Fruit-flavored milk—a child? This related to a hunch of Goda’s, the note punctuated with a question mark. As Goda had continued to ponder the combination of food items that the perpetrators had given the victim while he was in captivity—fruit-flavored milk, cream buns, matchbox-size blocks of processed cheese, mandarin oranges, and bananas. Fruit-flavored milk and cream buns were not something that the perpetrators themselves would eat; these had been popular children’s snacks a decade ago. He surmised that one of the perpetrators had a child—now grown up—and that there may be a particular attachment to that child.
His notebook also included the words “wireless radio,” which he had jotted down right after the incident. This idea, that someone in the crime group had been listening to the police radio, had remained in midair with nowhere to alight. All he could see was the vague image of a police officer hovering on the far side of an impossible divide—a divide that he knew was “outside his territory”—but he was sure that the man belonged to one of the two police departments, and that on the night of March 24th, he had been on active duty, carrying with him a shortwave 101 receiver.
Flipping through his notebook, Goda felt the needle of his internal compass struggle to find a compromise between a compulsion to conform to the discipline of the system and the desire to rebel against it. For now, the needle was barely holding still in a delicate balance, one that required no small effort to maintain.
Goda liked to use a fresh notebook for each case, but within a month the pages would be filled up, 99 percent of which consisted of the records of hundreds of dead-end visits, each one a variant of: 3/27, 11:15a.m., 152 Hibarigaoka Housing Complex, Tanashi City, Katsushi Ono, License plate: Tama 54RA412 x Toyota Sprinter Carib, White. Owner not home. Every word was written precisely, and every line ended with a period, pressed down with extra force. A habit he had formed over the last thirteen years as a cop, each dot was filled with a genuine desire “to behold the perp’s face.” This case notebook was no exception.
But, undoubtedly, he would only ever “behold the perp’s face” indirectly this time. Wherever the clues—the fruit-flavored milk, the Nissan Homy—led, the tools necessary to identify Suspect A or B were on the other side of the divide, along with the ability to arrest him—someone else would have that satisfaction. He knew this was the nature of police work, but it was quite difficult to continue his dogged pursuit of a single vehicle while actively compensating for his emotional wellbeing. This itself had become his main challenge.
At 8 p.m., they were called to order, and Goda put away his notebook and stood up with the assembled investigators. When Chief Kanzaki of First Investigation, who hadn’t been seen around for a while lately, came through the door with the director of SIT, the conspicuously empty meeting room became slightly agitated. The tension transformed to anticipation as all the officers craned their necks.
As expected, the chief’s first announcement was that the suspects had made their move. He then took out the letter that had been tossed onto the grounds of Hinode’s Kanagawa factory on Friday, April 28th.
“ready to make the payment? if so, take out an ad with the words, ‘father forgives kyoko’ in the may 5th issue of nikkan sports. —lady joker,” the chief read aloud. “Now, it is still unclear whether ‘Lady Joker’ is the name of the crime group.”
Next, after it was reported that Hinode had, as instructed in the letter, taken out an ad in that day’s issue of Nikkan Sports, one of the investigators opened a copy of the newspaper that happened to be on hand and passed it around the room.
Goda ruminated on the enigmatic name, “Lady Joker,” and in his mind’s eye he saw an unstoppable procession of silhouettes—those of the still anonymous perpetrators. Feeling unreasonably excited by this name, Goda sensed that the perpetrators had also been excited to sign the letter with it. They were enjoying themselves.
They asked, “Ready to make the payment?” They’re more cold-blooded than businesslike. They’re fueling the victim’s anxiety by withholding the exact amount of their monetary demand. They don this bizarre “Lady Joker” mask and assume a cool indifference—in no hurry to carry out their purpose, reveling in perverse pleasure. They may have made a monetary demand, but they are more fixated on the act of squeezing the money out rather than on the money itself. With antipathy toward corporate society at large, they brim with confidence that they’ll be able to bring a trillion-yen corporation to its knees . . . It had been a while since such distinct intuitions had surged over Goda.
Chief Inspector Kanzaki’s briefing continued. “After seeing today’s ad, the suspects will most likely issue instructions about the money exchange. Our next move will be toward arresting the perpetrators, but it goes without saying that we must maintain confidentiality with the utmost care, in order not to betray the victim’s trust. If word gets out to the media, the perpetrators will not make their move. Hinode is giving the police their full cooperation on the condition that there will be no leaks whatsoever to the media. Bearing this in mind, I expect you all to perform better than ever. The day when your hard work will be rewarded is near.”
It was only by etching the words of the perpetrators into his mind—Ready to make the payment?—that Goda managed to absorb the bromides to “maintain confidentiality” and “perform better than ever.”
Then, Director Miyoshi of Third Violent Crime Investigation, who was in charge of the Search Squad and the Evidence Investigation Squad, announced, “No changes to each squad’s investigation directive for tomorrow,” and the meeting was adjourned. Goda’s instincts, sent into overdrive by the name “Lady Joker” but never finding a place to settle, dispersed into the ether.
