He turned on his knees to face Amamiya. Keeping his head down, he placed both hands on the tatami. Through misted vision he caught sight of Amamiya’s hands and knees. His focus fell on the tip of the man’s index finger. The nail was black with clotted blood; it felt, for a moment, like a manifestation of Amamiya’s disgust.
The tears continued to flow. He’d forgotten everything he’d intended to say. He pushed his forehead on to the matted floor.
‘Forgive me. I’ll come back some other time.’
His voice was thick and clogged. He pushed himself back to his feet and gave Amamiya a quick bow before heading along the hallway to the door. He was already in his shoes when he heard the voice coming from behind.
‘There was something . . . you wanted to talk to me about?’
‘It’s fine. I can come back.’ Without turning around, he started towards the door.
‘Was it the visit you’d mentioned? The man coming from Tokyo?’
Mikami stopped where he was.
‘It’s . . . it’s fine. I’d be happy for him to visit.’
Mikami turned slowly. Amamiya was standing in the middle of the hallway, eyes still half down, but looking straight at him.
‘Are you sure?’
‘You said it would be Thursday? I’ll make sure I’m in.’
35
Mikami’s eyes felt dry.
He was heading for the city. For Akama’s home. His mind was trained on his destination; his emotions, still shaken. His tears had persuaded Amamiya to change his mind. They had been unexpected. This is for Ayumi. For Minako. Do whatever it takes. Had some part of him thought that way? Amamiya had been touched. He’d seen the tears as an apology and reconsidered his position. It was terrifying. Mikami had managed to pull it off without consciously doing anything. He’d persuaded Amamiya to come around . . .
His mood gradually eased as he drove away from the man’s house. Means aside, he had achieved what he’d set out to do. He’d clawed back the victory he’d all but given up on, and by the time the area of town containing the directors’ housing came into view he thought he could glimpse a little light poking through the clouds. A part of him felt relieved at his own shamelessness. Something had got into him. To burst suddenly into tears before another man. He’d never done it before; he certainly never wanted to do it again.
Calculation also drove his rush to report in to Akama. An incompetent press director. Time seemed to have ground to a halt between them since Akama’s explosion of two days earlier. And there was no guarantee he could reconcile things with the Press Club before the day of the commissioner’s visit. He was glad to have Amamiya’s blessing, but it meant nothing if the press were to boycott the interview. That was why he needed to make sure of Akama’s reaction while his success with Amamiya was still fresh. If he failed to do that, his obligation to Criminal Investigations would rear its head once again. Now he’d set up the gallows, he wouldn’t let Akama keep him in the dark about the reason behind the commissioner’s visit – not any more. Criminal Investigations’ crime, and its punishment. Meeting Akama was the only means he had of getting to the truth.
The area containing the houses of all the directors was bathed in weekend quiet. Mikami parked on the road and walked the ten metres to the intercom to Akama’s house. He pressed the button.
‘Mikami? What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ Akama answered, obviously annoyed. He had no doubt given up on Mikami producing a positive result. Career officers disliked visits during their downtime, but Mikami knew Akama had called Ishii to check on their progress with Amamiya.
‘I’ve got some news, it’s about Amamiya.’
‘Hmm? What?’
Maybe the connection was bad; Akama didn’t seem to hear. There was a short pause before the front door swung open. Mikami didn’t recognize him for a moment. He was in a casual jumper with loose-fitting trousers, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses. Mikami’s eyes were naturally drawn to the man’s curved shoulders, his scraggy chest, which drove home the effect the man’s expensive, tailored suits and gold-rimmed glasses had on his projection of authority. When he spoke, however, there was no doubt who it was.
‘What’s wrong with you, coming here directly? You report through Division Chief Ishii.’
‘Amamiya has granted us his permission,’ Mikami said quickly.
Akama looked at him, surprised. He gestured for Mikami to step into the doorway but remained on the step above, donning a pair of slippers but showing no sign of inviting him further into the house.
‘The commissioner can enter his house. Offer incense at the altar. Yes?’
‘He gave me his word.’
A woman laughed from somewhere inside. Akama had probably invited his family from Tokyo for the weekend. He still looked irritated. Mikami was sure it was a reaction to having an underling intrude on his private space.
‘Okay. Will we have enough space for all the cars?’
‘There should be plenty of room in front of the house.’
‘That’s too close. Can you arrange it so the commissioner can leave the house then walk a little before the reporters come in?’
‘If they park on the road, that should leave enough space.’
‘Will the house be visible in the background, if we do it that way?’
Akama’s attention to detail served to bolster Mikami’s confidence. Tokyo was fixed on securing Amamiya’s house as the venue for their announcement.
‘What’s important is the picture for the cameras. Once the commissioner has paid his respects at the altar, he will emerge – looking dignified – from the house, then take the reporters’ questions outside. Can you set it up to work like that?’
‘It shouldn’t be a problem. If we make sure the cameras are on the road, the house should show up in the background.
‘Should isn’t good enough, Mikami. Make sure you rehearse it the day before. We need to be absolutely certain before we go ahead.’
