Six Four (6 page)

‘What is the visit for?’ Mikami asked, and Akama’s smile deepened in response.

‘To make an appeal, inside and outside the force, and to give a boost to the officers still investigating the case. To reinforce our intention never to let violent crime go unpunished.’

‘The kidnapping took place fourteen years ago. May I assume the visit is related to the statute of limitations?’

‘What could have more impact than the commissioner’s message relating to this old case? I am told it was the commissioner’s own idea. Although, I do believe his appeal is intended more to reach an internal audience than the general public.’

An internal audience
. With those words, everything seemed to fall into place.

Tokyo. Politics.

‘Anyway, here’s the detailed schedule for the day.’

Ishii picked up a sheet of paper. Mikami quickly pulled out his notebook.

‘Note that this isn’t official as yet. Right – so the commissioner is due to arrive by car at noon. After lunch with the station captain, he will go directly to Sada-cho and visit the site where the girl’s body was discovered. While there, he will make an offering of flowers and incense. Following that, he will go to the Investigative HQ in Central Station and give praise and encouragement to the team. From there he would like to pay a visit to the bereaved family’s home in order to pay his respects. There, another offering of incense. After that he wants to take a walking interview between the house and his car. That’s the overall picture, as it is now.’

Mikami had stopped scribbling his notes. ‘He wants a walking interview?’ A walking interview meant the press gathering around him to ask their questions as he stood – or continued walking – outside the house.

‘Exactly. That’s what the Secretariat has requested. No doubt they feel it will have a more dynamic feel than a formal session, say, in a conference room.’

Mikami felt his mood darken. The unforgiving faces of the reporters flashed through his mind. ‘Where does he want the photographs? At the site where the body was found?’

‘No. Those would be at the family home.’

‘He wants the reporters to come inside?’

‘Would it be too small for that?’

‘No, not really, but . . .’

‘The commissioner paying his respects at the altar, the bereaved parents in the background. That’s the picture he wants for the TV and papers.’

The chief executive of the police giving the bereaved his assurances that the kidnapper would be caught. It certainly had impact.

‘There isn’t much time; make sure you get the family’s permission in the next day or two,’ Akama said from one side. He had reverted to his normal way of issuing orders.

Mikami made an ambivalent nod.

‘Hmm? Is there something you wish to raise?’

‘No . . .’ He doubted the family would decline to accept the commissioner’s visit. At the same time, he felt uncomfortable with the idea of visiting them to make the request. They had hardly exchanged words at the time of the kidnapping. Only the members of the Home Unit had spoken with them in any real detail. And then he’d been transferred. His posting to Second Division had come only three months after the kidnapping had taken place; he had completely lost touch with the progress of the case.

‘Okay. I’ll check in with the Six Four team first, to see if they can provide me with an update on the family,’ Mikami said, choosing his words carefully.

Akama frowned in disapproval. ‘I shouldn’t think that is necessary. My understanding is that you are already acquainted with
the family. No, your request is to be made directly. There’s no need to involve Criminal Investigations.’

‘But that’s . . .’

‘This is the remit of Administrative Affairs. Surely it would only complicate matters to bring Criminal Investigations into the fray? Once you have the groundwork in place, I will contact the director personally. Until then, you are to treat this matter as confidential.’

Confidential?
Mikami couldn’t gauge Akama’s true intent. Organizing the visit without Criminal Investigations knowing? It was painfully clear that doing so would only complicate matters even more, and the case in question was nothing less than Six Four.

‘Also, with regard to the press . . .’ Akama continued, paying no heed. ‘As I believe this is the first time you’ve handled something like this, let me explain a couple of things. The walking interview will give all the appearance of being casual, but it won’t do for us to grant the press access to the commissioner without first applying restrictions. Our preparations must be on a par with those for a member of the Diet. It would be untenable if the commissioner were to stumble over any capricious or otherwise irresponsible questions. The first thing you must do is get the Press Club to compose and submit a list of questions in advance. They will have around ten minutes to ask questions on the day. Also, only the paper representing the club this month will be permitted to conduct the interview. And you must impress on them the importance of not asking any awkward questions. Is this clear?’

