Mizuki’s rapid-fire voice broke off.
‘Did they find out the reason for the suicide? Had she left anything else?’
‘Nothing. She’d separated from her husband and was living by herself. They’d been married three years but had no kids. I don’t know why they ended up living apart, but it must have had something to do with her suicide. Her husband had been in the calligraphy club of a nearby boys’ school. They’d originally met during a summer getaway organized between the two clubs. They’d fallen in love and ended up getting married. From what I know, her husband was good-looking and smart, popular with the girls.
‘This next bit is just my own speculation, okay? He’d seen Minako during the same summer trip, and he’d fallen in love with her at first sight, so her friend had had to work hard to win him over. When they were first married she felt like she had all the happiness in the world. But then it started to go wrong, and she ended up by herself, started to think of suicide, and that was when she saw Minako. She wanted to leave something to get her own back. So she decided to leave that note.’
It sounded like more than empty speculation. ‘You think Minako . . . had something to do with their separation?’
‘Oh, come on, Mikami! What I’m trying to say is that having someone with Minako’s looks around all the time would have made the other girls uneasy. Even supposing the girl’s husband-to-be hadn’t fallen for Minako during their summer trip, she would still have been afraid that he would. She’d have been going crazy with the worry. Believe me, the majority of normal women have experienced that sort of thing. So do you see? She was fighting with herself. But she never realized it was all in her head. She set herself up against Minako, then she won her man and sealed her victory, ending up on a high that was ten times, a hundred times, greater than normal. Then everything fell apart . . . in just three years. I don’t know if it was something to do with him, or something else entirely, but I know she would have had so many regrets; then I suppose she gave in to despair, and started to feel hostile towards a carefree, happy-looking Minako. So maybe she decided she wanted Minako to have a taste of her own suffering.’
Carefree? Happy?
‘Why would she assume Minako was—’
‘Minako wouldn’t have known any of this was going on, not at the start, not at the end. That’s why. She wouldn’t ever have considered that they were in competition, wouldn’t have known she’d lost any lead. She would have been genuinely happy for her friend’s marriage, never in a million years considering she’d lost anything. I’m sure her friend had no reason to feel the way she did. But I don’t think she could have left such a heartless note if she hadn’t got to the point of thinking that Minako had in some way pushed her into the marriage, and been responsible for the mess that followed. She would have wanted her husband to break down in tears at her funeral, feel the guilt, all the regret and the pain. She didn’t want Minako to share in their final meeting. She wouldn’t have wanted anyone to distract him from her, not even for a moment. I don’t know whether any of this is true or not, but it was still a horrible thing to do . . .’
Horrible, but understandable. Mikami understood the implication. After a moment’s silence, Mizuki started to laugh.
‘Anyway, you shouldn’t take the last bit seriously. Just my imagination running wild. Pure fancy. All I’m trying to say is Minako’s special enough for that kind of thing to be true. Believe me, I had a hard time, too. It was a nightmare when she got out of police school and got posted to work for me. I thought: Seriously? Why would someone like you want to be a policewoman? Do you want to test yourself, take pride in your job? Don’t you think you’re being a little greedy? Back when she joined, women were still treated like mascots in the force, so we were all fighting for a little more recognition. Along comes Minako, the very definition of a mascot, and we’re all crying that we don’t need any more women like that.
‘Of course, the truth was, we’d enjoyed being fussed over a little. That stopped quickly enough. The younger officers couldn’t take their eyes off Minako, and her bosses were clearly smitten, regardless of whether they were telling her off or complimenting her on a job well done. To be honest, we were beyond jealousy; most of the time it just felt like we’d had the wind taken out of our sails.’
Mizuki let out another chuckle. She’d realized she was straying from the point.
‘I’m only telling you this because of the circumstances – she was actually bullied at work. I was guilty of it, just a little. But she was strong. Took the nonsense in her stride. She lived for her job. More than most of the men, really. It was so impressive, to see someone so beautiful yet so totally unconscious of it. I realized she was a hard-working and decent person. Even then, it was difficult to feel close to her.
‘It was easy to see, watching from the sidelines, that she received special treatment. When I was feeling uncharitable, I would suspect it was all an act, that she was just pretending not to notice the effect she had on people. It wasn’t until I heard the two of you were getting married that I was able to feel a genuine affection for her. I couldn’t believe it when she told me. Actually asked if she was pulling my leg. Ah, don’t take it the wrong way, I’m not trying to imply she undersold herself or anything. You were a young detective with a bright future, and don’t forget I also knew why she’d given you the charm. That’s how it was, anyway. It was a decisive moment. Everyone relaxed around her when they learned she was taken, and by you. Everyone’s opinion of you – well, that went down the drain. They were all, Look at him, head over heels in love – he’d never looked at anything but case work.’
Mikami snorted.
He had relaxed into the story. He’d stopped wondering about the reason for Mizuki’s diversion, and had been listening to her discuss Minako’s difficult situation, and her own speculation as to what had caused it, as though he were skimming over an unpleasant scene in one of his favourite children’s stories. He felt a pleasant fatigue and warmth in his chest. Mizuki’s reflections on the past had taken the edge off his mood. If he’d looked up and seen anyone else, anyone other than the man who was approaching, he would have stayed on the phone and continued to listen to his good friend.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to talk later.’
