The Hunter (19 page)

Hatakeyama scowled.

Takako continued: "True, such a person might not be a member of your association. But it seems possible that you might nonetheless know of such a handler."

"Possibly."

"Wolf-dogs stand out. Because they're part wild, I understand they have to be walked for hours every day. That makes it all the more likely that you might have gotten word of—"

"Nobody would come to me about anything so trivial." It was like he'd slammed the door shut.

Wondering if her instincts were off, Takako tried to think fast, casting about for another approach. She could feel Takizawa's eyes upon her. Ever since yesterday he'd been unbelievably deferential, listening in silence as she took the lead. But the eyes she felt watching her now were not full of warmth and admiration. They were saying, See, what did I tell you?

"Let me see if I have this right," Takako regrouped. "You're suggesting that the odds are good that someone trained the wolf-dog privately, on his own, is that it?"

"Yes."

"Well, then—" As she groped for words, behind her Takizawa cleared his throat.

And then inserted himself into the conversation: "Hatakeyama-san, how about this? You ever hear anything about someone who used to train dogs buying himself a wolf-dog, anything like that?"

"Now
that
I probably could ask around and find out for you."

Takako's mood began to sour as she listened to the two men rattle on.

"Handlers, is that what you call 'em? People who train dogs for a living. They must really like dogs, seems to me."

"Oh yes. In fact, they often treat their dog better than they do their own family." Hatakeyama's face suddenly softened. "I'll tell you," he said, "there's nothing more lovable than a dog that obeys your every command."

"I can see that," said Takizawa. "Must be a lot more lovable than some people. I'm no dog lover, mind you. I wouldn't know about that myself."

"Oh, you should get yourself a dog. You'd see."

"Not me. Are you kidding? On my salary, the best I could manage would be a turtle or a goldfish."

Hatakeyama laughed out loud, amused. When it was Takako asking the questions, he'd answered in a flat monotone, but to Takizawa he responded heartily. The problem was not the content of her questions, the problem was her; he didn't like her. In short, he and Takizawa were two of a kind.

"I'll bet someone like that never really settles into another kind of work," Takizawa said. "It's not a job you can do by halves, is it?"

"Neither is yours."

"True enough." Takizawa smiled broadly.

So Takizawa was heading in the same direction she was headed, asking the same questions she would have asked if he hadn't butted in.

"I've only seen wolf-dogs in photographs," said Takizawa, "but to me they look no different from wolves. One look and you can see it's no hound, it's a wolf, you know what I mean? And the more wolf blood they have, I bet the harder they are to train."

Hatakeyama was practically leaning forward, making appropriate interested responses as Takizawa spoke. Thoroughly soured, Takako listened in tight-lipped silence as he went on.

"The way we figure it is, since wolf-dogs are such wild creatures at heart, they'd never go after a human target without training from a handler who knew his stuff. Our two victims were done in by the exact same method. The second victim—a woman, just your ordinary housewife—was attacked in broad daylight, but nobody saw anything. Or heard anything either—no scream, no barking, no nothing. Getting a wolf-dog to pull off a trick like that had to take some serious training, if you ask me."

From where Takako sat, Takizawa was himself now leaning toward Hatakeyama, and he'd put on a disarming smile, something like the one he'd used on that young doctor at the hospital. He went on with such facility and smoothness, it was a wonder he had kept quiet all this time.

"So how about it? Maybe you know of a top-notch handler who hasn't been seen around a training center for the last few years?"

"Well, I could ask around and find out for you—but if you're talking about
really
skilled handlers, I would have to say there's no one better than the police. Somebody in the Identification Division, in charge of the canine unit."

Taken aback, Takako looked at Takizawa. His face seemed to have frozen for a second, too. The idea made sense—rather than go after all the handlers in all the training centers in the country, how much smarter, and easier, to focus on policemen training department dogs.

Acting impressed, nodding, Takizawa mumbled, "Aha, I see what you mean."

