Seventeen

by Hideo Yokoyama

  “Inaoka-san?” Yuuki asked, putting both his hands on the desk. “Could you put together a special feature on the JAL crash using letters from only nonregular contributors?”

  “No regular contributors? Yes, I suppose … I might just have enough.”

  “Are there any contributors who have written in for the first time ever?”

  “Yes, of course. Mostly housewives and high school kids. I got one from a junior high school girl, too.”

  “Could you put those together, please?”

  “Hmm … not one single regular contributor?” Inaoka smiled at Yuuki a little helplessly. “You see, they’ll kick up such a fuss later—it’ll be, You put together a special feature and didn’t include me!”

  He’d heard this before. Some of these contributors even had a contest going to see who could get the most letters published. To every writer whose letter was chosen, the North Kanto Times would send a pen with the newspaper’s logo. The pens were a status symbol conferring rank. There were many who adorned their breast pockets with a whole line of these pens when they had one of their get-togethers to boast about their achievements …

  “Just ignore them, then.”

  Yuuki had meant to say this in a normal tone of voice, but for a split second Inaoka looked terrified. He must have sensed the arrogance about the local news section in Yuuki’s attitude. Yuuki had heard that, back in the day, Inaoka had campaigned to expand the paper’s arts and culture section but had been completely shut down by his local news colleagues.

  Arts and culture isn’t real reporting. Try eyeballing a dead body once in a while!

  “Got it. Got it. I’ll focus on the new names,” Inaoka said, rearranging his facial expression. “Today’s column has already gone to press, but I’ll put something together for tomorrow.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  Yuuki made a point of bowing extra respectfully.

  His eye fell on an unopened envelope. The address was written in the unsophisticated, looping handwriting of a young girl. She’d addressed it “To Mr. Heartfelt.”

  What were her thoughts? What had she written?

  He pictured it as a love letter to the North Kanto Times, and it was as if Yuuki had been wafted back to his desk on a gentle breeze.

  21

  The evening food delivery was arriving at the newsroom. Yuuki, on his way back from the men’s room, was intercepted by a member of the copy team named Jinbo. Today Jinbo was in charge of the second local news page. He’d been running, and the proofs he held in his hand were fluttering.

  “Yuuki-san, please get it to me quickly.”

  He was talking about part two of the feature series. On the right side of the page there was a blank space reserved for Wajima’s article. The two walked back together to the newsroom.

  “I think it’ll be here. Just wait a bit.”

  “What? The draft? You mean you don’t even have it yet?”

  Jinbo followed Yuuki right to his desk. His face was flushed.

  “But it’s already ten past seven.”

  “What’s the deadline today?”

  “We’ll have to send it down at eight thirty at the latest.”

  “Eight thirty? Why so early?”

  “It’s going to be crazy after that. They’re still in there discussing the special news page, so we’ve got to get the rest of them sorted out early.”

  “I see. I’ll get on to it.”

  “Seriously, please hurry. The layout team will get mad at me.”

  Yuuki saw that Jinbo was genuinely worried. He was around twenty-five or -six years old. Until last year, he’d been a reporter at the branch office in Tatebayashi City. At this company, to be assigned to the copy team while still very young meant that you were either considered by management to have shown you were an excellent all-around reporter and you’d been favored, or you’d been sent out from headquarters to work in the field but been sent back again, branded a failed reporter.

  Jinbo fell into the latter category. Yuuki hadn’t heard the reason, but he knew that several people in management had expressed sentiments along the lines of, “We won’t be sending him on any more assignments until hell freezes over.”

  This would be his last try. Praying that this time he’d respond, Yuuki paged Wajima. Failed reporter … Jinbo’s flushed face began to merge in Yuuki’s head with Wajima’s listless one.

  Yuuki practically inhaled his fried rice. Both the rice and the accompanying sauce had gone completely cold.

  He suddenly wondered—had Rintaro eaten this evening? He cleared up his bowl and chopsticks and made a call to Anzai’s home number. He let it ring awhile, but no one answered. Yuuki felt relieved. The boy was probably at the hospital. At least he wasn’t home alone.

