A Cop's Eyes (4 page)

One winter day, when he was in the third year of middle school—he started to feel ill, left early, and came home to Kimura's condominium.

When he entered through the front door, he heard a woman crying in the room Kimura used as his bedroom. When Shinichi knocked, it was Naoko's voice that said, “Don't come in!”

Worried, he ignored her and opened the door.

It was when he witnessed the scene that he understood for the first time. Kimura was naked and stretched out on top of the bed. Next to him, Naoko gathered her clothes, which had been practically torn off her, to hide her bare skin. Nearby were a camera and scattered toys to make a plaything of her body—

Where was she now?

Driven by unease, Shinichi tried calling and emailing Naoko's phone, but there was no response.

“Hey, Haruna …” he said, to which the blubbering girl raised her face, “you want your mom to come home, right?”

Wiping her tears away with her hands, his niece nodded vigorously.

Right. Haruna needs Naoko
.

“Then work with me.”

Shinichi asked her about the times she went to play at Mai's
house and made her recall, in as much detail as possible, the house's floor plan and furniture. In addition, he looked at the papers from the last few days and pounded into his head the articles on the Yokose residence case.

Until just the day before, he'd felt bitter about not having a complete alibi; now he was thankful.

They were good. He'd be able to save Naoko. The police just wanted to arrest any culprit. He was ready to put his life on the line once more to protect Naoko.

“—That day, I'd gotten fired from my job and didn't care anymore.”

Natsume, seated across the table, fixed Shinichi with his gaze. “So … you entered Mr. Yokose's home to burglarize it?”

“Yeah, that's right … because Yokose's place seemed like it'd have a lot of money. I broke the rear window and was going through the living room, but that guy immediately came home. So we startled to wrestle, and I hit him in the head with a nearby video camera. Since I was upset, I forgot to steal the money and just fled. There were women standing around and talking near the house, so I tried taking the long way back to the apartment, but boom, I ran into Mai.”

One hour after turning himself in to the precinct station, Shinichi faced Natsume in an interrogation room.

He was basing his testimony on what the papers had reported and on Haruna's recollections. He winged the parts he wasn't sure about, saying he'd been too upset to remember well.

Once Shinichi finished going over his story, Natsume let out a small sigh. Then, the detective slowly shook his head.

“Unfortunately, you couldn't have killed Mr. Yokose.”

“What do you mean?” Shinichi asked.

“That day, neighbors witnessed you and Mai near her house at six twenty. They're fairly certain about the time. From where
you met Mai, it's at least a five-minute walk for a child. You said you played the crane game at six. That's only fifteen minutes—it doesn't make sense psychologically for a culprit to murder someone, immediately go play a crane game, and hurry back close to the scene. It's impossible, realistically speaking.”

“Detective Natsume, you're an incredibly honest person, aren't you,” laughed Shinichi. “My playing the crane game at the arcade at six is a lie. I had on me a doll that I'd won earlier.”

“At what time?”

“I wonder, let's see,” Shinichi said, tugging in his memories of that day. It was shortly after three, he believed, that he'd shot out of the pub after being dismissed by the manager. Then he'd wandered on foot from Ikebukuro to Otsuka. “I think it must've been a little past four.”

“For the gaming arcade by Otsuka station?”

“Yup. Then I wandered around near the station for a while and came up with burglarizing Yokose's place.”

When Shinichi gave this reply, he felt like Natsume's eyes took on a different cast.

What was he thinking?

Maybe he'd hoped Shinichi would get back on his feet. Maybe the man felt betrayed and disappointed. No, that wasn't it—The moment Shinichi realized that the gaze reflected pity, Natsume opened his mouth. “That doll you gave Mai wasn't there then.”

All Shinichi could say was: “Wh-What do you mean …”

“That day, an employee whose shift was ending at six changed the prizes to new ones to finish up—completing the task just a minute or two before six, according to the employee's testimony. In other words, you won that doll right afterwards. To confirm your alibi, we even looked into the fingerprints on the doll. Mai's had that employee's fingerprints.”

