Authors: Hideo Yokoyama
Maybe she’d changed her mind . . .
‘This is Futawatari.’
You had to call right now, didn’t you?
The thought shot right through him.
‘What is it?’
‘Can I help with anything?’
Mikami was thrown. He waited for Futawatari to continue.
‘I heard about the kidnapping. Is there something I can do to help?’
‘No,’ he said, his thoughts picking up speed. ‘Got time on your hands?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘You sure about that?’ Mikami’s anger was flaring up. ‘Didn’t go as planned, huh?’
‘What?’
‘Admit it. You failed. You didn’t achieve anything.’
Mikami had meant the words to be a knockout blow, but Futawatari was unshaken when he replied.
‘I’ll admit, there was some miscalculation on my part.’
Miscalculation? The commissioner’s visit had been crushed by a twist of fate, a kidnapping. Was he saying he’d failed to take the possibility into account?
‘You flatter yourself. A miscalculation . . . that’s a joke. How the hell do you account for something like this in your plans?’
‘At least it ended well.’
What?
A face poked out from behind the partition; Suwa, with an urgent look. Mikami held up a hand to say he was hanging up. He spoke into the phone.
‘You’re not needed here. Go and clean the office or something.’
Suwa started to speak the moment Mikami ended the call.
‘The press – they’ve signed the agreement. The first announcement is scheduled for 11 p.m.’
It marked the beginning of a long night.
They shut the doors and drew blackout curtains over the windows to prevent light from leaking out. Two hundred and sixty-nine – the total number of reporters Administration had admitted to the venue.
Mikami was on the stage with Ochiai.
Testing . . . testing . . . testing.
His voice crackled slightly over the wireless microphone. Kuramae, over at the entrance, raised a hand to signal that he could hear. His voice was audible throughout the room.
‘My name is Mikami, press director for the police headquarters.’
He was blinded the moment he opened his mouth. The herd of cameramen at the front had, as though conducting testing of their own, all started taking photos at once.
He took a deep breath.
‘Eleventh of December. 23:00 hours. We hereby convene our first press conference regarding the case of a kidnapping and ransom in Genbu City, in accordance with the rules and regulations stipulated in the Press Coverage Agreement. Superintendent Ochiai – Second Division Chief – will chair proceedings. We appreciate in advance your cooperation and assistance while the agreement remains in effect.’
Huh?
A voice came from directly behind the line of cameramen.
What do you mean, the chief of Second Division? Bring us the director, or the chief of First!
The man had a goatee, and looked to be in his mid-forties. Mikami didn’t recognize him, but Akikawa was there next to him. Slick was there, too, the man who’d been with Tejima. It was the
Toyo
.
Mikami whispered to Ochiai: ‘Ignore him and go ahead.’ The twenty-seven-year-old superintendent nodded, before taking his place at the centre of the long desk. Side parting. Broad forehead. Intelligent eyes. He looked honest. It was the only positive; probably his only lifeline. Mikami noticed he was trembling. Itokawa, the assistant chief of Second Division, had previously told him that Ochiai tended to crack under pressure, that he was prone to panic.
‘Thank you. I hereby begin our first announcement.’
His voice was a little high-pitched. A rustling spread through the room. Even the sound of notebooks opening seemed to carry weight when everyone did it at once. Ochiai looked down at the piece of paper in his hands.
‘For a general overview of the case details, please refer to the summaries in your hands. At the current time, there have been no further developments in the case or the surrounding investigation. Six hundred officers are engaged on work pertaining to the preliminary investigation. Five to seven detectives are already in the victim’s home, working hard on solving the case.’
Ochiai’s head came back up, the look on his face saying he had finished.
The room was silent.
That’s it?
They all wore the same expression. Mikami hurried from where he stood at the edge of the stage to stand behind Ochiai.
Flesh it out a little, give them some more detail.
He didn’t get the chance to voice the words in his head.
‘Thank you.’
Ochiai was getting to his feet.
‘The next announcement is scheduled for 01:00 hours.’
Is this some kind of joke?
