He couldn’t call it his detective’s intuition, not any more. And there was no sense of it being anything new, any insight he’d derived from his experience in Media Relations. Yet the idea persisted. That something was going on in the background.
‘Like I said . . .’ Suwa was on the phone. From the sound of things, talking to one of the smaller tabloids. ‘. . . the conference is only open to members of the Press Club.’ He was having to repeat himself.
Word of the kidnapping was already out.
Mikami took out his mobile and called Kuramae, who answered immediately.
‘Sir, that was great work,’ he said, sounding surprisingly upbeat.
‘Thanks – you, too. What’s the headcount up to?’
‘I’d say . . . over two hundred.’
‘Have you had any trouble?’
‘There were some fights over seating, but nothing major.’
‘I need you to make an announcement. Tell them there’s been a leak; get them to double up on security. We need tight checks on anyone coming and going. And make sure no one does anything stupid like order food in.’
‘Yes, sir. I’ll let them know.’
Mikami checked the clock on the wall. Already gone half past nine.
‘Thanks, I’ll be coming over soon.’
Mikami hung up. He was about to call Mikumo when Suwa got off the phone. He looked as though he’d overheard Mikami’s conversation.
‘Sir, you just reminded me, when you mentioned food. You should eat before you head across.’
On a shelf in the refreshments area was a plate of what looked like fried rice, wrapped in cling film. The surface was clouded with condensation, making it difficult to discern the contents. Suwa said that Mikumo had ordered them all food. Mikami realized he needn’t worry, if she’d remembered that in the middle of everything else. She would be on top of everything that needed to be done.
By the underground passage, the west wing of the government office was five minutes on foot. Two if he ran. Mikami started on the food, deciding to eat half. It was cold and soggy, but it filled his stomach.
‘Are you going to check in with the first floor?’
‘I’ll leave that until later.’
‘They took quite a beating. The press had Akama in a corner at one point.’
‘Did they say anything about the commissioner?’
‘No, not yet. But, realistically, it’s not going ahead, not with all this.’
‘Right.’
‘The timing really is crazy,’ Suwa said, reaching towards his desk. The phone was ringing again.
The timing . . . crazy. The comment had doubtless been offhand. He wouldn’t have meant anything by it. But it had been enough for Mikami’s spoon to pause in mid-air. A kidnapping mimicking Six Four, one day before the commissioner’s inspection into the fourteen-year-old case. That had to be the source of the cloudiness he felt.
‘Sir . . .’ Suwa’s hand was over the mouthpiece. ‘It’s Chief Ishii. The commissioner’s office just called. The commissioner’s visit has been cancelled.’
67
Mikami thought back to Futawatari as he climbed the stairs.
It would mark his first failure since coming to the Prefectural HQ. He’d lost because of a kidnapping that was beyond his control. No . . . he’d lost even earlier. His threats concerning the Koda memo had come to nothing. He’d acted boldly and out of character, but he’d only managed to provoke Criminal Investigations unnecessarily; without any tangible results, he’d been forced to stage a quiet retreat. It looked that way at least. Whatever the truth, Mikami knew he no longer had to worry about those eyes. He could concentrate on his job without fearing he was going to be cut down from behind.
Administration was half dark. The fluorescent ceiling lights were off, leaving the curtains, couches and carpet pale orange in the glow of the wall lamps.
‘Because we’re not here, officially,’ Ishii said, before anything else.
The reporters had left him frayed. Partly it was the lighting, but each wrinkle on his face seemed to convey the shadow of exhaustion. Akama was . . . lying on one of the couches, shoes still on. Hands and legs sprawled, eyes were empty. He showed no interest in Mikami. Mikami felt the same.
‘Definitely not postponed?’ Mikami directed the question at Ishii.
‘They just said it was called off. We can assume cancelled, although they didn’t say it outright.’
Was he unhappy? Relieved? His voice seemed to contain both emotions. Mikami realized he’d sounded the same when he’d told him about the kidnapping. But, that means the commissioner can’t—
‘Is the coverage agreement going to be okay?’
‘Yes, just about.’
‘Well, I guess that’s something. They gave us a real beating, you know. What can we do? Doesn’t matter how much they shout at us to give them the girl’s name. I told them to go to Criminal Investigations, but . . . they were so confrontational . . . wouldn’t stop yelling.’
‘I’ll tell the press the visit’s cancelled, then.’
He was already on his feet. Mikami bowed silently at Akama still lying on the couch, then started for the exit.
He heard a voice from behind.
‘Is this Criminal Investigations’ work?’
Mikami turned back around. Akama was still staring at the ceiling, his eyes glazed over.
Mikami felt a chill run through him.
‘No, sir,’ he replied. ‘It’s the work of a monster.’
68
Inside was Tokyo.
It was 10 p.m. Mikami entered the conference room on the fifth floor of the regional government’s west wing. The first thing he noticed was the difference in temperature compared to the corridor. The room was the largest they had, but it was cramped and airless. Countless rows of desks and chairs. Lines of TV cameras. He almost tripped on a cord running across the floor. It was impossible to navigate the walkway without hitting a shoulder or an elbow or bumping into a bag. The room buzzed with conversation, the voices overlapping to form an oppressive low-level drone.
He caught sight of Kuramae. He had on an armband that said Media Relations, and was standing at the stage towards the back. It took a few minutes to reach him. A long desk had been set up for the announcements; towards the centre was a huge jumble of TV and radio microphones.
‘Tomorrow’s been cancelled.’
Kuramae’s eyes lost focus; no doubt, he’d forgotten all about the commissioner. ‘Ah, the visit. Cancelled?’
‘Yes. Can you tell our lot? Use your phone if you can’t get to them in person.’
‘Our lot . . .?’
‘Our reporters.’
‘Ah, yes, of course. No problem.’