The Logmaster - Chapter 11

Tadashi Mitsukado, 32 years old. Rank: Detective Inspector.

Just hearing his title makes it seem like he has risen through the ranks smoothly, but his reality reflects the cold reality of the police organization.

They were originally the so-called career group, having passed the first-class national civil service examination (now the general career examination).

In the future, he could have become a superintendent or even a superintendent general of the Metropolitan Police Department. However, he hated crooked things and, for better or worse, was too straightforward.

While assigned to the department, I witnessed misconduct by a boss I respected, and could not turn a blind eye to it.

As a result of his resistance in a manner akin to whistleblowing, he faced retaliatory personnel changes from the organization.

Completely removed from the elite path, he was now languishing in a corner of the Metropolitan Police Department in what was essentially a demoted department called the “Unidentified Persons Advice Room.”

The main duties include inquiries into unidentified persons and identifying bodies of people who have died alone or on the street.

It’s an obscure department that relies solely on foot traffic to gather information steadily.

His pride as a career worker was shattered long ago, and now he spends his days simply doing the job in front of him.

That day, while sitting at his desk looking at documents for “a certain project,” Mikata called out to his boss sitting across from him.

“Sumi-san, can I talk to you for a second? There’s something that’s been bothering me lately.”

Ichiro Sumitani, 63 years old.

A veteran detective nearing retirement age, he is loved and referred to as “Buddha’s Sumi-san” for his gentle and honest personality. He is the nominal head of the Unidentified Persons Consultation Room to which Sankaku belongs.

“Hmm? What’s wrong, Sankaku? You have a difficult look on your face.”

Kakutani usually calls the triangle “Sankaku” instead of “Mitsukado.”

Slowly sipping tea from a teacup, she gave me a gentle, yet somewhat elusive smile.

“Well, it seems like there have been a string of accidental and suspicious deaths of homeless people in Tokyo recently… What do you think, Sumi?”

Misumi asked, tapping the document in front of him.

“Hmm, I guess so…”

Kakutani looked up at the ceiling, seemed to be pondering for a moment, then replied, “Now that you mention it, I suppose that’s true…” However, there was no sense of crisis or interest in his tone.

(Here it goes again, this old man’s “Buddha face”…)

Sankaku cursed in his mind.

Kakutani hates anything troublesome or troublesome. His desire to stay calm and avoid trouble until retirement is clear.

To him, Sankaku’s doubts were probably nothing more than a nuisance that would just create more work for him.

I realized there was no point in talking any further.

“I see… I’m going to go and investigate the matter of the person who died the other day!”

I stood up, speaking in a deliberately cheerful voice.

Kakutani waves his hand while looking away.

Sankaku headed to a tent village where friends of a homeless man who had recently died after falling down the stairs of a footbridge while drunk were gathered.

Although the case appears likely to be treated as a normal accidental death, suspicions are swirling within Sankaku that this may be another in a series of “suspicious deaths of homeless people.”

His instincts as a detective are sounding the alarm, telling him that there must be some invisible connection.

Homeless communities are sustained by a unique sense of solidarity, yet at the same time, a sense of caution that comes from the constant threat of danger.

Although they do help each other out, they are always conscious of the risk of having their belongings stolen, and so tend to avoid excessive interference in order to avoid unnecessary conflict.

However, the man who died this time, known as “Yoshi-san,” was an anomaly among them.

Yoshi neither drank nor smoked, and was said to be a quiet but very caring person.

He would share the food and small amounts of money he earned from soup kitchens with his fellow homeless people who were weaker than him or elderly people who could not stand, and sometimes even went so far as to help them become independent.

“He seemed to enjoy helping people.”

“He was like our leader.”

His comrades unanimously lamented his death.

“You know, Yoshi, there’s no way he’d ever get that drunk.”

One homeless man spoke, rubbing his eyes with his wrinkled hands.

“That day, he was distracted, or rather, unfocused, and even when I spoke to him, he didn’t seem to understand why he was there. Then, at night, I heard that he had fallen from a footbridge and died. I couldn’t believe it.”

“No one has ever seen Yoshi drinking alcohol.”

“He was a very serious person, almost too serious.”

Other homeless people agree.

“Now that I think of it…”

Another homeless man spoke up as if he had just remembered something.

“It was probably a few days before Yoshi-san died. I saw him talking to someone I didn’t recognize in a suit.”

“A man in a suit?” His triangular eyebrows twitched.

“Yeah. He was around 40 years old, I think. He looked a little tired, like an ordinary businessman. I remember him well because it was unusual for someone to go out of their way to talk to a homeless person. Recently, strange people have been approaching me, claiming to be inviting me to do shady part-time work, so he stands out even more.”

An office worker in a suit.

The keyword matched other incidents in Sankaku’s memory.

The first person he encountered was a man named Sato Yukio, who died in an accident with a garbage truck, a death he felt was suspicious.

According to his colleagues, Sato suffered from an internal illness and had no physical strength, and was almost like a decorative figure who rarely moved from his bench except when serving food.

However, in the few days leading up to his death, he suddenly began rummaging through trash cans, carrying large cardboard boxes, and picking up empty cans, repeating actions that were clearly out of his usual routine like a robot.

Then, when Sato was crushed by a garbage truck, there was an eyewitness who said that a man in a suit was also at the scene. Immediately after the accident, the man did not rush over to the scene, but instead quickly left the scene while looking at his smartphone.

“During the few days that Sato-san was acting strangely, the man in the suit was often seen fiddling with his smartphone in the corner of the park, watching Sato-san.”

Another homeless person testifies.

“Whenever he looked at his smartphone, he’d frown, or at other times, he’d have a creepy grin. I was curious about Sato-san’s strange behavior, but more than that, I remember him strangely, wondering what he was doing in the park almost every day in the early morning.”

A mysterious man in a suit appears near the crime scene every time an incident occurs.

The strange behavior of the victims. And their unnatural deaths. Are these coincidences? Or are they all connected?

Possible serial homeless murders.

However, there is no evidence. There are witness testimonies, but they are all from homeless people. Even if they report it to the higher-ups of the police organization, it is obvious that they will not take it seriously, saying that “homeless people can’t be trusted” and “It’s a waste of time.”

As he was blown by the cold wind, Mikaku was once again keenly aware that even before the incident, he had to face the huge wall that was the police organization.