Six Four

by Hideo Yokoyama

  ‘Just the one?’ Mikami asked, cutting her off.

  ‘Just the one. I don’t know, maybe finding out we were police scared them off . . .’

  ‘We had three calls. All on the same day. We’re not even in the directory.’

  ‘I know. But we’re not either, haven’t been for more than ten years. My husband . . . the way he looks, he used to worry no one would marry him. So he rushed to buy this place, even though he couldn’t afford it. And guess who fell for that . . .’

  Mikami laughed, snorting through his nose. He had never seen her husband, and didn’t feel comfortable talking about him.

  ‘Anyway, I mentioned the phone directory and he said he’d only been listed for the first few years, that he’d had the number made private after too many of those annoying sales calls. I checked the new one over there, just to be sure, but our number definitely isn’t in there. But we still had the call. I’m sure hardly anyone has their number listed these days . . . it’s not like it used to be. It’s just hassle, there’s no upside to it.’

  ‘True enough.’

  Stuffed on to one of the shelves of the gaudy bookcase Mizuki had pointed at was a new-looking phone directory. Hello Pages. Prefecture D, Central to East. 2002. You didn’t need to check to see it was getting thinner with each passing year. Even so, it was thicker than the North or West sections, which came attached as flimsy little supplements.

  ‘Do you know of anyone who might have a grudge against you?’

  ‘I can’t say no for sure. I’m sure some people have it in for my husband. You know, a lot of people were left without work when the bank downsized. They’d have good reason to resent the people who kept their jobs.’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘But look at society these days, there are so many weird people out there, there have to be some who enjoy calling up random numbers. That reminds me: Mikumo said her parents had one, too. That was when I called her to organize a get-together for us female officers, not too long ago.’

  ‘Okay. Look, what are you trying to say?’ Mikami was becoming conscious of the time.

  ‘What . . . I’m . . . saying . . . is that it might be an idea not to fixate on the calls. The way things are going, Minako’s not going to last much longer. Mentally or physically.’

  ‘But they’re—’

  ‘I know. They’re the only evidence you have that indicates that Ayumi’s alive and well. She is alive, of course she is. She’s a daughter of the police. Officers are looking out for her across the country. They will find her. She will come home – I’m sure of it. And that’s why Minako has to take care of herself until that happens. It’s your job to support her, right? The fact that no one said anything during the calls, it’s really getting to her; she can’t handle it. She said it felt like Ayumi was saying goodbye.’

  Mikami looked up to meet Mizuki’s eyes. ‘She . . . said that?’

  ‘Yes, when she called yesterday. It scared me a little. That’s why I thought I should tell you. You need to alter your approach a little. I think it would help if you were the one to say it – suggest the calls might not have been from Ayumi. That she would have said something if it had been her.’

  Mikami blinked and saw Minako’s downcast features.

  Usually desperate to hang up, she had actually used the phone to call Mizuki. On the drive over, Mikami had wondered if it was the pain of having to ID the girl’s corpse that had pushed her into making the call. Maybe he’d been half right. The silent girl underneath the sheeting had communicated nothing but ‘goodbye’.

  Mizuki’s worries touched on Mikami’s greatest concern: that he couldn’t trust Minako’s outward appearance to convey the truth. Ayumi had been saying goodbye. Minako would choke on the despair if she ever decided that that was the truth.

  ‘Okay. I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Yes, please do. I’ll try calling her again, too.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’m just concerned for Minako’s happiness. I’m glad you’re letting me help.’

  This didn’t translate well. Concerned for Minako’s happiness . . . because I know she’s had a hard time in the past. Mikami had previously suspected that Mizuki knew a side to Minako he didn’t. Despite the circumstances, he felt his emotions spike, hitting his pride as a man rather than as a father or a husband.

  ‘You went to see Amamiya at home?’ Mikami was slow to nod, disorientated by the sudden change in topic. Minako must have told her about it during their call. ‘What did you want to ask me about? I was only there for half a day, mind.’

