Six Four (23 page)

You need to start with the Koda memo.

The words formed on Mikami’s breath. It wasn’t possible, at this stage, to be sure such a document even existed, let alone work out what it contained. Futawatari was operating on the basis that it did exist. Focused on this one point, he was attempting to break into the territory of Criminal Investigations. The Koda memo was the key, it had to be. Criminal Investigations staging a mutiny. Amamiya refusing the visit. The commissioner’s real reason for making the visit. Mikami was increasingly convinced the memo was the way to unlock all three puzzles.

It was no stretch of the imagination to suppose that the memo was something Kazuki Koda had written. Koda had been with Violent Crime in First Division when the Six Four kidnapping had occurred, and he’d been one of four officers assigned to the Home Unit stationed in Amamiya’s house during the kidnapping. Something had gone wrong while he was there. Something that had resulted in Amamiya losing confidence in the police. The Koda memo contained the details of what had happened.

Mikami felt that he wasn’t too far from the mark.

The fact that Koda had resigned only six months after the kidnapping only served to reinforce the theory. The official record of his resignation cited ‘personal reasons’, but the truth was that he’d been pressured into leaving the force because he’d written about whatever it was that had occurred in Amamiya’s home. Either that, or the existence of the memo had come to light after his resignation and the issue was still smouldering away even now.

But . . .

Mikami’s thoughts leapt back fourteen years. He’d been there, too. The night of the kidnapping, he’d been in Amamiya’s house as part of the Close Pursuit Team. He’d been in the same room as the Amamiyas – and the Home Unit – until after 4 p.m. the following day. As far as he could remember, nothing resembling an argument had taken place during that time. Could something have happened that he hadn’t picked up on? Could it have been after he’d left?

Koda had written the memo – all he needed to do was ask him. Yet Mochizuki had told Mikami that Koda had gone missing. Criminal Investigations was also unaware of his current location; unable to track down the source of the fire. It was why they were so terrified of Futawatari digging around.

Whatever the situation, the most direct source of information would be the Home Unit. If he managed to find out what had caused it all from someone on the team, he would be able to infer the subject of the memo. The date of Koda’s disappearance, his last known whereabouts – it was likely that the members of the Home Unit knew these details, too.

Mikami looked up at the sky.

The four members of the Home Unit had left directly for Amamiya’s house. Urushibara had been in charge; Kakinuma, his sub. Each had been pulled from Special Investigations, First Division, which was where Mikami had been stationed at the time. Koda had been number three. He had been brought in from Violent Crime, his familiarity with the neighbourhood around Amamiya’s house having secured him the place. The final member of the unit had been Iwate, an officer from Forensics; he’d been put in charge of recording and tracing calls. His first name refused to surface. He was the eccentric type, a bespectacled analyst with rimless glasses who had transferred in from an R&D job in telecommunications with NTT.

Urushibara had since been promoted and was now the acting captain of District Station Q. At the time, he’d been the section
chief of Special Investigations, Mikami had been sub-chief of the same, Urushibara’s direct subordinate. Yet it had never felt like he’d worked for him. The section had been organized into two teams which functioned independently of each other; Mikami had managed one, Urushibara the other. The section had little experience when it came to kidnappings. The only real knowledge they’d been given had been the case manual, already drummed into their heads, and the few dusty sets of apparatus they could put to use in such an investigation. They had dealt with a couple of kidnappings before Six Four – one when the owner of a real-estate company was taken hostage by a crime syndicate; another when a violent husband had abducted and locked up his ex-wife – but none that had involved both a child and a ransom. For better or worse, this had biased the nature of the work sent to Special Investigations, and Mikami had spent the majority of his time in district dealing with a surplus of cases concerning serious professional negligence. Just before the kidnapping occurred, Mikami’s team had been focusing on dealing with the aftermath of a fire that had resulted in the death or injury of seventeen workers, while Urushibara’s had, following a landslide at a gravel stope, been out conducting daily tests in order to build a case for the prosecution.

