Six Four (26 page)

He bowed his head, bending formally from the waist. ‘Sorry to disturb you, ma’am. My name is Mikami, and I work for Administrative Affairs in the police headquarters. I understand that your son used to work in Forensics. Is he in, perhaps?’

‘Oh, I see.’ Her eyes seemed to double in width. ‘Police. What could you possibly want with my son?’

‘I need to talk to him about something that’s come up.’

‘
Talk
to him? I can’t imagine there is anything left to say, not at this stage. Really, we’re the ones who need to talk to you. Treating him with such cruelty
. . .
’

‘I understand your anger, ma’am.’

Mikami instinctively switched gear.
Hiyoshi had resigned because someone had mistreated him.
It was possible the resentment was unjustified, that Hiyoshi’s mother had simply chosen to ignore her son’s frailty; either way, what mattered was that Hiyoshi – and his family – were under the impression that he’d suffered maltreatment.

‘Yes, well, it really was unbelievable.’ The bitterness twisted her features. ‘He was working for NTT Computers, in communications! The police chose him to help with a new case, and, well, when he saw how useless you all were at that sort of thing, he thought he could make himself useful by joining Forensics. Then, of all things, that kidnapping . . .’

Perhaps thinking of the eyes and ears of her neighbours, she suddenly told Mikami to come in, pulling him through the wooden door. It closed behind them. They stood hemmed in
between the tall wall and a patch of head-height fatsia, the recess feeling damp and humid despite it being the cold season. Keeping her voice down, Hiyoshi’s mother continued.

‘It was unforgivable. To throw my son right into a barbaric case like that. Then to call him incompetent . . . after such a tiny little mistake. Don’t you people in the police have families? Was that normal behaviour for you? Try putting yourself in the shoes of the parents – we devoted ourselves to raising our son in a loving environment. He was devastated; the whole thing has ruined his life. How on earth do you intend to take responsibility for that?’

Mikami wasn’t sure how to respond. The virulence of her anger gave the false impression that she was talking about something that had happened earlier that day or the day before.

‘I’m here to offer an apology, and to talk to Hiyoshi if I can. There’s still a lot about what happened that we’re not clear on.’

‘
You’re not clear on?
’ Her shoulders came up, hostile, as she stuck her chin out in accusation. Her mouth was trembling. ‘Are you trying to tell me
you don’t even know
what you did to my son?’

‘Do you know who told your son he was incompetent?’

‘I’m sure you’re fully aware of who it was.’

‘Please, ma’am, if you could tell me. I am planning to make a thorough investigation into the matter.’

‘I don’t know – whoever was in charge at the time. I remember Hiyoshi telling me, “I made a mistake, I’m incompetent.” Ever since, he’s just been . . .’

He hadn’t told her what had actually happened.

‘You mean to say it was Hiyoshi himself who said he was “incompetent”, not somebody else?’

‘What are you trying to imply? He would never say such a thing, not unless someone had said it to him first. The poor boy was completely morose, he hardly ate. He looked terrified. It was one of your people. Someone said something to him, and it ripped his heart in two.’

Mikami prickled with each accusation.

‘Did Hiyoshi explain to you what his mistake was?’

‘He wouldn’t say a thing. Can’t
you
tell
me
? Did he really do something wrong? Or was it someone else trying to make him take responsibility for their mistakes?’

Mikami nodded to show he understood how she felt. He got the impression she’d already told him everything she knew.

‘I’ll try to ask him directly. Please, if you’d let me see him.’

‘Impossible,’ she snapped back.

‘Five minutes, that’s all I need.’

‘He won’t see anybody. Nobody at all.’

‘Nobody at all?’

‘Nobody. Not even family . . .’

She brought a hand up to cover her mouth. Tears formed in her eyes and they began to lose focus. Mikami held his breath as he waited for her to continue. In his mind he saw a number of potential scenarios. She looked back at him with reddened eyes.

‘Fourteen years. It’s been
fourteen
years. He’s been shut up in his room since the day he stopped going to the lab. He won’t talk to me, to his father. That’s how badly you people have hurt my son.’

Mikami looked up at the sky.

A recluse.