  ‘I need to know when you arrived and when you left.’

  ‘It was the day after the kidnapping, so 6 January. I got there after midday. I think you were there at the time.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I was there until 9 p.m., when Nanao came in to take my shift. How is she these days, anyway?’

  For a long time, Nanao had headed up the women officers’ section in Administration in the Prefectural HQ – she was the only female officer in the prefecture to have been promoted to police inspector.

  ‘I couldn’t say. I never see her at work.’

  ‘But you’re both in Administrative Affairs?’

  ‘Different offices. I did hear she doesn’t laugh so much now that she’s a police inspector.’

  ‘It must be stressful. It’s not easy, you know, for a woman to carve out a career in the force. Anyway, sorry, what else did you want to ask?’

  Mikami chose the most direct of all the questions in his head. ‘Did you notice any arguments or trouble between the Amamiyas and the Home Unit while you were in the house?’

  ‘What kind of trouble . . .?’

  ‘It would take too long to go into it now. I went to see Amamiya a couple of days ago, but he wasn’t receptive to what I had to say. I got the impression he was angry with us for something. I’m trying to work out what that something is.’

  Mizuki looked at Mikami through narrowed eyes. ‘Well, that does sound odd. You saw him about something press-related?’

  ‘Like I said, it’s a long story.’

  Mizuki chuckled. ‘Still a detective on the inside. Tell me this, tell me that, never revealing your own hand. I’d always thought Admin was more about bartering: you scratch my back and all that . . .’

  ‘Nice.’ Mikami felt a pang at being called a detective. ‘So come on, how did relations with the Home Unit seem to you?’

  ‘The Home Unit. That would be Urushibara, Kakinuma . . .’

  ‘And Koda and Hiyoshi.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Mizuki folded her arms in a distinctly masculine gesture. ‘I was in a bit of a state myself. You were there, I’m sure you remember. You could hardly breathe it was so tense in there, right up until Amamiya-san had to rush out with the ransom. I doubt anyone could have actually argued during that . . .’

  That fitted Mikami’s own impression. ‘What about afterwards? Did you see anything out of the ordinary in the run-up to that night?’

  ‘Cut out that fierce look. This isn’t an interrogation.’

  Mikami grimaced. If Mizuki ever became a suspect in a crime, she’d give even the best detectives a hard time.

  ‘Sorry. If there is anything you can remember . . .’

  ‘I can’t . . . I don’t think I saw anything. Did you have anything particular in mind?’

  ‘Someone from the Home Unit arguing with Amamiya’s wife? Anything like that?’

  ‘She passed away, you know.’

  ‘Yeah. I found that out when I went to see him.’

  ‘I went to her funeral. Nanao had called to tell me about it. I’d only been there for half a day, but I suppose I was on the team looking after her . . . You know, thinking about it now, I can’t remember anyone from the Home Unit being there.’

  The shock of this forced Mikami to ask her again. ‘No one? You’re sure?’

  ‘I think so. But, no, I’m pretty certain there wasn’t any kind o
f trouble. I can’t think why anyone in the team would have a reason to fight with Toshiko.’

  ‘Hold on for a second. What about Kakinuma? He wasn’t at the funeral either?’

  ‘I didn’t see him there, no.’

  ‘And Urushibara, the chief of the Home Unit?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t see him. I did have a pretty good look, too. I’d expected he would be there.’

  It was hard to digest. Koda had resigned. Hiyoshi was with Forensics. It was feasible enough that they might not have attended. But it was difficult to imagine Kakinuma – a man who had continued to devote himself to the case even after his time in the Home Unit – neglecting to put in an appearance. The same applied to Urushibara. He might have since become a district captain, but it seemed ridiculous that the man who had led the Home Unit would demonstrate such an uncaring attitude. Even putting social graces aside, for an officer of the law it was all but compulsory to attend such ceremonies.