On duty at that. You see, I was able to confirm a few things
.

So that was what Natsume had been looking into. He hadn't just been goofing off.

Dammit
—Shinichi gritted his teeth in frustration.

With a knock, a man came into the interrogation room. He whispered something to Natsume.

“You can just go home or stick around for a while,” Natsume offered, standing up. He exited the room, leaving behind the detective who'd been taking it all down.

Shinichi hung his head, defeated.

After nearly an hour, Natsume returned to the room and sat down across the table.

“My sister, huh?” Shinichi had gathered that much.

“That's right. I was pretty sure she'd turn herself in. But before doing so, she apparently wanted more than anything to go to child services. More than anything, she wanted to give Mai a hug. And to apologize to her.”

“Why would … my sister …”

“She wanted evidence that Mai was being sexually abused by Mr. Yokose and snuck into their house.”

Going through the living room, she found a DVD that seemed like what she was looking for, and that was when someone came home, according to Naoko. From how the voice called for Mai at the front door, she immediately knew that it was Yokose. Afraid that with only a woman's strength she'd quickly be subdued, she took the video camera in hand and watched by the door. Although she was hoping to slip past, Yokose came into the living room, so she hit his head with the camera and ran away.

“She said she just had to bring home evidence of Mai's abuse … and all she could think of was not getting caught then and there. She hadn't planned on killing him, but … she did harbor hatred for Mr. Yokose and wouldn't deny murderous intent. Her own words.”

“Since when did you suspect her?” Shinichi said, glaring at
Natsume.

“When I first visited you, my colleague announced that there was a dead body at the Yokose residence, and your sister immediately asked if Mai had made the call. As though there were no chance that the deceased was Mai—that's when I had my initial doubts. I wondered if maybe she'd heard from you about meeting Mai on the way, but that wasn't the case. What's more, when people you know die, the first thing you normally ask is how it happened. But your sister was only interested in Mai.”

At that moment, Mai's shock upon coming home to her father's corpse must have been all Naoko could think of. It had been her undoing.

“Idiot …” Shinichi muttered, and the tears came when he did.

It was somebody else's problem. Why should Naoko and her girl become unhappy to save others? No one ever helped them when they were being abused.

He wrung out the words that had been lying in his heart. “He was a scumbag who'd do that to a little kid who couldn't fight back, to his own kid. Why should sis be punished for someone like him?”

“You can't kill a person, no matter what. You can't hurt someone,” Natsume told him quietly.

“I … I wanted to trade places with her. Sis is an amazing person.”

“Your sister said she couldn't let you suffer a second time.”

Shinichi lifted his head.

Had Naoko talked about that, too?

One winter day, when he was in the third year of middle school—it was when he opened Kimura's bedroom door that Shinichi understood for the first time.

Kimura was naked and stretched out on top of the bed. A knife was sticking out his back. Next to him, Naoko gathered her
clothes, which had been practically torn off her, to hide her bare skin. On top of the bloodstained bed were a camera and scattered toys to make a plaything of her body—

Apparently, Kimura had blackmailed her into breaking up with Isobe upon finding out about their relationship. He'd threatened to show her lover all the footage of her being shamed ever since she was a child. Naoko cried and told Shinichi that she'd meant to kill herself after Kimura.

How long had Kimura been doing this to Naoko? How much had she endured to protect her helpless little brother?

Shinichi frantically stopped Naoko when she said she intended to confess to the police.

As an eighteen year old, Naoko would likely be punished severely for committing murder, even if juvenile law were applied to her. They knew that the death penalty was a possibility once you were eighteen. Shinichi, who was fifteen, wouldn't be punished as harshly.

More than that, he didn't want Naoko to give up Isobe and her chance at happiness that had arrived at long last. Given what she'd suffered until now, she absolutely needed to become happy.

