The Silent Dead (15 page)

Further looks were exchanged. There were frowns, questioning glances, headshakes.
Is this the psychiatry department or some kind of damn telepathy lab?

Katsumata's patience snapped.

“I haven't got time for this. Here's what I'll do. If you're in the middle of things, I'll just park myself here and wait. Hurry up and finish your meeting, or reschedule it—it's up to you, but I need to talk to you soon.”

Omuro tried to give him a disapproving scowl. The result was unconvincing. “I don't know who you think you are, bursting in on us like this. Just because you're the police, it doesn't give you the right—”

“Oh, put a sock in it. One month ago, an officer from Nishiarai police station came here with a request to interview Yukari Fukazawa. You turned him down. Believe it or not, cops don't visit psychiatric patients just for the fun of it. I'm here specifically to interview her. Whether this is a serious meeting or a circle jerk you're doing here, if you've got a grain of civic responsibility in your body, you'll bring it to an end and start giving me some serious cooperation on this investigation.”

That seemed to do the trick. The doctor pulled himself to his feet, nodded briskly to the old man, his boss, and walked heavily toward Katsumata.

I'm not asking you to run, but pick up the pace a little, Doc.

Katsumata opened the door and, in an effort at politeness, ushered Omuro out into the corridor.

*   *   *

The doctor led him to a consulting room. The decor was bland: a PC sat on a square table beneath the window at the far end, and a curved desk jutting out from the wall divided the room in two. Presumably the doctor delivered his “What seems to be the problem?” spiel from behind there.

Sure enough, Omuro plunked himself down on the far side of the desk. “What can I do for you, detective?” he said, in his best bedside manner.

“I told you already. I'm here to ask about Yukari Fukazawa.”

Now what?

There was a frown of annoyance on Omuro's face. “I had to say no to the last detective who came, and I'm afraid—”

“Cut that out,” broke in Katsumata, pounding his fist on the desk. “You damn well listen to me. First off, the last guy and me—we're two different people. You may think all cops are the same, but if you think that turning down one cop's interview request means that the rest of us are all going to roll over and die, you've got another think coming. If you want to turn down my request, then go ahead and turn me down to my face, here and now. But you'd better come up with cast-iron reasons for doing so.”

The doctor said nothing. Was the fellow finally going to stop giving him the runaround? That would be welcome. Sadly, it was not to be.

“From what you have said, I gather that you are aware of my having turned down another similar request one month ago. In other words, you were fully apprised of the situation before you came here.”

You pompous little prick!

If there was one thing that Katsumata despised more than weaklings who gave him no pushback, it was uppity bastards who stood their ground.

“Listen, doc, don't make me repeat myself. The person you turned down last time wasn't me. This time I'm here in connection with a homicide investigation. Yukari's dead brother wasn't just a freak whose brains turned to gunk; there's a possibility he was involved in something else altogether. That's why I need you to tell me about his sister. You read me?”

Omuro sighed. Katsumata took it as a promising sign. Perhaps he was beginning to grind him down. Once people got tired of resisting, it was usually a short leap to the uncontrollable talking stage.

“This is a very difficult situation,” said Omuro, treating Katsumata to a defiant stare. “You're obviously very serious, so let me explain the situation. First, I will need to see your badge or your business card. You introduced yourself as Kensaku Katsumata of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, I believe. Forgive my ignorance, but the name doesn't ring a bell.”

You pigheaded posh fucker.

Katsumata pulled out his card and slid it across the desk.

“You're a lieutenant?”

“Quit stalling and just tell me what you know. Let's start with Yukari Fukazawa's condition. What's she got?”

“I'm not at liberty to tell you that.”

“You're playing the physician-patient privilege card?”

“You know about that? That should make both our lives easier.”

“Easier?”

“Because you'll understand why I can't tell you anything.”

Katsumata was flabbergasted. The only people he knew who took that confidentiality crap seriously were those management fast-track types. Katsumata despised them all, those Little Lord Fauntleroys who turned up for their training in fancy suits, preening themselves like managers strutting around the factory floor. Bastards!

Come to think of it, one of those rich twits has been assigned to this case
.… Noboru Kitami, the eldest son of Chief Superintendent Katsuyoshi Kitami, the director of Tokyo's Third District. Katsumata had noticed an almost feral sharpness in the boy's eyes. It was unusual for someone with his privileged background. Katsumata wondered whether he should make a few tactful inquiries about the boy.

He's not my top priority now, so bugger him.

Katsumata ran a hand over his close-cropped head and resumed the attack. “Are you really prepared to put medical confidentiality ahead of peoples' lives? Listen to me, doctor. People are dead. To be precise, two people have been murdered. Disorders of the psyche are a serious problem, but we're talking about people losing their lives. See? I'm not planning to publish the details of Yukari's mental condition in the media. I just need to know one thing: is the girl capable of talking to me? We can deal with everything else later—whether I can actually talk to her, or whether you'll show me her medical history so I can try to piece together an idea of her life. How about it? You don't need to tell me what's wrong with her, just tell me, is she or isn't she capable of talking to me?”

“I'm sorry.” The doctor's voice quavered as he looked Katsumata right in the eye. “I cannot answer that.”

The bimbo at reception, the incomprehensible layout—hell, this whole hospital is driving me nuts
.

Katsumata glared back at the doctor. “Why, for fuck's sake? Why can't you even tell me if she's capable of talking?”

“Because whatever I tell you, I know you'll still insist on seeing her.”

“That's crap. I won't see her if it's pointless.”

Omuro's eyes had a pinkish tinge, and Katsumata thought he could even see a glint of moisture.
What the heck?
Had the doctor developed a soft spot for the girl? That would really throw a wrench in the works. Sometimes men in love were more bullheaded than yakuza who'd sworn oaths of loyalty.

