Mikami lit a cigarette.
He had no intention of repeating his earlier mistake. Barging into Criminal Investigations would only result in a repeat performance of the fiasco outside the assembly hall. But how was he to secure a private meeting? He needed somewhere to catch the lead commander of a kidnapping investigation by himself. It was possible that would be more difficult than getting him to talk.
Mikami frowned at the scene ahead. The station was within reach, but the traffic had come to a standstill. Eight minutes past four. He clucked his tongue as this became nine minutes past.
An image of Suwa presented itself. It seemed as if this was the first time he’d been able to picture someone on his team in detail, for one of them to appear as more than just an impression.
Hold on a little longer . . .
He stubbed out the still-long cigarette and flicked on the car’s headlights. Putting them on full beam, he spun the wheel and pulled out into the oncoming lane. He put his foot down and accelerated past the unmoving cars.
The importance of full disclosure . . .
This was no longer just for Media Relations. Mikami couldn’t allow anonymity to run wild; it was a monster, feeding on doubt to multiply indefinitely.
65
Mikami’s hearing seemed amplified.
He could make out the dripping of water. Every few seconds a drop would strike one of the sinks, forming a regular pattern.
Station G, the third-floor toilets. Mikami was holding his breath, lying wait in a cubicle at the far end of the room. The angle was bad, so he couldn’t make anybody out through the gap in the door. That left him dependent on sound. Footsteps. A sigh. A cough. Humming. Conversation, if people came in together. When he was a detective in Second Division, a reporter from the Sankei had often caught him this way. Mikami would ask how he knew it was him, but the reporter had always smiled and said: it’s a secret. The reporter had finally revealed his trick when he’d called in to say goodbye, after Mikami’s transfer became official. When you wash your hands, you put the tap on full . . .
Matsuoka always washed his face. A lot of people did, but Matsuoka had another habit when he did. After turning off the tap, he would always snap the water from his hands, a sharp movement not unlike flicking raindrops from an umbrella. The gesture made an audible swish. That was the sound Mikami was listening out for. He’d heard it many times when they’d been together in division.
He checked his watch. Five to five. Already thirty minutes since he’d sneaked his way in. The air in the cubicle was cold, the heating in the building apparently not extending to the corner of the toilets. Mikami propped up his jacket collar to lessen the chill, rubbing the back of his hands in turn.
He opened his mobile. No missed calls. Knowing the vibration would be too loud in silent mode, he’d set it to ‘driving’. He’d called his office from the car the moment he’d arrived at the station to let his team know he’d be out of contact for a while. The phone had rung a long time before Suwa had finally picked up. As before, the tempest had been blaring in the background. Mikami had quickly given his message, then asked a question.
‘Has anyone been in touch to say the visit has been cancelled?’
‘No, they haven’t.’ Suwa had put on a snappy tone, disguising the caller from the reporters. As he hung up, he said, ‘We need those spare parts as soon as possible, okay?’
A sound.
Mikami concentrated hard. Footsteps, in the corridor. Hurrying. Getting closer. At the entrance to the toilets . . . Passing by . . . The steps grew closer together. Whoever it was was going downstairs.
Only five people had entered the room in the last half-hour, and none of those had been in the last fifteen minutes. They had started a meeting, either in Criminal Investigations or the conference room beyond. That had to be it.
Mikami’s theories were already losing substance, even though he hadn’t seen Matsuoka. His head had begun to clear the moment he’d entered the parking area behind the station. He’d seen row after row of sedans – CID vehicles, to those who recognized them – most likely called in from neighbouring districts. At a glance, Mikami had counted four from Violent Crime in the Prefectural HQ. There wasn’t a single small or compact vehicle, meaning the station staff had been made to move their personal cars somewhere else.
What he’d seen was something he’d recognized from his years as a detective – a case in progress. The image had also driven home how difficult it would be to bring everyone under the same illusion. If the kidnapping was a hoax, one led by Arakida, the truth would have to remain under wraps until they had the decapitated head ready for Tokyo. A handful of people managing the investigation would have to battle hard to achieve that. And it would mean having to lie to every detective gathered here. Perhaps they’d ordered the investigation without disclosing the identity of the family. Or they had disclosed their identities but not told any of the detectives they knew the investigation was a sham. Both were taboo, and both came with significant hazards. Detectives are expert at detecting lies. There was the possibility that their plan to protect Criminal Investigations could backfire, lead instead to the end of the department, if mistrust and anger started to poison the ranks.
Knowing that, could they have revealed to everyone that the investigation was a sham? No, that was impossible. The plan was maybe feasible if it involved only a handful of people . . . but it would be nothing less than reckless to bring the entire department into it. Arakida would realize that. The key unit for a detective – their bible and their rulebook – was the individual. News of Tokyo’s intention to sequester the director’s post had spread through the ranks, uniting everyone against the NPA, but that wouldn’t be enough for the whole department to taint itself by being party to a sham. One after another, detectives would step down from their jobs. They would break confidentiality. Every generation of detectives had decent men, men like Koda.
The fact that the entire department was mobilized and functioning could only mean . . .
Mikami’s eyes flicked to the side.
Footsteps.
This time, there was no need to concentrate. It was a crowd. The meeting was over. They were all heading in his direction. There was a slam as the door opened. Mikami automatically ducked his head back down.
Two. Another coming in behind them.
‘Should probably take off our ties.’