Prefecture D

by Hideo Yokoyama

  No one had noticed, of course, amidst the excitement of the arrest and the shop owner’s claim that the drawing was a perfect, spitting image.

  Why had he said such a thing to begin with?

  He’d feared the gang leader for some time. All day, the man rode around in a pimped-up car, stinking of solvent abuse. He’s trouble. The owner would have already suspected that something was likely to happen. Then the police had turned up bearing a likeness, saying the man in the drawing was the instigator of a theft. Maybe it was the shape of the hair, perhaps the contours of the face – something in the picture would have been close enough. The owner had become convinced it was the man from the gang.

  There was another factor, too, which had been a factor in the shop owner’s choice of words. The man in question had only ever bought pornography at the store. It was standard practice, in such cases, for staff to avoid eye contact to reduce the shame of the customer.

  The owner had never properly seen the man’s face, not up close.

  His words had set everything in motion.

  Forensics had been notified in the morning that the likeness had led to an arrest. Knowing it would look good for the division, Morishima had called Media Relations to arrange a press conference. When the photo of the man eventually arrived from district, however, he’d realised that the resemblance was scant at best. He’d panicked. The press conference was already set for the evening. He’d handed the photo to Mizuho and requested that she redraw the likeness. She’d refused. She’d told him she couldn’t do it, over and over. He’d lost his temper and shouted the words.

  This is why we don’t need women in the force.

  That was what had broken her. She’d never complained when she’d rushed to crime scenes in the dead of night. She’d always been the first to help carry the team’s heavy equipment. She’d poured plaster on footprints, ignoring the urge to pee even as her team mates relieved themselves by the side of the road. She had never once protested.

  Despite this, she’d been pigeon-holed as a ‘woman’. She’d been told she wasn’t needed.

  She’d agreed to do it. Her mind had been blank as her hands moved over the paper, mechanically following the method she’d been taught. Morishima had been overjoyed with the result. The reporters, too, had jumped on the chance to write up the story of her accomplishment.

  Mizuho alone had been crushed, hating herself for the deception. The next day she’d made it as far as the parking area but that had been her limit. She’d tried her best but she hadn’t been able to come into the office. She no longer deserved the uniform. She thought herself a disgrace.

  Morishima, the man responsible for all of this, now sat before Tomoko. He was smoking a cigarette but not enjoying it, tapping his foot just loudly enough to make it a challenge.

  ‘It was you who sprayed the perfume in her room.’

  Morishima had been spooked when Mizuho had failed to show the next day. He’d called the dorm but that hadn’t been enough to allay his fears so he’d headed there in person. He was afraid she might have left a note that detailed what he’d asked her to do. He would be in trouble if anyone saw such a thing.

  But there hadn’t been a note. He’d been relieved but had noticed a potential complication at the same time. He, more than anyone, knew about Tomoko’s keen sense of smell – he’d been the one, after all, to first call her Sniffer. He also knew that she was in charge of looking after the prefecture’s female officers. She would visit the dorm if she heard Mizuho was missing. If she did, she would notice the smell of his pomade.

  He’d left for the dorm at nine, a time when Mizuho’s absence could have still been written off as tardiness. Not only that, he’d gone there in person and gone into her room despite the ban on men entering the dorm. He’d realised this would make Tomoko suspicious so he’d opened the window to flush out the smell. Worried this wasn’t enough, he’d seen the bottle of perfume and sprayed it around for good measure. Finally, he’d cajoled Toshie into keeping his secret on the pretext that Mizuho would hate to find out he’d been in her room.

  He’d returned to Forensics, waited a decent amount of time then called Tomoko to give her the news.

  ‘Anything to say for yourself?’

  ‘This is a joke. You’re being naive.’

  ‘. . .’

  ‘We can’t have our officers wandering off each time there’s a minor setback. To be honest, this whole thing is really—’

  There was a sharp clap. Morishima’s eyes widened with shock. Tomoko’s hand was already back on her knee.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, sir.’

  She got to her feet. She’d already weighed up the risks. Morishima wouldn’t dare tell a soul that a female officer had slapped him in the face. She walked out of Forensics. She turned once on her way out but the man hadn’t moved from his place behind the partition.

  The meeting had done nothing to brighten her mood. It wasn’t just Morishima. There was Yuasa, too, and all the other members of Mizuho’s team. They would all have known that she’d redone the drawing. So, too, would the detectives who’d brought the man in. Not one of them had spoken up. From her disappearance to the moment she was found at home, no one had thought to say a damn thing.

  It was unnerving.

  The corridor seemed to shrink around her. Tomoko picked up speed, her shoes clicking loudly on the floor. She took off her ring and held it tightly in her fist. For the first time, she understood she had no choice but to make superintendent.

  10

  As she made the trip almost daily, the dogs and free-roaming chickens of the farm no longer seemed to regard Tomoko as an outsider.

  ‘You can take some time off. It’s been approved,’ Tomoko said, stroking the muzzle of the cow next to her.

  ‘I’m not sure that I’ll, you know . . .’ Mizuho’s eyes dropped to the ground. She was wearing denim overalls and oversized wellies. They suited her.

