Six Four

by Hideo Yokoyama

  ‘An empty promise?’

  Was he suggesting they make the statement but do nothing to follow it up?

  ‘Shirota told me he thought Akama would let it pass.’

  He’d been smart enough to get Shirota on his side. Having to prostrate himself before Akama had taken its toll. Fearing he’d lost Akama’s confidence, he had taken out insurance. Either that, or he was simply planning ahead. Akama would sooner or later return to Tokyo, but Shirota was a born-and-bred local and would remain a key figure in Prefecture D until the day he retired.

  ‘All we need to do is survive the meeting. Even if we can’t get away with doing nothing, we’ll only be committing to a verbal promise and, as for the new services, well, we can just add them slowly, bit by bit.’

  Mikami didn’t see the point in responding. For yet another night, he was sitting at the same table as Ishii. He experienced a tide of self-derision, weaving its way up through layers of anger.

  ‘So that’s what we’re doing. I’m counting on you, Mikami.’

  There was no response.

  ‘Mikami, are you still there?’

  Again, silence.

  ‘Look, I’m sure you realize this, but we’re close to being pushed out of the ring with regards to this anonymity issue. If we don’t straighten it out by the time of the commissioner’s visit, we’re both going to be—’

  ‘I need to ask you something,’ Mikami said, having made up his mind. The core problem he needed to crack was nothing to do with the round-table meeting.

  ‘Huh, well, that came from nowhere.’

  ‘Futawatari, from Administration; he’s been acting strangely. Do you know anything about what he’s doing?’

  ‘Acting strangely? I can’t say I’ve noticed anything . . . How so?’

  ‘He’s poking around the Shoko kidnapping.’

  ‘He’s what? I don’t see what that has to do with him.’

  That’s why I’m asking you.

  ‘You don’t know if he’s working under our orders?’

  ‘Our orders?’

  ‘I’m asking whether or not he’s operating on instructions from Akama?’

  ‘I can’t imagine he’s doing anything. He’s got his hands full with the project to build a new headquarters.’

  ‘He’s up to something, that’s for sure. Why do you think Criminal Investigations has gone into lockdown? Because our ace is digging into Six Four.’

  ‘That’s the first I’ve heard of it. Nobody’s mentioned anything to me.’

  He was getting ready to flee.

  ‘What about Shirota? Have you seen him doing anything that seemed odd?’

  ‘Nothing I’ve noticed . . . You think he might have Futawatari working for him?’

  ‘That depends on whether you can draw a line to link him with Akama and Futawatari.’

  ‘If he thought it was dangerous, I imagine Shirota would simply turn a blind eye. He does have a particular aversion to taking responsibility for things.’

  Look who’s talking, Mikami thought.

  ‘If it’s bothering you, why don’t you try asking Futawatari directly? You joined the force together, and didn’t you both do kendo in high school? I suppose you haven’t seen much of each other since, being in Criminal Investigations and Administrative Affairs, but, well, you’re here now, you should just go see him, ask him in person.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I plan to do.’

  Mikami hung up. It took a while for the irritation to subside. The outpouring of Ishii’s empty and insincere words had left him on edge. I was just happy. You know, that’s the first time anyone here’s ever said thanks for something. The girl’s voice echoed like something from another age. Words reach people. Mikami decided he was a fool for having believed it, even for a moment. For having left a message for Hiyoshi. What words were there to reach someone who had lived the last fourteen years locked away in isolation, someone who had switched off every last channel to the outside?

  Mikami jumped to his feet and walked back through to the hall. He grabbed the internal line and went into the bedroom again, using his free hand to pull the cord with him. Station Q, Urushibara’s home. He already knew the number. Rather than just finishing his work over the phone, Mikami’s plan had been to get on with some work that he could only do on the phone. He was going to launch a surprise attack. He would agitate; trick Urushibara into revealing the truth. The man might have grown used to sitting in the captain’s chair, but he’d been a skilled detective with an extraordinary talent for intuition. If Mikami chose a head-on approach, Urushibara would almost certainly cotton on to the fact that Mikami’s hand was empty.

