The Hunter (18 page)

"You OK, Sis?"

She could not reply.

"Why don't you at least take a bath? You'll feel better."

In Takako's mind there emerged a picture of the wolf-dog she had yet to meet, steadily surveying the scene. Transformed to a wretched human-killing machine, it lived apart, in splendid isolation. Where was it now, what was it doing? Stalking someone else in the black of night?

"Come on now. Are you always this out of it when you come home?"

If the creature was going after designated victims at its owner's bidding ... But could the wildness in its blood stop there? Was there a chance it could develop a taste for human flesh?

"Are you OK? Do you feel sick or something?"

"What are you doing here?" Somehow Takako managed to get the words out. No answer. She turned over on the bed and slowly opened her eyes. Her sister stood there, her lips pursed, a confused look on her face.

"I told you to go home."

"You know, you—"

"Someone else got killed today. I really don't have time to waste on your tawdry little affair."

Her sister's face contorted. Takako forced herself to sit up, using her last bit of strength. She felt hot.

"Stay tonight. It's too late to go home now, but tomorrow I want you out of here." Her breathing was ragged. She laid a hand on the bed and tried to stand up when vertigo nearly toppled her over. Tomoko quickly grabbed her by the arm.

"You've got a fever!"

Tomoko pushed her sister back down on the bed. After that, Takako obediently changed into pajamas and got into bed. As she lay dozing, with amazing speed her sister provided a soft fever-cooling gel sheet and some aspirin. Nearly delirious, Takako managed to ask, "I had gel sheets in the house?”

“No, I bought them. You didn't have
anything
here. You don't even need that great big refrigerator."

Her sister's voice sounded like their mother's. Dimly aware of someone gently wiping the perspiration from her forehead, Takako fell asleep.

When Takako awoke in the morning, her fever had broken. Her sister was asleep on the floor under a blanket, her legs under the kotatsu. Having sweated profusely, Takako felt much better but she was ravenous. She stole into the kitchen. A pan on the stove turned out to be full of an appetizing curry. The rice cooker was on warm, the rice ready to eat. As she rattled around getting herself a meal, Tomoko woke up, sleepy-faced.

"It must be lonely when you get sick."

Sitting with a cardigan thrown over her shoulders, her mouth full of curry and rice, Takako looked up at her sister. "This still doesn't mean you're living with me, OK? I want you out of here today. Leave when I do—and go to work."

"Please."

"Didn't you hear me? Don't make me an accessory to your extramarital affair. You know perfectly well why I got divorced."

"But your case and mine are—"

"They're
exactly
the same. Adultery is adultery. Unfaithfulness is unfaithfulness. You're in love right now, so you don't see that. But while you and he are off having yourselves a grand old time, somewhere else there's someone weeping bitter tears. And that person resents the hell out of you. Even if you end up living happily ever after, your happiness would be built on top of her pain and resentment. Don't forget that."

With barely another glance at her sister's pouting face, Takako polished off the rest of her curry and quickly went to take a shower. She had been too sick to study the list and pamphlets last night, but it was just as well; her brain needed rest. Having her sister around at such a time, she had to admit, was a godsend. Mustn't start counting on her, though. Even if they were sisters, they led very different lives. Tomoko needed to find her own way through her troubles.

Whichever path she chooses to take.

The wolf-dog, whose existence she had forgotten for a night, now roamed back into her thoughts. As the jets of hot water pounded her, Takako wondered fleetingly where she and Takizawa would go today, what they would see, what would unfold. She would still be with the emperor penguin, even if he seemed to be more decent to her. Must be careful he doesn't suspect she'd gotten ill. If she kept telling herself that, surely her temperature would stay down.

The following day, additional investigators were brought in on the case, doubling total manpower.

The morning meeting brought the news from forensics that the tooth and claw marks, as well as the animal hairs, found on the third victim were established to be from the same canine that had attacked Kazuki Horikawa. Hearing this plunged Takako into gloom. Mentally she addressed the unknown creature:
All this killing. Don't make it worse. Where in god's name are you? Stalking someone else at this moment?

Even though Takako had never seen a live wolf-dog, its image from the brochures and books was vivid. She could picture it in the Alaskan wilds, running across vast distances, but in an overpopulated city lacking even the musky scent of earth, where would it hide? Takako's heart ached, which mystified her. The wolf-dog was nothing but a wolf with a little bit of dog thrown in, and yet she found herself becoming almost emotionally involved with the creature. Apparently, it had been trained to direct its violent tendencies toward certain specific individuals; but she was sure that around anyone else it would behave with natural timidity and reserve, not like the aggressive killer it had become. It was not the wolf-dog that deserved her hatred.

The morning report continued:

"Until her marriage ten months ago, Chieko Yoshii, maiden name Inada, lived with her parents in Ichikawa, Chiba Prefecture. Her father is employed by a paint company. The family is fairly well-to-do.