  ‘Don’t decide anything now. Take your time and think it over.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  On the day she went missing Mizuho had walked. She’d visited a café, a bookstore, another café. But she was a girl with a strong sense of duty and there was only so much time she could spend doing nothing. What she did next proved beyond a shadow of doubt that she was police.

  She decided she needed to know why it was that someone had claimed her drawing to be a spitting image of the assailant, even though nothing could have been further from the truth. Caught up in celebrating the arrest, she’d forgotten to ask who had given the statement. And the papers had described the man only as owning a shop, not revealing his name in case the gang sought retaliation.

  Feeling guilty for not having gone into work, Mizuho had decided she couldn’t contact anyone in the force. The reporter who’d given her the perfume had come to mind. She’d called him in his office and asked for the name of the shop. He’d come to see her in person. The Mild Sevens in the car had been his. Having learned this much, Mizuho had driven to Train Station M, where she’d parked, then walked into the shop. She’d been inside, talking to the owner, when the van belonging to Mobile Forensics had pulled up.

  ‘I was shivering behind a display case when you came in to buy those pastries,’ Mizuho said, showing the hint of a smile, perhaps the first since the day of her disappearance.

  ‘Silly girl. I could have bought you some juice if you’d just told me.’

  Anmitsu, soon, Tomoko told herself as she headed back to her car. She felt better now that Mizuho’s leave had been officially sanctioned. Especially as the green light had come from Akama himself. She couldn’t even begin to guess how Futawatari had made that happen.

  Futawatari, for his part, had not asked for a report after Mizuho’s return. He’d read the article several times. It was possible he’d worked out from the start that the likeness had been redone. That he’d conduc
ted some kind of investigation of his own. If that were the case, his true colours would be revealed come the next transfer season. Would he choose to punish Morishima for his actions? Or would he choose to overlook them, write them off as unavoidable from the perspective of someone in charge?

  For now, Tomoko had something else to focus on – the yellow folder that rested on the passenger seat. It contained her redrafted proposal to reassign the female officers in the prefecture.

  She would hand it in the moment she got to the office.

  She turned the wheel to join the prefectural highway, causing the eggs Mizuho had given her to rattle on the back seat.

  Briefcase

  1

  Once the morning had passed, you could hardly read without the aid of a desk light. While this was true for the whole of the Prefectural HQ, the ground and first floors that housed Administrative Affairs were particularly dark. The archives, which had been built just outside the windows, robbed them not only of sunlight but also of any kind of view. They’d been told to put up with it, at least until the new headquarters was ready, but a drop in tax revenues had meant budget cuts and the project itself had been put on hold for close to three years.

  Dressed in a suit, his steps tapping a precise rhythm, Masaki Tsuge made his way down the cold underground passage. There were two ways to get to the Prefectural Government from the Prefectural HQ: either cross the bridge over the national highway or head underground. Tsuge preferred the latter. He didn’t necessarily consider it a reflection of the way he worked but he knew he disliked the bridge and the way it left you exposed.

  Administrative Affairs. Secretariat. Assistant Chief. Inspector. Thirty-six. In charge of Assembly Relations.

  As he reached the top of the stairs, the government building came into view. With the tiles catching the sun, it resembled a vast office. The structure in front of it, an ultra-modern affair that looked like a concert hall, was the prefectural assembly. Both had been thrown up only five years earlier. Standing here served as a stark reminder of how the Prefectural HQ had been left behind.

  I’ll get the project moving again.

  Tsuge began to walk towards the assembly. Slipping through the revolving doors, he peeked through the door of the office to the right. Civil servants bustled around the usually quiet room, twenty or so hurrying from one desk to the next. They were busy with the preparations for September’s cabinet meeting.

  Tsuge called out to a man he recognised. They would all know why he was there, so there was little to explain.

  ‘Just remember these aren’t final,’ the man cautioned, handing across five stapled-together sheets of recycled paper.

  The questions.

  Tsuge set himself on a couch in the corner of the room and began to flip through the pages. Written inside were the names of those assembly members who were planning to take part in the question-and-answer session. Next to each was a box where they could indicate the subject matter. That was the reason Tsuge was here. During the meeting, the captain of the Prefectural HQ would stand as a member of the executive, ready to answer any questions about the police. Tsuge needed the information in these sheets so the police could draft his responses in advance.

  He traced his finger carefully down the page.

  Drugs and Legislation. This was in the box next to Assemblyman Oiso’s name. Tsuge jotted a memo in his notebook. There was a new drug that had recently made the news for being a stimulant and difficult to regulate under current legislation. Tsuge felt his usual admiration for Oiso’s keen eye.

  Misaki was next. Police. That was all it said in his box. Usually that meant he intended to ask the police a question but had yet to decide on the content. But this was Misaki, so it was probably worth doing a double check.

  Sakuma was the next name to be added to Tsuge’s notebook. The Elderly. His box was clearly marked. Considering his track record, the topic would probably focus on how to help the elderly maintain a sense of purpose in society. Such questions often touched on the issue of suicide, which would require statistics and background analysis. In such cases, the captain of the Prefectural HQ would usually be expected to comment once the director of Welfare had said his piece.