The worst-case scenario – suicide – had been in the back of his mind. But this hit him with even greater force.

‘May I ask how old he is now?’ Mikami asked, forgetting about work.

‘Thirty-eight. He’ll be thirty-nine next month. I don’t know what we can . . . How we can . . .’

Hiyoshi’s mother hid her face in her hands. The sound of sobbing leaked through.

The whole thing has ruined his life.
Mikami had assumed it was an exaggeration, but not now. It all made sense.

‘How do you communicate with him?’

She looked up sharply.

‘Just how is talking going to help? It’s not as though any of you care. Not after all th—’

‘I had a similar situation, with my daughter,’ Mikami said, cutting in. A pain ran through his chest, brought on by the knowledge that he’d said this in part to accomplish something for work. ‘It’s been hard on my wife. She lost the ability to communicate and—’

‘Did she come back out?’ This time, Hiyoshi’s mother interrupted him. ‘Your daughter. Did she come back out?’

‘. . . yes.’

The ache in his chest grew worse. It was true, she had come out of her room. But . . .

‘How did you convince her?’

The hunger in her eyes caused Mikami to flinch. She moved closer, stark desperation on her features. Mikami cursed himself for having brought it up, but it was too late to crush the woman’s hopes.

‘We argued, just let everything out.’

I hate this face. I want to die!

It’s all right for you! It’s okay for you to look like that, you’re a man!

Mikami felt himself going pale. His head started to feel numb. He prepared himself for the dizziness to come. He stood firm. It passed in a few seconds. He told himself he was fine, and continued.

‘We also took her to see a therapist. That helped her let her feelings out.’

Hiyoshi’s mother gave a doubtful nod, her eyes flicking to the ground. Her disappointment was plain to see. They’d had fourteen years. They would be long past any discussions of whether or not to take their son to therapy.

‘Are you able to discuss your feelings at all?’ Mikami said.

She seemed distracted. ‘Oh, no . . . Every day I put a letter under his door, but he hasn’t answered a single one of them.’

‘Have you tried taking a harder line on it?’

‘His father did, a few times in the beginning. But it only made things worse.’

Mikami’s eyes lingered on the woman’s frail-looking shoulders. He was caught somewhere between professional integrity and personal feeling.

‘Would you allow me to try, with a letter?’

‘Of course . . . thank you,’ she answered, hardly listening. Her eyes hovered impassively over one of the windows of the house, a room – no doubt her son’s – on the first floor, the curtains closed.

The family diner lacked its usual weekend bustle. It was already dark outside.

Perched on a bar seat at the edge of the counter, Mikami glanced down at his watch. Exactly five thirty. The waitress had already brought over the rice pilaff and coffee he’d ordered, but he ignored them and continued to sit, arms folded and staring at the sheet of writing paper. He’d bought a pad from a convenience store on the way and had already smoked five cigarettes from the pack he’d picked up at the same time.
I’ll drop it in your letterbox this evening. I’d appreciate it if you could pass it on to your son.
Those were the words he’d left with Hiyoshi’s mother, but he couldn’t think of a single thing to write.

He exhaled and leaned back into the chair.

He wanted to help
. Driven by that one idea, Hiyoshi had leapt into the world of the police.
He wanted to do good
. Mikami wanted to take Hiyoshi’s mother’s words at face value, but it seemed too nice a fit. Something else must have happened, to make Hiyoshi consider switching jobs after only one year. While not a godsend, it was possible he had seen in the police force’s ignorance of computer systems the perfect excuse to escape – painlessly – from his job at NTT.

But in Amamiya’s house, his confidence had suffered a terrible blow.

I made a mistake, I’m incompetent.

What kind of error could Hiyoshi have made?

Taking into account his role at Amamiya’s, it had to be something to do with the recording equipment. The first thing that came to mind was that he’d made a recording error. That he’d somehow failed to record the kidnapper’s voice during a call. Without doubt, that would have been a disaster. It would also mean that the unorthodox move of adding someone like Hiyoshi to the team had ended up backfiring. But it couldn’t have been that. Hiyoshi simply hadn’t had the opportunity to make that kind of error. The Home Unit had yet to arrive at the house when the kidnapper’s call came in. And there hadn’t been any more calls after they’d arrived – there hadn’t been a chance to make a recording.

