That’s right . . . they’re planning to tell Tokyo the truth.
Keeping the deception hidden was like not telling an enemy state that you’d successfully developed weapons of mass destruction. It meant nothing unless it convinced Tokyo to abandon its plans. Criminal Investigations would find a way to confess, in the process making sure Tokyo never suggested another Six Four inspection. They would send Tokyo a decapitated head, force the conclusion. How would the NPA react? Would it take it in silence, bury it deep in the ground? Or would it seek revenge and take Arakida’s head, put it on public display?
Mikami gazed upwards.
The apex of Station G was visible in the distance, the Hinomaru flag twitching in the wind. Two minutes past four. The heavy clouds meant it was already half dark.
Matsuoka’s the key . . .
Mikami muttered the words. He was sure Matsuoka would help unlock the truth, put Mikami’s delusional theories to rest with a single word. It went without saying that he would have nothing to do with the sham investigation. Thinking back, it was from Matsuoka that he’d first heard the phrase. We’ve been accorded the hands of god. We wash in dirty water but that doesn’t mean we let it taint us. No matter how desperate you are to make an arrest, regardless of if the detention cells are empty, the one thing you must never do is permit a sham investigation.
It came down to this: if Matsuoka was in Station G, heading up the front line of the investigation, and if his expression was that of a man hard at work, Mikami could dismiss the idea of Criminal Investigations staging a fake kidnapping.
He’ll be there. I need him to be.
Matsuoka would refer to his own personal morality when choosing whether or not to divulge the family’s details. That was why Mikami thought he had a chance. Regardless of whether or not he had proof that it was the girl’s hoax, Matsuoka’s core ideal was that a person had to reap what they sowed. He wouldn’t treat the girl any differently because she was young. If Mikami confronted him one on one, honestly and rationally, there was a chance he’d cave in. And his position meant he could make the decision alone.
Mikami lit a cigarette.
He had no intention of repeating his earlier mistake. Barging into Criminal Investigations would only result in a repeat performance of the fiasco outside the assembly hall. But how was he to secure a private meeting? He needed somewhere to catch the lead commander of a kidnapping investigation by himself. It was possible that would be more difficult than getting him to talk.
Mikami frowned at the scene ahead. The station was within reach, but the traffic had come to a standstill. Eight minutes past four. He clucked his tongue as this became nine minutes past.
An image of Suwa presented itself. It seemed as if this was the first time he’d been able to picture someone on his team in detail, for one of them to appear as more than just an impression.
Hold on a little longer . . .
He stubbed out the still-long cigarette and flicked on the car’s headlights. Putting them on full beam, he spun the wheel and pulled out into the oncoming lane. He put his foot down and accelerated past the unmoving cars.
The importance of full disclosure . . .
This was no longer just for Media Relations. Mikami couldn’t allow anonymity to run wild; it was a monster, feeding on doubt to multiply indefinitely.
65
Mikami’s hearing seemed amplified.
He could make out the dripping of water. Every few seconds a drop would strike one of the sinks, forming a regular pattern.
Station G, the third-floor toilets. Mikami was holding his breath, lying wait in a cubicle at the far end of the room. The angle was bad, so he couldn’t make anybody out through the gap in the door. That left him dependent on sound. Footsteps. A sigh. A cough. Humming. Conversation, if people came in together. When he was a detective in Second Division, a reporter from the Sankei had often caught him this way. Mikami would ask how he knew it was him, but the reporter had always smiled and said: it’s a secret. The reporter had finally revealed his trick when he’d called in to say goodbye, after Mikami’s transfer became official. When you wash your hands, you put the tap on full . . .
Matsuoka always washed his face. A lot of people did, but Matsuoka had another habit when he did. After turning off the tap, he would always snap the water from his hands, a sharp movement not unlike flicking raindrops from an umbrella. The gesture made an audible swish. That was the sound Mikami was listening out for. He’d heard it many times when they’d been together in division.