A policeman raising a dog for revenge: by no means unthinkable. All avenues had to be explored. Hatakeyama had mentioned there were no K9 units in Saitama PD. Then maybe the next step was to request the name of anybody who had retired early from the Identification Division in Tokyo, Chiba, or Kanagawa, somebody without a clear reason.

"Anyway, I'll get back to you if I find out anything," said Hatakeyama, as the three of them stood up.

Glancing sideways at the man talking to Takizawa with such easy rapport, totally unlike his attitude to her, Takako felt her chest constrict. Well, she would never see Hatakeyama again, and good riddance. No point letting every annoying guy get under her skin.

After putting in a request for the names of any Identification Division members who had resigned early in the last few years, Takizawa suggested the two of them make a visit to a police dog training center. After getting short shrift from the Police Canine Association guy just now, Otomichi was looking a bit peevish, but she walked alongside him without comment.

See there, I'm not the only guy who gets uptight dealing with a woman.
That's what he wanted to tell her, but as long as she said nothing, he wasn't going to bring it up himself. Anyway, her hunch was right. He hated to think that someone who was on the police force would carry out revenge like this; but for both benzoyl peroxide and police dog training, it made sense, the easiest access to such specialized knowledge was for a member of the police force.

According to the materials they'd received at the Police Canine Association, there were nine top training centers in Tokyo, twelve in Chiba, twenty-two in Saitama, and fifteen in Kanagawa.

"You want to start here in the city?" Takizawa turned around to ask Otomichi. With her usual impassiveness she uttered only a single word, "Yes." Cautious by nature. Maybe she was on to his little plan to get her off her guard, let her get a swelled head, and then teach her a lesson, send her crashing to earth. Man, even after he softened his manner, her attitude had scarcely changed. Uncomplicated women were more appealing, he thought. Oh, well. He hitched up his belt and sighed softly to himself.

To teach a dog to attack a specific person, the first thing you had to do was to acquaint the dog with the scent of that person. One possibility was to train the dog to attack whenever it detected that scent, in classic stimulus-response fashion. That meant that the perp had to obtain an article of clothing worn by the target—which would suggest that he didn't live very far from the target. The perp could have followed his target around and stolen something belonging to him, or picked up a cast-off cigarette butt, or tissue, or other detritus. For sure he wouldn't do something like make personal contact.

Could a civilian pull off something like that? Still, no matter how knowledgeable a handler was about dogs, getting the dog to recognize the target's scent wasn't easy.

"Were any of the victims robbed recently?" Takizawa muttered this thought half-aloud as he sat swaying to the motion of the train.

Otomichi, who was sitting silently next to him, shook her head. "I haven't heard anything about robbery," she said. "Are you thinking that the perp may have stolen something to teach his wolf-dog the scent?"

The lady had read his mind. Smart. She got the point quickly—and that very fact got his goat.

"Obtaining something that belonged to the target, or something the target had on him, would mean contact, so it would involve some risk," she said. "Breaking into a residence would be even riskier. Do you think someone bent on carrying out a grand scheme of revenge would take such a risk?"

"If it was you, what would you do?"

"Well ... I think it might be possible to take the opposite tack—attach a scent to the victim."

Made sense. Perfume would work, or anything else the animal had been trained to recognize. Takizawa rubbed his jaw, again feeling the whiskers he had missed while shaving; she was right, that would be easier. Even a civilian could handle that. "Either way," he spoke up, "we need to get the teams going down the wolf-dog list to find out the employment history of the owners."

Otomichi nodded, still looking as if she was thinking about something. Was she going to come out with another gem? But she kept quiet, eyes straight ahead, hands folded on the shoulder bag in her lap. She wore no rings or nail polish; the hands were pale and delicate, but her fingers were too long and too big for a woman.

You never got a sense of how she lived her daily life. Once, while he was out drinking with the guys, he did some casual asking around, and found out she was single, lived alone in an apartment; no one knew more than that. He'd had her pegged as twenty-seven or twenty-eight, but turned out she was over thirty. Had staying single so long soured her personality, or was it her sour personality that had kept her from finding a husband in the first place? Takizawa felt mild curiosity on this point.

