Six Four (54 page)

‘That doesn’t sound right.’

‘I was full of energy at the start. I really thought I could do something to help, to make the world a better place, you know?’

‘And you did, no doubt about it.’

‘No, that wasn’t it. It took a while, but I realized it eventually – I’d only joined the force because I wanted to be loved.’

In the dark, Mikami stared, open-eyed.

‘I just couldn’t warm to people, to society. All those cases, accidents, all those egotists. I started to hate everything. That was when it dawned on me that I was only doing my job so I could feel loved – I wanted people to show me gratitude. When it hit me, I didn’t know what to do. I got cold feet about the whole thing. How could someone like that ever hope to protect people? Why had I ever thought about doing something so off the mark as keeping the peace? That was when . . .’

There was a long pause.

‘I thought, maybe I could protect a smaller world. Maybe I could build a family. Protect it. That much I thought I . . .’

Her voice clouded over.

Mikami sprung up. He turned around and put his hand under Minako’s duvet. He traced the mattress until he found her slender arm and took hold of her hand. She held his back, her grip weak.

‘It’s not your fault.’

Again, Minako said nothing.

‘Ayumi . . . she’s not well.’

‘. . .’

‘Maybe it’s because of me that she’s like this. I never tried to get to know her, not really. I thought I could just leave her be and she’d grow up all on her own.’

‘. . .’

‘And she inherited my face. It’s been a big obstacle for—’

‘That’s not the reason,’ Minako said, cutting him off. ‘Maybe it isn’t even about what we did right, what we did wrong. Maybe we just weren’t right for her.’

Mikami’s head spun.
Not right for her?

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s possible we’d never have understood her properly, however much we tried. Just because we’re her parents, it doesn’t mean we know what she’s thinking.’

Mikami felt himself flinch.

‘How can you say that? We lived under the same roof for sixteen years. You gave birth to her, you raised her—’

‘It’s not a case of how long. There are some things you just can’t understand. Parents and their children are different people; it’s not so strange that this happened.’

‘You think it’s a mistake she was born to us?’

‘That’s not what I’m trying to say. I just wonder . . . whether Ayumi just needs somebody else. Someone other than us.’

‘Who?’

‘Someone has to be out there. Someone ready to accept Ayumi
as she is, who won’t try to change her one way or another. Someone who’ll tell her she’s perfect, who’ll stand silently by her side and protect her. That’s where she belongs. She’ll be free to be herself, do what she wants. Not here, not with us. That’s why she left.’

It was painful to listen. What was she trying to say? Was she giving up hope? Was she trying to tell him she was ready to let go? Or was she simply clinging to an idea, some kind of hope? Whichever the case, it was the dark making her talk. It had taken a small idea, nothing genuine, and amplified it, until it came to dominate the infinite space before them.

‘It just doesn’t make sense.’

Mikami rested his head back on the pillow. Their hands had come apart without either having consciously let go.

‘It does make sense. I know, because I was the same. I never felt like I belonged at home, even as a child. The feeling was always there.’

‘You?’

‘My parents seemed really happy together, right? The truth is they were really unhappy. There was a girl at my dad’s work who he’d been involved with for a long time. My mum was always unstable as a result. I remember you said you were glad there was someone to look after him when he remarried a few years after she passed away. That was the girl from work.’

Mikami felt dizzy. Something else he was hearing for the first time. This made sense of the fact that Minako hardly ever got in touch with her father.

Even so
. . .

‘We’re not like that.’

‘Of course not. But their problems weren’t the reason I didn’t belong. I didn’t find out about the adultery until much later, and my parents were good to me most of the time. Still, I felt alone. I never told them how I felt. And I never got the impression they knew. I’d just assumed they wouldn’t understand. I don’t know why.

‘I always felt like I was coming back to an empty house, even though Mum would be there when I got back from school.
How was school?
I already knew everything she’d ask, and my answers were all fixed. It all seemed pointless. The feeling of emptiness didn’t change even when Dad got back. Even now, thinking back, it’s only the empty spaces I can remember. The wind or the sun coming through the window. The worn-out couch. The
kokeshi
doll, gathering dust on one of the shelves.’

