You can get it done before they get back.
He ordered some udon then sat at his desk and lifted the screen of his word processor. He set about drafting the question for Misaki. The usual format would be to open with some commentary on the state of road safety in general then move on to discuss the hit-and-run case:
An increase in traffic has brought about an equivalent rise in dangerous driving. I do not take any joy in saying this, but I believe there has been a gradual yet consistent decline in the standards we uphold for our . . .
Tsuge made the finishing touches as he ate his lunch. He stamped the document, checked it once more then added phonetics to help with the more difficult characters.
Good.
Tsuge asked Aiko, back from lunch, to make some copies then left the Secretariat once this had been done. He handed the paper to Transport Guidance and Planning and asked them to put together a response for the captain.
Misaki will like this.
Feeling more at ease, Tsuge returned to the office just as a call came in from the assemblyman.
‘Tsuge, how’s it coming along?’
‘I think I’ve found something suitable. I’ll bring you the paper tomorrow.’
‘Fantastic. Much appreciated.’
‘Not at all.’
‘I guess I should repay the favour. Here, let me give you some news.’
‘News?’
‘I take it you know Ukai?’
Assemblyman Ukai. Vice-representative for the New Wave Party, the second-largest conservative faction.
‘The assemblyman?’
‘Yes. So, anyway, I heard he’s sitting on a time bomb.’
‘A bomb?’
‘Indeed. One he plans to set off during the questions. Seems it’s for the police.’
Tsuge felt his hair stand on end.
2
Tsuge tried not to stumble as he scrambled down the underground passage. He raced into the room next to the entrance of the assembly and, gasping for air, scanned the list of questions a second time. He found Ukai’s name. Environmental hormones. Support for Small and Medium Businesses. Two subjects, and nothing to indicate any questions for the police. Was Ukai planning to ask something without telling them first? Something that was potentially explosive? Tsuge couldn’t stop a shiver from running down his spine. He saw an image of the captain, alone in the assembly hall, lost for words. For a man like Tsuge, whose role was to manage relations with the prefectural assembly, it signified nothing less than the end of his career. What could Ukai be planning to ask? And why would he want to attack the Prefectural HQ?
Revenge.
There was a reason for Tsuge’s gut feeling. Ichiro Ukai. Fifty-six. Elected for five straight terms and having served as vice-chairman in the assembly, the man was a key figure in local government. Despite this, his faction had been investigated on charges of bribery during the last election, charges which had resulted in the arrest of fifteen members of his campaign. While the investigation had been instigated by the Office of the District Prosecutor, Second Division had still taken it as a badge of pride to raid, for the first time, the camp of a man as high-standing as Ukai. For Ukai, the number-two man in the conservative factions, the investigation would have been a calamity, and it was hard to imagine the anger and humiliation he must have felt at having his reputation dragged through the mud.
Even so, to actually seek revenge . . .
There was a delicate balance of power between the assembly and the force. While they were outwardly cooperative, each had the strength to keep the other in check, the police by investigative means, the assembly by legislative. Each worked to suppress the other. And while this promoted a certain rivalry, the hoped-for outcome was peaceful cohabitation, just as it was with any nuclear deterrent. What, then, would happen if someone in the assembly chose to act on a personal grudge? The police would retaliate during the next cycle. The assembly would respond by flexing its legislative muscles, launching a counterstrike. The chain of reprisal would continue ad infinitum. Such an arrangement would benefit nobody. It was because this was fully understood that such actions were considered taboo.
But Ukai was planning something nevertheless.
That left the question of scale. What had he managed to lay his hands on? Had he perhaps dug up an illegal flow of funds? Some kind of corruption? Found some dirt he could pin on a member of the executive? It was now Tsuge’s number-one priority to find out what it was. Only then could he enter negotiations with a view to defusing the situation, or, failing that, begin to formulate a viable response.
Tsuge set off for the club room belonging to the New Wave Party. He put his head around the door and looked inside. Ukai didn’t seem to be there. He saw Sakuma, sitting by himself at the back of the room, and hurried over.
‘Assemblyman.’
‘Tsuge.’
At forty, Sakuma was currently in his second year with the assembly. He was modest, despite his formidable intellect. Tsuge took a seat beside him. He already had something he wanted to ask the man, so decided to open with that.
‘Will you be needing anything from the police for your question on the elderly?’
‘Possibly, yes. I was going to ask for some information on suicides. Would that be something—’
‘First Division, Autopsy. They can help with that; they manage the numbers.’
‘Perfect. Do they keep notes on the underlying reasons?’
‘I think so, in most cases. I’ll check on that and get back to you.’ Maintaining his expression, Tsuge lowered his voice. ‘I’m actually looking for Assemblyman Ukai. Do you know if he’s in today?’
‘I haven’t seen him, no, although it’s possible he’s upstairs.’
Tsuge brought his voice down to a whisper. ‘I heard he’s planning to ask something police-related.’
‘Yes, I think I remember him saying something like that.’
‘Do you know what he’s planning to ask?’
‘He said you wouldn’t like it, but, no, he didn’t give me any details.’
