Prefecture D

by Hideo Yokoyama

  Table with local map. Riot shields at the ready, in case of forced entry.

  Check.

  Next was the ground floor. Shindo made the rounds of Transport, Administration and Accounting. Everything was in order. All the desks were tidy. His next stop was the armoury. Guns, bullets – everything was a match to the lists in inventory.

  Shindo started to make his way up the stairs. He checked the now-empty divisions of the first, second and third floors. All the lights were off. All the windows were locked tight. He walked into Public Safety. Spotless. Apart from Sone’s, the majority of desks were equipped with word processors. Shindo let his eyes linger on the logo: Brand K.

  He took his time to make a thorough inspection of the detention facilities before finally returning to the ground floor. The officers on duty were there, standing in a line. Only those manning the radios were missing.

  ‘Look smart!’

  The order had come from the officer on watch, Yoshio Sone. His face was redder than ever, flushed with excitement and nerves. The checks began.

  ‘Notebooks!’

  The dozen or so officers present each held out their police notebooks. Once Shindo had inspected them, the order was given to put them away. Sone continued to bark orders: ‘Rope!’ ‘Handcuffs!’ ‘Whistle!’ ‘Gun!’

  Shindo found he could not look away as the man issued command after command, his voice almost screeching. This was the Sone he knew. He wasn’t sure if it stemmed from sincerity or simple-mindedness but either way the man’s sense of duty resembled that of an officer fresh out of police school. Even now, at fifty-five, he was almost hopelessly unchanged.

  Sone has been frequenting Mumu.

  Shindo couldn’t picture him with Yaeko Kato. For this unremarkable middle-aged man who looked even now ready to collapse from stress to seduce an attractive mama-san, one who was well versed in the ways of the night. To gorge on her youthful body in a hotel. Try as he might, the image would not form in his mind. Even if Sone had been to Mumu, she wouldn’t have paid him any attention, regardless of how hard he’d tried to win her over. Nothing could have happened between them.

  Once the checks were complete, Shindo turned to face Sone.

  ‘I’d like to take a look at the cars.’

  It was the easiest way to get him alone. They left for the parking area behind the station, Sone with a bundle of keys in his hand. Shindo chose the car marked ‘Q1’. Getting into the passenger seat, he asked Sone to start the engine.

  ‘Front lights.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Sone’s voice cracked.

  ‘Back lights.’

  ‘Sir.’

  Sone shuffled his feet, looking awkward. Shindo twisted his neck to confirm the reflection of the red lights on the wall behind them.

  Now.

  He looked at Sone in profile. The man was covered in sweat.

  ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Good. Thank you, sir.’ He made no attempt to return Shindo’s gaze. His eyes were fixed ahead, focused on the dark as he sat upright in his seat.

  ‘I think we can dispense with the formalities. The raid is over.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. If I may . . . I’m always impressed at how you conduct the inspections so thoroughly and with such precision.’

  ‘Sone . . .’

  Shindo felt his heart ache. It was true he was senior in terms of rank. Yet Sone had joined the force before him and had the edge when it came to age. And the two of them weren’t strangers to each other. Outside work, in private like this, it was relatively common for the elder of two officers to talk as though they were addressing a junior. The force subscribed to a rigid hierarchy of rank but that didn’t preclude the otherwise universal tradition of showing respect for your elders.

  Yet Sone was different.

  He seemed determined to give Shindo the respect appropriate for a superintendent. His tone remained formal and self-effacing throughout their conversation. This was what convinced Shindo of the man’s innocence. He had not changed. His decency, his passion for the job, they were both as Shindo remembered.

  Shindo pulled away from the station.

  He imagined he could hear the sighs of relief but he knew the officers would be busy calling the nearby stations. He’s coming. The next station in line would be scrambling to get everything in order.

  It was close to eleven when he finally got back to the Prefectural HQ. A weak light seeped through the curtains of the room on the corner of the first floor of the north building.

  As expected.

  The officers from Administration were holed up in the cubbyhole that was Personnel. He’d been right – they’d already started work on the spring transfers. Shindo returned to Internal Affairs and sat at his desk to write up the evening’s report.

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Do you have a moment?’ Shinji Futawatari from Administration tipped his head into the room. ‘How was the raid?’

  ‘Good. Not that they’re ever bad,’ Shindo answered, choosing his words carefully.

  Futawatari would have been there in Personnel. He would have come across after seeing the lights come on in Internal Affairs. Given the fact that it was after eleven, it was unlikely he’d come to chat. It was more likely that he’d been waiting for a chance to catch Shindo alone, when Takegami and Katsumata were out. That would be it.

  People liked to refer to him as the ‘ace’. He’d made superintendent three years ago, at the young age of forty. Such things had been known to happen, perhaps once every few generations, but Futawatari had another talent that separated him from the pack. In his case, the word ‘ace’ was also a reference to the trump card he held.

  Personnel.

  More than anything, it was the transfer he had masterminded two years previously that had propelled his name to the forefront.

  Katsumata had gambled money during a game of mahjong with an acquaintance who owned a pachinko parlour. At the time, he’d been a division chief in Transport Guidance. One of his junior officers had been outraged and lodged an official complaint, which had led to Katsumata’s eventual transfer.