Akama had yet to say a word of thanks. All the same, his frown had eased and it was clear he’d relaxed somewhat. It also didn’t seem like he was going to raise the issue of the proposed boycott. He was perhaps confident the issue would be rectified during the following day’s round-table meeting, when they would have a chance to discuss it properly with the branch heads. Unless . . . he had something else up his sleeve.
More laughter piped up from inside the house.
‘You’re dismissed, if that’s all you have to report. I’m supposed to be—’
‘Sir,’ Mikami cut in. He couldn’t let his chance to ask pass by. ‘Sorry, but there was one other thing I wanted to ask about.’
‘What is it?’ Akama shot a glance into the house. He was getting restless.
‘What is the commissioner aiming for with this announcement?’
Akama’s eyes betrayed a momentary indecision. But that was all. ‘What are you trying to say? You know, you’d do well to think before you speak, Mikami. The commissioner is there to answer the questions from the press.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Mikami knew he’d get nowhere making Akama angry. And yet . . . ‘Criminal Investigations is on edge.’
‘Oh, is it now?’
‘The situation might get out of control. If we continue to hold the Koda memo at their throats—’
‘The what?’ Surprisingly, Akama gave him a puzzled look. Was he pretending not to know? Or had he really never heard of it? ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. It would help, Mikami, if you made sense.’
‘But—’
Mikami stopped himself there. If he really didn’t know, it would only complicate the matter. What Mikami wanted to find out was the reason for the commissioner’s visit.
‘I just want to understand the whole picture, as press director. If you could tell me Tokyo’s aim in this, that would help a lot.’
‘That’s enough. Don’t you think it’s time you learned, Mikami?’ Akama said, looking as if he’d had enough. ‘What would be the point
of your knowing, hmm? Media Relations is just a speaker on a wall. The broadcasting room is somewhere else entirely. Only a select few get to take the microphone.’
A speaker on a wall. A select few. Not knowing how to respond, Mikami dropped his eyes to his feet. As he did, a pair of white socks came sliding into the hallway.
‘Papa, are you still busy?’ came a voice.
The socks were attached to a little wide-eyed girl in her first or second year of secondary school. Her eyes caught Mikami’s and she darted behind a bannister, hiding playfully in the shadow. Akama’s stern façade collapsed.
‘I’m sorry, darling. Papa won’t be much longer now.’
‘We’ll miss the start if we don’t go now.’
‘It’ll be okay, it won’t start right on time.’
‘Mum’s worried the roads’ll be busy.’
‘Okay, Achan, you go ahead and get in the car with Yoshi.’
Mikami had overstayed his welcome. He’d done enough. With this in mind, he bowed to take his leave.
‘Sorry to have intruded.’
When he turned around, he heard a stifled giggle. Turning, he saw the young girl, still half concealed, and watching him out of one eye. She had one hand over her mouth, trying to hold back laughter. An unspeakable emotion washed over him. He felt himself shiver. It was as though he’d caught a glimpse of himself through the girl’s eyes. The way he looked to other people, not the way he looked to himself in the mirror or in a photograph.
Ayumi felt suddenly close by. He felt a need to cover himself with something. The girl’s crescent-moon eyes, which were no doubt full of charm, seemed at that moment to resemble those of a felon or a demon.
36
Back outside, the heavens threatened to open at any moment. Mikami couldn’t tell if it would be rain or snow; the thick clouds could go either way.
As he walked back to his car, his phone started to vibrate in his jacket pocket. Something told him it had also been doing this while he’d been standing outside Akama’s house. He checked the caller display. Mizuki Murakushi.
He heard a noise and looked up. Akama’s garage door was sliding open. A metallic-silver sedan slowly emerged from inside. Akama was at the wheel. His wife was in the passenger seat, dressed to go out. Two heads bobbed in the back. The car drew closer. Passed by. Mikami kept his head down.
He glanced up at the side and back mirrors. The car continued to pull away. The brake lights came on. It turned a corner. Even then, Mikami found it hard to shake the sensation of those eyes, laughing as they watched him.
Something in his pocket was vibrating again. Shaking himself out of his reflections, he pushed the answer button.
‘I know, you’re at work. Should I call later?’
Despite the suggestion, it was clear she had no intention of hanging up.
‘No, it’s fine. I’m on a break. What is it?’
‘I had another call from Minako, about an hour ago.’
‘Okay.’
Hearing what he had expected to hear, Mikami felt a mixture of relief and annoyance.
‘She kept asking about the silent call we had. I think she wanted to convince herself it was nothing to do with the ones you had, that yours were from Ayumi, after all.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Well? Did you have a proper talk to her about it?’
‘Yeah. Can’t say if it went well or not, though.’
‘You think it might have backfired? She did sound a little cross with me.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Hmm?’
Perhaps that had sounded a little cold. ‘I’m pretty sure it didn’t backfire. Don’t worry about it.’
‘You think so? Oh, you know how worked up I get when I think of Minako having to deal with this by herself. I had another call, too, from the Matsuokas.’
The name threw him for a moment.
