CHAPTER 22
Shinji
Teruo checked his phone, but there were no new messages from Shinji. He figured Shinji was probably talking to Tamura and trying to find out why his name appeared in the files.
Perhaps now was a good moment to talk with Nakagawa and address the elephant in the room—or at least the elephant in his own mind—because he seemed to be the only one agonizing about it.
Teruo opened the drawer and pulled out the rejection letter, placing it on his desk.
The quiet tapping of Nakagawa’s fingers on the keyboard was the only sound in the office, and Teruo sat back in his chair, wondering how to broach this subject with her.
He’d rehearsed apologizes and excuses, but he found them all silly.
If she wanted to leave because of him, no apology would be enough.
What did Shinji advise him to do? Speak plainly.
Teruo cleared his throat. “Nakagawa,” he said.
She paused and looked up. “Yes, sir.”
“There’s a letter for you that was misplaced on my desk. I shouldn’t have looked at it, but I realized what it was too late.” He gave the file to her.
Nakagawa took it with a small bow and read it. Her eyes widened, then her shoulders drooped. A small, almost imperceptible sigh escaped her. That was disappointment. She’d wanted to be accepted.
“I meant to tell you, sir. But I guess it’s useless now. I apologize that you found out this way.”
Teruo raised a palm. “Please, you don’t need to. If there’s anyone who should apologize, that would be me.”
Nakagawa regarded him with a confused look. “I don’t follow, sir.”
“Well, let’s just say you’re not the first detective in this unit to want to transfer because of me. I know this year has been a mess, with the scandal involving myself and Sergeant Miyazaki. I made you uncomfortable and it’s understandable that you want to leave.”
“No, sir.” Nakagawa shook her head. “That has nothing to do with my application to sex crimes. I disagree with the way things were handled with the two of you and I don’t dislike the homicide unit, on the contrary.”
Teruo’s brow furrowed. “Oh.” That wasn’t what he expected she’d say. “Thank you.”
Nakagawa gave him a little smile. “But I feel that my true calling is in the sex crimes unit. I think I would make a real difference by working there.” She stared at the letter. “Or at least that was my hope.”
Teruo felt relief that she didn’t despise him. She wanted to work in a unit where she’d thrive and use her skills to help victims. He, too, had known from his rookie days which unit would be best for his skills and worked hard to get to where he was now.
“I respect that,” Teruo said, “especially because the sex crimes unit isn’t for the faint of heart. Those types of criminals are a cesspool of depravity.”
“I know. It’s why I want to work there, sir. I want the victims to rely on me and not feel alone and ashamed.”
Teruo’s heart warmed at her words. “That’s what being a detective is all about. You should apply again.”
Nakagawa blinked. “Sir, I don’t think I should.
I’m likely not suited for the unit no matter how much I wish to be.
Some of my peers told me I’m too softspoken, so maybe that’s the issue.
But others told me not to show too much confidence because then I’ll come off as aggressive.
I think it’s my personality that’s getting in my way. ”
Teruo knew that trap very well because he had seen Megumi go through it when they were still working together.
“You should speak with Chief Koga. She’s better equipped to help you navigate this.
But I can tell you that what they mean is to make yourself smaller for their convenience. Don’t do that.”
She nodded, fiddling with a pen, her gaze set on the rejection letter before her.
“Apply and I’ll add my recommendation,” Teruo said. “If sex crimes is where you want to be, you have my support.”
Nakagawa’s face brightened. “Thank you so much, chief! For what it’s worth, I like working in homicide, although I feel guilty for taking Sergeant Miyazaki’s place.”
“Do not feel guilty. That was out of everybody’s control.”
“Perhaps Sergeant Miyazaki might be reassigned to you, if I transfer.”
Now Teruo was the one who felt guilty. “Don’t apply with that in mind. Do it for yourself, okay?”
She smiled but before they could talk more, Shinji barged inside, breathless and a little sweaty. “We need to talk to Kawasaki Mariko. Now.” He looked from Teruo to Nakagawa. “Did I interrupt you? Sorry.”
“We’re okay,” Teruo said, then stood. He turned to Nakagawa. “Continue with those files and try to find out who might be targeted next—if anyone. There are still patrol officers looking for Takeda, so if any of them calls, you let me know.”
“Yes, sir.”
Teruo waited until they were inside the elevator until he spoke again, “Kawasaki and Takeda are working together?”
“Kawasaki is Tamura’s daughter and Hiroshi’s sister. She’s the one who broke the seals on Takeda. It seems she knows the entire story behind Takeda’s murders.”
