A big temple right near Inokashira Park, surrounded by white stone walls, Daiseiji Temple was built as a shrine to the god Yakushi Nyorai, and it was a very solemn place.
The police were going in and out of it, looking busy. Outside the gate, the media had set up camp. The main shrine had a “No Admittance” sign on the door. Cold white smoke was pouring out from within. It was probably dry ice, used to delay the decay of the bodies.
The building held the bodies of over two hundred people dragged up from the bottom of Inokashira Lake. Of course, Moritsuka was in here, too.
I’d ridden over from the dorm on my bike, but I wasn’t sure if it was okay to go inside, so I was simply standing there. Just then, Shinoyama came out from the building, and our eyes met. He waved at me.
“You came, huh? This way.”
I moved my bike off to the side so it wouldn’t get in the way, then followed him inside.
The floor was covered with a plastic sheet. There were large clumps of dry ice here and there all over the floor, and it was freezing cold despite being spring. The massive temple building was gloomy despite it being daytime, and I shivered from the chill.
There were rows of simply constructed coffins. When I saw that each one of them held a body, I was stunned at the sheer number. There were probably more dead people than living ones here now.
I couldn’t look away from it. No matter which way I turned there were coffins.
I was an FBI agent, whether I looked like it or not, and I’d seen bodies before. Each time I had, I’d done my best to avoid thinking of them as human. Otherwise, I’d get too emotional and wouldn’t be able to do my investigation right.
In all those cases, though, the bodies had been in awful shape, so while it had been shocking, it was easy to tell myself that these were just things, not people. But this time, none of the bodies were badly damaged. They were all in pristine condition. There was far too much left of how they’d looked when they were alive.
Would I be able to control myself when I saw Moritsuka’s body? I got a little scared thinking about it.
“Moritsuka’s this way.” Shinoyama guided me towards the back.
Just like the documents I’d read had said, the 256 corpses were of all different genders and ages. There were adults, and also five-year-old children. It seemed like half were men and half were women.
Suddenly, I heard a woman sobbing in the quiet temple. She was in her thirties, and she was clinging to one of the coffins and crying. Next to her was a boy who looked like he was in elementary school. He was just standing there in shock. They must have been one of the families.
My chest started to tighten.
Shinoyama came to a stop in front of the coffins. “This is Moritsuka,” he said hesitantly, pointing to the coffin in front of him.
It had been a long time since I’d seen Moritsuka’s face, but he hadn’t changed much at all. He looked so peaceful, like at any moment he might open his eyes and say, “Hey, how’ve you been?”
“It’s like he’s asleep, isn’t it?”
Shinoyama didn’t answer, but instead said flatly, “We haven’t finished going over all the victims yet, but Moritsuka definitely died of drowning.”
Drowning...
I’d read about the cause of death in the documents I’d been given, but after coming here, I was starting to wonder more about it.
Many of the corpses here hadn’t swollen up because the temperature in the lake was cold in February and they were found quickly. But their expressions were so peaceful, and there was no sign of the suffering that drowning victims usually experienced.
Were they all drugged and unconscious when it happened? But several of the bodies had been examined, and no trace of drugs had been found...
There was no point in thinking about it. I’d just do what I came here to do.
“Let me see Moritsuka’s things,” I said.
Shinoyama pointed towards a plastic container next to the coffin. There was barely anything inside. Just a few waterlogged trading cards and some receipts. It would be hard to get anything useful out of them.
“Is this all?”
“It’s not just Moritsuka. It’s the same for all of them. Far too few of them are carrying anything that would help ID them.”
“Is that why it’s taking so long to identify them?”
“Yeah,” Shinoyama grunted and nodded.
I dropped to my knees on the cold floor and looked at Moritsuka up close.
Really, his face was so peaceful. There was no sign of the suffering that occurs when water enters your lungs. Was it possible that someone who had drowned himself could look like that?
If he’d died without suffering, then at least that was fortunate, maybe.
“I’m sorry.” I gulped, took off my glove, and put my hand against Moritsuka’s forehead. His skin was cool to the touch. It was so cold I almost cried.
No.
This wasn’t the time to let my emotions take control. If I didn’t stay on top of things, Moritsuka would scold me.
I closed off my feelings, shut my eyes, and focused.
— Begin the performance.
I decided to go back to twenty minutes before his death.
A street, lit up by streetlights.
I knew the place: it was Kichijoji Street. It was late at night, and Moritsuka was walking at a regular rhythm. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry. He went from the road into the park, and even though it was late at night, there were many people there. All of them were walking silently towards the lake.
There was no hesitation at all in anyone’s steps. Their movements were swift and certain. Nobody was stopping, and nobody seemed to be there against their will.
Adults, kids, men, women, they were all acting as if they were out for a walk. But it was the middle of the night. It wasn’t an hour when that many people would go for a walk.
Eventually, they all reached the shrine to Benzaiten that was next to the lake. The adults climbed over the small fence separating it from the lake, and the children went under it.
Nobody spoke. They were all completely silent.