The Kizuna Coast: A Rei Shimura Mystery (Rei Shimura Mysteries Book 11) (15 page)

“No, he didn’t. Let’s sit down for a minute, Rikyo-san.” I indicated the scrubbed steel table in the center of the room.

He looked relieved by the offer. “Great. I really appreciate it. And wouldn’t you rather call me Akira? People our age are more casual.”

“Okay, Akira-kun—call me Rei, if you like. Getting back to Mayumi: you were on the right track when you thought she wasn’t in Tokyo.”

“Really?” He began to smile. “Did she go home to her parents’ house?”

“Mr. Ishida made a call to them, and they said they didn’t know where she was. I’m sure they’re extremely worried, too. All Mr. Ishida and I know is that Mayumi left Tokyo early in the morning of March eleventh. She took a bullet train to Sendai, transferred to a bus, and arrived at the Takara Auction House around one thirty.”

“You mean—the auction house here in Sugihama?” His eyes bugged out at me, as if all the implications hit him. “Was she here when…”

“Yes. When the tsunami came. Since Ishida-san was released from the injured persons’ shelter, we’ve started a search.”

“Oh, no. I can’t believe it.” For a moment, he sat with his head bowed. Then he looked up. “I must speak to Ishida-san. I’ve got a truck, so I can drive all over looking for her.”

“Right now, Mr. Ishida’s seeing if she’s among the dead who’ve been laid out in various school gyms around Tohoku.”

He stood up, tears filling his eyes. “I must join him.”

I felt guilty for all of my suspicions, because his emotion seemed very real. “I’m sorry, Akira. I think Ishida-san might prefer to do that job by himself. And he’s quite capable. He saw Mayumi that day. He knows what she was wearing.”

Akira’s mouth settled into a tight line, revealing a similarity between his face and that of the older man who’d come out of the truck. “Yesterday he would not accept the ride I offered.”

“That’s because you’ve done some things that made him anxious about Mayumi’s safety.”

“Like what?” Akira’s voice was defensive.

“You were often hanging around the shop area, watching for her. The times you went in, she asked you to leave.”

“She didn’t know what she was doing,” Akira said roughly. “I love her—and I kept going back because she needed to know that, and also about her family’s change of heart.”

“What about her family?” I was suddenly on high alert.

“A few months ago Mayumi’s mother telephoned my parents to ask them to tell me something. It was that if Mayumi returned the lacquer, they would forgive her and she could return home. This was really good news, because I know Mayumi felt rotten about what she did. But I couldn’t reach Mayumi by phone or text—she blocked my calls. So I came to the store each week or so, just to see if I could break through, but she wouldn’t even let me near.”

“So what happened next? Did
you
return the lacquer to the Kimuras?” I asked, thinking about the empty safe.

“But how? I couldn’t visit her apartment—the roommates would never let me in. And I don’t know if she kept the lacquer there, anyway. I know she was thinking about selling it.”

He sounded as if he didn’t know the lacquer had been in the safe; although that could be a ploy. “All right, let’s return to Mayumi’s situation on the day of the tsunami. Since Sugihama is your hometown, do you think she might have phoned your family or anyone else she met through you for help evacuating?”

“No. Mayumi and my mother don’t get along. She must have been alone when she vanished.” Akira’s voice broke, and when he continued, he was sobbing. “If only I’d been here. I wasn’t able to help my sister and nieces. Not Mayumi, when she needed me most.”

Akira stumbled to his feet, and his chair tipped and fell, startling Miki. She shrank against the wall as he rushed past her into the hallway.

“Who’s that?” Miki asked. “Why is he crying?”

“He can’t find someone he loves.” I felt my throat close up, a precursor to a sob.

“Too bad,” Miki said. “I wanted to tell you that Ishida-san’s back. It’s time to walk Hachiko.”

The carpentry truck was gone by the time Miki, her sister Chieko, and I had caught up with Mr. Ishida and Hachiko. I longed to discuss the details of Akira’s conversation with Mr. Ishida, but felt tongue-tied because of the two little girls running alongside us, pointing out what they recognized of their devastated town. Chieko kept trying to pick up stray toys that were scattered across the landscape, while Miki held fast to Hachiko’s leash, preventing her from eating anything.

“I hope the smell doesn’t bother them too much,” Ishida-san said, observing that only Chieko had kept the gauze face mask in place.

“It must have smelled pretty bad where you went.”

“They’re using many chemicals there—it was all right. And I was relieved not to find Mayumi.”

“Were you able to find out about any unknown people who might have been cremated?”

