The kidnapper had waited near the hollow in order to recover the suitcase. He pulled out the money, then returned the suitcase into the river a little further on. The micro-transmitters at the time weren’t accurate enough to register the brief pause as anything other than a blip.
Having secured the ransom, the kidnapper would have moved away from the river and retreated into the mountains before climbing down to a nearby village. Alternatively, it was possible he had scaled the mountain and escaped into the next prefecture. The empty suitcase, still floating down the river, had bought him all the time he needed to get away. The suitcase had continued past Ozatomura and Yasugi before finally getting caught in a fishing weir in the northern limits of City D, coming to a stop just before daybreak, at seven o’clock the next morning.
Even then, the police had been unable to act. For as long as there remained a greater than zero chance of the kidnapper showing up to retrieve the case, they couldn’t do anything more than maintain a safe distance and keep watch with binoculars; this had lasted until the weir’s owner, who had turned up a little after midday, retrieved the case himself. The sleepless game of cat and mouse had lasted twenty hours. Emperor Showa is dead. Many of the detectives, including Mikami, didn’t hear the news until late that afternoon.
The investigation ended with the worst possible result.
On 10 January, three days after the police had retrieved the suitcase, Shoko Amamiya’s dead body was found at a car dump in the city’s Satamachi district. A scrap merchant had opened the trunk of a rusty sedan after noticing some stray dogs making a noise nearby. The body was in a pitiful state. The girl’s hands had been forced behind her back, tied up with washing line; her mouth and eyes had been covered over with tape. Her throat was swollen and marked with dark purple lines, presumably from a rope.
The early days of Heisei were branded with humiliation. Alongside the rage the police felt against the kidnapper, there was for a long time the sense that Showa had been cheated of its closing days. They’d been unable to look Heisei straight on. The endless TV repeats of Emperor Showa’s funeral march seemed to symbolize the dejection of the officers involved in the Six Four kidnapping.
*
Mikami took a right.
A little further down the city road and the billboard for the Ai’ai Hair Salon would roll into view. An image flashed into Mikami’s mind – Amamiya’s face. The Kotohira bridge, pale, nebulous in the glare of the mercury lamps. The expression on Amamiya’s face hadn’t been one of despair. There was hope, bubbling to the surface. He’d handed over the ransom. His daughter would come home. He had looked like a man trying to convince himself this was true.
Earlier this afternoon, he had looked different.
His expression had been completely devoid of hope, no longer believing in anything. Amamiya hadn’t been robbed of a feeling or an idea. He had suffered the physical loss of the thing he treasured most. Distinctions such as Showa or Heisei meant nothing to him. His only fate was to drift through a world in which his daughter didn’t exist.
Mikami pressed down on the accelerator.
Ayumi is alive.
Amamiya faded a little into the distance.
Beyond a new-build housing area and an old farming village, Mikami saw the collection of plastic greenhouses glistening in the sun.
11
Mikami pulled up alongside the gravel road. The office was a shed-like building that doubled up as a flower shop. Four plastic greenhouses formed a line behind it. This was Mikami’s third visit. The last two times, he’d brought some flowers as a gift. He’d been in Second Division at the time, so they couldn’t have seen each other for close to a year.
Mikami caught sight of Mochizuki. He was just about to enter one of the greenhouses, pushing a wheelbarrow stacked high with fertilizer bags. He was still wearing the foreign-made, olive-brown jumper that had been his trademark as a detective, but with it he had on baggy trousers and wellington boots. It was a good look.
‘Mochizuki!’ Mikami called out to his back.
Having no doubt recognized his voice, Mochizuki was already grinning when his portly face turned towards him.
‘Well, well. Stranger things have happened.’
‘Right, sure. Work does keep me busy, you know.’
The wind was cold outside, but it might as well have been spring inside the greenhouse. Mikami was taken aback by the length of the structure. It was imposing; great ranks of seedlings stretched out like a diagram illustrating the effects of perspective. They were all beginning to bud, but without the flowers Mikami had no idea what they were.