  They hadn’t forgotten . . . something had prevented them from going. That had to be the case. Meaning it was true – something was stopping them from crossing Amamiya’s territory.

  ‘Was anyone else there from the force?’

  ‘Yes. Matsuoka was there, and the officers from the Investigative Team. A few others.’

  ‘What was the atmosphere like?’

  ‘One of mourning. What else could it have been? We failed to bring in the kidnapper.’

  ‘What about Amamiya himself?’

  ‘He had his eyes on the ground the whole time. He looked like an empty shell. Like he couldn’t hear any of the condolences people offered.’

  ‘And flowers, wreaths?’

  ‘None that I remember. Not from us, at least.’

  It was possible Amamiya had refused to accept any. It was normal for a wreath to be delivered bearing the station captain’s name.

  ‘Ah! But yes,’ Mizuki said, suddenly louder. ‘There was something.’

  ‘Flowers?’

  ‘No, no, something out of the ordinary. But it wasn’t anything to do with Toshiko. It was the man with the glasses . . . from Forensics, I think.’

  ‘Hiyoshi.’

  ‘That’s him, yes. He was crying.’

  ‘Crying?’

  ‘Off in one of the corners.’

  Mikami struggled to keep up. She wasn’t talking about the funeral. She was back in Amamiya’s house, fourteen years ago.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I noticed his head was drooping over the recording equipment, not too long after Amamiya had left. I thought he might have got too tired, maybe fallen asleep, so I went over and looked into his face to check. His eyes were bright red. When I asked what the matter was he just started to cry.’

  Mikami felt his neck tense. It was the first solid fact he’d come across. ‘What happened next?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t know what to say. That was when Koda hurried over; he all but pushed me out of the way. He kept tapping Hiyoshi on the shoulder, saying something into his ear.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘I couldn’t hear. It looked like Koda was trying to console him.’

  Mikami remembered the scene from the time he’d stepped into Amamiya’s house. Hiyoshi, white as a sheet. Utterly overwhelmed. Did this mean it had been more than just stress?

  ‘Thanks. I think I’ll go and pay him a visit.’ Mikami drank the rest of his cold tea and got to his feet.

  ‘Oh, okay. I’m sorry if I wasn’t much—’

  ‘Give me a call if you remember anything else.’ Mikami handed her a note with his mobile number.

  ‘About Minako?’

  ‘Either of the two.’

  ‘Okay. I think I’ve already told you all I know about—’

  ‘Have you ever heard of the Koda memo?’

  ‘The Koda memo? I don’t think so. Is that something Koda wrote?’

  ‘Forget I said it,’ Mikami said, avoiding her gaze as he made his way to the door.

  ‘Try not to be too . . . distant, okay?’ Mizuki’s voice chased him from behind. ‘Right now you’re all Minako’s got. She’s totally dependent on you.’

  For whatever reason, Mikami found it hard to be thankful for the advice.

  ‘Thanks for your time.’

  ‘Call again, okay?’

  Mikami thought he saw a hint of pride in the woman’s small eyes and wondered if it was because she’d managed to keep her and Minako’s secret for another day.

  26

  Dead leaves swirled around Mikami’s feet as he made for the car.

  The kind of man who cried in front of others. Sentimental. It wouldn’t be hard to get him to talk. Mikami sank into the driver’s seat, feeling encouraged. He used his mobile to call Minamikawa. Two years Mikami’s junior, Minamikawa worked in the Prefectural HQ’s forensics division. He and Mikami shared the same hometown, and they went out for drinks a couple of times each year.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Minamikawa, it’s Mikami. Sorry for the weekend call.’

  ‘No problem . . . how are things?’

  His voice had grown tense. Mikami continued with a sinking feeling.

  ‘I’ve got something I need to ask you. One of your lab staff – Hiyoshi; glasses. Do you know his address and phone number?’

  ‘No, sorry.’

  ‘Really? You don’t know it?’

  ‘I don’t work with those guys.’

