Six Four (66 page)

There’s a phrase: ‘It takes a heretic to catch a heretic.’

Matsuoka’s words came ominously back to mind. Mikami never heard the phrase before. Was it something Matsuoka had thought up himself? Something to put words to an idea of his? If so, were they some kind of placeholder? Something that suggested what it was that needed to remain hidden?

The shadow of a bird crossed the front window.

Mikami pulled away as soon as the light turned green. He needed to stare into Matsuoka’s eyes and check, and not just for the sake of Media Relations.

A wind was picking up.

A four-tonne truck was parked up ahead, bearing the logo of a soft-drink manufacturer. Three years ago, the logo on the van was that of a cigarette company. Before that, Mikami seemed to remember it had been one for a company making processed food. It was the prefecture’s Mobile Command Centre, purchased the year following the Six Four kidnapping after a compensatory jump in their budget. In the thirteen years since, he’d never once heard of the computerized vehicle being deployed.

Mikami was in his car.
The parking area of a driving school, half a kilometre from Station G.
It had taken three trips around the city to find them.
A detective in the driving seat. An elbow poking from the passenger window.
There would be more inside, sitting in the glittering silver container that formed the back of the vehicle.

The engine was off, but the vehicle’s design included an array of batteries fitted to the undercarriage, allowing air conditioning, communications devices and all digital components to function regardless.

Five past ten. The announcement would have started. More likely, the announcement scheduled for eight o’clock was still dragging on. He couldn’t let it distract him. He would wait for Matsuoka. Any normal First Division Chief would set up base in the Investigative HQ and lead from there, but Mikami knew that wouldn’t apply to a hunter like Matsuoka. He would take advantage of any tool that was available to him. If there was a command
vehicle, he would be in it. Mikami’s job now was to keep his eyes open, to keep watch.

He hadn’t slept for twenty-eight hours. He didn’t feel sleepy, but his experience from previous stake-outs told him that was a sign of danger. You just passed out. And when you did, you didn’t wake again, not even if your mark prodded you in the head. Matsuoka would enter the command vehicle at ten thirty. Eleven at the latest. Mikami had to stay alert until then.

He lit a cigarette; keeping one eye on the vehicle, he opened his mobile. He called the retired officer, Mochizuki. No one answered. Maybe his phone was on drive mode. Mikami had missed his call while he’d been driving, his own phone also set to drive mode. Now he was parked and calling Mochizuki back, their situations reversed; perhaps he was out delivering some flowers.

Futawatari paid another visit.

Mikami was expecting the call to be something like that. It didn’t stir up any emotions. It was something he had to get out of the way, but that was all. The issue of the commissioner’s visit had been sorted. In its place was the kidnapping and the kidnapping alone, stretching as far as the eye could see.

Mikami stubbed his cigarette into the car’s ashtray.

Futawatari called earlier, asking if he could help. I can call him in.

He hadn’t meant to test Suwa. The situation had convinced him that help was needed. How would Futawatari have dealt with it? What would he have done to get through? Mochizuki’s missed call had triggered the questions, but his thoughts in the lift had been different.
Someone to rescue Suwa and Ochiai
. Futawatari’s name had been the first to come to mind.

He slapped himself on the cheeks. He’d jumped after seeing the numbers on the car’s digital clock: 10.25. His watch read the same. It felt as if time had jumped forwards.
I’ve been passing out each time I blink.
The fear rose inside him. He leaned into the steering column and scanned the command vehicle.

Nothing out of the ordinary. It was parked in the same place.
Everything was normal. Mikami let out a breath and had just begun to settle back into his seat when . . .

Matsuoka.

A row of three four-door sedans pulled on to the road in front of the driving school. Mikami caught a glimpse of Matsuoka from the side. He was in the back of the first vehicle. The cars continued until they were in the shadow of the command vehicle; there was the screech of brakes.

