Is this some kind of joke? It was the only sentence Mikami could make out. The floor started to rumble; the entire room shook as the uproar hit the stage. The cries were sharp, almost physically painful, and unrelenting, no matter how much time passed.
Ochiai was in his seat again, his knees having given way. All the colour had drained from his face. No doubt his mind was blank, too. Mikami tried whispering to him. After getting no response, he tried shouting into the man’s ear. Read the outline! Ochiai’s hands shook as he leafed through what he had. Mikami looked down, then away, in shock. The sheets were empty. All they contained was the blank template Suwa had put together. Arakida really had gone through with it. They’d given him nothing. Ochiai was a puppet.
Mikami took hold of the wireless microphone, but no words came out. He knew he’d just make things worse. Whatever he said, it would be like petrol on a fire. His only job was to stand there and bear the brunt of the shouting and jeering.
A hand shot up. From the Toyo camp. It was Akikawa. Not to attack. It looked like an offer of help. Mikami thought he heard something . . . microphone. Acting on instinct, Mikami jumped from the stage and made his way through the cameramen. He held the mic out like a baton, his eyes meeting Akikawa’s. Their gaze seemed abnormally strong. Akikawa clasped his hand around the mic then turned away to face the gathered reporters.
‘My name is Akikawa, I’m with the Toyo. We represent the Press Club here in Prefecture D.’ He repeated this three times before the noise began to subside. ‘I understand your anger. For a long time, the Media Relations division here has left a lot to be desired. We have been forced time and again to demand changes in policy.’
A chill ran down Mikami’s back. Did he intend to stir them up even more? An olive branch. Was there no room for such things in his current state of mind?
‘It goes without saying that them sending us the Second Division Chief is just another example of this. As representative of the Prefecture D Press Club, I intend to lodge an immediate complaint and force them to send the Criminal Investigations Director or First Division Chief.’
He was drunk on adrenalin. The full extent of the man’s ego, only glimpsed on an everyday basis, was coming out.
‘At the same time, it would be a waste for us to let the first announcement end like this. It would waste important time. As representative for the Prefecture D Press Club, I would like to propose that we be patient at this time – use it to ask the questions we need answers to. We must find out the details of the kidnapping. Do you agree?’
His voice echoed off the walls. After a pause, Goatee and Slick began to clap at either side, their expressions nominally supportive of their subordinate’s effort. This caught and scattered clapping spread through the room.
‘Okay.’
Akikawa turned forwards again. He levelled his gaze on the stage and Ochiai. He looked desperate, as though starved of oxygen. It wasn’t his ego. Nor was he hoping to offer a way out. He was defending the honour of the local press. But it was too dangerous. Whatever Akikawa’s intention, if the announcement were to turn into a Q&A session . . .
‘Chief Ochiai. I propose to open with a few questions from the Prefecture D Press Club. I will then pass the mic around for more questions. Is this acceptable?’
Mikami wanted to step in, but he had no plausible grounds for doing so. His hands were tied.
Akikawa took a deep breath. ‘If you could start by explaining the headquarters’ thoughts regarding the case. What is your stance on the possible connection to the Shoko kidnapping from fourteen years ago?’
‘C . . . connection?’
The response was weaker than he’d feared.
‘We know the kidnapper copied the wording during the call. Putting aside the possibility of a hoax, do you or do you not believe a connection exists between the two cases?’
‘We can’t say . . . at this juncture.’
‘Meaning you have nothing to actually prove a connection?’
‘I believe so . . . although it’s not certain as yet.’
‘Okay, now we need some specifics.’ Akikawa waved the sheet containing the overview. ‘This is far too generalized, nowhere near enough. We need to know the details you’ve learned from the girl’s parents; their financial situation, work record . . .’
Ochiai flicked ineffectually through the summary in his hands. ‘Uhh . . . we haven’t received any reports on that as yet.’
The room broke into a murmur. Goatee and Slick were frowning.
Akikawa was showing signs of distress. Just give me a proper answer. His expression was pleading.
‘Have you had anything from the kidnapper? Another call, for example?’
‘No.’
‘Where were the first two calls made?’
Again, Ochiai’s eyes fell to his papers. Mikami felt a shudder. From inside the prefecture. If Ochiai gave an answer like that, the reporters would riot again. His only chance was to keep saying ‘Nothing reported’. Mikami held up a no-go sign. Ochiai was still flicking through the pages. Look at me. Look at me.
Akikawa’s breathing was heavy in the mic. ‘All we have on this is “Prefecture D”. Where in the prefecture? You must have finished checking with DoCoMo . . .’
The question could become the olive branch they’d needed. It could become the final blow.
Ochiai looked up. He had the terrified look of a man cornered.
‘I . . . don’t know.’
Then bring us someone who does! The shout became a signal for the room to bare its teeth. Countless jeers came together, blasting hot air towards the stage. Ochiai’s honest appearance was no longer of any use. He looked afraid. That’s enough, surely. Give it up! Some of the shouts were aimed at Akikawa. Goatee turned to him with a look of disgust. What have you been teaching them?
‘One more question!’
Akikawa refused to give up the microphone. His neck and ears were bright red; he looked despairing.
‘Chief Ochiai, is the kidnapping a hoax?’
For the second time, he repeated himself three times. This time, the shouts didn’t die away. He’s wasting our time! Call yourself a representative? Why don’t you go and fetch the director!?
‘Chief Ochiai, it’s imperative that you answer this. Does the Investigative HQ really suspect the kidnapping is a hoax? Yes or no?’
‘I don’t know at this—’
‘That is not satisfactory. You’re here representing them – answer the question. Is this a hoax perpetrated by Kasumi Mesaki?’
The question came out as an inhuman wail. The tumult dropped to a minimum. All ears were trained on Ochiai, awaiting his response.
Ochiai’s gaze was hovering in mid-air. The microphone picked up a murmuring.
‘Kasumi . . . Mesaki . . .?’
Akikawa froze. His eyes stretched open, incredulous.
Mikami looked up at the ceiling. Unbelievable. Ochiai hadn’t even recognized the name. ‘C’ was the only name he’d been given.
They’re in violation of the agreement! The noise level shot to maximum in under a second. Everyone was on their feet. Only one man stood out – Akikawa. His shoulders were slumped, as though under heavy rain. The microphone was limp at his side.
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