The Drowning God Read online

  “I was mainly working in the central region of the prefecture and on the coast.”

  “So you haven’t been back to Naga River valley, not even once?”

  “Not since my wife and I left.”

  “Ah, yes. And your wife, she’s well?”

  Takuda willed himself to bow. “Very well, thank you.”

  “I assume you didn’t have any more children.”

  Takuda searched Nakamura’s face for malice and found none. Nakamura might simply be as stupid as he had always seemed.

  “No. We chose not to have more children.”

  “Well, that’s understandable. What happened to your son really was a tragedy.” The chief pretended to be at a loss for words. “Still, it’s surprising that you haven’t been back for so many years.”

  Takuda drank his tea.

  Nakamura shifted in his seat. “Yes, it might be hard to recognize the place. Zenkoku Fiber has really helped things pick up around here. It’s really something. We keep on losing the young ­people to the cities, just like every other country town, but Zenkoku Fiber keeps the Naga River valley alive. We still have the pottery, of course. Despite the mountain shadow, green tea and rice still do well, thanks to the old canal system. But Zenkoku Fiber is our savior.”

  “The suspect Ogawa worked for Zenkoku, didn’t he?”

  “Umm—­yes, yes he did. However, I think it’s important to mention that he was fired well before the incident. They tried to reassign him. Zenkoku is like that, a healthy mix of old-­fashioned loyalty and progressive resourcing. He refused to leave the valley, so there was nothing they could do.”

  “This is a small matter. There’s no reason to bring Zenkoku’s name into it.”

  “Well, you go straight to the point, don’t you? Honestly, it’s a relief. I mean, the reputation of a fine company shouldn’t suffer because of the actions of one lunatic. And as officers of the law, we protect the innocent in any way we can.”

  Protect the innocent. From Nakamura’s mouth, the words were poison. Takuda couldn’t even look at the man.

  “The thing is, it’s all Ogawa’s fault. You see, he’s like a glue sniffer. The fumes have affected him. It’s really the worst case I’ve ever seen. We had a boy in here a few years ago, a glue sniffer. He had been sniffing paint thinner and gasoline and anything else he could get his hands on. That boy was a genius compared to Ogawa. The fumes have destroyed whatever mind Ogawa had.”

  Takuda frowned despite himself. “How was Ogawa exposed to harmful fumes?”

  “Ah, well, he’s obviously been in parts of the plant where employees need breathing equipment, but he didn’t follow protocol. It’s completely his own fault.”

  “How do you know that fumes from the plant affected him?”

  Nakamura raised his skinny hands in a gesture of mock defeat. “Exactly. That’s an excellent point. There has been no medical examination. I imagine it would take a great deal of medical evidence to link his idiocy to the plant. Perhaps it’s better if you ignore my guesswork. I’m just a village constable at heart, after all.”

  Takuda sat forward. “If the court needs information about Ogawa’s health or mental aptitude, appropriate measures will be taken.”

  “Just so, just so. Let’s all just do our own jobs. Personally, I’m not sure it could have anything to do with the plant. My son-­in-­law works there. As part of the safety crew, he knows all the procedures. It’s lock-­and-­tag all the way.”

  Kuma came to tell them that the suspect was ready. Nakamura led them to a cluttered room that had been a small armory when Takuda had worked there. It was cluttered with public safety posters, pamphlet racks, and a man-­sized eagle suit. Kuma patted the suit.

  “Our mascot. We wear it to the schools.”

  Nakamura waved him out. “We usually store all this in the interrogation room, but we thought someone might come to question the prisoner.”

  Nakamura grunted and strained against a standing rack of yellowed safety pamphlets. It finally slid aside to reveal a grimy one-­way mirror.

  There was a pleasing symmetry to the scene in the interrogation room. Two patrolmen, their lines clean and crisp, flanked the twitching, drooling suspect. It was perfect. The young patrolmen protected the entire country from this man. They were the first circle of protection. The walls were the second. Takuda himself was the third. Through the court system and the prison system, Japan would wrap this man tighter and tighter, in layer upon layer. The system would bind this man so tightly that he could never hurt anyone, not even himself.

