‘Take a seat.’
The two men lowered themselves on to the cold step marking the threshold of the corridor. Mikami felt ready to sympathize with the mindset of the defeated. Reporters who lacked the flair to secure leads by themselves would sometimes appear on the doorsteps of media officials at night. Having failed to pick up a story, despite repeated trips to see various detectives, they would knock at the doors of Media Relations staff in the desperate hope of procuring scraps. It was taboo. Media Relations had been established with the express purpose of equalizing all communications to the press. There was no doubt that Yamashina was burning with shame. To visit Mikami was the same as admitting he was a second- or third-rate reporter, that he lacked the ability to stand his ground with the detectives. Even then, he’d been compelled to visit. The mindset of a reporter who couldn’t land a story was no different to that of a used-car salesman who couldn’t sell a car, or a life-insurance salesperson who couldn’t sell a policy.
His discomfort getting the better of him, Yamashina avoided the direct approach.
‘Has the beauty queen gone to bed?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And Ayumi?’
‘Yeah, Ayumi, too.’
Yamashina had been coming around every now and then ever since he started working for the Times. He had a gift for joking around and often had Minako – and Ayumi, before she fell ill with her anxiety – in stitches. Even when Mikami was preoccupied about his ‘criminal record’, he had often, until he banned Minako from letting reporters into the house, emerged from his bath at night to find Yamashina standing in his living room.
Mikami was suddenly struck with an odd thought. While his emergence from exile had resulted in him feeling allergic to reporters, he had still, in his following years as a detective, responded to them whenever they turned up outside his door at night. He’d felt something that was neither a sense of camaraderie, nor a feeling of being stuck with them. Their positions were different but they were tracking the same cases. They shared an almost kindred fanaticism.
But did that apply to the man sat next to him? He hadn’t changed. He might have been in relatively high spirits, but he was the same old loser, still unable to land a story. And the guy was having a rough time. Two months earlier, Otobe, one of the paper’s more competent chiefs, had been headhunted by the Yomiuri, leaving Yamashina to fill the position, despite his lack of experience.
The Toyo would no doubt run an exposé on the CEO of Hakkaku Construction in the next day’s morning edition. It was a big scoop, one they’d only been able to get because of their insistence on protesting to the captain. The exclusive would leave Yamashina with nothing to do but drown his sorrows, despite having agreed to Mikami’s conditions and tried to help him save face. Mikami gave a disgusted snort.
He would still make his deadline. The words were already on their way out when Yamashina started to speak.
‘Ayumi’s shoes . . . I can see they’re gone.’
Mikami stared, wide-eyed.
Still looking down, Yamashina continued. ‘You know, we can try and help, too. We know the area, we’ve got feelers all over the place . . .’ He spoke in a monotone, the words conveying any number of potential meanings. He looked up and met Mikami’s gaze.
On display were the brittle fangs of a stray mongrel, ready to break.
21
The gag order was real.
Earlier that morning Mikami had called Kusano, a contemporary who had been part of the Six Four Investigative Team. While they weren’t that close, they knew each other well enough to get a can of coffee each time they met. I’ve got something I need to ask you, concerning Yoshio Amamiya. Kusano had become flustered the moment Mikami had said the words, ending the call and saying he was on his way out.
It was Saturday – a day off for anyone who wasn’t working shifts. Mikami connected call after call. The four people he knew relatively well had all told him they were too busy to meet him. The way they’d spoken clearly suggested that they’d been ordered to keep quiet. Akusawa – the fifth person on his list – had broken into apologies the moment Mikami introduced himself. Sorry, but I can’t talk about it. No hard feelings, okay? Hearing the fear in the man’s voice, Mikami had finally been forced to admit that Criminal Investigations had decided, out of enmity or perhaps even hostility, to keep Administrative Affairs out of the loop.
The Iron Curtain.
The outmoded phrase popped into Mikami’s thoughts. He had only half believed what Itokawa had suggested in Second Division, just one day earlier, but it had all been true. And the gag order, which had seemingly originated from Director Arakida himself, wasn’t even limited to Second Division – it had permeated the entirety of First Division, too.
He shook his head and went outside to collect the post. It was usually his first task of the day to read through the morning papers, but he’d put it off until now. He skimmed through all eight papers. As expected, the headlines in the local section of the Toyo and the Times jumped out from the page.
Hakkaku Construction CEO Facing Police Questioning.
Possible Arrest Once Charges Confirmed.
Mikami felt the shame fan out inside him. The intentions behind it aside, each of the scoops had come from Media Relations, from his own mouth. He felt a wave of frustration. Akikawa’s triumphant grin. The sight of Yamashina charging off to make the morning’s deadline. He had no doubt that, for both of them, this was a morning to celebrate.
What did it mean for Media Relations?
The reporters who lost out would be grinding their teeth in frustration. They might overlook the Toyo, but they would be suspicious of the Times making the story, too, knowing its weakness when it came to Second Division cases, perhaps coming to suspect that Media Relations had played a role in the scoop.
Mikami sighed, closing the paper.
First he needed Suwa to gauge their mood. Akama’s cooling-off period applied only to him, and he would need to know how the other papers had taken the news before deciding on a strategy for the coming week.
