her statement as soon as we can, so we can go out and nail the guy who did this to her."
Ignoring the young doctor's undisguised scorn, Takizawa looked up at him and plowed right on. Was this insensitivity, Takako wondered, or sheer audacity? "Down the road, there's no telling how crucial Masayo Kizaki's testimony could be. You read the papers, don't you, Doc? That fire was no accident. It was a homicide, and there could have been a lot more victims than one. We won't take long, I promise. Five minutes—ten, tops—that's all I ask. From each of the four under your care."
Takizawa's bearing was mild, and yet he had no intention of backing off, something that the young doctor could see; sourly, he glanced in Takako's direction. She bowed her head reflexively, not averting her eyes. That expression of sour disgust was familiar to her and her colleagues. It was the role of a detective to thrust himself forward insistently, without regard for the convenience of others—even, as now, to make unreasonable demands. No wonder people were always taking offense. In the past, Takako had felt apologetic and embarrassed in situations like this, but now she took it all in stride; everyone had a duty to perform.
"Incidentally, Doc, what would you say were Kizaki's chances of looking normal again? She'll be permanently scarred, will she?"
The answer came stiffly, after a pause. "You mean, assuming she pulls through the shock?"
"Naturally."
Again the pause. "She probably never will regain her former looks."
"That's tough. What about her eyes? Will she be able to see?"
Pause. "With time, she should recover her vision."
In the end, Takizawa succeeded in drawing the doctor out concerning Kizaki's condition and was even granted permission to visit her, "but only for a short time, mind you," as well as the other three patients. Takako mentally tipped her hat to Takizawa for his tenacity, and for the suave smile that was so unlike the self he presented to her. She was inclined to doubt that a woman could have been so successful. At her young age, it would have been impossible to carry off the same degree of pushiness and cheek.
"I can't be in the room with you, but I will see that a nurse is present."
With this parting shot, the aggrieved doctor walked off, his white coat flapping. For whatever reason, of all professionals, doctors were the least in awe of police. They often looked down on them.
"Take the stick outa your ass, ya little bastard," Takizawa muttered under his breath, scowling, as he watched the doctor walk down the corridor. Takako had the feeling that she had just witnessed the skill of a master of subterfuge. And without her knowing, he had also somehow gotten the room numbers of the casualties he wanted to visit. He consulted his notebook, and began to walk down a long corridor that smelled of antiseptic. Takako followed behind.
As Takizawa knocked on the first patient's door, his facial expression softened.
"Hello, sorry to disturb you again at a time like this, but I'd like very much to talk to you for a little while, if that's OK. I'm a detective."
What a terrible disaster that was, he went on, entering the room and ignoring Takako as usual. She remained self-effacingly in the background, now and again smiling at the patient's family members while saying not a word, only watching as Takizawa conducted the interview.
They took statements from the three most seriously injured casualties. By the time they arrived at the room of Masayo Kizaki, it was almost noon. There was a red-lettered sign saying no visitors. "Please promise to do this quickly," said the nurse, evidently under orders from that doctor. She seemed a bit scared as she looked at Takizawa.
6
Takizawa was sitting in a window seat, jiggling his leg and staring moodily out the window, beyond which lay a dusty landscape. This was the first time he'd been in this ramen shop, which faced a chronically jammed thoroughfare of dump trucks, semi-trailers, and
Ignoring the young doctor's undisguised scorn, Takizawa looked up at him and plowed right on. Was this insensitivity, Takako wondered, or sheer audacity? "Down the road, there's no telling how crucial Masayo Kizaki's testimony could be. You read the papers, don't you, Doc? That fire was no accident. It was a homicide, and there could have been a lot more victims than one. We won't take long, I promise. Five minutes—ten, tops—that's all I ask. From each of the four under your care."
Takizawa's bearing was mild, and yet he had no intention of backing off, something that the young doctor could see; sourly, he glanced in Takako's direction. She bowed her head reflexively, not averting her eyes. That expression of sour disgust was familiar to her and her colleagues. It was the role of a detective to thrust himself forward insistently, without regard for the convenience of others—even, as now, to make unreasonable demands. No wonder people were always taking offense. In the past, Takako had felt apologetic and embarrassed in situations like this, but now she took it all in stride; everyone had a duty to perform.
"Incidentally, Doc, what would you say were Kizaki's chances of looking normal again? She'll be permanently scarred, will she?"
The answer came stiffly, after a pause. "You mean, assuming she pulls through the shock?"
"Naturally."
Again the pause. "She probably never will regain her former looks."
"That's tough. What about her eyes? Will she be able to see?"
Pause. "With time, she should recover her vision."
In the end, Takizawa succeeded in drawing the doctor out concerning Kizaki's condition and was even granted permission to visit her, "but only for a short time, mind you," as well as the other three patients. Takako mentally tipped her hat to Takizawa for his tenacity, and for the suave smile that was so unlike the self he presented to her. She was inclined to doubt that a woman could have been so successful. At her young age, it would have been impossible to carry off the same degree of pushiness and cheek.
"I can't be in the room with you, but I will see that a nurse is present."
With this parting shot, the aggrieved doctor walked off, his white coat flapping. For whatever reason, of all professionals, doctors were the least in awe of police. They often looked down on them.
"Take the stick outa your ass, ya little bastard," Takizawa muttered under his breath, scowling, as he watched the doctor walk down the corridor. Takako had the feeling that she had just witnessed the skill of a master of subterfuge. And without her knowing, he had also somehow gotten the room numbers of the casualties he wanted to visit. He consulted his notebook, and began to walk down a long corridor that smelled of antiseptic. Takako followed behind.
As Takizawa knocked on the first patient's door, his facial expression softened.
"Hello, sorry to disturb you again at a time like this, but I'd like very much to talk to you for a little while, if that's OK. I'm a detective."
What a terrible disaster that was, he went on, entering the room and ignoring Takako as usual. She remained self-effacingly in the background, now and again smiling at the patient's family members while saying not a word, only watching as Takizawa conducted the interview.
They took statements from the three most seriously injured casualties. By the time they arrived at the room of Masayo Kizaki, it was almost noon. There was a red-lettered sign saying no visitors. "Please promise to do this quickly," said the nurse, evidently under orders from that doctor. She seemed a bit scared as she looked at Takizawa.
6
Takizawa was sitting in a window seat, jiggling his leg and staring moodily out the window, beyond which lay a dusty landscape. This was the first time he'd been in this ramen shop, which faced a chronically jammed thoroughfare of dump trucks, semi-trailers, and
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