Six Four

by Hideo Yokoyama

  ‘What about PR, can that be fixed retrospectively? Didn’t you see a problem in delaying things with the press? Did Arakida tell you it was fine?’

  ‘That’s . . .’

  Mikura hesitated. Mikami’d hit the mark.

  ‘You kept us out deliberately. That’s it, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, that’s not—’

  ‘How long were you planning to keep us out, if I hadn’t shown up?’

  Mikura fell silent.

  ‘Do you understand what you’ve done? A high-school girl is missing. Her parents received calls from someone purporting to be her kidnapper. Yet your mind was on something other than the case. This is a sham. You let an internal struggle influence the investigation of a kidnapping. No – you used the kidnapping . . . as retaliation against Tokyo? As a warning? Insurance? How could you support something so reprehensible?’

  ‘You’re the sham.’

  Mikami ignored him and carried on. ‘You know it’s a hoax. That’s why you’re reacting this way.’

  ‘We know nothing of the sort. It’s possible it’s a hoax, that’s all. Our focus is on bringing the kidnapper to justice. You’re being paranoid if you think we’re shutting you out. You’re only making the accusation because you’re feeling slighted.’

  ‘If that’s true, why keep her identity secret?’

  ‘I already told you. For as long as the chance exists, however remote, that this is a teenager’s hoax—’

  ‘I don’t mean from the press! I’m asking you why you’re keeping their identities secret from Admin.’

  Mikami’s phone started to vibrate across the top of the desk. Keeping his gaze locked on Mikura, he reached to pick it up. It was Kuramae.

  ‘Sir, I managed to discover Chief Matsuoka’s whereabouts. He went to Station G in one of the enforcement vehicles.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Ah, yes. Five or six phones started ringing together so I answered one without thinking . . . anyway, it was from Station G.’

  ‘Okay, good work. Go back to the office and chase it up with Suwa.’

  Mikami ended the call. Mikura looked as though his response was ready.

  ‘Go on, then.’

  ‘We no longer feel able to share important information with Admin. You sold us out to Tokyo.’

  ‘Yeah, and I’m sick of hearing that. If you insist this isn’t all a sham, give me the identity of the girl and the family.’

  Mikura let out a shallow sigh, then added coolly, ‘This isn’t Admin’s business. Nobody needs to know, ever.’

  Mikami felt his head pitch. The true essence of the police. Utterly self-contained. Mikami had shared the same opinion. In his many years working as a detective, he’d taken this kind of exclusion as a matter of course. But . . .

  Now a part of him saw things from the outside.

  This isn’t Admin’s business.

  Nobody needs to know, ever.

  He could already see how a reporter would respond.

  A, self-employed. B . . . C . . . How can we be sure they even exist?

  64

  The dust was swirling, getting into Mikami’s eyes.

  He got into his car, rubbing them as he checked the digital display. Three fifteen. He took out his mobile and called Media Relations. The moment it connected, his ears were subjected to a barrage of noise. Angry shouts, hurled back and forth. You think this is some kind of joke? Give us their names! Was everything you said a plain lie? The reporters were irate, and Suwa was taking the fire. Mikami got a vivid sense of how close they were.

  Mikumo had answered the call. He heard a female voice.

  ‘Can you hear this?’

  ‘Hello? Can you hear me?’

  ‘Have all of the papers been notified?’

  ‘Sorry, sir, I can’t really hear . . .’

  Mikami raised his voice. ‘Is the provisional agreement in effect?’

  ‘Ah, yes . . .’ There was a rustling; the din quietened a little. It sounded like Mikumo had ducked under her desk. ‘Yes, it is. But a lot of the papers are refusing to comply unless we give them the names. They’re threatening to send reporters into Genbu.’

  ‘The agreement is still binding, however temporary. Make sure they don’t go against it.’

  ‘They’re saying after three and a half hours it’s too late. One said they already had someone in Station G earlier today, to cover an accident; now they intend to send someone else.’

