Six Four (71 page)

All to find the voice on the phone. All to find the voice of his daughter’s kidnapper, which he’d heard on the phone fourteen years ago.

I’ll recognize it if I hear it.
Amamiya had made the declaration at the time of the kidnapping. He’d put his faith in the police investigation, but his hopes had been betrayed. He’d learned the truth, the disgrace of the cover-up. Eight years later, his wife had collapsed with a stroke. That would be when he’d started. As he’d
nursed her, he’d started to make the calls. With nothing but his ears as a guide, he’d tried to seek out the kidnapper.
While Toshiko’s still alive
. Maybe that had been his motivation. Voices changed over time, but he’d been confident he would recognize it. The voice of a man in his thirties or forties, slightly hoarse, with no trace of an accent.
No
. The voice of his tormentor, one he’d heard at home and at nine different businesses, the voice that had spoken into his ear and committed him to a lifetime of anguish.

It was staggering even to consider it. The phone directory issued in the sixty-third year of Showa. They were in the regions . . . no one at the time had thought it a risk to have their number listed.
Prefecture D, Central to East.
Astoundingly thick, the edition contained the numbers of everyone in City D and three cities more. It started with Aikawa, then moved on to Aizawa, Aoki, Aoyanagi, Aoyama . . . Lurking in the middle were the vast realms of popular names like Sato, Suzuki, Takahashi, Tanaka . . . And he wouldn’t have got by making just one call per household. That would have been the minority. If it was a female voice that answered, he would have kept calling until a man picked up. If the voice was male but too young or too old, he’d have had to assume they were living with someone the kidnapper’s age and kept calling. There would have been numbers where no one answered, regardless of how many times he called. He’d persisted, despite all of this. Even after losing Toshiko, he’d refused to give up. Out of a thirst for vengeance. Out of his duty as a father. For the memory of his wife and child. He would have had any number of emotions driving him on. Then, finally, he’d found it – the voice from that day fourteen years ago.

–
There, I can see the billboard!

Mesaki’s voice trembled through the speakers.

– The Ai’ai Hair Salon, right? That was the place?

Forty-nine years old. The voice matched the age. He had no noticeable accent. He’d been screaming since the morning, so it
was impossible to know if his voice was usually hoarse. Even without the yelling, none of the detectives would have recognized it. None of them had heard the kidnapper’s voice all those years ago.
I’ve got people doing their best to find out, as we speak.
Matsuoka’s words from the night before. He’d been ticking through ‘M’. He’d contacted any detectives whose family name fitted the bill, got them to check their families and relatives. He’d assigned others to call around people they knew whose family names started with the letter. The detectives were all in police accommodation: none would have their numbers listed publicly. The results would have come as a surprise, the silent calls never having cropped up in their conversation. By morning, they’d have had a towering stack of reports confirming silent calls. Another decent-sized pile for people who hadn’t:
Mogi
,
Mochizuki
,
Mori
,
Morikawa
,
Morishita
,
Morita.
No one with family names starting with ‘Mo’, the last syllable of the ‘M’ row, had received a call. Even if they had, there would have been too few to highlight a correlation.

‘Mobile Command, this is Pursuit 1. Mesaki is pulling up to his destination.’

‘Copy. Is there space to park?’

‘Yes, enough for one or two cars.’

Matsuoka was focusing on each word. His eyes were fierce. He’d sounded sure when he’d said they were part of the Six Four Investigation; that suggested he’d already worked through the other rows of the Japanese syllabary before stepping into the command vehicle. The ‘M’ calls were all recent, fresh in memory, more likely to be talked about. That was why the subject had come to his attention. But this was Matsuoka. He’d have no doubt considered it dangerous to focus only on ‘M’. If the caller had been someone fixated on that letter, that row alone, that couldn’t make Mesaki the Six Four kidnapper. So Matsuoka had set out to check the end of ‘H’, the previous row, and the beginning of ‘Y’, the row that followed. He would have unearthed a sizable list of
names from ‘H’, names like Horita, Hori and Honda, and seen the same pattern as with the ‘M’ row. For ‘Y’, he’d have found nothing. He’d reached his conclusion. The run of silent calls had ended at names starting with ‘Me’.