Mikami was already out of his car, running towards them. Alerted by the sound, one of the detectives getting out of the third vehicle turned around.
Aizawa.
He brushed a hand towards the hem of his jacket, not recognizing who it was. For a split second, the holster carrying his gun came into view.
Was he going to draw?
Mikami held up his hands but refrained from coming to a full stop. Seeing it was Mikami, his old boss from Special Investigations, Aizawa called to the next detective emerging from the vehicle, his expression still tense.
Looks like we’ve got a complication . . .

Still keeping his distance, Mikami circled around towards the front of the command vehicle. He could feel the glaring eyes before the others came into view. Seven, eight, nine . . . Nine detectives stood encircling Matsuoka, each with a concealed weapon around their hip or chest. Each was a big name. Among them were Ogata from Violent Crime Section One and Minegishi from Special Investigations. They were Matsuoka’s best, with a long service of leadership – men in line to take charge of Criminal Investigations for the next generation. They stood there, intimidating, as they tried to gauge Mikami’s purpose, but they were also the only ones to remember decorum and offer a silent nod of their heads.

Once again, Matsuoka showed no sign of surprise. Mikami felt a wave of nostalgia, as though they’d been reunited after a long trip, despite the fact that they had met only a day earlier, in the toilets of Station G. Matsuoka’s eyes were not those of a heretic. There was no need for further scrutiny: they were the eyes of a man working on
a case. They seemed compressed, half closed in concentration. When the time came, Mikami knew they would snap open, lifting, together with his thick eyebrows, to form the mask of a
Kongorikishi
, the muscular guardians that manned temple gates.

‘What, you’re stalking me now, Mikami?’

No doubt a calculated move, Matsuoka’s casual remark immediately eased the tension among the detectives, bringing their guard down a notch. It had no effect on Mikami. He remained tightly wound.

‘Let me come with you. In my role as press director.’

The nine detectives reacted simultaneously, looking astonished. With the cream of Criminal Investigations present, Mikami hadn’t said anything that might sound as if he was bargaining for sympathy. There was the future to consider. He didn’t care what they thought of him as an individual, but he couldn’t undersell his office by kowtowing before these men, who were all detectives to their core. And he didn’t have the time. Neither would Matsuoka. The commander would need to get inside and mobilize. It was all or nothing.

Matsuoka opened his mouth and spoke.

‘I owe you my thanks. Nanao got in touch this morning to let me know.’

What?

‘You didn’t know? About Minako. She came in.’

‘Right . . .’

She’d decided to do it.

‘Yeah, sure. Get in.’

What?

‘If you lose control of the press, we lose control of the front line. I want you to feed them until they fall asleep.’

The other detectives looked aghast, but it was Mikami who was truly lost for words. His follow-up proposal had already been on the tip of his tongue.
If not the command vehicle, at least a pursuit or an intercept car.

‘But, sir . . .’

Ogata had started to complain, but he held his tongue. Anyone who’d ever worked for Matsuoka would know why. It wasn’t his rank as an officer or his title – whether as Chief Adviser or as First Division Chief – that had given Ogata pause. It was, instead, his trust in and reverence for Matsuoka’s wishes that had prevented him from blurting out a poorly considered, emotive response. He would also know that the decision was no longer one he could reverse, not now Matsuoka had said it.

‘Here’s the condition. You wait at least twenty minutes before relaying anything you hear inside. We need to maintain a time lag between the investigation and the press,’ Matsuoka said.

He hadn’t given Mikami a condition. He’d given him permission to relay information directly, from the command vehicle to the conference room. Twenty minutes was well within the boundary of any administrative delay. During kidnappings in the past, there were many cases where the press had had to wait thirty minutes, even an hour, before they were brought up to speed.

‘Yes, sir. That won’t be a problem.’

‘You concentrate on your job; we’ll take care of ours.’

Make sure not to interfere with the investigation.
He’d picked up on Mikami’s rising adrenalin. But while it was true that the anticipation was building, Mikami’s mind was not focused on the hunt.
The detective was stirring
. Matsuoka had doubtless interpreted it that way.

