t must have been just before nine o’clock in the evening that the man made

his way past the Nihonbashi Bridge police station. The duty officer, who

had stepped outside a little earlier to survey the street, saw him from

behind.

Rather early to be quite so drunk, the officer thought. The man was

visibly unsteady on his feet. Since the officer couldn’t see his face, it was

hard to guess how old he was, but his hairstyle and other indicators

suggested late middle age. Neither fat nor thin, tall nor short, he was

dressed very respectably. Even from a distance, you could tell that his dark

brown suit was of high quality. In the end, the officer decided that there was

no need to bother him.

The man was walking toward the bridge, lurching from side to side as

he did so. The bridge was Nihonbashi Bridge, a historic landmark dating

from 1907. The man started to make his way across the bridge and appeared

to be heading for the Mitsukoshi department store on the far side.

The officer looked away and took stock of his immediate environs. He

got the impression that while there were slightly fewer pedestrians around

than before, the number of cars crisscrossing the tangle of roads in front of

him was the same as ever. Even though there was a recession—no, probably

because there was a recession—people still had to work. Despite the late

hour, there were plenty of trucks and other commercial vehicles out on the

road. The only change from the boom times was that the goods they were

transporting were probably worth less. And this place was ground zero, the

place from which all the hardworking merchants and businesspeople set off

for the rest of Japan.

A group of around fifteen Chinese tourists were wandering across

Nihonbashi Bridge, looking up at the expressway that ran at a right angle

directly above it. It wasn’t difficult for the officer to imagine the

conversations they were having. They were most likely asking why on earth

someone had gone and dumped something so brutish and ugly right on top

of such a beautiful structure. Coming from such a vast country themselves,

how could they possibly understand how, when Japan needed the

expressways as part of hosting the 1964 Tokyo Olympics, it had built them

above the capital’s old canals and rivers because there was no spare land

available?

The officer once again let his eyes wander. They came to a stop and

focused on something. It was that man again. In the middle of Nihonbashi

Bridge, there is an ornamental column with a pair of kirin, mythical

Chinese beasts, on either side. The man was leaning against the parapet

near the base of the column.

The officer watched him for a while. He didn’t look as if he was

planning to go anywhere. He was completely immobile.

“Oh, please! You’re not seriously going to fall asleep there at this time

of night—”

With a disapproving click of his tongue, the officer marched onto the

bridge.

There was the usual stream of people crossing the bridge, none of

whom paid the man any attention. Whether homeless or simply drunk, a

person lying or sitting at the side of the road wasn’t an unusual sight in

central Tokyo.

The officer approached him. The man was immediately beneath one of the kirin statues, which, unlike the typical kirin, resemble dragons. His back

was rounded as if bent forward in prayer.

“Excuse me, sir. What seems to be the problem?” The officer placed a

hand on the man’s shoulder. He didn’t react. “Come on, rise and shine.” The

officer gave him a shake.

The man began to slither down the stone base. The officer grabbed

hold of him and held him upright. What’s with this guy? He must be

smashed out of his mind. Then the officer sensed that something wasn’t

quite right. I can’t smell any alcohol on him. He isn’t drunk. Is he sick? No,

that’s not it either—

Struggling to hold him up, he looked at the man’s chest. There was

something sticking out of it. And there was a blackish red stain on his

shirtfront.

Oh no! I’ve got to call the station. He let the body drop and reached

for his radio.