Six Four

by Hideo Yokoyama

  ‘In which case, I’m very sorry to have to trouble you, but could I ask you to check with the staff rota from fourteen years ago?’

  ‘Sorry? Staff rota . . . fourteen years ago?’

  ‘Please. I believe, as head of the division, it should be in your possession.’

  ‘Well, I must say it’s a bit sudden . . . Don’t you have that in the main building?’

  ‘No. We don’t maintain a comprehensive list in case of religious cults or the extreme left getting their hands on it.’

  ‘I see . . . of course.’

  The confidence had drained from his voice. Seeing his opportunity, Mikami chose to press the matter. ‘Speed is of the essence. If you can’t find the rota, you’ll need to try something else. Maybe you can ask someone on your staff who might know. I would appreciate it if you called me – Mikami in Media Relations – the moment you have an answer.’

  ‘Ah . . . of course. I’ll try asking someone.’

  ‘Also, I think you might find that he resigned. If so, I would appreciate it if you could find out the date he left as well as the reasons he gave for his decision.’

  He had quit the force, Hiyoshi, just like Koda had.

  The magnitude of this discovery left Mikami on edge even after the call was over. Hiyoshi had left the force, too, at the very least eight years earlier. It was possible that, like Koda, he had resigned when the memory of Six Four had still been fresh in everyone’s mind. The real question was why he’d chosen to leave. Whether the decision had been related to the tears he’d shed in Amamiya’s house.

  Mikami saw Mikumo get up from her chair. She started towards the cupboard. She’d probably decided it was time to put on some tea. Mikami checked the wall clock: three fifteen. Knowing Inomata wasn’t a police officer, it seemed impossible to gauge how long it might take him to call back.

  A short while later Mikumo came over with a tray and a mug of tea.

  ‘I heard your parents had a silent call, at their place.’ The words came without conscious thought.

  Mikumo drew a quiet, surprised breath.

  ‘Mizuki Murakushi told me. When did it happen?’

  ‘Right, yes. They said it was about a month ago.’

  ‘How many calls?’

  ‘They said two.’

  ‘On the same day?’

  ‘Yes, I think that’s what they said.’

  ‘I see . . .’

  The response hung awkwardly.

  One month ago. It was around the same time he and Minako had received the calls. And again, more than just once. Mizuki’s call had also come in around the same period, close to three weeks ago. Look at society these days, there are so many weird people out there. It was possible Mizuki’s comment hadn’t actually been too far off the mark. Two coincidences coming together was making Mikami think that maybe someone had been out there, getting off on silent-calling random numbers. He let out a quiet sigh just as his desk phone started to ring. He checked the clock. Only twenty minutes had passed. He glanced at Mikumo as she walked back to her desk, then picked up the receiver.

  ‘Mikami, this is Inomata. I got what you wanted.’

  His voice was much brighter. All right then. Mikami got himself ready.

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘I had a look around and found the staff rota. Let’s see . . . yes, here we are, Koichiro Hiyoshi. Is that the man you’re after?’

  ‘Is there anyone with the same family name?’

  ‘No, no, just Koichiro Hiyoshi. He was in our physical-evidence lab. Here’s the information you needed. First his address: 1256, Osumi-machi, City D. His phone number is—’

  Mikami felt he’d had a stroke of luck as he recorded the details. Addresses bearing a four-digit house number were usually in the older residential areas. It was almost certainly the address of his parents’ house. And the name Hiyoshi traditionally indicated the eldest son of a family. All of this meant there was a strong possibility he was still living at the address in Osumi-machi.

  ‘I asked some of our older employees, too. Apparently, the reason he left was . . . do you remember that kidnapping that happened fourteen years ago?’

  Mikami caught his breath. His hand tightened around the receiver.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He took some time off after that, three months or so. When he didn’t come back we decided to treat the case as voluntary resignation. They didn’t know the exact cause, but it seems Hiyoshi had been posted to work in the house with the victim’s family – ah, hello? Are you getting all of this . . .?’

  ‘Yes, keep going.’