Mikami looked down at his notes. He accepted that it was necessary to consult with the press beforehand. The question was whether rational discussion was possible, given the current situation.

‘I assume the press were . . . vocal again this morning?’

Had Akama noticed his unease? No, someone had probably already told him about the situation in Media Relations.

‘What’s it really like?’

‘Worse than before. I refused to give way on the anonymous reporting.’

‘Very good. We mustn’t let down our guard. They will only get cocky, try to take advantage, the moment we show any signs of weakness. Force them into submission. We provide the information, and they accept it. You need to drum that into them.’

His talk apparently over, he had started riffling through his jacket pockets, as though having remembered that he had been looking for something. Mikami peered at Ishii out of the corner of his eye. He was scribbling something in red, as exuberant-looking as earlier. Mikami’s foreboding had been right on the mark. He felt more weighed down than when he had entered the office.

‘Right – if that’s everything . . .’

Mikami snapped his notebook shut and got to his feet. Perhaps there was something in his bearing that suggested to Akama a false obedience – he called out just as Mikami was leaving the room.

‘You are the spitting image, you know. You must really cherish her.’

Mikami stopped. He turned around cautiously. In his hand, Akama was brandishing the photo of Ayumi the police were using for the search.
The spitting image.
Mikami hadn’t told Akama the reason why Ayumi had run away. His face burned regardless. In that instant, his façade of calm crumbled. Akama looked smug.

‘The fingerprints, dental records – why don’t you discuss it some more with your wife? I just want to do all we can for you.’

Mikami’s struggle lasted only seconds.

‘Thank you.’

He bowed deeply from the waist. As he did so, he felt the blood coursing through his body.

‘I don’t think I can make it back for lunch.’

‘That’s fine, there’s no need to worry.’

‘What will you do for food?’

‘I’ll manage. I can make do with leftovers, from this morning.’

‘Why don’t you go and get something from Shinozaki?’

Minako was silent.

‘Take the car. It’s only fifteen minutes there and back.’

‘I think I should finish the leftovers . . .’

‘At least order in some soba, from Sogetsuan.’

Again, silence.

‘It’ll be nice.’

‘. . . Okay.’

‘Great, do that for today. But it’ll really help if you get out a little more.’

‘Darling . . .’

She was dying to end the call. The determination expressed itself, as always, through her silence. She was terrified that Ayumi would call, only to find the line busy. They had switched their old phone for a new model, adding call waiting to their contract, alongside the new caller-display functionality that had been rolled out locally in the previous year. Yet Minako refused to be placated, continuing instead to obsess over ‘what ifs’.

‘Okay, I’ll hang up. Just make sure to order something healthy with the soba, okay?’

‘I will.’

Mikami ended the call, stepping out from under the wooden pavilion in Joshi Park. The call wasn’t the kind he could make from the office, and he didn’t like to creep around the station building; instead, he had walked the few minutes it took to reach the park. The north wind was getting stronger still. In lieu of a coat, he turned up his jacket collar and hurried back along the path to the station. The weight of Minako’s voice lingered in his ears. He couldn’t let them drag each other down. When Ayumi had first gone missing, Minako had almost never been at home. Desperate for news of Ayumi’s whereabouts, she had combed the local area with a photo in hand, asking questions and chasing what few leads there were; she had even gone to Tokyo and Kanagawa. Now, she hardly stepped out of the house. The shift had taken place a month ago, after the silent phone call. The call had been followed by another. A total of three in one day.
Ayumi, still hesitant.
The idea had spread and taken root in her mind. She had shut herself inside ever since, waiting all day, every day, for another call. She wouldn’t listen when Mikami told her it was bad for her. Buying a new phone had had no effect – her life had changed completely. She started to buy the things she wanted by mail order. She would use food from the delivery companies to make dinner, make do with what was left for breakfast and lunch the following day. Mikami doubted she even ate the latter, when he wasn’t there to check.

