The Hunter (13 page)

If he moved his head too fast, his brain was going to splash alcohol. Takizawa forced himself to take several deep breaths. His stomach churned. His back hurt where it leaned against the chair. Could his liver be swollen?

". . . and of all the chemicals handled in the lab today, organic peroxides are considered among the most dangerous. They belong to a particular class of chemical compound that demonstrates, if you will, uncommon instability."

This was the crime lab report they'd been waiting for, the results of the component analysis. But if it went on another thirty minutes, the contents of Takizawa's stomach were likely to have a chemical reaction of their own. Not that there was anything in there but alcohol. He faced forward, pleading silently for the speaker to make it snappy. There had to be five or six other guys who felt the same way: a bunch of them had been up all night drinking together.

"By uncommon instability I mean high sensitivity to shock, sparks, and other forms of incidental combustion. Organic peroxides are extremely sensitive to heat, friction, tremors, and light, to say nothing of strong oxidants and reductants."

The topic was actually of interest to Takizawa. You might not know it to look at him now, but at one time he had the brains for science and math. But damn—a lecture like this just didn't mix with alcohol in the blood. Taking yet another series of deep breaths, he tried to maintain the posture of an attentive listener. His breath reeked so strongly of alcohol that breathing in a lungful of it could get him drunk all over again. Technically this was no hangover; Takizawa was still bombed.

"The types of compounds known to generate peroxide include aldehyde, ether, allyl alcohol, and vinyl. In this case, the chemical on the device used to ignite the fire was a chemical compound with benzyl hydrogen. While it is impossible to be one hundred percent certain, it seems most likely to be in the benzoyl group."

At that point, the man from the Science Research Institute wrote BENZOYL PEROXIDE in large letters on the whiteboard. To the side, he wrote the chemical formula (C6H5CO)202. When he got out of here he had to go to a pharmacy and get some Sormak, thought Takizawa, calm the stomach down. Glancing beside him, he saw his goody two-shoes partner, proper as ever, busily taking notes. As long as she got everything down on paper, all he needed to do was sit here. She wasn't good for much else; let her knock herself out.

"The chemical benzoyl peroxide is a white, odorless crystalline powder formed when benzoyl chloride reacts with alkali and hydrogen or sodium peroxide. Because of its high oxidation effect, it is used to bleach flour, fats and oils, and tallow; it is an ingredient in pharmaceuticals and cosmetics and is widely used in the plastics industry as well. In this country, possession of benzoyl peroxide of 99 percent strength or greater is controlled. Usually it is used in the form of a 50-percent-strength paste made by mixing with oil or water, or a 25-percent-strength colloid. If you leave that mixture to dry naturally, then soak it overnight in methanol and then wind-dry it, you obtain a dry powder."

This SRI man might as well be delivering a lecture at the university, the way he's going on and writing stuff on the board. His eyelids feeling heavier by the moment, Takizawa forced himself to focus on the handwriting.

"This dry benzoyl peroxide spontaneously resolves at 103° Celsius; if you took a cardboard tube and packed in a kilogram of benzoyl peroxide, and lit it, you would get a three-meter-high flame. The fire does not burn as much as erupt, rather in the manner of a flamethrower."

A stir ran through the audience of detectives. Even with his drink-befuddled wits, Takizawa could see that here was a weapon of choice for a terrorist. An odorless white powder that exploded into flames. Easier, cleaner, more effective than gasoline.

"As I explained earlier, organic peroxides are among the most unstable of all organic compounds. Benzoyl peroxide is in fact safe if exposed to light, but it resolves at a low temperature and can be set off by shock or friction. While burning, moreover, it characteristically releases fumes that sting the nostrils and irritate the eyes, as well as a thick black smoke. After the fire burns out, a tarry substance is its residue."

Yes, it all fit the pattern of the fire. Instantaneous torching, thick black smoke, acute pain in the eyes. Takizawa thought back to the crime-scene investigation a week before. Who would have dreamed the case would take so many bizarre turns? And let's not forget him playing nursemaid to Otomichi.

"One chemical plant in Tokyo manufactured this chemical; in 1990 it was destroyed in an explosion and fire that claimed many lives. The greater the amount of the chemical, the greater the conflagration, it stands to reason; and the risk of such occurrence is significant. The tarry substance on the object recovered from the crime site, believed to be part of the belt the victim was wearing, has been determined to be residue of a fire caused by benzoyl peroxide."