  ‘Stop messing around. I know you’re all like family over there.’ Mikami tried to sound confident, but he could already feel his shoulders sagging. Even Forensics had been told to keep away from Administrative Affairs.

  ‘If you’ve been told not to say, at least admit it.’

  ‘Fine – I’m not allowed to say anything.’

  ‘When did they come around?’

  ‘Yesterday. Out of nowhere.’

  ‘And they didn’t tell you why, I suppose?’

  ‘Do you know what this is about, Mikami? I’d like to know if you do.’

  ‘Ask Arakida.’

  Mikami snapped his mobile shut and started the car. He didn’t have the luxury of waiting until Monday. He would contact the head of Forensics, get Hiyoshi’s address, then go and see him in person before the day was out. He could no longer trust the department’s neutrality, but he could hope that the head proved to be more amenable – as an academic – than the others.

  Mikami was back at HQ in seven minutes. The detective on duty leaned briefly from his window, surprised to see Mikami for a second time in one day. Mikami ignored him and walked into the room; he opened the box containing the keys. The one for Media Relations was missing from its hook. Someone on his staff was in the building. He stole a glance at the hook for Administration. Not there. Futawatari was still in.

  Mikami made his way down the corridor, half dark due to the energy-saving policy. He walked into Media Relations. As expected, he saw Mikumo, sitting at the desk closest to the door. She got quickly to her feet. She was wearing full uniform.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Sir. The deadline’s almost up for the bulletin. I thought I could come in and get a little done now.’

  Her desk was littered with proofs and photos, all for the press bulletin. Mikami didn’t doubt that her schedule had suffered because of the problems they were having with the press, but it seemed unlikely that that was the only reason behind her deciding to come in on a weekend.

  ‘Sorry I had to call earlier.’

  ‘Not at all, that’s fine.’

  ‘Call Kuramae, get him to come in and help.’

  Mikami sat at his desk and unlocked the bottom drawer. He pulled out a list of phone numbers for officers and staff in executive-level accommodation and began to go through it. Inomata, Head of Forensics. The sheet contained both his private and work numbers. The internal line would be best. Mikami doubted Inomata would be able to place him from a name if he called his private number. Using the internal line would put Inomata into a state
of readiness; Mikami would only need to introduce himself as press director before moving straight on to his questions. He reached for the phone on his desk. As he did, he became aware of Mikumo’s profile. It’s nothing she can’t overhear. Reassuring himself, Mikami dialled the number.

  After a few rings, Inomata picked up the phone. He seemed perhaps five years Mikami’s senior.

  ‘Please accept my apologies for disturbing your weekend. This is Press Director Mikami.’

  ‘Not a problem. What can I do for you?’

  He came across as a good-natured old man.

  ‘There’s something I need to confirm, if possible. Would you be able to give me the address of someone on your staff? His name is Hiyoshi.’

  ‘Hmm? I don’t remember anyone with that name working for me.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Mikami raised his voice before he could stop himself. He looked up at Mikumo. She was busy moving her pen, her face over her desk. Mikami pulled the mouthpiece closer. ‘Are you positive?’

  ‘If the head of Forensics hasn’t heard of him, I’m quite sure he doesn’t exist. Perhaps there’s been some kind of mistake? A mix-up with another department, something like that?’

  Mikami was listening for signs of the Iron Curtain, but could pick up nothing out of the ordinary in the way Inomata was speaking.

  ‘And you haven’t had any transfers? Anyone who moved on to something else?’

  ‘Not since I started here; not one.’

  That was when Mikami realized something. It was only seven or eight years ago that Inomata had moved into his current position. The HQ had headhunted him from the Prefecture D Institute of Technology, having set up the role specially.

  ‘Forgive the question, but could you remind me when you joined us?’

  ‘Eight years ago . . .’

  ‘And you’re absolutely sure there wasn’t anyone here by that name?’

  ‘I’m not senile quite yet.’

  He sounded a little affronted. Ignoring this, Mikami asked his next question.