"Say—"

"You know—"

They both started to speak at the same time. Otomichi hastily caught herself. "Yes?"

"Nothing. You were gonna say?" Maybe it was better not to come right out and ask a thing like, Nor
interested in getting married?
If he did, she might get the wrong idea, or think he was interested or even coming on to her. It was a funny thing, though. His own wife had run out on him; his married life ended in betrayal and ruin; he'd long lost any illusions about marriage—and yet when he heard of an unmarried young woman, he couldn't help thinking of her as a social misfit. "Let's have it," he said.

"I was just wondering if it was at all possible that the perp might work for our company."

That's what cops called the police organization, "our company." They used the expression to avoid attracting attention when talking among civilians, and it eventually became a habit. Hearing her say this, Takizawa had to admit they did share a bond.

"We can't rule it out. Or it could be someone who used to be with us."

"The best handlers are policemen, those who raise and train the department dogs, isn't that right?"

"That's what the guy said. Also you've gotta realize the perp hasn't left us any other clues to speak of. That right there suggests somebody who knows a thing or two about police investigations."

Otomichi's mouth tightened, and she sighed. Takizawa started to say he didn't want it to be true either, but in the end all he did was sigh also.

They got off at Asagaya on the Chuo Line, and went first to the police box in front of the station for directions to the dog training facility. Takizawa contacted headquarters, requesting the employment history of all the wolf-dog owners.

Leaving the police box, they passed a bank where Takizawa remembered he had investigated a robbery ten years back, then down a street with wide sidewalks, heading toward Ome-kaido Avenue. As they walked along, Otomichi suddenly said, "God, I hope it's not one of us." A dry breeze swept past them. Her short bangs, tousled by the wind, changed her expression in a variety of ways.

"There're all kinds of cops," said Takizawa, walking along at his usual brisk pace.

It was true. Even among his fellow cops there were plenty of pricks, good-for-nothings, and greedy bastards, as well as clowns, homosexuals, and losers that made you wonder how they ever got to be guardians of the law. Decent fellows had them far outnumbered, of course, so the department maintained face. But the presence of so many different types undoubtedly lay behind the brass's frequent exhortations to "overcome your differences and work together." Between lifers and non-career guys, there was another difference.

And from his perspective, this female was another queer fish in a class all her own. And yet she had a sense of pride and camaraderie as an officer of the law; otherwise why would she have made that remark just now? It galled him to admit it.

They crossed Ome-kaido Avenue and walked another fifteen minutes through a quiet residential neighborhood before arriving at their destination. It was an old-fashioned style of house, unremarkable, and not in the best of repair. Behind a concrete block wall about four feet high were tall evergreens, interspersed with camellia bushes. There was a carport, where two station wagons were parked. The black paint on the iron gate was peeling; in spots rust was showing through. The only evidence this wasn't like every other house in the neighborhood was the classic calligraphy—Police Dog Training Center—on the doors of the station wagons and the collection of dog collars and stout leather leashes hanging on the wall of the carport, alongside hoses and car-washing equipment.

"Can they really train dogs in a place like this?" Takizawa wondered aloud as he pushed the buzzer at the gate. Instantly there was the report of dogs barking frantically. Their barks were so deep and so loud, he could imagine how big they were. Turning to Otomichi, he said uneasily, "You don't think they'll jump over the wall, do you?"

She blinked in surprise, then giggled, almost childishly, "Heavens, no."

Go on and laugh, Takizawa thought bitterly. All I want to do is ask what we came here to ask, and then get the hell out. Why in god's name do we have to spend all our time visiting these dog joints anyway?

In short order, a man appeared, dressed in sweats and sandals. His short, graying hair had a permanent wave, and his face was deeply tanned, like a workman of some sort. Takizawa pulled out his badge and showed it to the man. Immediately, he was all smiles.

Here's a switch, a guy who smiles at a cop.