"The younger of two sisters, Chieko graduated from high school and went to work for a cosmetics manufacturer as a beauty consultant, leaving later for a job with a cosmetics outfit. Two years ago she met Tsutomu Yoshii, the son of the owner of the company, who personally manages two company stores along the Odakyu Line. He seems to be highly thought of. When their engagement was announced, her friends congratulated her on landing such a rich man."

On the surface, the young wife appeared to be a perfectly ordinary woman. The investigation learned, however, that soon after entering high school, Chieko went through a delinquent stage and was expelled from school. Her parents were at a loss to explain this behavior; but according to Chieko's sister, the father's philandering had torn the family apart, and the subsequent death of the girls' doting grandmother had also played a role. Chieko took to staying out later and later. She helped herself to money in the house, then started staying out all night, then on several occasions ran away from home. To this day, the family does not know who her friends were at that time. Then one day she announced she wanted to go back to school, and they rejoiced in her redemption without asking what prompted her change of heart.

"Naturally, given the unexpected turns this case has taken, we suspect a connection between this young woman and Teruo Hara and Kazuki Horikawa," said Wakita, grim-faced as ever.

With that statement, discussion was thrown open to the investigators, who were more somber and steely-eyed with now a third victim. What was the motivation? What was the connection? Was this the work of one lone perpetrator?

"So they knew each other more than ten years ago. Finding people who knew what was going on back then won't be easy."

"There's no evidence that the three victims were in touch recently, or even that they still knew each other. Their old circle could've broken up."

"Which means that if their connection has anything to do with the killings, we're probably looking at a crime of revenge."

At the word "revenge," Takako inhaled sharply. Day in and day out, police officers encountered a wide variety of crimes, but those motivated by revenge were by no means common. The thought made the image of the wolf-dog come alive in her mind. She could almost hear his panting as he ran through the darkness, hell-bent on revenge.

"Anyway, we've gotta get a move on, find out more about their connection, see if anyone else was involved in their circle."

"If anyone else is being targeted, then if we can get to them first and keep them under surveillance, we could wrap this whole case up in one fell swoop."

A mood of peculiar excitement filled headquarters. When the meeting adjourned, the teams scattered quickly.

On this day, Takako and Takizawa headed for the Police Canine Association. This seemed the fastest approach, since the association dealt with all police dog training centers across the country. Teams assigned to finding the wolf-dog would continue the painstaking work of checking the list of owners, name by name.

At the Police Canine Association, located in the business district of Nihombashi, Takako and Takizawa were ushered into a reception room with a worn sofa and armchairs by a man entirely unfazed at the sight of their badges. He looked to be in his early sixties and casually lit a cigarette as he sat down opposite them. According to his business card, his name was Hatakeyama and he was executive director of the association. Takako suspected that he might be a retired policeman in a cushy second career; he had that air.

She opened her notebook, sitting erectly on the edge of the hard sofa, and looked directly at the man as she spoke. Takizawa was letting her handle this as she saw fit.

". . . and so," she concluded, "we thought you would be able to provide us with information on all the dog training centers in the country."

Hatakeyama looked at Takako with an expression of great equanimity. "Pardon me for asking, miss, but how much do you know about police dogs?"

Takako summarized: that canine units were brought in as requested by investigators, that the dogs received special training, that they were overseen by the Identification Division.

"Yes, I guess that would be all you would know." The man, who was about the age of Takako's father, spoke with one slightly raised eyebrow. Inside, Takako felt a grating sensation. She knew when she was being patronized. Hatakeyama went on, "That might be enough for an on-scene investigation. Particularly if you were with the crime-scene unit."

The man's every comment was barbed. Despite herself, Takako grew defiant. "Yes, well, that's why we're here, to find out more."

Hatakeyama let a scornful smile play around the corners of his mouth. "Let me tell you about police dogs," he said.

A police dog was one that had received special training for police work such as searches and protection. The training was designed to make the most of canine obedience, intelligence, and alacrity, not to mention a sense of smell three to four thousand times more acute than that of a human being. Police dogs came in two categories: those bred at prefectural police headquarters around the country, called department dogs, and those bred by private citizens, called contract dogs. The former currently numbered around 150; they were assigned to the Identification Division, and classified officially as "equipment," that is, consumable items like pencils and notebooks.

The MPD had no contract dogs. Its thirty-five canines, all of them departmental, worked an average of eight or nine years before being retired. Sometimes retired police dogs went to private owners as watchdogs, sometimes they spent the rest of their natural lives in a corner of the police kennel. Once their usefulness as "equipment" was over, new dogs were purchased and trained in their stead. There was no budgetary allowance for old dogs, so their handlers scrimped and saved to buy them food.

Of the half million canines registered as police dogs nationwide, contract dogs were the most able, having met the high qualifying standard; they were deployed on request to police working a particular case. Altogether there were some 1,300 in the country. A big advantage of this system was that it saved the police the considerable expense of breeding and raising dogs on their own. Also, it had great public relations appeal as a sign of police willingness to cooperate with the private sector and build good relations with the public.