His lecture done, the SRI man sat down, leaving the audience of detectives somewhat unsettled. The presentation had made it apparent, even to someone with a hangover, that the murderer in this case was not only cruel and exacting in his MO, he was also reckless, willfully endangering the lives of many innocent bystanders.

Captain Watanuki now stood up and cleared his throat. Through the wireless microphone his gravelly voice began:

"Until now this investigation has focused primarily on the victim—his lifestyle, means of employment, and surroundings. But no evidence or witness has shed light on the commission of the crime. As you are aware, the media have begun criticizing our approach, complaining that the investigation is likely to drag on without results. Now that the chemical used to start the fire has been identified and we have some insight into the mind of the Perpetrator, we need to shift gears and renew our determination to make a breakthrough in this case. From now on I want you to concentrate your efforts on tracing the route of acquisition of this chemical. Let's all apply ourselves to this investigation with even greater energy than before."

Erasing the chemical formulas and terms that the SRI man had left on the whiteboard, the captain began to write out the new game plan. As he did so, the desk sergeants, exhaustion on their faces, passed out photocopied material. There was a newspaper article about the benzoyl peroxide fire in 1990, along with a list of chemical plants, pharmaceutical companies, university laboratories, and suppliers that sold chemicals wholesale in the Tokyo metropolitan area.

"Everybody who's been investigating the high school girls in the date club, or the women involved with the victim, should now switch over to work on pinning down the route of acquisition of this chemical. And everybody who was going door to door near the scene of the crime ..."

Takizawa read the headline, but the print in the reduced copy of the article was too small. His eyesight wasn't what it used to be. True, the hangover didn't help either. He'd study it later. He looked at the list of chemical wholesalers and found prices noted in the margin: For benzoyl peroxide, it was ¥900/100g. Not that much, really. A three-meter pillar of flame would set you back less than ten thousand yen. That would cover everything, including ignition device and fuse.

"... I know all of you are tired, but now is not the time to take a break. There are clues that—"

Suddenly Watanuki's voice broke off, and Takizawa lifted his head gingerly, so as not to rock anything inside, to see what was going on. Chief Wakita had come up to the podium and was conferring with Watanuki. Great, he thought; don't tell me somebody else got torched. Takizawa leaned back in his chair and stretched. By sitting perfectly still, he had started feeling better, his system working overtime to break down the alcohol.

Turning his attention back to the group, Watanuki cleared his throat and began again: "You may have heard about an incident that has been reported in the morning's papers and on the television news. If you missed it, let me bring you up to speed: Last night in Tennozu, Shinagawa Ward, a man was attacked and killed by what appears to have been a wild dog. The animal remains on the loose, whereabouts unknown. It has just come to our attention that this incident may have particular bearing on our case because the teeth marks on the Tennozu victim demonstrate a close resemblance to the bite scars on our homicide victim."

Now the room was buzzing. Takizawa moved his head a little too quickly, which made him feel like he was relapsing into drunkenness. What? Weren't we supposed to track down the peroxide? What's this with a wild pooch?

"We are in touch with the Shinagawa police and will check this new development out immediately. You will be notified of any pertinent results. In the meanwhile, proceed according to plan. Get your interim reports in by noon, everyone."

The meeting had lasted longer than usual, and it left detectives with a unpleasant sense of no movement having been achieved. By the time Takizawa left headquarters, the winter sun had lost the clarity of the morning, but when you were this hung over, sunlight, no matter how weak, was hard to take. Takizawa walked unsteadily. The assignment was for him and Otomichi to visit several chemical labs on the list.

A dog and blasting powder. Peroxide and a pooch. Wild dogs running around the city? Hard to believe. And in Tennozu?

"Where is Tennozu anyway?" Takizawa said the words half to himself. He had heard of the place, but that was all.

"The bay area." Otomichi spoke in a very calm, forthright manner.

Takizawa walked with his head down, and Otomichi's voice seemed to come less from his side than from diagonally above him. He lacked the energy to look up at her, but repeated her foreign-sounding response. "The bay area." The seaside, in other words.

"The monorail stops there on the way from Hamamatsu-cho to Haneda. It's the first station."

That part of the city was changing at a fast clip, Takizawa knew, but it was out of his circuit. Even if he spent all his time running around Tokyo, there were corners of it he had nothing to do with, knew nothing about. That included Shinagawa Ward and Ota Ward, the district known as Jonan, scene of the wild dog mauling.

"Sergeant Takizawa."

Takizawa wasn't feeling so well, and Otomichi wanted to talk just as he was thinking he needed to find that pharmacy, fast. "Yeah?"