Her voice had trailed off. Mikami shut his eyes. The dark became darker still. Had she fallen asleep? Was she staring at nothing? She was quiet. Mikami had begun to lose sense of time, even the feeling of being on his futon, when he heard her speak again.

‘The woman’s son. I hope he comes back to her.’

‘Hmm?’

‘The man from Forensics. I hope he’s able to come back.’

To come back . . .

‘Yeah. I do, too.’

‘Because . . . it could be you.’

‘What could?’

‘You could be that someone, for him.’

You think so . . .?

Mikami stopped thinking. He couldn’t think any more. He breathed out. As though it was a sign, it carried him into the dark.

The next morning Mikami found his shoes polished as usual.

The commissioner was due to arrive in one day. He geared himself up and left the house. Anything could happen in the next twenty-four hours. For the moment, the papers had been empty of surprises. With nothing to suggest a repeat bombardment from Criminal Investigations, the pages had been filled with news articles catching up on the previous day’s scoop.

The first shock had come a minute after his arrival in Media Relations. Kuramae and Mikumo had already been out, gathering details of a land survey for the new station building; Suwa had been by himself, brooding as he waited for Mikami.

‘Did you hear the news?’

‘What news?’

‘There was a tip-off. It made its way around Criminal Investigations, late last night.’

‘A tip-off?’

‘About Administrative Affairs being in cahoots with Tokyo, conspiring to take over the director’s job – something to that effect. Anyway, word spread around the detectives, and now even the smaller district stations know about it.’

The instigator. Was it Arakida’s plan to get every last detective up in arms?

‘Where did you get this?’

‘A detective, someone I know from my intake. He was all riled up, called me a traitor.’

Mikami hadn’t had a single call at home. If Suwa was being targeted due to his background in Administrative Affairs, Mikami, with his history as a detective, knew he’d become an even bigger target.
Bastard got greedy, sold us out.
He wondered if that was what they were saying on the other side.

He picked up the external line, and dialled Amamiya’s home number. It felt more like a call to confirm, to double-check, than to run through the following day’s schedule. The phone had rung a few times when Kuramae came back into the office; Mikumo followed soon after.

Nobody picked up at Amamiya’s end. Mikami waited a while before trying again, but all he saw was the lonely image of the phone ringing by itself in the man’s empty living room. Twenty past nine. Maybe he was still in bed.

Mikami put his notebook back in his jacket pocket and got up from his desk. The internal line started to ring, stopping him. It was Akama. He told Mikami to report immediately to the first floor.

The air inside Akama’s office was still.

Ishii had been summoned, too. He was perched on the edge of one of the couches, his back hunched. He didn’t look around, although he would have heard Mikami come in.

Akama acknowledged him with a quick flick of his eyes. He’d aged in just one day. That was Mikami’s immediate impression. Harried, dehydrated. Hair not combed properly after a night’s sleep. Fingers that twitched on the couch armrest. The details all spoke of the magnitude of the stress he’d no doubt faced in Tokyo.

‘I just finished talking with Ishii.’

As he took his seat, Mikami threw a sideways glance at the man. Head drooping. Eyes staring. Mouth half-open. Whatever he’d been told, it had put him in shock.

‘Criminal Investigations apparently called him at home, issuing threats. He came to discuss the matter with me.’

Mikami saw what was coming.

‘What kind of threats?’

‘Someone’s spreading information through the department.’

‘What information?’

‘That Tokyo is planning to sequester the director’s post in the spring. That the commissioner intends to make the announcement tomorrow.’

Mikami watched Akama in silence.

Akama watched him back, clearly hoping to gauge something from his reaction. ‘You knew.’

‘Yes.’

‘You received a threatening call, too?’

‘No. No one’s been in touch.’

‘So, you’ve been in contact with them?’