  His phone rang the moment he hung up. He guessed it would be Wajima, or, if not, Tamaki with an update on the bulkhead situation.

  “This is Yuuki,” he said.

  “Hello. Tamaki here.”

  “What’s up? Did you get confirmation?”

  “No, that’s what I’m calling about. The investigation team members have all gone back to Tokyo.”

  “Gone back?”

  “Yes. Because it started raining this afternoon.”

  “So…”

  Someone was going to have to chase them up in Tokyo. That was Yuuki’s first thought, but he rejected it. The North Kanto Times had no staff at the Ministry of Transport, so all the national papers would be suspicious if they suddenly tried to make a move up there. Yuuki took a quiet breath.

  “Will they be back tomorrow?”

  “Yes, they’re coming. They’re going to carry out a joint investigation with the Americans.”

  “Then we’ll have to go on the attack tomorrow evening.”

  “I suppose so. Well, I’ll give it a try.”

  Tamaki had never been on the police beat, so he had no experience of working the night shift. His replies didn’t inspire the greatest confidence, but next the conversation turned to the cause of the crash and his words became much more fluid.

  “I’m pretty sure now that it was the bulkhead. They say the exact same aircraft had a tail-strike accident seven years ago at Osaka Airport, right? It looks like they didn’t fix it properly afterward. At that time, it wasn’t only the fuselage but the bulkhead, too, that was damaged and had to be repaired. I reckon the repairs were inadequate. It’s likely that metal fatigue set in, the bulkhead was unable to withstand the high pressure from the interior of the plane and was blown off. And with that kind of force, almost certainly the tail would have been demolished in an instant.”

  Yuuki listened in silence. Pretty sure; I reckon; it’s likely that; almost certainly—this man spoke in vague, elusive terms. Not a single straight yes or no. He recalled Yamada’s evaluation of Tamaki. “Not great, not terrible, either, I suppose.” Yuuki was now starting to have pretty strong doubts of his own.

  “I read about the tail-strike incident in the Kyodo press. I remember it was written that the underside of the fuselage had to be repaired. But the article never mentioned the bulkhead.”

  “That was probably because the journalist who wrote that piece didn’t know about the bulkhead. If he didn’t ask any specific questions about it, then neither JAL nor the Ministry of Transport would have been able to tell him anything.”

  He had a point, Yuuki thought. It wasn’t as if he had blind faith in the Kyodo News reporters. Every media company was the same—they had sharp, incisive reporters as well as ones who were completely unfocused. Still, to say the reporter didn’t know about the bulkhead—again, that was pure conjecture on the part of Tamaki. If it was fine to fill in the gaps in knowledge with guesswork, then there would be nothing for investigative reporters to do. They wouldn’t be needed in the first place. Yuuki knew immediately that he’d better send someone as backup for Tamaki.

  He put down the phone and stood up.

  “Yoshii!”

  Yoshii’s boyish face appear
ed over the copy team’s island of desks. Yuuki made an X sign with his arms, indicating that the scoop was off, and Yoshii raised his ruler to confirm he’d gotten the message. Beyond Yoshii, at a desk by the wall, Todoroki looked puzzled. Clearly, he’d caught the exchange but without understanding it. Yuuki sat back down and folded his arms.

  Backup for Tamaki? There wasn’t any question who it should be. He had to send Sayama. When it came to digging up a story, he was the absolute best the North Kanto Times had. Tomorrow he would have Sayama and Tamaki latch on to the investigation team, have them throw out the topic of the bulkhead and see if they could get a bite.

  He felt surprisingly little excitement. The North Kanto Times was on the brink of landing a worldwide scoop. But Tamaki’s information was built on a very brittle foundation of truth. Yuuki’s biggest concern was not the scoop itself but rather how Sayama would react to being asked to help.

  Someone shouted over from the copy team’s island.

  “Yuuki-san! Has it still not arrived?”

