A Cop's Eyes (7 page)

“Looking at that guy started to piss me off. You remember that night, don't you? Calling me a geezer, talking big …”

“But, just for that … I don't believe it,” Masayuki appealed to Naka.

“Masa, I told you the other day, didn't I? Living this life lays waste to your soul over time. If you get that, hurry up and wash
your hands of it,” Naka told Masayuki off with a cutting look. Then, staring at Natsume: “You've been good to me. I don't want to cause you too much trouble. I'm ready to go to prison or anywhere.”

“Please, the truth,” Natsume demanded, meeting his gaze.

“The truth?” Naka knit his eyebrows.

“You aren't Naka, or Yasutaro Nakajima, but rather Yukihiko Motoki, the father of Yukiya Motoki whom Mr. Aizawa killed, yes?”

Naka shook his head. “Motoki? Who's that … I don't even know anyone by that name.”

“You probably saw the documentary Mr. Aizawa appeared in half a year ago. Even though his face was blurred out, you knew it was him from the tattoo on the back of his hand. Having learned that Mr. Aizawa was living homeless in Ikebukuro, you cast everything aside and chose to be close to him. In Tokyo, you sought out a homeless man your age and appearance and asked him if he wanted to trade places. That person was Yasutaro Nakajima, who'd always lived in Aomori but had come to the capital recently.”

“On what evidence are you—”

“I have evidence,” Natsume interrupted Naka. “Yasutaro Nakajima has a past, a record of three cases of assault. Running the fingerprints is all it takes,” the detective shut down Naka, who looked dumbstruck.

“Naka. You became homeless on purpose to get revenge on Sho?” Masayuki asked plaintively.

Naka didn't try to answer.

“I doubt it …” Natsume spoke instead. “You probably didn't become homeless intending to kill him. You wanted to know how he was living now, how he'd come to terms with the guilt of having killed your son. Yes?”

Naka replied with a small nod. “Yeah … I didn't start living
this way in order to kill him. If I'd meant to … I'd have tracked him down sooner. How much easier that would've been. Since Yukiya was killed, my wife and I bore a pain like our hearts were being torn apart. Even then, we somehow propped each other up and went on living. Times like that, only family who're sharing the same suffering can support one another.”

Naka glanced at Masayuki, and Saeko's face flashed in his mind.

“But my wife's been dead for two years now … and when I got sick half a year ago and went to the hospital, they told me that I had lung cancer,” Naka offered up with sagging shoulders.

Masayuki glanced at Natsume's profile. The detective was gazing at the man as he told his story.

“The doctor didn't tell me exactly how many months I had to live, but I sensed that it wasn't for long. I'd already lost my wife, my son. I thought about going to a hospice and spending my remaining days there. That's when, by chance, I found out about that guy from television. At first, I just wanted to witness, before I died, the miserable life of the man who'd killed Yukiya. I started living as a homeless in Ikebukuro and, while looking for that guy, met Yasutaro Nakajima. Maybe because we're the same generation, he treated me kindly. Although he wanted to go on experiencing life, he was in a position where living wasn't easy. I was going to die soon. Thinking about that, I made a decision. To be by that guy up until the brink of death. If, during that time, I saw even the slightest bit of humanity or conscience in him, it might save me a little …”

“And so you changed places with Nakajima.”

“I gave him conditions for the trade. I'd sell my house and hand him what was left of my assets. He'd go someplace else but offer proper memorial services for my wife and son's graves going forward.”

“Wait, if you did that, you wouldn't be buried with your wife
and son,” Masayuki pointed out.

“I was prepared for that. If I died, I'd already be with my wife and son,” Naka said with a mournful look. “But even after seventeen years, that guy hadn't changed one bit. That night … Beating up the kids who launched fireworks at the tents, he said, ‘I wouldn't give a shit if I beat you bloody and killed you'—then took their money. He talked like having nothing to lose was something to be proud of, like he didn't even register or regret having robbed someone of something dear … At that point, the pent-up anger that I'd desperately held back exploded.”