‘The reunion was today?’ Mochizuki chided. He put a wooden box at Mikami’s feet, for him to use in place of a chair.
‘I wish. Seriously, things are busy.’
‘Sure, in Media Relations?’
He was exactly the same as when he’d been a detective. He made no attempt to hide his aversion to and contempt for Administrative Affairs.
‘How’s Mina-chan keeping?’
‘The same, mostly.’
‘Damn – bet she’s as good-looking as ever.’ He was genuinely peeved. Never the exception, he was one of the many officers who still had a crush on Minako. ‘How about Ayumi? She’d be, let’s see, in high school now?’
‘That’s right.’ So he hadn’t heard yet. Mikami considered telling him what had happened, but he had come out to ask his own questions. He sat up and slid the box forwards. ‘Actually, I went to see Amamiya earlier today. Something to do with Six Four.’
Mochizuki looked him straight in the eye. ‘I guessed as much.’
Guessed as much? But Mochizuki continued before Mikami had a chance to respond.
‘Why did you go to see him?’
‘Work.’
‘What kind of work?’
‘Press-related. An executive from Tokyo wants to come and pay his respects, offer incense. I went to ask Amamiya for his blessing.’
Mochizuki gave Mikami a dubious look. ‘That’s what you do these days? Light incense?’
‘Pretty much. I serve the top brass; I do all sorts of things.’
‘So, you went to see him. What happened?’
‘He turned me down right there, on the spot. Said a visit by a high-up wasn’t necessary.’
Mikami made a quick summary of the events at Amamiya’s house. Mochizuki listened, his expression flat.
‘He refused to budge. It looked as though he’d given up on the police. It was almost as though he was angry about something,’ Mikami said, probing.
Mochizuki only nodded.
‘How long has he been like that for?’
‘I can’t say really. I know he became increasingly withdrawn over the years.’
‘Did something happen – between us and him?’
Mochizuki chuckled, reacting to Mikami’s use of the word ‘us’. ‘Come on, Mikami,’ he said. ‘I left the force a long time ago.’
‘That’s exactly why I came to see you. You’ve got more freedom to talk.’
It was still rare for information on the continuing investigation into Six Four to get out, even after the Investigative HQ’s downgrade to Investigative Team.
‘Do you think he might hold a grudge because of the investigation into Kenji?’
‘Absolutely not. He isn’t fond of his brother.’
‘Right, the inheritance. What actually happened there?’
‘That bastard Kenji started pressuring Amamiya – said he’d give up his right to inherit if Amamiya made him managing director of his business. The man’s bike dealership was already dead in the water.’
‘But Amamiya refused . . .’
‘Yeah. I reckon he knew a good-for-nothing like that would drive the company into the ground.’
Mikami nodded, satisfied.
‘Okay, so you’re sure Amamiya isn’t angry because of the business with Kenji?’
‘Yeah. I guarantee it.’
‘Is he still a suspect?’
&
nbsp; ‘I think, at this point, we have to assume he’s innocent. We pushed him pretty hard . . . especially because he was mixed up with some low-level Yakuza.’ Mochizuki had started talking as if he were still on the case.
Mikami sighed briefly. ‘Hard to believe it’s been fourteen years. How’s the investigation going, anyway?’
Mochizuki snorted through his nose. ‘How should I know? Still, I’ll bet it’s the same old quagmire. That case was cursed from the outset.’
Quagmire. Mikami had occasionally heard the desolate-sounding word being used in Second Division. It referred to the fact that the Investigative Team was still dealing with a vast number of ‘grey’ suspects, that it had become stuck. Unnerved in the beginning by the seriousness of the case, Investigative HQ had cast its net too wide. A list had been drafted of seven thousand people. One hundred officers had been assigned to work through it. The detectives didn’t have the time they needed to investigate any single individual properly and, as a result, had needed to move on before they could come to any decision. In addition, the detectives had different levels of expertise. Some of those from district had been below par; others, back-up from more remote areas, had been sent from Transport and had no prior investigative experience at all.
