The Silent Dead (35 page)

He snapped the phone shut and spat on the floor where Reiko lay with her hands cuffed behind her back. The floor was bare concrete—just like the place where Otsuka was murdered.

“Lieutenant Himekawa, your time of death will fall between eight thirty and nine p.m.—or precisely when I'm attending the evening meeting.”

Kitami was going to get his buddy to kill her so he could craft a watertight alibi. He must have used the same trick to put himself in a café at the time of Otsuka's murder.

Kitami squatted down beside Reiko's head with his knees wide apart. If he wanted to shoot her now, there was nothing she could do about it.

“When I was at college, I committed every crime in the book, and then some. I took every drug I could get my hands on—dope, speed, LSD, coke, heroin, you name it. I'd get stoned, race my car down Route 466, and help myself to a nice piece of pussy along the way. I'd bundle some skirt I fancied into my car, lock her up, and then share her with my mates. I usually videoed the fun and posted it online—not for money, you know, just for a laugh. We'd go to Shibuya and Shinjuku and beat the shit out of the cocky little twats there who strut around like they own the place, then we'd tie them up and dump them on the runway at Tokyo Airport.

“Eventually I got bored with it. Enough was enough—plus, I was destined for the upper echelons of the police. I had to be discreet. I stepped back from the rapes, the fights, the drugs. If I ever got into trouble, I bought my way out. That was when I met F.”

“F?” echoed Reiko. Kitami had said the name on the phone just now.

“Uh-huh. Should be here any minute now.”

A few minutes later a silhouette appeared in the doorway of the room.

“Aha, here's our headliner. We were all waiting for you.”

The shadowy figure did not move.

“Couldn't find the place?”

No reply.

“It's all good.” Kitami looked down at Reiko with a genial expression on his face. “Lieutenant Himekawa, allow me to introduce you. This is F, an
artiste
of murder and the leading lady of Strawberry Nights. Her real name is Yukari Fukazawa.”

This is the killer? Yukari Fukazawa?

The figure silhouetted in the doorway was about the same height as Reiko but as thin as a rail. Her hair was short but looked more as if it had been torn out than cut. Reiko was reminded of a stray dog with mange.

“F here came after me and my buddies when one of our pranks had gotten a bit out of hand. I thought I could buy her off in the usual way. She wasn't remotely interested. Then, out of the blue, she slits my buddy's throat with a single deft movement. It was brilliant, beautiful. Her finesse, the way the blood came bursting out of him, her stage presence—art is the only word that does her justice.

“The guy she killed, my buddy, he was all set to take up a job in one of the government ministries. His life had followed exactly the same course as mine. But in a tiny fraction of a second, he was reduced to a bloody rag doll, twitching and squirming—and then the fellow was dead. She snuffed out his life just like that, with that hundred-yen box cutter of hers.

“The sight made me realize that I had something inside me that no amount of routine hell-raising could ever satisfy. The thought that all the crazy shit I'd done in my youth was going to fade into the back mirror as I rose up the smooth escalator of the police bureaucracy made my blood run cold. There had to be more to life, I thought.”

Kitami looked at Reiko with rapture in his eyes. “Know who put me on the right path? It was F here. She showed me that death is always with us—close, accessible,
real
. A death more real and vivid than anything you'll see on TV is there right in front of you.

“Since I was a kid, my parents raised me to focus on success. I was so obsessed with aiming higher, looking higher all my life, that my damn neck ached! I lost any sense of what was below me, of where I stood in relation to other people. This girl showed me what was really what. That I could stand at the apex of the thousands of people who just spend their lives crawling miserably over the face of the earth. She showed me that people who live their lives without clarity of purpose will end up like my dead buddy—a ripe rotten strawberry of a corpse.

“She's an artist of death, and I am her self-appointed patron. I supported her because I was desperate to see her perform the act of killing live on stage. I knew that she would have the same effect on other people that she'd had on me. Directly confronting the reality of death would teach them how precious its opposite, life, is and help them reconnect with who they really are.”