After the top brass had left the room, the investigators got up from their seats, still without a word to each other. Goda was leaving the meeting room, thinking to himself that he would hurry home, take a bath, play a little violin, sip some whisky, and read the book he had just started, when Deputy Chief Inspector Dohi loomed before him and whispered, “Chief Inspector wants to see you. Report to Reception.”
Dohi’s gaze rested on Goda for a few seconds, his eyes a stew of wariness, suspicion, curiosity, and resignation. Goda glared right back, struck by a sudden urge to smash the face in front of him with a concrete block.
An obscure strain of uneasiness was infiltrating the police force. This was how the machinery worked—that uneasiness created a mood of anxiety, one that at times burst forth as hysteria or neurosis. As they locked eyes, each found in the other a convenient outlet for their unfocused anxiety and discomfort. This time it was Dohi who ultimately backed down, telling Goda to report back to him later, and returning to the third floor. Goda descended the same staircase and, one minute later, he was knocking on the door to the reception room at the back of Police Affairs on the first floor.
When Goda walked in, Hidetsugu Kanzaki was standing alone in the middle of the room. After giving Goda’s full frame the once-over from his elevated sightline, Kanzaki said, “You’ve shrunk a size since you were at MPD.”
Goda, caught off guard, replied, “I’ve lost some muscle.”
“That won’t do. But I think your physique is appropriate for this purpose, meaning you won’t intimidate those around you. Goda-san, this is short notice, but starting Monday the eighth, I need you to guard Mr. Shiroyama.”
“Yes, sir,” Goda replied automatically, though there was no need to think about what he had just agreed to do. The word “no” did not exist in the police force—“yes” was the only possible response.
“Hinode and the president himself have given their consent on the premise that we need to be prepared in the case of any danger. However, we hope to do so in a way that does not interfere with the daily operations of the corporation, so ostensibly you’ll look the part of a body man.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ll be on duty from the morning, when the president leaves his home
, until he returns there at night. You will not enter the president’s office or attend meetings, informal conversations, or entertainment gatherings—you will always stand right outside the door. You will be issued a Hinode employee badge and a pass with a photo ID. You’ll use an alias. You are always to be diagonally behind Mr. Shiroyama, one meter away, and conversation is strictly prohibited. This is as per the president’s request.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Shiroyama requested that we provide him with a detective from the local precinct, not MPD.”
“Yes, sir.”
Whenever Kanzaki appeared before investigators, he rarely moved his eyes or the muscles in his face—he was a wall come to life. The wall was equipped with a mouth, and though orders could be heard issuing from it, there was no way to glimpse what was on the other side. No, it was normal for those on the lower rungs of the police organization not to even imagine the workings behind the wall.
“Incidentally, your mission, first and foremost, is to protect the president. Second, to observe the president. Third, to observe what goes on inside the company,” Kanzaki enumerated.
Goda listened intently, realizing that his job was to spy. As yet unable to imagine any concrete reason, he felt a wrench in his bowels, a slight spasmatic twinge. In the beat it took him to respond, Kanzaki’s eyes glinted, and Goda issued a robotic “yes, sir.”
“As I’m sure you’re well aware, with an investigation involving corporate extortion, there tends to be a subtle difference of opinion between the corporation and the police. Even when we point out past cases, the company is always inclined to try to make a backroom deal. We must prevent that from happening at any cost. That’s why you will be there observing things.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Being by the president’s side every day from morning to night will enable you to pick up on hints that there are changes in the situation—actions by internal staff, small shifts in the schedule, impromptu gatherings, who meets with whom, the expressions of the executives, their eyes, how they speak . . . Your most important mission is to detect these things.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your report will be based on Mr. Shiroyama’s activities—you’ll record what you see and hear in full detail, and send it by fax each night to a number designated by SIT.”
“Yes, sir.”
“In any case, we must prevent Hinode from making any kind of backroom deal, no matter what . . .” Kanzaki emphasized each word, watching Goda as if to gauge his reaction. “My opinion is that it will be difficult to arrest this crime group unless we catch them in the act. What do you think, Goda-san? Don’t hold back. Give me your honest assessment of the perpetrators.”
Goda’s internal needle jumped ever so slightly as he replied, “I don’t know.” Until now, he had never been one to care much about self-preservation in his career, but he knew better than to be so unguarded as to disclose his personal opinion when confronting a wall beyond which lay the unknown.
“Right after the incident occurred on March twenty-fourth, and then again on the night of the twenty-sixth, you met with Officer Sawaguchi from Community Police Affairs and checked the dispatch record from the police box in front of Omori Station, did you not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you have any particular purpose for doing so?”
“I was only checking out why, on the night in question, there was no police motorcycle patrol nearby at the time of the incident, even though Mr. Shiroyama’s home was within a high security zone.”