Teruo stared at him for a moment. “And we’re only now finding out? How did the Onmyōryō miss this?”
“We didn’t know the connection between them. And it seems certain people at the Onmyōryō paid a shit ton of money to keep her quiet.”
“I see,” Teruo said. “Where is Kawasaki Mariko?”
Shinji let out a long sigh. “At her and her husband’s apartment in Higashikurume.”
“Are you kidding me? She’s been there this entire time while Takeda is murdering people?”
“Yes…”
“Does she know we’re coming?”
“No. I sent Keiko ahead to do some recon in the area. Mr. Tamura is here with us.” Shinji looked to his left. “I’m not letting you out of my sight until your daughter tells us everything.”
They exited the elevator, and as they headed toward the car, Shinji shared what he’d learned from Tamura.
The more he said, the stronger and colder the ghostly mist was, to the point that Teruo could see it.
If it was true, if Tamura’s son had been wrongly accused and executed, this was a horrendous thing that the Onmyōryō had done.
Teruo wondered if Shinji had thought about his late superior officer who died in his arms. He had never forgiven the Onmyōryō for it and likely never would.
Teruo almost regretted that he accepted to work with the organization for his healing problems, but he wasn’t going to solve the problem by running.
It was better to fight from within than from outside.
“Does Horiuchi know?” Teruo asked.
“Not yet,” Shinji said. “I wanted to get Kawasaki’s side of the story without feeling the pressure of the Onmyōryō through Horiuchi’s presence. Can you drive?” Shinji asked. “I put the unredacted files on a tablet to read them.”
“Sure.” Teruo settled behind the wheel and drove out toward Higashikurume once again.
“Did you and Nakagawa talk?” Shinji asked.
“We did.” Teruo summarized everything Nakagawa told him. “You were right. I wasn’t me. Or, at least not from what she’s saying out loud.”
Shinji frowned in confusion. “Huh. I guess sex crimes fixed their personnel issues.”
“What do you mean?” Teruo asked.
“Last I worked with them, they were desperate for more detectives. If they rejected her twice, they probably hired more? Otherwise, they’d be dumb to reject a perfectly capable detective. She isn’t even a rookie.”
Teruo scrunched his nose in annoyance. “I’ll do a little digging when we finish here.” He had a feeling they hadn’t fixed anything.
Outside, the sun shone brightly, and the sky was a beautiful blue which upset Shinji who mumbled under his breath that it was too hot. But the inside of the car was pretty chilly, especially toward the back seats likely because of Tamura’s ghostly mist.
Shinji ran a hand through his hair and leaned back as he read on the tablet.
Teruo thought what this case would’ve looked like if he’d never met Shinji and never knew about the supernatural world.
Would it be taken from him? Or left to become a cold case?
From time to time, he wondered how many of his unsolved cases had been supernatural and abandoned by the Onmyōryō, left to non-supernatural cops who’d never solve them? He was very tempted to ask Horiuchi.
“Oh my god,” Shinji suddenly said.
“What?” Teruo glanced at him.
Shinji looked up, his mouth open, then looked back at the table. “Our victims, the field agents, didn’t know that Tamura Hiroshi was innocent.” Shinji tapped his finger against the tablet. “This is a post-extraction internal report written by Kichida, the former leader of the extractors.”
“What does it say?”
“His words: ‘Subsequent internal investigations determined that Tamura Hiroshi’s extraction occurred in error and was classified as an operation misjudgment.’”
“Misjudgment doesn’t begin to cover it,” Teruo said, shivering as the mist thickened inside the car.
“Wait for it,” Shinji continued. “’The field agents’—and he lists our victims—‘“were not informed of the error. In order to preserve operational stability and decision-making confidence in future assignments, it will not be disclosed and remain classified.’” Shinji slapped the tablet against his legs.
“That’s why Morimoto and Nishida Shigeru were arguing about.
I think they were suspecting something was wrong. ”
“Fucking hell. Bureaucratic damage control in the most hideous way possible,” Teruo said.
“That resulted in seven deaths: Hiroshi, and the field agents.” Shinji rubbed his palms over his face. “Oh my god. Is this why they changed the leader of the extractors? Why they brought in the commissioner?”
“I wonder if she even knows.” Teruo shook his head. “I have this feeling they’re just expecting her to quietly wipe their shit.”
Shinji turned toward the back seats. “Yes, I know.” He sighed. “It’s not that I didn’t believe you. It’s that I’d rather have the facts in front of me—unlike the Onmyōryō who seems to operate on… I don’t know…”
“The most important question is: Does Takeda Fuyumi know?” Teruo asked.