Azusa was already there, seated near the windows with a paper open in front of him. Forty-six, the same age as Mikami. His dark features, which had given Mikami an impression of hardiness the last time they’d met, now seemed to suggest – perhaps because it was midwinter – a hard-to-shake bout of ill-health.
‘Sorry I’m late.’ Mikami dipped his head and seated himself across the table.
‘Not at all, I got here too early. So many odd jobs to do in the office. Your call gave me a good chance to sneak out for a bit.’
Face to face, the effect changed and Azusa seemed the very image of good health; he was more easy-going than Mikami remembered.
‘Your reputation precedes you, Mikami. When you led a team in Second Division, is it true that you arrested no less than three heads of local government on charges of corruption?’
‘That was a long time ago.’
‘And you spent time in First Division, too?’
‘I did. About half my time in each.’
‘How about when Shoko was kidnapped?’
‘Special Investigations, First Division. As chance would have it.’
‘Right in the middle of it, then. What’s a kidnapping if not special? You know, I covered all sorts back when I was in Tokyo.’ Azusa used this to transition smoothly into a run of stories from when he was chief reporter for the Metropolitan Police, dressing up his accomplishments to sound like failures. Mikami struggled to find an opening, and it wasn’t until they’d both cleared away their curries and been given their coffees that Azusa broached the subject himself.
‘I assume you’re here to request that I put a stop to the protest?’
Mikami put his mug, which he was already sipping from, back down on the table. Azusa’s sudden change of subject had almost caused him to spill its contents.
He carefully rearranged the front of his jacket.
‘Yes, that’s the gist of it. Is there anything you can do to make them give it to me?’
‘I see. Well, I do agree that it’s a tad excessive to go straight to the captain. But I do have to consider the sentiments of my men in the field . . . and it does seem that your office bears some of the responsibility for getting them so worked up.’
‘I’ll admit to that. But the fact remains that the main party here is a pregnant woman.’
‘I understand your point of view on this. But I must also say . . .’
Azusa began to discuss anonymous reporting. While he threw some of his own theories into the mix, the general thrust was no different to the argument of the younger reporters. Mikami stole a glance at his watch as he nodded. It was after one o’clock. The deadline was less than three hours away.
‘Azusa-san,’ Mikami said, trying to wrest back the conversation. ‘I’m sure, with your knowledge of the police, that you understand the gravity of a protest landing with the captain of a prefectural headquarters. I’m not saying you shouldn’t protest at all. However, looking at the precedents, wouldn’t you agree it is perhaps more suitable – at least at first – to lodge the protest with either the Secretariat or with General Affairs?’
‘Hmm. Well, that does seem to be the case.’
He could push it through.
Akikawa is under pressure from this editor with a background in police reporting. Mikami was beginning to suspect that Suwa’s information was something Akikawa had made up, maybe to justify himself after Media Relations had footed the bill for his drinks. There was nothing stubborn or radical about the man sitting before him now. Unless the impression was something Azusa was putting on for his benefit, using the techniques he’d perfected in Tokyo.
Mikami pressed again for an answer.
‘I don’t mean to suggest this isn’t an important issue, but it would be unfortunate if we were to let it harm the relationship between the club and the headquarters. If you would be willing to offer your assistance this time . . .’
Mikami had stressed the last sentence.
Azusa looked thoughtful as he answered. ‘Very well. Seeing as you went to all this trouble, I’ll see if I can talk with Akikawa. As I mentioned earlier, however, my men have an emotional investment in these things, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to guarantee his reaction. You are trying to take this over his head, after all.’
Mikami nodded, suppressing any other reaction. A thought had taken shape. He wanted Akikawa to feel the humiliation of having someone bypass your authority. Even so, Azusa appeared to be steering the conversation to an inconclusive end.
‘I can’t make you any promises. Don’t hold it against me.’
Having finished his escape clauses, Azusa reached for the bill on the table. Mikami got to it first. Azusa chuckled.
‘There’s no need to worry, Superintendent, I’m not going to pay the whole bill. I just wanted to pay my due, that’s all.’
‘Azusa-san. Please, sit down.’
‘Mmm?’
Mikami gave him a look that said: Just listen. He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Tell Akikawa he’d benefit from focusing on the bid-rigging charges.’
Azusa tilted his head a little, focusing his gaze on Mikami. As someone who had ascended the ranks to chief reporter for the Metropolitan Police, he would be well acquainted with the kind of gambit Mikami was about to make.
Mikami was confident it would surpass his expectations.
‘For the last few days, we’ve had the CEO of Hakkaku Construction in for voluntary questioning. If things go to plan, we should be at the stage of making an arrest within the next few days.’
Azusa stopped blinking. A number of his facial muscles tensed and relaxed. Gone was the distinction between rookie and veteran. The expression of a reporter landing a big story was always the same.
The lunchtime crowd had already dispersed. In the comparative stillness of the restaurant, Mikami felt confident he’d closed the deal.
19
It was 4 p.m.