He checked his watch. Five to five. Already thirty minutes since he’d sneaked his way in. The air in the cubicle was cold, the heating in the building apparently not extending to the corner of the toilets. Mikami propped up his jacket collar to lessen the chill, rubbing the back of his hands in turn.
He opened his mobile. No missed calls. Knowing the vibration would be too loud in silent mode, he’d set it to ‘driving’. He’d called his office from the car the moment he’d arrived at the station to let his team know he’d be out of contact for a while. The phone had rung a long time before Suwa had finally picked up. As before, the tempest had been blaring in the background. Mikami had quickly given his message, then asked a question.
‘Has anyone been in touch to say the visit has been cancelled?’
‘No, they haven’t.’ Suwa had put on a snappy tone, disguising the caller from the reporters. As he hung up, he said, ‘We need those spare parts as soon as possible, okay?’
A sound.
Mikami concentrated hard. Footsteps, in the corridor. Hurrying. Getting closer. At the entrance to the toilets . . . Passing by . . . The steps grew closer together. Whoever it was was going downstairs.
Only five people had entered the room in the last half-hour, and none of those had been in the last fifteen minutes. They had started a meeting, either in Criminal Investigations or the conference room beyond. That had to be it.
Mikami’s theories were already losing substance, even though he hadn’t seen Matsuoka. His head had begun to clear the moment he’d entered the parking area behind the station. He’d seen row after row of sedans – CID vehicles, to those who recognized them – most likely called in from neighbouring districts. At a glance, Mikami had counted four from Violent Crime in the Prefectural HQ. There wasn’t a single small or compact vehicle, meaning the station staff had been made to move their personal cars somewhere else.
What he’d seen was something he’d recognized from his years as a detective – a case in progress. The image had also driven home how difficult it would be to bring everyone under the same illusion. If the kidnapping was a hoax, one led by Arakida, the truth would have to remain under wraps until they had the decapitated head ready for Tokyo. A handful of people managing the investigation would have to battle hard to achieve that. And it would mean having to lie to every detective gathered here. Perhaps they’d ordered the investigation without disclosing the identity of the family. Or they had disclosed their identities but not told any of the detectives they knew the investigation was a sham. Both were taboo, and both came with significant hazards. Detectives are expert at detecting lies. There was the possibility that their plan to protect Criminal Investigations could backfire, lead instead to the end of the department, if mistrust and anger started to poison the ranks.
Knowing that, could they have revealed to everyone that the investigation was a sham? No, that was impossible. The plan was maybe feasible if it involved only a handful of people . . . but it would be nothing less than reckless to bring the entire department into it. Arakida would realize that. The key unit for a detective – their bible and their rulebook – was the individual. News of Tokyo’s intention to sequester the director’s post had spread through the ranks, uniting everyone against the NPA, but that wouldn’t be enough for the whole department to taint itself by being party to a sham. One after another, detectives would step down from their jobs. They would break confidentiality. Every generation of detectives had d
ecent men, men like Koda.
The fact that the entire department was mobilized and functioning could only mean . . .
Mikami’s eyes flicked to the side.
Footsteps.
This time, there was no need to concentrate. It was a crowd. The meeting was over. They were all heading in his direction. There was a slam as the door opened. Mikami automatically ducked his head back down.
Two. Another coming in behind them.
‘Should probably take off our ties.’
‘Yeah.’
They were talking casually, but Mikami didn’t recognize their voices. Urinating. The footsteps outside began to fade as everyone headed downstairs. Someone was using the tap, at the sinks. Washing his hands. Another tap came on over the sound. What was the third person doing? The sound of water stopped. Two sets of footsteps, heading for the door. ‘See you later.’ Had that been for the one still there? There was no answer. If he’d responded with a nod, that would suggest he was their superior. Outside, the footsteps moved slowly away. Another tap came on. The sound of someone washing their hands. And . . . their face. Was it Matsuoka? The tap stopped. Mikami focused his entire being on listening. His fingers were already on the lock inside the door.
