Six Four (41 page)

‘I don’t think he went anywhere to get the story. Someone leaked it to him. He’s pretty well known. Anyone who’d worked here before would know his name.’

‘Why leak the story?’

‘Going by how big it is, I’d say whoever it was wanted to go straight for the captain. Kobogata has a reputation for being
difficult, almost obsessively so. Plenty of people would be happy to see him go.’

So that was the reasoning behind his ‘detective’ theory. It certainly wasn’t implausible. Still, Mikami felt confident Suwa would have come up with a different theory, had he known about the conflict surrounding the commissioner’s visit. If he was going to tell him, it had to be now. It felt like the only way he could secure Suwa’s loyalty – to bring him directly into the fold, make sure he didn’t hear it from Akama first. But it was a difficult subject to broach. He had yet to understand many of the core elements himself. It felt wrong to give Suwa only a general summary, highlighting the disquiet and nothing else; it was like handing him a body bag without revealing what was inside.

‘I should probably be heading out.’ Suwa flicked a quick glance at his watch. ‘There was one more thing I wanted to ask first.’

‘Go on.’

‘This is the first time Kobogata will be leading a press conference of this kind. We might need to hold his hand a little.’ His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘I can get him to drop something about Hayashi’s . . . background. Either at the end of the conference or later, when everyone’s chatting, so it feels like an off-the-record comment. Some of the papers might drop the story if they learn she used to be a “masseuse”, that she’s involved with a convicted criminal. Even if they go ahead, they’ll have to exercise a little more caution in the evening editions.’

Mikami let out a brief sigh.

‘You think some of the reporters suspect she was the one who instigated it?’

‘If we can get a question like that to come out – that’s our best-case scenario. The captain can remain silent, let the reporters draw their own conclusions.’

It was a good idea. But Mikami wasn’t without reservations.

‘Saying nothing could work. But we shouldn’t try to redirect
this, whatever happens. Even supposing Hayashi
had
lured Kuriyama into doing what he did, he’s still lowlife scum. We can’t have it looking like we’re trying to defend him. The coverage will be much worse if the reporters think we’re taking his side.’

Mikami had to rush at the end. The phone on his desk had started to ring.

‘How’s the Press Room?’

It was Ishii. Suwa seemed to be hanging on for instructions; Mikami jerked his chin to tell him he was free to go.

‘Quiet, for now.’

‘It really is one thing after another. Because of this, I’ve ended up having to do the apologizing at the round-table meeting.’

Mikami had expected Ishii to be furious, but he came across as surprisingly buoyant. ‘You’ll do a good job. Just remember: we’re not apologizing, only explaining what happened.’

‘Yes, yes. It’ll be fine.’

‘It’s possible it might get a little heated, in light of the trouble in Station F.’

‘Nothing to worry about. Captain Tsujiuchi has decided not to attend this time.’

Mikami had expected this. If the captain went to the meeting, he would have to field questions concerning Kuriyama’s misconduct, indecent as it was. He would have to apologize. To make sure this didn’t happen, Shirota or Akama would have to lower their heads in his place. The question was whether the veteran reporters, who were all too familiar with such tricks, would turn a blind eye to the captain’s absence.

Mikami waved to Suwa as he left. Mikumo reacted, looking up.

‘How do you plan to explain the captain’s non-attendance?’

‘Well, the meeting’s due to start at one o’clock, right? We decided to set the timing of Kuriyama’s disciplinary hearing so that the two clash. The press will see that he’s busy dealing with the situation, get the impression he’s taking it seriously.’

There was a hint of pride in the way Ishii said this. The idea had probably been his own.

‘What did Akama have to say?’

‘He said the idea was a good one.’

‘Not that. About the
Toyo
’s scoop.’

‘Nothing in particular. He was in a really bad mood, of course.’

Mikami ended the call without further questions. Ishii was outside the net. He was simply excited about the upcoming visit of a luminary from Tokyo; he wasn’t party to the true objective behind it. Mikami reached for the external line at the corner of his desk.

I’d like to come over, tonight if possible.
Mikami dialled Shozo Odate’s home number, intending only to make the request. He was still hesitant to do anything that might harm his benefactor, but he couldn’t sit back and do nothing. The commissioner’s visit was now only three days away.