“And what did you find?”
“It turns out there happened to be multiple calls for service on that night, which is why there were no officers on patrol nearby.”
Kanzaki had been regarding Goda’s face with a clinical detachment, but now he abruptly turned his back and began pacing the room.
“That point has been of great interest to me as well. However, make sure you keep the matter strictly confidential.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The perpetrators will definitely make a move, no matter who they are, so long as a cash-grab is their objective and provided Hinode doesn’t make a backroom deal with them. There’ll be no complaints if we catch them in the act.”
Perhaps what he meant was that if one of their own were involved with the crime group, catching them in the act would avert any complaints from the higher-ups. But since there was no need for Goda, a mere investigator, to inquire further about or weigh in on Kanzaki’s monologue, he allowed the words that slipped from his boss’s lips to roll off his back.
“By the way,” Kanzaki came to a halt and shifted to a strictly administrative tone. “Tomorrow, be at MPD’s sixth-floor meeting room at eight in the morning. The head of First SIT will go over Hinode’s organizational chart and work flow, including the names and photos of executives, and teach you the basic comportment of a body man. Wear a suit tomorrow. No sneakers.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Since this will be necessary, going forward, we’ll provide an allowance for two summer-weight suits. The honor of the police is at stake, so I expect you to present yourself accordingly.”
“Yes, sir.”
“About this man Kyosuke Shiroyama, himself . . . My personal impression is that he is quite different from most so-called major business leaders. At fifty-eight years old, he’s in his third term as president, so he’s much younger than the average president of a listed company. Whether he keeps his work compartmentalized, or whether he’s simply upfront and candid, he does not have many distinguishing characteristics. And because of this, you could say it’s hard to know what he’s thinking.”
Goda recalled the smooth and refined face of Kyosuke Shiroyama, which he had seen a few times on television—the man looked as if he could be anything save for a politician or a yakuza—and had to admit that Shiroyama did not have an imposing managerial presence. And since Goda would be working as his body man, he was grateful for this.
“SIT will detail Shiroyama’s corporate philosophy, management skills, and so on tomorrow. Also, when it comes to the incident, Mr. Shiroyama has not necessarily disclosed everything to the police. It’s still not clear why the crime group went to the trouble of abducting the president only to release him unharmed. However, it’s conceivable that the reason for the president’s reticence is related to his personal circle. Consequently, there’s a significant possibility that the crime group will try to shake down the president himself. This is what you will be on the lookout for.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Shiroyama’s personality is incredibly fastidious and sensitive. On the other hand, he can be stubborn and strong-willed. He betrays very little emotion and lacks warmth. He is not one for socializing. His private life is decidedly simple. He’s not known to indulge in amusements. Essentially, you wouldn’t be incorrect to consider him an orthodox man of common sense who’s had a privileged and sheltered upbringing. It doesn’t matter how you do it, but you must gain Mr. Shiroyama’s trust and get close to him.”
Gain his trust and get close to him. Goda answered “yes, sir” before he had any sense of what those words meant. He almost felt as if he no longer cared how things turned out.
“Any questions?”
“While on this assignment, am I security personnel sent by the police, or do I assume a completely different identity unrelated to the police?”
“A completely different identity. We have to deceive the perpetrators, so there’s no sense raising public notice. As for that, SIT will give you thorough instructions about your disguise. As far as I could tell from the podium, your features, build, and composure are the least conspicuous. SIT said that as long as we change the way you cut your hair a little and put glasses on you, it should be fine.”
“My superiors are concerned about the fact that you called me in.”
“The head of
CID is aware of the situation. Anything else?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Well then, we’ll go over the details tomorrow. You can take Sunday off.”
As he was leaving the reception room, it did not feel real to Goda that he was being excluded from the active investigation. If word that he had checked the dispatch record at the police box had caused internal rumors that reached as far as the Head of First Investigation, that meant his instincts aligned with what the investigation was really after, which offered him a small satisfaction. Now, however, he had no cards left to play. The one thing that occupied Goda’s mind was a vague anxiety about just what being a body man would entail.
Goda had no interest in mulling over his thirteen-year career as a detective. He was trained to respond automatically whenever an incident occurred, his mind churning the moment he arrived at a crime scene. As long as he was getting paid to do that, the only choice he had was to do whatever he was told. But now, feeling as though he had been shunted another step further away from both material and spiritual fulfillment, a bleak mood had latched on to his anxiety. Goda told himself once again, Apply yourself to the job and you’ll forget about it, and It’s all in your mindset, and tried shifting his thoughts to what he needed to do that night in preparation for tomorrow: make sure his suit was in order, polish his shoes, and so on. Since he’d be going to Hinode every day, he would need to change his shirts daily, so he figured he ought to buy some permanent-press dress shirts to make ironing easy, along with antibacterial socks, and on Sunday get his hair cut and file his nails . . .
Lady Joker, Volume 1 Page 60