“So you murdered Mr. Aizawa, who went back to his tent and to bed, by clubbing his head with a bottle.”

“Right … Considering the state my body is in, I might as well have confessed to the police. But … I wanted to be with Masa just a little longer … It almost feels like I'm hanging out with a grown-up version of my son …” Naka cast a lonely look at Masayuki. “Thank you for everything …”

Masayuki welled up with tears at the words.

“At any rate …” Naka sighed. “I thought we'd thoroughly gone over each other's circumstances at the outset … To think that he had priors …”

Natsume stood up and placed a photo in front of Naka. It showed three people, who appeared to be Naka, his wife, and his son. “It was difficult to find. You must have disposed of all the photos you had.”

Naka held the photo and looked at it with longing. “When did you start suspecting me?” he asked.

“When we first met, I asked you your name and birthplace. Running your background check at the station afterwards, I had my doubts. Mr. Nakajima had priors for assault and battery, but you told me about yourself candidly and without hesitation. I thought someone with priors who's questioned by the police should tend to demur, at least to some degree, loath to draw
attention to his record.”

“I see …” Naka grinned wryly.

“It was after I made
hittsumi
in your tent that I felt certain.”

Naka looked at the empty bowl before him. “This dish?”

“
Hittsumi
is a famous local specialty in southern Aomori. If you lived in Hachinoe, then you should have known it.”

“You really got me there.”

“No, at the time, I really just wanted you to have a meal from back home and get better,” Natsume clarified. “The one thing I couldn't figure out is why we suddenly found the murder weapon. After the crime, you must have buried the bottle that served as the murder weapon. Why bother to dig it up and toss it in another park's trash bin …”

“Even a fine detective can have one puzzle he can't solve,” Naka said with an air of mystery.

But Masayuki knew the answer.
What's more cowardly is killing someone, leaving scars, and getting away with it
—his words back then must have led Naka to that decision.

“Going so far for the murder of a mere homeless guy …” Naka said, turning to him. “Police aren't anything to spit at, eh, Masa.”

“No person is a ‘mere' anything,” chided Natsume.

“True …” Naka mouthed the word as though savoring it. “Maybe I didn't just lose a house to live in back then, but also my heart. When I die, I wonder if I'll go to the same place as my wife and son,” he asked Natsume.

“I hope you do.” Looking straight at the old man, the detective nodded slowly.

Masayuki headed to the elevator alongside Natsume.

“Oh, Mr. Natsume,” a passing nurse called out. “Are you visiting Emi?”

“No, not today,” Natsume answered, heading on to the
elevator.

“Who's this Emi?” Masayuki asked.

“My daughter is hospitalized here.”

“Why don't you visit her, then?” Masayuki said.

Natsume thought about it for a bit, nodded, and replied, “Right.”

Deciding that he might as well also go, Masayuki followed after him.

They rode the elevator and walked down a hall; Natsume stopped in front of a room.

Natsume knocked and opened the door. A girl was sleeping on the bed. A whole bunch of dolls lay by her side.

“Emi, how are you doing?” Natsume approached the bed and affectionately stroked the girl's hair. She didn't react to his words at all. Masayuki wondered if she was asleep, but after watching for a bit, he sensed that that wasn't the case. A tube protruded from the girl's nose.

After talking to her about many things, Natsume came back towards Masayuki and told the completely unresponsive girl, “I'll come again,” before quietly closing the door.

They rode the elevator and proceeded toward the exit.

“What's wrong with her?” Masayuki asked, unable not to.

“She's been like that since she got hit in the head with a hammer.”

Natsume's words came as a shock. “Hit with a hammer, by who?”

“Ten years ago, there was a case involving a serial assailant who targeted toddlers near this area. Before I started this job,” Natsume said, biting his lip.

“The culprit?”

“Hasn't been caught.”

How could you know what it's like to grieve for your only son?

Masayuki had uttered those words to a man who was quite
familiar with such circumstances.