  The choice of destination had stunned the force.

  Rather than face the scrutiny of Internal Affairs, Katsumata had been transferred there. It was inspired. The press, who had already caught wind of the scandal, had not known how to react. They’d never move him there. Not if the rumours were true. Futawatari had forced them to draw that conclusion.

  Shirota doesn’t have the gall to pull a stunt like that. I’m telling you, it was Futawatari. The whispers had spread like lightning through the force, the tone gradually shifting from one of shock to one of fear.

  Even Shindo had to admit it was impressive. At the same time, he had to wonder whether such extreme measures had been necessary to safeguard the reputation of the force. There were scum wherever you went. Squeeze them out. That was surely the proper way to defend an organisation. However he looked at it, Shindo couldn’t bring himself to fully agree with the man’s way of thinking.

  And yet, face to face with him now, this man who was seven years his junior, he couldn’t help but feel intimidated.

  It was second nature, after fifty, to think about how many years and how many posts you had left. While he couldn’t quite match Futawatari’s meteoric rise, Shindo was himself a career officer and one who had made superintendent at the age of forty-four. It had hurt to miss out on the promotion to district captain that spring but he still considered his stint in Internal Affairs to be temporary. It would last a year, at most, allowing him to recuperate. There was still time. He could still make director before his retirement.

  Even so, another couple of years in some out-of-the-way post . . .

  Shindo understood that the captain and the director of Administrative Affairs both held Futawatari in high regard. A single word from
their ‘ace’ might be all it took to seal a man’s fate, be the difference between making director and getting stuck at division chief.

  ‘That reminds me,’ Futawatari said, lowering his voice. ‘Is something happening with Inspector Sone in Station Q?’

  The words were like a slap in the face.

  ‘No. I mean . . .’ Shindo stumbled to find his response. ‘We did have a letter, but I think it’s one we can dismiss. He doesn’t seem to be involved in anything untoward.’

  ‘I see.’

  Futawatari got smoothly to his feet. His footsteps grew distant and the room returned to silence. Shindo couldn’t move from the couch.

  Who told him?

  He reviewed a selection of faces.

  Takegami? Mizutani? No. Yanagi? Never. Morishima from Forensics? Not necessarily. Shindo had been to the Mutual Funds Association. And there was always the chance that Katsumata had somehow got wind of the letter. There was also the possibility that Futawatari had used some means of his own, although Shindo wouldn’t usually expect a man who had spent his career in Administration to have too many ‘assets’ at his disposal. That said, people liked to back a winner and it wouldn’t be long until Futawatari secured dominion over the Prefectural HQ. There would be plenty of people who wanted to win his favour. He wondered just how far the man’s reach spread.

  Whatever the source of the leak, the fact that Sone was now in Futawatari’s sights meant that there were people outside Internal Affairs watching to see how Shindo handled the case. And work had already started on the transfers.

  Shindo’s stomach groaned, alerting him to an emotion that was a long way from anger.

  8

  ‘Toshio Saga doesn’t own a word processor.’

  Yanagi reported in a few days later. The troublemaker was off the list, then, leaving only the misfit Atsushi Mitsui. Shindo left Yanagi with instructions to continue looking into it but he felt more anxious than ever when he hung up.

  How had Yanagi learned that Saga didn’t own a word processor? Had he paid him a visit and found a chance moment to look around? That wouldn’t be enough to support such a definitive conclusion. A frightening legal term came to mind. Trespass. Saga lived at home. Once he’d left for work, the house would be empty, apart from his bedridden mother. He could do it. He would do it. This was Yanagi.

  Fuck.

  Yanagi was still investigating Sone and Yaeko Kato. Shindo realised he wouldn’t put it past the man to install a bug – perhaps in the bar, or Yaeko’s apartment – if it meant making progress. That would be a hassle, but Shindo had more to worry about. The case had caught Futawatari’s attention. If Shindo lost control, if he let Yanagi go too far, he might end up paying for it with his career. He picked up the phone. Don’t do anything stupid. He would spell it out for the man.

  It was Yanagi’s sister who answered. She told him her brother was out and that she didn’t know where he had gone. Shindo was starting to panic.

  Maybe I should go today.

  His plan had been to visit Mumu in a few days but his current state of agitation told him he should perhaps bring the reconnaissance forwards. He hurried by taxi to City P and within thirty minutes was in the red-light district. He pushed his way past a collection of hawkers before he saw the bar’s bright neon sign.

  It was busy despite it being only eight in the evening. There were five booths inside, all of different sizes, and six seats along a counter. Three Southeast Asian women in skimpy, bikini-like clothing were draped over a group of sweaty men. Shindo guessed there might be more than alcohol on the menu.

  ‘My my, a new face.’

  A plumpish woman in a kimono appeared to greet him. She looked to be in her mid-forties and was oddly imposing. If he hadn’t already seen the photos of Yaeko Kato, Shindo would have pegged her as the mama-san. She led him arm in arm to one of the seats at the counter and sat him down. They chatted for a while and he told her he was in town for three days to sell exercise equipment.

