Six Four (11 page)

Matsuoka would use me if he were director.

Mikami felt uncomfortable that the idea had popped so readily into his mind. There were issues he needed to address now; it wasn’t the time to be looking four or five years ahead.

‘If it’s nothing to do with Kenji, what else could have turned him against us?’

Mochizuki was slow to respond. His eyes seemed to size Mikami up before he spoke again. ‘You’ve got a good idea already, haven’t you?’

The question caught Mikami off guard.

‘A good idea? Of what?’

Instead of answering, Mochizuki returned to the last question. ‘You remember he had a receptionist called Yoshida? If he’s upset about anything, it’ll be her, not Kenji.’

Motoko Yoshida. She had taken the kidnapper’s third call in Amamiya’s office. Mochizuki had ignored Mikami’s question, but his curiosity had been piqued nonetheless.

‘Why?’

‘She was seeing Kenji. How would we put it – double adultery? We had to consider the possibility she was an accomplice, so we were pretty hard on her.’

Mikami hadn’t known that.

Still . . .

‘Why would that get to Amamiya, though? He didn’t like Kenji; if she was with him . . .’

‘Thing is, he didn’t know about their relationship. Motoko lost her parents when she was young, had been through a lot. Amamiya had been a good neighbour, taken her under his wing and given her a job at his company. She was interrogated for days on end, ended up having a nervous breakdown. She quit her job. If Amamiya has a reason to despise us, that would be it.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘It wasn’t long after you left Second Division.’

‘Wait. You’re saying Amamiya turned against us that long ago?’

Mochizuki focused on empty space, taking in Mikami’s surprise. ‘Well, I wouldn’t say it happened overnight, because of that one thing. His withdrawal was more gradual. You know how it is when someone’s anger or bitterness continues to grow over time.’

‘You’re right, I suppose.’

‘And the fact that we haven’t arrested the perp, that’s got to factor pretty big in it.’

Was that what it was, after all? Had Amamiya simply become disillusioned with the force for being ineffective – had he run out of patience? If that was the case, Mikami feared he might not be able to make the commissioner’s visit happen. Amamiya’s scepticism had been building for years; regardless of their sincerity, the police would need to demonstrate a similar investment in time and manpower to remedy the situation. The commissioner was scheduled to arrive in a week. That left little time to win Amamiya over, especially if you took into consideration the time he would need to spend in negotiations with the Press Club. Mikami fixed his eyes back on Mochizuki. The question he’d put on hold was on the verge of coming out.

‘What did you mean just now?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t know. You suggested I had
a good idea
of why Amamiya turned against us.’

‘Same applies to you. Isn’t it time you showed your hand, Mikami?’ Mochizuki responded, his tone sharpening. Until that point, Mikami hadn’t noticed that Mochizuki was getting angry.

‘Showed what hand?’

‘Come on – tell me the real reason you came to see me. You’re not the type to get worked up about a big shot coming down to light some incense.’

He won’t understand.

Mikami grimaced. A visit from the commissioner general. Explaining why it was important in a way that an ex-detective like Mochizuki would understand would be tantamount to admitting he’d become Akama’s guard dog.

Mochizuki leaned forwards. ‘You’re here because you
also
want to ask me about the Koda memo.’

Mikami didn’t know how to respond.
The Koda memo? Also?

Mochizuki was quick to provide the answer. ‘I sent Futawatari packing, and now you’re here to sweet-talk me. No?’

Mikami just stared. He had assumed Mochizuki had been
poking fun earlier; the words took on a different meaning now.
Stranger things have happened. The reunion was today? I guessed as much.

Shinji Futawatari had been here too. What for? And what was the Koda memo?

There was only one Koda that came to mind. Kazuki Koda, a member of the Home Unit during Six Four.

‘Well? Out with it. What are you up to? The two of you, nosing around, into Six Four. Didn’t you two hate each other. Or . . . what? . . . are you all happy families now you’re camped in Admin?’

‘Just wait a moment,’ Mikami finally managed. ‘What the hell is the Koda memo?’

‘How should I know?’