  ‘You can’t let them. Tell them they’re not to go anywhere near Station G. If they do, they’re in direct violation.’

  ‘Kuramae’s trying to talk them down. He’s telling them it’s a possible hoax, that that’s what’s delaying the release. They’re not listening, though. They’re really worked—’

  ‘I’ve got another report. Can you take this down?’

  ‘Sure, one second.’ The level of noise jumped sharply, then became muffled again. ‘Okay, go ahead.’

  Mikami read out Mikura’s additional information. His ears picked up on the jeering between each sentence. Where’s your boss now? Get him here, this instant! His absence was fuel to their fire.

  ‘That’s everything. Hand the notes to Suwa.’

  ‘Sir . . . do you have the girl’s name?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Silence.

  Her dismay was evident even on the phone. She could probably see that Suwa was close to breaking.

  ‘Tell him to hold on.’

  ‘Are you coming back?’

  ‘I have to go to Station G. Let Suwa know, but be quiet about it.’

  ‘When will you be back?’ Her voice sounded desperate, but he knew he couldn’t answer, as things were. He had no guarantee he’d even be able to meet with Matsuoka. ‘Just an estimate. Can you say roughly when—’

  ‘Tell Kuramae to go to Supplies in the Prefectural Government.’

  ‘Sorry, where?’

  ‘There’s a conference room on the fifth floor of the west wing, it’s got a capacity of over three hundred people. We need to use it for the press conference. For now, he can tell Supplies it’s for an important case. We’ll need space in the underground parking area, too, enough for all the press from Tokyo and neighbouring prefectures.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll pass on the message. Can I help?’

  ‘Make sure the press understand what they can’t do. Get them to call their head offices in Tokyo. They can’t use vehicles with their names on, or any kind of logo. They have to conceal the radio antennas on their broadcast vans. Tell them they aren’t – under any circumstances – to go anywhere near Genbu. Also that there’s a strict ban on parking in the Prefectural HQ. They aren’t to do anything to give themselves away en route, and they have to use the underground car park at the Prefectural Government. From there, they need to use the goods lift and move quietly to the fifth floor.’

  ‘But . . . that’s impossible.’ She was almost crying. ‘They’re not listening to anything we say. They’ll never listen to me—’

  ‘Tell them individually, one by one.’

  ‘They’re unanimous in saying they won’t sign an official agreement. They won’t stop shouting. They won’t call their head offices.’

  ‘They’ll be coming whatever happens. Every paper will send all the reporters they can spare. Most likely, they’re already on their way.’

  No answer.

  ‘You don’t have time to think; do it now. The life of a seventeen-year-old girl is hanging in the balance. We can’t arrest the kidnapper. What we can do is make sure the press don’t get her killed.’

  He started the engine without waiting for an answer.

  ‘You’re right. I’ll do what I can.’

  Her voice was obscured by the shouting in the background, but her determination was clear.

  Mikami accelerated sharply. He pulled past the swirls of dead leaves and out of the Prefectural HQ. He rode the prefectural highway east. If traffic was light, it would take less than half an hour to reach Station
G. The life of a seventeen-year-old girl is hanging in the balance. The words had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Not because he’d deployed them to coax Mikumo into action. Not because he felt any less concern for C now the idea of a hoax had been planted in his mind. It felt real. Ayumi’s smile. Shoko’s death mask. High-school uniforms. Hair decorations, the shichigosan festival. Girls walking in the streets. A bright-red coat in a shop window. Mikami’s vision conjured images, mixing with memory and emotion to give C a tangible reality, furnishing her with warmth and a pulse. And yet . . .

  Something was interfering with the picture.

  Do they even exist?

  Mikami spun the wheel, putting his foot down to overtake two cars ahead of him.

