Where on earth was he now?
Mikami was starting to wonder if he’d been the one to set events into motion. His first visit to Amamiya had been seven days ago. But the silent call to Mesaki’s home had been ten days ago; Amamiya would have already tracked down the kidnapper’s voice by the time of Mikami’s visit. He would have been debating whether or not to report it. Although . . . the fact that he hadn’t reported it during the three-day gap, however short that seemed, already had to be a reflection of how deeply he mistrusted the force. Every detective he’d met had assured him they would catch his daughter’s killer, but it hadn’t happened, even after fourteen years. Single-handedly, he’d achieved something tens of thousands police officers taking the force as a whole – had failed to do. And why? Because it wasn’t their business. Doubtless, that would have been his conclusion. The police had sought to cover up their own recording error. A seven-year-old girl had been kidnapped, met with a tragic end, and yet they had taken action to protect their own interests. They had systematically wiped all record of the third call’s existence. It was no wonder he’d lost faith. Even if he did report Mesaki’s details, who could say whether they would have trusted his ability to distinguish the voice after fourteen years? Even if they had, it would have meant a loss of face, to have the victim’s father succeed where they had failed. They would have resented that; perhaps it would have dulled the edge of the investigation; maybe they would have told him he was wrong, after only a perfunctory investigation. Even so, Amamiya couldn’t bring Mesaki in by himself. He could go and see him, try to pressure him, but telling Mesaki he thought his voice matched the kidnapper’s wouldn’t be enough to force him into a confession.
It would have been then that Mikami had turned up.
Amamiya would have recognized his voice. He’d heard so many on the phone, but Mikami’s response would have left an impression. And the name on his card started with Mi. With the call still fresh in his mind, Amamiya would have drawn only one conclusion. His daughter’s run away. He’s anxious for her safety. Perhaps he’d seen an opportunity to forge a real, emotional connection, become convinced that the man before him was one of only a handful of officers capable of understanding his plight – the pain of a parent who’d lost a daughter. If Mikami had been there to talk of anything else, Amamiya might have confided in him that he’d tracked down the voice of the Six Four kidnapper.
But . . .
What had Mikami said instead? It hurt to think about it. He’d asked Amamiya to accept a visit from the commissioner. Made a blatant attempt to involve him in a PR exercise. He’d pressed him for an answer, suggesting it might help, that the coverage might even unearth new leads. Amamiya’s suspicions would have been confirmed. They haven’t changed. Fourteen years, and the force continued to display no regard for the victim; far from it – they were hoping to take advantage of his suffering and shore up their own defences.
I appreciate the offer, but it won’t be necessary. There’s no need for someone as important as that to come all this way.
That was how it had started. Amamiya’s attitude had undergone a sudden transformation. Mikami was sure of it now.
He had decided he wanted to corner Mesaki himself. He reached out to Koda. Together, the two men, who had both suffered at the hands of the police, put their heads together and came up with a plan. They wanted revenge on Mesaki, but they also wanted to get back at the force. They decided to enact their plan on the day of the commissioner’s visit, knowing that would deal the heaviest blow. In the end, the one variable they had no control over – Kasumi’s absence from home – had forced them to move it forward a day. The timing had never been down to chance. In what looked like a twist of fate, a copycat kidnapping took place just a day before the commissioner’s inspection into Six Four. It wasn’t the fury of Criminal Investigations that had finally forced the cancellation, nor was it fate – it was Koda and Amamiya’s unmerciful revenge. Mikami had pushed Amamiya when he’d been undecided. By notifying him of the commissioner’s visit, he’d ended up giving him a date they could use. The haircut had been a token of that resolve.
The words on their call the previous night . . . they probably hadn’t been for Mikami alone. Not everything is bad. There’s good out there, too.
And yet . . .
Amamiya and Koda had crossed a line.
They had to shoulder the responsibility. Amamiya’s share of the burden was particularly weighty. Heresy is heresy; there are no graduations. Whatever his reasons, he’d staged the kidnapping of a young girl. He’d subjected her mother, Mutsuko Mesaki, to the terrors of losing her daughter. All this despite having witnessed first hand the suffering of his wife, Toshiko, when they’d learned of their daughter’s abduction; even though her feelings were indistinguishable from his own. Amamiya had abandoned morality. He had, in order to satisfy his personal desire for retribution, crushed underfoot a mother’s innocent heart.
He was fully aware that that was what he’d done, more than anyone. That was why he hadn’t come back. Was it possible he’d decided to . . .?
Mikami recognized the sound of a car horn.
It was coming from the top of the hill.
The taxi was independently owned, one the Prefectural HQ used constantly; it was unlikely that the driver suspected Mikami of lying or trying to dodge the fare. Then again, Mikami had had the look of a man who hadn’t slept for thirty-six hours . . . he must have looked inescapably bleak – perhaps the driver was worried he might drown himself. Mikami could see him now, in the distance, already out of the car. He leaned out of the phone box and waved a hand in the air.
I won’t be much longer.
He closed the door and opened his mobile. He was about to dial Matsuoka’s number when the urge took him to lift the phone before him off the cradle. The crackling of the line sounded like it came from the past. Matsuoka’s phone went straight to voicemail. Deciding it wouldn’t be funny to leave a silent call from a phone box, Mikami left his name and a message, saying he’d try again. He hung up. Something told him Matsuoka would call back. There were things he wanted to say; questions he wanted to ask.
What had happened to Kazuki Koda?