  Spittle ran down the prisoner’s chin as he raised his face and grinned at Takuda.

  Nakamura laughed. “Look, Ogawa the idiot can’t tie his own shoes, but he can see through one-­way glass, huh? He seems alert right now. Perhaps you would like to question him.”

  Nakamura opened the door and stood aside, waiting for Takuda to enter.

  Something is very wrong here. The grinning prisoner didn’t fit the rest of the picture. Takuda bowed to the chief and stepped into the interrogation room.

  “There you are,” the prisoner said. “How nice. Heh-­heh. How very, very nice.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The interrogation room smelled of lemons. The shackled prisoner couldn’t bow from the waist as the guards did, so he bobbed his head several times, slowing until he simply nodded at Takuda with a slack-­jawed grin.

  Takuda knew the look, and it didn’t belong on this suspect’s face. The glazed eyes told the story of a hopelessly hardened criminal, a man to whom interrogation was a game. There should have been an arrest record going back to junior high school, a record as thick as a phone book. Instead, the report in Takuda’s hand told Hiroyasu Ogawa’s quiet life on three pages. There was nothing in the slim folder to explain the sly creature who awaited him.

  He took the chair across the table from the suspect. The smell of lemons was stronger, undercut with a faint stink he couldn’t quite place.

  “Are you Hiroyasu Ogawa?”

  “Ogawa? Hiroyasu Ogawa? Heh-­heh. He’s gone.”

  So he is, and whatever took him away isn’t in this report. “You are Hiroyasu Ogawa, born on February 7, 1960, in Osaka. So you just turned thirty last month.”

  “Heh-­heh.”

  “You attended public schools, studied civil engineering at Tsukuba, and then you went to work for a prestigious engineering firm.”

  Ogawa leaned forward as if to peek at the folder. “Where did he go?”

  “Who?”

  “The engineer. The bright boy.” The suspect looked down at the folder. “Is he in there?”

  “The real Ogawa isn’t in this report. We all know that.”

  With manacled hands, Ogawa swept the folder off the table. The young patrolmen almost ran to retrieve it. At a look from Takuda, they slowly straightened back to attention.

  Ogawa raised his eyes from the folder on the floor back to the detective’s face. “Heh-­heh.”

  “There’s not much in the folder, is there? You married a fellow employee. You took a job with Zenkoku Fiber and moved to this quiet little valley. A year later, your wife moved out. She lives down in the city, and you’re alone.”

  “Ogawa is never alone.”

  “Who is with you?”

  “Ogawa is never alone.”

  “Come now. First, you tell me that Ogawa is gone. Then, you tell me that Ogawa is never alone. If Ogawa is gone, how can you know he isn’t alone? If you are not Ogawa, then who are you?”

  “Oh, yes.” The suspect smiled shyly. “I’m Ogawa. I forget sometimes.” The oily intelligence behind Ogawa’s eyes peeked out to see if it was fooling anyone. When it saw Takuda waiting, it retreated, leaving gooseflesh prickling on Takuda’s forearms.

  Takuda sat back in his chair and lowered his eyes. “Someday, we would like to find the Hiroya
su Ogawa from the folder. Maybe he’s gone for good. But let’s leave that Ogawa out of this for now.”

  “No, no! Let’s talk about him now! What will happen to him? Will he go to the big city? A better jail?”

  Takuda smiled despite himself. “If you’re smart, you’ll try to stay where you are. In the city, jail life would be much more difficult. For one thing, I’m sure the food is much better here.”

  “Oh, fresh and hot! Fresh and hot! Not really what I’ve been craving, but beggars can’t be choosers, as they say.” Ogawa nodded with his eyes half-­closed. “How long do you think I should stay here, Detective?”

  “You don’t have much say in the matter. You could be facing the prosecutor this afternoon. Then again, it could take ten days to decide whether to prosecute you, if the station chief petitions for an extension. On the other hand, you could have a quiet little hearing and be released on probation without ever having to enter a formal plea. No prosecution, no conviction, no black mark on your record. But none of that really matters to you, does it?”

