Six Four (34 page)

Akama was conscious of the deadline. He’d planned to make quick work of setting up the gallows, to stay ahead of Criminal Investigations. He hadn’t foreseen that Amamiya would put up a fight.

‘You know what that means, right? He’s chasing us to get it done.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Well? Go and keep a watch on the place. We can’t go back to Akama saying he was out, now can we?’ Mikami said nothing; Ishii heaved a sigh. ‘It’s okay for you, you don’t have to deal with this directly.’

The line went dead, the signal apparently failing. Ishii didn’t try calling back. Amamiya didn’t figure into his idea of ‘directly’; nor did anyone else who had been involved in the case. He didn’t know anything about it, and he didn’t
want
to know anything about it. But even then, he was getting caught up in the waves Six Four was making. Mikami saw the image of Koda waving a red baton. He saw the tortured look on Kakinuma’s face; Hiyoshi’s mother, her face buried in her hands.

If the worst comes to the worst, it’s your fault.

Mikami pulled his bag over and opened it; he took out the writing pad he’d bought the day before.

It’s not your fault.

That was all he wrote. He’d never genuinely tried to save Hiyoshi.

Do a good deed, and it’ll find its way back to you.
It was something his dad used to say.
One good turn deserves another.
That was what he’d meant, but he’d lacked a proper education and always had his own way of saying things.

Mikami downed the rest of his tepid coffee, then got to his feet. He wasn’t even sure what it meant to be
good
any more, not really. Thinking she might be good luck, he looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the waitress, but she was nowhere to be seen.

It was just after 2 p.m., but the clouds that had gathered made it seem already dark outside.

Amamiya’s car was back in its parking space. Mikami touched the bonnet as he walked by. Already cold. He couldn’t have gone far, unless it was the wind that had cooled the engine.

Mikami pressed the buzzer and used his hands to press the creases out of his suit. There was a long pause, enough to suggest nobody was in. Finally, the door opened and Amamiya appeared from inside. He looked empty. The chalky, white skin. The gaunt cheeks. Although he did seem very slightly healthier than three days earlier; Mikami realized that this was because he’d trimmed his overgrown white hair.

‘Please excuse me for disturbing you a second time.’ Mikami came forwards in a deep bow. Amamiya didn’t respond. His eyes, obscured under his creased skin, silently asked him the reason for his visit. ‘Can I ask you to hear me out one more time? I promise this will be the last time.’

Amamiya was silent.

‘Please. It won’t take long.’

There was another pause before Amamiya let out a faint sigh.

‘Come in, then.’

‘Thank you.’

Mikami followed the man’s thin form inside. Amamiya showed him into the living room, as before. This time, Mikami asked before sitting down.

‘Do you mind if I pay my respects?’

He was ready to be turned down, but Amamiya nodded quietly and walked off into the altar room. It happened just as Mikami let the relief sink in – his eyes landed on a name he hadn’t expected to see.
Koda
. It was written on an envelope, as the sender, and was poking out of a letter rack mounted on the living-room wall.
The Koda memo
. Mikami knew it instantly. Koda must have sent Amamiya a copy of the memo he’d left in the director’s letterbox, no doubt setting down everything that had happened leading up to the cover-up.

That was the reason for Amamiya’s . . .

But it didn’t matter, not any more. Amamiya would have learned about the deception even if Koda hadn’t told him. Mikami had to apologize. He’d been lucky to get this opportunity to offer incense. Amamiya had turned to face him, holding the lit candle.

Mikami gave a deep bow then stepped into the room. The tatami was cold under his feet. He moved the purple floor cushion to one side, then knelt before the altar. The apology was on the tip of his tongue. He clasped his hands together. He gazed up at the altar. On the shelf were two photos, one of Shoko, the other Toshiko, each placed in front of the memorial tablets. Both were smiling openly.

Their expressions seemed to blur.

Mikami was confused and his sudden emotions caught him off guard. By the time he noticed the heat in his eyes, the tears were already flowing. He didn’t know what to think, or what it was that had made him burst into tears.