‘Oh, you’re going in today?’ Minako called from behind him as he was getting dressed.
‘Yeah. I’ll grab a bite to eat first.’
‘Are you sure you can’t take the day off? You look exhausted.’
‘I’ll be fine, I had a good sleep. It’ll be busy – bit of a storm until the big cheese gets here.’ Mikami offered a smile, hoping not to cause his wife any unnecessary worry. His mind was already on how to breach the wall erected by the gag order. If he was to appeal to Amamiya’s good nature, he would need to get information on the man’s situation from the Investigative Team. He already knew, from the five calls he’d made earlier, that procuring the information was going to be no easy task. His connections and friendships wouldn’t be much help. There would be nothing he could do if, like Akusawa, they started to fend him off with regretful apologies. Trying to find an opening wouldn’t work; to get through the gag order he first needed to track down the real reason Criminal Investigations had seen fit to impose it.
The internal line started to ring in the corridor. When it had been set up, they’d added a long cord so Mikami could carry it into the bedroom or the living room. Mikami took the receiver in his hand, Chief Ishii and Suwa taking up equal space in his mind.
‘Sorry to call at the weekend.’ It was Assistant Chief Itokawa from Second Division. His voice across the line was muffled. ‘The article in the paper this morning, was that you?’
He had to be referring to the scoop in the Toyo and the Times.
‘Nope.’ Mikami heard a forced sigh in his ear. ‘Have they come looking yet?’
‘Four of the papers just came by; I’ve had another five on the phone.’
‘Were they angry?’
‘Yeah, frustrated, all of them.’
‘What about the boss?’
‘Hmm?’
‘Arakida, has he called yet?’
‘Not yet.’
Nothi
ng from Arakida, who was usually on edge whenever the papers had a scoop. Mikami could assume that meant his mind was on other things.
‘Anyway, Mikami . . .’ Itokawa began to sound hesitant. ‘About our conversation, in the interrogation room. You never heard me say any—’
‘Sure,’ Mikami cut him off. ‘I didn’t get anything from you. I don’t know anything, therefore, I can’t leak anything. Okay?’
22
Mikami made a quick call to Suwa, then left the house by car. He’d decided to pay Takeshi Tsuchigane an unannounced visit. Tsuchigane was one year Mikami’s senior, and had been acting sub-leader of the Six Four investigation since spring the previous year. They had never got along, but neither did they dislike each other. And Tsuchigane was living in a home that had belonged to his grandparents; as long as the ban on communicating with Administrative Affairs remained in effect it was a risk to visit any of the detectives who lived in police dormitories, surrounded as they were by colleagues.
The roads were quiet. It didn’t take long for Mikami to reach his destination, the residential district of Midoriyama. Keeping an eye on the house numbers, he navigated through a couple of corners before catching sight of his target washing his car outside the front of his house, his back to Mikami. He turned around, looking like a man enjoying his day off, but his expression reverted to the familiar downcast one the moment he realized it was Mikami in the driver’s seat.
‘Long time no see,’ Mikami called out from the car window.
Tsuchigane’s eyes drifted down to the tip of his hose. ‘It’s just as you see Mikami – I’m out here, washing my car in the freezing cold so I can take my wife to the department store to pick out some year-end holiday gifts.’
He was saying he wanted to be left alone. Quite apart from their intended meaning, the man’s words drove home to Mikami just how much the case had faded into the background. A two-day weekend. Even for the team working on Six Four, it was no longer the exception.
Mikami got out of the car and held up the box of udon he’d bought on the way. He knew the tradition between detectives: you couldn’t turn someone down once they’d brought you a gift.
Begrudgingly, Tsuchigane showed Mikami through to his Western-style reception room. They sat facing each other on cotton couches. Mikami started to talk, acting like they were both detectives. Despite Mikami’s efforts, however, it was clear from the way Tsuchigane continued to avoid eye contact that the Iron Curtain was in place between them.
‘I’m sorry to barge in like this, on your day off.’ Mikami started by making a respectful bow of his head. Tsuchigane was ranked Police Inspector. This made Mikami the senior officer on paper but, once set, the relationship between two detectives never changed.
‘I’m here because I have something to ask you. It’s about Six Four.’
‘Go on, then.’
‘Yoshio Amamiya. Did something happen between him and us?’
The look on Tsuchigane’s face changed.
‘You went to see him?’
‘That’s right.’
‘When?’
‘Two days ago. Caught me off guard, I have to say. He’s really turned against us.’
‘And . . .?’
‘I wanted to ask what caused him to change like that?’
‘Couldn’t say.’
‘I seriously doubt that. You’re sub-chief of the Six Four Investigative Team.’
‘Look – I can’t tell you what I don’t know.’
Until this point, Mikami had been trying to test the limits of the gag order. He paused before launching into his first real question.
‘What the hell’s up with Criminal Investigations?’
‘Nothing’s up,’ Tsuchigane replied, becoming testy.
‘Okay, can we be honest here? Just tell me why Criminal Investigations has decided to shut out the whole of Admin?’