So it was true. Ukai had something he was planning to use against the force.
‘I’ll ask if I see him. Can’t have you worrying too much.’
‘Thank you. That would be a great help.’ Tsuge bowed his head and told the man he’d call later that night. He bowed one more time.
Next was the New Liberal Democratic Club. In the case of the assembly, it often happened that the opposition was privy to the same – or more – information as the party in power.
The trip earned him no new knowledge but everyone he approached seemed to know something about Ukai’s intention to launch an offensive.
I’ve got to find Ukai.
The decision wasn’t a hard one. Tsuge had no particular fear of confronting the man. He could be a little difficult, a little obtuse, but Tsuge had no issues with his type. In the course of the last six months Tsuge considered himself to have built a decent enough relationship with the man. Perhaps he’d missed something, or perhaps Ukai was more cunning than he’d thought. It would have to be one of the two, if he truly was planning something.
Tsuge climbed to the second floor and knocked on the door to the assemblyman’s study. There was no answer.
‘Assemblyman?’
Tsuge swallowed then pushed on the door. There was no one inside. A briefcase on the desk, however, told Tsuge the man was somewhere in the building. The door was half closed when something compelled Tsuge to stop. His eyes flicked back to the desk. To the brown and well-worn briefcase. It was open. Papers poked out from the inside.
No . . .
Tsuge had to catch his breath. He closed the door. In that moment, he heard a voice behind him.
‘Can I be of assistance?’
Tsuge flinched as he turned to see Ukai standing in the corridor, loo
king wary. The small towel in his hands meant he’d been visiting the bathroom.
‘Assemblyman. Sorry, I thought you were in your study.’
Ukai held Tsuge’s gaze, his pin-like eyes sharpening behind black-rimmed glasses. Tsuge felt a rising panic. It was as though the assemblyman could hear the thumping of his heart.
‘Come on, then, if you have something you want to discuss.’
‘Thank you.’
Tsuge followed the man’s broad back in. Ukai gestured at the couch but Tsuge set himself down on a chair instead. Ukai took the briefcase from his desk then sank into the couch. He raised his angled features to his visitor. ‘Well, what can I do for you?’
‘Actually, it’s about the upcoming cabinet meeting.’ Tsuge made eye contact, his gaze faltering slightly. ‘Someone told me you have a question for the police.’
‘That’s right.’
Ukai had admitted it without hesitation. He looked annoyed, but that was the man’s default expression.
‘Could I enquire as to the subject? It would help us to—’
‘Sorry, not this time.’
Tsuge stiffened at the unexpected force of the man’s tone.
‘It would only cause you trouble.’
‘Why?’
‘Because there’s no comeback from this one. Look, the best I can do is suggest you get your captain to brush up on begging for forgiveness.’
Tsuge felt himself shiver. It was clear now – Ukai was looking for revenge.
‘Now, if you’ll excuse me.’ Ukai took his briefcase and went out into the corridor. He pushed the button on the lift across from his study. The doors slid open.
Tsuge rushed in after him, barely making it.
‘Assemblyman. I need to at least know the subject.’
‘Oh, you intend to use the lift?’
Members only. Tsuge was only too aware of the rules.
‘Get out.’
‘. . .’
‘What, you think your job entitles you to this?’
‘Assemblyman. I just—’
‘Leave. Now.’
The doors began to close as Ukai pushed Tsuge out. He watched as the assemblyman – briefcase and all – descended gradually out of sight.
3
It was clear from the tension in the room that the captain was back. Secretariat Chief Shoichi Sakaniwa was in the visitors’ room to the right. One of the small room’s primary functions was to shield the captain, at least temporarily, from unwanted guests. The cups of tea on the table inside told Tsuge that Sakaniwa had just finished dealing with one such guest.
‘Can we talk?’
Sakaniwa glanced up from his notebook when Tsuge called from the door. His expression stiffened when he saw the look on Tsuge’s face. ‘What is it?’
‘We might have an issue, sir.’ Tsuge closed the door behind him and took a seat. He gave Sakaniwa a brief summary of events.
‘A time bomb? What kind of time bomb?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Can we change his mind?’
‘That might be difficult. He seems quite determined.’
Sakaniwa folded his arms and looked up at the ceiling. ‘We need to know what he’s going to ask.’
‘It could be some kind of dirt, sir. Maybe to do with the executive.’
Sakaniwa gave Tsuge a wide-eyed stare before looking away. Dirt. It was a catch-all word for the hidden misbehaviours of the force. There was some on Sakaniwa, too. Seven years ago, he’d drunk too much and laid into a taxi driver. The driver had been a high-school classmate of Tsuge’s, and Tsuge had stepped in on Sakaniwa’s request and convinced the man to settle the matter privately. Internal Affairs never heard of the incident, and Sakaniwa had maintained his position in the race to the top.
That spring, Sakaniwa had cleared his debt by bringing Tsuge into the fold. While such transfers were usually the domain of Administration, the man’s proximity to the captain afforded him certain privileges and allowed him to essentially handpick his staff.