Reiko wondered if Kitami was recalling a moment from an actual show. His eyes were shut, his arms spread, and there was an expression of elation on his face, as if a tide of orchestral music were washing over him.

“Think about it. People nowadays are born in a hospital, and they die in a hospital. No one gets the chance to
feel
death as a reality anymore. But we all want to. Everyone wants to see and feel the reality of death. I make that happen for them. I show them real death—and its opposite, real life. The name ‘Strawberry Night' was my idea, but F liked it. She never says a word aloud, but she gave the nod on it.”

Reiko was only pretending to listen. She was busy looking for a way to escape before the third member of the gang turned up. Kitami, despite appearing to be swept up in his own eloquence, was keeping a careful eye on her. She had to work her cuffed hands around to the front of her body to even stand a chance.

“Your guess was right. Originally we were dumping the bodies at the Toda Rowing Course. I only discovered the pond at Mizumoto Park after being posted to Kameari, and we started using it in July. Dammit, though, I never expected Fukazawa to go and die on us, let alone from some brain-eating amoeba! I've got to tip my hat to that intuition of yours. No idea
how
you figured it out, but you were right. Life suddenly became complicated. Really, we should have finished you off before dealing with Otsuka.”

For some reason Kitami was no longer pointing the gun at Reiko. He jerked his chin to signal for her to get up. Reiko slowly dragged herself up off the floor.

“It's a shame. I quite like your type.”

With his left hand Kitami reached for Reiko's breasts and began to fondle them through her sweat-stained blouse. Kitami's roving fingers crawling over her, trespassing on her body, made rational thought impossible. His fingers touched the skin at her throat, slid down inside her bra, found a nipple, and pinched it painfully hard.

“I think you of all people can understand me. I'm right, aren't I? Because you're the same as me. In your job, you see people who've been murdered in the most horrible way, day in, day out. And what does that make you feel?
‘I don't want to end up like that myself!'
I bet you've thought that.”

Kitami had the gun pressed to her temple again. He was behind her now. He slid one hand around her waist.

“You thought to yourself, ‘I'm alive. Thank God, I'm alive.' You felt superior, special.”

No, no! That's not what I felt
.

“Yeah, you're the same as the rest of them. Or maybe worse. Fuck, you get paid for looking at dead bodies. On the outside you're pretending to take your job oh-so-seriously, but in your heart of hearts you're thinking, ‘Only losers end up dead. God be thanked that I'm a fucking cop.'”

To Reiko, it felt as if the whole thing was happening to someone else far, far away. She seemed to be sinking powerlessly into the blackness of that summer night.

A soft, timid voice suddenly interrupted her thoughts.

“No.”

Reiko could not figure out who had spoken. Kitami stepped away from Reiko.

“No.… You … and … me … we're … not … the … same.”

It was Yukari. The clear girlish voice and her ghoulish appearance made for a jarring contrast.

“How can you say that, F?” asked Kitami, in a tone of extraordinary tenderness.

“I never … looked high … expected success. Just wanted … to feel … alive. Know that … the blood in my veins … was the same … as the rest of you. Just wanted … to be normal.”

The ghostly whisper of a voice had an extraordinary hypnotic power.

Kitami left Reiko and walked unsteadily toward Yukari.

Now! This is it!

Reiko lowered herself into a squatting position, moving slowly to avoid attention.

“What do you mean, F? You and I are the same. We're one of a kind. We feel fully alive by feeling the reality of death. That's why we do what we do.”

“Not … true.”

The silhouette shook its head.

Reiko stepped over her handcuffed wrists. Her arms were now in front of her.

“I … only ever … felt … death. Never … believed … that I was … alive. You … just … take life … for granted. You and me … we're not … the same.”

“What the fuck are you saying? I mean,
What the fuck
?”

Reiko could see the despair in Kitami's sagging shoulders.

This is my last chance
.

Keeping her center of gravity low, she launched herself at Kitami's back.

He swung around, one knee raised. She doubled herself up to minimize the impact.

“Think I'm that stupid?”