From his experience in past investigations, he would have already known that no one in Prefecture D had a family name starting with ‘Re’. That there were only a handful of names starting with ‘He’ or ‘Me’. Once you excluded those like Meikawa, names of people who had moved in from other areas, Mesaki was the only name left on the list.

–
Okay, I’m here! I just stopped. What now? What do you want me to do? Should I go inside?

‘This is Pursuit 1. Passing now.’

–
What should I do? Tell me what you want me to do!

–
Take . . . out the suitcase.

Mikami closed his eyes and focused on the voice.

It was Kazuki Koda.

He hadn’t been able to tell from the sound. But he was sure of it. Stealing phones. Trailing someone around a red-light district. Amamiya wasn’t capable of such things. And there’d been a letter from Koda in the letter rack in Amamiya’s living room. Kakinuma had also told Mikami that Koda never failed to visit Shoko’s grave on the anniversary of her death. Koda must have confessed everything to Amamiya. He’d relayed the contents of the memo and asked forgiveness for the duplicity of the force. He’d stayed in contact, even after his resignation.

Tell me if I can help. I want to help.

Koda was a man of his word, and profoundly honest. Mikami didn’t doubt that he had continued his entreaty, regardless of how much time had passed.

‘This is Pursuit 2. Passing now. Mesaki is taking out the suitcase.’

His sense of obligation would have come from more than just a sense of justice. Aside from the Amamiyas, no one else had had
their lives turned upside down, or been forced to suffer, as much as Koda. His loathing of the kidnapper would have been greater than anyone’s. Amamiya had known this. It was why he’d confided in him. And that was why Koda had escaped Kakinuma’s surveillance and gone into hiding. Why he’d seen fit to abandon a job he’d only obtained after grovelling on his hands and knees, why he’d left behind a wife and child, the normal life he’d finally managed to secure himself, only to martyr himself to Six Four as part of Amamiya’s final play. They had crossed the line together – chosen heresy.
It takes a heretic to catch a heretic.
They were forcing their torture back on to Mesaki. They’d thrown the life of his daughter into uncertainty and, in the process, torn his soul apart.

But . . .

How were they planning to end it?

What was Amamiya’s final goal? What role had he assigned Koda to see through?

The cars they’d left at the driving school – Intercept 6, 7, 8 – had no doubt already fenced Koda in. Koda would know that, but still he stayed on the line.

–
Where do you want the money?

–
There’s . . . an empty plot of land . . . at the back.

– An empty . . . yes, I see it! You want it there?

– Hurry.

The Mobile Command Centre turned right. They were heading directly for the Ai’ai Hair Salon. Ogata took up the mobile phone marked
Locations
. Burly connected a wire.

‘Yoshikawa, report.’

‘Yes, sir. Mesaki is pulling the suitcase behind him, rushing down a path to the side of the building.’

His voice was a whisper.

‘Can you see what’s beyond?’

‘An empty plot of land. Old tyres, a fridge, a washing machine, more piles of junk. The hair salon is probably using it as a
temporary dump. Mesaki just got there. He’s looking around now, phone still to his ear . . .’

–
I’m here. The empty plot of land. What next?

–
There’s an . . . oil drum.

– An oil drum? Ahh, okay . . . I see it.

– Take the money . . . out from the suitcase . . . put it all inside.

– What? Inside the drum?

– You don’t have time . . . for questions.

–
Sorry! You’ll give her back, if I put it in? You’ll let Kasumi go?

–
Do it.

‘I’ve moved around; I have a good view of Mesaki. The suitcase is open and . . . he’s cramming the money into an oil drum.’

Minegishi was leaning over a map he’d called up on one of the screens. He suggested to Matsuoka they approach from the front, then slid open the panel to tell the driver.

‘At the next corner, turn left at the Lawson. Right at the crossroads after that.’

‘Is the road wide enough?’

‘Should be fine.’

–
The money’s all inside. I’ve put it all in.

–
Look at your feet.

– What?

– There’s . . . a round container.

–
I can see it . . .

– Inside you’ll find some petrol and some matches. Use them to set the drum on fire.

Mikami had to catch his breath.