Each day saw the investigation becoming more and more slipshod, reports more hastily thrown together. By the time the management realized the problem, it was already too late.
They had a huge number of potential suspects whose status was undecided, accumulated like a mountain of sludge behind them. With the passage of time, the investigations were becoming harder to reopen. And, with each year, cutbacks were made to the number of detectives working the case.
‘If Osakabe had been there when the kidnapping happened . . .’ Mochizuki said with a sigh.
Mikami felt himself nod. ‘Yeah.’
Michio Osakabe had been their greatest general, and Mikami had held him in the highest regard. As a leader, he had been grounded and meticulous, displaying a virtually telepathic ability to communicate his instructions to the rank and file. While he had only retired from his post as director of Criminal Investigations eight years ago, he had, to the misfortune of the Prefectural HQ, been in Tokyo on secondment to the Criminal Investigations Bureau during the year of the kidnapping.
The detectives had mourned their loss. We would have had the kidnapper if Osakabe had still been directing Criminal Investigations, even First Division.
Backing them up was his almost legendary record of never having failed to close a case.
And Six Four was only the beginning.
After Fujimura’s appointment from Administrative Affairs, people immediately began to complain of a sharp drop in results. It hadn’t been until five years ago that Criminal Investigations finally managed to regain some of its vigour, when the post was taken over by Shozo Odate, one of Osakabe’s favourites, but he retired after only a year. From that point on it was fair to say that the post had suffered a run of bad harvests, right up to Arakida, the current director. The next reshuffle wouldn’t happen for four or five years; it was essentially a waiting game until Katsutoshi Matsuoka was promoted from his current roles as chief adviser and chief of First Division. The man who had hidden himself behind the passenger seat in Amamiya’s car during the Six Four kidnapping. At the time, he had been heading up Violent Crime in First Division.
Matsuoka would use me if he were director.
Mikami felt uncomfortable that the idea had popped so readily into his mind. There were issues he needed to address now; it wasn’t the time to be looking four or five years ahead.
‘If it’s nothing to do with Kenji, what else could have turned him against us?’
Mochizuki was slow to respond. His eyes seemed to size Mikami up before he spoke again. ‘You’ve got a good idea already, haven’t you?’
The question caught Mikami off guard.
‘A good idea? Of what?’
Instead of answering, Mochizuki returned to the last question. ‘You remember he had a receptionist called Yoshida? If he’s upset about anything, it’ll be her, not Kenji.’
Motoko Yoshida. She had taken the kidnapper’s third call in Amamiya’s office. Mochizuki had ignored Mikami’s question, but his curiosity had been piqued nonetheless.
‘Why?’
‘She was seeing Kenji. How would we put it – double adultery? We had to consider the possibility she was an accomplice, so we were pretty hard on her.’
Mikami hadn’t known that.
Still . . .
‘Why would that get to Amamiya, though? He didn’t like Kenji; if she was with him . . .’
‘Thing is, he didn’t know about their relationship. Motoko lost her parents when she was young, had been through a lot. Amamiya had been a good neighbour, taken her under his wing and given her a job at his company. She was interrogated for days on end, ended up having a nervous breakdown. She quit her job. If Amamiya has a reason to despise us, that would be it.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘It wasn’t long after you left Second Division.’
‘Wait. You’re saying Amamiya turned against us that long ago?’
Mochizuki focused on empty space, taking in Mikami’s surprise. ‘Well, I wouldn’t say it happened overnight, because of that one thing. His withdrawal was more gradual. You know how it is when someone’s anger or bitterness continues to grow over time.’
‘You’re right, I suppose.’
‘And the fact that we haven’t arrested the perp, that’s got to factor pretty big in it.’
