The Gate of Sorrows (24 page)

The service entrance had also been locked. At least there’d been no security cameras or visible alarm systems.

He took the same route around the side of the building to the back door. It was five past ten, slightly later than he’d planned.

The street beyond the barricade was quiet. Many of the eateries were already closed for the evening. Still, it would be hard to explain what he was doing here if someone noticed him. He crouched low and breathed with his mouth open.

The break-in technique he’d seen on the news required brute force. At the end of the process, the door would be twisted completely out of shape.

Am I strong enough to pry this open?

Kotaro suddenly remembered what his father used to say about people who tried to replicate things they saw on television: that they were idiots. Kotaro wasn’t here to steal anything, but the thought of what he was about to do made him feel scared, and guilty too.

He pulled the crowbar from the umbrella case and gripped it with both hands. It felt cold and hard even through his gloved hands. Which side of the door was he supposed to attack? The one with the hinges? Or the knob side? The door had looked fairly strong in daylight—

It was unlocked.

Kotaro felt his heart shrink, climb up his throat into the top of his skull, take over from his brain, and begin pounding like a drum.

He’d guessed right. People were using the building at night.

He gave the door an exploratory push. It opened about eight inches. He could see the darkness within.

A car approached on the road behind him. He ducked quickly. The car seemed to have its windows open in the middle of winter. The sound system was playing music with a heavy beat. The car passed and the beat faded.

Kotaro could hardly breathe. He was sure someone would see him if he stood up. He got on his hands and knees, poked his head through the door, and pushed it open with his shoulder.

The tea caddy building. Officially known as the West Shinjuku Central Round Building. Current tenants: darkness, dust, and mold. The smell was sharp in his nostrils.

Inside, he rose to his knees and shoved the door closed with his shoulder. It shut with a metallic bang.

The first floor was round like the building itself. Small windows ran along the wall near the ceiling, letting in just enough light to see. Few neighborhoods in Tokyo were without streetlamps. Funny how one never noticed them in the daytime, but they were indispensable at night.

From the outside, the building had looked like it would be pitch-black inside. Kotaro was relieved to find it wasn’t quite that dark, but the dimness was more than a little spooky. The broad round space seemed empty of furniture and fixtures. It was clean. Maybe the room had been stripped of damaged items after the fire.

A stairway followed the curve of the north wall to the upper floor. Very convenient. He wouldn’t have to waste time looking for a way up.

He adjusted the pack on his back and shoved his flashlight into the pocket of his down jacket. With the crowbar in his right hand, he headed toward the stairs.

Up the steps—a gentle gradient. The smell of mold was so strong that he started breathing through his mouth. Even inside the building, he could see his exhalations steaming out before him.

Was there a draft? He sensed cold air flowing over the tip of his nose. There was a window open somewhere. That meant someone was upstairs.

Second floor. The windows here were larger than on the first floor, yet it was darker. Why? Maybe the streetlamps outside were in the wrong location to shine in?

He switched the bar to his left hand, got his flashlight out and clicked it on. A circle of light fell on the floor. He saw someone’s leg and panicked, then quickly realized it was the leg of a table. He almost laughed out loud. A round table. Two, in fact. Toward the back wall, a counter. It almost looked like a café.

He leaned against the wall and tried to calm his breathing. He opened his ears. Maybe he could catch a clue—something moving, a person’s voice, the sound of the wind.

He felt the same draft moving past the tip of his nose. It was coming down from above.

He switched off the flashlight and kept climbing. Until now he’d been walking up the center of the stairs. Too risky. He moved to the left, close to the wall, his back half-rubbing against it as he moved upward, one careful step at a time.

The third floor was even darker. Nothing was visible beyond the landing. The darkness was a solid mass.
It’s because I’m above the streetlights
, he thought.
Or maybe it’s something else?

His heart still occupied the space where his brain was supposed to be, and it was starting to hammer again. With each beat, he flashed back to the scene he’d pictured earlier—mounds of bloodless corpses. White faces. Legs and arms sprawled in all directions.

