He jumped down from the stage and disappeared into the crowd, apparently able to guess their whereabouts.
Mikami made a fresh survey of the room. It was the first time he’d faced this many reporters. It would probably be the last. A horde of cameramen had set up camp directly below the stage. They were roughly dressed and squatting; ‘loitering’ seemed the best way to describe them. The reporters were gathered behind them. Their heads were packed together, behind long desks that were joined to make a jagged horizon. Not all wore serious expressions. Some looked puzzled; others nonchalant, or anxious; some looked excited. There were defiant eyes. Impatient mouths, desperate to be heard. A veteran-type wearing black-rimmed glasses, sitting, relaxed, with his arms folded. Another in a long coat and scarf, the playboy kind, probably with the TV. People were yawning. Yammering on the phone. Making others crease up with laughter. Some were there for the long haul, with rucksacks and sleeping bags. A few groups had rudimentary tents. There were a good number of women. One was angrily shouting instructions to a younger man. Another was calling out in a high-pitched voice, happy to see someone she knew. A round-faced woman, probably a news reporter, was using a compact to fix her make-up. All of them looked at home. The confidence and arrogance that accumulated from travelling the country, hopping from one big case to the next, showed through in a shamelessness they weren’t even aware of.
The local reporters were buried somewhere inside. If Mikami hadn’t kept his eyes on Kuramae’s back, he would have struggled to find them. He caught sight of Tejima, from the Toyo, who was handing his business card to a middle-aged man with slicked-back hair and a down jacket. No doubt a star reporter from head office. Tejima’s smile was forced. He saw Utsuki next, from the Mainichi. He looked worried. Then he burst into a smile. Kuramae had just called out to him. Takagi was there, too, from the Asahi, standing by herself. The group next to her seemed to be co-workers, but she wasn’t joining in their conversation. Kasai was there from the Yomiuri, Yamashina from the Times. Both looked decidedly uncomfortable. They were the locals, but they were acting subdued. That was why they didn’t stand out. Whenever Mikami looked away, he all but lost them in the swell of unknown faces.
He’d suffered from being too close to the local reporters, with each side having to be careful about what they said. He felt nostalgic for it now, with the air in the conference room so fully transformed into that of the capital.
Ochiai would have to stand in front of them all. With each announcement, he would be made to declare himself a simple puppet. As press director, Mikami could hardly bear to think of it, about the bloodshed that was to come . . .
He saw Mikumo; she was standing towards the entrance. In uniform, it was easy to make her out, even from a distance. Realizing he was looking her way, she stretched up a hand and waved. She looked like someone who’d spotted a lover’s face in a crowd. He’d never seen her look so happy. She’d made sure the press adhered to the rules that came with a kidnapping case. She’d directed every last one of their cars into the underground car park. She had no doubt forgotten to smile, too. She started making her way over but came to a sudden stop, ambushed by a group of reporters who’d seen her armband. A group crowded around her, at least half due to her looks he thought. Mikami called her phone, watching as she hurried to pick up.
‘Thanks for all the help.’
Her face lit up before she replied. ‘It was nothing.’
‘Did you get to eat?’
‘Sir?’
‘The fried rice.’
‘I’m actually in the middle of a diet so—’
‘I need you to do something, then you need to eat.’
‘Of course. What is it?’
‘Lend Kuramae a hand. The commissioner’s visit has been cancelled. He’s letting the local press know.’
‘Okay. Do you know where he is?’
‘The middle of the room, towards the passageway on the right. Give him a call on his mobile.’
Mikumo was dialling. Kuramae reacted. Mikami kept watch until Kuramae had the phone next to his ear, then stepped off the stage. The after-image of Mikumo’s smile was already fading.
The inspection . . . cancelled.
The reporters weren’t the only ones who needed to know.
The commissioner general is our highest-ranked official. I’m confident the media coverage will be significant. It will be broadcast on TV. The news will reach a great number of people.
He walked to a corner of the room, where a small administrative area had been set up behind a partition. Prefecture D Police Headquarters: Authorized Personnel Only. There were five folding chairs behind the screen. No one was inside.
. . . there is a real chance of this bringing in new leads.
A promise, he’d thought, at least for a while.
He opened the phone in his hand and called Yoshio Amamiya’s home number. He checked his watch. Twenty past ten.
No one was picking up. The phone rang ten times. Was he already in bed? This wasn’t something Mikami could leave until the morning. Twelve times. Thirteen. Each ring weighed heavy in his chest.
Someone picked up. But . . . no one spoke. All Mikami could hear was silence. He had to force the words out.
‘Sorry to disturb you so late. I’m trying to get hold of Yoshio Amamiya.’
‘This is Amamiya.’ The voice was indistinct.
‘This is Mikami, from the Prefectural HQ. I came by the other day.’
‘Yes. What is it?’
‘Tomorrow’s visit. I’m sorry to say this, but . . . due to unforeseen circumstances . . . we’ve had to cancel it. Please accept my apologies for not letting you know until now.’
There was a long silence. It seemed to last for ever.
‘So . . .’ Amamiya’s voice. ‘No one’s coming?’
Mikami could see the man’s neatly trimmed grey hair. Was he disappointed? Had he – even if just a little – perhaps hoped that something would come of the commissioner’s visit?
A promise. In Amamiya’s mind, Mikami’s words might have been exactly that.
Mikami’s head slumped.
‘I don’t know how I can make this up to you. You listened to me, even though I’d turned up out of nowhere. You even agreed to let us go ahead. And yet this . . .’
Another long silence.
Why was it cancelled? Mikami wanted to run from Amamiya’s unspoken question.
‘Thanks for letting me know . . .’
Mikami’s head sank lower as he listened to the man’s voice. Then . . .
‘How are you now?’
What?
‘Are you better?’
Mikami was stunned. Of course. His shameful display of tears before Shoko’s altar. ‘My last visit . . . I don’t know how to express my . . . having to—’
‘Not everything is bad. There’s good out there, too.’