He kicked her in the solar plexus. Once. Then again. Reiko managed to cover herself. At his third kick, she grabbed Kitami's ankle with her cuffed hands and heaved.

He lost his footing and staggered to the side. She took the opportunity. She started running as fast as she could across the room. She had to get to the front door and shout for help.

Behind her, shots rang out. Reiko crashed forward as if her legs had been knocked out from under her. But it wasn't the floor that was coming up to meet her: she was tumbling into a smooth gaping square hole—the elevator shaft!

I'm going to fall!

In a panic, she twisted in midair and managed to land at the edge of the shaft. Half her body landed in front of the hole, while the other half dangled over a three-floor drop. With the fingertips of one hand, she grabbed at the edge of the floor. Her legs began to slide toward the darkness. She managed to get half a grip with her other hand at the moment her legs tumbled over the edge. She began to tremble. She felt the individual grains of sand sliding between her fingers and the concrete of the floor. Her body started sliding further into the shaft. She could only manage to hold on for a few more seconds.

Despair was a crushing weight.

Kitami's face loomed toward her. He held the gun, and its black muzzle was pointed at her.

“Argh!” Kitami cried out. “What the fu—?” He spun around and away from the elevator shaft.

Then came the sound of several shots.

A familiar voice cried out from across the darkened room “Kitami, stop!”

“Freeze, or I'll fire,” another voice yelled.

Several more shots.

Grunts and groans.

“Kitamiiii!”

Barely suspended in the shaft, Reiko had no idea who had fired, who had been hit, or who had screamed Kitami's name. What was going on?

All of sudden Yukari's bloodstained face appeared. Down on all fours, she leaned forward and grasped Reiko's wrists and tried to pull her up. She was extraordinarily strong.

“Mako … you came to help me,” was all that Yukari said before Reiko's eyes closed.

 

4

Katsumata was heading for Ikebukuro by taxi. He frantically called Himekawa's cell phone but got the same “no signal” message every time.

I can't believe this. What's the damn woman using for a phone—a Coke can and a piece of string?

Katsumata knew that Kitami was with Himekawa, checking vacant properties in Ikebukuro. He needed to find them, swoop in, and arrest that bastard Kitami with all necessary force. It would be a slam dunk, a hole in one, the mother of all wins. Forking over the two and half million had hurt a bit, but, hey, money comes and money goes. Katsumata had no regrets.

Katsumata looked across the hustle and bustle outside the east exit of Ikebukuro Station. Were Reiko and Kitami inspecting actual empty properties or just talking to real estate agents? It didn't matter much. Tracking down a pair of detectives in an area this big would be like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack. Plus, he was going to have to do it all by himself.

By myself? Come to think of it
 …

Katsumata suddenly remembered his partner, whom he'd shaken him off earlier in the day. Where had Ioka got to? What was he doing? If he was anywhere nearby, they could join forces.

With two of us on the job, the odds of finding Kitami and Himekawa will get a little better.

He called Ioka's cell. It was picked up after a single ring.

“Hello. This is Hiromitsu Ioka, a.k.a. the king of Kameari police station.”

“Where are you, you fucking clown? I'm in Ikebukuro and I need you here right now,” bellowed Katsumata, oblivious to the other people at the intersection where he stood.

“Golly, what a coincidence! I'm in Ikebukuro too.”

A rivulet of warm sweat trickled down Katsumata's back.

Don't tell me Ioka's been sitting on my tail all this time.

He looked around. There was no sign of the man.

“What the hell are you doing in Ikebukuro?”

“Me? It's a bit embarrassing for a bashful boy like me…”

“Get a frigging move on, will you!”

“Okay, cool it. It's Reiko. I'm worried about her. Very worried.”

Ioka worried about Himekawa? Katsumata felt a spasm of fear. Had Ioka worked out what was really going on?

“Today she's been paired up with the fast-track golden boy. The fellow's so damn handsome on top of everything else. What if Reiko's fallen for him? And they're checking vacant properties together. The thought of them making out in some disused building's driving me crazy.”