“What am I supposed to hang in there and live for now? You said that at some point. Frankly, I have no idea, either, and haven't these last ten years. What I'm supposed to hang in there and live for. But Masa—” Natsume turned an impassioned gaze towards him. “We'll stand firm, won't we?”

So that's the crime scene—

Wataru Nagamine spotted the patrol cars parked in front of the condominium and decelerated.

He got out of his car and looked around to see many onlookers gathered outside the cordoning tape.

“Nagamine, Investigation Section One.” Flashing his police badge at a uniformed officer, he passed under the tape. Once in the condominium, he headed to Room 308, which had been turned into a crime scene.

A length of tape barred entry to Room 308, too. To the side, a suited man was listening to a young woman and taking notes. He was likely a detective from the local precinct.

“I'm Nagamine from Investigation Section One,” Nagamine called out to the man. “Can we go in?”

“Thanks for your trouble. Forensics is done, so yes.”

Nagamine put on white gloves and the shoe covers deposited inside the front door and made his way into the apartment.

On the right side was the kitchen, and on the left, the bathroom. Ahead was a medium-sized, Western-style room. Subsection Chief Yabusawa was standing next to a bed that lay along the wall.

When Nagamine called out “Cheers,” Yabusawa turned around, parroted the greeting, and immediately looked back at the bed.

Nagamine approached him and cast his eyes on the dead
woman on it.

Beneath her open bathrobe, she was stark naked. Her age … late twenties? Bringing his face close to hers, he saw that it was engorged with blood and that her eyes showed signs of hemorrhaging. He could also identify choke marks on her neck.

Strangulation, then—

“A crime of passion … or thereabouts.”

“Likely,” Yabusawa said and pointed at a trash can in the corner. “We found a used condom. Hopefully the lady wasn't too loose … but do question the tenants in this complex for the time being.”

When Nagamine exited the room with that order from Yabusawa, his eyes met with the detective who'd been speaking with a woman.

Had he met the man somewhere before? Nagamine thought he recognized his face.

“I'm Natsume from the East Ikebukuro station. This is Ms. Watanabe, who discovered the body.”

Even after hearing the man's name, Nagamine couldn't remember. “Could you share your account with me, too?” he requested of Watanabe, and the agitated woman related the conditions in which she found the victim.

The victim's name was Ayano Sakurai—

Even though Ayano had important work that day at the Ikebukuro travel agency which employed her, she never showed up. There was a business matter that only Ayano knew about, so they called her to get her immediate confirmation but couldn't reach her. Since Ayano was never late or absent without permission, Watanabe visited her room fearing that her colleague was sick.

“And when you arrived, the door was unlocked?” Nagamine asked, to which Watanabe nodded and replied, “Yes …”

“We'll likely ask you to tell us again at the station, thank you. Detective Natsume … can we do these interviews together?”

Nagamine and Natsume went around the condominium questioning the tenants.

Both next-door neighbors were out. Although two residents on the third floor were able to oblige, they hadn't noticed anything particularly unusual.

“Now that you mention it … Last night, I heard something like an argument from downstairs,” testified the resident in Room 408.

“Around what time?”

“What time was it … Hmmm … Around nine, I think?”

Nagamine looked over his shoulder. Natsume was taking it down. “Do you remember what they were talking about?” Nagamine pressed.

“I don't really remember … It was a high-pitched woman's voice … ‘Who're you to be blaming me?' or something along those lines, I think … Sounded like a lovers' quarrel.”

A crime of passion, after all—

An investigation headquarters was established in the East Ikebukuro station assembly hall, and the detectives filtered in.

“Excuse me.”

Nagamine raised his face at the voice to see Natsume standing there. The man sat down next to him.

Was he going to be Nagamine's buddy until investigation headquarters was dissolved?

“Natsume … Had we met before at some other crime scene?” Nagamine asked what had been bothering him.

Natsume seemed lost in thought for some time.

“What about before here?” Nagamine had never handled an East Ikebukuro precinct case until now. Maybe it had been in a different jurisdiction.