  The Investigative HQ were placing too much emphasis on the theory that C had orchestrated the kidnapping herself. They’d started with the conclusion and worked their way backwards. Seeing Mikura’s calm detachment, suspicion had wormed its way into Mikami’s head. Under any normal circumstances, it would suggest he was holding some kind of trump card. If they did have some kind of irrefutable evidence that it was a hoax, then there was no case. No need to set up an Investigative HQ. And yet they had staged a dramatic occupation of the assembly hall. They had demanded that the press sign a coverage agreement, and been careful also to float the possibility that the case was a hoax. We can stop the commissioner’s visit. Someone had had the idea. They’d decided C could play the role of instigator and were taking advantage of something they knew was a hoax to magnify the disturbance.

  Mikami put a cigarette in his mouth. His hand stopped before he lit it.

  But was that really it?

  Was it really just chance?

  It felt too perfect. Why now? The commissioner was due to arrive and claim the director’s head. But a kidnapping occurred the day before the visit. A kidnapping and ransom, the kind of case that happens maybe once in every ten years in the regions. And the kidnapper was imitating Six Four, playing off the ostensible reason for the commissioner’s visit: Get 20 million yen ready by midday tomorrow. Midday was the time scheduled for the commissioner’s arrival. The lines might have been a carbon copy of Six Four, but the timing had to be more than simple chance.

  They had made it look as if C was the perpetrator of the hoax, when in fact it was on a completely different scale . . .

  Mikami stopped at a red light. He lit the cigarette he had in his mouth.

  Do the girl and her family exist?

  The answer was perhaps yes and no. The family existed, but not as victims of a kidnapping. It seemed possible, because Mikami knew what the police were capable of when they put their mind to something. It wouldn’t be difficult to procure a victim. The investigation was a sham. Or worse . . . He didn’t want to believe it, but the hypothesis stuck because he knew they could do it if the decision had been made.

  The case was a kidnapping. Their first step would have to be setting up a ‘victim’s house’. As NTT would maintain records of any calls made, they wouldn’t be able to use the phones of police officers or their relatives, or anyone belonging to police-affiliated organizations, for the ‘victim’s phone’. The quickest way to do it would be to use someone already in deep cover. It didn’t have to be someone in the underworld. They would prefer some citizen they had on a leash, someone in their debt who had a weakness they could exploit, someone under their control. That way they would have no reason to fear double-dealing, or the truth slipping out. For this particular role, a married couple who lived outwardly normal lives.

  Mikami thought back to one of the guards outside the assembly hall – Ashida from Organized Crime. Goggle Eyes. He had once saved a family who were running a ryokan business from going through with a suicide pact. The man had liked to play around and had got himself involved with a girl who was part of a Yakuza scheme; they had started blackmailing him. They raped his wife, took photos, filmed every last detail. The man had approached Ashida in private, and he worked behind the scenes to settle things with the Yakuza. They agreed to leave the man alone, but on the condition that Ashida turn a blind eye to the blackmail and violence. Ashida received a commendation from the station captain when, three months later, a couple of guns were found in one of the Yakuza group’s lower-ranking offices. Mikami had later heard that Ashida had his own private room in the ryokan, and that the photos and tape of the owner’s wife were kept there in a safe.

  The case wasn’t even unique. There were many couples out there hiding an unsavoury background or running from debt who would suddenly find life difficult if their secrets got out. The longer your service as an officer – particularly in the case of detectives – the greater the number of potential ‘collaborators’ in your network. Most crimes would never happen without there first being some kind of secret.

  Yes, it would be easy enough to get a couple to act as parents.

  All they needed then . . .

  Mikami stubbed out his cigarette and started forwards. The road was looking busy; he pulled in front of a truck, then back into the left lane.

  All they would need then . . . was a daughter. A son would have worked just as well. If necessary, they could have got by without a kid at all, just used three different phones. One could be designated as C’s, and a detective could use it to call in as the kidnapper. If they wanted to avoid the risk of using an active police officer, they only needed to ask their network, or someone already retired.

