They had escaped to the Prefectural HQ.
The next announcement is scheduled for 01:00. With that, they had taken flight. Suwa had manned the front while Mikami and Kuramae had supported Ochiai, one on each side of him as they’d guided him through the room. One of Kuramae’s jacket pockets had been torn; Suwa had lost an armband. Ochiai had disappeared back into the Investigative HQ, smoothing down his dishevelled hair. Mikami had been refused entrance, the number of guards on the door bumped up to six. Getting Matsuoka was out of the question: he was out on the front line. That left Arakida; getting him to make the announcements was their only hope of salvaging the situation. But he refused to break his golden rule of holding the fort; they couldn’t even get a meeting, notwithstanding Mikami’s attempts to threaten Mikura, and the local reporters’ endeavours to use the sheer force of their number to get through the guards.
Ochiai ended up holding the one o’clock announcement. He was only able to do this because the Investigative HQ had given him a little more information on the girl’s family.
Masato Mesaki had 7 million yen in savings. He’d inherited land – thirty square metres in size – and taken out a twenty-year loan to build the house they lived in. He leased out the ground floor of a building in the city, where he ran a store specializing in sports equipment. Until ten years ago, he’d been a salesman for a car dealership that sold luxury imported cars.
Mutsuko Mesaki was the elder sister in a relatively well-off agricultural family; she had no work history. Her family was going to help them with part of the ransom money.
Kasumi Mesaki’s school attendance amounted to thirteen days only in the first term of the year, and none at all in the second term. She’d left the house on the night of the 9th, a little after 8 o’clock. She’d been wearing a leopard-skin coat, and hadn’t been seen since.
Things held for the opening ten minutes. But once Ochiai had finished reading out the notes, he returned to being an empty vessel. He failed to give an answer to even a single question properly. Making it worse was his stubborn refusal to use names, still referring to the members of the family as A, B and C.
Disorder became convention. The yelling to and fro became incessant. Goatee and Slick from the Toyo were gradually asserting their control over the room. They were intent on dragging Arakida into the conference room, but he was proving surprisingly resilient. Having realized this, they had decided to work on Ochiai, hammering away and making him their courier pigeon. One would ask a question. Ochiai would fumble for an answer. Each time, they forced him to go back to the Investigative HQ to get the answer. Get a move on! Run! He would be sent out under a hailstorm of shouts. From there he would take the lift to the ground floor and stumble his way down the pitch-black underground passageway before climbing the staircase to reach the Investigative HQ. Once there, he would be given a non-committal answer, then have to run back to the conference room. How does that answer the question? Get back over there. He would step back into the lift. Mikami accompanied him on each trip. Having beseeched Mikura to consider Ochiai’s position, demanding he get Arakida to take the stage, he finally grabbed him by the collar and rammed his head into one of the walls, losing his only avenue of negotiation.
Three o’clock. As Mikami had feared, the conference had become endless. Ochiai’s two-way trips had become standard drill.
Let us have all your questions, then we can try to get all of your answers together. Mikami had tried to appeal to Goatee, but the man had refused to listen. Their strategy was to drag Arakida out from the shadows. The whole point was to parade Ochiai’s suffering before the Investigative HQ, over and over again. And he was thoroughly worn out. His eyes were vacant, legs weak; in the lift, he would occasionally sink to the floor. Mikami couldn’t understand Arakida’s game plan. All he knew was that the man’s hatred of career officers had let him turn Ochiai into a joke. Was he making an example of him? Mikami had begun to suspect even that. And yet . . .
The one o’clock announcement was still in session even after half past four. Hard-liners would pipe up across the room each time Ochiai left, lobbying to declare the agreement null and void. The suggestion had only failed to take hold because many of the reporters remained wary of the potential consequences. What would happen if a group their size all scrambled, unrestrained, to cover the story? A kidnapping was a kidnapping; that didn’t change, however the police treated them, and there was nothing to prove it was a hoax dreamt up by the girl. That set off warning lights. If they started to move around blindly, without the police there to guide them, and if that were to lead to the girl losing her life . . . It was a trump card they could use in applying pressure, but it would be difficult to actually break the agreement. Which meant it was maybe better not to shout about it, not to reveal a chink in their armour. It was a dilemma. They were caught in a deadlock which was feeding their anger and volatility; they were unable to retreat, yet unable to advance.
Five o’clock became just another waypoint. Ochiai was reaching his limit. His utter exhaustion had left him sluggish and, it seemed, increasingly confused. Even the hot towel and energy drinks Mikumo had prepared were failing to help. Suwa and Kuramae were now taking turns helping him back and forth between the Investigative HQ. Most of the time Ochiai would return with next to nothing, cueing another bombardment. Goatee and Slick were merciless as they sent their carrier pigeon on one errand after another. We’re almost there. They’ll break soon enough. Mikami had started to overhear comments like these. He hadn’t seen Akikawa for a long time. He’d be able to help. Mikami genuinely believed that.
Suwa was becoming increasingly withdrawn, the cause more than simple fatigue. He had been overwhelmed by the scale, by the sheer number of reporters from Tokyo. He’d lost the ability to stand up to them. The shock had been devastating to his confidence, and to his ability to function as a press officer. Kuramae looked numb. He’d retreated back inside his shell, slipped back into his role as a pedestrian desk worker. Mikumo’s focus was too narrow. Desperately concerned about Ochiai’s wellbeing, she’d lost sight of anything else they needed to do. Each time Ochiai was made to visit the Investigative HQ, she marked a cross on her palm. We can’t let this go on. He’ll die if this doesn’t stop . . .
Twenty to six. Having watched Ochiai and Suwa leave, Mikami left for the toilet. It was still pitch black outside. He felt a sudden and debilitating tiredness, stemming from his sense of impotence. His thoughts travelled to Minako. To Yoshio Amamiya. To Ayumi . . .