The steel bars rang out as the doors to the back of the vehicle’s container came unlocked; they swung open.
The smell of his hands after pull-ups on the bar.
His nose registered the memory. Dully glowing orange ceiling lights. The area was cramped compared to how it had appeared from the outside, reminding Mikami of a submarine walkway he’d once seen in a film. Desks covered with screens and apparatus lined both sides. Seven stools were bolted to the floor in a zigzag pattern. Two men were already sitting
inside, both wearing headphones. One was sitting before a phone attached to the desk; he was hairy, round, burly. The other was thin, pencil-faced, with a centre parting, and looked nothing like a detective. He was sitting in front of two computers, suggesting his role was something like Koichiro Hiyoshi’s during the Six Four investigation.

The only people to get in were Matsuoka and the two team leaders, Ogata and Minegishi. Mikami, too, having secured his place. That made six but, despite there being seven stools, there was no room to move around. Elbows and knees knocked together as they took their seats.

‘Closing up.’

Ogata pulled the handles on both doors, which were designed to be closed from the inside. They came together with a metallic thud. Both the view and any remaining light were shut out, compressing the air inside. Mikami immediately tensed, feeling his chest constrict. They had air-conditioning but no windows. The view from each side of the vehicle – front, back, left and right – was projected on to four different monitors sunk into the walls.

Minegishi picked up a radio microphone.

‘Special Investigations, this is Mobile Command.’

‘This is Special Investigations. Go ahead.’

‘Confirm reception. Over.’

‘Good: five bars. All tests okay. Over.’

‘Copy. Commander and five more on board. Over.’

‘Copy.’

‘Mobile Command, over and out.’

The screens to the left were showing a rush of activity: a succession of car doors closing. The detectives outside were getting back into their cars.
Intercept 6. Intercept 7. Intercept 8.
Minegishi tested each of their radio responses. They were all part of the Intercept Unit; their role would be to conceal themselves in areas where there was a high likelihood of the kidnapper showing up, and move in if necessary. If the profiling was based around this
being a copycat crime, the cars would have to be positioned near or at the areas designated by the kidnapper fourteen years earlier. They would be points, coming together to form a line. Also . . . right . . . around the area of yesterday’s calls. Mikami took out his notebook, having come up with his first question. He was close enough for Matsuoka to feel his breath.

‘Sir, do you know whereabouts in Genbu yesterday’s calls were made?’

‘The first was Tokiwamachi. The second was the area between Sumamachi and Nagimachi.’

‘Can you give a general description of the areas?’

‘They’re west and east of Genbu’s main station. Tokiwamachi is to the west; it’s a downtown area based around an arcade-type shopping street. Bars, cinemas, that sort of thing. Sumamachi and Nagimachi are to the east, both red-light districts. Hostess bars, sex shops, love hotels, game centres. They’ve got it all.’

Matsuoka’s answer was unguarded, detailed enough to dispel any suspicion that he was holding back. Mikami checked his watch: 10.38. He read through the notes he’d taken.
Tokiwamachi. Sumamachi. Nagimachi. The calls, both made from near the station.
Details. Exactly what he’d been waiting for. When he called it in, Ochiai would be euphoric. Suwa, the others, too – they would be able to stand tall before the other reporters. The embargo would hold until 10.58. Mikami stared at the second hand of the wall clock, willing time on. Twenty minutes felt different in a place like this. Like sitting on a bed of nails, it felt like a day, an eternity.

He could get more. If he didn’t wait, he could report it all in one go at 10.58.

‘The money – have they got the ransom of 20 million?’

He became aware of cold looks from Ogata and Minegishi.

‘That’s all done. We’ve taken the serial numbers and the notes have been marked.’

‘Has the kidnapper been back in touch?’

‘No.’

‘And investigators – have you deployed people to the nine businesses from the Six Four investigation?’

‘Naturally.’

And Minako?
The thought came to him, but it wasn’t the time to ask.

‘And upstream, the Futago river?’

‘Yes. We have officers near the Kotohira bridge, and the Ikkyu fishing lodge.’

That was as far as he got. The vehicle shuddered as the engine came to life.

‘First we go to the house,’ Matsuoka said.

Minegishi nodded in response. He got into a half-crouch and slid open a panel connecting the hold to the driver’s side.
Take us out. Vicinity of Mesaki’s home.