A Cop's Eyes (12 page)

“About a year ago, he was in a competition. Maybe he took after me, it was a tight match that had my heart pounding quite a bit.”

“Was it … ‘lose the battle to win the war'? Your national match was amazing too, wasn't it,” Natsume reminisced, laughing.

Come to think of it, Natsume was in the boxing club during high school. He'd participated in the same nationals, so Yoshizawa had gone and watched. Although Natsume had such a gentle face, when he put his gloves on, he headed toward his opponent with a blazing competitive spirit that belied his everyday self, Yoshizawa recalled.

While their duels of choice differed, Natsume's fighting style was similar to his own. Maybe that was why Yoshizawa liked the man and continued to hang out with him.

His son faced opponents in the same daredevil manner as Yoshizawa, too, casting all caution to the wind. At the competition, Ryuta had gone all the way to the finals but had lost at the end. Dissatisfied with being the runner-up, he'd held back tears of frustration all the way home—every bit of which made Yoshizawa proud.

When Yoshizawa came back to himself, the table was lined
with several dishes. “You ordered a lot, didn't you?” he pointed out, appalled. “Don't ask for everything at once, it'll just get cold.”

“We can talk more calmly like this.” Natsume glanced at the employee who'd brought the dishes and was returning to the counter. “Usually we sit at the counter, don't we? Is this about Ryuta?”

Natsume must have figured that out when he'd entered the pub. As always, the guy had keen perception.

“Actually it is … I'm not sure if this is the type of thing I should be consulting you about, but … I don't have anyone else to turn to.”

Yoshizawa recounted the events of the previous night—his son getting out of a white minivan and receiving money from a young fellow—and about reading the newspaper article in the morning and becoming sick with worry. “I can't imagine Ryuta has a hand in those cases, but try as I might, I can't stop worrying. I wanted to ask your objective opinion …”

Natsume just looked pensive even after Yoshizawa was done talking.

“It's weird, right?”

Natsume raised his face. “What is?”

“All I need to do is ask my son, you must be thinking. It might just be some misunderstanding.”

“True … He might not answer truthfully even if you asked him, but I think talking to him first is important.”

“I know. But I'm scared … that he might be getting his hands dirty with crime … The moment that comes out of my mouth, the trusting relationship that I've built with my son will crumble …”

“But you can't leave this alone, can you?”

Yoshizawa shook his head.

“Tomorrow … I'm off duty. Would you like to come investigate
with me?”

“When you say investigate …”

“I don't like what I'll be doing, but it's not like I don't understand where you're coming from as a father. So how about we investigate Ryuta's behavior for a day … and think of what to do afterwards?”

The next day, he had an important sales meeting—

But this was no time to be thinking of such things. Ryuta was far more important.

“All right,” Yoshizawa nodded.

The next morning, when Yoshizawa heard Ryuta's door open, he headed to the front entrance.

“Morning,” he called out.

Ryuta, who was putting on his shoes, turned around in surprise. “Morning …” he mumbled back. He held his school bag in one hand and was wearing a backpack.

“Today, I'm coming home a little late.”

“Got it …” Ryuta answered curtly and left.

Yoshizawa immediately started the day's preparations. First, he called the office and used a sick day to take time off. The subordinate who took his call was flustered. The key meeting wouldn't amount to anything without the manager.

Hanging up, he caught a glimpse of the portrait of Akiko on the living room cupboard.

His wife, who usually looked like she was smiling, seemed to be rebuking him today. What did Akiko think of him—a father who couldn't fully trust his own son?

After ten, Yoshizawa also left and headed to the shopping street by the station. At a men's attire counter in a large supermarket, he bought new clothes and a new hat. They'd naturally have to shadow Ryuta to investigate his behavior. Yoshizawa chose clothing that would make him as difficult to recognize as
possible and paid the bill still wearing his fresh getup.

As he was waiting at a roundabout by the station entrance, a car honked. He turned around to a parked, black sedan. Its window descended, and Natsume stuck his face out of it. Yoshizawa got into the passenger's seat.