Mikami said nothing in response. He felt the muscles pulling together over his forehead. Akama broke eye contact. It looked as though he’d done so to avoid an argument.

‘I’m not looking to blame you here. I heard from Suwa that you managed to placate the reporters. A job well done. It certainly raises you in my estimation. Why then . . .’ Akama looked back up ‘. . . would someone like that go crashing into the captain’s office? I hear you gave him your opinion? That you even urged him to reconsider the matter of the director’s post?’

Mikami’s eyes had fallen to Akama’s chest. He didn’t know how to revisit the emotions he’d felt at the time, even now, as Akama raised the subject. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say, not a single excuse.

‘Which one is the real Mikami?’

He gave no answer.

‘You need to make your allegiances crystal clear. The commissioner is due to be here
tomorrow.
’ Akama’s tie swayed as he leaned in. ‘Mikami, I wonder if you truly understand what this means. We are talking about the commissioner general, in person. He is more than an individual, more than the pinnacle of a government bureaucracy. He embodies the
entire police authority
.’

‘If the commissioner is the embodiment of the force, the director of Criminal Investigations is nothing less than the embodiment of the police in Prefecture D.’

Akama removed his glasses. His hand was trembling faintly.

‘Is that your answer?’

‘I just told you how it is. As press director, I have no intention of lending them my support.’

‘If that really is the case, admit to it. You know something. What is Criminal Investigations planning to do?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I seriously doubt that’s true. You must have heard
something
.’

‘My position precludes me from knowing anything.’

‘I’ve always held you in good favour, Mikami. Don’t disappoint me now.’

‘I’m not doing this for your benefit,’ he said, before thinking what he was saying.

Akama’s eyes widened.

‘So you do—’

‘Was there anything else?’

‘Why, you—’

‘I have to go and see Amamiya. I need to make sure everything’s in place for tomorrow.’

Akama’s eyes drifted for a moment. Then he nodded, put his glasses back on, and crossed his hands over his knees.

‘Yes, good. Make sure to consider every eventuality.’

Mikami got to his feet. He gave a deep bow of his head, Akama’s expression seeming to leap out at him as he did. His head was dipped low, his eyes upturned and steady, so he looked like a wild animal getting ready to pounce.

‘While you’re here, have you come to a decision about sending your daughter’s photo nationwide to help with the search?’

It didn’t come as a surprise. At this stage, the leash he had Mikami on was doubtless his only lifeline. Mikami made another
deep bow of his head. It was a salute, marking the conclusion of eight months.

‘Thank you, I appreciate the concern. Thank you again for the special consideration you’ve been kind enough to show us until now.’ Mikami brought his head back up. ‘I would like you to remember one thing. If – heaven forbid – your daughter were ever to run away from home,
we’re
the ones who would search for her. The 260,000 police officers stationed in regions throughout the nation.
Not
the bureaucrats in Kasumigaseki.’

Mikami walked out without waiting for a reaction. His pace picked up as he strode down the corridor. Ishii was coming up from behind. He seemed about to enter the Secretariat, but his footsteps quickened; he jogged up to Mikami.

‘Mikami, there’s nothing we can do about it.’ He didn’t know how to vent his anger. It was clear from the look on his face. Down around his belt, his hands were clenched into fists. ‘It can’t be helped. It’s beyond our control. We couldn’t change it even if we wanted to.’

Ishii would have had one –
I swear to protect our home –
a day in his youth, when he’d pledged the same.

Mikami held back from nodding.

Instead of heading immediately downstairs, though, he stayed and watched Ishii trudge, exhausted, like a sun setting, through the doors of the Secretariat.

Yoshio Amamiya was out.

The front door was locked and his car was gone. Mikami waited half an hour, but he showed no signs of coming back. He wrote a note on one of his business cards and wedged it into the letterbox.
I’ll try again this afternoon.

Mikami felt uneasy. He wasn’t worried about Amamiya having second thoughts; instead, the feeling came from his not knowing why Amamiya had decided to accept the commissioner’s visit in the first place.