Another slam. Someone else had come in. ‘Hi.’ The man who’d just come in spoke. Mikami couldn’t move. He hadn’t heard the snap of hands. It was possible the sound of the door had masked it. Even if that had been the case, Mikami knew he couldn’t risk leaving the cubicle when there were two people in the room. The man’s footsteps retreated along the corridor. The second man left shortly afterwards.
A long wait followed.
Six o’clock . . . six thirty . . . seven . . . How many times must he have checked his watch? No one had tried to call his phone. What had happened to Suwa? Had he managed to hold his ground? What about Kuramae and Mikumo – were they making progress? Were the press honouring the provisional agreement? Why hadn’t Akama or Ishii tried to get in touch?
Someone else walked out. There had been a constant flow of people, but Mikami still hadn’t heard the sound he’d been waiting for. It was possible he’d missed it. Or that Matsuoka wasn’t even in the building. The doubt worsened Mikami’s anxiety. He was chilled to the bone. Most of the time, he was sitting on the toilet with the lid down, standing only occasionally to stretch his arms and legs. It was nothing compared to the extreme conditions he’d often had to endure for stake-outs in the past, but his pulse would still race each time someone entered the room, never sure when they might knock on the cubicle door.
Eleven minutes past seven. He’d just glanced at the time when the door opened again. He heard the clicking of footsteps on tiles. The man’s pace was calm and composed, not slow, not hurried. Mikami’s eyes stretched open. He couldn’t remember the way Matsuoka walked. He’d never consciously thought about his pace, the sound his feet made. And yet . . .
It’s him. He knew it instinctively.
Urinating. More footsteps. The tap came on. He was washing his hands . . . rinsing his face. The tap stopped; with it, the sound of the water. Mikami pressed his ear against the gap in the door.
Snap.
Mikami walked slowly out of the cubicle. He saw the man’s shoulders first. His hands were still horizontal, pivoted like knives beneath his arms.
‘Sir.’
What would it take to make him register surprise? When Matsuoka turned around it was as though nothing was wrong; he gave Mikami a casual greeting and glanced at the bandage on his right hand. Still . . . he was there. The de facto leader of Criminal Investigations was there, leading the investigation at the front.
Mikami walked closer. His knees felt weak, frozen.
‘I don’t mean to ambush you. I was just hoping we could talk.’
‘Huh. You taking cues from the press these days?’
‘I couldn’t think of another way to speak to you.’
Matsuoka took a handkerchief from a trouser pocket and dabbed it over his wet face. ‘I’m busy, as I’m sure you know. Make it quick.’
Mikami nodded once. ‘I need to know the identity of the family.’
‘I can’t tell you.’
He responded without even pausing. But he hadn’t sounded hostile.
‘Sir. I can’t keep the press under control if the family are kept anonymous – not in the case of a kidnapping. They’re refusing point-blank to sign the coverage agreement.’
‘Huh . . .’
‘Sir?’
‘That’s it? That’s why you’re here?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I haven’t traded my soul away, not yet. I believe that’s what you said?’
There was a steely light in his eyes. He was referring to their conversation in First Division. Criminal Investigations or Administrative Affairs – throughout the conversation, Mikami had focused on the two positions and nothing else.
‘Did you find out the real motive behind the visit?’
‘Yes, from Arakida.’
‘And yet you still work for Admin. Go to such lengths.’
‘I’m not doing this for Admin or for Tokyo. This is simply my duty as press director. If you could think of it that way.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I can see why you don’t believe me. All I can ask is that you do. This is what I have to do as press director. It is absolutely imperative that I rein the press in and get them to sign a coverage agreement. I can’t go back without the names.’
Matsuoka tilted his head to one side.
‘It’s that important?’
‘Sorry?’
‘I’m asking if it’s important enough to justify you waiting in ambush for me.’
Mikami took a long breath.