“How was it?” Natsume asked as soon as Yoshizawa got into the car.

“Ryuta went to school as usual.”

“When will he be out?”

“Today he has six periods, so after three o'clock. Even later, if he has his club.”

Yoshizawa looked at his watch. It was only past eleven.

The day before, asking Natsume when to meet up, he'd wavered. Since his son was in school until three, Yoshizawa could at least attend his meeting, leave early, and still make it. Ryuta, however, might use some excuse to get out of school early as well, so they'd arranged to meet at this time.

“Have you eaten?” asked Natsume.

“Nope.”

“Then let's buy food somewhere before we go to the middle school.”

Natsume drove the car out. On the way, they stopped at a convenience store, where Yoshizawa bought a rice ball and a sandwich for his lunch. He had it in the car after they drew up near the middle school's gate. They chatted about old times for a while. After a few hours of being stuck in a car seat, though, Yoshizawa found it intolerable. Meanwhile, he didn't see any sign of discomfort on Natsume's face.

“Do cops do this sort of thing every day?” Yoshizawa asked.

“It's not like you shadow or stake out people all the time, but you do spend an entire night monitoring a suspect on occasion.”

“Isn't it difficult?”

“Your body learns to do it.”

“Not that. Suspecting people as your job.”

Natsume looked at him intently.

Yoshizawa thought it even now. The policing profession didn't suit Natsume. Having known the man for years, he sincerely felt that doubting people had to be the most difficult thing for Natsume.

But Natsume choosing such an occupation also made painful sense to him as a fellow father.

Ten years ago, there had been a case involving a serial assailant in Nerima Ward. Natsume's daughter, one of the victims, had been hit in the head with a hammer and left in critical condition, comatose.

Several days after the incident, Natsume had gone in front of television cameras as the victim's family in order to appeal to the culprit.

Stop this, hurry and turn yourself in
.

As though to ridicule his tearful plea, another case occurred and resulted in the girl's death.

If the culprit had turned himself in or been apprehended back then, Natsume probably wouldn't have chosen to become a police officer.

Wasn't Natsume spending his days now mired in hatred? There had to be a more soothing path for him than the hard life of a detective who confronted criminals day in, day out. As his close friend, it hurt to watch Natsume be this way.

“It's certainly true that my current job is to suspect people. People lie. Even more so, when they've committed crimes. My job is to catch such people,” Natsume replied unflinchingly.

His clear gaze was just the same as in the old days; had he, then, traded in his heart instead?

“Suspecting people, suspecting my son like this, is too much for me. Even if it means turning a blind eye, I want to keep believing …”

They heard the sound of the bell and turned to the school. It was the bell signaling the end of the school day. After a while, students started pouring out of the gate one after another. The two men watched intently.

Ryuta came out. He was walking with Jumpei.

“It's Ryuta!”

“With the blue backpack?”

“Yup.”

“And the one who's walking with him is …”

“His friend Jumpei Higuchi.”

Ryuta and Jumpei had been friends since elementary. Yoshizawa remembered how the boy used to come to their house to play. It seemed that both of Jumpei's parents worked and that he was often home alone. The two kids still frequently visited each other as far as Yoshizawa knew.

Natsume drove out slowly. The boys got on a bus at a stop near the middle school.

Where were they going?

About fifteen minutes later, the two got off the bus. Walking together again, they entered a park. After some time, they came out wearing sweatshirts and jeans; they must have changed in the public bathrooms. Once more they plodded along.

They entered a family restaurant along the main road. The place had a small parking lot, but to avoid being noticed, Natsume parked slightly further back along the road. From there they could see the building, though not what the two boys who'd gone in were up to.

After ten minutes or so of waiting, Yoshizawa saw a familiar white minivan drive into the restaurant's parking lot. “That white minivan …”

“Is it the one you saw that night?”