  Jinbo was holding up the proofs of the second local news page, that flushed expression back on his face. Yuuki checked the clock. A quarter to eight. They’d reached the deadline. Giving up on paging Wajima, Yuuki called the prefectural police press club directly.

  Sayama picked up.

  “Yuuki here. Is Wajima there?”

  “He’s out.”

  “Where’s he gone?”

  “He didn’t tell me, but I think he might be writing his article over at the parliamentary press club.”

  “Are you sure he’s really writing it?”

  There was no reply. Someone at the other end was making an announcement. A man’s name and address were repeated two times. Someone from police public relations must have been giving a press conference. It sounded as if one more body had been identified.

  Yuuki asked again.

  “Is Wajima writing that article?”

  “I think so…”

  It sounded as if Sayama was tiptoeing around, or avoiding, something. As if he was talking not to Yuuki but to someone completely different … Wajima was right there next to Sayama. Yuuki was sure of it. He cupped his hand over the mouthpiece.

  “If he doesn’t write it, he’s finished.”

  …

  “Sayama! What’s going on?”

  Through the earpiece, he could make out Sayama’s rough breathing.

  “You can only focus on the scene when you’re there, at the scene. We don’t need people who aren’t there on the ground, such as yourself, telling us what’s what.”

  Sayama was going to take it upon himself to convince Wajima. That was how Yuuki interpreted this.

  “Okay, then. Tell him I need it by ten past eight. A fax will be fine.”

  “If I find him, I’ll let him know.”

  “Make sure you do.”

  Yuuki replaced the receiver. He’d decided to leave the other matter till later. If he’d brought it up now, Sayama wouldn’t have had time to get on Wajima’s case.

  But what if he hadn’t even started writing it yet? It’d be too late. Yuuki began to riffle through the articles on his desk. He picked out several that were about the right length to fit in the empty frame on page two. A sigh escaped him, but he didn’t really have any particular feelings about Wajima, to whom he had barely ever spoken.

  This time, Yuuki turned to his left, to his grudge-bearing neighbor.

  “Hey, Nozawa?”

  “What?” Nozawa replied languidly. He was leaning back in his chair, reading the sports section of a national paper.

  “You know Wajima? Is he really bad?”

  Nozawa screwed up his face in disgust.

  “He’s completely useless, that one. Hanazawa may be younger, but he’s way better.”

  “Because Hanazawa made it up to the crash site?”

  “That’s not even the half of it. Wajima’s a complete wet blanket.”

  Yuuki couldn’t see Nozawa’s face behind his sports article as he doled out the abuse. He lowered his voice.

  “Does he have any special talents?”

  “He’s got a teacher’s license.”

  “Really?”

  “He’s one of my team. Don’t worry about him.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  On that note, Yuuki put an end to the conversation. On his other side, Kishi, who’d been trying to listen in to the conversation, showed no reaction.

  Yuuki looked over at the fax machine in the corner. Eight o’clock came and went … three minutes past … five minutes … ten minutes.

  He waited until a quarter past before getting to his feet. Beside him, Kishi let out a deep breath. But then the light on the fax machine began to flash.

  “Wow, he made it just in time,” said Kishi, unable to hide his excitement. As Yuuki had guessed, he, too, had been totally caught up in the drama.

  Nozawa still had his nose firmly in the sports section, but Yuuki could tell he was only pretending to read. From the angle of his body, he might have been watching the fax machine the whole time.

  The machine spat out its paper. Jinbo came running over, a huge smile on his red face.

  The handwriting was Wajima’s. Yuuki picked up the first few pages that came through and took them back to his desk.

  The article was about the retrieval of the bodies. It was a mediocre piece of work. But because he’d done it, there was still a shred of hope for Wajima’s existence as a reporter.

  Yuuki must have been utterly absorbed by the article, because he seemed to be the last person at his island to react to the voice behind him.

  “I’m sorry I’m late.”

  It was Hanazawa standing there, looking like a university student in his casual T-shirt. His gleaming eyes and the awkward, prickly vibe he was giving off hadn’t changed since he’d returned from Mount Osutaka.