Even so . . .

Mikami’s thoughts shifted abruptly.

What was Koda’s involvement in all of this? It was one of the key factors, but it remained completely opaque. What might have motivated Koda to draft the memo, supposing it contained details of Hiyoshi’s mistake?

Mikami knew nothing about Koda as a person. What kind of relationship had he had with Hiyoshi? Hiyoshi’s mother had suspected someone of trying to make her son take responsibility for their mistake. An unwelcome thought came into Mikami’s head. Hiyoshi’s failure had been due to doing something Koda had asked of him. Koda had made a show of consoling the man while actually intimidating him into silence. The possibility was there. There was just one thing keeping in check the idea that Koda had been the source of the outburst, and that was the impression Mizuki had of the man in her memory.

Hiyoshi was the key to finding out. All Mikami had to do was convince him to open up, and he would learn everything he needed to know about the background to the Koda memo.

Mikami put a light to his sixth cigarette. He took a drink of his coffee and, pen in hand, focused on the sheet of paper.

The pen didn’t move. Mikami’s heart and brain refused to
engage. Ten, twenty minutes ticked by as he sat there doing nothing. His forehead was slick with sweat. The more his impatience grew, the more he felt an emptiness spread through his mind.

To hell with this . . .

He had to admit defeat. Having failed to commit to a single word, he felt an overwhelming sense of powerlessness. He’d been convinced that getting someone to open up would be an easy task. He’d lost count of the number of criminals he’d broken in the interrogation room. He’d got them to expose their every thought, to confess all the lies, all the truths, to discard all appearances and reveal hidden layers. He’d used force: the unrivalled, overwhelming force of the badge.

Mikami focused again on the paper.

What he needed now was words, not force. Something genuine. Something that could reach out to a man’s heart.

I don’t have them
.

If he’d had even a fraction of that type of ability, Ayumi would never have grown so distant. Words were weapons; the razor-sharp tools of psychological warfare instruments that could lacerate a man’s heart. Mikami had never changed, even outside work. He wondered if he had ever made a genuine attempt to say something with the aim of actually connecting to another person.

‘Would you like a fresh coffee?’

Startled, Mikami looked up. He turned around to see a waitress, probably a student, standing with her head cocked to one side. There was something about the gesture and her smile that looked a little off for this kind of place – she was probably new.

‘That would be great, thanks.’

Mikami prodded the cold rice with his spoon. The waitress had looked a bit peeved to see the untouched plate. There was a phrase Mikami recalled whenever he couldn’t drum up an appetite. It was something one of his father’s old wartime buddies had muttered during one of his visits, a long time ago.
Every time I had
a meal, it was like a fresh start.
Mikami started eating, realizing only then that he’d forgotten lunch.
Right.
He decided to blame that for his sudden dizziness at Hiyoshi’s house. He ate about half of the rice then put down the spoon, leaving space for dinner when he got home.

He lit a cigarette. It wasn’t the fresh start he’d hoped for, but his agitation had subsided somewhat. He breathed out smoke. His objective side was staring at the truth. He wouldn’t be able to reach Hiyoshi. He had to forget about him, go after Urushibara and Kakinuma instead, keep an eye out for any news of Koda’s whereabouts. The white sheet glared at him from the side of the counter where he’d pushed it, but he knew he was out of time. If there was even a slight chance he would succeed, then maybe, but he couldn’t allow himself the luxury of clinging to a task he considered impossible. He couldn’t call that work.

He stowed the paper and pen in his bag and reached for the bill.

‘Would you like a refill?’

The textbook question chimed in his ears.

‘I’m good, thanks.’ Mikami said this without looking around; he heard a faint laugh. He froze, thinking for a moment she’d laughed at his appearance. He looked around. The waitress from earlier came into view next to him.

‘No problem. Just let me know if you change your mind, okay?’

This time, her tone was chatty. Mikami turned his head and looked her in the face. She wasn’t what he would call pretty. She had narrow eyes and a nose that pointed up at the end.