  “Oh, Detective, I beg of you. Please get me out of here. They beat me mercilessly.” Ogawa lolled in his chair, slapping his jail sandal against his heel. “These men are desperate. They’ll do anything to get a confession out of me. I fear for my life.” He concluded with an elaborate yawn.

  “I’m sure it’s awful here. Let’s just pretend you’re going to cooperate to some degree.”

  Ogawa snorted. “Me, cooperate? You should cooperate! Eventually, I’m going to call my lawyer friend. You should be afraid of that. He’s very, very scary. He could get the Buddha’s mother sent to Hell.”

  “Let’s talk about Hanako Kawaguchi. Her father works at Zenkoku. Was that how you chose her?”

  “Chose her? For what?”

  “To take her down to the water.”

  Ogawa shook his head. “I didn’t choose her.”

  “That was the first time you ever saw her?”

  “Me? Yes, that was the first time for me.”

  Takuda kept his face immobile. “You told her someone wanted to meet her.”

  “I don’t remember saying that.”

  “Someone magical. Someone was going to take her to a magical world.”

  Ogawa made a show of straining his memory. “Oh, that. Maybe I said that.”

  “Then you chased her. You laid hands on her, and you tried to pull her back under a fence. Why did you chase her?”

  Ogawa’s gaze wandered. “She ran. Boys chase pretty girls. It’s an old story.”

  “That’s an old story, but this magical world, this is a new story. What happens in your magical world?”

  After a few seconds of silence, Ogawa leaned forward to examine Takuda’s face. Ogawa’s lips were slack, but his eyes were bright and hard. His gaze stopped at Takuda’s left eyebrow. Takuda willed himself to sit still under the scrutiny. The suspect’s head bobbed slightly, as if he were counting the gaps in the eyebrow. Then his eyes traced the faint scars down Takuda’s face, across the jawline, down the throat, all the way to the starched white collar.

  The suspect fell back in his chair as if exhausted by the effort.

  “You’ll never know about a magical world. You had your chance.”

  “What?” Takuda pressed his palms to the table. “What did you say?”

  With the clinking of manacles, Ogawa raised his right hand in a claw. He turned it toward himself and drew it down the left side of his face.

  Mockery of a detective’s scars was too much for the patrolmen. One pulled the prisoner’s hand away from his face while the other slapped him in the back of the head. As the slapping continued, Ogawa grinned with real pleasure.

  “Heh-­heh-­heh!”

  It was probably the first human touch Ogawa had felt all day.

  While the young men badgered the prisoner into an apology, Takuda kept his own palms against the stainless steel tabletop. When he raised them, they shook very slightly. His palms, suddenly sweaty, had left small clouds of condensation.

  Ogawa finally stood to apologize. His whole upper body seemed to undulate. The patrolmen released his arms; this sloppy, fishlike bow would have to do.

  When Ogawa finally came to rest, all three men stood looking at Takuda.

  It was a moment of decision.

  One choice was to act offended and leave the ratty little interrogation room and the prisoner who was not what he seemed. Nakamura would be at the door, bowing a little too deeply. They could agree that the prisoner was a brain-­damaged idiot. On his way out, Takuda could clap Kuma on the shoulder. They could talk briefly about the old days in the judo club, and perhaps Takuda could put Kuma in a wristlock to demonstrate his grip strength and superior aikido technique. That would give Kuma something to talk about when he stopped by the neighborhood pub on his way home. Meanwhile, Takuda and Mori could be back to the city just after lunchtime. Takuda could report that the attempted kidnapping of Hanako Kawaguchi was an isolated incident. Really, that was what everyone wanted to hear.

  Or I could do my job like a man and continue the interview.

  Ogawa and his captors still waited for him to accept the apology. He sat looking at his hands. They no longer trembled. The trembling had moved down into his belly.

  “So I can’t go to the magical world. I’ve had my chance.”