His imagination was working overtime. He toggled the flashlight on and saw why the floor was so dark. A partition wall divided it, cutting off any light from that side of the building. The area beyond looked like it was designed to be lived in.

This is the floor where somebody died.

The lover, or ex-lover, of the young mogul who owned the building had died here under strange circumstances. There was something on the web about how she may have killed herself, but someone had managed to block any investigation.

He played the circle of light around the room and saw nothing of special interest on the floor or the walls or the ceiling. Just an empty building. An empty, unused room—

Were those footsteps over his head?

He stepped into the lee of the nearby door, killed the flashlight, and stood there rooted to the floor.

Four floors. One more to go.
If I don’t keep going, this whole visit is wasted.

He climbed stiffly, flashlight pointed at his feet, dragging his back against the wall so hard that it was difficult to move forward.

Fourth floor and more darkness. The cold was deep here. Outdoor air was clearly coming in from somewhere.

The first thing he saw in the beam of his flashlight was a heavy door. Another living area? No, the area behind the wall was too small for that.

He traversed the room with the beam. His breath caught in his throat.

A ladder. It led to a hatch in the ceiling. The hatch was closed, but not all the way. The ladder was designed to fold out and down from the ceiling at the pull of a cord.

The draft was gone.
That hatch must’ve been open.
He slipped the backpack off and set it down slowly by his feet.

Well, guess it’s time to climb up there. That’s where someone
—

No. He’s here.

Kotaro turned. Something struck his left wrist. The crowbar clattered to the floor. The next instant his right arm seemed to vanish and then reappear, twisted behind his back. He flew face-first into the nearest wall, flattening his nose.

“Ow!”

He felt like a fool, but it was the only thing he could think to say. No one had manhandled Kotaro like this before, ever.

“Ow! Cut it out!”

Not only was his right arm twisted up behind his back, something long and hard was pressing down on both shoulder blades, keeping him from moving his left arm. All he could do was flop it uselessly. The side of his face was trying to merge with the wall. His left cheekbone and the bridge of his nose ground against the concrete.

“What the hell are you doing? You’re hurting me!” It’s hard to yell out of one side of your mouth, but Kotaro did his best.

He sensed the surprise of the person behind him.

“What … you’re just a kid.” A gruff old voice. “Okay, who are you? What are you doing here?”

I haven’t done anything wrong
. Kotaro decided to take the good-offense route.

“Tell me who
you
are first!”

The voice over his shoulder was calm and unhurried. “I asked you first. What were you planning to do with this thing?” The bar pressed even harder against his back. Kotaro groaned.
He’s got the crowbar.

“Look, I’d really like to tell you. It would help if you’d back off a bit.”

This was a good time to be polite. The man didn’t seem all that dangerous. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

“I’m not a kid, by the way. Well, I’m sort of a minor.”

The man actually laughed. “Sort of? What kind of sort of?”

“I mean, I—I’m a college student. I’m not a kid anymore. Maybe I’m one of those people who still needs a legal guardian or something.”

“Where’s your ID?”

“In my backpack.”

“That doesn’t work for either of us.”

“No, that doesn’t work at all. So, could you let me go?”

“Why were you carrying this?”

“I thought I’d pry the door open. The back door. But it was open already.”

The man sighed. “I should’ve locked it.”

I knew it. This guy has a key.

“I wasn’t going to steal anything. I’m looking for someone.”

“In here?”

“Yes, another student. Like me.” It was hard for Kotaro to talk with his face and chest mashed against the wall. He paused to get some oxygen, but before he could go on, the man came back with a question.

“Would his name be Morinaga?”

Kotaro gagged with astonishment. “Yes!” he croaked.

This old geezer knows Kenji!

The pressure of the bar against his back went away. His right arm was free. He slid to a squatting position and gasped for breath between attacks of coughing.

His flashlight lay on the floor near the foot of the ladder, spreading a cone of light across the floor. Maybe the man didn’t have a flashlight.

