silent and deserted as ever.

He peered through the barrier at the service entrance. The keyhole was in the locked position. The door had acquired a fresh coat of windblown dust.

He carefully paced the perimeter of the building. The main entrance was locked tight, but here and there, the cobwebs in the padlocked chain were missing. Someone had touched it.

For several minutes he stood in front of the entrance, arms folded, thinking. He sat down on the low cinder-block wall that surrounded the building and drew an access map and a sketch of the site, with a warning.
Someone was here. Watch your back.

He went to a nearby convenience store and faxed the map to Yamacho. He’d decided this was the perfect location to begin a clockwise sweep of the neighborhood. He would go in a circle, moving outward gradually. Working alone, this was the most efficient strategy.

Shigenori had been living in Wakaba long enough that most of the shop owners in the neighborhood recognized him. He would tell them his doctor had said he should get out and walk. He could strike up a conversation and try to steer it to the tea caddy building. “It’s bad for the neighborhood to leave that building empty.” “Someone should open up a business there.” “Mr. Tsuzuki, no one’s going to do that in this economy.”

Many of the buildings in the neighborhood were apartment houses with businesses on the ground floor. The restaurants and bars opened in the evening. Now was the time of day for beauty shops and clinics, and clean massage parlors that would treat stiff shoulders in fifteen minutes. These businesses had usually been operating for a relatively short time and had shallow roots in the area. Some of them had no view to the street and probably wouldn’t be a good source of eyewitness testimony. “Someone broke into the tea caddy building again, not too long ago. Did you notice anything suspicious? I’m the crime prevention rep for the district association.” “I see, thanks for keeping an eye on things, but we didn’t see anything.” And so it went.