It was the only sentence Mikami
could make out. The floor started to rumble; the entire room shook as the uproar hit the stage. The cries were sharp, almost physically painful, and unrelenting, no matter how much time passed.
Ochiai was in his seat again, his knees having given way. All the colour had drained from his face. No doubt his mind was blank, too. Mikami tried whispering to him. After getting no response, he tried shouting into the man’s ear.
Read the outline!
Ochiai’s hands shook as he leafed through what he had. Mikami looked down, then away, in shock. The sheets were empty. All they contained was the blank template Suwa had put together. Arakida really had gone through with it. They’d given him nothing. Ochiai was a puppet.
Mikami took hold of the wireless microphone, but no words came out. He knew he’d just make things worse. Whatever he said, it would be like petrol on a fire. His only job was to stand there and bear the brunt of the shouting and jeering.
A hand shot up. From the
Toyo
camp. It was Akikawa. Not to attack. It looked like an offer of help. Mikami thought he heard something . . .
microphone
. Acting on instinct, Mikami jumped from the stage and made his way through the cameramen. He held the mic out like a baton, his eyes meeting Akikawa’s. Their gaze seemed abnormally strong. Akikawa clasped his hand around the mic then turned away to face the gathered reporters.
‘My name is Akikawa, I’m with the
Toyo.
We represent the Press Club here in Prefecture D.’ He repeated this three times before the noise began to subside. ‘I understand your anger. For a long time, the Media Relations division here has left a lot to be desired. We have been forced time and again to demand changes in policy.’
A chill ran down Mikami’s back. Did he intend to stir them up even more?
An olive branch
. Was there no room for such things in his current state of mind?
‘It goes without saying that them sending us the Second
Division Chief is just another example of this. As representative of the Prefecture D Press Club, I intend to lodge an immediate complaint and force them to send the Criminal Investigations Director or First Division Chief.’
He was drunk on adrenalin. The full extent of the man’s ego, only glimpsed on an everyday basis, was coming out.
‘At the same time, it would be a waste for us to let the first announcement end like this. It would waste important time. As representative for the Prefecture D Press Club, I would like to propose that we be patient at this time – use it to ask the questions we need answers to. We must find out the details of the kidnapping. Do you agree?’
His voice echoed off the walls. After a pause, Goatee and Slick began to clap at either side, their expressions nominally supportive of their subordinate’s effort. This caught and scattered clapping spread through the room.
‘Okay.’
Akikawa turned forwards again. He levelled his gaze on the stage and Ochiai. He looked desperate, as though starved of oxygen. It wasn’t his ego. Nor was he hoping to offer a way out. He was defending the honour of the local press. But it was too dangerous. Whatever Akikawa’s intention, if the announcement were to turn into a Q&A session . . .
‘Chief Ochiai. I propose to open with a few questions from the Prefecture D Press Club. I will then pass the mic around for more questions. Is this acceptable?’
Mikami wanted to step in, but he had no plausible grounds for doing so. His hands were tied.
Akikawa took a deep breath. ‘If you could start by explaining the headquarters’ thoughts regarding the case. What is your stance on the possible connection to the Shoko kidnapping from fourteen years ago?’
‘C . . . connection?’
The response was weaker than he’d feared.
‘We know the kidnapper copied the wording during the call. Putting aside the possibility of a hoax, do you or do you not believe a connection exists between the two cases?’
‘We can’t say . . . at this juncture.’
‘Meaning you have nothing to actually prove a connection?’
‘I believe so . . . although it’s not certain as yet.’
‘Okay, now we need some specifics.’ Akikawa waved the sheet containing the overview. ‘This is far too generalized, nowhere near enough. We need to know the details you’ve learned from the girl’s parents; their financial situation, work record . . .’
Ochiai flicked ineffectually through the summary in his hands. ‘Uhh . . . we haven’t received any reports on that as yet.’
The room broke into a murmur. Goatee and Slick were frowning.
Akikawa was showing signs of distress.
Just give me a proper answer.
His expression was pleading.
‘Have you had anything from the kidnapper? Another call, for example?’
‘No.’
‘Where were the first two calls made?’
Again, Ochiai’s eyes fell to his papers. Mikami felt a shudder.