‘Koda – the Koda that left?’ Mikami was remembering. Kazuki Koda had resigned. Just six months after Six Four. His brain was finally catching up. ‘Why did he leave the force?’

‘Officially, the same reason as me. I don’t know what really happened.’

Personal reasons.
The term was a catch-all; Mikami was starting to get a bad feeling.

‘What’s he doing these days?’

‘He went missing.’

‘Missing?’

‘Yeah. No one knows where he is.’

‘And Futawatari didn’t either?’

‘Looked that way. He was asking if I knew Koda’s address.’

‘So, the Koda memo, are we sure it was something Kazuki Koda wrote?’

‘Like I just said, I’d never heard of it.’

‘But Futawatari seemed to know about it?’

Mochizuki seemed to have come to a realization during the exchange; he stared at Mikami with eyes that had lost their sharpness.

‘You
are
here for something else . . .’

‘That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,’ Mikami half yelled. His head was racing. Had Akama opted for a double-sided approach? Perhaps he was using Futawatari in tandem with Mikami to gather intel to persuade Amamiya to ensure that preparations for the commissioner’s visit went smoothly.

No, that wasn’t it.

He wouldn’t have thought to prepare for that. If he had, that would suggest he’d somehow known in advance that Amamiya would turn the commissioner’s offer down.

‘What time was Futawatari here?’

Mochizuki scratched his head, looking a little embarrassed. ‘A little before midday. He called on the phone, came straight over after that.’

Before midday. Around the time Mikami had been at Amamiya’s. Definitely too fast. It ruled out some kind of double-pronged strategy on Akama’s part.

In which case . . .

Mikami considered it for a moment, but his thoughts halted when another question popped into his head.

‘And he asked you about something called the Koda memo?’

‘Yeah. He wanted to know who had it, so I told him I had no idea – told him I’d never heard of the damn thing, let alone knowing who had it now.’

‘And that’s the truth? You really don’t know?’

‘Come on, Mikami . . .’

‘Okay. He seemed happy with that?’

‘Sure, left without a fuss. Even gave me a look to apologize for intruding on my work.’

‘And you just let him go, without asking anything back?’

‘Hmm?’

‘You must have pushed a little, tried to suss out what he was talking about?’

‘Naturally. He said nothing, of course. Administrative Affairs,
Internal Affairs; they ask the questions. You don’t know what they’re up to, and they certainly won’t tell you.’

Mikami nodded sharply. He could feel his sympathies shifting to side with the detective’s. He felt something close to anger, even jealousy. That this was related to Six Four was certain. Futawatari had trampled barefoot over the holy ground of the investigation. He had emerged from his natural domain, the depths of Administrative Affairs, only to offer a glimpse of a mysterious document neither Mikami nor Mochizuki had known existed: the Koda memo.

Mikami’s phone started to vibrate in his jacket pocket. He cursed, checking the display.
Media Relations
.

‘Sir. I think you might need to come back.’

Suwa’s whispering tone told Mikami something had happened. ‘What is it?’

‘We’ve just been told the press intend to issue a formal protest, in writing, to the station captain.’

Mikami hurried back to the Prefectural HQ.

He came to a sudden stop after opening the door to the office. Akikawa from the
Toyo
was perched on one of the room’s couches. He’d been calling out to Mikumo, but when he looked at Mikami it was with the same detached expression he’d had earlier in the morning. Mikami took a seat, then levelled his gaze at the man opposite him.

He already knew his opening line.

‘You seem determined to make trouble.’

‘You’ve left us no choice, Mikami.’

He was utterly composed. Akikawa had never been the type to curry favour, even one to one. And he was even less likely to do so with Mikumo in the room. She was working on the layout of the bulletin, her expression impassive and doll-like. She’d clearly erected a barrier, deciding to completely ignore Akikawa so he wouldn’t get the wrong idea. Suwa adopted a different approach. Like Mikumo, he’d assumed a look of nonchalant disinterest, only his aim was to conceal the agitation in the room. He was acting as though Akikawa’s presence were perfectly normal.

Mikami’s approach was similar to Suwa’s. When he spoke, his voice was measured and calm.

