Read Online Tokyo Vice by Jake Adelstein - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jake Adelstein
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around.
If I were a cop, I’d feel the same way about me. My scooping the story wouldn’t benefit him in any way. I didn’t have the position or authority to promise him good coverage of the story, nor did I have information to offer him that would make it a give-and-take deal. On the other hand, what harm could it do to give me the story? I was working hard. The story would make the police look good in the local community or, at the very least, not make them look bad.
I had a week before the announcement. The cops loved to make us wait. It was a constant tug-of-war. So I found myself once again whittling away the hours, drinking tea and watching television with the Omiya cops at nine that same evening. That was when I happened to notice a drawing posted on the bulletin board. It was a composite sketch of a thief who had been ripping off large electronics and clothing stores along a major highway of the city. The notice, sometimes called a
tehaisho
, went into great detail about his physical characteristics, his MO, and each store he’d robbed.
“Hey, do you mind if I take a picture of the police station?” I casually asked a cop whose mouth was full of jelly doughnut. “My dad’s a medical examiner in Missouri, and he’s really curious to see what a Japanese police station looks like.”
The guys were sufficiently impressed by my father’s quasi-police status to ask me about his work while they posed for pictures. I had them stand beside the bulletin board, and as I snapped away, I took a close-up of the composite sketch.
I got back to the office at eleven, ate some cold pizza left in the refrigerator, and developed the film. (This was still in the dark ages of film, when developing photos was a big pain in the ass.) I blew up the notice, cropped it, made bad copies of it, crumpled them up, and took the most ratty version home with me. My purpose was to make it look as if I’d either gotten a copy from one of the victims or a local merchantor fished it out of the trash. I didn’t want anyone figuring out that I’d photographed it while hanging around the police station. Not only could that curtail my access to the police, it could also get my doughnut friends chewed out.
The next day I went to one of the stores, talked to the manager about the crime, and asked him if he knew of any similar cases. He showed me his copy of the police notice but wouldn’t give it to me. Around two in the afternoon, I walked into the Omiya police station and asked permission to go up and see Fuji.
Fuji motioned for me to sit down and planted his elbows on his desk, forming his fingers into a temple and peering over them with some amusement.
“How’s the big story coming along?” he asked.
“I’ve given up on that one,” I said.
“Given up?”
“Yes, I’ve got a better one. I’m going to write a public interest piece about the recent rash of roadside robberies in the Omiya area. I think I’ll include this composite drawing as well.”
I showed him the copy but didn’t hand it to him.
“Where’d you get that?” he sputtered.
“I’ve already talked to some of the victims.” It wasn’t an answer and it wasn’t a lie, but it was misdirection.
Fuji wasn’t amused. “We’re in the middle of that investigation right now. If you publish that, you’ll scare him off and we’ll never catch him.”
“That’s not my problem,” I said. “My job is to gather the news, write it, and publish it as soon as possible for the good of the community. I
can
write that you’re investigating, if you like. I promise.”
“Don’t write that story.”
“I’m a reporter. I
have
to write things. That’s my job. Just like you investigate things and catch criminals for a living, I investigate things, and they’re published in the newspaper. If I’m not writing, I’m not working, and I don’t have anything better to write right now.”
Fuji’s eyes narrowed behind the thick glass. “I could give you
If I were a cop, I’d feel the same way about me. My scooping the story wouldn’t benefit him in any way. I didn’t have the position or authority to promise him good coverage of the story, nor did I have information to offer him that would make it a give-and-take deal. On the other hand, what harm could it do to give me the story? I was working hard. The story would make the police look good in the local community or, at the very least, not make them look bad.
I had a week before the announcement. The cops loved to make us wait. It was a constant tug-of-war. So I found myself once again whittling away the hours, drinking tea and watching television with the Omiya cops at nine that same evening. That was when I happened to notice a drawing posted on the bulletin board. It was a composite sketch of a thief who had been ripping off large electronics and clothing stores along a major highway of the city. The notice, sometimes called a
tehaisho
, went into great detail about his physical characteristics, his MO, and each store he’d robbed.
“Hey, do you mind if I take a picture of the police station?” I casually asked a cop whose mouth was full of jelly doughnut. “My dad’s a medical examiner in Missouri, and he’s really curious to see what a Japanese police station looks like.”
The guys were sufficiently impressed by my father’s quasi-police status to ask me about his work while they posed for pictures. I had them stand beside the bulletin board, and as I snapped away, I took a close-up of the composite sketch.
I got back to the office at eleven, ate some cold pizza left in the refrigerator, and developed the film. (This was still in the dark ages of film, when developing photos was a big pain in the ass.) I blew up the notice, cropped it, made bad copies of it, crumpled them up, and took the most ratty version home with me. My purpose was to make it look as if I’d either gotten a copy from one of the victims or a local merchantor fished it out of the trash. I didn’t want anyone figuring out that I’d photographed it while hanging around the police station. Not only could that curtail my access to the police, it could also get my doughnut friends chewed out.
The next day I went to one of the stores, talked to the manager about the crime, and asked him if he knew of any similar cases. He showed me his copy of the police notice but wouldn’t give it to me. Around two in the afternoon, I walked into the Omiya police station and asked permission to go up and see Fuji.
Fuji motioned for me to sit down and planted his elbows on his desk, forming his fingers into a temple and peering over them with some amusement.
“How’s the big story coming along?” he asked.
“I’ve given up on that one,” I said.
“Given up?”
“Yes, I’ve got a better one. I’m going to write a public interest piece about the recent rash of roadside robberies in the Omiya area. I think I’ll include this composite drawing as well.”
I showed him the copy but didn’t hand it to him.
“Where’d you get that?” he sputtered.
“I’ve already talked to some of the victims.” It wasn’t an answer and it wasn’t a lie, but it was misdirection.
Fuji wasn’t amused. “We’re in the middle of that investigation right now. If you publish that, you’ll scare him off and we’ll never catch him.”
“That’s not my problem,” I said. “My job is to gather the news, write it, and publish it as soon as possible for the good of the community. I
can
write that you’re investigating, if you like. I promise.”
“Don’t write that story.”
“I’m a reporter. I
have
to write things. That’s my job. Just like you investigate things and catch criminals for a living, I investigate things, and they’re published in the newspaper. If I’m not writing, I’m not working, and I don’t have anything better to write right now.”
Fuji’s eyes narrowed behind the thick glass. “I could give you
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