  ‘Well, it didn’t last long, but it seems he was very withdrawn by the time he’d come back to work. He stopped talking to other people altogether. After a while, he just stopped turning up to the lab. That’s the general gist. He was . . . with us for close on two years. Before coming here he’d spent just under a year with NTT. That’s all the information I could get.’

  ‘That’s perfect. I really appreciate your help,’ Mikami said, genuinely meaning it as he slipped the paper he’d written the address on into his jacket pocket.

  27

  It took Mikami fifteen minutes to reach Osumi-machi by car.

  The streets were lined with large old houses, the tall walls surrounding them suggesting concealed, manicured gardens. Mikami parked off to the side of a children’s playground. The sun was already low in the sky. He continued his way on foot, using a copy of a local map to guide him. He picked up speed as he moved.

  Hiyoshi’s family home was situated just around a corner; it had an old, tiled roof and a nameplate set into a stone column that read Hiyoshi. It was large even compared to the others. Thick pine branches arched over the road, and there was a white-walled building for storage alongside the main structure. There was a garage, too; the door was closed but, judging from the width, it probably housed a number of cars.

  Hiyoshi was from a wealthy family. Mikami felt his enthusiasm wane as a number of emotions, including a good measure of disdain, rose to the surface. Hiyoshi had only been in Forensics for two years; NTT, less than one. Perhaps he was simply the type to throw in the towel each time something bad happened at work. Mikami still didn’t know why Hiyoshi had cried at Amamiya’s, but the man’s tears already seemed to carry less weight. Mikami sighed, then he circled around to the side and rang the bell. It was bowl-shaped, lacking a camera or intercom function, just a single button that reminded him of early Showa, possibly even Taisho.

  Mikami waited for a while, allowing for the size of the building. Eventually, he heard the clicking of wooden sandals. The small timber door opened and a woman in her early sixties emerged, dipping a head that was streaked with grey. Her appearance wasn’t that of a domestic helper. Mikami decided she had to be Hiyoshi’s mother, but there was something about her that suggested a deep melancholy. She eyed Mikami suspiciously, then in a clipped tone asked, ‘And you might be . . .?’

  He bowed his head, bending formally from the waist. ‘Sorry to disturb you, ma’am. My name is Mikami, and I work for Administrative Affairs in the police headquarters. I understand that your son used to work in Forensics. Is he in, perhaps?’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Her eyes seemed to double in width. ‘Police. What could you possibly want with my son?’

  ‘I need to talk to him about something that’s come up.’

  ‘Talk to him? I can’t imagine there is anything left to say, not at this stage. Really, we’re the ones who need to talk to you. Treating him with such cruelty . . .’

  ‘I understand your anger, ma’am.’

  Mikami instinctively switched gear. Hiyoshi had resigned because someone had mistreated him. It was possible the resentment was unjustified, that Hiyoshi’s mother had simply chosen to ignore her son’s frailty; either way, what mattered was that Hiyoshi – and his family – were under the impression that he’d suffered maltreatment.

  ‘Yes, well, it really was unbelievable.’ The bitterness twisted her features. ‘He was
working for NTT Computers, in communications! The police chose him to help with a new case, and, well, when he saw how useless you all were at that sort of thing, he thought he could make himself useful by joining Forensics. Then, of all things, that kidnapping . . .’

  Perhaps thinking of the eyes and ears of her neighbours, she suddenly told Mikami to come in, pulling him through the wooden door. It closed behind them. They stood hemmed in between the tall wall and a patch of head-height fatsia, the recess feeling damp and humid despite it being the cold season. Keeping her voice down, Hiyoshi’s mother continued.

  ‘It was unforgivable. To throw my son right into a barbaric case like that. Then to call him incompetent . . . after such a tiny little mistake. Don’t you people in the police have families? Was that normal behaviour for you? Try putting yourself in the shoes of the parents – we devoted ourselves to raising our son in a loving environment. He was devastated; the whole thing has ruined his life. How on earth do you intend to take responsibility for that?’

  Mikami wasn’t sure how to respond. The virulence of her anger gave the false impression that she was talking about something that had happened earlier that day or the day before.

