Authors: Hideo Yokoyama
Masato Mesaki.
‘He owns a sports store in Genbu. The address is: 2-4-6, 2 Chome, Ota-machi.’
Mikami was concentrating on getting it all down. His writing was a mess. He got ready for the rest.
But . . .
He looked back up, startled. Matsuoka had turned to face him again. His hands were out of his pockets. What was wrong? What about the girl’s mother? What about – most importantly – the girl herself? C . . . the victim of the kidnapping.
‘That’s all I can give you.’
‘But . . . this won’t be—’
‘Did you not hear me?’ he threatened.
But it was too late to turn back. ‘Please, reconsider. The press won’t sign the coverage agreement without the girl’s name.’
Matsuoka fell silent.
‘If an agreement isn’t put in place, the press will stampede. Hundreds of reporters, photographers. They will get in the way of the investigation.’
Still, silence.
‘It’s a hoax, the girl’s own doing. I heard someone mention the possibility, back in HQ. I’ll give the names to the press; at the
same time, I’ll impress on them the importance of not releasing them publicly. Even if I didn’t – they understand that much. They would never think to print the name of a young girl.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why?’
‘Some things must never be spoken.’
Never be spoken?
Something felt wrong. Matsuoka had sounded as if he was cornered. Flickers of doubt resurfaced in Mikami’s mind. He no longer suspected Criminal Investigations of having staged the kidnapping, but he hadn’t completely discounted the idea that they were using it to their advantage. That they had realized the kidnapping was a hoax but were keeping the truth hidden, had decided to head up a full-scale investigation in order to force Tokyo into retreat. Mikami had to ask. Matsuoka was the most distinguished detective in the headquarters; he was like an elder brother.
‘You have proof it’s a hoax. Is that why you can’t tell me?’
Matsuoka didn’t answer. Maybe he
couldn’t
answer.
Mikami’s pulse was rising.
‘Tokyo taking control of Criminal Investigations. I feel the shame, too. But if what you’re doing here is taking advantage of some hoax – whatever the circumstances behind it – this investigation is nothing more than a sham – it’s heresy.’
‘There’s a phrase: “It takes a heretic to catch a heretic.”’
Mikami was sure he’d misheard. He couldn’t believe someone like Matsuoka had just said that.
Matsuoka chuckled. ‘Don’t look so grim. There’s the possibility the kidnapping’s a hoax. But we don’t have evidence to back it up. I’ve got people doing their best to find out, as we speak.’
‘Well, if that’s the case—’
‘Don’t push it.’ Matsuoka’s eyes glinted sharply. ‘I’m leaving the rest to you. Mobilize that pride you told me about, show me your office can handle the press.’
Mikami pulled back. Unable to meet the man’s commanding
gaze, his eyes fell to Matsuoka’s torso.
I’m leaving the rest to you.
The words had struck him hard. It felt like someone pulling him out of a dream.
Of course.
Matsuoka had given him all he needed. Mikami had obtained what he’d come for. A name – Masato Mesaki. And an address. The rest – the names of the wife and daughter – they could find out for themselves. He didn’t think Matsuoka had given the order, but the words had made the decision for him.
He checked his watch. Ten minutes past eight.
Get a move on
. Right now, the most important task was to speed back to the Prefectural HQ. Mikami looked Matsuoka square in the face. He kicked his heels together and bowed.
‘Thank you, sir. I’ll be on my way.’
‘Before you go, I also have a request.’
He hadn’t expected that.
A request?
‘I’d like to borrow Minako for the day, tomorrow.’
His surprise became astonishment.
‘I don’t have enough female officers. I need someone with normal-looking hair, in style and length.’
For the Undercover Unit, for tomorrow . . .
Mikami struggled to come up with an answer. It was true that Minako didn’t look like an officer, or even that she’d ever been in the force. And she already had experience working undercover. She’d been in the Aoi Café when Amamiya had come charging in. Mikami wanted to say yes. He wanted to help the investigation. But it wasn’t his decision. Minako couldn’t do it, not in her current state. It would be cruel to ask her to help.
Mikami was searching for a way to turn him down when Matsuoka spoke.
‘She’s stopped leaving the house, right?’