“Yes, I did talk to some people who’d released bodies of victims to be burned. Nobody remembered a victim with blue hair.”

“I should tell you that Akira stopped by the shelter.”

“For what reason?” Mr. Ishida stopped walking.

“He thought we might know where Mayumi was. Apparently, he had no idea she’d come to Sugihama.” I explained how I’d asked a number of pointed questions to find out what he might know about her disappearance or the missing lacquer. “He sounded very clueless about everything—for instance, he was genuinely shocked that she’d been in Sugihama during the quake.”

“He
appeared
shocked.”

“Maybe. It’s hard to know what’s true. He told me he’d been following her only because he loved her so much, and he wanted her to return the lacquer to her parents.”

“It was more than that.” Mr. Ishida shook his head. “I know it.”

About thirty feet ahead of us, Miki was turning off from the main road toward the ravaged waterfront. The little sister followed dutifully. I thought ahead quickly. The sea wall was gone—this was a dangerous place.

“Just a minute, please. You are moving too quickly. Wait for us!” I yelled.

“It’s pretty by the water,” Miki called back. “Butter used to like playing here.”

But the waterfront wasn’t pretty anymore. It was a junkyard of buildings and cars and toppled trees. Hachiko buried her nose near some overturned vending machines, halting the girls’ progress and giving Mr. Ishida and me time to catch up to them.

“Hachiko, that’s enough,” Miki said, trying to tug the dog’s head upward. I saw that the group of vending machines had fallen into each other, creating a collapsed metal-and-plastic sort of teepee. Hachiko had her nose in the gap between two of the machines and was whining. Judging from an unpleasant, sweet odor, I imagined that crushed cans of soup and sweet beverages were underneath.

“No, Hachiko. People’s food and drink is not good for dogs,” Miki scolded.

“Let me help,” Mr. Ishida said and clapped his hands hard. “No!”

Hachiko looked at her owner and sniffed, as if she dismissing him. Then her tapered beagle snout returned to the crack between the machines.

“She rarely disobeys me.” Mr. Ishida crouched beside her and peered into the dark. “Shimura-san, please look.”

It was a command he’d given me numerous times when we scouted antiques. I squatted next to him and squinted in the darkness. I first thought he was pointing out a couple of small, thin sausages. But then I saw fingernails.

“Yes,” Mr. Ishida said in a very low voice.

Ever since entering Sugihama, I knew I’d see some corpses. Now these fingers appeared to be the start of something awful that I didn’t want to see. I couldn’t believe Mr. Ishida was putting me through this.

Then I thought suddenly of the girls. They shouldn’t have any idea what was going on. Obviously, the military or police needed to address the body under the vending machines—but I’d have to get the children away.

“Miki-chan, let’s walk Hachiko a little closer to the water,” I suggested. But Hachiko would not go. She pushed her nose in the opening, lowered her ears, and groaned. And then to my horror, she reached out her tongue and licked.

“Hachiko!” Cringing at the dog’s crude brazenness, I grabbed hard at her leash and finally got her away.

“Don’t eat from the street, Hachiko,” Miki chided.

And now there was a new sound. A whimpering. And it wasn’t Hachiko talking, because it came from the area where the fingers were.

“Did you hear that? Someone’s underneath,” Miki shouted.

Mr. Ishida reached into his satchel and took out a small flashlight he always carried for examination purposes. Now he shone it into the gap, unaware that Miki and Chieko were peering, too.

“Shimura-san—get some help,” Mr. Ishida shouted. “The person trapped under these machines might still be alive.”

I asked Miki and Chieko to walk with me to find some soldiers or police to help, but Miki insisted on remaining with Mr. Ishida, her eyes glued on the gap. And Chieko wouldn’t go with me, either.

So I left them in Mr. Ishida’s custody and sprinted off as best I could in the uneven, sticky terrain. My heart was pounding from the exercise and excitement. With thousands still missing on the coast, it probably wasn’t Mayumi who was lying trapped underneath. But it was someone.

I found soldiers working on the main road, and they ran back with me to the vending machine wreckage. Within minutes, they’d radioed for an ambulance. I’d expected the six men to quickly begin the heavy lifting, but instead, they walked around the perimeter, viewing the toppled vending machines from all angles.

“As each machine is lifted, the other two might shift position and crush the injured person,” the commanding officer told me. “We do not want to cause more injury or worse. It’s also best to send the children away.”

