All they would need then . . . was a daughter. A son would have worked just as well. If necessary, they could have got by without a kid at all, just used three different phones. One could be designated as C’s, and a detective could use it to call in as the kidnapper. If they wanted to avoid the risk of using an active police officer, they only needed to ask their network, or someone already retired.
There was another possible scenario. If there was a ‘C’, someone who hadn’t come home and who didn’t know that her parents were collaborating with the police, the whole kidnapping could have been created around her disappearance. She would have had to ‘misplace’ her phone after leaving home two nights ago. People dropped their guard; it wouldn’t have mattered whether she kept it with her or in a bag, and people aren’t as sensitive as animals when they’re asleep. Getting the phone would have been easy for a detective working theft, someone who knew every trick in the book. If that was the case, she might have gone to a koban to report the phone missing. Or stolen. Whatever the case, she would remain ‘kidnapped’ unless the Investigative HQ decided actively to seek out the information.
Mikami realized he was moving into territory beyond normal speculation. That, if anything, the theories were closer to pure fancy. But, even then, he couldn’t laugh them off.
Because the report was anonymous.
Any tale of make-believe, however far-fetched, could come alive when hidden behind a screen of anonymity. It could walk freely. Any and all developments were plausible. When it came to weaving a tale, anonymity was omnipotent, a delusion itself, one that allowed for an infinity of choice.
Through force of habit, Mikami eased off the accelerator. The billboard for the Aoi Café swept into the corner of his view. The starting point of the Six Four pursuit. If the kidnapping was real and not a hoax, if the kidnapper genuinely hoped to re-enact Six Four, then, come tomorrow, the café would be filled for the first time in fourteen years with investigators posed as couples.
If the kidnapper was Criminal Investigations, the café would be empty. The kidnapping wouldn’t progress to the stage of the ransom. They only had to maintain the pretence until midday tomorrow, the time of the commissioner’s scheduled arrival; at that point, they could be certain the visit would be cancelled. Still, it was likely that everything would be decided before the day was even out. Once word came in of the commissioner’s decision to cancel, the case would suddenly begin to resolve itself.
Mikami let the car pick up speed again. Twenty-five to four. It was taking longer than expected.
Their objective achieved, the Investigative HQ would turn to damage limitation. Having used and enraged the press, they would use disappointment to sedate them. First, they would announce that they had taken C into custody, that the kidnapping had been fake, organized by her. That was where the idea of the hoax – already seeded – would come into its own. They would issue statement after statement, until the press were sick and tired of it all. The girl had been acting alone; no one had forced her. She’d only wanted to hurt her parents. She’d copied an old case she found on the internet. She’d got the helium cans playing bingo at a party. She was sorry; she regretted what she’d done.
And so on . . .
They would use the girl’s age as a shield, maintaining the family’s anonymity. The story would never make the mainstream news. Press and police led on wild-goose chase during alleged kidnapping. The papers would write sullen, anecdotal articles at most. Their anger would wither away, as would any desire to follow up the story. Even if they did want to chase it up, they would lack any direction to explore it with. Genbu. A self-employed father. Second-year student at a private high school. Seventeen years old. The city council and the school would be bound by confidentiality and would function as brick walls. And Criminal Investigations could convince the family to leave the prefecture.
More than anything, they had the power of fiction on their side. There was nothing to guarantee that the girl’s age, or the information pertaining to her schooling, matched anything on record. There was no proof she even existed.
This isn’t Admin’s business. Nobody needs to know, ever.
Mikura’s words would become fact. The press would never know the truth, not to mention the public. They’d chosen kidnapping. They’d known they would have to stage a kidnapping. It felt more and more plausible. The public wouldn’t hear about it until it was all over. A tornado was raging in the Prefectural HQ, but it was nothing more than a storm in a teacup. No one would die and no one would be hurt. It would be reported as a hoax, so there would be no public outcry. It had impact enough to stop the commissioner in his tracks, but it carried no risk of future recrimination. It was the only viable option.
Criminal Investigations was getting ready for the endgame. Tokyo would find itself in the midst of a hurricane. They would recoil in blind horror when they were told the hoax had been the final play of the Prefecture D Criminal Investigations Department.
That’s right . . . they’re planning to tell Tokyo the truth.
Keeping the deception hidden was like not telling an enemy state that you’d successfully developed weapons of mass destruction. It meant nothing unless it convinced Tokyo to abandon its plans. Criminal Investigations would find a way to confess, in the process making sure Tokyo never suggested another Six Four inspection. They would send Tokyo a decapitated head, force the conclusion. How would the NPA react? Would it take it in silence, bury it deep in the ground? Or would it seek revenge and take Arakida’s head, put it on public display?
Mikami gazed upwards.
The apex of Station G was visible in the distance, the Hinomaru flag twitching in the wind. Two minutes past four. The heavy clouds meant it was already half dark.
Matsuoka’s the key . . .
Mikami muttered the words. He was sure Matsuoka would help unlock the truth, put Mikami’s delusional theories to rest with a single word. It went without saying that he would have nothing to do with the sham investigation. Thinking back, it was from Matsuoka that he’d first heard the phrase. We’ve been accorded the hands of god. We wash in dirty water but that doesn’t mean we let it taint us. No matter how desperate you are to make an arrest, regardless of if the detention cells are empty, the one thing you must never do is permit a sham investigation.
It came down to this: if Matsuoka was in Station G, heading up the front line of the investigation, and if his expression was that of a man hard at work, Mikami could dismiss the idea of Criminal Investigations staging a fake kidnapping.
He’ll be there. I need him to be.
Matsuoka would refer to his own personal morality when choosing whether or not to divulge the family’s details. That was why Mikami thought he had a chance. Regardless of whether or not he had proof that it was the girl’s hoax, Matsuoka’s core ideal was that a person had to reap what they sowed. He wouldn’t treat the girl any differently because she was young. If Mikami confronted him one on one, honestly and rationally, there was a chance he’d cave in. And his position meant he could make the decision alone.