There were many similar vans, but there was no doubt, as it was those same men who entered the restaurant shortly after.

What the hell were Ryuta and his friend doing here? What in the world could they be discussing with those men? Yoshizawa had a bad feeling about it, and just sitting there doing nothing was unbearable.

“Should I try going in?” Natsume said, likely sensing Yoshizawa's agitation. “If I sat near them, they wouldn't notice, and I might be able to overhear their conversation.”

“I'm counting on you …” Yoshizawa said and nodded.

Just then, Ryuta emerged. Running diagonally across the pedestrian scramble, he went into a convenience store across from the restaurant. After some time, Jumpei and the two men also came out but headed to the parking lot in the back. Ryuta popped out of the convenience store soon enough, a shopping bag in one hand, though it wasn't clear what he'd purchased. He made a call at a public phone, hung up, and stood at the pavement in front of the convenience store.

It looked like he was waiting for the white minivan to come around from the parking lot.

Yoshizawa's desire to believe in Ryuta did battle in him with the urge to dash out of the car and drag his son home.

He took out his cellphone and placed a call to Ryuta, visible on the other side of the crosswalk.

“Yes …” came the blunt greeting.

“Hi, it's your dad …”

The reply wasn't immediate. “Why are you calling so early?”

“Where are you right now?”

“Near school.”

Yoshizawa took in Ryuta's lie, careful not to rush this. “I'm going to finish work early today. You wanna eat out somewhere?”

“I have plans right now …”

The white van slid out of the parking lot. Natsume pulled out and followed behind.

“What plans?” Yoshizawa asked Ryuta as they approached
him.

“Doesn't matter. You have your business dinners and I've got my own!” he snapped and abruptly hung up.

The minivan ahead of them forced a right turn precariously close to oncoming traffic and stopped next to Ryuta. Natsume had trouble doing the same against a stream of vehicles.

Yoshizawa tried calling one more time, but Ryuta's phone must have been turned off and he couldn't get through. He could only watch, dumbfounded, as the minivan his son had gotten into sped away.

At last, the right turn signal lit and their sedan lurched forward, but even after driving for some time, they couldn't find the minivan.

“Sorry …” Natsume apologized.

“It's not your fault. Besides …”

It might be better this way—or at least, half of him thought so.

The words he'd just heard Ryuta utter lingered in his ears. It was the first time his son had snapped at him, and it rattled him.

Yoshizawa was afraid of witnessing Ryuta's next actions, to be honest.

“What do you want to do? Should we wait for him to come home?” Natsume asked gingerly.

“I have a favor to ask you … I want to visit Emi.”

Thinking over why he'd suddenly thought of her, Yoshizawa began to hate himself. Was the idea of a family in greater misery than his own so consoling to him? He was a terrible person.

“Yes … Emi is in a hospital in Itabashi. We'll still be able to make the visiting hours.”

“Oh … ah … actually …”

“Would you please do it? Emi would be happy too.” Natsume glanced at him and flashed a smiled that pierced Yoshizawa's heart. “But first, there's somewhere we need to drop by.”

It was at the convenience store Ryuta had gone into earlier that Natsume stopped the car. Pulling the sedan up into the parking lot, Natsume got out of the driver's seat, and Yoshizawa followed after him.

Instead of going into the store, Natsume approached the public phone out front and stared at it, muttering, “I wonder who he called.”

“I've no idea …”

Let alone whom Ryuta had called, Yoshizawa felt like he no longer knew his son.

Natsume knocked and opened the door to the hospital room. “Come on in,” he ushered Yoshizawa.

Natsume's wife, Minayo, who was sitting at the bedside, stood up with a surprised look on her face.

“Mr. Yoshizawa, it's been a while,” she greeted with a smile.

He occasionally met with Natsume, but when it came to Minayo, it had truly been a while. How long, he couldn't remember exactly, but the image of her sorrowful face after that incident had stayed in his mind. Reuniting with her like this, he was relieved that she'd regained at least some of her cheerfulness.