Shinichi resolved to take her place and, mustering all his will, convinced her.

He didn't think his course of action then was mistaken.

“I failed you when I didn't catch on during our interviews at the juvenile detention center.”

“You didn't fail …” Shinichi rejected Natsume's mea culpa.

Indeed, thanks to that, Haruna was here.

“Please take care of Haruna—that's her message for you. From now on, protect your dear ones in a different way,” Natsume urged with an impassioned look.

I know … I know …

Shinichi was going to be in the same position as Kimura. He
would never become that sort of grownup, though. He would never let Haruna go through what they'd had to.

And together with Haruna, he'd await Naoko's return.

“I know,” Shinichi affirmed.

“The next stop is Takada-no-Baba, Takada-no-Baba …”

As the announcement ran, a man who'd been reading a comic magazine and looked to be an office worker stood up.

Masayuki Matsushita slowly approached the man's seat. Just as he thought, before leaving the train he'd left the magazine on the overhead rack. In a heartbeat, the magazine was Masayuki's. It was a popular one that had come out that day. He casually stuffed it into his bag and got off the train.

Most of the people on the platform looked tired. Today was a Monday. Having thoroughly enjoyed their weekends, they were facing the start of the workweek with dread.

Masayuki had been the same as a company man. On days after outings with his wife and son, he'd stood on the platform with the same look, no doubt.

Remembering a bit of his past made his mood sink.

He desperately drove off his pesky memories. Lots of popular magazines were sold on Mondays, and it was time to make a living.

Approaching a trash bin, Masayuki pulled a metal tool out of his bag. He'd made it from a bent wire hanger and used it to fish magazines out of bins with narrow openings.

Passersby were staring at Masayuki.

When he first resorted to this livelihood, he'd felt self-conscious about being seen even just walking around town, but now he felt nothing.

Masayuki made five more rounds on the Yamanote line and collected nearly one hundred magazines. He sold them at a used bookstore in Ikebukuro and made 2,700 yen. Today's earnings were decent.

From where the bookstore was at the west entrance, he passed through the arcade toward the east entrance. It was before six but already getting dark. Coming into December, the cold had intensified a notch. Masayuki stuffed his hands into the pockets of his down jacket and walked toward the lights of the Sunshine 60 skyscraper.

He stopped by a convenience store. He'd made a reasonable amount of money today and planned to make dinner more extravagant than usual. He put a fried chicken boxed meal and a rice ball in his basket. Then, remembering, he added some prepackaged egg porridge as well and headed to the register.

When he reached the park, a few youths were skateboarding in the main plaza. The sound of wheels hitting pavement grated on his ears, but he ignored it and continued on.

Past the plaza, there was a dense growth of trees. Several tents made of tarp stood side by side and bags crammed with empty cans sat here and there. This was Masayuki's current abode. Nearly ten homeless people lived here.

Kon walked over to Masayuki, who didn't know his real name. The man came to be called that because he was always wearing his best and only
kon
, or navy blue, suit. Until a few years ago he'd been a middle manager at a major bank, a fact that seemed to prop up his ego even now.

“Good evening. How did your interview go?” Masayuki greeted him.

Kon made his living collecting aluminum cans but hadn't given up on his social reinstatement. He'd said he was going to be interviewed today by a company that took cleaning contracts for buildings.

“No luck,” Kon replied moodily. “Well, it's a small company that can't afford a decent salary, so I wasn't sure myself.”

Though not a bad person, he was proud to a fault. After parting ways with Kon, Masayuki peeked into Naka's tent.

“Naka, I've brought provisions,” Masayuki greeted, and the old man, who'd buried himself in his sleeping bag, turned toward the voice. He started coughing.

“Hey, thank you always,” Naka thanked Masayuki in a hoarse voice.

“Your cold still hasn't gotten better? Seems like it's only getting worse …”

The man looked gaunt and old ever since they'd first met, but this past week his cheeks seemed even more sunken.