Prefecture D

by Hideo Yokoyama

It dawned on Tsuge that this was the reason Mayuzumi had agreed to meet. Back in police school, he’d struggled to learn how to take down an opponent. He’d failed again and again, regardless of how many times he tried. Mayuzumi had shown him how to read the attack. Only then had Tsuge claimed his first success. Unarmed, he’d knocked a man with a dagger to the ground. Mayuzumi had worn a huge grin when Tsuge had, without thinking, reached out to shake him by the hand.

  Tsuge got to his feet.

  ‘I’m sorry you had to come all this way.

  ‘Tsuge, listen—’

  ‘I want something on Ukai. That’s all.’

  ‘Fine. Just sit down.’ Mayuzumi reached for a nearby pile of napkins. He took one and began to scribble something down. A name. An address. ‘Talk to him. Maybe he’ll be able to help.’

  ‘Thanks, I owe you one.’

  ‘Sure, whatever.’

  Mayuzumi looked up, his eyes full of pity. From Tsuge’s perspective, the eyes belonged to a man already two ranks his junior, one who’d be fetching balls until the day he hung up his uniform. Tsuge took the napkin and the bill and turned around. He needed to get away from the jazz, and from the man’s eyes, which were now trained on his back.

  7

  Tatsuhiko Seshima. Tsuge recognised the name; it belonged to a detective who had worked in Theft.

  He was fifty. A kind, sociable man, these traits had eventually brought him down when he’d ended up sleeping with the wife of a man he’d sent to prison for larceny. He’d been expelled from the force as a result. Thirteen years had passed since. He’d jumped from one job to another before finally landing himself a role as ‘strategist’ in Ukai’s electoral committee. Many of the political parties were firm believers in the benefits of having someone from the force on the payroll. They saw it as a kind of insurance. Yet the last election had shown just how little protection this afforded. Seshima had lost his job and currently worked as a salesman for an import-car dealer.

  Having learned this much about the man’s background, Tsuge left to pay the man a visit in City I. They’d already spoken on the phone. When he’d told Seshima he wanted to talk about Ukai, the man had invited him to make the trip over.

  His home was nicer than expected. A handsome woman in her forties, perhaps the larcenist’s wife, came in gracefully with a tray of tea. Tsuge realised he was nervous as he sat on the couch, knowing he needed to be cautious. Seshima might have been police, once, but he was a civilian now. There was no telling where the information might end up if he let it slip that he was out for something to pin on Ukai.

  ‘I warned them not to, you know. But Toyama was panicking, kept saying we’d lose the election unless we did something. That’s when they started throwing money around.’ Assuming Tsuge was there to discuss the events of the past, Seshima began to give him the lowdown.

  ‘Ukai knew about the bribes, of course.’

  ‘Ukai? Not at all. He was kept in the dark about the whole thing.’

  The defensive tone came as a surprise. Seshima had been fired from his role in the committee so Tsuge had naturally assumed he’d hold a grudge. That didn’t seem to be the case.

  ‘He might not look it, you know, but the man’s a coward. He was shaking when Second Division came through the door. I was, too, mind.’ Seshima’s lips approximated a smile, but it fell short of reaching his eyes.

  ‘I’ll bet he really hates the force.’

  ‘Ukai? I don’t think so. Now, I can’t comment on what goes on inside that head of his, but I’ve never heard him criticise the police. Not once.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  There was silence as Tsuge considered this. Seshima muttered something, a name.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Junichi Yamane. I don’t suppose you know what he’s busy with these days? I heard he’d switched to First Division.’

  Of course. Seshima would want to catch up on news regarding his old colleagues in Criminal Investigations. Tsuge decided he would humour him for a while. He didn’t know much about current investigations, nor did he recognise the majority of names the man gave him, but he managed nonetheless to satisfy his curiosity with a few inconsequential snippets of information. Tsuge felt himself relax. At least a part of Seshima still considered himself to be an officer of the law.

