Six Four (38 page)

‘So they want the best of both worlds . . .’

‘Yes. What it boils down to is that they’re planning to boycott the walking interview as a kind of sanction, even as they sneak out coverage of the rest of the visit. I think it’s just posturing. That interview is clearly the highlight of the inspection – they all want to be there, they all want full coverage. I’m certain they’re all agreed on that. It’s just . . .’ His voice tapered off. ‘They’re just unwilling to cooperate unless something changes.’

‘What would it take to bring them around?’

‘Well . . .’ Suwa hesitated.

Mikami guessed the mood in Amigos was riding against him.

‘It’s fine – just say it.’

‘First, they want you to make an official apology. Verbally and
in writing . . . Then – and they don’t mind if this is unofficial – they want a verbal apology from Captain Tsujiuchi or Director Akama. I think if we can meet those demands . . . There’s also—’

‘There’s more?’

‘Someone is apparently pushing for your replacement rather than an apology. I don’t know who it is, but it’s someone aligned with the hard-liners. My guess is that it’s the
Toyo
.’ He gave his conclusion without hesitation, despite his earlier wavering.

‘Someone’s after my head?’

‘Just a small fraction among the hard-liners.’

‘And what do you think?’ Mikami wanted Suwa’s honest opinion of things.

‘If you ask me, they’re getting carried away. If we give in to their demands at this stage, who knows where they’ll draw the line in the future? But, well, to be honest, I also don’t believe they’re being totally unreasonable. They might not need your head, but they probably do need an official apology so they don’t lose face. And they’ve got their bosses breathing down their necks. What matters is how it looks. If they at least seem to be getting their way, the moderates will come together to end the boycott.’

Mikami felt like he’d been put on a leash. And by his own staff, not even just the reporters. ‘Do you think they’d actually cancel the boycott, though, even if I were to apologize? Don’t forget we thought we knew how the votes would fall, for the written protest.’

‘Well, I can’t offer any guarantees. But we’ve got to make sure they don’t go through with the boycott, whatever happens; we’ll have to make do with the hand we’ve been dealt.’

Mikami gazed into empty space.

‘If we were to issue an official apology, how do you think that would affect our influence in the Press Club?’

‘There shouldn’t be any cause for concern. I’ve seen a number of similar cases in the past, and I’m pretty sure we’ve never lost ground after an apology. It usually seems to help . . . if anything, the relationship with the press tends to improve afterwards.’

It came across as a sales pitch. He didn’t seem to think the apology came at any great cost.

‘Do you think we can keep it to our floor?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Akama won’t authorize the apology. If word of it reaches the first floor, he’ll stop us from going ahead.’

He’d lobbed the ball into Suwa’s court.
Can you do it?

Suwa seemed to get the message. ‘We should be able to contain it. Yes, not a problem.’

‘Good. Let me give it some consideration.’ Mikami sighed, then took a deep breath. ‘Is Mikumo still there with you?’

‘Ah . . .’

‘She’s not something to put on display. I told you we’re not resorting to those kind of tactics. Tell her to go home, right now.’

‘But she only came out because she wanted—’

‘I won’t say it again – send her home, now.’ Mikami raised his voice and Suwa went quiet. His disapproval was palpable across the line. ‘Look, if you’ve got something to say, just say it.’

Suwa put on a patient tone. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll take responsibility for her. She’s just here to lighten the mood a little. I’m not going to let anyone take her home.’

Mikami saw red. ‘Don’t be a fucking idiot. We’re police; we don’t use women like that. I’ll slit my own stomach in front of them, if that’s what it takes – but you send her home this instant. Do you understand?’

Suwa refused to stand down.

‘You have to think about Mikumo’s own view on this. She
wants
to help out. If you keep her from interacting with the press, well, all she’s got is admin work. I told her,
You don’t have to come
. I told her she had to put up with the status quo because that’s what you wanted. Do you know what she said? That you were discriminating.
I want to do the same as the rest of you.
That’s what she said.’

Discriminating.
It didn’t sound like something Mikumo would say.

‘Put her on the phone.’