He took out a pocket tissue and dabbed it over his face. His fingers were trembling as he reached for the incense. It took him two, three attempts to lock them around one of the sticks. He was aware of Amamiya standing there, behind and off to one side. He reflected that no act could have been so convincing.

He held the stick of incense over the lit candle. His hands were
still shaking, making it difficult to catch the flame. Amamiya’s wife and daughter continued to smile. New tears came. They tumbled past his cheeks to hit the tatami. All he wanted to do was get away. It felt like an insult to their spirits, to be crying in front of them without even knowing the reason why.

He managed to place the incense so it stood up. He brought his hands together, but then held them up to his forehead. He did it to stop himself crying out loud.

He couldn’t manage a prayer. Not even the simplest of blessings.

He turned on his knees to face Amamiya. Keeping his head down, he placed both hands on the tatami. Through misted vision he caught sight of Amamiya’s hands and knees. His focus fell on the tip of the man’s index finger. The nail was black with clotted blood; it felt, for a moment, like a manifestation of Amamiya’s disgust.

The tears continued to flow. He’d forgotten everything he’d intended to say. He pushed his forehead on to the matted floor.

‘Forgive me. I’ll come back some other time.’

His voice was thick and clogged. He pushed himself back to his feet and gave Amamiya a quick bow before heading along the hallway to the door. He was already in his shoes when he heard the voice coming from behind.

‘There was something . . . you wanted to talk to me about?’

‘It’s fine. I can come back.’ Without turning around, he started towards the door.

‘Was it the visit you’d mentioned? The man coming from Tokyo?’

Mikami stopped where he was.

‘It’s . . . it’s fine. I’d be happy for him to visit.’

Mikami turned slowly. Amamiya was standing in the middle of the hallway, eyes still half down, but looking straight at him.

‘Are you sure?’

‘You said it would be Thursday? I’ll make sure I’m in.’

Mikami’s eyes felt dry.

He was heading for the city. For Akama’s home. His mind was trained on his destination; his emotions, still shaken. His tears had persuaded Amamiya to change his mind. They had been unexpected.
This is for Ayumi. For Minako. Do whatever it takes.
Had some part of him thought that way? Amamiya had been touched. He’d seen the tears as an apology and reconsidered his position. It was terrifying. Mikami had managed to pull it off without consciously doing anything. He’d persuaded Amamiya to come around . . .

His mood gradually eased as he drove away from the man’s house. Means aside, he had achieved what he’d set out to do. He’d clawed back the victory he’d all but given up on, and by the time the area of town containing the directors’ housing came into view he thought he could glimpse a little light poking through the clouds. A part of him felt relieved at his own shamelessness. Something had got into him. To burst suddenly into tears before another man. He’d never done it before; he certainly never wanted to do it again.

Calculation also drove his rush to report in to Akama.
An incompetent press director.
Time seemed to have ground to a halt between them since Akama’s explosion of two days earlier. And there was no guarantee he could reconcile things with the Press Club before the day of the commissioner’s visit. He was glad to have Amamiya’s blessing, but it meant nothing if the press were
to boycott the interview. That was why he needed to make sure of Akama’s reaction while his success with Amamiya was still fresh. If he failed to do that, his obligation to Criminal Investigations would rear its head once again. Now he’d set up the gallows, he wouldn’t let Akama keep him in the dark about the reason behind the commissioner’s visit – not any more. Criminal Investigations’ crime, and its punishment. Meeting Akama was the only means he had of getting to the truth.

The area containing the houses of all the directors was bathed in weekend quiet. Mikami parked on the road and walked the ten metres to the intercom to Akama’s house. He pressed the button.

‘Mikami? What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ Akama answered, obviously annoyed. He had no doubt given up on Mikami producing a positive result. Career officers disliked visits during their downtime, but Mikami knew Akama had called Ishii to check on their progress with Amamiya.

‘I’ve got some news, it’s about Amamiya.’

‘Hmm? What?’