  ‘There’s something else I’d like to ask, if you don’t mind?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Do you know of anything that might compromise Ukai’s position?’

  ‘Compromise his position?’ Seshima looked up.

  ‘I need to find something I can pin on him. It’s a matter of urgency.’

  ‘Why? What happened?’

  ‘He’s planning to take revenge, for the election.’

  ‘No way. He’s too much of a coward to do something like that.’

  ‘He’s already made his intentions very clear.’

  With this, Seshima’s certainty seemed to waver. He seemed to weigh something up before he opened his mouth to speak again.

  ‘There is, I suppose, a woman . . .’

  Tsuge’s mind worked hard during the drive back. Kinue Taiyo. Works at a nightclub. Ukai had been involved with the woman for three years, and this despite the fact that his wife had passed away only a year ago. Still, it didn’t seem like it was enough. It could still be rationalised as a relationship between two consenting adults. The one sticking point, perhaps, was the fact that the woman was a worker at a nightclub. Even then, it seemed to fall short as a countermeasure, regardless of how he tried to present it.

  There was something else that had caught his attention – Seshima’s assessment of Ukai’s personality. Tsuge’s impression, after half a year of working with the man, was of someone who was difficult but practical. Yet he’d come across as headstrong and obstinate since declaring his intention to attack. And Seshima had described the man as a coward. None of the descriptions seemed to match. It was as though Ukai were in possession of three separate personalities. There was no doubt that he had suffered at the hands of the police. Yet Seshima had argued that the man lacked nerve, that he would never position himself against the Prefectural HQ. The latter, at least, seemed to tally with Tsuge’s own impression. Not once had he seen in Ukai anything to suggest that the man harboured a grudge. And yet he had declared his intention to attack. And now, some four years on from the election.

  Tsuge lit a cigarette.

  He crushed two, then three, stubs in the car’s built-in ashtray. The cabinet meeting was only three days away. Time was growing short, and he’d learned nothing of Ukai’s true intentions, or about the nature of the explosive in his possession. The question. The captain being forced to apologise. The numbers on the digital clock seemed, in that moment, like those on the timer of a bomb.

  8

  Tsuge was just as anxious and frustrated when September’s cabinet meeting was called into session. The question-and-answer session had, fortunately, been scheduled for the second day of the proceedings. That would be when Ukai would take to the podium.

  For the last three days Tsuge had made a daily pilgrimage to the assemblyman’s home in City K. He’d learned nothing new, except the name and voice of Ukai’s housekeeper. He didn’t even know if Ukai had genuinely been out or had just been pretending to be.

  ‘Have you told the captain?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Not for the first time that day, Tsuge and Sakaniwa had gathered in the visitors’ room to discuss the matter in private. There was no longer any choice but to accept that Ukai could not be appeased. Their next step was clear: find out the nature of the question. If they did that, they could at least try to draft a response, however devastating the revelation turned out to be. It would be awkward, nothing more than a stop-gap measure, but it would at least give the impression that the captain had made a considered response. They could not allow him to be blindsided, l
eave him to panic with nothing to say.

  The reputation of the headquarters would be in tatters.

  In addition to his gnawing anxiety, Tsuge found himself inundated with desk work. The captain had returned the draft responses, together with plenty of red marker pen. He’d devoted what seemed a significant amount of time to purging them of any words or phrases that came across as overly bureaucratic. That was fine, but the upcoming session was not the usual guarded affair. In it lurked a terrorist who hoped to destabilise the very foundation on which the Prefectural HQ stood.

  Tsuge and Sakaniwa reconvened that evening.

  ‘Here, perhaps you can use this.’ Sakaniwa slid a memo across the table. On it, written in pen, was an address and room number for an apartment in City D. Kinue Taiyo. The woman from the nightclub. Sakaniwa had, it seemed, been busy following up on Tsuge’s lead.

  ‘This is where she lives?’

  ‘The room’s in Ukai’s name, but it seems she stays here. This is the only chance we’re going to get. Use her to pressure him into talking.’