Even if they had been part of the same team, Mikami doubted he could have ever grown to like Urushibara. More than anyone else, he’d used Mikami’s ‘exile’ as an excuse to treat him coldly, and had also, no doubt to harass him, developed the habit of making coarse remarks about Minako.
How about it, is she a moaner?

Even so, there had been nothing remiss in his conduct as chief of the Home Unit. He’d helped calm Yoshio Amamiya’s frayed nerves and provided encouragement to his despairing wife, Toshiko, speaking in calm and level tones even as he extracted the information necessary to help with the investigation. They had ended up waiting until the next morning for the kidnapper to call. Yet even when the tension in the room had reached
the point of becoming unbearable, the occasional conversation between the two men had remained candid and free from accusation.

You should try to rest a little.

No, thank you. I can relax better like this.

It’s going to be a long day. You need to sleep a little, for your daughter.

Amamiya had responded by nodding, finally relaxing from his formal posture. At that point at least, a relationship of trust had been growing between the two parties.

What had come next? What had happened to spark Amamiya’s emotional withdrawal?

Mikami suspected it would be next to impossible to get Urushibara to talk about it. Whatever his shortcomings, he was a man who had from a young age waded undaunted through the world of criminal investigations. His sense of belonging was adamantine, nothing a promotion to captain could shake.

What about Kakinuma? Mikami hadn’t heard anything about him being transferred away from Six Four. If he remembered correctly, the man had joined the Investigative HQ from Special Investigations and continued to work there even after its downgrade to ‘team’. It seemed abnormal for someone not to receive even a single transfer in fourteen years, but, Mikami supposed, it could simply be testament to the magnitude of the case. Kakinuma gave the impression of frailty, but he was surprisingly gutsy. He was quick on his feet and could hold his own against a professional architect when it came to his knowledge of buildings and construction. They’d been on different teams and Mikami could count the times they’d shared drinks on a single hand, but there was no reason to suspect he’d be anything but receptive to an approach. The hitch was that he wasn’t in a position to think of Six Four as something that had happened in the past. Assuming he was still part of the Investigative Team, the gag order would carry more weight for him than with anyone else.

The image of a man in blue overalls suddenly revealed itself.

That was it. Kakinuma had entered Amamiya’s house under the guise of being there to fix a gas leak. Together with Koda, who had been in the same disguise, he had busied himself handling communications with the Investigative HQ: a radio, issuing a continuous flow of orders and directions; a mobile phone – before they’d come into widespread use, larger than the radio itself. With a practised hand, Kakinuma had used them both to relay every scrap of information Urushibara had gleaned from the Amamiyas back to HQ. By night-time the members of the other units had begun to arrive in the house; just as Mikami had, they circled around the back of the pickle factory so as not to be seen. Officers to assist with Kakinuma and his unit. Officers who were only there briefly to collect something of Shoko’s – photos, a hairbrush. Matsuoka had been there too. He had formally introduced himself to Amamiya, saying he would hide in the car with him if the kidnapper demanded that a member of the family deliver the ransom. By dawn, a group of female officers had arrived with the specific goal of providing support to Amamiya’s wife. They huddled quietly with Toshiko in the kitchen while she continued making rice balls.

A chain of images flashed into Mikami’s mind, all of Mizuki Suzumoto. She had come in as a shift officer to help Toshiko. She was Minako’s senior by one year, and had also been in Criminal Investigations in Mikami’s district station. He had seen her recently, just a couple of weeks ago. Worried about Minako once she’d stopped leaving the house after the silent calls, and knowing that Mizuki had been like an older sister to her, Mikami had approached her to ask for help. The memories of her in Amamiya’s house began to take shape. She had first shown up in the afternoon, the day following the kidnapping. She had donned an apron and done the washing-up. She had massaged Toshiko’s back. She had made tea and handed it around. And she had still been there even after Mikami had left. Her skills of observation
were formidable. What might she have seen? What might she have experienced?

Of course . . .
Hiyoshi
.

