A Cop's Eyes (13 page)

“I'll go buy some juice or something,” Minayo said, placing the illustrated book in her hand on her daughter's bed before stepping out.

“She's gotten big, hasn't she?”

Yoshizawa couldn't really bring himself to face her, but at Natsume's words he directed his gaze at Emi, who lay asleep on the bed. She had indeed grown. She'd been so little when he used to see her before the tragedy.

It was as if he were being confronted with the weight of—ten years.

It was a cruel sight, too.

A tube was stuck in Emi's nose. She had lived on that bed,
unable to eat by herself, unable to speak, unable to move, for ten years. Natsume and Minayo had continuously watched her in that state, for ten years.

It was monumentally sorrowful to lose someone dear to you. Yoshizawa knew how it felt, having lost his beloved wife. Yet, the sorrow of someone passing away did heal, if only slowly. The months and years turned the deceased into a beautiful memory.

For this couple though, the scene before their eyes was the brute reality. They would need to keep accepting such a reality as long as Emi lived.

“Uncle Yoshizawa is here. Do you remember him? He used to play with you a lot,” Natsume tenderly spoke into her ear, touching her hand.

Emi's hand twitched in response.

“She moved just now,” Yoshizawa said, surprised.

“Yes … because she's alive. Many people seem to conflate being in a vegetative state with brain death, but actually it's completely different. The brainstem, which controls autonomic nervous activity like breathing and pupil response, is still active in a vegetative state, so you can breathe on your own and sometimes even respond to being called. Also, you regain consciousness in rare cases. A few years ago, there was a news story from overseas about a man who woke up after being in this state for nineteen years. Though the chances are extremely slim …”

Yoshizawa looked at Emi. She indeed was breathing by herself, and her eyelids were twitching.

“Hold her hand, if you don't mind.”

Yoshizawa slowly approached the bed. When he touched Emi's hand, he felt her weakly gripping back.

“Hey, Yoshizawa—”

Yoshizawa looked at his friend.

“Believing isn't about what your eyes see at a given moment.”

Natsume's words seized and shook him.

No matter how things stand now, have faith in what the future will bring. Isn't that what his friend was trying to tell him?

“You're right …”

The man really believed it. Though he couldn't communicate with her or see her smile now, he believed that someday, no matter how slim the chance, his daughter would recover.

What about himself? Had he really believed in Ryuta? Wasn't he, as a father, merely scared of being betrayed by what his eyes could see at a given moment, of that which he held dear? Had he only been using the word “believe” to run away?

“Natsume … I'm going home. I'm going to wait for Ryuta to come home. Then I'll talk to him upfront. Even if he's an accomplice to a crime, I won't stop believing in his future. I'll show him that he can get back on his feet, no matter what.”

“Go for it. Just like with your kendo styles, clash head-on even if you'll both end up bruised,” Natsume said with a smile and big nod.

The detective offered to drive him home, but Yoshizawa declined. The only time his friend spent with his family was probably his days off duty.

As Yoshizawa walked down the hallway with Natsume, who at least wanted to see him off to the exit, the phone in his pocket vibrated. The call was from a number he didn't recognize. “Give me a moment,” he excused himself and took out his cell.

When the caller introduced himself, his heart churned.

They headed to Kiyose Police Station in Natsume's car. As soon as it pulled up to the building, Yoshizawa raced to the front desk.

“I received a call just now … I'm Ryuta Yoshizawa's father.”

“Please wait for a moment at that bench,” he was told by the receptionist. He sat down, waiting for the detective who'd contacted him to arrive.

So I was right …

According to the detective, the police had found and caught Ryuta, Jumpei, and the two men as they were stealing cables from a construction site in Kiyose.

As he hung his head at the bench, Natsume, who'd parked the car at a nearby meter, came in and sat next to him. Still hanging his head, Yoshizawa said, “If I only had the courage day before yesterday, when I came across that scene, it might not have come to this.”

“By the time you noticed, he was already an accomplice, wasn't he?”

