Six Four

by Hideo Yokoyama

  They’d released their third arrow. Was it Maejima? Had Arakida ordered him to take on the role of instigator?

  ‘Well, it’ll be interesting to see how the Commissioner’s Secretariat reacts,’ Tsujiuchi added, as though the matter didn’t concern him. ‘I wonder, have you ever heard the phrase, “Don’t send Kennedy to Dallas”?’

  ‘Dallas . . .?’

  ‘It describes an aide’s intuition. Their ideal is to keep their charge far from danger. Yet, in many cases, the people they’ve sworn to protect have a nothing-ventured-nothing-gained philosophy and actually prefer putting themselves in danger. This tests the aide’s decision-making powers, forcing them to evaluate the threat posed – in this case, the potential damage to the commissioner in the estimation of the public.’

  Tsujiuchi kept his gaze firm, expecting a response.

  ‘Are you suggesting we’re Dallas?’

  ‘Let us hope that isn’t the case. If the danger looks genuine, perhaps the commissioner will reconsider his trip. Although, in that case, his announcement would lack authority if it were made from Tokyo, and there would be zero PR value in doing so.’

  The commissioner, stepping bravely into the field only to have his podium taken away. The press, siding with Criminal Investigations. If they came to such a conclusion, would the Commissioner’s Secretariat be forced to regard Prefecture D as another Dallas?

  ‘Are we finished here?’ Tsujiuchi said. ‘I am due to have dinner with the governor this evening. The old fox needs humouring if we’re to secure a decent portion of the budget.’

  He seemed tired of the conversation. It was as though he’d closed a book: it was obvious even from a glance that his mind was already elsewhere.

  Mikami felt his blood boil. Tsujiuchi didn’t care. Not once had he stopped to consider the pain this would cause the regional police.

  ‘Have you talked this through with Criminal Investigations?’ Mikami said. ‘Positions like this are important in any organization. People will try to protect them if they feel they’re under threat. Especially if the change happens suddenly, without warning.’

  Tsujiuchi was staring in blank amazement.

  ‘Why get so worked up? I thought Criminal Investigations was a thorn in the side for you people. Too cocksure, always trying to hide away anything vaguely worthy of attention. Believe me, the quickest way to effect change is to replace those at the top. You’ll find a vast improvement in the way they communicate with Administrative Affairs. Both sides will find it easier to get their jobs done.’

  Mikami genuinely considered that Akama might be the lesser evil. He was at least conscious of the way he tormented others; that, at least, was human.

  Why get so worked up?

  ‘I was based in Criminal Investigations until the spring. I worked as a detective for twenty-four years. Based on my experience, I—’

  ‘Ah! I did wonder . . .’

  . . . if that was why you jumped into their ring.

  Mikami imagined how he would continue, but missed the mark.

  ‘It was the shoes. Your shoes. I have to say, I thought they were a mess when you came in.’

  Shoes? A mess?

  Mikami was thrown by the sudden change of tack. He looked down and studied his leather shoes; the right one first, then the left. They looked fine. Perfectly clean. What had the captain seen to make a statement like that? They were well worn, true, but Minako made sure to buff them every single day. Any scuff marks were concealed under black polish. There was nothing about them that was a mess. The shine had perhaps dulled a little from the day’s use, but that was all.

  ‘How long does it take you to get through them?’

  Tsujiuchi had switched to making small talk.

  ‘When I find shoes I like I always buy a couple of pairs. But it’s so hard to wear them out, and before you know it the second pair’s mouldy . . .’

  Mikami was still gazing at his own feet. He hadn’t even blinked. He was seeing Minako, crouched in the entranceway. Mikami had always had polished black shoes to put on – even when he’d worn the synthetic leather police-issue shoes. Even after that, when he’d started to buy more comfortable shoes. Even after Ayumi had run away. The line of Minako’s mouth would always relax once she’d finished polishing and arranging his shoes.

  What have I . . .