“I can’t get them to leave.” I kept a hand on each of the sisters, wishing they would not stare so hard at the operation. As two men counted down to three and heaved up one machine, the others held the remaining machines beneath steady. Mr. Ishida crouched down to help keep a soft-drink machine lifted six inches from the ground, while the one on top was brought up.

After the first two machines were pulled off, a pair of legs in muddy tan trousers were visible, although the body’s trunk and head remained hidden. A soldier crouched down and tugged down a sock, touching bluish-white skin near the back of one ankle.

“There’s a pulse!” he said.

Miki whispered, “Those are Otoochan’s shoes.”

I agreed with her that the brown loafers we could see were men’s shoes—but it was highly doubtful they were her own father’s shoes, as many men in Japan wore brown loafers. I didn’t say it, though, just looked at Mr. Ishida.

“Miki-chan,” he said softly, “please step back a bit.”

“No,” Miki said, her little voice rising to helium heights. “It’s Otoochan. I know it!”

As the third vending machine was lifted, the fourth one underneath shifted, and I forgot about the girls and rushed forward to grab it along with two other soldiers. The pain in my shoulders and arms was almost unbearable, but in a half minute, this machine was hauled up and away.

The man lying on his side in the mud hardly looked human. His face was bruised and covered with cuts. A trickle of fluid ran close to his mouth, and a mountain of empty cans lay nearby. It was clear how he’d survived. For twelve days, this man had managed to feed himself canned coffee and soup and soft drinks.

“Otoochan!” Miki squealed. “Otoochan, can you see me?”

Tears pricked the edges of my eyes. Nobody could tell who this man was.

“Miki.” He groaned her name, and briefly his eyes flickered open. They shone with tears. Then they closed again.

Could it be?
Dimly, I heard the soldiers exclaiming to each other about the situation. Another man found alive! After almost two weeks.

Mr. Ishida put a hand on my shoulder and whispered, “He knows Miki’s name.”

“I told you it was Otoochan,” Miki shouted, and then called out to her sister. As both little girls hovered over him, his eyes opened again.

“Chieko. Did…” The man’s breath came in short gasps. He could not finish.

I pulled down my face mask because I felt like I was losing all breath. Tears were running down my face; I brushed at them, forgetting about the mud on my hands. I was a physical and emotional mess.

“Don’t cry, Rei-san,” Miki said. “He’s going to be fine.”

“Haneda-san, you have been strong for so long,” Mr. Ishida said. “Your whole family is safe. Don’t worry about anything. The terrible time is over.”

In the midst of the laughing and crying and cheers, I reached down to pet Hachiko, who was sitting just like the model of a good dog. Hachiko thumped her tail on the ground, as if to say:
Yes. I told you so.

A
fter the ambulance lurched off through the rubble to take Miki’s father to a working hospital, we all hurried back to the shelter.

Sadako Haneda was fast asleep, lying under an army blanket with the baby snuggled nearby. “Oh, back already? What time is it?” she said, sounding fuzzy. “I was dreaming.”

“We found Otoochan,” Miki yelled.

Various people huddled on the other sides of cardboard enclosure reacted to the news and passed it on. An elderly woman whispered, “The girls’ father—”

“Really found?” another person murmured to yet someone else.

Mrs. Haneda shook her head. “Please, Miki.”

“Hachiko found him,” Miki shrieked. “She smelled the way to him. He doesn’t look very handsome, but they’ll fix him at the hospital.”

“Haneda-san, it’s absolutely true.” Mr. Ishida spoke quietly. “I’m delighted to tell you that your husband has been found alive.”

“Truly?” She rubbed at her eyes, and I imagined she thought this encounter might still be part of her dream.

“His identification was in his pocket,” I assured her. “But just as important, he was conscious and recognized his daughters by name. Miki never gave up hoping, and he didn’t, either.”

Miki was so excited that she couldn’t stay still; she spun in circles around her mother. “He’s going to a big hospital in Sendai, Okaachan, and someone will bring you there right away—”

“Yes, you must go to him once the medical people call with his location. Ishida-san and I will watch the children,” I pledged.

Mrs. Haneda’s eyes shone with tears of joy. “But where did you find him? How could you find him when the soldiers didn’t?”

“Hachiko knew that someone was underneath some broken vending machines near the waterfront. She wouldn’t budge until they were removed.”

“That wonderful dog,” Mrs. Haneda cried. Others in the room came over to smile and offer congratulations. Quite a few people cheered, while others wept.

“I’m very surprised she found him,” Mr. Ishida said, patting Hachiko, who’d marched straight into the shelter and sat with nose lifted, as if she was inhaling all the praise. “Hachiko has no formal training for searching—except for termites!”