‘I have no doubt it seems ridiculous from a detective’s point of view. Unrelated to our original vocation as officers of the law. That’s how I used to think, too. Keeping the peace was about making arrests. The world, a hunting ground. Now I know better. There are 260,000 officers out there, each with their own role to play. Detectives are just a minority. The majority of our officers work out of sight, away from the limelight. They haven’t been awarded the hands of god. But they take pride in what they do, regardless. And without their pride and their hard work – every single day of the year – an organization as huge as ours would never function. Media Relations has its own pride. Detectives mock us for reaching out to the media, but there’s no shame in that. Kowtowing to Administrative Affairs, letting them force us to sever all links to the outside world – that would be worthy of shame.’
Matsuoka folded his arms. He was thinking about what Mikami had said. Or Mikami himself.
‘I haven’t sold my soul. But nor am I clinging on to my past as a detective, not any more. The distinction between Criminal Investigations and Administrative Affairs is irrelevant. All I have to do is make sure I carry out my duty to—’
The door swung suddenly open. A man came in, probably another detective. Mikami avoided his gaze. It’s over. Just as the thought arose, Matsuoka turned around and addressed the man.
‘Use downstairs.’
‘Ah, of course.’
The man saluted, still looking surprised. He hurried out. Mikami looked up, using the look to convey his gratitude. He readied himself to continue.
‘In many ways, Media Relations is semi-private. Sometimes it’s important for us to stand our ground against Criminal Investigations. There are rules that must be adhered to for a kidnapping. Rules for the police, rules for the press, too. It’s our job, in Media Relations, to ensure that both sides respect and follow these guidelines. Please, I’m asking you again. I need to know the identity of the family.’
Matsuoka relaxed his arms. His eyes were piercing, relentless.
‘And so the toilet, right?’
Mikami nodded. Something else had struck him in that moment.
‘That’s not all, though. I need to help my team. They’re battling with this even as we speak, back at HQ.’
Thinking out loud . . .
It hit Mikami like an electric shock. Thank you. Mikami mouthed the words, pulling out his notebook.
‘Ma-sa-to Me-sa-ki,’ Matsuoka said, his voice low. ‘“Masato” using the characters for “truth” and “person”. “Me” as in “medicine”, and “saki” from Nagasaki. Forty-nine.’
Masato Mesaki.
‘He owns a sports store in Genbu. The address is: 2-4-6, 2 Chome, Ota-machi.’
Mikami was concentrating on getting it all down. His writing was a mess. He got ready for the rest.
But . . .
He looked back up, startled. Matsuoka had turned to face him again. His hands were out of his pockets. What was wrong? What about the girl’s mother? What about – most importantly – the girl herself? C . . . the victim of the kidnapping.
‘That’s all I can give you.’
‘But . . . this won’t be—’
‘Did you not hear me?’ he threatened.
But it was too late to turn back. ‘Please, reconsider. The press won’t sign the coverage agreement without the girl’s name.’
Matsuoka fell silent.
‘If an agreement isn’t put in place, the press will stampede. Hundreds of reporters, photographers. They will get in the way of the investigation.’
Still, silence.
‘It’s a hoax, the girl’s own doing. I heard someone mention the possibility, back in HQ. I’ll give the names to the press; at the same time, I’ll impress on them the importance of not releasing them publicly. Even if I didn’t – they understand that much. They would never think to print the name of a young girl.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why?’
‘Some things must never be spoken.’
Never be spoken? Something felt wrong. Matsuoka had sounded as if he was cornered. Flickers of doubt resurfaced in Mikami’s mind. He no longer suspected Criminal Investigations of having staged the kidnapping, but he hadn’t completely discounted the idea that they were using it to their advantage. That they had realized the kidnapping was a hoax but were keeping the truth hidden, had decided to head up a full-scale investigation in order to force Tokyo into retreat. Mikami had to ask. Matsuoka was the most distinguished detective in the headquarters; he was like an elder brother.
Six Four Page 47