He snapped the phone shut, pulled the key from the engine and opened the car door, the whole time keeping his eyes fixed on Futawatari.
37
Two pieces on the same board. The coincidence no longer came as a surprise.
The same seemed true for Futawatari. He continued down the house-lined street, drawing closer without a single alteration in his expression or pace. He was dressed in a suit, as usual. Did he have business with Akama? Or had he just emerged from another building? He’d been closest to the houses where Captain Tsujiuchi and Director Arakida lived when Mikami had first noticed him. It made sense if he’d been here visiting the captain. Akama hadn’t heard of the Koda memo. That meant the chances were good that Futawatari was operating under the direct orders of the captain himself.
Mikami stood waiting outside his car. When Futawatari was close enough, he called out to him.
‘Akama’s out if you’re after him.’
Futawatari continued to approach in silence. Now he was closer, Mikami could make out the severe expression on his face. He seemed to be avoiding eye contact, but not by much.
‘Working hard, I see,’ Mikami said, looking him square in the face.
‘You, too,’ Futawatari replied, walking straight by and keeping his eyes ahead.
You bastard . . .
Mikami spun around and started after him. He followed Futawatari’s wispy frame from behind, moving slightly to the side, and caught up with him at the far end of the wall outside Akama’s house. At the intersection, Futawatari turned towards a smaller road. His dark-blue sedan was visible in the distance, parked ahead on a wider section.
‘Confidential discussions with the captain?’ Futawatari didn’t answe
r. ‘Right, the silent treatment. That’s cold even for you.’
‘I don’t have the time.’
Mikami could see he actually meant it.
‘I found out what’s in the Koda memo.’
He’d said it to freeze Futawatari in his tracks. It didn’t work. His steps shortened as he pulled his keys from his pocket and pushed the button, unlocking his car.
‘What do you intend to do to Criminal Investigations?’
Still mute, Futawatari reached towards the driver-side door.
‘Look, just wait.’ Mikami lowered his voice, putting himself between Futawatari and the car.
‘Didn’t I just tell you I don’t have the time?’
Futawatari glared at him. Mikami glowered back.
‘Neither do I.’
‘Go and do what you need to do, then.’
‘What is the commissioner planning to say?’
‘It doesn’t concern you.’
‘I think it does. Don’t think I’m going to play a role in taking down Criminal Investigations without knowing the reason first.’
‘As if it matters.’
Mikami was dumbstruck. As if it matters. Had he heard correctly? He let his voice drop to a whisper.
‘Listen to me. The Koda memo is a veritable Pandora’s box. That thing’s capable of destroying the entire headquarters, not just Criminal Investigations.’
‘What if it does?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Get out of my way,’ Futawatari snarled, reaching again for the door.
Mikami took him by the wrist.
‘Is it your plan to sell us out to Tokyo?’
His hand was knocked away with surprising violence.
‘Don’t be so narrow-minded. There are no distinctions; no headquarters, no Tokyo. The police force is monolithic.’
Futawatari took his opportunity. He shoved Mikami out of the way. His lanky frame slid into the driver’s seat; he keyed the ignition. Wait. Mikami’s cry was lost against the noise of sudden acceleration. Mikami started walking then broke into a run. He got into his car and pulled out. The road Futawatari had headed for was littered with traffic lights. He could still catch him.
He couldn’t ignore what Futawatari had just said.
The police force is monolithic.
Mikami made a sharp turn to rejoin the main road. His eyes were focused directly ahead. There. Futawatari’s dark-blue sedan was stuck at a red, two sets of lights ahead.
Mikami had already guessed that his interests weren’t going to be compatible with Futawatari’s. But he’d hoped, regardless. He’d hoped that they were both torn between their allegiances, single bodies with two minds, existing in a world where hierarchy was everything; that the man’s conflicted state would come to the surface if he challenged him face to face; that Futawatari might finally drop his mask of indifference.
But he’d been wrong.
Mikami hit the accelerator the moment the lights turned green. He pulled ahead of the small yellow car to his side and crossed into the right-hand lane; he accelerated past a truck then slid back to the left. The dark-blue sedan was ten cars ahead. The sky was already growing dark. Perfect. Mikami pulled the sun visor close to his eyes, then used one hand to remove his tie. Spying an opportunity, he passed the next car in front. The road was full of Sunday drivers. They were either driving far too slowly or jumping mindlessly around, forcing him to concentrate. He repeated the cycle of accelerating, decelerating. The sedan was only four cars ahead now. He settled into the standard routine for close pursuit.
What kind of police officer lets himself be tailed?
Mikami pulled at the wheel, abruptly switching lanes. The back of Futawatari’s head was visible through the sedan’s rear window. Something urgent. Where was he going? Who was he hoping to see? Mikami would follow him until he stopped, back him into a corner, force him to confess his true intentions.