It had become his daily routine to buy two bento boxes at the supermarket near the station and take them home for lunch. This, at least, made him glad he was no longer a detective. In Media Relations, he could leave relatively early to go home. When something major happened, he still needed to visit the scene of the crime ahead of the press, but, in contrast to his time in Criminal Investigations, he was no longer required to camp night after night in the
dojo
of whichever station had jurisdiction. Most of the time he was free to go home. To be at Minako’s side.

The truth, however, was that, even then, he couldn’t be sure that his presence was actually providing her with any reassurance. When he was back early or home during lunch he would encourage her to go out, maybe do some shopping, telling her he would keep watch over the phone. She would nod in response but fail to show any signs of leaving. He saw Ayumi reflected in her stubbornness, the way their daughter had locked herself in her room in the days that led up to her running away.

And yet . . . he understood all too well the emotions that drove her to cling to the phone. After two months of silence following their daughter’s running away, the moment of the call coming in had, for two parents on the edge of despair, represented confirmation that their daughter was alive. That evening, torrential rain had swept the northern area of the prefecture. The office had been inundated with reports of landslides and Mikami had been late home, so Minako had answered two of the three calls. The first had come in a little after eight. As soon as Minako had given her name, the caller had hung up. The second had come in at exactly half past nine. Minako had later explained to Mikami that she’d known it was Ayumi the instant it had started to ring. The second time she had kept quiet and just pressed the receiver to her ear. Ayumi tended to shrink away from pressure. It was best to give her space. She would talk, she just needed time. Minako had waited and prayed. Five . . . ten seconds. But the caller had remained silent. When Minako finally broke and called out Ayumi’s name, the line had been immediately disconnected.

Minako had been beside herself when she called Mikami on his mobile. He had rushed home.
Call, just one more time.
He had waited, hoping against hope. The phone had rung a little before midnight. Mikami grabbed the receiver. A moment of silence. His pulse was racing. He called out to her.
Ayumi? I know it’s you, Ayumi.
There was no reply. Mikami let his emotions take over.
Ayumi! Where are you? Come home. Everything will be fine, just come home right away!
The rest, he couldn’t remember. He suspected
he’d continued to call her name, over and over. At some point, the line had gone dead. He’d fallen into a stupor. For a while, he’d just stood there, rooted to the spot. It was only later that he realized he’d neglected to remember his training as a police officer, as a detective – he’d changed into a father, nothing else; lost sight of the fundamentals; forgotten even to pay attention to noises in the background. They hadn’t bought Ayumi a mobile. The call seemed to have been made from a pay phone. He thought he could remember a faint sound, present throughout the call. Had it been breathing, or the murmur of the city, or something else? He’d tried desperately to remember, but nothing came. All that was left was a vague sensation, nothing he could call memory; a continuous sound, one that varied in intensity. His imagination had run wild. A non-stop stream of traffic, a city at night. A phone box on a pavement. An image of Ayumi inside, curled into a ball.

It had to be her
, Mikami muttered to himself. His steps were becoming irregular. Without realizing it, his hands had clenched into fists. Who else apart from Ayumi would call three times without saying anything? There was also the fact that they weren’t listed in the telephone directory. They didn’t live in official police accommodation. After their marriage Mikami and Minako had moved into Mikami’s family home in order to take care of his ailing parents. The number had, at the time, still been in the directory, under his dad’s name. Illness had eventually claimed his mother, and it wasn’t long after Six Four that his father passed away from pneumonia. Mikami had become the new head of the family and, in line with police tradition, applied to remove their personal number from the register. Ever since, it hadn’t been included in the annually updated directory. Mikami knew from his experience as a detective that the directory was used for the majority of prank (and obscene) calls. Compared to households with listed numbers, this meant the likelihood of their number being targeted for such calls was minute.