  The shiver spread from his core, propagated down his limbs. He felt like he was coming out of a spell. His actions were indefensible. He’d gone over Akama’s head, tried to communicate with Tokyo directly. He’d shoved Ishii to the floor and forced a one-on-one audience with the captain of the Prefectural HQ, bombarded him with question after question. The future commissioner general.

  One of the untouchables.

  He felt his head go numb. His vision closed in. It wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, the sensation was almost pleasant.

  ‘These days, detectives wear trainers. Even then, they get through a good number of pairs each year.’

  The words came flowing out.

  ‘Hoo, is that so?’

  ‘They do it because they have a need to bring criminals to justice. It’s nothing rational. Detectives work on instinct alone.’

  Tsujiuchi inclined his head.

  ‘Try to understand their perspective. They’re itinerant hunters. Always moving from one case to the next. It’s the only language they understand.’

  ‘Itinerant hunters. Certainly has a nice ring to it.’

  ‘The post of director of Criminal Investigations is the pinnacle of their community. If they’re deprived of something to look up to, they will panic.’

  Tsujiuchi barked with laughter. ‘That scoundrel, the pinnacle of their community? Besides, he came up from Security.’

  ‘I’m referring to the position as a symbol, something that’s about more than the individual who holds it. The further you delve into the regions, the more indispensable that kind of symbolism becomes.’

  ‘I see.’ Tsujiuchi’s tone had changed. ‘You wish to interfere in personnel decisions . . .’

  Mikami’s anxiety was still captive to his numbness, but his respect for the hierarchy of the force was ingrained in his bones. He tensed, the unavoidable result of facing a superior officer’s displeasure.

  ‘This has been interesting. Perhaps we can do it again sometime.’

  Tsujiuchi craned around, reaching behind him to push the buzzer on his desk.

  ‘Sir, could I ask you to at least suggest it to Tokyo? That they need to reconsider this?’

  Ishii flew into the room before Mikami had finished. The division staff followed from behind, stony-faced. Tsujiuchi was beaming.

  Mikami got to his feet and made a salute.

  ‘Sir, if you could at least give some though to—’

  Get him out! A number of hands took hold of him on Ishii’s command, pulling him backwards with astonishing force.

  Amidst the chaos, he could hear Tsujiuchi’s voice.

  Don’t let anything like that happen again.

  Mikami was escorted through the office and into the adjoining annexe. The TV on the desk was showing pictures of Akama. Perhaps because of this, Ishii became conscious of his surroundings, keeping his voice low as he snarled.

  ‘What do you think you’re playing at, Mikami? What on earth did you say to the captain?’

  ‘Let go of me, now!’ Mikami threw off the hands still holding him. It felt as if he were on fire.

  ‘You need to tell me, Mikami. What did you say to—’

  ‘As if telling you would change anything.’ The TV flashed white. Akama was bowing, luminescent under the wave of camera flashes. ‘None of you knows a bloody thing. Craning upwards the whole time . . . you can’t even see that the ground’s cracking under your feet.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re the blind one, Mikami. What do you think will happen if you make the captain angry? We’re the ones who are going to suffer for this – the Prefectural HQ. We’re all going to feel the blowback for what you’
ve done.’

  ‘Damned fool! That’s why they make idiots of us. The Prefectural HQ belongs to us. Don’t think I’m going to stand by and let those bastards do what they want.’

  Mikami drove his fist into the TV.

  Akama’s face contorted before being sucked into darkness, scattering into the air as countless fragments of glass.

  51

  There was someone else who deserved to be hit.

  Mikami burst out of the Secretariat and strode down the corridor; he swept open the door to Administration. The noise was loud enough for most of the staff to look up in surprise.

  Futawatari . . .

  He wasn’t there; his desk was still empty. Shirota was also nowhere to be seen. Section Chief Tomoko Nanao, who was in charge of looking after the female officers on the force, turned in her chair before getting to her feet.

  ‘What happened to your hand?’

  He hadn’t noticed until she’d pointed it out. His right hand was covered in red, the skin torn between the base of his index finger and the back of his hand. Drops of blood hit the floor.