  Sakaniwa’s tone was that of a man backed into a corner. But Tsuge wasn’t doing this as a favour – he was in exactly the same position. If Ukai saw this through, they would both end up taking the fall.

  ‘Take this with you.’

  Sakaniwa pushed a paper bag into Tsuge’s arms. It contained what seemed to be an expensive bottle of spirits.

  Nine o’clock. Tsuge stood outside the room on the seventh floor of the apartment complex, paper bag in hand. Knowing Ukai wouldn’t let him in if Kinue was there, he’d opted for a time that was busy in her trade. An empty bracket hung above the door, the kind that usually housed a security camera. His fingers were trembling slightly when he pushed the buzzer. After a short wait the door opened to reveal Ukai in a bathrobe.

  ‘You again.’

  He looked as annoyed as ever but Tsuge thought he could see alarm in the man’s expression. He hadn’t committed a crime per se but Tsuge doubted there were many members of the assembly who could remain impassive when caught in a love nest they’d set up for a woman of the night. And yet it would still all be over if Ukai chose to slam the door in his face. Tsuge took a deep breath before he spoke.

  ‘Assemblyman, I just need a moment of your time. I’ll make sure I’m gone before she gets here.’

  Ukai removed his glasses and glared straight into Tsuge’s eyes. ‘Are you trying to imply something?’

  ‘Just ten minutes. That’s all I need.’

  ‘. . .’

  ‘Assemblyman, please.’

  ‘Make it quick.’

  Tsuge gave a deep bow of his head then followed the man into the living room.

  ‘You’ve got ten minutes, no more. Push it and I call the governor. Are we clear?’

  The phone in his hands began to ring the moment he finished speaking, causing him to tut.

  ‘This is Ukai. Uh-huh. Wait, just what the hell do you mean by that?’ The assemblyman’s eyes darted briefly in Tsuge’s direction. He got up from the couch and said, ‘Hang on a second, I’m going into the other room.’

  It seemed there was something he didn’t want overheard. Ukai turned towards Tsuge and told him he was free to leave whenever he wanted. He disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door.

  Left alone, Tsuge realised how nervous he’d become. What was the matter with him? Just get it done. He glowered at the bedroom door, noticing something on the floor as he did so. Ukai’s briefcase. It was right there, beside the couch. His pulse quickened. He looked back at the door, then at the briefcase. He gave the door another wary glance.

  He was moving before he even registered that he’d made the decision. Raising himself up a little from the couch, he began to shuffle sideways. He leaned forwards to listen in to the bedroom. Ukai was talking. Completely absorbed, it seemed, in whatever it was he was discussing. Tsuge sat back down. Once at the edge of the couch, he dropped one knee to the ground. Keeping his eyes on the door, he reached out for the briefcase. His fingers registered the cool touch of the surface. Quietly, he undid the clasp.

  There were documents inside. His heart was pounding so hard it was a struggle even to breathe. He grabbed at the papers with sweaty fingers. He flicked through them one by one. A paper on environmental hormones. Statistics on small and medium businesses filing for bankruptcy. A pamphlet advertising life insurance. Another paper. A handwritten memo. A list of names from his committee. More statistics. Another list of names, this one for some kind of reunion. More papers. More papers. Still more papers. There was nothing inside to even hint at what the man’s question might be. Nothing that had anything to do with the police.

  Damn it.

  There was a noise from the bedroom. Tsuge fell back on to the couch. In the next moment, Ukai opened the door and came back in. He seemed to cotton on to the fact that something was wrong.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine . . .’ Tsuge realised his back was soaked with sweat.

  ‘That’s your ten minutes up. Time to leave.’

  ‘I can’t leave, not until I know what you intend to ask,’ Tsuge said, his guilty conscience lending new force to his words. Perhaps it was the desperation. He’d seen nothing of the ‘time bomb’ in Ukai’s briefcase, which probably meant the details of the question existed only in the head of the man standing before him. ‘I need to know. Just a few words will do.’