"Do you think there is any connection between the Tennozu case and ours?"

"Damned if I know."

"Well, what if both victims really were bitten by the same stray dog?"

"You could never know that for sure," Takizawa said. He let a few seconds pass and then asked, "Have you ever been to Tennozu?" but didn't wait for her answer. They were just passing a pharmacy, and without any warning, he went in, bought some Sormak, and quickly swallowed it down. It was good stuff. Liquid medicine to calm the stomach, two bottles to a pack. He stuck the other bottle in his coat pocket and came outside to find Otomichi waiting for him.

"Uh, what were you saying again?"

"Sergeant Takizawa."

"What."

"May I have that, please?"

Takizawa looked up at Otomichi with a scowl, the sun in his eyes. "Have what?"

"The Sormak."

She was looking him straight in the eye, as surly and ungracious as ever. Takizawa took the bottle out of his pocket, feeling like a kid getting caught with something. Otomichi was removing her wallet from her purse. "Forget it, keep your money," he said, and handed the bottle to her. She accepted it, and walked off a few paces without a word. Sheesh, Takizawa thought, you think she's waiting outside, but she's got her eye on you the whole time. Doesn't miss a trick. Well, if she's always so keyed up, no wonder her stomach hurts.

He turned around in time to see Otomichi swallow the Sormak and toss the empty bottle into the trash before hurrying back. "Thank you," she said, as if everything was normal. "Sorry to impose like that."

"You feeling bad or something?" He did not want her sick or needing to rest, not while they were in the middle of an investigation. But come to think of it, she did look a little off color. She had fair skin to begin with, but today she looked deathly pale.

"I'm fine."

Just what little Miss Hardliner would say. As his own stomach began to settle, Takizawa's brain started to fire on all cylinders. What should he say back to her? He didn't want her to think he'd gone soft on her, but her tough act needled him.

"Well, I guess this case
is
kinda rough on the nerves for a delicate little thing like you."

This didn't come out quite as clever as he'd hoped, but never mind. He was beginning to feel pretty much like his old self; then he heard her reply:

"No. It's just a little hangover."

Hangover? Her? Thought she went home early last night. Did she go out
drinking with somebody after that? Ten to one she was shooting off her mouth about me. Damn. I shoulda told her, buy your own Sormak.

WILD KILLER DOG? SALARYMAN ATTACKED,

SLAIN IN BAY AREA AT MIDNIGHT

At 2:30 a.m., an emergency 119 call reported a man found bleeding from the neck in Higashi Shinagawa 3-chome, Shinagawa Ward, Tokyo. Medical personnel rushing to the scene found the victim already dead, lying face up on the sidewalk of a tree-lined street near Tennozu Isle Station of the Tokyo Monorail line. Police from the Jonan Precinct of the Metropolitan Police Department established the identity of the man as Kazuki Horikawa, age 32, a company worker residing at 1 Nakamachi, Meguro Ward. Despite the injury to his neck, the victim's clothing showed no sign of a struggle. His briefcase was found nearby with his wallet intact.

Examination of the neck wound revealed an oval pattern of tooth marks bracketed with sharp fang marks. A large section of the victim's windpipe was missing, and his neck was broken. On his back, by both shoulders there was subcutaneous bleeding consistent with the claw marks of an animal. Police suspect that Horikawa's death resulted from an attack by a large canine.

The incident took place in a section of the waterfront that has undergone extensive development in recent years and is populated by many new high-rises. Called Seafort Square, the area is filled with restaurants, theaters, and hotels, and is known popularly among young people as the "bay area." Horikawa was employed in a company located in an office building in Seafort Square. The neighboring area, which has many warehouses connected by canals, is said to be deserted at night; people are rarely seen walking dogs there.

According to Jonan police, if a dog was responsible for the attack on Horikawa, it must be of an extremely large breed. Since no households in the vicinity are known to possess a dog of that sort, police are working on the assumption that the dog is wild.

A wild dog.

Takako looked up from the evening edition of the paper from three days before. This was her first day off since the investigation headquarters was set up. On the low table in front of her lay a week's worth of newspapers, unread. Scattered alongside were an empty can of Coke and an empty container of
instant ramen, a handkerchief that needed washing, and a pair of earrings. A pile of junk.