Maybe the connection was bad; Akama didn’t seem to hear. There was a short pause before the front door swung open. Mikami didn’t recognize him for a moment. He was in a casual jumper with loose-fitting trousers, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses. Mikami’s eyes were naturally drawn to the man’s curved shoulders, his scraggy chest, which drove home the effect the man’s expensive, tailored suits and gold-rimmed glasses had on his projection of authority. When he spoke, however, there was no doubt who it was.

‘What’s wrong with you, coming here directly? You report through Division Chief Ishii.’

‘Amamiya has granted us his permission,’ Mikami said quickly.

Akama looked at him, surprised. He gestured for Mikami to step into the doorway but remained on the step above, donning a pair of slippers but showing no sign of inviting him further into the house.

‘The commissioner can enter his house. Offer incense at the altar. Yes?’

‘He gave me his word.’

A woman laughed from somewhere inside. Akama had probably invited his family from Tokyo for the weekend. He still looked irritated. Mikami was sure it was a reaction to having an underling intrude on his private space.

‘Okay. Will we have enough space for all the cars?’

‘There should be plenty of room in front of the house.’

‘That’s too close. Can you arrange it so the commissioner can leave the house then walk a little before the reporters come in?’

‘If they park on the road, that should leave enough space.’

‘Will the house be visible in the background, if we do it that way?’

Akama’s attention to detail served to bolster Mikami’s confidence. Tokyo was fixed on securing Amamiya’s house as the venue for their announcement.

‘What’s important is the picture for the cameras. Once the commissioner has paid his respects at the altar, he will emerge – looking dignified – from the house, then take the reporters’ questions outside. Can you set it up to work like that?’

‘It shouldn’t be a problem. If we make sure the cameras are on the road, the house should show up in the background.

‘
Should
isn’t good enough, Mikami. Make sure you rehearse it the day before. We need to be absolutely certain before we go ahead.’

Akama had yet to say a word of thanks. All the same, his frown had eased and it was clear he’d relaxed somewhat. It also didn’t seem like he was going to raise the issue of the proposed boycott. He was perhaps confident the issue would be rectified during the following day’s round-table meeting, when they would have a chance to discuss it
properly
with the branch heads. Unless . . . he had something else up his sleeve.

More laughter piped up from inside the house.

‘You’re dismissed, if that’s all you have to report. I’m supposed to be—’

‘Sir,’ Mikami cut in. He couldn’t let his chance to ask pass by. ‘Sorry, but there was one other thing I wanted to ask about.’

‘What is it?’ Akama shot a glance into the house. He was getting restless.

‘What is the commissioner aiming for with this announcement?’

Akama’s eyes betrayed a momentary indecision. But that was all. ‘What are you trying to say? You know, you’d do well to think before you speak, Mikami. The commissioner is there to answer the questions from the press.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Mikami knew he’d get nowhere making Akama angry. And yet . . . ‘Criminal Investigations is on edge.’

‘Oh, is it now?’

‘The situation might get out of control. If we continue to hold the Koda memo at their throats—’

‘The what?’ Surprisingly, Akama gave him a puzzled look. Was he pretending not to know? Or had he really never heard of it? ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. It would help, Mikami, if you made sense.’

‘But—’

Mikami stopped himself there. If he really didn’t know, it would only complicate the matter. What Mikami wanted to find out was the reason for the commissioner’s visit.

‘I just want to understand the whole picture, as press director. If you could tell me Tokyo’s aim in this, that would help a lot.’

‘That’s enough. Don’t you think it’s time you learned, Mikami?’ Akama said, looking as if he’d had enough. ‘What would be the point of your knowing, hmm? Media Relations is just a speaker on a wall. The broadcasting room is somewhere else entirely. Only a select few get to take the microphone.’

A speaker on a wall
.
A select few
. Not knowing how to respond,
Mikami dropped his eyes to his feet. As he did, a pair of white socks came sliding into the hallway.

‘Papa, are you still busy?’ came a voice.

The socks were attached to a little wide-eyed girl in her first or second year of secondary school. Her eyes caught Mikami’s and she darted behind a bannister, hiding playfully in the shadow. Akama’s stern façade collapsed.

‘I’m sorry, darling. Papa won’t be much longer now.’