From inside the prefecture.
If Ochiai gave an answer like that, the reporters would riot again. His only chance was to keep saying ‘Nothing reported’. Mikami held up a no-go sign. Ochiai was still flicking through the pages.
Look at me. Look at me.
Akikawa’s breathing was heavy in the mic. ‘All we have on this is “Prefecture D”. Where in the prefecture? You must have finished checking with DoCoMo . . .’
The question could become the olive branch they’d needed. It could become the final blow.
Ochiai looked up. He had the terrified look of a man cornered.
‘I . . . don’t know.’
Then bring us someone who does!
The shout became a signal for
the room to bare its teeth. Countless jeers came together, blasting hot air towards the stage. Ochiai’s honest appearance was no longer of any use. He looked afraid.
That’s enough, surely. Give it up!
Some of the shouts were aimed at Akikawa. Goatee turned to him with a look of disgust.
What have you been teaching them?
‘One more question!’
Akikawa refused to give up the microphone. His neck and ears were bright red; he looked despairing.
‘Chief Ochiai, is the kidnapping a hoax?’
For the second time, he repeated himself three times. This time, the shouts didn’t die away.
He’s wasting our time! Call yourself a representative? Why don’t
you
go and fetch the director!?
‘Chief Ochiai, it’s imperative that you answer this. Does the Investigative HQ really suspect the kidnapping is a hoax? Yes or no?’
‘I don’t know at this—’
‘That is not satisfactory. You’re here representing them – answer the question. Is this a hoax perpetrated by Kasumi Mesaki?’
The question came out as an inhuman wail. The tumult dropped to a minimum. All ears were trained on Ochiai, awaiting his response.
Ochiai’s gaze was hovering in mid-air. The microphone picked up a murmuring.
‘Kasumi . . . Mesaki . . .?’
Akikawa froze. His eyes stretched open, incredulous.
Mikami looked up at the ceiling.
Unbelievable.
Ochiai hadn’t even recognized the name. ‘C’ was the only name he’d been given.
They’re in violation of the agreement!
The noise level shot to maximum in under a second. Everyone was on their feet. Only one man stood out – Akikawa. His shoulders were slumped, as though under heavy rain. The microphone was limp at his side.
They had escaped to the Prefectural HQ.
The next announcement is scheduled for 01:00
. With that, they had taken flight. Suwa had manned the front while Mikami and Kuramae had supported Ochiai, one on each side of him as they’d guided him through the room. One of Kuramae’s jacket pockets had been torn; Suwa had lost an armband. Ochiai had disappeared back into the Investigative HQ, smoothing down his dishevelled hair. Mikami had been refused entrance, the number of guards on the door bumped up to six. Getting Matsuoka was out of the question: he was out on the front line. That left Arakida; getting him to make the announcements was their only hope of salvaging the situation. But he refused to break his golden rule of holding the fort; they couldn’t even get a meeting, notwithstanding Mikami’s attempts to threaten Mikura, and the local reporters’ endeavours to use the sheer force of their number to get through the guards.
Ochiai ended up holding the one o’clock announcement. He was only able to do this because the Investigative HQ had given him a little more information on the girl’s family.
Masato Mesaki had 7 million yen in savings. He’d inherited land – thirty square metres in size – and taken out a twenty-year loan to build the house they lived in. He leased out the ground floor of a building in the city, where he ran a store specializing in sports equipment. Until ten years ago, he’d been a salesman for a car dealership that sold luxury imported cars.
Mutsuko Mesaki was the elder sister in a relatively well-off agricultural family; she had no work history. Her family was going to help them with part of the ransom money.
Kasumi Mesaki’s school attendance amounted to thirteen days only in the first term of the year, and none at all in the second term. She’d left the house on the night of the 9th, a little after 8 o’clock. She’d been wearing a leopard-skin coat, and hadn’t been seen since.
Things held for the opening ten minutes. But once Ochiai had finished reading out the notes, he returned to being an empty vessel. He failed to give an answer to even a single question properly. Making it worse was his stubborn refusal to use names, still referring to the members of the family as A, B and C.