‘You don’t think you’re being a little unreasonable? Threatening to submit a written protest to the station captain out of the blue like this?’

‘I’ve arranged to hold it back for now. If you give us the woman’s name by tomorrow evening, we’ll withdraw the protest.’

‘Sounds like a threat to me.’

‘Such a negative word. It’s like I said – you left us no choice, flatly refusing to listen in that arbitrary way.’

‘We can’t compromise on everything.’

‘Nor can we. I’m sorry, but I can’t let this one go. It’s the consensus.’

‘Okay – who will it be?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Who do you intend to submit the protest to?’

‘The station captain, of course.’

Mikami felt a chill on his forehead. They really were planning to breach the inner temple of the Prefectural HQ. He pulled out a cigarette and lit the tip.

Time to negotiate.

‘Could you lower your sights a little?’

‘What do you propose?’

‘Address the document to me, or the chief of the Secretariat.’

Suwa had told Mikami during their earlier call. Never, in the history of the station, had the Press Club submitted a written protest to anyone ranked higher than division chief.
I don’t think it’s ever happened anywhere – for a written protest to be submitted to the captain of any headquarters.
His voice had been stretched to breaking point.

Akikawa was grinning faintly.

‘Mikami, are you asking for a favour?’

‘I am.’

‘You know, it didn’t really sound that way.’

‘Will you do it if I apologize?’

‘Unfortunately not. Consensus, like I said.’

Mikami clenched his fists under the table. ‘Okay. At least leave the document with me.’

‘Leave it with you? You’re asking me to hand you a document addressed to the station captain?’

Mikami nodded; Akikawa suppressed a laugh.

‘Why would I do that? You’d only hold on to it . . . the captain would never see it.’

‘It’s enough to prove you did it.’

Whoever they gave the document to, the fact would remain that they had submitted a written protest to the station captain. Yet Akikawa rejected the idea without hesitation.

‘Let’s not engage in politics, Mikami. All you have to do is give us the woman’s name. It shouldn’t be that hard.’

From the corner of his eye, Mikami saw Suwa scratch his chin. The middle ground was to keep the document in Media Relations. Suwa’s expression made it clear he’d decided on that as the target.

‘We’d like your response by 4 p.m. tomorrow. We’ll hold another meeting once we have your answer.’

Seeing that Akikawa was getting ready to stand, Mikami raised a hand. ‘There’s also the commissioner’s visit. Can I assume everything is on track with the questions?’

‘That is something to discuss once this is resolved.’

‘We need them soon.’

Akikawa flashed a smile, the expression declaring he’d found another weakness.

‘More importantly, you’re really not going to tell us what this morning was all about?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The reason behind the change in you, Mikami. We’ve had no luck working it out ourselves.’

‘Don’t you have more important things you should be doing?’

The words slipped out, a reflex.

Akikawa looked puzzled. ‘More important things . . .?’

‘You’re representing the club this month, so you need to focus
on the anonymity argument: fine, just make sure you don’t neglect your actual job. There’s also the investigation into bid-rigging charges concerning the art museum. That isn’t over yet.’

Akikawa’s expression hardened. Second Division’s investigation was reaching a climax, and the race for coverage was intensifying. The
Asahi
and the
Yomiuri
had each run pieces covering the story. The
Toyo
had lost its initiative and would, if things continued as they were, have to face a miserable defeat.

‘We’re working on that, too, don’t you worry,’ Akikawa said, annoyed but unbeaten. ‘I take it it’s not illness, something like that?’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You know . . . maybe you haven’t been feeling well, had to change the way you do your job. That sort of thing.’

Mikami felt a sudden, powerful urge to strike the man.

‘I’m just fine, as you can see.’

‘Okay. Well, don’t think we’re going to pull any punches, then.’

Akikawa strode out of the room, sparing a glance for Mikumo. Suwa gave Mikami a quick look then jumped to his feet, following him out. He invited Akikawa to Amigos, the karaoke bar of choice in Administrative Affairs.

It was a while before Mikami felt able to stand. It wasn’t just his anger at Akikawa. There was a bitterness in his throat, too.

You could just give them her name, if they want it so badly.