That was it. Kakinuma had entered Amamiya’s house under the guise of being there to fix a gas leak. Together with Koda, who had been in the same disguise, he had busied himself handling communications with the Investigative HQ: a radio, issuing a continuous flow of orders and directions; a mobile phone – before they’d come into widespread use, larger than the radio itself. With a practised hand, Kakinuma had used them both to relay every scrap of information Urushibara had gleaned from the Amamiyas back to HQ. By night-time the members of the other units had begun to arrive in the house; just as Mikami had, they circled around the back of the pickle factory so as not to be seen. Officers to assist with Kakinuma and his unit. Officers who were only there briefly to collect something of Shoko’s – photos, a hairbrush. Matsuoka had been there too. He had formally introduced himself to Amamiya, saying he would hide in the car with him if the kidnapper demanded that a member of the family deliver the ransom. By dawn, a group of female officers had arrived with the specific goal of providing support to Amamiya’s wife. They huddled quietly with Toshiko in the kitchen while she continued making rice balls.
A chain of images flashed into Mikami’s mind, all of Mizuki Suzumoto. She had come in as a shift officer to help Toshiko. She was Minako’s senior by one year, and had also been in Criminal Investigations in Mikami’s district station. He had seen her recently, just a couple of weeks ago. Worried about Minako once she’d stopped leaving the house after the silent calls, and knowing that Mizuki had been like an older sister to her, Mikami had approached her to ask for help. The memories of her in Amamiya’s house began to take shape. She had first shown up in the afternoon, the day following the kidnapping. She had donned an apron and done the washing-up. She had massaged Toshiko’s back. She had made tea and handed it around. And she had still been there even after Mikami had left. Her skills of observation were formidable. What might she have seen? What might she have experienced?
Of course . . . Hiyoshi.
The name seemed to come from nowhere. Hiyoshi from Forensics. The fourth member of the Home Unit. He’d been all but invisible, quiet throughout. With no way of knowing when the kidnapper might call, he’d been unable to leave the open-reel tape recorder for even a moment. He’d been as white as a sheet. It was hardly surprising. He was a civilian, an engineer; he worked for the force, but he wasn’t an officer. He spent his time at work cooped up in a lab, and, apart from cases when his professional advice was needed as a matter of urgency, he had never been required to visit a crime scene, much less work full-time on the site of a criminal investigation. His inclusion in the team had been notable by its irregularity. Every officer in Special Investigations had passed training in setting up and using the recording and tracing equipment. Even supposing Urushibara and Kakinuma had been unable to perform the task due to their other duties, they could easily have brought in someone else from the section to cover them. Hiyoshi had only become involved because of his background at NTT. Facing its first real case of kidnapping, the Prefectural HQ had grown nervous. Desperate for a strong opening gambit, but showing concern at Special Investigations’ lack of experience outside of professional misconduct, the HQ had seen fit to bend the investigative rulebook, pinning its hopes on the expertise of this one man.
Maybe he’s the one I need to go after . . .
Mikami felt increasingly sure of it. He had hardly spoken to the man, but he knew Hiyoshi wouldn’t be the type to let friendship influence a negotiation. They were both part of Criminal Investigations, but staff in Forensics shared a mindset that was closer to that of an academic, and they were not interested in station-wide power games. He might reveal their secret without even realizing it. It was certainly possible. Staff in Forensics were also, as a rule, not subject to departmental transfers. Hiyoshi would still be there, in the lab.
Mikami tried to contain the anticipation that was rising within him.
First was Mizuki Suzumoto. It was ten years ago that she’d married a banker and resigned from the force; her family name had changed to Murakushi. Although he felt bad going to her with another request for help, it also made for a good opportunity to thank her for the last time. She had rushed over to see Minako the very day Mikami had called. They had sat together and spent a long time talking over things. The network of female officers is small and close. Mizuki had graduated from the same high school as Mikumo.
Mikami took his phone from his jacket pocket. He brought up his list of contacts, but couldn’t find anybody under Suzumoto or Murakushi. Cursing himself, and after a moment of indecision, he chose to hit the third speed-dial number instead of calling home.
‘Sir, what is it?’
Mikumo answered, already aware of who was calling.
‘Sorry to disturb you. Can you give me Murakushi’s home number?’
‘Mura—?’
‘Mizuki, from your school. Mizuki Murakushi. You did say you two sent each other cards at New Year?’
‘Right, sorry. Hold on just a second.’
If he’d called home, Minako would have wanted to know what he was doing. Lacking the time to go into the details, he would have only caused her more worry.
‘Sorry to keep you. Have you got something you can write this down with?’
‘Sure, go ahead.’
Mikami had jotted down the number and was just about to hang up when Mikumo spoke again, sounding rushed. ‘Sir, can I do anything to help?’
‘You already did. Just get some rest. We’re going to be busy next week.’
The cold stares of the reporters darted through his mind. Monday would be another crucial point for the HQ’s relationship with the press.
Mikami shook his head and hung up. He called the number he’d noted down. It was a Saturday, so he expected Mizuki’s husband would be at home; as he listened to the phone ring, it didn’t seem to matter.
‘Hello, yes?’ It was Mizuki who answered the phone, breathing heavily.
‘It’s Mikami. Uh, is everything okay?’
‘Oh, yes, sorry. I was just on the balcony, had to run to get the phone.’
‘Right. Do you have the time to talk?’
‘What, has something happened to Minako?’ she asked, suddenly apprehensive.
‘No, nothing to do with that. Thanks, by the way. You really were a great help.’
‘You know she called me, yesterday.’
‘Hmm?’
‘She didn’t say?’
Mikami stumbled over what to say. He hadn’t expected that at all. Minako, usually so desperate to stay off the phone, had actually made a call?
‘Not yet. I spent the whole night running from one thing to another.’
‘So that’s not what you’re calling about?’
‘No. I’ve got something I need to ask you, about an old case.’
‘Something to do with Six Four?’
He was surprised by her reaction, but she was an ex-officer of the Prefectural HQ, and he supposed Six Four would be the first case to come to mind after what he’d said.
‘Yeah. You haven’t lost your touch. Would you mind?’
‘Is it anything difficult . . .’
‘Potentially a little.’
‘Okay, well, why don’t you come over? My husband’s out with Yoshiki, playing football. Unless you’re not in the area?’
‘No, I am, I’m near the office.’
‘That settles it – come over. I’ve got something I wanted to talk to you about, too.’
Her last sentence convinced him that they needed to meet. He wanted to know what Minako had called her about.
‘No problem. I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
He already knew the way to the Murakushis’ apartment. He spun the car around and left the parking area. Over the dashboard he spotted an insubstantial figure crossing the road, causing him to catch his breath.
Futawatari.