‘Oh, not Chief Matsuoka. His wife, Ikue. She said you visited their apartment?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Right. Anyway, she didn’t seem to think the calls were from Ayumi either. She said she hadn’t been sure, about what you’d told her.’
Word had spread around the female officers’ network. Mikami began to feel irked. When people started to talk without involving himself or Minako he couldn’t help doubting their good intentions, regardless of any apparent sincerity.
‘I asked around a bit . . . and it turns out almost everyone’s had a call at some point. They had one at the chief’s family home, too, only a couple of months back.’
‘Huh.’
‘Would you try talking to her again?’
‘Sure.’
‘If she insists the calls were from Ayumi after you’ve talked it through, well, it’s probably best just to go with it. The worst thing would be for her to feel isolated. Just say it was my idea – tell her I’m a meddling gossip, something like that. Whatever happens, she needs to believe you’re on her side.’
Mikami reconsidered his frustration, but it was still hard just to say yes. Mizuki was helping more than most sisters would.
‘Mikami? Are you still there?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Are you angry?’
‘Why would I be?’
‘Are you sure? Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested anything in the first place . . .’
‘Don’t worry about it. Minako makes her own decisions.’
‘What do you mean?’
He clicked his tongue, frustrated at having to answer yet another question. ‘Just that she’s not the type to let herself get swayed by anything you or I say.’
‘I don’t think that’s true for you. She believes in you from the bottom of her heart. You should be more confident in yourself.’
He didn’t like the sound of what she was saying. Was she planning to talk about a Minako he didn’t know, out here among the directors’ housing block?
‘Okay, thanks for letting me know. I have to—’
‘Wait. Oh, no, this won’t do. You sound like you’ve given up completely. Are you sure the two of you aren’t fighting? Is it because of me?’
‘It’s nothing to do with that, like I said.’
‘But . . .’
‘We’re just not on the same level. The truth is, I can never tell what she’s thinking.’
‘Since Ayumi ran away, you mean?’
‘No. Right from the beginning.’
Mikami wondered if he’d accidentally imparted something he hadn’t meant to. Mizuki fell silent, sighing before she spoke again.
‘In that case, I’ll tell you how she feels.’
‘There’s no need.’
‘I’m telling you. I couldn’t stand it, not for you two to come unstuck when you most need to be there for each other. You can’t let that happen, not even a little bit. Especially if you haven’t communicated properly in the past.’
‘Look, I was a detective. I didn’t have the time to—’
‘You know that’s not what I’m talking about. It’s no use throwing up a smokescreen, Mikami, I know what it is you’re worried about. We all know everyone was surprised when the two of you got married. They said it was one of the prefecture’s seven great wonders. I mean, you were in the same station, but not for long, and it wasn’t as though you worked together – she was in Traffic, you were in Criminal Investigations. The other men were genuinely amazed. All wondering what you’d done to get a girl like that. But the thing is, you don’t know what you did either. I’m right about this, aren’t I?’
Mikami felt his chest tighten.
‘I’m going to tell you what you did. When you were there, in that station together—’
‘You needn’t bother.’
‘Just hear me out, okay? One day, she went through a bad experience, and spent the whole night crying. But she didn’t drag the problem to work – you know how seriously she took being a policewoman. She put her feelings to one side, did her make-up and dragged herself, smiling, back into work. She greeted
everyone normally, carrying on with her work as though nothing had happened. She took lunch with her workmates, chatting away without showing any signs of being down. So nobody noticed. Then, when she was on her way home, she happened to bump into you outside the side entrance. You gave her a funny look and said, ‘Are you okay?’ That was all you said. That was when she started to take notice of you. She said she gave you a road-safety charm not too long after that.’
Mikami could only remember fragments. ‘That was just . . .’ he said without thinking. ‘That was just a wild guess. I probably just said it to get her attention, either that or I’m some kind of clairvoyant.’
‘This isn’t something to joke about. This is where you ask me the reason she spent the whole night crying, right?’
Mikami started coughing. ‘That’s enough, just stop,’ he finally managed.
‘No, it’s not enough. I can’t stop now I’ve said this much and broken my promise, anyway. What’s the point otherwise? And listen, it’s not what you’re thinking. But it’s not something you’d put in a wedding speech either. One of her friends committed suicide. A high-school friend, from the same year; they’d been in the calligraphy club together. The people in the club were close and continued to meet after they all moved on from the school. Anyway, the girl who killed herself did so leaving behind a scribbled note on her desk. “Don’t tell Minako.” That was all it said.’
‘Don’t tell Minako? That she was dead?’
‘Minako wondered if the message had been intended to keep her from going to the funeral. It really frightened the girl’s parents. They called Minako on the phone, asking if something had happened between them. But there hadn’t been anything, nothing at all. Minako had been busy, so they hadn’t even seen each other for a while. Yet the fact remained that she’d been mentioned by name. Her friend had died and left instructions to keep her in the dark – and she didn’t find out until the day of the wake. She still went, you know. It must have been torture. She told me she felt like an intruder the whole time. As though she’d been denied permission to grieve, even though she was suffering at having lost a friend. She left to go back to her dorm room without staying for the final rites; that was when she finally started crying.’
Six Four Page 27
