Are you okay?
‘We’ll get through this. She’s doing fine, I’m sure of it.’
She was rubbing his wrists.
It’s you. Minako was his ‘somebody’. He’d already known it. He’d known it since the beginning. He’d pretended not to notice. Then, as he maintained the pretence, he’d actually stopped noticing. He’d been a fool. He’d been mistaken. He knew every sordid detail of his work, but what kind of a life was that if you didn’t even notice your wife?
He would believe in it, too, the world Minako had created. The world in which that ‘someone’ existed. The world in which Ayumi was alive and well.
‘You’re exhausted. Why don’t you lie down for a bit?’
Her hand came to rest on his forehead, as though checking for a temperature. He had the vague memory of his mother doing the same. He felt fiercely self-conscious. He rubbed his fingers over his eyes to extinguish the tears, then got to his feet.
‘They’ll need watering . . .’
‘Sorry?’
‘The rosemary.’
‘The Christmas rose?’
‘Right, those . . .’
‘Now?’
‘I mean . . . tomorrow, the day after. We should water them every day.’
‘You think so? It is winter.’
‘Yeah, we should. They’re alive, after all.’
‘Well, I suppose.’
‘Why don’t you buy a few more flowers – it’ll liven the place up a little.’
‘Listen to you!’ Minako laughed, spurring him on.
‘When work eases, we can go buy some from Mochizuki. You know him, right? Mochizuki?’
‘Yes I think so – he retired, grows flowers now?’
‘It’s impressive. He’s got these huge greenhouses, we could get some of those . . .’ The name of the flowers refused to surface. ‘Anyway, we should go and buy some. We can get some you like the look of.’
The conversation ending, Mikami looked at his watch. It was just after half past eight. The press conference would have finished by now.
‘I have to make a call.’
‘Is anything wrong?’
He looked her in the face. She was frowning, looking concerned.
Not yet, that’s still to come, he thought. He looked her in the eyes.
‘No, nothing’s wrong. Never has been, not really,’ he said.
He picked up the phone in the living room and dialled Media Relations. He felt clearer, almost cheerful.
‘Media Relations.’
It was Suwa.
‘Is the press director in?’
‘Nice, sir. You’re not still awake, are you?’
‘How was the seven o’clock conference?’
‘Terrible. The press were relentless, kept insisting we give them Mesaki’s address.’
‘That’s not our remit. What about Ochiai? How’s he doing?’
‘He’s full of beans. And we know why. It’s Mikumo . . . Mikumo!’
Stop saying that! Mikumo sounded genuinely angry in the background. Mikami smiled. He left a few instructions then ended the call.
He pressed some more digits. Koichiro Hiyoshi’s home number. When his mother picked up, Mikami asked if she would take the phone to the first floor, as she had the last time. From then on, time seemed to expand. Mikami grew wary of falling asleep.
Do a good deed, and it’ll find its way back.
No, Dad. That’s not why I’m . . .
Minako, tending to the flowers with a watering can. The clenched hands are open. Reds, yellows, blues. The area’s in shadow; a dazzling ray of light shines on the flowers alone.
The phone’s ringing . . .
Don’t worry, I’ll get it. It’s fine, I’ll get it . . .
Mikami started. He could hear a shuffling. Someone taking the phone into the room.
‘It’s Mikami. I’m just going to get straight to it, okay?’
‘. . .’
‘Hiyoshi, we got the kidnapper. Shoko’s murderer.’
‘. . .’
‘It’s big news, right? It won’t be in the press for a while, but we’ve got the bastard. I saw his face. So did a guy just like you, called Morita. And this guy called Shiratori . . . you’d laugh to see the man’s bulk after hearing that name. All of us had a good long look at the bastard’s face.’
‘. . .’
‘Amamiya did, too. After fourteen years . . . he finally got to see the kidnapper’s face. I think he’s a lot calmer now. Grateful, too, to all the people who worked with him, all that time ago.’
‘. . .’
‘Hiyoshi, I hope you’re listening to this. I guess you’re tired. I am, too. Just hold on for another ten minutes. I’m going for a new record . . . thirty-nine hours without sleep. Thought I’d make a go of breaking the record I made at twenty-five.’
‘. . .’
‘Anyway, I’m going to put in a call every now and again. You’ve got the time, right? I have, too. My nights are free now I’ve been booted from detective work.’
80
The week hurtled by.
The press conferences were pulled back to twice a day. The majority of those still showing up were local, friendly faces, although any semblance of like-mindedness had all but faded away. Akikawa was back to his usual self. The others, too, had regained their aggressive edge and had taken to bulldozing their way into Media Relations after every announcement.
‘You’ve got them in hiding, admit it. It’s ridiculous . . . we’ve tried every trick in the book and we still can’t track them down.’
‘You can’t blame us for your ineptitude.’
‘Just give us a little more, on the girl’s family. That was part of the coverage agreement. You have an obligation to let us in on the whole picture.’
‘The agreement’s no longer in effect. I can’t hand out confidential case information.’
The Mesaki family were renting a house in a town in the north of the prefecture. Mesaki had brought someone in to run the sports business and had decided to sell their old house. No longer in police custody, his official status was now ‘under observation’. After days of being questioned as the victim, he had revealed nothing that could be used against him. The only change was that the detectives had taken to calling him ‘the honest man’; this was partly due to the first character in his name, meaning ‘truth’, but mostly due to the detectives’ frustration with the way he always said exactly the right thing.