“That's true … I wonder why Ryuta did it. I have no clue. What the hell was he unhappy about? After Akiko passed away, I tried so hard in my own way, for his sake …”

After some time, a middle-aged man in a suit came to them. “I'm Sugimoto from the detective section … Which one of you is Ryuta's father?”

“I am.” Yoshizawa stood up from the bench.

“And this is?” Sugimoto indicated Natsume with his hand.

“My friend …”

“I see … Would you come up with me alone.”

“Certainly.”

As he was about to follow behind Sugimoto, Natsume called out to stop him and handed him a piece of paper folded in half. When Yoshizawa opened it, a five-digit number was written on it.

“What is this?”

“A puzzle you need to solve.”

He had no idea what Natsume was talking about. Now wasn't the time to be fiddling with puzzles.

Yoshizawa stuck the piece of paper in his pocket and went up the stairs. When he entered the room labeled “Detective Section,” he saw his son sitting at one of many desks. When their eyes met, Ryuta sulkily turned away.

He could think calmly about the future conversing with Natsume in the hospital room; now, seeing Ryuta with that expression, irritation overtook him.

Why had he gone and done this? Where was the Ryuta he knew?

“He hasn't spoken since we apprehended him. We had no choice but to look up your number on his cell and contact you.”

Yoshizawa walked over to Ryuta, and with all his strength, slapped him on the cheek.

“Why did you do it?! I believed in you.”

Holding his cheek, Ryuta glared at Yoshizawa and said, “For … no real reason.”

“What?!”

Yoshizawa stood Ryuta up by his collar.

“Sir, please calm down,” Sugimoto interceded, but Yoshizawa didn't loosen his grip.

He wanted to believe in Ryuta's future like Natsume had told him to. But in order to do that, he had to be as stern as necessary and get his son back on his feet.

“What's with that attitude? You don't think getting caught like this by the police is an embarrassment to your father and mother?! When did you change?!”

“You don't know anything …” Ryuta spat, dropping his gaze.

A puzzle you need to solve
—Natsume's words suddenly came to mind.

The meaning of those numbers … He'd seen them somewhere. But where? He hauled in his memories, all the while staring at Ryuta's lonely expression.

The public phone outside the convenience store. The serial number on the public phone—

No way …

Yoshizawa let go of Ryuta's collar and turned to look at Sugimoto. “How were Ryuta and his friends caught?”

“It was thanks to a tip. The caller said he knew someone was going to steal cables at a construction site in Kiyose around 7 p.m.”

“Did that call come from a public phone with this serial number?” Yoshizawa pulled the piece of paper from his pocket.

“I'd need to look into it …”

“Isn't that it? You're the one who tipped them off,” Yoshizawa said, looking at his son.

“Why … would you …” Ryuta stammered.

“I was watching you the whole time. What you guys were getting up to today.”

“Give me a break!”

Ryuta gave Yoshizawa a fierce shove.

“Give me a break, why now?! After ignoring me forever? You didn't care what happened to me! You always went on about believing me, but really all you wanted was to not deal. I'm not that strong, okay? Why wouldn't you watch me
all
the time? Why didn't you stop me sooner?!”

Shouting and crying, Ryuta struck Yoshizawa's chest.

The words, one by one, pierced him with an almost physical pain. Yoshizawa could only absorb his son's words as best he could.

When he went down the stairs sapped of his strength, Natsume was waiting at the reception bench.

“How did it go?” he stood up and asked.

Yoshizawa handed him the scrap of paper with the numbers. “You're keen as hell.”

“I just wondered why he'd use a public phone when he had his cell on him.”

“Even his own father didn't think of that.”

“
Because
you're his father, you couldn't stay calm under those circumstances,” Natsume consoled him.

But was that really true?

He hadn't been properly watching Ryuta. He'd been forced to realize that he hadn't been facing Ryuta. As fearless as they were during kendo matches, in real life they were both cowards. It was the first time he'd seen his son show such raw emotion. Crying and shouting, Ryuta had spilled his guts.

