Mikami recognized the intensely charged air of fieldwork.
‘You know that’s probably true even now. They’re all suspects in Amamiya’s eyes. Everyone – from the workers at his factory to his kid brother.’
Mikami nodded gravely. No detective, present or past, could get away with not doing so.
Nothing had happened other than the kidnapper being still at large. With the passage of time, the relationship between Amamiya and the Investigative Team had simply faded to nothing. It had to be true; this was coming from the sub-chief of the team itself, someone who had stuck with the case from the very beginning. And yet . . .
There was no guarantee that Futawatari shared his opinion.
‘I’m sorry I took up your time.’ Mikami got to his feet, then acted as if he’d remembered something. ‘Reminds me – Koda, from the Home Unit. I heard he left the force?’
Tsuchigane looked instantly wary. ‘Right. That was a long time ago.’
‘Do you know what happened to his memo?’
‘What bloody memo?’
‘You know, the Koda memo.’
‘That’s the one thing I want to ask you. What the hell is this Koda memo thing?’ Tsuchigane’s expression made it clear he genuinely didn’t know. One of the officers on his team had reported it to him; that had been the first time he’d heard of it.
‘I don’t know either.’
‘You lying bastard, you set me up.’
‘The thing is, nobody seems to know where he is.’
‘It’s not that rare for someone who’s left the force to end up drifting.’
‘Are there any leads at all?’
‘I don’t know any.’
‘Okay. Well, see you again.’
Mikami bowed. Tsuchigane frowned and took a step closer. Mikami had suspected he might.
‘Go to the source. You find out what this Koda memo thing is, and come and tell me. If you do that, I’ll put in a good word with Arakida.’
Their eyes met.
‘I’ll do what I can.’
‘Come on, you can do better than that. I doubt you plan to run errands for the first floor until the day you retire.’
23
I need to go higher.
Mikami would approach First Division Chief Katsutoshi Matsuoka. His hands were digging into the steering wheel. He had learned enough to know that he was on the verge of something big. It fitted perfectly with everything Mochizuki had said back in the plastic greenhouse.
It was Administrative Affairs that had set out on the offensive. On orders from Akama, Futawatari was digging around Criminal Investigation’s weak spots. His sights were set on Six Four. In his hands, he held a card called the Koda memo.
But what was it?
Mikami had surmised from Tsuchigane that Amamiya’s split with the Six Four Investigative Team was no longer strictly confidential. It was no doubt far from ideal as far as the department was concerned, but Tsuchigane had all but said they’d given up trying to patch the relationship together a long time ago. They had decided there was nothing they could do to stop Administrative Affairs from finding out – if anything, they were showing signs of taking a belligerent ‘what of it?’ stance.
Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, Mikami lit a cigarette.
The fact that the relationship had failed wasn’t the real issue; no, the root problem lay in whatever it was that had caused the split. Mikami was increasingly sure of it. The relationship hadn’t simply come to an end – Amamiya himself had made the conscious decision to end it. And yet Tsuchigane had flatly denied the existence of any problem. Mikami hadn’t sensed that he was lying or trying to throw him off.
Unless . . .
They’d kept Tsuchigane out of the loop. The idea had already taken shape in Mikami’s mind. Something at the highest levels of confidentiality. If that was what it was, it was possible. If something existed that was so potentially explosive they’d seen fit to block the information from the sub-chief of the Six Four Investigation Team, and if the Koda memo was at the core of that something, then the Iron Curtain policy – which had seemed reckless before – began to assume an air of necessity. One big secret. Something only a handful of high-ranking officials were privy to. That was why Arakida had obscured his reasons for imposing the gag order not only from the lower ranks but even from the Six Four team.
The executive block came into view up ahead.
Matsuoka would talk. He’ll talk to me. Mikami willed it to be true. A long time ago, he’d worked two years under Matsuoka in the Criminal Investigations Division of one of the district stations. Matsuoka respected his skill on the job and his qualities as an individual. He’d invited Mikami to become part of the Close Pursuit Unit he’d led during the Six Four kidnapping. If it was true for anyone, Mikami was confident Matsuoka wouldn’t mistake him for a stooge for Administrative Affairs.
Mikami pulled into the parking area behind the building. The executive block was split into apartments, over three storeys. It contained fifteen households, each representing the individual division chiefs in the Prefectural HQ. Mikami hated the idea of being seen, but he knew he needn’t be concerned on Matsuoka’s behalf. If Futawatari was the implicit authority when it came to Personnel, Matsuoka was, in turn, the de facto head of Criminal Investigations. Regardless of department, the division chiefs were all aware that he was the real head of investigations, and his second role – as Arakida’s chief adviser – meant that his official rank was also higher than the others’. His presence in the department was staggering, his determination suggesting he’d made a blood pact with the force. People would turn a blind eye even if he were to receive a personal visit from an officer in Administrative Affairs. And, in Mikami’s favour was the fact that the career officers’ network of informers did not stretch this far. Chief Ochiai of Second Division lived by himself, and as such was staying in another complex, one with smaller apartments. But Mikami was still tense as he hurried from his car, trying to conceal the sound of his footsteps as he climbed the stairwell.
He already knew Matsuoka’s apartment was on the second floor. Number 302. A nameplate bore the family name. Mikami pushed the buzzer before he could even think about changing his mind. A female voice responded almost immediately. The door opened a fraction and a jumper-clad Ikue – Matsuoka’s wife – popped her head through the gap. She seemed surprised to see him.
‘Mikami?’
‘Ikue, it’s good to see you.’
‘You, too.’
She flicked off the chain and opened the door fully. Her eyes creased in a smile. Ikue had been an officer, too. She and Minako were close. Even so, Mikami was struggling to remember the last time he’d spoken to her.
‘Sorry to turn up out of the blue like this. There’s something I was hoping to discuss with the chief adviser. Is he around?’
‘Oh, he left for work, not too long ago.’
‘Did a case come up?’
‘No, no, nothing like that.’
Mikami had a bad feeling. Going in at the weekend, even without a case on.