The first thing Kanzaki said was, “Thank you for your cooperation in this matter.” He bowed, then sat down without affectation and commented frankly, “What a wonderful view.” It was not small talk; Kanzaki was in fact surveying the far vista from the window of the fortieth floor. He was not like most other officers, who were all pretense.
“By the way, sir, how are you feeling these days?” Kanzaki asked.
“I’m doing fine, thank you. Which do you prefer—meat or fish?”
“I’ll have the fish.”
“How about beer?”
“Thank you, but I’m afraid not, since I’m on duty.”
After the waiter left, Kanzaki cut right to the chase. “The first matter I came to discuss with you today is—”
Shiroyama was impressed, wishing business could always be conducted as efficiently.
“—Investigation Headquarters would very much like to lure ‘Lady Joker’ into taking action so that we might be able to progress with the investigation. If the perpetrators make a move, a means of closing in on them becomes available. Therefore, on the date specified—May fifth—we would like your company to take out an ad in Nikkan Sports, and we will await further instructions from the perpetrators.”
Now Shiroyama realized that Kanzaki’s plain-spoken manner of discussing things was one-sided—he still represented authorities who had no need to ever consider the other person’s perspective. Moreover, his finely-honed lack of idiosyncrasy undoubtedly functioned as a sort of intimidation.
“What will we do once we receive further instructions?”
“Presumably, the next instructions will involve how to deliver the money. We’d like you to follow those instructions. Of course, the police would have the place surrounded, so if the perpetrators were to appear, rest assured that they would not get away. MPD has never let a perpetrator escape in previous cases such as this.”
“You mean you want us to act as if we are going along with the perpetrators’ demand?”
“That’s right.”
“It’s not for me to judge what is best for the investigation, so if that’s what you say, we’ll follow instructions. I’ll have the control center issue an official response.”
“By the way, you contacted us the day after receiving the letter from the perpetrators. Is there any particular reason why?”
“No, nothing in particular. The executives are all so busy that it’s difficult to get them together at the same time to discuss a course of action.”
The arrival of their meal interrupted conversation temporarily as Kanzaki began eating—langoustine with sauce américaine, served with butter rice. “Wow, this is incredibly delicious,” he commented. Shiroyama explained that the sauce américaine, prepared by the kitchen of the beer restaurant each day by pounding and simmering a ten-kilogram Japanese spiny lobster, was among the best in Tokyo.
“I see . . . Now I understand how you immediately identified the Western food item that you were given as ‘pork and beans,’” Kanzaki responded, straight-laced as ever. “Speaking of which, canned pork and beans are also distributed by the Self-Defense Forces and some municipalities, who use them as emergency food supplies.”
After this digression, Kanzaki got back to the point. “Now, the second matter I wanted to discuss with you. As we try to force a move by the perpetrators, I’d very much like to provide you with a detective as escort.”
“You mean a bodyguard?”
“A bodyguard equipped with a handgun and an expandable baton, yes.”
“I’m not so sure about that . . . It’s all so sudden.”
“I bring this up because there is no room for error—for the police nor for your company.”
“The company has increased the number of security guards.”
“You go out and about every day, and yet you only have one driver with you. That is much too vulnerable.”
“That’s standard for civilians.”
“I don’t mean to dodge the police’s accountability, but the attacks on corporate executives—including last year’s incident in which the managing director of Toei Bank was shot and killed—could have been avoided if the victims had been a little more prepared. And compared to those cases, the situation involving your company is much more pressing. The perpetrators who abducted you were confident that, once they released you, they’d still get their hands on the six hundred million, so once they realize that this is no longer likely, you can expect to be in quite a lot of danger.”
So the police do, in fact, suspect that the criminals have some kind of connection with me, Shiroyama surmised. “You just said that in the event that the perpetrators give instructions about how to deliver the money, we should do as we’re told and you’ll be able to apprehend them,” he said, holding firm.
“We’ll be able to catch them in the act, but we can’t stop what they do behind the scenes,” Kanzaki retorted.
“The point being, it’s all very dangerous.”
“All cases are dangerous.”
“If what it takes to arrest the perpetrators would expose me to a level of danger that requires a bodyguard, then I’ll need to give it some thought,” Shiroyama said. His resistance was meager, and Kanzaki remained unwavering.
“This is not Hinode’s problem alone. Apprehending the perpetrators concerns the law and order of this country and corporate society as a whole. I would like your company to be an example for corporations all over Japan by not yielding to unwarranted corporate terrorism. All I’m suggesting is for the police to do their utmost in this effort by providing you with a security detail.”
Shiroyama knew he had no recourse other than to comply with the police. A corporation did not have the capacity to prevent or respond to unforeseeable dangers. They had no grounds for refusing the police’s offer to provide a detective. The reason he himself was having trouble accepting it was simple: he was utterly baffled that neither he nor the board of directors had been able to predict that such danger and constraint of personal freedom would befall him and those around him.
“Please allow me to consider this,” Shiroyama responded at last. “I’ll issue my final decision through the control center.”
“For our part, we intend to do our due diligence when selecting the right person for the job, so as not to interfere with your routine or that of those close to you.”