  There was another possible scenario. If there was a ‘C’, someone who hadn’t come home and who didn’t know that her parents were collaborating with the police, the whole kidnapping could have been created around her disappearance. She would have had to ‘misplace’ her phone after leaving home two nights ago. People dropped their guard; it wouldn’t have mattered whether she kept it with her or in a bag, and people aren’t as sensitive as animals when they’re asleep. Getting the phone would have been easy for a detective working theft, someone who knew every trick in the book. If that was the case, she might have gone to a koban to report the phone missing. Or stolen. Whatever the case, she would remain ‘kidnapped’ unless the Investigative HQ decided actively to seek out the information.

  Mikami realized he was moving into territory beyond normal speculation. That, if anything, the theories were closer to pure fancy. But, even then, he couldn’t laugh them off.

  Because the report was anonymous.

  Any tale of make-believe, however far-fetched, could come alive when hidden behind a screen of anonymity. It could walk freely. Any and all developments were plausible. When it came to weaving a tale, anonymity was omnipotent, a delusion itself, one that allowed for an infinity of choice.

  Through force of habit, Mikami eased off the accelerator. The billboard for the Aoi Café swept into the corner of his view. The starting point of the Six Four pursuit. If the kidnapping was real and not a hoax, if the kidnapper genuinely hoped to re-enact Six Four, then, come tomorrow, the café would be filled for the first time in fourteen years with investigators posed as couples.

  If the kidnapper was Criminal Investigations, the café would be empty. The kidnapping wouldn’t progress to the stage of the ransom. They only had to maintain the pretence until midday tomorrow, the time of the commissioner’s scheduled arrival; at that point, they could be certain the visit would be cancelled. Still, it was likely that everything would be decided before the day was even out. Once word came in of the commissioner’s decision to cancel, the case would suddenly begin to resolve itself.

  Mikami let the car pick up speed again. Twenty-five to four. It was taking longer than expected.

  Their objective achieved, the Investigative HQ would turn to damage limitation. Having used and enraged the press, they would use disappointment to sedate them. First, they would announce that they had taken C into custody, that the kidnapping had been fake, organized by her. That was where the idea of the hoax – already seeded – would come into its own. They would issue statement after statement, until the press wer
e sick and tired of it all. The girl had been acting alone; no one had forced her. She’d only wanted to hurt her parents. She’d copied an old case she found on the internet. She’d got the helium cans playing bingo at a party. She was sorry; she regretted what she’d done.

  And so on . . .

  They would use the girl’s age as a shield, maintaining the family’s anonymity. The story would never make the mainstream news. Press and police led on wild-goose chase during alleged kidnapping. The papers would write sullen, anecdotal articles at most. Their anger would wither away, as would any desire to follow up the story. Even if they did want to chase it up, they would lack any direction to explore it with. Genbu. A self-employed father. Second-year student at a private high school. Seventeen years old. The city council and the school would be bound by confidentiality and would function as brick walls. And Criminal Investigations could convince the family to leave the prefecture.

  More than anything, they had the power of fiction on their side. There was nothing to guarantee that the girl’s age, or the information pertaining to her schooling, matched anything on record. There was no proof she even existed.

  This isn’t Admin’s business. Nobody needs to know, ever.

  Mikura’s words would become fact. The press would never know the truth, not to mention the public. They’d chosen kidnapping. They’d known they would have to stage a kidnapping. It felt more and more plausible. The public wouldn’t hear about it until it was all over. A tornado was raging in the Prefectural HQ, but it was nothing more than a storm in a teacup. No one would die and no one would be hurt. It would be reported as a hoax, so there would be no public outcry. It had impact enough to stop the commissioner in his tracks, but it carried no risk of future recrimination. It was the only viable option.

  Criminal Investigations was getting ready for the endgame. Tokyo would find itself in the midst of a hurricane. They would recoil in blind horror when they were told the hoax had been the final play of the Prefecture D Criminal Investigations Department.