  Yaeko Kato was in a bright-red dress. When she came into the room it was from under the noren which hung over the entrance to the kitchen; she was fiddling with her fringe.

  ‘Welcome.’

  She was just as beautiful in the flesh. Shindo suspected the bar had no need for the fawning girls, that men would flock in droves just to see her. The woman in the kimono gave a flick of her eye and Shindo was surrounded by dark, tanned skin. His ears were subjected to a stream of broken Japanese and hot air. The perfect time, perhaps. Yaeko was standing in front of him, mixing a glass of whisky on the rocks. Making it look as though he’d just remembered something, Shindo took out his mobile. He dialled the number of his apartment.

  ‘Hey, it’s me. Has Sone called yet?’ Shindo kept an eye on Yaeko as he listened to the ringtone on the other side. ‘You know who I mean. So. Ne.’

  There was no reaction. Not even a twitch. The letter had been bogus. Sone had been a customer but Yaeko did not recognise his name. The only conclusion to draw was that Sone had used an assumed identity. It followed that he’d also hidden the fact that he was police. He hadn’t played on his status as chief. Which made him the same as all the other customers – just another man here to see Yaeko. He couldn’t have seduced her, not like that. His looks, too plain to attract a woman of her calibre, would end up becoming his saving grace.

  Still, I’d bet the bastard gave it a good shot.

  ‘Here. A token of our meeting.’ Yaeko handed Shindo the glass and tapped her own against it.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Shindo put the whisky to his lips. His stomach lurched a little but he wanted, at least tonight, to drink a little in Sone’s honour.

  9

  Sone turned out neither to have fallen for nor made a pass at Yaeko Kato.

  It was Monday morning, the last week of November, when irrefutable proof of this arrived on the doorstep of Internal Affairs. The intel came, surprisingly, in the form of a case report drafted for the press by Media Relations.

  ‘Shindo, you need to see this.’ Division Chief Takegami, glasses perched on his forehead, got to his feet and held out the document.

  ‘Amazing.’

  Late the previous night the Public Safety division in Station Q had staged a raid on Mumu. The bar had been charged with running a prostitution racket. For Shindo, the news was revelatory. Sone hadn’t been trying to get Yaeko into bed. He’d been trying to get her arrested. He’d concealed his name and identity and made himself a customer as part of an undercover investigation.

  ‘Why all the fuss? It’s not like this kind of thing never happens.’ Katsumata’s head popped up at his side; he looked unimpressed.

  Shindo ignored him and walked up to Takegami. He suggested they think about awarding Sone the Captain’s Trophy. The district equivalent would have been given out the previous day. It was perhaps too late but he wanted to try. The work on the executive transfers was almost finished. With a bit of luck, Sone might still get to hear his call from upstairs.

  News continued to flow in. That afternoon Shindo received a call from Mizutani in the crime lab.

  ‘We got the model of the word processor.’ The man’s usual tone was mixed with a hint of excitement, even pride. ‘It’s a Brand Z. Model 36. Only released a few months back.’

  ‘I see. Good work.’

  ‘It was blind luck more than anything else. One of the subsidiaries came up with this new typeface, just for the Model 36.’

  ‘Typeface?’

  ‘It’s like a design, a blueprint for the characters. They worked out a way of keeping the hiragana nice and round, even when they’re small. That’s what gave it away.’

  ‘This is good. I owe you a favour.’

  Mizutani continued as though he hadn’t heard the pleasantry. ‘There’s another thing you might find interesting. You remember the numbers six and nine had a gap between
them?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘That means whoever typed the letter didn’t know how to adjust the typeface so the numbers come out without the gap. Could be because it’s a new model. Or it could be that whoever did this isn’t very . . . well, very savvy with this kind of thing.’ Mizutani was uncharacteristically talkative; it was clear he was in a celebratory mood.

  Shindo told Takegami he was going out then set off for home.

  He was in high spirits. The claims made against Sone had turned out to be false and he now had the model of the word processor. The case would be closed if the misfit Mitsui was discovered to own a Model 36. Now they had the make and model, they could investigate the shops that sold them. Shindo had to make double sure that Yanagi understood he wasn’t to do anything reckless.

  Time to rein him in.

  A familiar voice began to relay the details of the raid on Mumu. Yamamoto played up the sense of sleazy indignation as he outlined how the five women who worked at the bar had been robbed of their passports, how they’d been forced to live cramped together in a small tatami room. He mentioned Yaeko Kato but went on to name the ringleader as Sasaki, a woman of forty-six.

  Huh.

  The plumpish woman in the kimono came to Shindo’s mind. It was obvious, in retrospect. Sasaki had been manipulating Yaeko from the shadows. She was the mama-san.

  ‘But that’s . . .’

  The mama-san. Shindo’s mind lurched. It would be only natural, on seeing Sasaki for the first time, to conclude that she was the proprietress. Yet one man had reached a different conclusion.

  Shindo felt a sudden dizziness, followed by the sensation of everything falling neatly into place. The misfit was gone. In his place stood the informant, the man who had set his sights on Sone. Shindo parked his car and made his way slowly up the stairs. His stomach convulsed under the full weight of his fury.