Occupied City (20 page)

‘I know,’ I say again, and again, ‘I know, I know.’

‘I am a survivor,’ she says, still staring into me, deeper and deeper, still squeezing my hand, tighter and tighter. ‘But of course I know only through luck have I survived so many friends. But night after night, in dream after dream, I hear these friends saying of me: “Those who survive are stronger.” And I hate myself …’

Again and again, she says, ‘I hate myself.’

And again, again I say, ‘I know …’

Pretending, not pretending…

‘But I will help you.’

IN THE FICTIONAL CITY, I walk down the long, long table to my editor’s desk at the head of the long, long table and I stand before him and I say, ‘I’m very sorry to disturb you, Boss …’

‘Ah, Takeuchi,’ smiles Ono. ‘Just the man I wanted to see. Liked that piece on the “Sinister Note” very much. Very much.’

‘Well, actually, that was what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m not sure it’s entirely legitimate. So I was thinking maybe you could hold it back for now while I checked into it a bit more …?’

‘Too late for doubts,’ laughs Ono, tapping his watch. ‘It’s already been set and the presses are rolling.’

‘I see,’ I say.

‘I’ve told you before,’ he tells me again. ‘You worry too much. In our business, there’s no time for doubts, no time for procrastination. Don’t get me wrong, I admire your integrity. But in our business we’ve got to go with our guts, run with our hunches, and your gut, your hunch, was to run with this. So forget it now, and get after the next one. After all, not like you made it up yourself, is it?’

IN THE FICTIONAL CITY, it is Wednesday 4 February, and I am standing outside the Seibo Hospital with all the other reporters and all the photographers. In the Fictional City, we are watching the survivors leave the hospital, watching them bow and thank the nurses and the doctors, their arms full of presents, full of flowers. In the Fictional City, all the other reporters are shouting out –

‘Mr Yoshida! Mr Tanaka! Miss Akuzawa …

‘Miss Murata! Over here, Miss Murata …’

Her eyes searching through the shouts of all the reporters, searching through the flashes of all the photographers –

‘Miss Murata! Over here, Miss Murata …’

Her lips smiling through the shouts and through the flashes, her eyes searching, lost and not smiling –

‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she?’ says Matsuda, the photographer from the
Yomiuri
. ‘She’ll be on every front page tomorrow …’

And now the police are leading her away through the crowds, taking her away to their car, with her arms full of presents, full of flowers, and I am walking away among all the other reporters and the photographers, with our heads full of stories, full of fictions –

‘Lucky she’s so good-looking,’ laughs Matsuda, tapping his camera, winking at me. ‘Sell more papers for us …’

In the Fictional City, back at my desk in the
Yomiuri
building, I stare at Matsuda’s photographs and I write another story:

Happy over their narrow escape with death, the four lucky survivors of the Teikoku Bank ‘Poison Holdup’ case were discharged as fully recovered from the Seibo Hospital, Wednesday. Shown as they received presents from congratulating friends are: (Left to right) Acting Manager Yoshida Takejiro, 44, Miss Murata Masako, 22, and Tanaka Norikazu
,
20. They revisited the scene of the crime to reconstruct what had taken place for the police investigators. The first inkling of the tragedy was made known when the attention of passers-by was attracted by the beautiful Miss Murata who, despite her rapidly failing consciousness, had bravely managed to drag her agonized body into the street
.

IN THE FICTIONAL CITY, it is night again, night again as I walk her streets, as I hear her stories, from Nihonbashi up to Hongo, from Hongō and onto Kasuga-dōri, along Kasuga-dōri then down Shinobazu-dōri, down Shinobazu-dōri and onto Mejiro-dōri, along Mejiro-dōri onto Yamate-dōri, Yamate-dōri to Shiinamachi –

But I do not go to the scene of the crime, I go to her house, Murata Masako’s house. In this Fictional City, in its long, long night, I stand across the street from her house.
Is she awake?
Her house is dark.
Or is she sleeping?
The lights off.
Dreaming?
The curtains closed.
Dreaming that dream again?