  ‘I’m here to offer an apology, and to talk to Hiyoshi if I can. There’s still a lot about what happened that we’re not clear on.’

  ‘You’re not clear on?’ Her shoulders came up, hostile, as she stuck her chin out in accusation. Her mouth was trembling. ‘Are you trying to tell me you don’t even know what you did to my son?’

  ‘Do you know who told your son he was incompetent?’

  ‘I’m sure you’re fully aware of who it was.’

  ‘Please, ma’am, if you could tell me. I am planning to make a thorough investigation into the matter.’

  ‘I don’t know – whoever was in charge at the time. I remember Hiyoshi telling me, “I made a mistake, I’m incompetent.” Ever since, he’s just been . . .’

  He hadn’t told her what had actually happened.

  ‘You mean to say it was Hiyoshi himself who said he was “incompetent”, not somebody else?’

  ‘What are you trying to imply? He would never say such a thing, not unless someone had said it to him first. The poor boy was completely morose, he hardly ate. He looked terrified. It was one of your people. Someone said something to him, and it ripped his heart in two.’

  Mikami prickled with each accusation.

  ‘Did Hiyoshi explain to you what his mistake was?’

  ‘He wouldn’t say a thing. Can’t you tell me? Did he really do something wrong? Or was it someone else trying to make him take responsibility for their mistakes?’

  Mikami nodded to show he understood how she felt. He got the impression she’d already told him everything she knew.

  ‘I’ll try to ask him directly. Please, if you’d let me see him.’

  ‘Impossible,’ she snapped back.

  ‘Five minutes, that’s all I need.’

  ‘He won’t see anybody. Nobody at all.’

  ‘Nobody at all?’

  ‘Nobody. Not even family . . .’

  She brought a hand up to cover her mouth. Tears formed in her eyes and they began to lose focus. Mikami held his breath as he waited for her to continue. In his mind he saw a number of potential scenarios. She looked back at him with reddened eyes.

  ‘Fourteen years. It’s been fourteen years. He’s been shut up in his room since the day he stopped going to the lab. He won’t talk to me, to his father. That’s how badly you people have hurt my son.’

  Mikami looked up at the sky.

  A recluse.

  The worst-case scenario – suicide – had been in the back of his mind. But this hit him with even greater force.

  ‘May I ask how old he is now?’ Mikami asked, forgetting about work.

  ‘Thirty-eight. He’ll be thirty-nine next month. I don’t know what we can . . . How we can . . .’

  Hiyoshi’s mother hid her face in her hands. The sound of sobbing leaked through.

  The whole thing has ruined his life. Mikami had assumed it was an exaggeration, but not now. It all made sense.

  ‘How do you communicate with him?’

  She looked up sharply.

  ‘Just how is talking going to help? It’s not as though any of you care. Not after all th—’

  ‘I had a similar situation, with my daughter,’ Mikami said, cutting in. A pain ran through his chest, brought on by the knowledge that he’d said this in part to accomplish something for work. ‘It’s been hard on my wife. She lost the ability to communicate and—’

  ‘Did she come back out?’ This time, Hiyoshi’s mother interrupted him. ‘Your daughter. Did she come back out?’

  ‘. . . yes.’

  The ache in his chest grew worse. It was true, she had come out of her room. But . . .

  ‘How did you convince her?’

  The hunger in her eyes caused Mikami to flinch. She moved closer, stark desperation on her features. Mikami cursed himself for having brought it up, but it was too late to crush the woman’s hopes.

  ‘We argued, just let everything out.’

  I hate this face. I want to die!

  It’s all right for you! It’s okay for you to look like that, you’re a man!

  Mikami felt himself going pale. His head started to feel numb. He prepared himself for the dizziness to come. He stood firm. It passed in a few seconds. He told himself he was fine, and continued.

  ‘We also took her to see a therapist. That helped her let her feelings out.’

  Hiyoshi’s mother gave a doubtful nod, her eyes flicking to the ground. Her disappointment was plain to see. They’d had fourteen years. They would be long past any discussions of whether or not to take their son to therapy.

  ‘Are you able to discuss your feelings at all?’ Mikami said.