It felt like a hand had grabbed his heart.
Of course
. Matsuoka’s wife would have told him. And she would have found out on the phone, from Mizuki Murakushi.
‘It’ll help her to get some fresh air. I understand her need to
wait by the phone . . . but I have the feeling she’ll come around if it means she can help someone.’
Mikami felt his head slump. The words were touching. He saw a vivid picture of Minako in his mind.
Helping someone. Someone other than Ayumi.
‘It’s up to you both. Tomorrow at 7 a.m. Officer Nanao will be in the assembly hall in HQ.’
Mikami bit down on his lip.
Nor am I clinging on to my past as a detective.
He had no way of retracting his earlier statement and had no intention of doing so. But he felt the ache nevertheless.
To work for this man, just one more time . . .
The tornado had moved on.
But it had left Media Relations scarred. The desks and couches had been pushed against the walls. Chairs were overturned. The floor was littered with paper.
Suwa was alone in the office. He looked transformed. His eyes were abnormally red, his eyebrows arched; even his close-cropped hair seemed to bristle with anger. Yet these were only surface details. He had the look of someone unbreakable, someone whose true potential had been shaken out of a deep sleep. He looked victorious, not worn.
‘Great work, sir.’ His voice was ragged, like a politician’s after a hard-fought election.
‘I think that’s my line.’
‘Mesaki’s name, it did the job. Turned everything around.’
Mikami had called in from the parking area in Station G. That had been fifty minutes ago.
‘What about the forecast for the coverage agreement?’
‘They’re on a conference call discussing it. It’ll probably take a while yet, but we should have it signed before the day’s out.’
‘Really?’ Mikami asked, genuinely surprised. ‘They’ll sign with just Mesaki’s name?’
‘Oh, they know the girl’s name. They did the research themselves, all of them.’
Right, of course.
‘Here are the names.’
Suwa held out a sheet of paper, saying he’d asked Administration to do the research in Station G.
Mutsuko Mesaki (42)
Kasumi Mesaki (17)
Saki Mesaki (11)
Ka . . . su . . . mi. Mikami read out the girl’s name. The sound seemed similar to that of Ayumi.
Masato. Mutsuko. Kasumi. Saki.
Lined up together, the names were unmistakably those of a family. Mikami felt a new emotion come into play.
How wonderful – if it did turn out to be only a hoax.
Her parents would be anxious to know their daughter was safe and well.
He shook his head.
‘How are Kuramae and Mikumo? Is the conference room ready?’
‘Yes – Kuramae managed to get everything together. He’s there now. We have ten people helping. Five from the Secretariat, five from Administration. Mikumo is in the underground car park, helping organize the cars from Tokyo. She’s got a few people from Welfare and Officer Development.’
Right . . . they’d need help to get everything done. Nanao would be in the assembly hall. Matsuoka had already told him that. Which meant Criminal Investigations must have called her in from Administration, to take charge of the female officers. The practical demands of the case were helping to bring down the wall between the two departments. After a delayed start, the Prefectural HQ had begun real preparations for the investigation into the kidnapping.
‘Have you seen Futawatari?’
‘The inspector? No.’
‘What about the conference room?’
‘Kuramae would have probably mentioned it, if he was there.’
‘Right . . .’
‘Do you want me to look for him?’
‘No, it doesn’t matter.’ Mikami changed the subject. ‘The conference room, is it filling up already?’
‘We’ve had more than a hundred reporters arrive from Tokyo. There’ll be more, too.’
‘What about our lot?’
‘Our lot?’
Suwa broke into a smile and chuckled. Unable to keep it down, he let this become a loud, open-mouthed laugh. It looked to Mikami as though he’d let go of a huge burden. He suddenly remembered his father’s wartime buddy, his exaggerated laugh.
Huh. Guess I forgot how to laugh.
Mikami gave Suwa a pained grin. ‘Yeah, maybe “our lot” was a bit of a stretch.’
‘Sorry, it was just . . .’ Suwa muttered. He rubbed his hands down his face. ‘The ground troops left for the conference room. The more senior reporters are out at the assembly hall. It’s locked, so they can’t get in. It shouldn’t be long before they give up and join the others.’