“You've fallen for Yukari?”

“You can't be serious.”

Omuro's face was postbox red. He rose to his feet and planted his fists on the top of the desk.

“That is the most ludicrous thing I have ever heard in my life.”

Nice display of heartfelt sincerity, bro. But I know you're bullshitting me.

“Well, what are you sniveling for?”

Omuro thumped the table. The guy couldn't even take a little good-natured ribbing.

“I'm not crying, dammit. I am just trying to fulfill my responsibilities as a doctor by keeping an overbearing bully like you as far as possible from my patient. Coming into contact with a person like you makes patients regress. Fear creeps up on them and knocks their recovery off course. From what I've seen of you so far, I think it would have been better to let Officer Todoroki to speak to her. He had ten times the tact and delicacy.”

Trying to play the old insensitivity card? You are so fucking naive. You seriously think that will work on me?

“I apologize for my lack of delicacy,” sneered Katsumata. “It's just that I feel responsible for this case.”

“And your eagerness to ride roughshod over my patient's rights is an expression of this noble sense of responsibility?”

“I'm not riding roughshod over anyone, my friend. If I wanted to do that, I could have got Yukari's room number from a nurse and interviewed her then and there.”

“That's absurd. You must be out of your mind.”

A psychiatrist calling me a nut job? That really takes the cherry. The fellow's insults just keep getting better.

Katsumata scrutinized the doctor's sorrowful face. The man was a mystery. Why was he so rabidly against the police interviewing a patient of his? Katsumata had to see the girl, though. He'd be up shit creek otherwise.

Yasuyuki Fukazawa had been sentenced to three years in juvenile detention without remission. Himekawa's squad was investigating his activities during the year between his release and his death. It was the plum assignment, with plenty of fresh and relevant information ripe for the plucking. As a latecomer to the case, Katsumata had been assigned two less-promising fields. He had one of the guys in his squad looking into the friendships Fukazawa had formed while in jail. He himself was left with the years before Fukazawa went to jail. The chances of finding any evidence that linked to the present case were low, but Katsumata was ready to give it a shot.

He had a nagging doubt about the verdict handed down by the court four years earlier. Katsumata refused to buy the idea that Fukazawa was only guilty of routine arson and the destruction of bodies. Heck, many of the investigators at the time had suspected him of far worse. Lack of evidence was all that stopped them from arraigning him for homicide.

Fukazawa killed his parents
before
setting the house on fire. That much is clear.

Whatever murders Fukazawa had committed in the past would probably have some connection to the present case. It was nothing more than a gut feeling. Katsumata had no intention of shouting from the rooftops that Yasuyuki Fukazawa had killed before based on a mere hunch. There was already one fool woman of a lieutenant doing enough of that. Katsumata's MO was different: establish the facts, gather supporting evidence, secure testimony, whittle down the possibilities. That was how investigations were supposed to work, and that was why securing Yukari Fukazawa's testimony was so crucial. Her knowledge of her brother's history made her a key witness.

All of sudden, Omuro began to speak. The words seemed to seep out of him, almost against his volition. “Panic disorder, depression, depersonalization, self-harming tendencies…”

“Huh?” Katsumata's emitted a mystified grunt. It was designed to elicit an explanation from the doctor. It didn't work.

This guy's a piece of work.

Katsumata understood the medical terminology—or he sort of did. Panic disorder and depression were straightforward enough. Self-harming tendencies was probably what the media referred to as “wrist-cutting syndrome.” Depersonalization was the one that really had him flummoxed.

That's quite a list to lay on a man in one go
.

“Yukari has all of those?”

“Yes. You can see that she's in an acute state of mental disorder.”

“Well, can she speak to me?”

“The best answer I can give you is that sometimes she can and sometimes she can't. However, we have to be extremely cautious about exposing her to people she doesn't know. The problem isn't really whether she'll speak to them at the time. The problem is the very real risk of exacerbating her symptoms later on. That's what I need you to understand.”

“Okay. Can you tell me how long she's been hospitalized?”

“She's been with us for a long time. She can leave when she is feeling better. She's returned to the orphanage on several occasions. Recently, though, she's been here all the time.”

“I'll need to confirm that. Can I see her printed records?”

“That's not possible. If you had a warrant, it would be different. As it is, it's against the privacy laws.”

Katsumata sighed. You came across people like this from time to time: people who saw themselves as justice personified and refused to compromise. Omuro was so focused on protecting his patients that he'd lost any sense of proportion. Katsumata didn't have the time to get a warrant. That's why he was here, talking to him man to man. For all the good it was doing him. And persuading a doctor to change his mind cost serious money. Anything less than a million yen was chicken feed to them. He might have had access to that kind of money back in Public Security, but in Homicide—no way.

“I see.” Katsumata put his hands on the desk and hauled himself to his feet. “For today at least, I'm going to give up and go home. Next time you see me I'll have the warrants I need to secure your full cooperation. You'd better be prepared to tell me everything you know about Yukari Fukazawa—or else.”

“Oh, now you're threatening me. That's a nice note to end on,” said Omuro, biting his lip.

“Take it like that if you want.” Katsumata went to the door, opened it, then turned around.

Omuro had lowered his forehead onto the desk, and his shoulders were quaking.

Is the fellow blubbering? What a creep.

Shaking away the disgust with a brisk jerk of his shoulders, Katsumata shut the door behind him. The nurse he'd bumped into earlier was just coming out of the bathroom opposite. Katsumata scrutinized her face. She was nicely made up. In fact, she looked exactly like the kind of woman who'd appreciate a bit of extra pocket money.

 

4

MONDAY, AUGUST 18, 8:30 A.M.

Captain Imaizumi had an important announcement to make at the morning meeting.