‘And I hate myself. I hate

The footsteps in the shadows, the grip on my shoulder, the voice at my back, ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’

I try to turn, the grip too tight –

‘Don’t move, just talk!’

‘I’m a journalist,’ I say. ‘From the
Yomiuri.’

The hand inside my coat, inside my jacket, my pocket now my wallet. The grip relaxed, a torchlight on –

I spin round, shove him in his chest, snatch back my wallet and now say, ‘Who are
you?’

The man smiles, the man before me, in his hat and in his cape, and he bellows, ‘I am Shimizu Kogorō, Occult-
Tantei
. Head of the Nagasaki branch of the Mejiro Security Association …’

Across the street, her house is no longer dark, the lights on and the curtains open, a face at the window –

Her face at the window, afraid.

IN THE FICTIONAL CITY, in a dancehall on the Ginza, with its heavy drapes and broken ventilation, its bad perfume and cheap pomade, through the cigarette smoke on the sticky floor, young men in zoot suits and aloha shirts are cheek-to-cheek with the hostesses and their cracked faces, their acne-scars, dancing to a swing band in the reflecting lights, in this dancehall on the Ginza, in this Fictional City, I am waiting for a character, waiting for their story, looking at the door and fiddling with my watch, but tonight he does not show, tonight he stands me up, no character, no story, not tonight, but here in the cigarette smoke, tonight in the reflecting lights, I open my notebook and I read through my pencil-marks, for there is always a character, always a story somewhere in the Fictional City.

IN THE FICTIONAL CITY, a new day, a new story, another story for another day; there is always another day, there is always another story in the Fictional City:

A local organization named
Mejiro Chian Kyōkai Nagasaki Shibu
has founded a ‘Civil Investigative Headquarters’ because ‘the locals will be upset unless the [Teigin] case is solved quickly,’ said the Chief of the HQ, Mr Shimizu
.

The HQ is located in the office of the Nagasaki Shrine, and their investigation is mostly focused on the killer’s tracks. They summon those who had been in the vicinity of the crime scene, and who had hurried to rescue the victims, as well as local children who may have also witnessed the crime. Shimizu and his team plan to gather up all these testimonies and give their reports to Mejiro Police Station
.

Each member of the Interview Team runs a separate district of the neighbourhood and witnesses are summoned to the Nagasaki Shrine HQ, even in the night, to be questioned by these amateur cops. For now, Chief Shimizu ignores his own business and devotes himself entirely to the investigation, twenty
four hours a day. ‘I take
5
or 6 Hiropon injections per day but, what-the-heck, I’ll do beyond my best till we get him,’ said Mr Shimizu, and he will not disband the HQ until the killer is caught
.

However, one local housewife complained, ‘I really wish the killer would be caught very soon, or he [Mr Shimizu] will be back to ask us for another donation to his association!’

   In the Fictional City, I put my head down on my desk, I close my eyes, and I pretend to sleep.

IN THE FICTIONAL CITY, I knock on her door and I try to open it, but her door is locked and so I knock again, and I wait –

‘Who is it?’ she says from behind the door.

‘It’s Takeuchi,’ I say. ‘From the
Yomiuri.’

‘What do you want?’

‘Well, I just wondered if you’d come for a coffee with me.’

‘Why?’ she asks.

‘Well, actually I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I suppose I just wanted to see you, to see how you are, not for a story. Just…’

The lock turns now. The door opens –

Miss Murata Masako stares at me –

I ask, ‘Do you remember me?’

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I remember you, Takeuchi Riichi of the
Yomiuri
, in your white coat, pretending to be a doctor.’

I bow and I say, ‘I’m sorry about that.’

‘So you want to take me for coffee as an apology, is that it?’

I smile and I say, ‘Well, maybe. Yes …’

‘OK, then,’ she says and, in the
genkan
to her house, she reaches for her coat and puts it on, then steps out of a pair of sandals and into a pair of shoes, and finally she ties a scarf around her face, over her hair, and says, ‘Come on, then.’