  But maybe, over the phone . . .

  Mikami checked the time on the alarm clock: 8.15 p.m. The perfect time. Urushibara would be winding down for the night, having finished dinner and his bath. Mikami picked up the handset and dialled Urushibara’s home number. He swallowed a mouthful of spit.

  Someone picked up after the third ring: Urushibara. His voice shot up an octave once Mikami had introduced himself.

  ‘Mikami. It’s been a long time.’

  ‘Yeah, it has.’

  ‘How’s life been treating you? Still having a good time with Minako, I assume?’

  An opening jab. He was putting on a show of being the same old Urushibara, while his thoughts raced to pin down the reason for Mikami’s call.

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Not bad, not bad. It’s pretty laid-back down here. Got everyone else doing my work for me.’

  ‘Sounds great. You should give me a call. I’d be happy with a job like lead detective.’

  ‘Haha. I’d probably consider it if I thought you were being serious. Anyway, to what do I owe the sudden call? Someone screw up a press report or something?’

  ‘Nothing like that. Actually, there’s something I wanted to ask you.’

  ‘Huh. Come on, then . . . out with it.’

  ‘I met with Hiyoshi today,’ he said, keeping it simple and listening for Urushibara’s response.

  ‘Hiyoshi . . .?’

  ‘Koichiro Hiyoshi, the one who used to work in Forensics. The one who screwed up during Six Four, ended up leaving the force.’

  The line went quiet for a moment, but when he spoke again Urushibara seemed completely unfazed. ‘Right, I do remember there being someone by that name. Remind me what he did that was so bad?’

  It was Mikami’s turn to fall quiet for a moment. His lie about having met Hiyoshi hadn’t shaken Urushibara at all. He’d even countered by asking about Hiyoshi’s mistake in return. Obviously, Urushibara hadn’t let his armour rust in the slightest.

  Mikami carried on regardless.

  ‘It was after your unit entered Amamiya’s house. He’d been in charge of recording the calls.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He made a fatal error.’

  ‘Uhuh . . . and?’

  ‘You shouted at him, called him incompetent. Then he left the force.’

  ‘And?’

  Urushibara was trying to dictate the pace of the conversation. Show no reaction, keep the story going . . . it was a technique detectives liked to use.

  ‘It hit him hard. After leaving Forensics, he spent the next fourteen years locked up in his room at home. But I’m guessing you know all this?’

  ‘Uhuh . . . and?’

  ‘I told him I’d listen to whatever he wanted to say, whether he wanted to complain or confess.’

  ‘Right . . . and?’

  He was probing to find out the extent of what Mikami knew. It was getting difficult. If Mikami went too far, if he failed to temper the falsehoods with enough truth, he’d end up with Urushibara’s high-pitched cackle in his ear.

  ‘He’d been in tears, clutching the recording equipment. Even though the Amamiyas were there, too.’

  It was too late to alter course now. He heard a quiet intake of breath, and Urushibara’s voice seemed suddenly closer.

  ‘And? Did Hiyoshi confess to anyt
hing?’

  Mikami clasped his mouth shut. Could he let himself say it? He let the silence make his bluff for him, but Urushibara saw through it.

  ‘Look, Mikami, I’ve got no idea where you’re going with this. What the hell was this screw-up you keep alluding to? And me calling him incompetent? I certainly don’t remember having done that.’ His tone suggested he knew he had the upper hand. ‘Where did you dig up all these false accusations? And what’s with the Internal Affairs act? Isn’t Media Relations there to give the press a pure and just picture of us?’

  ‘I don’t believe the accusations are false.’

  ‘Of course they are. I guarantee it. Who was it that fed you all this nonsense?’

  ‘It was in the Koda memo,’ Mikami said, going all out.

  ‘The what—?’

  His voice seemed to have clouded over. Mikami guessed he’d elicited the man’s first genuine response.

  But . . .

