Six Four (43 page)

‘Really quite well, actually. The mouth is still a problem, of course. Should I get him to call you when he’s up again? Although I’m sure he’ll be getting me to do the calling.’ She laughed again at the little joke.

‘Actually, I wanted to ask whether I could come over tonight, depending on the director’s condition, of course.’

‘Oh! I’m sure he’d be delighted.’

The internal line started to ring on his desk. Odate’s wife seemed to pick up on the sound.

‘Okay, I’ll be sure to pass on the message.’

‘That’s appreciated. I won’t impose myself for long. I’ll call to let you know when I’m leaving the office.’

There wasn’t anything to suggest that Futawatari had been there ahead of him. Feeling a measure of relief, Mikami ended the call. He reached for the ringing phone, assuming it would be either Suwa or Kuramae.

‘Mikami. This is Urushibara.’

Mikami reeled with the sudden change. What the hell could Urushibara want? Two days had passed since Mikami had called him. Urushibara had found it easy to fend him away, but that had been before he’d learned the truth about the Koda memo.

‘What is it?’

Mikami was instantly suspicious, but that wasn’t all. A blast of animosity had forced his voice into a whisper. He was the man
who had buried a call from the Six Four kidnapper to cover up a recording error. The man who had broken Hiyoshi by blaming him for Shoko’s death. The man who had been promoted to captain, and remained unscathed even after he’d committed Koda and Kakinuma to a cycle of surveillance that had lasted fourteen years.

‘What’s the matter? Did I catch you at a bad time?’

‘Just tell me what you want. I don’t have the luxury of free time a captain has.’

‘Let me guess, Minako turned you down last night?’

That was as far as he got with his usual remarks. Mikami had been about to hang up when the man’s voice registered in his eardrum, suddenly tense.

‘What did you do to Koda?’

Mikami froze. ‘Koda . . . Koda as in Koda memo?’

He was stalling for time, but Urushibara kept coming.

‘I know you met him.’

Mikami was at a loss as to how to reply. He struggled to understand what was happening.
Impossible
. Could Kakinuma have reported in to his boss?

‘There’s no point denying it, Mikami. Answer me.’

Mikami knew he had to be careful; he didn’t want his reply to backfire. He saw in his mind an image of Kakinuma, of the man’s wife, the face of their young child in her arms.

‘You bastard . . . you’re not planning to play dumb, I hope?’

Mikami didn’t know what to say.

‘Talk! Tell me what you did to Koda.’

Just stay calm.

Urushibara’s the one who’s worked up. Not me.

‘I didn’t do anything.’

‘Quit the lies. Kakinuma told me he saw you.’

The picture was coming into focus.
Kakinuma had seen him
. That was the only thing he’d said to Urushibara.

‘Seen me? Where?’

‘Anywhere, wherever. Just admit to it. You went to see him – you went to see Koda.’

‘And what if I had?’ Mikami asked, leaving only the suggestion. He had regained his composure.

‘What did you go to talk to him about?’

‘Nothing I’d need to tell you.’

‘Why, you—’

Urushibara broke off, his breathing heavy in Mikami’s ear. When he spoke again it was as a detective.

‘You sent him into hiding. Right?’

Mikami blinked slowly.

As I’d suspected
. He’d lost Koda. Just days before the commissioner’s scheduled visit, Koda – the man who knew everything about the cover-up – had dropped out of sight. Mikami thought of the situation this would have put Kakinuma in. He’d lost Koda, the target of his watch; fretted over how to report it in – finally, he’d decided to give Mikami’s name. He’d told Urushibara that he’d seen Mikami approach Koda outside the supermarket, at the car park.

‘I didn’t send him anywhere, and no, I’m not sheltering him either.’

‘But you know where he is.’

‘No.’

‘Tell me what you said to him.’

‘I just bumped into him, outside a supermarket car park. I asked him how he was doing, but he looked busy, so I didn’t say anything else.’