He stole a glance at Mikumo as he listened to the phone ring, trying not to be obvious by studying the wall first. She was at her corner desk, typing on her keyboard with practised hands. But he could tell her attention was on him. She was waiting until he got off the phone. Mikami felt his chest constrict. He looked away. She wanted him to assign her work, ignoring the fact that she was a woman. He was only just realizing exactly how hard that was. She’d been loyal, a good follower, until the previous night. He felt a stabbing sense of loss. It seemed Akama wasn’t the only one who wanted full control over how his staff behaved.

No one was picking up. Perhaps Shozo Odate was out enjoying a morning stroll with his wife, as part of his rehabilitation. As he’d waited on the phone, Kuramae had come back into the room. He walked over the moment Mikami hung up. He looked bloated, suggesting he’d consumed a fair amount of alcohol during the night’s activities.

‘What’s it like in there?’

‘They’ve all just left for the press conference in Station F. The
atmosphere was tense right up until they left. Apart from the
Toyo
, they were all huddled together, whispering in groups of two or three.’

‘Like they were ready to boil over?’

‘Yeah, that’s kind of how it felt,’ Kuramae said, clearly not feeling very confident. He still hadn’t been able to get the reporters to open up to him.

‘Was Akikawa there?’

‘No, I didn’t see him. His sub was there until a moment ago – Tejima.’

‘Okay. If you see him, tell him I want to have a word.’

‘I will.’

Mikami considered the conversation over, but Kuramae continued to hover, looking like he had something to get off his chest.

‘Yes?’

‘Right . . . I . . . it’s just that I finished compiling the information on Ryoji Meikawa.’

‘Meikawa?’

‘The pensioner, who died in the car accident?’

Mikami remembered. He’d given Kuramae instructions to look into what had happened, but he’d only said it in passing and hadn’t expected a report.

‘Did you find something?’

‘Yes, it turns out he was from Hokkaido.’ Kuramae seemed to expect surprise. ‘From Tomakomai, actually. He came from a poor family and hardly made it through primary school. He came down here before he turned twenty and spent the next forty years working at a factory making food paste. Let’s see here . . . he was seventy-two at the time of the accident, so he’d been retired for twelve years. After losing his wife eight years ago, and with no nearby relatives, he’d been living by himself in a run-down apartment and getting by on his pension. He owned the property but rented the land.’

Mikami didn’t know how to react. Was this Kuramae’s idea of digging into the facts?

‘What did you learn about the accident?’

‘Right, yes. The cause of death was blood loss resulting from ruptured organs. There were no witnesses to the accident itself, so I wasn’t able to find anything to corroborate or refute the driver’s claim that the man had crossed blindly in front of her. The man had been drinking at a bar near the scene of the accident, not far from where he lived. According to the owner of the bar, it was a monthly treat for the old man to visit the bar and have a couple of glasses of
shochu
. He told me he’d been sad to hear of the accident. He said the man had been thoroughly enjoying his drinks, that if he’d left five minutes earlier or later the—’

‘Keep looking into it.’

Mikami cut him off, noticing Akikawa had just walked into the room.

‘Sorry I wasn’t there last night. I was really hoping to come out, just couldn’t get away . . .’

His sugary voice was directed to where Mikumo was sitting. Although she usually looked impassive, she smiled in return, as if to say,
maybe next time
, further exacerbating Mikami’s sense of unease.

‘Akikawa. Just the man I was looking for.’

‘I’m touched, Mikami,’ Akikawa joked, helping himself to a seat on one of the couches.

Reporters never failed to exhibit a morning-after buzz the day after an exclusive. It was always a mix of fatigue and self-satisfaction, causing Mikami to wonder if lust was the closest approximation to what the press felt when they were chasing a story.

Mikami settled down next to him.

‘Week’s off to a fine start, thanks to you.’

‘Just doing my job. How did the others react?’

‘You can get that from Tejima.’

‘Fair enough. What was it you wanted to talk about?’

Akikawa was gradually regaining his usual cool. Mikami realized it was the first time they’d seen each other since their clash in the Secretariat.