  She seemed distracted. ‘Oh, no . . . Every day I put a letter under his door, but he hasn’t answered a single one of them.’

  ‘Have you tried taking a harder line on it?’

  ‘His father did, a few times in the beginning. But it only made things worse.’

  Mikami’s eyes lingered on the woman’s frail-looking shoulders. He was caught somewhere between professional integrity and personal feeling.

  ‘Would you allow me to try, with a letter?’

  ‘Of course . . . thank you,’ she answered, hardly listening. Her eyes hovered impassively over one of the windows of the house, a room – no doubt her son’s – on the first floor, the curtains closed.

  28

  The family diner lacked its usual weekend bustle. It was already dark outside.

  Perched on a bar seat at the edge of the counter, Mikami glanced down at his watch. Exactly five thirty. The waitress had already brought over the rice pilaff and coffee he’d ordered, but he ignored them and continued to sit, arms folded and staring at the sheet of writing paper. He’d bought a pad from a convenience store on the way and had already smoked five cigarettes from the pack he’d picked up at the same time. I’ll drop it in your letterbox this evening. I’d appreciate it if you could pass it on to your son. Those were the words he’d left with Hiyoshi’s mother, but he couldn’t think of a single thing to write.

  He exhaled and leaned back into the chair.

  He wanted to help. Driven by that one idea, Hiyoshi had leapt into the world of the police. He wanted to do good. Mikami wanted to take Hiyoshi’s mother’s words at face value, but it seemed too nice a fit. Something else must have happened, to make Hiyoshi consider switching jobs after only one year. While not a godsend, it was possible he had seen in the police force’s ignorance of computer systems the perfect excuse to escape – painlessly – from his job at NTT.

  But in Amamiya’s house, his confidence had suffered a terrible blow.

  I made a mistake, I’m incompetent.

  What kind of error could Hiyoshi have made?

  Taking into account his role at Amamiya’s, it had to be something to do with the recording e
quipment. The first thing that came to mind was that he’d made a recording error. That he’d somehow failed to record the kidnapper’s voice during a call. Without doubt, that would have been a disaster. It would also mean that the unorthodox move of adding someone like Hiyoshi to the team had ended up backfiring. But it couldn’t have been that. Hiyoshi simply hadn’t had the opportunity to make that kind of error. The Home Unit had yet to arrive at the house when the kidnapper’s call came in. And there hadn’t been any more calls after they’d arrived – there hadn’t been a chance to make a recording.

  Even so . . .

  Mikami’s thoughts shifted abruptly.

  What was Koda’s involvement in all of this? It was one of the key factors, but it remained completely opaque. What might have motivated Koda to draft the memo, supposing it contained details of Hiyoshi’s mistake?

  Mikami knew nothing about Koda as a person. What kind of relationship had he had with Hiyoshi? Hiyoshi’s mother had suspected someone of trying to make her son take responsibility for their mistake. An unwelcome thought came into Mikami’s head. Hiyoshi’s failure had been due to doing something Koda had asked of him. Koda had made a show of consoling the man while actually intimidating him into silence. The possibility was there. There was just one thing keeping in check the idea that Koda had been the source of the outburst, and that was the impression Mizuki had of the man in her memory.

  Hiyoshi was the key to finding out. All Mikami had to do was convince him to open up, and he would learn everything he needed to know about the background to the Koda memo.

  Mikami put a light to his sixth cigarette. He took a drink of his coffee and, pen in hand, focused on the sheet of paper.

  The pen didn’t move. Mikami’s heart and brain refused to engage. Ten, twenty minutes ticked by as he sat there doing nothing. His forehead was slick with sweat. The more his impatience grew, the more he felt an emptiness spread through his mind.

  To hell with this . . .

  He had to admit defeat. Having failed to commit to a single word, he felt an overwhelming sense of powerlessness. He’d been convinced that getting someone to open up would be an easy task. He’d lost count of the number of criminals he’d broken in the interrogation room. He’d got them to expose their every thought, to confess all the lies, all the truths, to discard all appearances and reveal hidden layers. He’d used force: the unrivalled, overwhelming force of the badge.