‘It won’t help you to lie, Mikami. I know you said
something
. Why else would he have bolted?’

‘You say he’s gone, but are you sure? He’s got a wife, a family.’

‘I’m asking the questions.’

‘I don’t understand this at all. What on earth could I say that would give him cause to run away?’

‘That’s, well, that’s . . .’ Urushibara faltered. ‘Whatever it was you were asking about on the phone. That nonsense about – what? – the Koda memo?’

‘If it was nonsense, why would Koda jump ship?’

‘You bastard . . .’

Mikami felt sure it was Futawatari’s handiwork. He’d finally tracked Koda down, then pressured him for the truth behind the memo. But was that enough? Koda could have just pretended not to know. What would cause him to disappear in such a hurry? He’d suffered for so many years – was it just fear taking over? He’d hoped to protect the normal life he’d finally managed to obtain. He’d become terrified of Futawatari as the latter pried into his past, sought a temporary hiding place. It was certainly possible, but for him this kind of self-defence actually served to protect Criminal Investigations – Mikami couldn’t see how he could have disappeared in a way that threatened Urushibara or Kakinuma.

‘Go and see the director.’

‘Hmm?’

The door opened as he was replying; Kuramae came into the room. His stiff expression made it clear there had been some kind of unexpected development. Mikami held up a hand to catch his attention, then wrapped it around the mouthpiece.

He spoke under his breath.

‘I don’t think I heard you properly.’

‘I told you to report to the director.’

He had heard correctly: Arakida intended to continue Urushibara’s interrogation.

‘Hey, Mikami, are you listening to me?’

‘Which director?’

Mikami wanted to test the response. When Urushibara answered it was in an unnaturally quiet voice.

‘I don’t think that’s even a question, for people like you and me. Am I wrong?’

‘What am I reporting in for?’

‘You’ll find out when you get there. Just get yourself up to the fourth floor, right now.’

‘It’s unfortunate, but the directors are all engaged in a meeting with the press.’

Urushibara slammed down the phone. Mikami put his down, feeling as if he were sealing off a demon. He glanced up to the clock before turning to face Kuramae. It was five to three.

‘What happened?’

‘Yes . . .’ Kuramae frowned, apparently in some difficulty. ‘The press are demanding we hold a press conference, in light of the morning’s news, and that Akama issues an official apology.’

What?

‘Who was first to say it?’

‘Nonomura. The head of the
Toyo
’s local branch.’

Toshikazu Nonomura. High-handed, he liked to think of himself as a star among the major players.

‘What was the reaction?’

‘They went along with it . . . but only I think because they lacked any good reason to block it. They want you to attend an emergency meeting in Akama’s office to get the preparations started.’

Mikami caught his breath. It was like watching rocks emerge from a receding tide.

Akikawa’s words.

I’m going to attend the one here, in the headquarters.

Mikami was late to the meeting.

Suwa got back just as he was leaving the office; they’d stood at the door and brought each other up to speed. The reporters had started to file in, back from Station F. Mikami had only spared them a glance as he’d hurried up the stairs, but by the time he reached Akama’s office the couches were already lined with frowning faces. Akama. Shirota. Ishii. And Division Chief Ikoma, from Internal Affairs. Mikami had half expected Futawatari to be there, too, but he was nowhere to be seen. That decided it. He
was
acting on Captain Tsujiuchi’s direct orders.

Akama’s eyes were like arrows, targeted on Shirota.

‘What possessed you to agree like that?
We’ll have to discuss the matter
. All you had to do was say something along those lines.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Shirota had gone white. ‘I decided the number-one priority was to ensure the commissioner’s visit went smoothly; that it wouldn’t have been wise to argue in a press conference.’

‘And so you decided to offer me as a sacrifice?’

‘Sir, I would never . . .’

Mikami had a notebook in his lap. It contained Kuramae’s notes from the round-table meeting. He had scanned them briefly before coming in.

‘What’s happening with the press? Do they know about this?’