‘Okay, but she’s had quite a bit to drink.’

‘I don’t care. Put her on.’

For the few minutes he was kept waiting, Mikami ran dozens of possible angles through his head.

‘Sir, it’s me.’ Mikumo’s voice was quiet, but not in a way that made her sound intimidated.

‘I thought I’d made myself clear before. Why did you disobey my orders?’

She didn’t answer,

‘This isn’t part of your job.’

‘I’m Media Relations, too . . .’

‘I had desk workers in First. Do you think they went chasing after killers?’

‘I want to make myself useful.’

‘You’re more than useful already, without doing this.’

‘I don’t think so. Not at all.’

Mikami let out a sigh. He readied himself for the next line. ‘I’ll admit I did consider it, that one time. I thought maybe we could use someone to help ease things with the reporters. But I never thought about using you. Just a girl in general.’

Mikumo refused to yield. ‘I’m a trained policewoman. I’m here because I think this is part of my job.’

‘The reporters won’t see it that way.’

‘I can’t change what I am. And you can think I’m trying to take advantage of that if you want to. But I can’t continue to turn a blind eye to the trouble we’re having with the press. I know what we’re trying to do. We’re the window that links the headquarters to the outside world. I’ve been reading up on the media, too. I can hold my own talking about press issues. And I can be a calming influence when everyone else is getting heated up. Besides, the reporters listen to what I’ve got to say.’

‘You’re being naive.’

‘Forgive me, sir, but I believe you’re the one who’s being naive.’

What . . .?

Mikami’s grip tightened over the phone.

‘What have I said that was naive?’

‘Just tell me what you want me to do. I can get you the information. I’m not afraid to dirty my hands a little.’

‘You’re drunk.’

‘I’m not.’

‘If you want to really make something of yourself, you should leave the police. Someone with your determination and talent – you could choose anything.’

‘I joined the force because I wanted to become an officer. I’m proud of what I do. I’m motivated by it.’

‘But you must have realized it by now – the force isn’t kind to women. A lot of men can’t hack it here either.’

‘It’s not fair.’

Mikami’s eyes stretched wide. ‘Not fair . . .?’

‘I can see how hard it is for you, in the office. It’s clear you’re unhappy with the way things are done, with having to put aside your ideals, having to use dirty tricks, that you’re trying to tell yourself you’ve got no other choice. You’re making yourself ask Suwa and Kuramae to do whatever they can, even though you obviously hate doing so. You’re angry with yourself for doing it. Everyone can see it. But . . .’ Her strained voice began to waver. ‘It’s not fair to use me as a surrogate. It’s cruel. You’re trying to keep me pure, keep me away from the dirty work, so you can feel better about yourself. I can’t take it any more. It’s horrible. I want to contribute, to help with what we’re here to do.’

Mikami stared up at the ceiling. All the fire seemed to have drained from him.

Even when Mikumo told him the battery was about to die, he had nothing to say in response.

It was after 10 p.m. when Mikami finally sank into his bath.

Still so early
, he thought to himself.

It had felt like a long day.

Mikami’s thoughts were losing their clarity. He felt the distinction between what he knew and what he didn’t begin to slip away. His fatigue spread into the warm bathwater. Every time he closed his eyes he felt his drowsiness grow heavier.

The wind was blowing.

The frosted glass rattled in the windowpane. The house had always been old, even in Mikami’s earliest memory.

We should do the place up
, his dad would say.

One day
, his mother would reply.

The afternoon sun, filling the room. The faded tatami. The round dining table. On it, he could see a cake box from a local patisserie, some bottles of beer. His dad’s wartime buddy was visiting. Close-cropped hair. Bronzed profile. His whole body shook when he laughed. He turned to look at Mikami. His eyes lit up.

You really take after your old man, kid.

His mom smiled, as if to say,
He really does.
His dad showed yellow teeth, cracking a smile that looked half proud, half pained.

Just hang in there. Do a good deed, and it’ll find its way back to you.

Mikami remembered now. The friend had started to cry when Mikami’s dad had uttered his favourite phrase. He’d been on the
way out, finished doing his laces; he got back to his feet and turned around, his face creased up.