  ‘Is Futawatari in the building?’

  ‘No, he left.’

  Before her reply, Nanao had started jogging towards one of the wall lockers.

  ‘Will he be back?’

  ‘Not today. He said he was going to go home straight afterwards.’

  In that case. Mikami crossed the floor and walked into Akama’s office, not even bothering to knock. The director’s cologne was still in the air, suggesting he’d been there only moments earlier. Nanao came rushing in holding a first-aid kit. She set about finding disinfectant and bandages, then held her hands out.

  ‘Let me bandage you up.’

  ‘I can do it.’

  ‘It’s fine, let me.’

  ‘I can do it. Just leave it with me.’

  He shut her out, then pulled a wad of cotton wool from the box. He applied this to the wound and used his teeth to unroll the bandage, then proceeded to wrap it around his hand. He was still doing this when he walked over to Akama’s desk, its master now absent, and perched himself unceremoniously on the edge. He took out his phone and scrolled to Futawatari’s number, then used Akama’s phone to make the call.

  It would show as Akama’s direct line. Futawatari would surely have to answer.

  The call connected after only a couple of rings.

  ‘How can you say this doesn’t matter?’ Mikami didn’t wait. ‘I found out what Tokyo’s planning. If this doesn’t matter, what the hell does?’

  ‘How did you get this?’

  ‘From Captain Tsujiuchi.’

  ‘No – who gave you my number?’

  ‘You fucking dolt. Don’t you understand what this is? This isn’t some plot to take over Criminal Investigations. This is a plot to destroy the whole Prefectural HQ. Are you aware that that’s what you’re taking part in here?’

  He didn’t answer. Footsteps. Noise in the background. A car door shutting.

  ‘Futawatari . . .’

  ‘I thought I’d already told you. There are no distinctions; no headquarters; no Tokyo. The police force is monolithic.’

  ‘That’s the kind of delusional crap Tokyo comes out with. How can we call ourselves the regional police if we don’t even own the director of Criminal Investigations?’

  ‘Cool down. Nothing bad is going to come of this. If anything, it’ll be a boost for efficiency.’

  Efficiency? The comment mirrored what Tsujiuchi had said.

  The quickest way to effect change is to replace those at the top. You’ll find a vast improvement in the way they communicate with Administrative Affairs. Both sides will find it easier to get their jobs done.

  He felt like he finally understood. That, for the first time, he’d touched on what it was that Futawatari believed in. He’d been hell-bent on weakening Criminal Investigations, on creating a dominant and unshakable Administrative Affairs. That was what Mikami had always suspected, but he’d been wrong. His Tokyo mindset. His orders from Tsujiuchi. They weren’t the only factors motivating Futawatari’s behaviour.

  ‘Are you scared by it?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘The director’s chair, Criminal Investigations.’

  Futawatari said nothing. He made no attempt to ask what Mikami was talking about.

  Bullseye.

  Futawatari would know more about it than anyone. The hierarchical order couldn’t be changed. For someone who had made superintendent at the young age of forty, the only post waiting for them on promotion was director of Criminal Investigations. The hidden force behind all personnel decisions would become the face of Criminal Investigations. The ironic truth awaited him in just over ten years, and he was scared of it. He might have been skilled in Administration, but, as someone who didn’t know the first thing about being a detective, all that lay ahead of him was a barren desert, a secret betrayal. The shrine would be carried, but it would be empty. He would be disgraced, become one more addition to the list of failed candidates. For someone who had spent so long effectively in control of the organization itself, it was an unacceptable outcome. In this context, the talk of the ‘sequestering’ had seemed like good news.

  ‘Is something wrong? Tell me.’

  ‘You should try to make more sense when you talk.’

  ‘You know exactly what I’m talking about. Your plan to forge a utopia for yourself.’

  Tokyo’s trust in Futawatari was absolute.