‘Why didn’t you call to confirm the story before running it?’

‘Just exercising my rights.’

‘Who was your source?’

‘You expect me to reveal my source? Come now, Mikami, that’s not like you.’

‘You got a handshake from Station F.’

‘Mikami. Why keep asking when you know I’m not going to tell you?’

‘No, you got the information directly from Arakida.’

Mikami made his move. A pause, indicating a bullseye. But Akikawa did nothing more than blink slowly.

‘It’s a big risk.’

‘I’m not following.’

‘There’s nothing more expensive than a free lunch,’ Mikami said threateningly.

Akikawa’s cheeks twitched. The look on his face resembled dread. Someone like Akikawa would know it all too well. It was dangerous to snap up a story being dangled before you. You ended up with a debt of obligation; if you weren’t careful, you could end up becoming a tool for the police to manipulate, an opening for the police to infiltrate.

Akikawa made a show of sighing.

‘So, I take it you didn’t call me here to discuss the apology?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Your apology to the Press Club, for what happened in the Secretariat. You know, I could have sworn you’d called me to go through the preparations.’

Akikawa hadn’t been at Amigos, but it seemed as though news of Suwa’s legwork had reached him anyway.

‘Would you call off the boycott, if I did make an apology?’

‘That’s why I came here, to give you my answer. Which is “no”.’

‘What about the others?’

Akikawa frowned, clicking his tongue. ‘You really don’t get it. If the Press Club stopped functioning every time one of us ran an exclusive, it would have come apart long ago.’

It could have been confidence. It could have been a bluff.

Akikawa got to his feet. ‘I’ll be in the branch office. You can reach me there if anything comes up.’

‘You’re not going to Station F?’

‘I’ve already sent Tejima. I’m going to attend the one here, in the headquarters.’

‘Here?’

Mikami shot a look at Kuramae. He caught Mikumo’s eye in the same movement. Both faces told him they didn’t know.

‘We’re not holding a press conference here.’

‘Uh-huh, sure.’ Akikawa strode calmly from the room, showing no surprise at the answer.

Something was going to happen. He had another play.

Was he planning something? Or was it the
Toyo
– did they intend to unveil something during the round-table meeting? Or could it be . . .

He thought about it for a moment.

The
Toyo
had got its exclusive from Arakida. Mikami was sure of this now, after his talk with Akikawa. Perhaps it was this sudden certainty that made him sense the shadow of Criminal Investigations in Akikawa’s bravado.

One o’clock. The round-table meeting had commenced on schedule. Kuramae had gone to take notes, Mikumo to help serve tea, leaving Mikami on his own in the office.

The reporters who had gone to Station F were still there. Suwa had reported in to let him know that the details they’d given the captain about the woman Hayashi had already taken effect. The press were already chasing her story, looking for holes in the
Toyo
’s article. Mikami didn’t doubt their motivation, but he knew their efforts were futile as long as Hayashi had written evidence. Thanks to Suwa, they had been able to dissuade the reporters from accepting the story at face value, and in time for the evening-edition deadlines. Their follow-up articles would be conservative in comparison to the size of the scoop.

Mikami put the phone down again. He had tried Shozo Odate a few more times but still hadn’t managed to get through. It was possible he wasn’t out on a walk, that he’d gone to the hospital or the rehabilitation centre for treatment.

Mikami was about to pull out a cigarette when his eyes spotted a clear plastic file lying on his desk. It was Kuramae’s. He’d left it there on his way out. It contained a number of sheets, all filled with his neat writing. He’d said it was his report about Meikawa – they’d only got halfway through it. Mikami felt no particular need to finish it, but he had been thrown by the points Kuramae had decided to focus on.

Kuramae was the typical office type, his best feature his
commitment to the job. He’d spent time in Second Division in district, filling in at a desk job for someone who was on long-term sick leave, but he also had experience in Transport and Local Community; in the Prefectural HQ, he’d spent time in Welfare. Having been shunted through so many divisions, he lacked a territory he could call his own. People who failed to specialize tended to get trampled on in the force, and Kuramae was a case in point. It was hard to reconcile the passion he’d poured into compiling and delivering this particular report with his usual dependence on Suwa to help him out.