  ‘You’ll find out tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s too late. It’s vital that I know today.’

  ‘Your problem, not mine.’

  Tsuge’s teeth cut into his lip. This would be what people called bloodlust. He felt a powerful urge to beat the man senseless, to drag him off the couch and give him a good kicking. But it was Tsuge who got to his feet. He crumpled on to his knees. His hands hit the ground. He told himself it was just an act, even as he shook with rage and humiliation.

  ‘I’ll be in your debt. I’m begging you, please.’

  He brought his head even closer to the carpet. His cheeks were on fire. Blood coursed through his temples. The few centimetres left between his forehead and the floor were all that remained of his pride. He let go of that, too. He thought he would choke on the synthetic smell of the fibres. His heart was already elsewhere. He saw Morio and the boy with the snake-eyes. He ran from them, too. He wanted the clear blue sky. The sky he’d seen that day at the viewing pillar, back when he’d still burned with raw ambition.

  ‘If you’re this good at kowtowing, you might want to consider running for election.’

  Tsuge’s head snapped up, only to see Ukai holding out the bag with the alcohol in it. The assemblyman flashed a grin.

  ‘I’ll see you in the hall tomorrow.’

  9

  The assembly hall, decorated in lavish marble and expensive wood, was bathed in a warm and dignified glow. Tsuge was in the waiting room behind it, unable to move from his seat. The question-and-answer session was already underway. Misaki’s voice was stately as it carried through the tannoy system on the wall.

  . . . the unforgivable cowardice of the driver has sparked outrage in our community and caused a great deal of sadness and fear. We must not allow this to go . . .

  Tsuge paid the man little attention. The room bustled around him as civil servants with stacks of documents hurried this way and that. They were standing by, having prepared a variety of documents to field any unexpected questions. Tsuge had nothing.

  Assemblyman Ichiro Ukai, if you would be so kind as to take to the podium.

  The tannoy shook with the deep register of the chairman’s voice. Tsuge held his breath. Time was up. Ukai was going to detonate the bomb.

  The assemblyman’s voice began to fill the room.

  The risks posed by environmental hormones, currently the subject of much attention in the papers and on television, are now too great
to be . . .

  Following the order of business, Ukai opened with a question on environmental hormones then moved on to another regarding policy and small and medium businesses. That was now drawing to a close.

  Ukai coughed once, clearing his throat. For a moment there was silence. Tsuge closed his eyes. His hands clawed into his knees. His chest seemed to constrict. Ukai was speaking again. Sucked into the vacuum of Tsuge’s mind, the words took a while to form.

  I thank you in advance for your considered response. That is all.

  What?

  Tsuge stared at the speaker on the wall. Was that it? Ukai had finished?

  We do, of course, consider the issue of environmental hormones to be one of the utmost importance. As such, we have put in motion plans to . . .

  The chief of Environment and Sanitation began to read out his response. Tsuge broke into a run. He inched open the door that led to the hall and scanned the area usually reserved for members of the assembly. Ukai was back in his seat, wearing his trademark look of annoyance. Leaning a little to the side, he was nodding as he listened to the chief’s answer.

  Ukai had finished. He really had finished.

  Tsuge’s feet dragged as he returned via the underground passage. He felt a mixture of relief and exhaustion, even as his mind busied itself with questions.

  Why?

  Why hadn’t the assemblyman followed through with his threat? Had he buckled under pressure from his committee? Had it been something to do with the call he’d taken the previous evening?

  Or . . .

  Tsuge was struck by a thought. What if he’d never had anything to start with? What if Ukai had only claimed to have something? Was that it? If so, for what reason? Maybe he’d wanted the police to panic. That didn’t make sense, though – his actions hadn’t had any impact on the force as a whole. They’d concerned only the Secretariat. Thinking about it, Tsuge realised that only Sakaniwa and himself had been affected. They were the only two who had suffered. Had that been Ukai’s intention? Again, the question remained: Why?