  “Detective, why won’t you accept my apology? I have no excuse. Please forgive my . . .”

  “Sit down. Don’t act stupid.”

  “I’ve caused you so much trouble.”

  “How many have you killed?”

  “I’ve killed spiders, cockroaches, the odd mosquito, lightning bugs, and a hamster.” Ogawa collapsed into his chair. “The hamster was an accident.”

  “We’re boring you.”

  “All this talk about a magical world is boring me. It’s stupid. It was a line. Haven’t you ever used a line on a girl?”

  “Not on a girl her age. Why Hanako Kawaguchi?”

  Ogawa looked at the ceiling. “Probably because she looked—­tender.”

  Yowarakai. “That word could mean a lot of things. Do you mean she was impressionable? Weak-­willed? Flexible? Soft to the touch?”

  “Tender like sea bream. Tender like steamed crab.”

  The patrolman on Ogawa’s left swayed where he stood. His face had gone gray, and his brow glistened with sweat. Takuda decided to wrap things up.

  “Ogawa, did you plan to eat Hanako Kawaguchi?”

  “Me? No.”

  “Not just a little?”

  “Maybe just a little.”

  The patrolman exhaled loudly, trying to keep down his breakfast.

  Takuda stood. “You men get some fresh air. I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

  Ogawa bounced in his chair. “A real beating! Finally!”

  The patrolmen hesitated, then bowed and left. When the door clicked shut, Ogawa said, “I’ll never sign a confession. You know I won’t.”

  “I don’t want a confession.” He sat.

  Ogawa cocked his head at him.

  “Let’s just sit here a few minutes so they think I’m doing my job.”

  “Are you paid by the hour? A private security firm would probably pay better for a big boy like you.”

  “Let’s just sit.”

  “You’re trying to bore me into a confession. This is the worst party game ever.”

  Takuda leaned across the table toward Ogawa. The smell was worse. “You’ll stay in that cell as long as I can keep you there.”

  Ogawa’s smile wavered.

  “You are unique. Did you know that? You’re the first one ever caught.”

  “The first? The first what?”

  “Most detectives would want to study you like a rare plant. Not me. I don’t care how you became what you are.”

&nb
sp; “What am I?”

  “To me, you’re nothing but bait.”

  Ogawa froze.

  “Why act surprised? You can’t keep saying you’re not alone without someone believing it.”

  “You don’t know anything.”

  “I know you’re just the latest in a long line of accomplices.”

  Ogawa stared.

  “We’ll see who shows up to keep you quiet. All we have to do is wait for them.”

  Ogawa blinked, and then his face fell back into the heavy, loose-­lipped grin. “Wait for them? Them, you say? You know nothing. I’ll be in here, behind steel doors. You’ll be out there in the valley with your ignorance and your notebook. You want to keep me here ten days?” He brayed sudden and sincere laughter. “You’ll be begging to trade places with me before the week is out.”

  “Are you finished?”

  “Quite finished. Heh-­heh.”

  “Behind the bars and mesh, you have a window on the shopping street and a window on the canal. I’ll have the glass left open on one of them tonight. Which one do you want open?”

  Ogawa closed his eyes. “I’ll sleep like a baby either way.”

  “Even after I tell everyone I meet on the way out how cooperative you’ve been?”

  “Tell them what you will. Can you call the patrolmen, please? I’m missing my morning beating.”

  As he left the interrogation room, the sickly patrolman stepped forward. “Detective, I’m really sorry. Maybe it’s the stink. We rubbed him down with lemons, but the stink is in his hair and his skin. I want to do my job correctly, but my stomach is weak.”

  “Patrolman, what’s your name?”

  “Kikuchi, sir.”

  “Kikuchi, it’s not just the stink, is it?”

  Patrolman Kikuchi gave him a guarded look.

  “We vomit up poison. It’s natural. It shows you have a bit of a sixth sense for dangerous criminals.”

  The young man bowed. “Thank you. The chief says Ogawa is an idiot, but something doesn’t add up.”