‘She collapsed from a stroke six years ago. It was last year that she—’
‘I’m sorry.’ The man’s frozen emotions were beginning to thaw. Even realizing this, Mikami didn’t think to return the conversation to business. ‘She was too young to go.’
‘She was. To leave us like that. And without knowing the . . .’
She had died without ever seeing the kidnapper brought to justice. As he perhaps recalled his wife’s bitter disappointment, Amamiya’s unfocused eyes flickered shut for a moment. Mikami felt his heart ache. Each time he heard the case mentioned, he felt a sense of shame burning in his chest.
One fateful day.
The fifth of January, in the sixty-fourth year of the Showa period. I’m going to get my New Year presents. Shoko Amamiya had headed out saying these words a little after midday, only to disappear on her way to the house of a nearby relative. Two hours later, her kidnapper had called the Amamiyas, demanding ransom. The voice of a man in his thirties or forties, slightly hoarse, with no trace of an accent. The content of the call had been textbook. I’ve got your daughter. Get 20 million yen ready by midday tomorrow, then wait. She dies if you talk to the police. Her father had answered the call. He had begged to hear his daughter’s voice, but the kidnapper had simply put the phone down.
After a lot of agonizing, Amamiya had notified the police. That was after six in the evening. Within forty-five minutes, the four officers of a Home Unit dispatched from Criminal Investigations First Division in the Prefectural HQ had covertly entered the Amamiyas’ residence. At the same time, the local NTT office had called to notify the police that people were in place to trace any more calls. They’d been just a step too late. The kidnapper’s second call had come in just moments earlier. I want used bills. Put the money in the largest suitcase you can buy at Marukoshi. Bring it to the location I’ll give you tomorrow, and come alone.
If we’d only recorded the bastard’s voice. If only that damned trace had been ready. These were phrases uttered by every detective who ever came to work on the case, always mingled with a sigh.
At eight the same evening a Special Investigative Headquarters was established in the Prefecture D central police station. Another thirty minutes later Mikami was on his way towards the Amamiya family home, appointed sub-leader of the Close Pursuit Unit, with orders to go through the details of the following day’s handover. The officers of the Home Unit were already interviewing the parents. Did you recognize his voice? Has anything suspicious happened recently? Do you know anyone who might bear a grudge? Are any of your old employees having money trouble? The parents just frowned, the blood drained from their faces, shaking their heads the whole time.
It was a long night. Nobody slept a wink, just glared at the phone. Not once did Amamiya break his formal seiza sitting position. But the third call didn’t come in, even after it had started to grow light outside. Toshiko had been making rice balls in the kitchen. She’d made more than everyone could eat then made more rice and started over, mechanically repeating the task. The posture had made it seem like she was praying. But . . .
Her prayers had been ignored.
The sixty-fourth year of the Showa period had lasted for only a week. The fanfare welcoming Heisei had swept it away, as though it had been an apparition. It had most certainly existed. It was during that final year of Showa that a man kidnapped and murdered a seven-year-old girl, before disappearing into Heisei. The code name ‘Six Four’ was a pledge that the case didn’t belong to the first year of Heisei, that they would drag the kidnapper right back into the sixty-fourth year of Showa . . .
Mikami gave the altar a hesitant glance. Toshiko was smiling in her photo. Her youth caught him by surprise. The shot was probably one from a time when she’d still been carefree, from before she could even have imagined that her daughter might be kidnapped. The relaxed smile wasn’t that of a mother who had lost her daughter.
Amamiya had fallen silent again. He still hadn’t asked Mikami why he was visiting. The emotion was draining from his eyes.
Somewhere else . . .
Mikami cleared his throat. He had no choice but to take the initiative. He couldn’t let Amamiya retreat back into his shell, not before he’d outlined the reason for his visit.
‘There’s something I have to tell you – that’s the reason I’m visiting today.’
Ask, not tell. He should have phrased it like that. He carried on, hurrying as he sensed a shift in Amamiya’s mood.
‘The truth is, our top executive has expressed a wish to visit you next week. Commissioner General Kozuka, from the National Police Agency in Tokyo. We know a long time has passed since the kidnapping, but it still goes without saying that we want to bring the perpetrator to justice by whatever means we can. The commissioner wishes to encourage the officers working on the case by attending the scene of the crime; he also wishes to visit you here and pay his respects to your daughter.’
It was hard to breathe. The more he spoke, the more his chest seemed to fill with a pungent gas. Amamiya’s eyes were on the floor. That he was disappointed was obvious. It was hardly surprising. Mikami wondered if anyone in his position would take what he had said at face value – to be told only now, fourteen years later, that the commissioner general wanted to inject new life into the investigation. Police politics. PR. Had he perhaps seen through to the man’s true motivation?
Having no other choice, Mikami continued.
‘I won’t deny that the case has been in limbo. But that’s exactly why the commissioner wants to visit. With enough press coverage, there’s a chance it might help new leads come to light.’
There was a pause before Amamiya dropped his head in a bow.
‘You have my gratitude.’
His voice was relaxed. Mikami breathed out silently, but his relief was tempered by his discomfort at having prevailed on the man. In the end, they always did as the police said. With no other means of exacting revenge, victims were dependent on the force to bring the perpetrator to justice. Mikami understood it now. His hands were tied because his daughter had run away from home, and now he was here, stringing empty words together for the sake of a PR exercise.
Mikami took out his notebook. He flipped to the page with his notes from Akama’s office.
‘The commissioner’s visit is scheduled for Thursday, 12—’
Before he could finish his sentence, he heard the muffled sound of Amamiya’s voice. Mikami tilted his head to one side.
But it won’t be necessary.
It had sounded like that.
‘Amamiya-san?’
‘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.’
No need?
Mikami pulled back a little. Amamiya had turned them down. His look was as distant as before, but there had been an unmistakable force to his words.
‘But . . . can I ask why?’