You could just give them her name, if they want it so badly.
Mikami frowned, concentrating on the cowardly idea that had risen, scum-like, to the surface. If things did come to a head, he could always force a reset by giving them Hanako Kikunishi’s name. Doing so might flip the situation to his advantage. There wouldn’t be any damage. The press only wanted the police to reveal her identity. He’d already made sure to labour the point that she was pregnant and suffering from high levels of stress. As they tended to be oversensitive when it came to the weak, they wouldn’t run an article exposing her true identity. Even supposing they were considering it, the story would be three days old if they ran it in the next day’s news. No: it was highly unlikely any of them would actually put it in print.
There was, of course, the issue of saving face. If he overturned their policy of not revealing the woman’s identity, he would be admitting that the Prefectural HQ had made a mistake. They would also have to ready themselves for this about-turn becoming a precedent, fuelling the press to escalate their demands.
But the loss of face would be nothing compared to what might happen if he failed to act and let the press barge into the captain’s office. And worries of losing face would be the last thing on his mind if the trouble disrupted the commissioner’s visit.
‘I’m going upstairs for a bit.’
Mikumo approached as he got to his feet, looking a little anxious. ‘Sir.’ Her face was flushed. Her eyes sharp, even angry. ‘Please let me go to Amigos with the others.’
Mikami felt his head spin. Suwa had put her up to this. Either that, or she was trying to help, unwilling to stand back and watch him suffer.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ he snapped, hurrying out of the room. He stopped himself after a few steps then turned to face the door again. Not a good idea? He turned back into the room. ‘Forget about it, for good,’ he commanded. Mikumo looked crestfallen. Even Mikami had been surprised by the harshness in his voice.
But the poison was already coursing through his blood. He had for a moment considered taking advantage of the fact that Mikumo was a woman, and he knew he would come to regret it.
13
It was dark beyond the windows.
Mikami was making his way to the first floor, this time via a different set of stairs from those that led to Administrative Affairs. The red carpet ran all the way up these stairs, starting at the entrance to the station, turning right at the landing to the first floor, and stretching as far as the Secretariat and the Public Safety Committee’s office. Mikami pushed open the door to the Secretariat. His gaze met that of Aiko Toda, who was sitting closest to the door. He couldn’t see Ishii at his desk.
‘Is the chief in?’
‘Yes, he’s in the visitor’s room.’
Mikami glanced at the door set in the right-hand wall. The visitor’s room was a kind of annexe within the Secretariat, its main function to host confidential discussions.
‘I’ll wait.’
He walked over the carpeted floor and settled into one of the couches in the middle of the room, its quality and comfort far superior to the ones in Media Relations. A selection of indoor plants had been arranged at even intervals, doubling up as a screen that could shield you from the office’s view if you sat in the right place.
The room was soundless. Even though Mikami had grown used to it, it still managed to put him on edge. His eyes drifted off to the corner furthest to the left. A set of double doors fashioned out of finely grained wood announced the entrance to the captain’s office. The lamp was on, indicating that the room was occupied.
The office staff were all hard at work. Even with the chief out of the office, it was rare for them to relax their sense of professional formality. They were polished and always on the ball – all the way down from the vice-chief through the section managers to the rank and file – impressive, even if compared to their colleagues in the Prefectural Government.
The difference was incredible. Although his office was located separately, Mikami was also a member of the Secretariat. Welcoming the station captain from Tokyo. Protecting him. Returning him unscathed back to the NPA. There was no exaggeration in saying that these were the Secretariat’s principal duties.
Toda came over with a mug of tea.
‘Will he be long?’ Mikami asked, keeping his voice low.
Toda inclined her head a little. ‘He’s been in there for a while, so I wouldn’t—’
‘Who’s he with?’
‘Inspector Futawatari.’
Mikami held his breath until Toda left. It was warm when he slowly exhaled. A second brush with Futawatari in a single day. It was becoming harder to dismiss it as coincidence. Futawatari would be meeting Ishii to discuss the commissioner’s visit, or something else to do with Six Four. Mikami had to assume this much.
His eyes bored into the door. For a moment it was as though he could see Futawatari’s scrawny back through it. The sharp, clearly defined lines of his face. The razor-sharp intelligence of those cutting eyes.
But . . .
The look that had been burned in Mikami’s retina was altogether different.
A summer day, long ago. It came vividly back: the unfathomable expression, fixed on Mikami as he held out a wet towel in both hands. They’d been in the same class in high school. Both members of the kendo club. It was their last prefectural tournament as third-year students; Mikami had been taisho – captain of his team – while Futawatari had reconciled himself to being in reserve. He’d lacked the necessary flair. He’d also been unlucky to find himself in a group of elites many of whom, in their year and the year below, had come up through the local dojo. Round one. Mikami had landed a nukido – a sharp strike to the abdomen – on the taisho of one of their main rivals. He had returned triumphant to the corridor that served as the rest area. Drenched in sweat, he’d looked for one of the wet towels the first years had to get ready but been unable to find any. The bus carrying the team’s supporters had been late to arrive, and the junior members had been sent to help unload luggage. Mikami had snapped around, annoyed, his eyes landing on Futawatari.
However much he tried, Mikami couldn’t recall what had happened next. He suspected his eyes had barked the order.
Get me a fucking towel.