Akama turned to look at Mikami. His gold-rimmed glasses seemed arched, mirroring his questioning eyes and raised eyebrows.

‘Most of the reporters just got back from Station F. Their bosses have already appraised them of what happened in the meeting; they’re apparently discussing when the conference will take place.’

‘I can’t believe this is really going to go ahead.’

Graceless defeat. That was what it sounded like.

‘I’ve got Suwa looking into it.’

‘Get him on the phone.’

Mikami nodded. He excused himself and flipped open his mobile. Suwa answered immediately.

‘How’s it looking down there?’

‘They want us to hold the conference at 4 p.m.’

‘Do they have a venue in mind?’

‘The Press Room should be fine.’

‘Four o’clock, in the Press Room.’ Mikami repeated the details for the benefit of everyone there.

He checked his watch: three twenty-five.

‘Are they putting their questions together?’

‘I don’t think so. The only paper really behind this is the
Toyo
, so I think they’ll be happy if they get a picture of Akama lowering his head and apologizing.’

Wary of Suwa’s voice being heard, Mikami pressed the phone harder against his ear.

‘So it’s unlikely the club will put forward any official questions.’ Mikami repeated this out loud, summarizing Suwa’s meaning.

Akama’s head came forwards, looking impatient. ‘What about TV?’

‘Will the TV have cameras there?’

‘Yes. The association just called in the request.’

Mikami nodded in silent confirmation. Probably having pictured himself on the news, Akama put a fist to his forehead and threw his head back.

‘This is a joke. We’re playing right into
their
hands.’

Criminal Investigations’
hands.

Akama let out a heavy sigh, the gesture conveying both resentment and resignation.

‘We don’t have time for this. We should begin preparing. Ikoma, the suicide took place before I assumed my post. According to my predecessor, we were not at fault. May I assume this understanding is correct?’

‘Yes.’ Ikoma looked up, his eyes curiously tranquil for an inspector from Internal Affairs. ‘In view of the exceptional circumstances, we decided the suicide didn’t suggest there was anything at fault in the facilities or with their management. No dismissals were made. The press were mostly happy with the decision, and no articles were printed condemning our treatment of the case.’

Ikoma was right. Mikami had read the article at his desk in Second Division. A middle-aged man detained for trying to skip a restaurant bill had killed himself during the night in one of Station T’s cells. The method had been unprecedented – he’d been lying with his back to the guard on duty and choked himself on his vest, having pulled it through the cuff of his shirt and then forced it – and his fist – down his throat. Thinking the man was asleep, it had taken the guard more than three hours to realize
something was wrong. Charges of negligence had seemed inevitable, but the focus of the investigation shifted after a number of detainees who had shared the man’s cell came forward to give evidence, testifying they hadn’t noticed anything wrong or heard a single groan. Internal Affairs had been confident in its press release stating that circumstances had made the man’s suicide extremely difficult to detect. It was also discovered that the man had stolen funds from work and spent the money on women in hostess bars. When his transgressions had come to light he’d run away, abandoning his family; his death had been a final, selfish act. Some of the reporters had even come forward, sympathizing with the police for the whole situation.

But . . .

A short while later, Mikami began to hear rumours.

That the guard had failed to keep an eye on the monitors showing the cells. That the guard had been asleep as the man lost consciousness, his legs kicking in agony. Most of what he’d heard had been like that. Had Station T been behind the cover-up, or had Internal Affairs decided to lead the whitewash in the interest of protecting the organization as a whole? It wasn’t hard to guess the tricks they might have used to secure the testimonies of the man’s fellow detainees. He doubted they would have taken the risk of openly pressuring them into giving false statements, but they could perhaps have suggested it was up to the detainees themselves if they wanted to draw certain conclusions. Making a good impression meant getting out of detention sooner. Rather than calculated strategy, it would have been desperate prayer. The truth, no doubt, was that the detainees had picked up on what was happening and volunteered to play nice, and that Station F and Internal Affairs had opted to accept the ‘harmless’ deception.