Was that what it was, after all? Had Amamiya simply become disillusioned with the force for being ineffective – had he run out of patience? If that was the case, Mikami feared he might not be able to make the commissioner’s visit happen. Amamiya’s scepticism had been building for years; regardless of their sincerity, the police would need to demonstrate a similar investment in time and manpower to remedy the situation. The commissioner was scheduled to arrive in a week. That left little time to win Amamiya over, especially if you took into consideration the time he would need to spend in negotiations with the Press Club. Mikami fixed his eyes back on Mochizuki. The question he’d put on hold was on the verge of coming out.
‘What did you mean just now?’
‘Hmm?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know. You suggested I had a good idea of why Amamiya turned against us.’
‘Same applies to you. Isn’t it time you showed your hand, Mikami?’ Mochizuki responded, his tone sharpening. Until that point, Mikami hadn’t noticed that Mochizuki was getting angry.
‘Showed what hand?’
‘Come on – tell me the real reason you came to see me. You’re not the type to get worked up about a big shot coming down to light some incense.’
He won’t understand.
Mikami grimaced. A visit from the commissioner general. Explaining why it was important in a way that an ex-detective like Mochizuki would understand would be tantamount to admitting he’d become Akama’s guard dog.
Mochizuki leaned forwards. ‘You’re here because you also want to ask me about the Koda memo.’
Mikami didn’t know how to respond. The Koda memo? Also?
Mochizuki was quick to provide the answer. ‘I sent Futawatari packing, and now you’re here to sweet-talk me. No?’
Mikami just stared. He had assumed Mochizuki had been poking fun earlier; the words took on a different meaning now. Stranger things have happened. The reunion was today? I guessed as much.
Shinji Futawatari had been here too. What for? And what was the Koda memo?
There was only one Koda that came to mind. Kazuki Koda, a member of the Home Unit during Six Four.
‘Well? Out with it. What are you up to? The two of you, nosing around, into Six Four. Didn’t you two hate each other. Or . . . what? . . . are you all happy families now you’re camped in Admin?’
‘Just wait a moment,’ Mikami finally managed. ‘What the hell is
the Koda memo?’
‘How should I know?’
‘Koda – the Koda that left?’ Mikami was remembering. Kazuki Koda had resigned. Just six months after Six Four. His brain was finally catching up. ‘Why did he leave the force?’
‘Officially, the same reason as me. I don’t know what really happened.’
Personal reasons. The term was a catch-all; Mikami was starting to get a bad feeling.
‘What’s he doing these days?’
‘He went missing.’
‘Missing?’
‘Yeah. No one knows where he is.’
‘And Futawatari didn’t either?’
‘Looked that way. He was asking if I knew Koda’s address.’
‘So, the Koda memo, are we sure it was something Kazuki Koda wrote?’
‘Like I just said, I’d never heard of it.’
‘But Futawatari seemed to know about it?’
Mochizuki seemed to have come to a realization during the exchange; he stared at Mikami with eyes that had lost their sharpness.
‘You are here for something else . . .’
‘That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,’ Mikami half yelled. His head was racing. Had Akama opted for a double-sided approach? Perhaps he was using Futawatari in tandem with Mikami to gather intel to persuade Amamiya to ensure that preparations for the commissioner’s visit went smoothly.
No, that wasn’t it.
He wouldn’t have thought to prepare for that. If he had, that would suggest he’d somehow known in advance that Amamiya would turn the commissioner’s offer down.
‘What time was Futawatari here?’
Mochizuki scratched his head, looking a little embarrassed. ‘A little before midday. He called on the phone, came straight over after that.’
Before midday. Around the time Mikami had been at Amamiya’s. Definitely too fast. It ruled out some kind of double-pronged strategy on Akama’s part.
In which case . . .
Mikami considered it for a moment, but his thoughts halted when another question popped into his head.
Six Four Page 8