“She’s been sleeping with Mr. Haneda’s coat for a few days,” I reminded him. “Perhaps that smell imprinted on her, so when she recognized it near the vending machines, she was thrilled.”

“Hachiko will find Butter next,” Miki said happily. “They’ll be great friends.”

“Oh, Miki,” her mother answered softly. “We should mainly be grateful about Otoochan….”

“But we need Butter!” Miki burst out. “The family isn’t right without him. He could be underneath some other vending machines. But he doesn’t have fingers. He cannot open food and drink cans like Otoochan. We must find him.”

As Miki began weeping, I put my hand on her small shoulder. It wasn’t enough, but I had no words. Later that night, when I was able to borrow Mr. Ishida’s phone to leave a text message for Michael, I condensed all the day’s excitement in a few lines.

Great day. Hachiko found a father of 3 who’d been trapped for 12 days. We are still looking for Mr. Ishida’s apprentice. No idea when I’m getting out. I love you.

Then I hit send.

Hachiko’s future was a lot more certain. The story of her latest discovery spread throughout Sugihama. By the next morning, Mr. Yano asked Mr. Ishida whether he was willing to have Hachiko undergo a short training to do more work assisting the searchers. He agreed with the caveat that the two of us needed to accompany her.

“This is exactly what we need,” he told me afterward. “Hachiko will visit places where Mayumi might be trapped. If she’s anywhere in Sugihama, Hachiko will find her.”

So shortly after breakfast, Ishida-san and I fell into step with a search group led by Petty Officer Oshima of the Japan Self-Defense Force. His second-in-charge was a frighteningly large male German shepherd called Ninja.

Upon the dogs’ meeting, Hachiko had stepped forward to sniff hello with Ninja, but it didn’t go the way I would have expected. Ninja growled threateningly and regarded Hachiko with a dominant stare. Hachiko lowered her head and backed off.

Like dog, like owner?
I wondered as the training continued. Mr. Oshima kept a straight back and serious expression similar to imperial army soldiers from old photographs. He immediately exchanged Hachiko’s rope leash for a proper harness and leash, which he kept a firm grip on. Sternly, he nudged Hachiko toward various piles of rubble that had different smells. Paradoxically, the dog that loved to smell and taste everything suddenly showed no interest.

Petty Officer Oshima told us that in addition to observing how Hachiko reacted to scents, we all needed to be aware of subtle signs like raised ears or fear of certain areas.

“Dogs don’t usually think death smells good. In that way they are like us,” he muttered.

“Hachiko’s prior professional experience was with sniffing for live termites,” I said when Hachiko finally caught interest in some fallen beams of wood and started barking.

“Very good, Hachiko!” Mr. Ishida reached into his pocket for one of the sausage treats the petty officer had allotted at the start of the walk.

“You must not reward her for finding termites,” the dog handler corrected. “Now she is rewarded for finding people.”

“Some of the survivors at the shelter want her to smell their loved ones’ clothing and go hunting for them. That seemed to have worked well yesterday. Can her skills be improved even more strongly in this direction?” I asked.

“Such searches are typically conducted over days or weeks,” Petty Officer Oshima answered. “They’re also limited to the dog following the scent of one person. It would confuse even a professional search dog to follow many different smells at the same time.”

“But surely she would recognize the scent of someone she’d known in her daily life,” Mr. Ishida suggested.

“Maybe. But the most important training for your dog in this vicinity is that of a cadaver dog—which means, finding dead bodies. And in such a short time, not much can be expected. Hachiko will spend her time serving as back up to Ninja. Knowing this, are you still interested in continuing this training?”

Hachiko wasn’t my dog, so I kept quiet. Mr. Ishida bowed slightly to the handler and said, “If it’s all right with you, I’d like her to try a bit longer.”

We resumed the slow, sniffing journey, with Mr. Ishida holding Hachiko’s leash this time, and Petty Officer Oshima leading the way with Ninja. While Ninja was docile with his master—and ignored Mr. Ishida and me after a few quick sniffs—he obviously felt differently about Hachiko. Ninja turned his head and barked whenever Hachiko tried to lead Mr. Ishida off in a different direction. And I’d thought mothers were the only ones with eyes in the back of their heads.

Still, Hachiko continued to forget Ninja was the boss, because she kept creeping up to sniff his hindquarters. Ninja’s tail swished angrily the first time this happened, and the second time, the shepherd turned his head to reveal bared teeth.