Tsuge had welcomed the move. He’d been a dyed-in-the-wool member of Security, having spent his whole career in the department, but the Secretariat was special, the domain of the captain, and his sense of ambition had been tickled by the chance to work with the assembly. It would serve him well to become expert in its matters, to gain the confidence of its members, especially in the context of a force that was weak in its external relations. Sakaniwa had himself spent years working with the assembly. One of the main reasons he’d made it to chief of the Secretariat, despite his obvious lack of social nous, was because the captain, together with the bureaucrats in Tokyo, needed someone who could maintain the relationship between the assembly and the force.
Still, it was a double-edged sword to work with the assembly. While success guaranteed a bright career, failure was certain to end one.
‘If Ukai won’t tell us. . .’ Sakaniwa seemed to consider something for a moment. He looked Tsuge in the eye. ‘I seem to remember you have a contact in Internal Affairs?’
‘Yes.’
Inspector Shindo. The man had effectively been a go-between for Tsuge’s marriage, having introduced him to the daughter of a distant relation when they’d both been in Security.
‘I want you to see if he knows anything about this. If he’s hesitant to commit, tell him this is the direct concern of the captain.’
‘Understood.’
‘And try the assembly again, see if you can’t get some more details.’ There was a sudden buzzing sound. Sakaniwa jumped from the couch. The captain. ‘Make sure you stay on top of this,’ he muttered, fiddling with his tie as he rushed out.
Tsuge walked to the corner of the room and picked up the phone. He called Shindo and asked to meet on the roof. The usual play would be to visit his home at night but speed was of the essence.
Shindo had not yet got there when Tsuge arrived. He sat himself down next to the concrete viewing pillar. The cylindrical object was two metres wide and marked with the name of every city and town in the prefecture and the direction in which they lay. It was modelled after the original in the Metropolitan Police Academy, which pointed at the prefectures. When it gets hard. When you don’t know where to go. You come here and you think of home. Tsuge had been here just once, eight years ago, but he hadn’t looked towards home. He’d glared, instead, in the direction of Tokyo. He could still picture the vast blue sky he’d seen that day.
‘Hey.’
Shindo walked into view. He stopped and lit a cigarette.
‘You’re smoking again? That can’t be any good for your stomach.’
‘Isn’t much left to damage.’ There was something in his voice that suggested he’d started to let go. It was harder, since the operation on his stomach and his subsequent transfer to Internal Affairs, to see in this man the high-flying officer from Security. He looked as though he’d grown old suddenly. Maybe he’d given up his aspirations to reach the top. ‘Now, tell me what’s so important that you had to call me all the way up here.’
Tsuge proceeded to give him a quick summary of events.
‘Attack the police?’ Shindo repeated, sounding genuinely surprised.
‘Can you think of anything he might have been able to dig up?’
‘Nothing that’s new. Sorry, can’t think of a single thing.’
Shindo told him that Internal Affairs had nothing that could be pinned on the executive. If that was true, it was perhaps an organisational issue that Ukai had come across, something that concerned the force itself. It would be too much work to track down something like that. Of course, Tsuge would still have expected word that Ukai was sniffing around to have reached Internal Affairs, even for something like that.
Yet Shindo was adamant that they’d heard nothing.
Tsuge wondered if it wasn’t to do with someon
e in the executive after all. He knew there were other cases like Sakaniwa’s. It was possible that Ukai, with his reach as an assemblyman, had managed to unearth something that even Internal Affairs didn’t know about. And Ukai’s motivation was a factor to consider. The man was looking to exact revenge. He wouldn’t draw the line at exposing some past transgression and presenting it as if it were brand new.
At three o’clock, Shindo got to his feet. Looking off to the distance, he started to speak, quietly, as though to himself.
‘You could do worse than check in with Administration.’
‘Sorry?’
‘With the ace. It’s possible he’ll have something we don’t.’
Tsuge watched Shindo’s diminished frame get up and leave, seeing a different side to the man as he did so. Shinji Futawatari. The ace. As part of Administration, he specialised in personnel. He also held the record for being the youngest officer to make superintendent in Prefecture D, having secured the promotion at forty. Still relatively new to Administrative Affairs, Tsuge had hardly spoken with the man. Yet he couldn’t help feeling irked whenever the name came up in conversation. What had he done to be the subject of such universal praise? Sure, he was good at what he did. But his strengths were applicable only inside the force. How, Tsuge wondered, would he fare in the outside world? His influence meant nothing in the assembly, in the halls of government. Surely the project to rebuild the headquarters, left now to gather dust for three years, was a case in point.
Tsuge was still sitting next to the pillar.
I’ll get it moving.
He would be the one to rally the conservatives; with Misaki at the front, he would be the one to get the stalled plan back on track. The result? He would be the first officer in the prefecture to make superintendent in his thirties, bringing him ever closer to claiming Futawatari’s position as ‘ace’.
He walked back down the stairs, taking his time as he made his way along the corridor on the first floor of the main building. The door to Administration was open. A slim man with sloped shoulders sat at a desk towards the back. His peaceful, delicate features angled briefly upwards. Tsuge hadn’t been ready for the sharpness in the man’s eyes.
Prefecture D Page 15