“If possible, I’d like to request a detective from the local precinct rather than the MPD.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“I have a family. Any danger that involves me involves my family. I’d be grateful to work with someone who appreciates the wellbeing of the local community.”
久保晴久 Haruhisa Kubo
At the eye signal of the guard—Here he comes—Kubo, with Furukawa and Yamane the beat reporter in tow, ran down the slope from the entrance to the underground parking lot. Waving their arms frantically, the three of them jumped in front of the official vehicle making its way up from below ground with the head of First Investigation inside. The car stopped midway up the slope and the rear window opened. Kubo called out, “Sorry to bother you! We just happened to see you.”
“It’s been nothing but stakeouts for you guys lately, huh, Kubo-san?” Chief Kanzaki peered out from the car window, his eyes passing over Kubo’s face without making eye contact.
That’s it, that’s the look. Kubo pressed for more. “What brings you to Hinode?”
“I’m paying a visit on the fortieth day since the incident occurred. A situation report, if you will,” Kanzaki replied.
“Who requested the meeting?”
“I did.”
“Would it be worthwhile for us to follow Mr. Shiroyama?”
“I said nothing of the sort.”
“Chief. The perps made a move, didn’t they?”
“They did not. I was simply treated
to lunch today on the fortieth floor.”
“It’s rare for you to take a lunch meeting, isn’t it?”
“When in Rome, do as the Romans do. I must be going now.”
Clearly, Kanzaki had no intention of dropping any hints today. Kubo thanked him and withdrew, but as he watched the vehicle drive out of the lot, he felt the heat of a hunch surge throughout his body for the first time in a long while. His mind filled with ideas about where to start sleuthing. Kanzaki’s Investigation Headquarters operated in strict privacy with regard to all corporate matters. The officers assigned to Search and Inquiry and to Evidence Investigation had been whittled down and each had been thoroughly vetted, leaving only the most tight-lipped detectives, so that it had been quite difficult to gain any access. But if the perpetrators were to make a move, so would the SIT and the Mobile CI Unit. He might finally be able to make a breakthrough this time.
Kubo put in a call to the kisha club. Hearing that the fourth edition didn’t require any replacements either, he treated Yamane and Furukawa to lunch and returned by himself to Sakuradamon shortly before two. As he got out of a taxi by the front entrance of the MPD, he saw Negoro tottering along on the pedestrian path beside Uchibori Dori, and even before Kubo had a chance to nod to him, Negoro was beckoning him over from thirty meters away.
Kubo crossed the intersection. Negoro had stopped in the middle of the trail and was leaning against the railing, smiling self-consciously. Some days, even the one-and-a-half-kilometer walk from Toho News’ main office in Chidori-ga-fuchi to MPD here in Sakuradamon, meant as physical therapy, was too much for his legs.
“It’s a nice day out today, so I thought I’d make my way over, but . . .”
“You should have called. I would have come to you.”
“Weren’t you already out somewhere?”
“Yes. Kanzaki, the head of First Investigation, showed up at Hinode, so I chased him down, but came up dry.”
“Oh, wow . . . It’s about time the perps made their move.”
Negoro had always appeared nondescript, a reporter whose presence barely cast a shadow whenever he surveyed the Metro section, but every so often Kubo had noted, deep within Negoro’s tapered lids, a still, lizard-like gaze of quiet observation. Those were the eyes he saw flicker just then.
“I was on my way to see Chief Sugano, but give him a message for me, Kubo-kun. First, one of the tabloids confirmed the death of that guy Yoshinori Toda. We got a call just now from the editor in chief.”
“I knew it . . .”
When Investigation Headquarters released a transcript of the tape from 1990 after the incident, the Metro section wasted no time deciphering the names of every individual referenced in the letter that was said to have been written back in 1947. As of early April, aside from the author’s family relations the only person still alive had been Yoshinori Toda—born in Saitama prefecture in 1916 and fired from Hinode’s Kyoto factory shortly after the war. Toho Weekly had then followed up on Toda’s whereabouts, but last week they had heard that a person who seemed to be Toda was on a list of unidentified decedents in Nishinari district of Osaka. And just today, they had confirmed that this was in fact the Toda they were looking for.
It was highly likely that this Toda and the Toda who had made the tip-off call to the Metro section after the incident were one and the same, but now there was no way of knowing for sure. When it came to those involved in what had happened in 1947, “And then there were none” seemed to apply.
“Apparently he left behind no personal effects. And would you give this to the chief?” Negoro casually handed Kubo a thick manila envelope. “I got this from a guy I know. These are Hinode stock deals from April third to the twenty-eighth, from every brokerage house. They all list purchases almost every day. There seems to be a rumor going around that Hinode is going to acquire some convenience store chain. Tell the chief.”
“I’ve seen on the Nikkei that their margin buying has been intensifying lately . . .”
“So has their margin selling since around April twentieth. As of yesterday it’s been neck and neck. The trades are small in size, but given what’s going on right now, it concerns me a bit that Hinode’s stock is attracting the attention of investors in this way. It feels as if they are laying the groundwork for an overcorrection, if and when something happens. I’ll look for the source of the rumor, too.”