“Hachiko lives just with me. She doesn’t have much experience with other dogs,” Mr. Ishida apologized.

The petty officer didn’t answer him, because he was busy listening to his walkie-talkie emit beeps followed by a crackling sound. The words that I could make out sounded like someone was saying that a body had been found. It turned out I’d heard right.

“This is just the cadaver training that your dog needs.” Petty Officer Oshima sounded cheerful. “We will allow Hachiko to lead us to the body and then give her a very good reward.”

Because the area was a mile away, an army jeep pulled up to take us. Mr. Oshima and his aide took the front passenger seat, while both dogs jumped into the back with Mr. Ishida and me. I made sure Ninja was on the exterior right side, with me next, then Mr. Ishida, and finally Hachiko on the left exterior. The farther apart the two dogs were, the safer for everyone.

The day was a bit warmer so the jeep’s plastic windows were unzipped, and Hachiko craned her head out, inhaling the foul air. We turned onto a narrow street that crossed the main street with Takara Auction House. Hachiko’s ears pressed forward, reminding me of what the dog handler had said about animal reactions.

“Look at Hachiko’s ears,” I exclaimed.

“Actually, we’re headed to a butcher shop,” Petty Officer Oshima said. “Knowing this dog’s interests, she’s probably smelling meat.”

I couldn’t tell which building he thought was a butcher shop; there was only the shell of one building left. Underneath was a cluster of people—soldiers, and a person in a Red Cross jacket, and several civilian volunteers I recognized from the shelter.

“Stop here,” Sgt. Oshima commanded his driver. To us he said, “Now it’s time for Hachiko’s lesson: discerning human remains from those of animals.”

“Should we come all the way inside?” Secretly, I was hoping he’d forbid it.

“Only if you want to keep training the dog.” The dog handler looked at me with contempt.

Earlier in the day, he had spoken about a dog’s first reaction when someone was detected. He might cringe or rush forward, depending on his temperament. As we took the dogs out of the jeep, Ninja barked and strained toward the ruins of a shop. But Hachiko stayed put and whined softly.

“Let Hachiko lead you,” Mr. Oshima told Mr. Ishida and me. “Let her sniff all the various things, but do not reward. You may give a half sausage for her reward, once she’s come up to the body.”

“Come now,” Mr. Ishida said, pulling Hachiko along on the leash. I trailed the two of them, looking everywhere but ahead. I felt ashamed of myself for wishing that I’d stayed on kitchen duty. Not that I felt like eating anytime soon.

Holding my breath, I took the last few steps to join the group. Four soldiers were already inside the building, standing around something on the ground. Despite the respirator on my face, I sensed the air was particularly vile, in a sweet and musky way.

“Just a short time,” the petty officer said, indicating the dogs should come forward to smell the thing that must have been a corpse.

Hachiko walked slowly forward. But instead of sniffing, she laid her head straight on the corpse’s shoulder. I was horrified, but Mr. Ishida didn’t pull her away. He stood rigidly, his attention following Hachiko’s inspection of the corpse.

Trying to be brave, I looked as well. The body was not terribly long, and its legs were curled up against the stomach, the way a side sleeper might lie. But that was the only inkling of the body’s former humanity. The flesh was black and swollen. I could not guess at age or gender, if it hadn’t been for the light-blue skinny jeans and purple and pink sneakers. A towel had been placed over the corpse’s face; I wondered if this was routinely done out of respect or because the decay was so horrific.

The corpse’s top half was dressed in a short, flaring white coat that was unbuttoned. The coat buttons were feminine: lacquered rounds with a pink flower set on a blue background. The pink of the flowers matched the hand-knitted scarf tucked around her neck. At the end of the white coat’s sleeves, the dead woman’s hands were not really hands anymore. Just squirming maggots.

Mr. Ishida had said something about Mayumi designing lacquer buttons. But what else did I know about her?

Fighting revulsion, I bent to look at a few strands of turquoise-blue yarn slipping out from under the edge of the gray towel. Then I realized the strands weren’t yarn. They were thin and silky: human hair.

I wanted to look back at Mr. Ishida to see if he was all right, but I couldn’t even turn my head. I was overcome by everything. The sight of her, the overpowering smell, and the end of the search.

Petty Officer Oshima was saying something unintelligible. I was losing air inside the respirator. I tugged it up so my voice could be heard. But when I did that, the poisoned air swept into my nose and throat, making me gag.

“I think it’s…”

That was all that I got out before my eyes filled with all the turquoise blueness, and I was gone.