  Tsuge took a few final notes, feeling a sense of relief as he flicked the bundle of sheets closed. He hadn’t seen anything that was inflammatory, nothing that attacked the captain. Even the opposition appeared to have forgone their usual jabs. The economy was bottoming out and the resultant growth in issues such as bankruptcy and unemployment had no doubt left them with little time for taking potshots at the force.

  I should probably start with old-man Misaki.

  Tsuge got to his feet. Stepping out of the room, he padded down thick carpet, aiming for the cavernous room at the far end of the corridor. The New Liberal Democratic Club. Its use was reserved for the members of the largest conservative faction. Misaki did not appear to be present. When Tsuge asked after him, the female attendant told him he was upstairs. Tsuge climbed the stairs to the second floor. Assembly members who had previously occupied the post of chairman or vice-chairman were allocated private rooms known as ‘studies’.

  ‘Could I bother you for a moment?’

  ‘Ah, Tsuge. Perfect timing. I was about to call you.’ Misaki’s enormous frame looked as though it was part of the couch. The man had loosened his belt and sat with his zip half down, easing the pressure on the flab around his belly. His log-like legs were thrown over the desk. He was almost seventy but the eyes buried within his oily face contained the sparkle of a younger man’s. ‘You and I, we’re always in sync.’

  ‘Was it about this?’ Tsuge held up the notebook and the spot where he’d written ‘Police’.

  Misaki gave a satisfied nod. ‘What do you think I should ask?’

  ‘Do you have any preferences?’

  ‘I’d like something with . . . impact. Something that’ll be a hit with the locals.’

  The elections would follow soon after the cabinet meeting. Misaki no doubt wanted something that would help him earn some extra brownie points. Although . . . Tsuge brought to mind Misaki’s unexpected struggle during the elections four years ago, against a newcomer who’d come in with the backing of a local citizens’ group. And here he was, a seasoned politician, going out of his way to take part in the question-and-answer session. Perhaps he sensed danger.

  If he doesn’t have anything, maybe get him to ask about the delay in the renovation of the headquarters.

  That had been Tsuge’s plan, but he should perhaps reconsider. Whatever happened, he would need Misaki’s backing to get the project underway. Tsuge changed tack. The smart move would be to build goodwill, give the man a question that was in line with his own agenda.

  ‘What about drugs? I haven’t done anything on drugs for a while.’

  ‘Assemblyman Oiso has something on that. I think he’s planning to bring up the legislation in the context of new drugs that are hard to regulate.’

  ‘Well, that’s no fun. Do me a favour and think something up, would you? Put that sharp mind of yours to use.’

  As far as Tsuge knew, Misaki was the only member of the assembly who was willing to leave the content of his question to someone else. Not that he looked down on the man for it. Born into a poor family, Misaki had barely finished primary school. Despite this, he had managed in the space of a single generation to build himself a successful construction business then leverage his newfound capital to take a key role in the prefectural assembly.

  Tsuge found his drive attractive, and he liked to think he saw something of himself in the way this man had lived his life.

  What should he ask?

  Tsuge considered the options as he made his way back along the underground passage. Misaki would no doubt charter a bus to ensure that the seats in the hall were filled with his supporters. Tsuge needed something to impress them. Leaving the passage, Tsuge
recalled a fatal hit-and-run that had taken place in Misaki’s electoral district just two weeks ago. If memory served, they had yet to make an arrest.

  That might do it.

  He climbed the stairs of the north building. Transport Guidance was located at the end of the corridor on the second floor. Flagging down Assistant Chief Yoshikawa, Tsuge enquired how the investigation was progressing.

  ‘It’s only a matter of time before we make an arrest. We got the model of the car from a sample of paint. It’s a Bluebird. White. There are a lot of cars matching that description so it’ll take a bit of time, of course. I’d say around a month.’

  ‘Assemblyman Misaki wants to ask a question about it during the next session. Any problem if the captain tells him we know the car’s a Bluebird?’

  ‘I’d welcome it. If it gets to the press, whoever it is will realise they’re going to be caught. A lot of people turn themselves in at that point.’

  Done.

  The decision was made. Misaki would enquire as to the status of the hit-and-run incident. The captain would give a standard response, something about having officers on the case, about being committed to hunting down the culprit, but he would also add the flourish of the car being a Bluebird. For Misaki, that would be a win. The force, too, would have nothing to lose. The comment would pressure the perpetrator to come in, and Tsuge happened to know that the arrest rate for this type of case was close to a hundred per cent. The captain could mention that at the same time and secure some good PR for the force.

  Tsuge took some papers from Yoshikawa then made his way back to the Secretariat on the first floor of the main building. Despite the fact that this was his home in the Prefectural HQ, he still felt nervous each time he walked in. The captain’s private office was behind the door at the back. The lamp that indicated whether he was present was off. Even without this, the lack of bustle would have been enough to let him know that the captain was away from his post. He checked with the secretary, Aiko Toda, who told him the captain was out for lunch with the chief and the members of the Public Safety Committee. Looking at his watch, Tsuge saw that it was almost noon.