The whole thing had started quite casually.

Apparently, while he and Jumpei were playing at a gaming arcade, those men had accosted them. If they had the time, did they care to make 2,500 yen an hour at a job?

Realizing that the job was to commit theft, the boys tried to refuse the next time they were invited but were too scared of the men. They'd gotten trapped deeper and deeper as a result, but they'd actually wanted nothing more than to quit.

Ryuta must have been waiting for his father to notice his odd behavior. Yet, Yoshizawa completely failed to intercept the SOS signal that he was sending out: the five-thousand-yen bills scattered on a desk in an unlocked room, a set of pliers large enough to cut chain on conspicuous display. And he was forced, as a last resort, to inform on himself.

Yoshizawa had not been properly watching Ryuta—had not even been bothering to wake up half an hour early to chat with his son. Just as Ryuta accused, Yoshizawa had used the word “believe” cheaply, as a sanctuary.

“I'm a failure as a father …” he muttered.

“Did it hurt, what he said?”

“Yeah … it did,” he replied with his hand on his chest, his eyes looking into Natsume's.

“Me, I envy you. Yours can come at you like that. So now …”

“Yup … we'll try to start over,” he announced to Natsume.

“Today was a worthwhile day off for both of us. Thanks.”

“What are you saying? I'm the one who should be thanking you.”

“You believe in Ryuta's future.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“I bet Ryuta believes in you, too. I rarely get to witness such wonderful moments these days. Back to work from tomorrow …”

With that, Natsume turned and walked away.

Yoshizawa spent some time watching his friend's back, which looked just a bit forlorn.

Keiko Maeda motionlessly stared at the death portrait. Hideaki was beaming from within the black frame. His white teeth flashed against his tanned skin in a smile. Keiko loved this photo the most.

Three days ago, the apartment they lived in had caught on fire at nighttime, and Hideaki, who had been asleep, had been engulfed in the flames.

When it happened, Keiko had been on a partial night shift at a nearby hospital, and just when it was about to end, Hideaki had been carried in as an emergency patient. He had massive burns all over his body and was already taking his dying breaths when he entered the treatment room on a stretcher. When Keiko saw his body, entirely discolored a dark red, she almost stopped breathing.

Since the injuries were extremely severe, she was choosing not to show the body to visitors at the overnight vigil.

Looking at Hideaki's death portrait revived many memories that had lain in her heart. It was about two years old, from that time she'd first introduced him to Yuma. Hideaki had taken her and her son to an amusement park in a minivan.

No doubt, Hideaki must have been nervous about meeting Yuma. Even so, smiling like his life depended on it, he did his best to become quick friends with her son. Yuma, who was incredibly shy, must have sensed Keiko's hardships raising him as a single mother; he, too, acted his cheerful best with the stranger
that his mom had introduced to him.

The picture had been taken as the three of them were eating the
bento
lunches that she'd packed. At the time, everyone had been smiling.

Having offered incense to the deceased, the head nurse Morita came to Keiko's side.

“Ms. Maeda, this must be very difficult for you. Don't you worry about work, take as many days off as you have to until you feel better,” she said, gently touching Keiko's shoulder.

“Thank you.”

“Yuma, please look after your mother.”

“Yes.”

Yuma, who'd answered in a flat voice, seemed oddly aloof, as though he'd abandoned himself to following the ritual without any drama. When her previous husband Koichi had passed away in a car accident, he'd clung to her waist and sobbed throughout the funeral service.

Perhaps Hideaki's passing hadn't affected Yuma at all.

Although they never made it official, for Keiko, Hideaki had been her husband without a doubt. Yuma, however, might have seen him as nothing but a freeloader. Having lived with the two for the past couple of years, Keiko knew.

After Morita stood up and left, Keiko noticed Yuma looking at her, but when their eyes met, her son quickly averted his.

Though it was just one moment, Yuma's gaze caught in her heart. His profile still betrayed no emotion, but she'd felt something piercing in that gaze.