  ‘I see. You and Futawatari, you’re a team in this.’

  It felt like a punch to the nose.

  ‘He turned up at the station yesterday, hadn’t even made an appointment. Said he wanted everything I knew about this thing called the Koda memo.’

  Futawatari had beaten him to it again.

  Mikami felt his whole body flush. He had intended to mount a surprise attack, to land the decisive blow, but his failure had been decided before he’d even picked up the phone. Futawatari’s direct approach had given Urushibara the time he’d needed to prepare. Urushibara had raised his guard the moment he’d answered Mikami’s call. He’d been able to sidestep Mikami’s questions while dictating the course of the conversation. He’d even had his own final counter-attack ready.

  You and Futawatari . . .

  ‘They’ve managed to tame you, too, is that it? Really, for you and that dog to get together . . .’

  ‘We have nothing to do with each other.’

  ‘You share the same master in Akama. So you’re Fido and he’s Benji: that’s about the only difference between you.’

  He seemed to be enjoying the goading. But Mikami wondered if it was genuine. Could he really be so laid-back after having had Futawatari march in on his territory?

  ‘Here’s what I know. The Koda memo contains details of an error made by the Home Unit, one grievous enough to cost you your job.’

  ‘And you read it?’

  The response came so fast Mikami ended up stalling.

  Laughter resonated in his ears.

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you did. You can’t read something that doesn’t exist.’

  His voice was triumphant. Mikami wondered if it could be true. The Koda memo didn’t exist. It had, once, but now it was gone. Could that be the source of Urushibara’s confidence?

  ‘It was an entertaining story, I’ll give you that. Call again when you have another.’

  Mikami couldn’t just give up.

  ‘I got the intel from someone who has read the memo.’

  ‘Who . . . Futawatari?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say.’

  ‘Right, right. At least come out with it. What was this fatal error you say would have cost me my job?’

  Mikami sank his teeth into his lip. He should never have let Urushibara ask the question.

  ‘Well? Come on.’

  ‘At this point, I’m not at liberty to say.’

  Urushibara cackled again.

  ‘How about we call it a day on the Internal Affairs act? I’m going to hang up. I heard you out because you’re an old friend, but I’m under Arakida’s direct orders not to discuss anything with Admin.’

  Mikami seized on the words. ‘So you’re just another Fido.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘You’re sticking to the gag order, even though you don’t know what it’s all about . . .’

  After a short pause, Mikami heard Urushibara cursing under his breath. ‘Mikami, are you trying to test my patience?’

  ‘No, I want to ask you, do you know what’s behind the gag order? Tell me if you do.’

  ‘You tell me. What do I need to say to make you happy?’

  It sounded like Urushibara was trying to duck the question.

  He’d been there when it had happened, so he’d known Criminal Investigation’s secret from the start. But even with that knowledge, he hadn’t been made aware of what the reason was behind the current, station-wide secret that had come into being so suddenly. They had shut him out.

  If that was the case . . .

  ‘What would happen if the memo found its way to the commissioner?’

  ‘The commissioner . . .? What are you trying to say?’

  He’d taken the bait.

  ‘You know about the commissioner’s visit next week?’

  ‘Yes. What of it?’

  ‘It’s the only reason the gag order is in place. Criminal Investigations wants to hide all traces of the memo’s existence.’

  ‘Look, I don’t know about any of this. What are you getting at?’

  ‘I’m sure you do know. This is Tokyo we’re talking about here. Arakida won’t protect you, not when push comes to shove.’

  ‘You’re pushing—’

  ‘He’ll assign all the blame to the Home Unit. That’s just how he operates. Trust me, I learned the hard way.’

  There was no response.

  The silence gave Mikami hope.

  But . . .

  ‘You’re still pissed off with the Director, is that it?’

  What . . .?

  ‘Not everybody gets the transfer they wanted; the system doesn’t work that way. You need to let it go. Spend two or three years towing the line and you’ll get what you deserve, eventually.’

  Urushibara was goading him back. It was obvious enough, but Mikami refused to ignore it.