The sedan took a left at the next junction, entering an older road that followed the river. The road narrowed to a single lane on each side. Mikami maintained his tail, keeping two cars between them. There were no more buildings outside the window, just a flood plain stretching off to the left. The road snaked through a gentle curve as it followed the river. At each bend the two cars ahead would slide momentarily to one side, giving Mikami a clear view of the sedan’s rear lights.
The station wagon just ahead started to brake. At the front, Futawatari was slowing down. His indicators flashed to turn right. He taxied to let an oncoming car pass, then left the road at a crossroad intersection.
Mikami followed after him, turning slowly so as not to give himself away. He saw the sedan take a left at the next junction, into a quiet, old-fashioned residential district. Mikami finally realized where Futawatari was going. Instead of a destination, the name of a man Mikami knew lived nearby came into his head.
But that’s . . .
Mikami edged forwards, not daring to breathe. He glanced down the street the sedan had entered. His eyes registered the shock first. The car was parked next to a hedgerow of red photinia. Outside the house of Michio Osakabe.
Futawatari’s thin profile vanished through the door.
38
The hazy winter sun was getting ready to set.
Having decided to wait, Mikami circled around to park at a sports complex down towards the flood plain. He kept his eyes glued to the road. He intended to keep watch until Futawatari was gone.
He tried to map Futawatari’s movements in his head. When he’d seen him near Akama’s house, he’d felt sure he’d been there to see Tsujiuchi, but maybe the truth was that he’d emerged from Arakida’s house across the road. That would mean he’d been there to launch an attack on the enemy camp. Arakida had then turned him away, and he’d decided he would extend his reach to the department’s alumni – unless he’d somehow got wind that Osakabe had been connected to the cover-up, and decided to make an attempt on the summit.
The line seemed to come together. Still, Osakabe was on a level far above even the other directors. Like the highest executives – albeit in a completely different way – he was, for the people of the Prefectural HQ, someone who existed above the clouds. It was unthinkable under any normal circumstances to barge into his home with the aim of extracting information. Futawatari was on a rampage. Only someone who thought himself above the other sections, part of the elite, would be capable of such a thing. Whatever his thinking, it was safe to assume the proximity of the deadline was forcing Futawatari to become more brazen.
It doesn’t matter; Osakabe won’t listen.
Mikami flicked an eye to the display on the dashboard: 4.40 p.m. Fifteen minutes since Futawatari had entered Osakabe’s home. Just as he was thinking this, Mikami saw the sedan pass in front of him. There. Mikami didn’t miss the face, caught briefly in the streetlights. Futawatari’s expression had been grave. He’d have had less than ten minutes to talk. It was no surprise. A man like Osakabe would never play host to Administrative Affairs for long.
Mikami set off towards the director’s house. He would find out what was behind Futawatari’s covert manoeuvring. Osakabe would tell him the real reason for the commissioner’s visit. It seemed likely he would know. He was party to everything that had happened, not just the contents of the Koda memo. Futawatari must have realized this; it was probably why he’d decided to visit him in person.
Mikami was in the middle of the right turn at the intersection when his phone went off in his jacket pocket. He finished the turn, then pulled up to the side of the road. It was Ishii. Mikami swore under his breath, then pressed answer.
‘What do you think you’re doing, Mikami?’ Mikami had never heard him sound so agitated.
‘Sorry?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know. I just had a call from Director Akama. He said you’d already fixed things with Amamiya?’
Mikami realized he’d forgotten to report in after his encounter with Futawatari.
‘Sorry, a lot of
things were going on.’
‘But you managed to report to Akama? What possessed you to go over my head on this? You should have called me first . . . How do you think this looks for me, having to admit I didn’t know?’
‘I’ll be more careful in the future,’ Mikami said, making it clear he was ending the conversation, but the message didn’t seem to get through.
‘You wanted to take the credit directly, I assume? I don’t know how you do things over in Criminal Investigations, but that kind of behaviour just isn’t acceptable here.’
The words just washed over him. Ishii wasn’t even on the same board.
‘There is no Criminal Investigations, no Administrative Affairs.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I’ll make sure I’m more careful in the future,’ Mikami repeated, and ended the call.
As if it matters, he muttered to himself. He flicked on his headlights and pulled back on to the road. He turned the first corner and the car’s beam fell on the vivid red of the photinia. He parked where Futawatari’s car had been and walked briskly up to the front door. He felt himself tense when he saw the name on the plate. Osakabe. His throat dried up. He hadn’t phoned ahead. He hadn’t even worked for Osakabe, not directly. On any other day, he wouldn’t have been able to push the buzzer. But this wasn’t any other day, not for the Prefectural HQ. And Osakabe had admitted a man who had no knowledge outside of Administrative Affairs – he wouldn’t turn away someone with years of experience as a detective. Mikami worked up his courage, then pushed the buzzer.
It felt like a long wait. The door finally opened to reveal the face of an elegant old woman, her white hair neatly plaited. It was the first time Mikami had seen Osakabe’s wife.
He bent forward from the waist, the form of the gesture letting her know he was from the police.
‘Please forgive the sudden intrusion. My name is Mikami. I’m with the police headquarters.’
Six Four Page 28