Akikawa placed a two-page document on Mikami’s desk. Kuramae’s report on Ryoji Meikawa. Mikami had stuck it to the whiteboard in the Press Room on his way out, together with a copy of his other announcements.
‘Let’s just say we didn’t see this. This bit should be our job, after all.’
Right. Mikami gave him a deep nod, maintaining eye contact. He’d meant it as a handshake. Akikawa didn’t return the gesture, but a subtle motion of his eye told Mikami he hadn’t brushed it off either. He turned around. The other reporters bowed at Mikami, then followed Akikawa out. Mikami made sure to look directly at each of them. No victors. No losers. How long had it been since the last time he’d seen them leave like this?
No sooner had the door closed behind them than Suwa punched his fists into the air, calling out in silent triumph. Mikumo clapped her hands silently, standing up and smiling through tears. Kuramae arched forwards, breathing a sigh of relief before impressively missing a high five Suwa threw his way.
Mikami rolled his chair backwards and picked the blanket up from the floor. He held it out. Here. Mikumo hurried over. As he handed it to her, he said, ‘You should be proud. This only happened because we chose not to go with strategizing.’
‘Sir . . .’
Mikami craned to look past her emotional face; he called out to Kuramae.
‘You know, you ought to teach the press a thing or two about good research.’
Mikami caught Suwa’s gaze as he laughed. He didn’t let the moment pass.
‘Suwa, thanks.’
He spun his chair around to face the windows. Suwa could interpret it as an attempt to hide awkwardness; that was fine. He dropped his eyes to the sheet on his knees.
Generic questions.
With just over a year until the statute of limitations kicks in, what do you intend to do to make sure the case is solved?
The preparations were in place for the execution.
The problem of Dallas was solved. How would Criminal Investigations respond? How many people would get dragged into their final struggle?
He’d been true to his duty as press director but had had to make significant sacrifices in order to get this done. It was possible he’d lose more as events unfolded. But his mind felt clear. The feeling of unease and regret was easing off. A clarity that felt like salvation spread through his mind.
Lots of laughter came from behind.
There was one thing he knew for sure. That it was here, in Media Relations and not in Criminal Investigations, that he’d finally secured himself a loyal following.
58
Mikami left the Prefectural HQ just before 5 p.m.
Minako had called him at the office, sounding distraught. They’d had another silent call. Unlike before, this time the display had given them the caller’s number. The area code was City D.
Mikami’s gut feeling told him it wasn’t Ayumi. Less instinct, perhaps, more like habit, an application of the brakes to avoid false hope. He was afraid of what might happen if they both hoped it was true but it fell apart. His body gave more open signals. He could feel his hands sweating against the steering wheel. His foot grew heavier on the accelerator, and he raced through more than one set of amber lights.
Minako was pale, waiting outside the house. The front door was open, so she could hear the phone if it rang.
‘She’s close, I can tell,’ Minako said with unblinking eyes.
‘Let’s go inside.’
Mikami grabbed the handset in the hallway and carried it into the living room, pulling the cord from behind. Too impatient to take off his coat, he crossed his legs on the tatami and started to dig through the phone menu.
A number came up on the display. The area code was undoubtedly one from the city. The number had ten digits. Mikami frowned at a sudden sense of déjà vu. Something told him he’d seen it recently. Amamiya’s home number crossed his mind as a possibility, but he didn’t want to disillusion Minako with only a vague memory.
‘What was it like?’
‘The same as before. They ended the call without saying a word.’
‘Did you give your name when you picked up?’
‘No. I just picked up . . . I didn’t say anything at first.’
Meaning it wasn’t a wrong number. Lots of people would hang up without apologizing, but they’d would at least say hello if whoever picked up was silent.
‘How long were you on the phone for?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Not long. I said hello a few times, then the line went dead.’
‘Did you notice any particular sounds in the background?’
‘Noises? I don’t think so. I couldn’t hear anything.’
‘Okay, so maybe inside someone’s house.’
Caller display services were advertised everywhere; its application was probably widely used and understood. If the call had been a prank, or something malicious in nature, he would have expected the caller to have withheld their number.
Perhaps it was Amamiya after all. Estranged from society, it was possible he didn’t know about the new service. He might have called to discuss the commissioner’s visit but become flustered and hung up when he heard a female voice.
The same reasoning held for Ayumi, too. She would never imagine them buying a phone with the new function. Had she wanted to talk to him and not Minako? No. It was the same trick as before – she was making the silent calls as a test.
Mikami picked up the phone.
‘I think it’s best to try calling back.’
‘Hmm?’ Minako appeared not to have considered this option.
‘We can make a call to this number. That way, we’ll find out who made the call.’
Mikami felt his cheeks draw tighter even as he spoke. Minako’s expression hardened. As though coming back to herself, she gave him a resolute look.
‘Yes. Please.’
‘Could I get a glass of water?’ Mikami asked, loosening his tie. Having managed to get Minako into the kitchen, he slipped out his notebook and deftly flipped through the pages. Different. The number didn’t match Amamiya’s. Was it true, then? Could Ayumi be here in the city?
Minako came jogging back in. Mikami’s thirst had been genuine. He gulped down the cup of water, picked up the handset, and pressed redial.
He wondered if it might be one of Ayumi’s friends. The phone kept ringing. Minako shuffled her knees and face closer. Somebody picked up. A second later, a female voice sounded in Mikami’s ear.
‘This is the Hiyoshi household.’
Mikami was dumbstruck. The technician from Forensics. The recluse. It was Koichiro Hiyoshi’s home number.
‘Hello? Who is this, please?’
‘This is Mikami, from the police headquarters. I came to visit a few days ago.’
He assumed she’d made the call. He wondered if something had happened to Hiyoshi that had prompted her to get in touch.
But . . .
‘What do you want?’
The jaundiced reply was unexpected. ‘We had a missed call; I’m just calling back.’
‘Sorry? I don’t understand.’
It’s work, Mikami whispered to Minako, holding his palm around the mouthpiece. ‘We had a call, about half an hour ago. Our phone lets us know . . .’
She started to panic when he explained about the caller-display function.