‘What about the timetable for our announcements?’
Suwa looked down at his desk. He leafed through a pile of hand-written memos. ‘Okay. When the agreement’s in place, once every two hours. We can add paper bulletins in between when necessary. We’re also supposed to hold emergency announcements if there’s a call from the kidnapper, or some other major development. That’s true for the duration of the provisional agreement, too.’
‘We can’t chair a conference every two hours.’
‘It’s only for the time being. This is the first day of the case . . . we probably can’t avoid it.’
‘Is this what the Press Club is asking for?’
‘That’s right. They’re asking for every last detail of the case and investigation, as we’re keeping the girl’s name anonymous.’
‘Two hours won’t be enough. If we gave them every detail we’d be in there until the morning. Do they expect us to keep the lead investigator there the whole time, under house arrest?’ ‘Ah, yes . . . there was that, too.’ Suwa’s expression clouded over.
‘Second Division’s Chief Ochiai has been appointed to make the announcements. That’s according to Criminal Investigations.’
‘They’re fucking kidding,’ Mikami blurted out.
During a kidnapping, tradition dictated that press announcements were to be made by the director of Criminal Investigations or the chief of First Division. The chief of Second Division was both lower in rank and from an unrelated office: what were they hoping to achieve in standing him before the press? And Ochiai was a young bureaucrat, with no experience of active field duty. He wouldn’t stand a chance fielding questions on a kidnapping.
Was that the plan? Were they going to usher him in with only a half-empty sheet of paper? The move was straight out of Akama’s playbook.
If you don’t know anything, you can’t say anything.
‘It won’t work.’
The reporters would run riot, hundreds of them. Knowing this, Arakida had still decided to offer up Ochiai. There was something he needed to keep from the press. Something he was afraid would slip out if he was pressed. That was why he’d opted to use a puppet.
But was that true?
Mikami no longer thought the kidnapping was a sham. And the idea that Criminal Investigations was taking advantage of a hoax had also been disproved, now that Matsuoka had told him they didn’t have evidence either way. Mikami couldn’t see anything that would break under investigation – no chinks in their armour.
His mind still felt clouded. There was something he couldn’t pin down, the vague sense that something was out of place . . . It was why he was still asking questions.
But it was just nitpicking without any evidence, without something tangible. Mikami was forced to accept that, apart from their treatment of the press, Criminal Investigations was doing a good job of managing the investigation so far. They were aware the case could be a hoax, perpetrated by Kasumi Mesaki herself,
but showed no signs of being negligent, of cutting corners. They’d sent First Division Chief Matsuoka to shore up the front line at Station G; they’d gathered detectives specializing in violent crime and had begun preparations to station undercover officers, all the while remembering to cooperate as necessary with the other divisions. The ransom was going to be delivered tomorrow. The case and the investigation would undergo significant developments. Yet Mikami felt no rush of anticipation.
Something has to be wrong.
He felt unbalanced, as though he’d sat on a chair with only three legs.
He couldn’t call it his detective’s intuition, not any more. And there was no sense of it being anything new, any insight he’d derived from his experience in Media Relations. Yet the idea persisted. That something was going on in the background.
‘Like I said . . .’ Suwa was on the phone. From the sound of things, talking to one of the smaller tabloids. ‘. . . the conference is only open to members of the Press Club.’ He was having to repeat himself.
Word of the kidnapping was already out.
Mikami took out his mobile and called Kuramae, who answered immediately.
‘Sir, that was great work,’ he said, sounding surprisingly upbeat.
‘Thanks – you, too. What’s the headcount up to?’
‘I’d say . . . over two hundred.’
‘Have you had any trouble?’
‘There were some fights over seating, but nothing major.’
‘I need you to make an announcement. Tell them there’s been a leak; get them to double up on security. We need tight checks on anyone coming and going. And make sure no one does anything stupid like order food in.’
‘Yes, sir. I’ll let them know.’
Mikami checked the clock on the wall. Already gone half past nine.
‘Thanks, I’ll be coming over soon.’
Mikami hung up. He was about to call Mikumo when Suwa got off the phone. He looked as though he’d overheard Mikami’s conversation.