  ‘That’s not what this is.’

  ‘Despise Arakida, despise the whole department. That it? And now you’re bringing me into the fray with this fucking interrogation. Pain in the ass.’

  ‘No, that’s not—’

  ‘No? Then why the barbed phone call?’

  ‘This is just . . .’

  ‘. . . you doing your job, right. I’m asking you if that’s all this is. Are you sure this isn’t just some pretext for exacting revenge on Arakida, on your whole department? Are you certain that’s not what this is?’

  ‘I’m certain.’

  The determination in his voice resonated through his skull.

  ‘Okay. Well, at least act that way. Sure, Arakida is just some bullshitter with no talent apart from giving out orders. But the brass is the brass. If you really do want to work with us again, you’ll need to pay him – and the department – a little more respect. We can talk after that.’

  Urushibara had missed the mark. He’d shot short of any vital areas. It was a chance to open up a new line of questioning.

  ‘Were you ordered to stay away from the funeral?’

  ‘Funeral? What funeral?’

  ‘Toshiko Amamiya’s. I take it you know she passed away?’

  ‘Ah, sure, I’d heard.’

  ‘Why didn’t you attend? You were in charge of the Home Unit.’

  ‘That day, I was—’

  ‘A detective would have made sure to be there.’

  Urushibara started to say something but stopped midway, perhaps experiencing a wave of bitter nausea. The man had done his best at Amamiya’s. No one would have seen anything else.

  ‘You were ordered not to go. So as not to provoke Amamiya. Tell me if I’m wrong.’ Urushibara’s breath was a forbidding rumble over the line. ‘Where is the Koda memo?’

  ‘Enough.’

  ‘Are you prepared to lose your job for a talentless bullshitter?’

  ‘You’re deluded. Stop obsessing over this crap – and make sure to enjoy yourself tonight.’

  The line clicked off.

  Mikami’s hand jumped immediately to redial, but he stopped himself from calling back. The build-up wasn’t some
thing he could reproduce. Urushibara’s presence had begun to recede with the silence, and now he seemed as remote as the dead.

  Mikami was hit by a sudden exhaustion. This was gradually painted over by a sense of futility. Mikami had tried to throw Urushibara off balance, but the man had been steady on his feet. It was only to be expected. The result would have been much the same, whether he’d had time to prepare or not. Even so, Futawatari’s lack of subtlety was maddening. Mikami wouldn’t have expected to outsmart a seasoned detective like Urushibara, not one to one like that. He’d been testing for a reaction. Out to get a sense of things. But he was reaching above his station. His empty success in Administrative Affairs had given him the confidence to try his hand at cross-examining a detective. But to what end? Urushibara had seen through him. And it wasn’t the first time it had happened. He’d been going from place to place, hawking the Koda memo, only ever managing to aggravate and irritate Criminal Investigations. Like a poor shot, he was shooting wildly to make up for an inability to aim. Mikami couldn’t help but feel discouraged. Mikami was sure Ushibara had been unnerved when he’d brought up the commissioner’s involvement, but he knew that wouldn’t be enough in itself to make a man like him give in.

  That left Kakinuma. Mikami’s thoughts were already moving on. He didn’t expect him to shed any light on the matter. Kakinuma was still part of the Investigative Team. He was younger than Mikami and lower in rank, and as such it would be easy for him to put the phone down, saying that he wished to remain uninvolved. Mikami’s only hope was to appeal to Kakinuma’s sense of justice. To get the approach right, he would have to go and see him in person.

  Tomorrow.

  Mikami felt weighed down as he got to his feet. He put the handset back on the cradle in the hall, trying to look normal as he walked back into the living room. Minako was watching TV. The sight reminded him of how things used to be. Had she changed for the better? Or was she just trying to make an effort to do so?

  ‘Anything wrong?’

  ‘No, everything’s fine.’

  ‘I ran the bath.’

  ‘You go first.’

  ‘Well, I think I might be catching a cold . . .’