Was that it?
The identity of the family. Was that all Criminal Investigations was hiding? It couldn’t be. It wouldn’t be something so minor. They had to be hiding something else, something fundamental to the kidnapping, perhaps even to the investigation itself. Something that had left Arakida no choice but to suppress the information, even if it meant making a wholesale enemy of the press; a secret with an explosive potential that was on par with the Koda memo.
The only fact he had was that Matsuoka, the lead commander of the investigation, had refused to give him Mutsuko and Kasumi’s names. That was all.
Kasumi was understandable. That could be explained normally. She was a juvenile, one suspected of having orchestrated a hoax kidnapping. Matsuoka wasn’t the kind of man to grant dispensation due to age, but it was hard to argue with him for holding her name back.
But what about Mutsuko?
The thought came to him for the first time. Why had Matsuoka refused to give him the name of Kasumi’s mother? Was it because she was a woman? Because she was suffering? Because her daughter had been kidnapped, or betrayed her trust? Did considerations like that come into it?
It didn’t feel right.
So . . . no.
What else could it have been? Perhaps he’d just decided to help. It was possible he hadn’t intended to give out any of their names at first but that he’d seen the state Mikami was in and taken pity, decided to give him at least Masato’s name.
No.
Some things must never be spoken.
He’d ‘spoken’ Masato’s name. But he hadn’t done the same for Mutsuko and Kasumi. His decency hadn’t permitted it.
The clarity started to fade.
Had Matsuoka’s words contained any hidden meaning? Or had they been empty? If they had meant something . . .
A mother, a daughter . . .
The combination brought only negative connotations. Another unmarked police car passed by. They had been mobilized across the prefecture. In a few hours, the pursuit would begin, tailing the ransom all the way to the handover point. A manhunt in broad daylight. There was a chance it would turn into that.
The billboard for the Aoi Café came sliding into view. It would be open for the morning trade. Would it be the starting point again? Mikami searched for Minako’s face in the windows. Would she go there again? If so, would she sit on the same seat she had fourteen years ago?
Mikami experienced a jolt of fear, suddenly feeling as though he’d thrown his wife into a dark and bottomless whirlpool.
Something would happen. He knew it, even though the idea had no basis. But that was how terror took hold – groundless fear.
There’s a phrase: ‘It takes a heretic to catch a heretic.’
Matsuoka’s words came ominously back to mind. Mikami never heard the phrase before. Was it something Matsuoka had thought up himself? Something to put words to an idea of his? If so, were they some kind of placeholder? Something that suggested what it was that needed to remain hidden?
The shadow of a bird crossed the front window.
Mikami pulled away as soon as the light turned green. He needed to stare into Matsuoka’s eyes and check, and not just for the sake of Media Relations.
73
A wind was picking up.
A four-tonne truck was parked up ahead, bearing the logo of a soft-drink manufacturer. Three years ago, the logo on the van was that of a cigarette company. Before that, Mikami seemed to remember it had been one for a company making processed food. It was the prefecture’s Mobile Command Centre, purchased the year following the Six Four kidnapping after a compensatory jump in their budget. In the thirteen years since, he’d never once heard of the computerized vehicle being deployed.
Mikami was in his car. The parking area of a driving school, half a kilometre from Station G. It had taken three trips around the city to find them. A detective in the driving seat. An elbow poking from the passenger window. There would be more inside, sitting in the glittering silver container that formed the back of the vehicle.
The engine was off, but the vehicle’s design included an array of batteries fitted to the undercarriage, allowing air conditioning, communications devices and all digital components to function regardless.
Five past ten. The announcement would have started. More likely, the announcement scheduled for eight o’clock was still dragging on. He couldn’t let it distract him. He would wait for Matsuoka. Any normal First Division Chief would set up base in the Investigative HQ and lead from there, but Mikami knew that wouldn’t apply to a hunter like Matsuoka. He would take advantage of any tool that was available to him. If there was a command vehicle, he would be in it. Mikami’s job now was to keep his eyes open, to keep watch.
He hadn’t slept for twenty-eight hours. He didn’t feel sleepy, but his experience from previous stake-outs told him that was a sign of danger. You just passed out. And when you did, you didn’t wake again, not even if your mark prodded you in the head. Matsuoka would enter the command vehicle at ten thirty. Eleven at the latest. Mikami had to stay alert until then.
He lit a cigarette; keeping one eye on the vehicle, he opened his mobile. He called the retired officer, Mochizuki. No one answered. Maybe his phone was on drive mode. Mikami had missed his call while he’d been driving, his own phone also set to drive mode. Now he was parked and calling Mochizuki back, their situations reversed; perhaps he was out delivering some flowers.
Futawatari paid another visit.
Mikami was expecting the call to be something like that. It didn’t stir up any emotions. It was something he had to get out of the way, but that was all. The issue of the commissioner’s visit had been sorted. In its place was the kidnapping and the kidnapping alone, stretching as far as the eye could see.
Mikami stubbed his cigarette into the car’s ashtray.
Futawatari called earlier, asking if he could help. I can call him in.
He hadn’t meant to test Suwa. The situation had convinced him that help was needed. How would Futawatari have dealt with it? What would he have done to get through? Mochizuki’s missed call had triggered the questions, but his thoughts in the lift had been different. Someone to rescue Suwa and Ochiai. Futawatari’s name had been the first to come to mind.
He slapped himself on the cheeks. He’d jumped after seeing the numbers on the car’s digital clock: 10.25. His watch read the same. It felt as if time had jumped forwards. I’ve been passing out each time I blink. The fear rose inside him. He leaned into the steering column and scanned the command vehicle.
Nothing out of the ordinary. It was parked in the same place. Everything was normal. Mikami let out a breath and had just begun to settle back into his seat when . . .