Last night when she went to bed, she had planned to spend her precious day off tending to her motorcycle and going out for a ride, but when she awoke it was already past noon. Too late to do anything. Besides, the sky out her window was cloudy and gray, with an icy cast. Thinking it might be nice to stay in and just rest, she made a cup of coffee, pulled out a newspaper from the stack, and the article jumped out at her. No wonder she didn't feel relaxed, even if it was her day off. The investigation was going nowhere. And now it looked like they were going to be drawn into this bay area death as well.

But thanks to all that's going on, I made it through.

Three days ago, the date of the newspaper article, was the day she'd been dreading. On that day last year she had affixed her seal to the divorce papers and moved out. It was her divorce anniversary, you could say. She'd been feeling downcast about it, wondering what she should do when the day rolled around, how she would get through it. But to her surprise, she was so busy she never gave it a second thought.

The day she moved into this new apartment had been cloudy like today, chilly enough for snow. She'd just gotten off all-night duty, starved for sleep, and the cold was punishing. When the movers were gone and she was left alone in a home where for the first time in her life she would live alone, the loneliness was overpowering. She was full of anxiety, wondering if she'd made an irrevocable mistake, if she would rue this day forever. What a fool she was, putting on such a show of strength and not asking anyone for help.

In retrospect it was good that she plunged back into work, leaving no time to wallow in sentimental regret. And now, a year later, she had managed to get safely past that anniversary, with too much to do to feel any foolishness. She would focus on the case. And then, one of these days, it would be spring. Sipping her coffee, enjoying its fragrance, she switched her thinking back to detective mode.

Was the attack a random event? Coincidence? Or intentional? If intentional, that was one helluva well-trained dog. A dog trained to attack humans?

The newspaper article was accurate enough, considering when it had been written. It was a little short on facts, however. And there were no follow-up articles in the next day's paper, nor the next, which was yesterday. The police had given out no further information.

The body was a ghastly sight, she'd heard. The article mentioned nothing about it, but Kazuki Horikawa had actually been bitten twice in the neck: first his neck had been broken, then his throat was ripped open. There were bites on his head as well, and an autopsy showed that the skull was crushed. Any of the three things could have killed him. There were no bite marks on the limbs or torso.

If it was a random attack, there was nothing to solve. If it was coincidence, it was a big coincidence. If it was intentional, well, whoever was behind it, the assassin—if that was the right word, whoever planned the attack—had done so with utmost care to ensure that the victim's life would be snuffed out. Chunks of flesh torn from the neck were found next to the body.

The wounds indicated that the dog was not only large, but had an extremely powerful set of jaws. To investigators, that in itself suggested intent to kill. The police were delaying the release of this information to the media because they didn't want to cause panic by suggesting that a savage dog was roaming the streets of Tokyo at night. Also, the connection between this case and the Tachikawa Timed Combustion Belt Homicide Case remained unclear.

The bite marks on Teruo Hara's legs also appeared to be the work of a fairly large dog, and the size of the teeth and position of the fangs were a match with the marks on the Tennozu victim. But comparing bite marks in cheese or an apple was one thing; this was quite another. It was all but impossible, they were told, to do a detailed comparison of tooth characteristics based on the marks left in human flesh. It could be determined whether the teeth marks were human or animal, and if animal, whether they belonged to a rat or a rabbit, or some larger animal like a pig or a dog; beyond that, results were bound to be uncertain. Yet in this day and age, it was odd to think that here in Tokyo there could be two attacks by wild dogs in such a short time. On the other hand, there weren't any reports of pets on the loose.

If a direct link between Teruo Hara and Kazuki Horikawa turned up, headquarters was bound to take over the investigation of the bay area case as well. It sounded like a hassle, but Takako wasn't alone among the detectives actually hoping it would happen. As it was, they were running out of leads on the homicide by chemical fire.

Headquarters had been eagerly awaiting the results of SRI's chemical analysis. But with those results in hand, all that had been learned, after combing through Tokyo, was the unlikelihood that benzoyl peroxide would ever lead them to a suspect.

Under the Fire Defense Law, benzoyl peroxide was rated a class-five dangerous substance, meaning that anyone handling more than ten kilograms of it had to file a written report specifying the amount, location, and purpose. Failure to do so was punishable by a prison sentence of up to one year and a fine of up to ¥300,000. But in fact, several firms had literally tons of the chemical illegally stockpiled. Annual distribution and consumption of benzoyl peroxide was immense; moreover, whether every firm kept careful watch on its supply was open to question.

Just as the man from SRI had said, the chemical was used in a wide variety of industries, from foods and pharmaceuticals to cosmetics and the manufacture of highly polymerized compounds. Often, since the chemical was used in a stable form mixed with oil or water, not everyone connected with its use was even aware of the danger involved. And at university laboratories and suppliers that sold chemicals wholesale, detectives found that, basically, anyone could get hold of benzoyl peroxide with ease.