He had no doubt lost lots of good friends.

Taken countless lives.

He didn’t show up again after that. He’d messed his hands through Mikami’s hair, as though Mikami were his own son. He’d come with gifts of chocolate and ice-cream . . . had the good deed ever found its way back to him?

Dad . . .

His father had existed in the shadows. When Mikami remembered him, he was always standing behind his mother. It wasn’t that he’d been intimidating, or that he’d let Mikami’s mother take charge of raising him; it was just that he’d been quiet, as though afraid to step out from the safety of her shadow. Mikami had also, for his part, kept his mother between them. He’d never been able to relax when she was out of the room, left alone with his dad. He’d found it difficult to relate to the melancholy in his eyes, the ruggedness of his face, hands and fingers. He had no memory of his dad ever holding him. His DNA had taken precedence, Mikami having taken after him, yet, when he died in the year of the Six Four kidnapping, he did so without having ever opened up to his son.

‘Dig in, dig in. It’ll melt if you don’t get a move on!’

Mikami had finished the cake, but he hadn’t smiled. As his dad’s friend cried at the door he’d stolen a look, and felt somehow that the man deserved it.

Don’t worry, it’s just because you’re a boy.
His mother had always been relaxed like that, easy-going. Despite this, she’d been completely at a loss – far more than his father had been – the first time Mikami had introduced them to Minako. Her eyes had lost focus, swimming before she blinked and looked at him again. He remembered it even now. It was the same look she’d had when she’d suspected him of keeping back change many years before.
Have you been a bad boy?

Mikami smiled.

She’d definitely over-reacted.

It came back to him now: it was on her recommendation that he’d first gone to kendo at his local club. She’d wanted him to be strong, honourable, more than she’d wanted him to learn the abacus or become proficient at calligraphy. The training had been punishing. If not for the excitement he’d felt each time he donned the mask, he doubted he would have lasted long. Inside the mask’s metal enclosure, with his restricted vision and close breath, he’d felt like he was in a hideaway, a top-secret base made from old boxes. He’d never been conscious of wanting a disguise, but that had no doubt been a part of it, too. The thirteen horizontal bars obscured his features. The one vertical bar hid the shape of his nose. Apart from the two eyes peering through the gap of the
monomi
, he was lost in shadow. He stopped being a face. He stopped needing a face. For a short while, he’d been able to transform into something special. And when he’d started to become conscious of girls, grown spots on his face, it was under the sweaty confines of his kendo mask that he had felt most at ease.

A mother’s wishes, the way he’d looked, kendo. It had seemed natural to follow that line and become an officer of the law.

Mikami squeezed the hand towel and rubbed it over his face. He could feel his craggy features through the fabric.

The job’s an easy one. Easiest in the world.

It can give you the resources to hide from the world –
maybe that was what Osakabe had wanted to say. It was widely known that the job wasn’t easy. An endless supply of detective novels, documentaries and TV dramas had conditioned the general population into thinking that they understood the difficulty, anguish and misery of the job. They had flicked a switch each time Mikami introduced himself. It meant he hardly needed to say anything himself – it was easy in that sense of the word. It was also easy for a detective to ignore the various difficulties, anguish and miseries
of everyday life. There was always new prey to hunt. Matsuoka had summarized it aptly in a speech to motivate the officers in district:
I won’t allow any complaints. You’re all here to enjoy yourselves. We’re being paid to get out there and hunt.

Detectives understand the concept of justice, but they lack an instinctual hatred of crime. Their only instinct is the chase.

Mikami had been no different.
Identify the perpetrator. Corner him. Take him down.
The daily grind served to polish to a dull glow the mindset of the detective, eroding as it did any vestiges of individuality. Nobody tried to resist the process. If anything, they welcomed it, thirsted for more. For these people, the desire to stay in the hunt went far beyond any monetary considerations. It was their sole hobby, their greatest entertainment.

Mikami only had to ask Koda. A man who’d had his licence stripped, who had instead become one of the hunted. Someone whose only motivation to work was to support his wife and child.
Try asking him if being a detective had been hard.