In the Fictional City, we walk in silence through the streets of Shiinamachi, in silence through the mud and the sleet, in silence to a coffee shop by the station. We open the door to the coffee shop and we step inside, the coffee shop filled with customers and conversation, and we sit down at a table and she takes off her scarf. Now the conversations stop and the customers stare, and she looks down at the table, at the sugar bowl and the ashtray, and she says, ‘I’m sorry. I want to go home.’

IN THE FICTIONAL CITY, he walks through the cigarette smoke, across the sticky floor, and he sits down and he says, ‘Sorry about the other night. I tried to call you, but you’d already left the office.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say. ‘Forget it. You’re here now. So what have you got for me, Detective?’

‘Well, it’s not something you can probably print, not for now, but I think it’s something you should know. What they’re not saying in their statements is that there’s a growing feeling among many of the detectives that this case is connected with the Tokumu Kikan and their operations in Occupied China during the war. There are rumours of similar cases to the Teigin case that occurred in Shanghai during the war, that the culprit is ex-Tokumu Kikan, with experience handling medicines and civilians, and that’s who we should be looking for. On the other hand, there are some detectives, particularly the older guys, who think all these rumours are just a distraction, that it’s nothing to do with Tokumu Kikan and Occupied China. So there are almost two rival lines of inquiry now. But, as I say, what I’m telling you is nothing you can print, but there’s also nothing to stop you looking into the China connection, is there?’

IN THE FICTIONAL CITY, I have walked her streets, I have heard her stories, her stories of old soldiers, her stories of new poisons –

In the Fictional City, her stories in my notebook.

Now I take these stories from my notebook and I write them out. I write them out in letters. In letters, on grids –

SCAP Assistance Sought In Hunt For Mass Murderer

TOKYO – Police investigating the Teikoku Bank ‘Poison Holdup’ case are now actively pursuing two new lines of inquiry in their frantic efforts to catch the cold-blooded fiend responsible for the diabolical poison-murders
.

Senior detectives have requested the assistance of the SCAP Public Safety Division in locating a Lieutenant Hornet and a Lieutenant Parker, both names being used by the mass killer and associated with typhus disinfecting teams in the Tokyo area
.

Witnesses at the Ebara branch of the Yasuda Bank reported the suspect as saying, ‘I came here with Lieutenant Parker in a jeep because a new typhus case happened in the vicinity.’ While at the Shiinamachi branch of the Teikoku Bank, the same
individual is reported as saying, ‘I came here because there have been many dysentery cases in the area. Lieutenant Hornet will be here soon.’

Police believe Lieutenant Hornet to have been associated with the Toshima Team in the Ōji and Katsushika Wards, while Lieutenant Parker was associated with the Ebara Disinfecting Team
.

Investigators have requested that the Public Safety Division of SCAP provide any information, names and addresses of Japanese individuals either connected with or having knowledge of the disinfecting work done by either of the above lieutenants, particularly interpreters or individuals who speak English
.

Meanwhile, police are also checking a new lead concerning ex-personnel of the former Japanese Imperial Chemical Laboratory in Tsudanuma, Chiba-ken
.

It is known that experiments were conducted at the Tsudanuma Laboratory with prussic acid as a poison. Police believe that the modus operandi of the Teikoku Bank ‘Poison Holdup’ case and the use of prussic poison by the criminal are very similar to the training developed by Tsudanuma Arsenal
.

   In the Fictional City, I stop writing and I read what I have written. These letters in their grids. I stop reading. Now I get up from my desk, and I walk down the long, long table to my editor’s desk –

‘Ah, Takeuchi,’ smiles Ono. ‘What have you got for me today? Something meaty, I hope, something juicy …’

I hand him the paper. I say, ‘I think so.’

Ono sits back in his chair. He adjusts his glasses. He starts to read, nodding, nodding, nodding and now smiling, he says, ‘Great!’

‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘They’re denying it, of course …’

‘Of course,’ says Ono. ‘But that’s their problem. Not yours.’

IN THE FICTIONAL CITY, in the
genkan
to her house, she looks at the bunch of flowers in my hand, and she asks, ‘Why?’

‘The other day,’ I say. ‘It was a mistake. The coffee shop. I didn’t think. All those people. It was a bad idea …’

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she says.

I hold out the flowers. I say, ‘Please. They are for you …’