‘I see. Good to see you again, Ikue.’
He made to leave but heard Ikue quietly calling from behind. When he turned around he saw she was frowning, looking worried.
‘Have you . . . had any word from Ayumi at all?’
The question didn’t rattle him at all. If anything, he felt a warm sense of friendship, and the tension subsided from his shoulders. Matsuoka must have brought it up at home. The two of them were concerned about Ayumi.
‘We had a call, a while back.’
The words soothed as they came out. Ikue’s eyes seemed to double in size.
‘When? Where from?’
‘About a month ago. We don’t know where she called from, though. She didn’t say anything.’
‘Nothing at all?’
‘That’s right. She called three times, but was silent the whole time.’
Ikue looked as if she was searching for something to say. Her expression suggested hesitation. No doubt the words ‘prank call’ were there in her head.
‘I’ll go and see if I can find Matsuoka in the office.’
The feeling of awkwardness stayed with him all the way back to the car. He drove away with a new carelessness. He’d begun to doubt his own convictions. Hadn’t Ikue’s embarrassment simply been a reflection of what he himself really believed? The calls had been someone messing around. Could he truly say he didn’t suspect it, deep down? It felt disloyal even to think it. Something else to add to the list of things he couldn’t discuss with Minako.
*
Fifteen minutes later, Mikami pulled up the handbrake in the parking lot of the Prefectural HQ. He stopped by the duty officer’s office next to the building’s entrance. The face of a young detective was visible through the small reception window. His eyes remained frosty as he acknowledged Mikami, although perhaps only in reflection of the latter’s expression. Mikami muttered a quick greeting as he opened the door and grabbed the key to Media Relations. He stepped back into the corridor, picking up speed the moment he was out of sight again; he began to charge up the stairs.
The fourth floor, together with the offices of Criminal Investigations, were bathed in silence. First Division sat at the end of the corridor. There was no doubt this was his home ground, but gone was the time when he could walk around without feeling self-conscious.
Mikami took a few breaths, edging the door open a fraction. Matsuoka was ahead, at the far end of the room, sitting at his desk with his back to the window. He was going through some papers. He was the only one in.
‘Can I come in?’
‘Ah, Mikami.’
Matsuoka wouldn’t have been expecting Mikami to turn up, but he showed no outward indications of surprise. He gestured for Mikami to sit; Mikami bowed and sat himself on the edge of one of the couches. He was aware it was a weekend. With the Iron Curtain in place, he would never have been able to waltz into First Division and have a one-on-one conversation with a man like Matsuoka on a weekday.
‘How did you know I’d be here?’
‘Went by your apartment first.’
‘Right, of course. Sorry you had to go out of your way.’
And . . .?
Matsuoka’s fingers interlocked as his eyes asked the question. From his expression it was clear he had already worked out the reason for Mikami’s visit.
Mikami knew he couldn’t launch straight into business. He had to contend with the force of Matsuoka’s personality. He was the commander-in-chief of all investigations. A legitimate successor to Michio Osakabe. Despite this, there wasn’t a hint of arrogance about him. His eyes were enough to convey the breadth of his experience. And it was his unshakable confidence that allowed for his expression of kindly benevolence. Mikami couldn’t count the number of times he’d wished he could exhibit such power with nothing more than a look.
‘I think it’s time I admitted defeat. I’m getting the cold shoulder wherever I go,’ Mikami said, smiling. Brothers separated only by age. Memories from his easy-going days in district were surfacing in full force.
‘I would hope so,’ Matsuoka joked. He hadn’t even faltered.
‘I tried First Division, Second Division, too; both were a complete disaster.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘Sir, the gag order – does it have your blessing?’
‘It does.’
Mikami’s smile withered under Matsuoka’s casual response. It had been in the back of his head that the gag order had been imposed at Arakida’s sole discretion, that Matsuoka had been secretly uncomfortable with it. He now knew that wasn’t the case. The Iron Curtain had been granted the full support of the de facto head of Criminal Investigations; it was the department’s legitimate policy.
‘Can you tell me what happened?’ Mikami asked, keeping his voice down.
Matsuoka stared right back, looking intrigued.
‘You mean to say you don’t know?’
Akama didn’t tell you?
It was the moment Mikami’s position in Administrative Affairs was made clear.
‘I don’t know.’
Something formed in Matsuoka’s eyes. Pity? Mikami had nothing to be ashamed of. He might have been superintendent in name only, just one of Akama’s limbs, but the fact that he didn’t know was also proof that he hadn’t truly switched to the other side.
‘I haven’t traded my soul away, not yet.’
It was the best he could muster in response, but Matsuoka did nothing more than blink to show he’d heard. Had it come across as a complaint? Or did he suspect Mikami of only having said it so he’d lower his guard?
Mikami shuffled forwards, reducing the distance between them.
‘I know that, whatever started this, it has something to do with Six Four.’
‘I see.’
‘I went to see Yoshio Amamiya. I know he’s severed all ties with us.’
Matsuoka nodded in silence.
The chief of First Division had admitted it. What came next was key. Mikami leaned forwards across the table.
‘What led to the breakdown?’
‘I can’t tell you.’ His voice carried weight. Was this the point where the gag order came into effect?
‘What’s the Koda memo?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Was it what triggered the gag order?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Okay, what about the commissioner’s visit? That has to be part of it.’
There was a pause, silence. Meaning: Yes, the commissioner’s visit is part of it.
‘Ask your boss,’ Matsuoka said, his voice low as he got to his feet.
‘Wait.’ Mikami was standing, too. ‘I can’t be like Futawatari. Nor do I ever intend to be.’
Matsuoka watched him silently. Mikami thought he saw pity in his eyes.
‘Sir, I’m asking you. Just tell me what this is.’
No response.
‘What happened – between Criminal Investigations and Administrative Affairs?’
‘What would you propose to do with the information?’
The response halted Mikami’s excitement. His mind raced. Which side do you intend to be on? Was that what Matsuoka was asking him? His chest burned. It went without saying. With Criminal Investigations. The words forced themselves up from deep in his gut. Yet . . .