These facts weighed heavily on the investigating team, who had hoped to find a clear trail of how the chemical was obtained. Certainly, some technical knowledge of chemicals was called for. And concerning the timing device, while the parts used were widely available, only someone with the requisite knowledge and expertise could have carried out the idea of enclosing it in a belt buckle. Yet no one in Hara's circle of acquaintances fit that description.

At last night's meeting, one after another, weary detectives offered their opinions. "I think we'd be better off doing a thorough search of the witnesses," one said. Everyone was frustrated. They had identified the victim. They had a pretty good picture of his occupation and his private life. They even had their hands on a key piece of physical evidence in the form of the timed ignition device.

Through their questioning of the high school girls in the date club, investigators had established that Teruo Hara was wearing a belt different from his usual belt, for the first time, on the day he was murdered. It was remarkable to have discovered all this without grasping any real leads. You'd think that by now they would have located somebody with a grudge against Hara, have gotten wind of some financial shenanigans or a love affair gone awry.

Clearly, the killer had set out carefully and methodically to do away with Teruo Hara. No one would pursue their target so relentlessly without a considerable motive. This had been no random murder or act of terrorism. The killer had gone after Teruo Hara with premeditation.

Even though Hara had a suspicious past, was using two names, and seemed likely to be up to his ears in serious trouble of one kind or another— likely, even, to have a person or two harboring murderous intentions toward him—so far they had found no one with even a grievance.

"We're missing something, that's all I can say."

"For one thing, we still don't know the victim's movements on the day of the fire. We haven't dug below the surface yet."

"If whoever did the initial investigation had put his back in it, we'd have known sooner that the victim operated a date club in the same building as the restaurant."

Takizawa was miffed when he heard this. Takako had glanced over at him curling his lip. She took the criticism to heart, reviewing mentally the faces of all those they had questioned. Had somebody been lying or suffered a memory lapse? Had the questioning missed something?

Mired in discouragement, the meeting had finally wrapped up with these words from Chief Wakita: "We are looking at the matter very carefully, and if it does turn out that the Tennozu case is connected with this case, then there's a strong chance of a breakthrough. I know you're all tired. Take the day off tomorrow, rest up, and let's start fresh the day after tomorrow."

There could be no doubt that the detectives' frustration was exacerbated by fatigue. The helpless sense that all their efforts had come to nothing was part of their collective misery. Getting a day off now would be a welcome break not only for Takako but for everyone, she was sure. And when they came back to work, maybe there would be a clearer understanding of the connection between the two cases.

But what if there isn't any connection? Then what? We'll have to keep going with the data we already have.

The thing was to find someone who had benefited from Hara's death. Who would that be? The women in his life? A business rival? The husband of an older lover? But all of this had been gone over already. Without exception, the married women whom Hara—no, "Takuma Sugawara"—was involved with had managed with great adroitness to conceal the fact of his existence. None of them had loved him wholeheartedly. None of them had shed real tears.

When you think about it, that's pretty sad. He was a pitiful man.

Perhaps Hara himself was the one who'd been toyed with. After all this time, his body still lay unclaimed in the cold city morgue. What had his life amounted to, in the end?

He was a fool. A foolish man.

*

She'd slept well, yet her eyelids were growing heavy again. Leaning back in the lone legless chair on the tatami floor, Takako took a deep breath. She wanted to clear her mind, think of nothing at all. Suddenly
men
came to mind.

She remembered the man who had come on to her on the train several nights ago. In the end the little weasel didn't have the guts to follow her off the train. She thought of Takizawa, the emperor penguin. And then she thought of her ex-husband, who on being confronted with his infidelity had acted almost defiant, but never looked Takako in the eyes again. Unbelievably, when he realized the truth was out, he had blurted, "It's got nothing to do with you."

Nothing to do with me? Then who was I supposed to be to him?

"You call yourself a wife? Then why don't you try acting like one once in awhile?"

Where was he now, what was he doing? She had never heard rumors of him setting up house with that other woman.

Damn. She wanted to forget, but she couldn't keep the memories from flooding back. Takako opened her eyes. Wasting a perfectly good day off on thoughts like this was bad for her mental health. She'd be better off going back to bed and sleeping all day. Just then the phone rang. Headquarters? What now? She picked up the phone.

"Takako?" It was her sister.

"Tomoko, how are you?"