‘What about you? What were you doing, anyway, going to see Amamiya like that?’
‘That came from Tokyo. The commissioner wants to visit Amamiya in person, pay his respects. It’s my responsibility to get everything in order.’
‘Huh, the commissioner?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know. Seems pretty safe to assume the two things are related.’
‘Like I said, I don’t know anything. Go and ask Arakida if you really want to know.’
‘Right. Seems he imposed the gag order?’
Tsuchigane gave a quick nod of his head. ‘Exactly, so you’ve got no reason to hound us underlings. Leave me alone.’
‘Sub-chief, are you telling me you’re an underling?’
Mikami hadn’t meant to provoke him, but Tsuchigane snapped all the same.
‘What if I am? Anyway, why bother asking? It’s obvious Arakida’s blown a fuse because you guys have been poking around in things.’
Poking around in things. Mikami shuddered, again seeing an image of Futawatari.
‘Just calm down a second. What do you mean, “you guys”? You’re including me in all this?’
‘You’d deny it? It’s my responsibility to get everything in order. Well, that’s a fucking joke. Didn’t you think you should come through us first, if you wanted to talk to Amamiya? But no, you do it in the bloody dark . . .’
‘Why do you think I came to see what you had to say?’
‘To make a mess of my weekend, no doubt. Shouldn’t you be out buying some holiday gifts yourself? Isn’t brown-nosing your seniors the best way to get ahead in Admin?’
Tsuchigane was taking every opportunity to stop this being a conversation between two detectives.
‘Stop changing the subject. And look, I seriously doubt the gag order was imposed because I went to see Amamiya.’
‘Maybe not, but you’re not the only one working for Akama.’
‘Futawatari came to see you?’
‘Why the hell would he do that? You’re here, aren’t you?’
‘Unrelated. I don’t know what he’s up to.’
‘And you expect me to believe that?’
‘So . . . he didn’t come to see you?’
‘Not to see me. But my staff keep sending things up the chain. He’s been asking around the rest of my staff – right down to the new recruits.’
‘Down to the new recruits . . .’
‘Don’t act so fucking surprised. You Admin bastards, are you really so glad Amamiya’s severed all connections?’
Severed all connections?
Mikami only just managed to keep his surprise from showing. So it was more than merely a falling-out. Tsuchigane had just told him the relationship had completely broken down.
‘So what’s the next move? Report in to the boss? Sure. Do it. No skin off my bloody nose.’
‘Was that what Arakida told you?’
‘What?’
‘Akama’s minions are sniffing into Six Four. He wants to get the press to cover the break with Amamiya. Keep your mouths shut around Admin. Is that it? Is that what he told you?’
‘What else could it be? You tell me if you bloody know.’
Tsuchigane looked genuinely interested. He was speculating, that was all. It had been the same with Itokawa back in Second Division – he hadn’t been let in on the background to Arakida’s imposition of the gag order either.
‘So all connections were severed?’
‘Huh?’
‘Us and Amamiya.’
‘Still pretending you don’t know . . . Wasn’t that why you went to see him, to get to the bottom of it?’
‘Why did things get so bad?’
‘There isn’t any bloody reason. It’s just time. Atrophy, whatever. Just you wait – if we catch the kidnapper, he’ll be here thanking us, all teary-eyed.’
Because they hadn’t found the kidnapper. Mikami acknowledged that had to be one of the reasons. But was it the only one?
‘You brought Motoko Yoshida in for questioning, in the beginning.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I heard she�
��d had a bad time of it, that Amamiya took her under his wing afterwards.’
Tsuchigane clicked his tongue, his mouth contorting.
‘You were a detective, for god’s sake. You’d have treated her as a potential accomplice, too, if you’d heard she’d answered a call from the kidnapper in the office.’
‘No need to emphasize the past tense, please.
‘Oh, really? Yeah, well, maybe if you stopped grilling a fellow fucking detective . . .’
‘So there’s a chance he came to bear a grudge because of the questioning.’
‘See, you’re losing your touch over there in Admin.’
‘Losing my touch? What are you—’
‘Just listen. Amamiya wasn’t in love with Motoko Yoshida. He loved Shoko, his one and only daughter. He treasured her. And she was kidnapped, murdered. I can tell you right now – the only person he didn’t consider a suspect back then was his own fucking wife.’
Mikami recognized the intensely charged air of fieldwork.
‘You know that’s probably true even now. They’re all suspects in Amamiya’s eyes. Everyone – from the workers at his factory to his kid brother.’
Mikami nodded gravely. No detective, present or past, could get away with not doing so.
Nothing had happened other than the kidnapper being still at large. With the passage of time, the relationship between Amamiya and the Investigative Team had simply faded to nothing. It had to be true; this was coming from the sub-chief of the team itself, someone who had stuck with the case from the very beginning. And yet . . .
There was no guarantee that Futawatari shared his opinion.
‘I’m sorry I took up your time.’ Mikami got to his feet, then acted as if he’d remembered something. ‘Reminds me – Koda, from the Home Unit. I heard he left the force?’
Tsuchigane looked instantly wary. ‘Right. That was a long time ago.’
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