“Damn, my leg hurts.” The shape behind Kotaro collapsed into a crouch, as though he’d been holding back the pain. “I’m getting too old for the rough stuff.”

Kotaro’s breathing finally calmed down, but he stayed leaning against the wall as he examined the old man. He was bundled up in a down jacket, gloves, and several layers of clothes. Medium height, once of medium build but tending to chubbiness now. A formidable man, but maybe older than he looked by the way he was doubled up with pain.

“Are you okay?”

The old man was supporting himself with the crowbar, but he still seemed about to topple over. He was groaning.

“Did you hurt yourself? I didn’t do anything.”

“Help me up.” The man held out his hand. “See the cardboard around the base of the ladder? Help me over there.”

It was only now that Kotaro noticed the layers of cardboard spread beneath the ladder.

“Is this where you live?”

“Oh, for—knock it off. Would you give me a hand, please?” The man was almost shouting at him.

Kotaro anxiously detached himself from the wall to help the old man, who clung to him as he stood up, using the crowbar as a cane. The point of the bar made a metallic scraping sound on the floor.

“Where’d you learn about opening doors with things like this?”

“I saw it on TV.”

The distance from the wall to the foot of the ladder was only a few yards, but the man could only manage one shuffling step at a time. Together they weaved across the floor.

“But I’ve never done it before. That’s the truth.”

“The things you can learn on TV these days.”

Despite his shuffling gait, Kotaro revised his opinion of the man clutching him by the shoulder. He wasn’t weak at all. His voice was strong and his body was thickly muscled.

“That’s far enough. Help me sit down.”

The man groaned again. Kotaro helped him into a sitting position. From there he toppled over onto his side.

He’d been quite heavy. This was no old man after all. He didn’t seem to be injured, but he was still in a lot of pain.
Maybe he’s sick or something.

“Um …” Kotaro felt uncomfortable talking down to him, so he squatted beside him. His forehead glistened with sweat. “Do you have arthritis? Or like, a herniated disc?”

The man frowned but said nothing. Maybe he didn’t want to talk about it. His eyes were almost closed.

“Shall I call an ambulance?”

“No! That would just be more trouble for me. You too. We’re breaking and entering, you and me both.”

“All I did was walk through an unlocked door.”

The man sighed deeply. He raised a gloved hand and wiggled his fingers. “ID.”

“Oh, right.” Kotaro quickly pulled his student ID from his backpack and handed it over.

“Light.”

Kotaro shined his light on the card. The man peered at it with one eye. He was still in pain. Back pain? Maybe it was his knees.

“Kotaro Mishima.”

“That’s me.”

“What’s your relationship with Morinaga?”

“So you actually know him?”

“
Relationship
.” This man could corner people with his voice alone.

“We work at the same place.”

“What kind of work?”

“It’s a company called Kumar.”

The man made a face. Kumar wasn’t a real informative name in situations like this. “We do cyber patrol work.”

“Internet security. Okay.” He actually knew what Kotaro was talking about. “You said you were looking for this guy. Where is he?”

“How do I know? That’s why I’m here. He’s missing.”

The man opened both eyes in surprise. “What did you say?”

“He’s been missing since the night of the fourth. Listen, um …” The fierce expression was getting a little scary. Why did he look so grim? “They found his smartphone near here. It was completely smashed.”

“Did you file a missing-persons report?”

“I’m sure one was submitted. His hometown is near Niigata. His father’s concerned enough that he’s already on his way.”

Instead of looking convinced, the man eyed Kotaro even more fiercely.

“There’s a machine room over there. See?” Still on his side, the man waved Kotaro’s ID in the direction of the door. “There’s a bag with my gear just inside. Bring it here.”

Kotaro did as he was told. He found the old Boston bag inside the door. It was fairly heavy.

“Here’s your ID. Put it away. Now help me up.”

Kotaro gave the man his hand and pulled him to a sitting position on the cardboard. He exhaled slowly, unlatched the bag and drew out a Thermos bottle.