"Hello, officers, welcome," he said, pulling open the gate, delighted to see them. The dogs kept up their cacophony. From all the commotion there had to be more than three of them. "I heard from the Police Canine Association that you might be dropping by. Come in, come in."

The man beckoned them to enter, but Takizawa, who saw a weed-grown lawn with patches of bare dirt, could not bring himself to budge. Seeing his nervousness, the man smiled again and said reassuringly, "It's all right. They're in a cage."

No choice now, he'd have to go in. Smiling vaguely, Takizawa gingerly took a few steps. The guy went first, leading the way across stepping-stones to the yard around back. Takizawa hastily intervened, "No, right here is fine." The handler turned around with a disappointed look on his face. Just like a doting parent, thought Takizawa. Dog-lovers never could fathom the feelings of dog-haters.

As the barking went on, the man asked, "So are you here about the dog that's been attacking people?"

Takizawa nodded, distracted by the clamor of the barking and thinking what a nuisance to the neighborhood. "Yeah, we figure the dog's got to be a very well-trained animal."

Even as he said that, the barking grew more agitated. Takizawa now heard a clattering, as if the dogs were throwing themselves against the walls of their cage. Could they jump out over the top? If they leaped up on him, he'd be mauled. The barking was so unnerving that Takizawa had just about lost interest in asking any questions. He glanced over at Otomichi, who was standing beside him as cool as ice.

Catching his signal, she crinkled the corners of her eyes in a little smile, looked at the dog handler, and said: "And so we'd like to ask you a few questions. We've already asked the Police Canine Association representative the same question, but in theory it would be possible to teach a dog to attack and kill a particular individual, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah, but I hate to think anybody would train a dog to do a thing like that." The guy was agreeing, but shaking his head at the thought. "What breed are we talking about? A Doberman, for instance, is an aggressive dog to start with, so it might be more suited to training like that."

"We think that it may be a hybrid, part dog and part wolf."

"A wolf-dog?" He widened his eyes in surprise, looking first at Takako and then over at Takizawa.

Fighting the urge to put his hands over his ears, Takizawa watched the guy as he repeated, "Well, well, a wolf-dog!" Didn't the barking bother him in the least? Can't you shut those dogs up? he wanted to say.

"Yes, we'd like to ask you about that," said Otomichi.

"Go right ahead."

"Do you have any knowledge of someone who's been training a wolf-dog, or have you heard any rumors to that effect?"

"That
would
be a challenge, training one of those. They have a lot of wild blood. I've heard of wolf-dogs running away from their owners."

"You have?"

No sooner did she say this than the man strode toward the back of the house and yelled, "Hey!" The barking and growling instantly softened into whines. Impressive, thought Takizawa—but if you've got 'em that well trained, why let 'em raise such a ruckus to begin with?

"Sorry about that. It's almost time to take them out. We only have adolescent dogs here now."

"Whaddaya talking about, wolf-dogs running away?" asked Takizawa, who was getting his interest in the job back.

The man thought for a few seconds, then nodded to himself with satisfaction. "It was last year or the year before, I think," he began. "This is all just a rumor, I don't really know for sure."

"What kind of rumor?"

"They said a wolf-dog got loose in Saitama. A woman there had two."

"Two
wolf-dogs?" Otomichi exclaimed, stepping forward. "What happened to the one that got away?"

In a tone that was both reluctant and somehow pretentious, the man responded, "As I say, it's all a rumor. It ran into the hills—"

"And was never caught? "

"An animal like that is no good for women and children. Turns out it wasn't the first time it got away; neighbors were complaining. Wolf-dogs are supposed to be timid and quiet, but how many people would know that at a glance? You'd think they were wolves, plain and simple." The man took a moment to let things sink in. "Anyway, what I heard was she kept the dogs in a narrow space under the eaves, no bigger than this, behind a fence that was more like a screen. My jaw dropped when I heard that. I don't know how the woman could think she cared about dogs. She only had a flimsy lock, too."