  Each of the career officers from Tokyo posted to the prefecture had left with the impression that Futawatari could get things done, having recognized him as an indisputable high-flyer with regard to personnel and organizational management. That wouldn’t change just because one of those officials bore the title of Criminal Investigations Director. A bureaucrat was a bureaucrat. As someone held in high regard in Tokyo, Futawatari had guessed that his word would trump that of other officers in Criminal Investigations. So he would volunteer himself for a role in the background, settle into the position of Community Safety Director, just one rung down, invoking the power of his counsel to influence Criminal Investigations. Choose profit over fame. That interest, more than anything, was what was guiding the man’s actions. In Personnel, he’d defined the careers of so many others, but the whole time he’d been trying to think up a way to round off his own.

  ‘Give me an answer. Are you planning to sell us out, just so you can build your own personal paradise?’

  ‘You’re still not making any sense.’

  ‘You want to be a pantomime puppet for Tokyo, to pull the strings in the dark. Is that the long-cherished dream of the regional elite?’

  ‘I’m ending this call.’

  ‘If you really are some kind of top dog, you need to step up to it. I’m trying to tell you I think I’d rather have you in the director’s chair, if the alternative was a suit from the NPA.’

  Futawatari made a surprised sound, then, quieter, he said, ‘You sure about that?’

  Mikami focused on empty space. The man’s dark eyes felt close. The weird sensation of Futawatari passing him the towel felt suddenly real again.

  ‘You shouldn’t take it so seriously. It’s a symbol. It hardly matters who actually sits there.’

  Mikami couldn’t follow. A symbol? Was he still talking about the director’s job? ‘Are you sure you’re one of us, Futawatari?’

  ‘The detectives will do their job, regardless of who’s at the top. Isn’t that right?’

  ‘Family’s family, whether the old man’s a slave driver or a waster. The position isn’t something an outsider on transfer can ever hope to fill.’

  ‘They’ll get used to it in a month. In two, they’ll have adapted completely. That’s how it works with personnel – no exceptions.’

  ‘So self-important. All you ever manage is to shuffle people irresponsibly between rooms.’

  ‘You’re a perfect example, Mikami.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You stood y
our own against the press. Right before the captain’s office.’

  Mikami caught his breath.

  ‘A fine member of the Secretariat, in anyone’s eyes.’

  Mikami clenched down on his back teeth. Blood seeped visibly into his bandage.

  ‘You say that one more time.’

  ‘Don’t take it the wrong way. I meant it as a compliment.’

  ‘Say it to my face. Come here, Akama’s office, right now.’

  ‘I guess that part of you never changes, Mikami.’

  Had he laughed?

  ‘You need to face up to reality. We’re not in the dojo of the kendo club any more.’

  52

  Diluted, the whisky tasted like water. Even on the rocks it tasted like water. Inebriation failed to come.

  The Tsukinami, a small bar built into the front of a residential building, managed by a married couple in their sixties. It was one of Mikami’s few genuine hideaways, unknown by either Criminal Investigations or Administrative Affairs. He’d come to know it after the owner had delivered a stray dog to Mikami’s koban. He’d been coming back for twenty-five years. The mama-san was as unyielding as a boar, while her husband was the kind to say whatever popped into his head. The result was that they were continually, both then and now, bickering behind the counter. For Mikami, whose habit it was to sit at the far side of the counter, their interaction was a source of both irritation and envy.

  He’d forgotten who he was; he’d forgotten his family. He had taken the opportunity of Akama’s absence to force his way into the captain’s office. That alone was grounds enough for a transfer. He’d knocked Chief Ishii to the floor, broken property belonging to the Secretariat. If he hadn’t injured himself, if he hadn’t been bleeding, and if Ishii had been any less a coward, he knew he would right now be filling in a long report in some basement part of Internal Affairs. If he’d been thinking of his family at all, he should have warned Akama about Criminal Investigations’ trap. He’d even had the option of playing both sides, of pretending to take Arakida’s proposal on board. Even given that the chances of it actually happening were slim, he should have taken out the insurance of the job at Central Station, in case Criminal Investigations ended up victorious. There, he could get by without having to move away. He could be with Minako as they waited for their daughter to come back.