‘Yes . . . I don’t know what to say.’
It felt like a significant blow. Mikami accepted that the Press Room granted its occupants a certain amount of independence. It was also true, however, that the room was on loan from the police, to assist the press in their reporting. It was disquieting to see that they were willing to shut the police – their landlords – out.
‘That bad?’
‘There’s definitely something happening in there.’
‘You think the Toyo’s behind it?’
‘I do. They’re stirring things up, trying to get the others worked up.’
A picture of Akikawa’s expression came into Mikami’s mind. Meaning you, the police, have no trust in us whatsoever. Yes? The words had been cutting.
‘Is there anything you can do?’
‘Oh definitely . . . I’m sure I can defuse the situation. It’s just that I’m not sure we’ll be able to do it straight away.’
Suwa’s answer lacked confidence. And he didn’t seem to be playing it down for effect. Perhaps the issue was serious enough to make even someone as experienced as Suwa feel out of their depth. Mikami sat at his desk. He lit a cigarette and pulled his notebook from his pocket.
‘The commissioner’s going to pay us a visit.’
‘Sir?’
Suwa’s eyes widened. Kuramae and Mikumo stopped what they were doing and looked up, too.
‘It’s an inspection. He’s going to visit the crime scene of Shoko’s kidnapping, also the family home.’
‘When?’
‘This time next week.’
‘Next week?’ Suwa yelped. After a moment he let out a breath and spoke again. ‘Well, the timing’s particularly bad.’
‘For now, if you could just let the press know,’ Mikami said, leafing through his notebook. He got Suwa to take a copy of the commissioner’s schedule.
‘We have ten minutes for the walking interview. That’s time for three, maybe four questions?’
‘Sounds about right.’
‘How do the press decide on their questions?’
‘They usually each come up with one, then that month’s representative compiles the final list. Most of the time they all ask the same sorts of thing.’
Mikami nodded. ‘If you tell them now, when do you think you can get them to submit their questions?’
‘That would be . . .’ Suwa’s words trailed off. Mikami couldn’t blame him. It was only moments earlier that the press had unceremoniously booted him out of their room.
‘Just tell them I’ll need them first thing next week. The executives want a chance to vet them.’
‘Sure. I’ll give it a go.’ He said it with a look of being imposed upon, but followed this with a few quick nods for Mikami’s sake.
It’ll be fine. Mikami forced himself to feel optimistic. The commissioner general inspecting an unsolved kidnapping: he was sure it would be news enough for them all. They would fall into line. All they needed to do was agree a ceasefire on the issue of anonymous reporting. That would be easy enough. Suwa was partway back to his desk when he did an about turn. He cocked his head to one side.
‘I wonder, though . . . why would he be looking into Six Four at this point?’
Six Four. It disturbed Mikami to hear the phrase uttered again, although less so than when it had come from Akama’s mouth.
‘It’s PR, for Criminal Investigations,’ Mikami said dismissively, getting to his feet.
Fourteen years since the kidnapping. The term no longer seemed to be the sole possession of the detectives who had worked on the case. Even so, it had made him wary to hear two people, both outsiders to the investigation, deploy the prestigious code name so soon after each other. He’d had the same thought in Akama’s office: that information from Media Relations was leaking to Akama. That it had been doing so consistently, since the first day of his appointment.
He spoke without looking at Suwa. ‘Right, I’ll need you to sort things with the press. I’m going out for a while.’
‘Where will you be?’
‘Shoko’s parents’ house. I need to arrange things for the visit.’ Mikami glanced at Kuramae. ‘Can you come?’
He didn’t make a habit of asking his staff to drive him around, but his attacks of dizziness were worrying him. Today wasn’t the first time it had happened. He’d been suffering them for close to two weeks.
‘Ah, actually, I have to go out to interview the railway division; the police brought in a group causing trouble on the trains.’
While he excused himself Mikumo craned her head upwards from behind, as though to advertise her presence. Not you – Mikami swallowed the words rising in his throat. In terms of enthusiasm for her work, Mikumo was many times Kuramae’s superior. She had also come up through Transport, meaning she could drive a minibus in her sleep.
Clouds of dust blew through the air outside. As soon as he and Mikumo stepped out of the main building, she raised a hand to her forehead and dashed off into the wind, aiming for the parking area. Within a minute, the press director’s car appeared, pulling confidently around to stop alongside the entrance.
‘Do you know the address?’ Mikami asked, getting into the passenger-side seat.
‘Of course, sir,’ she said without pause, already navigating forwards.
Mikami supposed he’d been thoughtless to ask. Anyone who worked at the Prefectural HQ but didn’t know the address was, it felt fair to say, a fraud. It was Mikumo’s youth that had caught him off guard. She had just turned twenty-three; she would have been nine at the time of the kidnapping, only a couple of years older than the murdered girl. Now she was driving him to that girl’s home. There was no escaping the fact that an unimaginable span of time had passed.
They stopped not long after leaving the station to buy a gift of rice crackers. The national highway was quiet. The rows of buildings disappeared after they turned right at the junction to the prefectural road, where even the road-side stores began to taper off. Now they were approaching what had, before the city’s expansion, been the old Morikawa district.
‘Um, sir . . .’ Mikumo said, keeping her eyes ahead.
‘Yes? What is it?’