The Saitama Prefectural Police Department, for example, had no K9 units of its own, and relied on contract dogs exclusively. Some contract dogs were trained by private individuals; more often, officially licensed handlers, ranked into three classes by the Japan Police Canine Association, did the training at approximately 2,300 training centers around the country.

Strictly speaking, the term "police dog" referred only to these two categories of highly trained dogs; in more general terms, it applied to any dog that was registered as a police dog and had undergone some police dog training. In addition to regional conventions, there were national events to raise the level and hone the abilities of police dogs; the two most important were the Japan Champion Trials and the National Police Dog Field Championship Trials. The Japan Champion Trials was something like a beauty contest. The seven breeds of dog eligible for registration as police dogs—German shepherd, Airedale terrier, boxer, collie, Doberman pinscher, Labrador retriever, and golden retriever—competed for the prize of best-looking dog in categories of adult, adolescent, young dog, and puppy.

While participating dogs were all highly trained, they were judged less on their intelligence and the fruits of their training than on overall appearance, muscle definition, teeth, and so on. All competitors had pedigrees and were things of beauty to behold; their owners lavished care on them, polishing them like precious gems. Champions brought their owners great honor, and great fortune as well, in the form of lucrative stud fees. Some people spent millions of yen to purchase likely champions overseas. It was a world where appearance was all, and people jostled to be noticed.

The National Police Dog Field Championship Trials, as its name implied, was a test of ability. Categories included protection, tracking, and search, with protection divided into the two categories of protection and detaining. Participants in this championship trials competed not on the basis of pedigree or appearance, but on performance alone, so the atmosphere was one of serious business. Participants, all of whom had completed a rigorous course of training, obediently walked or ran along prescribed routes, jumped over hurdles, barked at a suspect, engaged and held a suspect, selected an article of clothing belonging to the suspect, and tracked the suspect using the scent on an article of his possession. They were the very image of all that a police dog should be. Every dog wore a look of eager intelligence, happy beyond measure to show off its talents and earn praise from its human. Seventy percent of the dogs who placed in the upper levels of this contest were contract dogs.

Department police dogs, of course, were not entered in either competition. They didn't have the time; they needed to be ready to go to work at a moment's notice. And they were not allowed the luxury of mistakes. Any dog that entered the obedience event only to wander around in circles would never have been granted departmental status, but a department dog that did enter such a competition would be considered a shoo-in to win. They were professionals, and not the polished-gem type of professional dog either; no beauty contests for them.

When he had explained all this, Hatakeyama regarded Takako with a self-satisfied expression, not bothering to look toward Takizawa, who was not saying a word. "We're a private organization, but we do work closely with the police. You're still young, miss, but I suggest you try to keep this much in mind."

Takako said nothing, forcing herself to smile sweetly.

Hatakeyama's response in turn was to stub out his cigarette in an oversized ashtray with the brand of a pet food printed in gold, take a deep breath, and add: "But get this straight: We do not train dogs to attack and kill people. Period."

More than the words themselves, the tone of Hatakeyama's voice was aggressive. All but ignoring her, he went on to qualify his statement slightly: Attack dogs were indeed taught to engage and bite suspects, but exclusively on the arm or other non-vital part of the body; and the moment the suspect was felled, or clearly in no danger of escape, these dogs were trained to let go. No police dog would ever sink its teeth into anyone's throat, neck, or skull; the notion of a killer police dog was preposterous.

"Yes," said Takako, agreeing, "but by the same token, no dog could have carried out these crimes without careful training. No matter how high an IQ a dog might have, surely the services of a professional handler would be required for it to perform at that level."

"We have some wolf-dogs in training, I'll concede. Rottweilers also do exceptionally well in the program. As long as they have what it takes, we're prepared to accept dogs of any breed. We've even got Shiba and Akita dogs in training. But they tend not to make it through the final trials. They might have the brains, but not the stamina or strength. There must be both."

"Yes, and a wolf-dog—"

"What I'm saying is, police dog training is nothing like what you're talking about. With all due respect, the idea that any of our handlers would ever train a police dog to carry out a lethal attack is absurd. Besides, not all handlers are approved by us. Kennel clubs and other outfits also certify people as dog handlers."

This last statement was delivered with a look of contempt mingled with annoyance. And defensiveness. It seemed to suggest this: that here the Police Canine Association was dedicated to training dogs to be useful to society, and Takako had the audacity to suggest that an antisocial killer was a police dog in their registry. It might just be a rumor, or ignorance, but it was an outrage.

Takako refused to give up. "Thank you for explaining in such detail," she said. "What I'm asking now is whether you can assist us in this particular matter. Do you, for instance, have knowledge of anyone who trains wolf-dogs, or have you ever observed such training in progress?"