Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku. Chiku-taku …
If this body isn’t a murder …
‘This way is quicker,’ says Nishi and we pick our way over the hills of rubble and through the craters of dust until we come out on to Hibiya-dōri near Onarimon –
Ton-ton. Ton-ton.
*
Two very young men from the Atago police station are waiting for us in their ill-fitting, dirt-stained uniforms. They bow and they salute, they greet us and they apologize but I can’t hear a word they say –
Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton …
The uniformed policemen lead us off the road, away from the sound of the hammering, and into the temple grounds –
Huge scorched trees, their roots to the sky …
There is nothing much left of Zōjōji Temple since it was burnt to the ground in the May air raids of last year –
Branches charred and leaves lost …
The two uniforms lead us through the ashes and up the hill, out of the sunlight and into the shadow; the graves forgotten here, this place is overgrown and its paths lost, the bamboo grass taller than a man and as thick as the insects that cloud the air; this place of foxes and badgers, of rats and crows, of abandoned dogs that run in packs with a new-found taste for human flesh –
In this place of assignation –
Of prostitutes, of suicides –
This place of silence –
This place of death –
She is here …
In this sudden clearing where the tall grass has been flattened and the sun has found her, she is here; lying naked on her back, her head slightly to the left, her right arm outstretched, her left at her side, she is here; her legs parted, raised and bent at the knee, she is here …
Possibly twenty-one years old and probably ten days dead –
Namu-amida-butsu. Namu-amida-butsu. Namu-amida …
There is a piece of red material round her neck –
Namu-amida-butsu. Namu-amida-butsu …
This is not a suicide. This is murder –
Namu-amida-butsu …
This case ours –
I curse her…
I look at my watch. Chiku-taku. It is almost noon –
Chiku-taku. It is August 15, 1946 –
The defeat and the capitulation. The surrender and the occupation. The ghosts all here today –
I curse her. I curse myself…
It has been one year.
*
In among the tall weeds, an old man is on his knees, bowing and mumbling his prayers with an axe on the ground before him –
‘Namu-amida-butsu,’ the old man chants. ‘Namu-amida …’
‘This man discovered the body,’ says one of the uniforms.
I squat down beside the old man. I swat at a mosquito with my hat. I miss. I wipe my neck. I say, ‘It’s hot today, isn’t it?’
The old man stops his chanting. The old man nods.
‘This man is a lumberjack,’ says the uniform.
‘And you found the body?’ I ask the man.
The old man nods his head again.
‘Found her just like this?’
He nods his head again.
‘Are you sure you didn’t find any of her clothes, a bag or a purse or anything else near her?’
He shakes his head.
‘You haven’t stashed away her things to sell later, have you? Not put away some of her things to come back for?’ Again, he shakes his head. ‘Not her ration card?’
The old man looks up at me now. The old man says, ‘No.’ I nod and I pat him on his back. I apologize to him and I thank him. I put my hat back on and I stand up again –
I see her out of the corner of my eye …
Detectives Hattori, Takeda, Sanada and Shimoda are sat down in the shade of the trees with their Panama hats in their hands, fanning and wiping themselves, swatting at flies and mosquitoes –
In the shade with the Shōwa Dead …
The two uniformed policemen from Atago shifting from foot to foot, foot to foot; Detectives Nishi and Kimura still stood over the body, still staring at her, waiting for me –
In this City of the Dead …
I walk over to the body –
She is here …
‘I knew it,’ Kimura is saying. ‘Knew it’d be murder.’
‘And she’ll have been a whore,’ agrees Nishi.
‘I doubt that,’ I tell him, tell them both.
‘But this place is notorious for prostitutes,’ says Nishi. ‘We know the ones from Shimbashi bring their men up here…’
I stare down at the body, the pale grey and decaying body, the legs parted, raised and bent at the knee –
‘This woman was raped,’ I tell them both. ‘Why would you rape and then murder a prostitute?’
‘If you had no money,’ says Kimura. ‘There are a lot of destitute and desperate men…’
‘So just rape her and leave her, beat her if you must, but she’s not going to tell anyone.’
‘Unless she knew him,’ says Nishi. ‘Knew his name…’
‘We need to find her name,’ I tell them now, tell them all, my men and the two men from Atago. ‘And we need to find her clothes and any other belongings she might have had with her.’
‘Just a moment!’ barks out a voice from behind me, and everyone jumps to attention, to bow and to salute –
I turn round. I know this voice. I bow and I salute. I know this face well. I greet Chief Inspector Adachi –
Adachi or Anjo or Ando or whatever he calls himself this week; he has changed his name and he has changed his job, his uniform and his rank, his life and his past; he is not the only one …
Now no one is who they say they are …
No one is who they seem to be …
Behind him stand Suzuki, the First Investigative Division photographer, and two men in white coats from the Keiō University Hospital with a light, wooden coffin –
They are all sweating.
Adachi points at Suzuki and tells everyone, ‘Move out of the way and let this man get on with his work, then these other two can get this body out of here.’
Everybody steps back into the taller grasses, among the taller trees, to watch Suzuki load his film and start his work –
Click-click-click. Click-click-click …
I look at my watch –
Chiku-taku …
12:30 p.m. –
Everything is lost; there will be a meeting of all the section heads of the First Investigative Division; there will be verbal and written reports; there will be the assignment of command, the delegation of responsibility, the division of labour, of investigation and of evaluation; more lost hours in more hot rooms …
‘Bad luck, your room pulling this one,’ laughs Adachi. ‘Twenty-one days straight. No time off. You all stuck down here in Atago, knowing you’ll never solve the case, never close it, knowing no one cares but knowing it’s yet another failure on your record…’
‘It’ll be just like the Matsuda Giichi case then,’ I say.
Inspector Adachi leans closer into my face now –
No one is who they say they are …
‘That case is closed, corporal,’ he spits.
No one who they seem to be …
I take a step back. I bow my head. I apologize.
‘You’re two men short,’ says Adachi –