  Yuuki spun his chair around. Hanazawa was holding a sheaf of papers.

  “What’s the article?”

  “It’s for the series, of course.”

  “I’ll use it tomorrow. Leave it with me,” said Yuuki, businesslike, spinning his chair back around.

  “Tomorrow?” Hanazawa’s voice was near-hysterical. “Why aren’t you using it today?”

  Yuuki turned his chair around again to look at Hanazawa.

  “Today we’re using Wajima’s piece. I’m just looking over it now.”

  Hanazawa narrowed his eyes and said something under his breath. It sounded a lot like, “That idiot.”

  Yuuki started to get angry.

  “If you’ve got something to say, just say it!”

  “Wajima never even made it up that mountain!”

  “He climbed it yesterday.”

  Hanazawa laughed scornfully.

  “That doesn’t count! It had to be the first day.”

  The first day. That turn of phrase bugged Yuuki. Some reporters, including Hanazawa, had made it up Mount Osutaka on the day after the crash. That was what Hanazawa called the first day. It was as if this had given him special rights and he was going to insist on them.

  Yuuki lowered his voice.

  “It doesn’t matter if it was the first day, the second day, or whenever—he still climbed the mountain.”

  “It’s not the same thing! It was only a true accident scene that first day. After the police and the Self-Defense Forces arrived, by that second day so many of the bodies had been cleared up. Yuuki-san, you can’t possibly understand. You just sat around in this cool, comfortable room. You never climbed that blazing-hot mountain.”

  “Hanazawa!” shouted Nozawa, but Yuuki motioned him to be quiet. Technically, Nozawa was Hanazawa’s boss, but this was Yuuki’s fight.

  Hanazawa was looking defiantly at Yuuki. His attitude was one of total insolence. It was remarkable how a timid-looking twenty-six-year-old reporter with only three years’ experience could have undergone such a transformation, merely by climbing a mountain and visiting the site of an accident.

&nbs
p; “Hand it over.”

  “Huh?”

  “If it’s good enough, I’ll put it in today.”

  “Yuuki-san!”

  This shriek was from Jinbo. Wajima’s article was still only halfway proofread. Yuuki’s next words were for him.

  “I’ll read it right now.”

  With that, he grabbed Hanazawa’s copy and turned back to his desk. Without picking up his red pen, he began to read. Three pages … five pages … seven pages. His hand stopped turning the pages. His eye stopped reading. He was transfixed by one particular word.

  He reached over, grabbed Wajima’s article by the corner, and handed it to Jinbo.

  “I’ll check over the rest of it at the galley stage. Can you set it first?”

  “That’s not fair!” yelled Hanazawa. “You’d already decided what you’d go with. You’re a cheat!”

  Yuuki snatched up the copy in one hand and then grabbed the neck of Hanazawa’s T-shirt with the other.

  “Come with me.”

  Hanazawa panicked.

  “Wh-where are you taking me?”

  “I’m borrowing him,” Yuuki announced to Nozawa, and he dragged Hanazawa toward the door and down the corridor to the break area, where he sat him down on the farthest sofa.

  “What the hell’s your problem?” said Hanazawa, readjusting his T-shirt.

  Yuuki, who’d made sure he’d seated himself at a distance from the other man, leaned toward him.

  “Wajima’s your senior, right?”

  “What the…? I never expected to hear that kind of thing out of the mouth of Yuuki, the police beat specialist. Is there such a thing as juniors and seniors in the reporting world? It’s a matter of being the best at getting a story, period.”

  Pretty arrogant for a reporter who’d spent a mere three years on the police beat, Yuuki thought.

  “Okay, I’ve got a question for you. What kind of story do you think you’ve got here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You climbed a mountain. That’s it. There’s no proper story here. Do you plan to keep bragging forever that you were the one who climbed Mount Osutaka?”

  “Bragging? Are you kidding? God, that sums you guys up, doesn’t it? You’re still living off the Okubo/Red Army thing.”