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

  Chapter 18

  After 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.

  Chapter 19

  Eventually, I returned to my senses. I was lying across the back seat of the military jeep, only there were no dogs beside me. A Red Cross medic was waving something under my nose that smelled sharp and medicinal. I struggled to lift myself onto my elbows, and I saw Mr. Ishida looking down anxiously.

  “You weren’t feeling well,” he said. “I’m so sorry. Death after more than a week’s time is especially hard to encounter.”

  Taking a shallow breath of air—air that was wonderfully devoid of everything except fish—I asked, “Is it her?”

  “Yes.” His voice was low. “I recognized her coat.”

  “Lacquer buttons…” I couldn’t say more without thinking about the body and wanting to throw up.

  “Yes, those were hers. And she had knitted the scarf—during quiet times in the shop, she liked to knit.” Mr. Ishida’s voice was soothing.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, tears leaking out of my eyes.

  “Nobody blames you for fainting. It was difficult in there. Everyone has stepped away. They are waiting for the corpse-removal crew.”

  I’d meant that I was sorry he’d had such a terrible discovery of the young apprentice he’d cared about. But I couldn’t put together those words. My head hurt, and every part of my body felt tight, as if rods inside were forcing me into a tense sitting position. I took another shallow breath and asked, “Did you tell them it was Mayumi?”

  “Yes, but they would like the Kimuras to have a chance to see her before the identification is officially confirmed.”

  “And Akira needs to know,” I said. This news would devastate him.

  “Someone else will tell him. Don’t you worry.”

  “Where’s Hachiko?” I asked.

  “She is right here,” said Mr. Ishida, and I looked down the short length of his right leg to see the dog sitting on the ground. But her head was turned, as if she was still trying to see Mayumi.

  “It was very hard to get Hachiko to leave.” Mr. Ishida wiped a hand across his eyes. “And despite what I said to Oshima-san, I’m sorry that now she has learned to recognize the smell of human death.”

  “It’s so foul. I still smell it.”

  “During my years fighting with the imperial army, it was almost impossible to erase this smell of death from around myself. I’ve been told we will be brought to a bathhouse where we can clean ourselves. This is a very good idea, if you’re willing.”

  A bath sounded like good therapy. But it wasn’t as easy as Mr. Ishida thought. “I hear the nearest open bathhouse is in another town. And our clean clothing is at the volunteer shelter.”

  “The driver will bring us to the shelter first, to fetch those things. He will be eager to sanitize the car after we have gone out. And then we’ll ride back, clean and calm. Don’t worry, Shimura-san. I’ll take care of you.”

  It was about an hour to the town of Takamachi. You could tell there had been flooding in the town, but luckily, it was not as severe as what had happened in Sugihama. We were dropped off outside a traditional wooden-walled bathhouse that had a yellow lamp shining in welcome and a blue noren curtain fluttering in the doorway. The fee for a bath was still advertised as 350 yen. Unsurprisingly, there were long queues of people patiently waiting.

  People who joined the line for the women’s section stood a slight distance away from me. Perhaps Mr. Ishida’s hyperbole about the smell of death was true. My embarrassment increased when the old lady who managed the women’s section came up and whispered to me that I had special dispensation to go straight in.

  “Take as long as you like in the showers,” she said emphatically. “There is much soap. But if you don’t mind, please do not enter the communal bath today. It’s a little inconvenient for you, but we have to think of everyone else. I’m very sorry, but…”

&n
bsp; She understood the smell of death.

  Inside the ladies’ changing room, I took off all my clothes and put them in a plastic bag inside a small square locker. Then, shielding my lower half with a miniscule towel, I staked out my territory in a far corner of the women’s showers. Then I did the same as everyone else: fitted myself on a tiny stool near a tap and started dousing myself with buckets of water. The warm water felt purifying and soothing. Using the liquid soap that came out of a dispenser on the wall, I lathered myself from head to toe. As I scrubbed, I glanced jealously at some female bath patrons just a few feet away from me, soaking in the deep, steaming bath. They looked so comfortable; but as their words floated back to me, I lost all envy.

  “We cannot find our daughter. According to the Red Cross, it’s quite typical….”

  “The insurance agents won’t pay to build another house. They say…”

  “Matsumoto-san’s deceased husband was found yesterday. He was covered in so much mud they thought he was a log. But his watch alarm went off…”

  Outside of my cell phone, I had lost nothing. I had no friends or loved ones who’d died in Tohoku. Mayumi wasn’t someone I’d even spoken with—so logically, I couldn’t mourn her with any more depth than I did all the people I’d heard about on the news. But I did because of all Mr. Ishida had told me.

  It was especially poignant to find her curled into herself, as if sleeping in the butcher shop. In the old days, Japanese people who butchered meat were regarded as a kind of untouchable. I remembered the writhing maggots and wanted to vomit, but there was something else that disturbed me.

  I glanced at the bath, where the sober conversations continued. And then I recalled the recent words one woman had said to her friend.

  He was covered in so much mud he looked like a log.

  Mayumi hadn’t been muddy. In the short time I’d seen her, I’d mentally cataloged that her blue jeans were dark blue and her accessories were candy pink. I could make out the floral patterns of the handmade lacquer buttons on her winter white coat. No wave could have rushed over Mayumi and kept her clothing in such immaculate condition.