– Do it now.
– But . . . but . . . if I do that . . . if I burn the money, what about Kasumi? Are you really going to give her back to me?
– Do you want her to die?
– Okay . . . I’ll do it. Hold on, I’ll do it now.
‘Mesaki is pouring something in, from a plastic bottle. Wait . . . Shit! Sir, he’s set the whole thing on fire. The oil drum is on fire.’
It looked like some kind of flare. Black smoke churned into the air, visible through the monitors in the command vehicle.
– It’s done. I’ve set the money on fire. It’s all burning. Just like you wanted. I’ve done everything you said. Now just give me my daughter back. Where is she? Please. Where is she?
– Under the container.
– Under the . . .?
There were a series of clicks.
‘The kidnapper has ended the call.’
‘. . . Mesaki’s holding up the container now. Peering underneath. He’s got something . . . a piece of paper. Smallish. Notepad size. He’s staring at it. Sir, he’s on his knees! Mesaki has collapsed on to his knees. He’s got his head on the ground, both hands stretched forwards, holding the sheet. He’s . . . balling it up. He’s wailing. Screaming. His daughter’s name. “Kasumi, Kasumi!”’
A note to tell him his daughter was dead?
Was that the message Amamiya had left him?
Now you know the pain of losing a daughter. This moment will last for ever.
‘Incoming call. Mesaki’s phone. The caller is . . . Mutsuko, his wife. Patching it through.’
– Finally! Where are you? It’s Kasumi. She’s safe. Our daughter’s safe!
– She . . . she’s safe?
– Yes! There was no kidnapping. No one kidnapped her. No one touched her, she didn’t know anything about it. I’m so glad I got through . . . everything’s okay.
– She . . . She wasn’t kidnapped?
– No. She’s safe and well. She doesn’t want to talk . . . but there’s nothing to worry about. She’s safe. Darling, isn’t the news fantastic? Come back as soon as you can.
– . . .
– Is something wrong? What is it? Darling?
‘Patching Yoshikawa through second speaker.’
‘Mesaki’s opening a sheet of paper, he’s looking at it. It’s the same one. He’s giving it a funny look. He’s stopped moving. He’s not moving at all.’
The empty plot had come into sight from the command vehicle. The front-side monitor was showing a shot of the area. One of the stylists from inside the salon had come to stand outside the rear entrance. She’d hurried out, no doubt surprised at the commotion. One of the customers was peering dubiously through a back window, colouring foil in her hair. More people were venturing out from nearby shops and houses, having heard Mesaki’s howls. They were converging on a single point – the oil drum, still heaving with black fumes, and Mesaki, now cross-legged on the ground next to it.
‘Zoom in.’
‘Affirmative.’
The camera drew closer to Mesaki. The image expanded until it took up the whole height of the monitor. The camera had a direct view of the man’s face. His head was drooping forwards. His eyes were focused on a single point on the ground. There was something tranquil about the way he looked, despite his trip to hell and back. His temples were moving. Twitching? No. The movement was identical on both sides. His jaw betrayed a subtle motion.
‘It’s in his mouth!’ Minegishi shouted. ‘The bastard’s eating the note.’
‘No, wait. Look!’ Ogata pointed.
The note was there in Mesaki’s hands. He still had it. Except . . . Yoshikawa had said it was standard notepad size. The paper was too thin for that. It looked stretched out, a strip more than a sheet. He was eating it. He’d torn off half and put it in his mouth.
It was already too late. His jaw was moving sideways, and not up and down. He was using his back teeth to turn it to pulp.
‘Yoshikawa, did you see him do it?’
‘I . . . didn’t see him tearing the paper. I saw him lift a hand to his face, but it looked like he was just rubbing his jaw.’
It made sense. He’d been careful to conceal the fact that he was putting the paper in his mouth. He’d come all this way with the police in tow, so he knew detectives would be watching. He knew they’d later ask him to give them the note. That was why he’d chosen to leave half of it. The half he was chewing on was the half he didn’t want them to see. Most likely the part containing Amamiya’s message . . .
Mesaki’s expression became calm. His jaw and temples were motionless. In the next moment, his Adam’s apple rose and fell. Mikami could almost hear the sound of the gulp.
‘Damn it!’
Ogata drove his fist into the frame around the monitor. Minegishi punched the wall. The right-hand side of the monitor blurred a little, turning light brown. One of the onlookers had stepped in the way of the camera. Another figure, out of focus and faintly blue, emerged to fill the remaining space on the left. Mesaki’s shape tapered, thinning out until it was completely invisible.
‘That was it?’ Minegishi said, palms stretched wide. ‘Why leave it at that? He could have done so much more. He could have forced him to confess, threatened to kill Kasumi if he didn’t.’
‘Agreed. That was too easy,’ Ogata breathed.
‘All that intimidation, getting him to run, to burn the money – all he got from the bastard was that 20 million yen. There was that one time, in the car . . . But that’s hardly anything. And Mesaki ate the fucking note. He should have gone straight for it, on the phone. That would have got a proper fucking response.’
Mikami’s mouth was half open. His anger was rising; he felt that their comments were defiling something important.
Matsuoka cut in. ‘What more could we hope for?’ His gaze was divided equally between the two detectives. ‘Yoshio Amamiya delivered us a suspect. What happens next is up to us. All he had was a voice on the phone. Whatever the message was, it wouldn’t have been anything we could use in an arrest. Amamiya deserves an award – he gave Mesaki something that wasn’t conclusive evidence and got him to swallow it. Don’t ever forget this. That was Mesaki’s confession. Now we know he’s the kind of guy who panics, confesses, even without definitive evidence.’
Ogata and Minegishi were standing upright and motionless, concentrating like third-year recruits still bringing tea to the real detectives. Shiratori was nodding at one of the walls. Taking a deep breath, Morita pulled the zoom back on the camera. A huge number of onlookers had gathered around the empty plot.
Mesaki was out of view. All they could see was the line of smoke, tapered now, and white. The wind had dropped off, letting it reach up in what was almost a straight line. Why make him burn the money? It was unlikely that Amamiya wanted revenge for the money he’d lost. It was a second message – it had to be. One Shoko and Toshiko could see from the heavens. He had entrusted the trail of smoke to carry his voice.