No . . .
Ogata and Minegishi said together.

–
Set it . . . on fire? You want me to burn the money?

– Do it now.

– But . . . but . . . if I do that . . . if I burn the money, what about Kasumi? Are you really going to give her back to me?

– Do you want her to die?

– Okay . . . I’ll do it. Hold on, I’ll do it now.

‘Mesaki is pouring something in, from a plastic bottle. Wait . . .
Shit!
Sir, he’s set the whole thing on fire. The oil drum is on fire.’

It looked like some kind of flare. Black smoke churned into the air, visible through the monitors in the command vehicle.

–
It’s done. I’ve set the money on fire. It’s all burning. Just like you wanted. I’ve done everything you said. Now just give me my daughter back. Where is she? Please. Where is she?

– Under the container.

– Under the . . .?

There were a series of clicks.

‘The kidnapper has ended the call.’

‘. . . Mesaki’s holding up the container now. Peering underneath. He’s got something . . . a piece of paper. Smallish. Notepad size. He’s staring at it. Sir, he’s on his knees! Mesaki has collapsed on to his knees. He’s got his head on the ground, both hands stretched forwards, holding the sheet. He’s . . . balling it up. He’s wailing. Screaming. His daughter’s name. “Kasumi, Kasumi!”’

A note to tell him his daughter was dead?

Was that the message Amamiya had left him?

Now you know the pain of losing a daughter. This moment will last for ever.

‘Incoming call. Mesaki’s phone. The caller is . . . Mutsuko, his wife. Patching it through.’

–
Finally! Where are you? It’s Kasumi. She’s safe. Our daughter’s safe!

–
She . . . she’s safe?

– Yes! There was no kidnapping. No one kidnapped her. No one touched her, she didn’t know anything about it. I’m so glad I got through . . . everything’s okay.

–
She . . . She wasn’t kidnapped?

– No. She’s safe and well. She doesn’t want to talk . . . but there’s nothing to worry about. She’s safe. Darling, isn’t the news fantastic? Come back as soon as you can.

– . . .

– Is something wrong? What is it? Darling?

‘Patching Yoshikawa through second speaker.’

‘Mesaki’s opening a sheet of paper, he’s looking at it. It’s the same one. He’s giving it a funny look. He’s stopped moving. He’s not moving at all.’

The empty plot had come into sight from the command vehicle. The front-side monitor was showing a shot of the area. One of the stylists from inside the salon had come to stand outside the rear entrance. She’d hurried out, no doubt surprised at the commotion. One of the customers was peering dubiously through a back window, colouring foil in her hair. More people were venturing out from nearby shops and houses, having heard Mesaki’s howls. They were converging on a single point – the oil drum, still heaving with black fumes, and Mesaki, now cross-legged on the ground next to it.

‘Zoom in.’

‘Affirmative.’

The camera drew closer to Mesaki. The image expanded until it took up the whole height of the monitor. The camera had a direct view of the man’s face. His head was drooping forwards. His eyes were focused on a single point on the ground. There was something tranquil about the way he looked, despite his trip to hell and back. His temples were moving. Twitching? No. The movement was identical on both sides. His jaw betrayed a subtle motion.

‘It’s in his mouth!’ Minegishi shouted. ‘The bastard’s eating the note.’

‘No, wait. Look!’ Ogata pointed.

The note was there in Mesaki’s hands. He still had it.
Except . . .
Yoshikawa had said it was standard notepad size. The paper was too thin for that. It looked stretched out, a strip more than a sheet. He
was
eating it. He’d torn off half and put it in his mouth.

It was already too late. His jaw was moving sideways, and not up and down. He was using his back teeth to turn it to pulp.

‘Yoshikawa, did you see him do it?’

‘I . . . didn’t see him tearing the paper. I saw him lift a hand to his face, but it looked like he was just rubbing his jaw.’

It made sense. He’d been careful to conceal the fact that he was putting the paper in his mouth. He’d come all this way with the police in tow, so he knew detectives would be watching. He knew they’d later ask him to give them the note. That was why he’d chosen to leave half of it. The half he was chewing on was the half he didn’t want them to see. Most likely the part containing Amamiya’s message . . .