Negoro said no more. He raised a hand in parting to head back the way he came, but when Kubo turned again to look before crossing the intersection, he saw Negoro standing at the edge of the pedestrian path, not having gone very far, looking out at the moat as he massaged his lower back.
合田雄一郎 Yuichiro Goda
Evening fell on Friday, May 5th, without any developments. In a corner of the main meeting room on the second floor of the Omori Police Department, there were two cardboard boxes filled with energy drinks, each one bearing a note written with a calligraphy brush: Compliments of Chief Kanzaki, First Investigation Division and Compliments of Chief Inspector Hakamada. Goda saw the lettering—the exaggerated flourishes obviously the hand of Omori’s Deputy Chief Inspector Dohi—and, as he took a bottle from the box, briefly wondered how the guys up on the third floor were getting along. Last week, when he had peeked into the CI office, where they were busy with an array of matters that the public prosecutors had told them to investigate further, Dohi had grumbled, “We’re busy organizing the scraps.” The next day, Goda had been summoned to the third floor by Chief Inspector Hakamada, who told him, “I need your stamp on this,” and handed over a formal letter of apology submitted by the two-man team of rookie detectives, Izawa and Konno. According to Hakamada, the pieces of evidence seized at the scene of an attempted robbery did not match up with the number the woeful duo had written up in their case file.
After opening and knocking back the energy drink, Goda threw the empty bottle in the trash and noticed Handa from the Kamata Police Department next to him, also reaching into the cardboard box. “Long day,” Goda said.
“For you too,” Handa replied. Most officers, after being out and about all day, usually found it tiresome to even open their mouth to speak, but Handa did not let his dutiful manner falter. Goda still couldn’t remember what had set Handa off that day on the stairs at the Shinagawa Police Department, but lately Goda had begun to suspect that Handa’s punctiliousness was a pretense. As his own frustration and dissatisfaction mounted day after day, Goda would let his feelings take rein, and had been occasionally trying to strike up conversations with Handa. Even the most inconsequential notions nagged at him once he started worrying.
The third week in April, another restructuring had come down from Investigation Headquarters, and at the end of the fourth week they were scrambled again. The teams investigating the cross-sections of corporate and crime-syndicate connections were nowhere in sight, as they had been organized under a separate heading since mid-April. That night, May fifth, the number of officers who filed into the main meeting room totaled fewer than thirty, down from the hundred who had once come and gone, and now the meeting room called to mind an art house cinema on the outskirts of town. This ragtag crew who still barely knew each other’s names now waited in silence, not even engaging in small talk, for the start of the 8 p.m. meeting.
Not counting the ten members of the ninth unit of Violent Crime from MPD, the remaining men all had at least ten years of experience as detectives. The majority were seasoned but unremarkable officers—among them a group who had made lateral transfers from the MPD to precinct posts, a perpetual sergeant who might fall just short of a promotion before his retirement, as well as an old-guard assistant inspector. It might have sounded good to describe them as an elite corps, but to Goda’s cynical eye, they looked more like an arbitrary assemblage of guys who were destined to live out the rest of their careers like this, forever detectives. Goda’s partner, an inspector from Crime Prevention with whom
he had been working for just a month, had left at the end of April, so his only colleague from Omori Police Department was Inspector Anzai from White Collar Crime, currently assigned to the cross-sections.
The contraction of the Search Squad and Evidence Investigation Squad was a direct result of the already-reduced target area of investigation. Depending on how the case developed, who knew whether one day the same meeting room might again be filled with people, and it was against just such a possibility that Goda and the rest of the Vehicle Squad kept up their shoe-leather investigation for the right vehicle.
They had looked into every one of the seventy navy-colored Nissan Homys in the Tokyo metropolitan area registered at the District Land Transport Bureau, but were unable to find either a suspicious owner or any vehicles that had gone missing on the night of the incident. They had marked about ten of those as company-owned vehicles of construction firms that had been left in private parking lots, but there were none among them that the owner had forgotten to lock on the night of the incident, and none of the owners noticed anything unusual about their cars at the start of the following week, such as signs of the locks being tampered with, or decreases in gas or increases in mileage.
However, since the owners of commercial vehicles with fifty or sixty thousand kilometers on them could not be expected to closely monitor their mileage, the squad had not ruled out the possibility that the perpetrators could have snuck a Nissan Homy out of a corporate lot for the weekend. If that were the case, it meant that the perpetrators had the skills to duplicate car keys, which added a new facet to their profile.
Speaking of the perpetrators’ profile, Goda had written the following line in his notebook: A highly skilled driver or one with professional driving experience. On the night of the incident, a kei-car had been stranded after colliding with a guardrail on the frozen-over downhill slope of the two-lane Daibosatsu Pass, and although the driver had sought help from a Nissan Homy that came along, the other driver sped past without stopping. The skill of a driver who could navigate so many curves along an icy road at sixty kilometers an hour without chains on the tires was nothing short of extraordinary. It was also certain that someone had selected the perpetrators’ getaway route taking into account rapid surveillance cameras over highways and toll booth ticket passes.
Lady Joker, Volume 1 Page 59