The name seemed to come from nowhere. Hiyoshi from Forensics. The fourth member of the Home Unit. He’d been all but invisible, quiet throughout. With no way of knowing when the kidnapper might call, he’d been unable to leave the open-reel tape recorder for even a moment. He’d been as white as a sheet. It was hardly surprising. He was a civilian, an engineer; he worked for the force, but he wasn’t an officer. He spent his time at work cooped up in a lab, and, apart from cases when his professional advice was needed as a matter of urgency, he had never been required to visit a crime scene, much less work full-time on the site of a criminal investigation. His inclusion in the team had been notable by its irregularity. Every officer in Special Investigations had passed training in setting up and using the recording and tracing equipment. Even supposing Urushibara and Kakinuma had been unable to perform the task due to their other duties, they could easily have brought in someone else from the section to cover them. Hiyoshi had only become involved because of his background at NTT. Facing its first real case of kidnapping, the Prefectural HQ had grown nervous. Desperate for a strong opening gambit, but showing concern at Special Investigations’ lack of experience outside of professional misconduct, the HQ had seen fit to bend the investigative rulebook, pinning its hopes on the expertise of this one man.

Maybe he’s the one I need to go after . . .

Mikami felt increasingly sure of it. He had hardly spoken to the man, but he knew Hiyoshi wouldn’t be the type to let friendship influence a negotiation. They were both part of Criminal Investigations, but staff in Forensics shared a mindset that was closer to that of an academic, and they were not interested in station-wide power games. He might reveal their secret without even realizing it. It was certainly possible. Staff in Forensics were
also, as a rule, not subject to departmental transfers. Hiyoshi would still be there, in the lab.

Mikami tried to contain the anticipation that was rising within him.

First was Mizuki Suzumoto. It was ten years ago that she’d married a banker and resigned from the force; her family name had changed to Murakushi. Although he felt bad going to her with another request for help, it also made for a good opportunity to thank her for the last time. She had rushed over to see Minako the very day Mikami had called. They had sat together and spent a long time talking over things. The network of female officers is small and close. Mizuki had graduated from the same high school as Mikumo.

Mikami took his phone from his jacket pocket. He brought up his list of contacts, but couldn’t find anybody under Suzumoto or Murakushi. Cursing himself, and after a moment of indecision, he chose to hit the third speed-dial number instead of calling home.

‘Sir, what is it?’

Mikumo answered, already aware of who was calling.

‘Sorry to disturb you. Can you give me Murakushi’s home number?’

‘Mura—?’

‘Mizuki, from your school. Mizuki Murakushi. You did say you two sent each other cards at New Year?’

‘Right, sorry. Hold on just a second.’

If he’d called home, Minako would have wanted to know what he was doing. Lacking the time to go into the details, he would have only caused her more worry.

‘Sorry to keep you. Have you got something you can write this down with?’

‘Sure, go ahead.’

Mikami had jotted down the number and was just about to hang up when Mikumo spoke again, sounding rushed. ‘Sir, can I do anything to help?’

‘You already did. Just get some rest. We’re going to be busy next week.’

The cold stares of the reporters darted through his mind. Monday would be another crucial point for the HQ’s relationship with the press.

Mikami shook his head and hung up. He called the number he’d noted down. It was a Saturday, so he expected Mizuki’s husband would be at home; as he listened to the phone ring, it didn’t seem to matter.

‘Hello, yes?’ It was Mizuki who answered the phone, breathing heavily.

‘It’s Mikami. Uh, is everything okay?’

‘Oh, yes, sorry. I was just on the balcony, had to run to get the phone.’

‘Right. Do you have the time to talk?’

‘What, has something happened to Minako?’ she asked, suddenly apprehensive.

‘No, nothing to do with that. Thanks, by the way. You really were a great help.’

‘You know she called me, yesterday.’

‘Hmm?’

‘She didn’t say?’

Mikami stumbled over what to say. He hadn’t expected that at all. Minako, usually so desperate to stay off the phone, had actually made a call?

‘Not yet. I spent the whole night running from one thing to another.’