In order to stop Minako’s imagination from getting the better of her, he still needed to address Ayumi’s silence during the calls. He had to think up a reason that wasn’t ‘saying goodbye’. A silent farewell. He needed a story of some kind, something to help Minako realize her fear was imagined.
‘She must have been afraid I’d shout at her. You know, the way she hung up without saying what she’d wanted to.’
The words came out sounding forced. Minako gave him a hard look. She was no doubt considering the reason for Ayumi’s silence, as well as why Mikami had decided to bring the subject up.
‘Although she got half of what she wanted. She’d wanted to hear our voices. Yours, then mine. I think that was why she called.’
‘Maybe in your case,’ Minako said plaintively.
‘Why would you think that?’
‘I answered the first two calls, but she called a third time. It was your voice she wanted to hear.’
‘Nonsense. I bet she was happy she got to hear you twice.’
‘No, you’re wrong.’ Her mouth had started to tremble. ‘She didn’t care about hearing my voice, nor did she have anything to say. I mean, if she had—’
‘That’s enough.’ Mikami raised his voice, then hurried to continue. ‘Look . . . don’t. It’ll be no use if we let ourselves lose hope. Right?’
Minako dipped her head. For a moment it looked as though she would stay there, looking at the floor.
‘It was Ayumi – she made the calls. I doubt it, too, sometimes, but it’s okay to feel like that. She’s out there, and she’s fine. And if she’s fine, if she’s doing well, the truth is that the calls don’t really matter at all.’ He tried his best to sound confident.
‘I suppose so.’ Minako looked up. She was trying to smile.
‘It’ll be fine.’
The moment he’d said this to reassure her, the phone started to ring. Minako seemed to float in the air, halfway up. If it had been work, the internal line would have rung in the corridor.
‘Don’t get up. I’ll answer it,’ Mikami said softly.
He leaned over the low stand and peered into the display. It was a local number, but one he didn’t recognize. He picked up the receiver, not rushing, so as to conceal his anxiousness from Minako. Putting it to his ear, he heard a familiar voice greet him.
‘Hello. Is that Mikami?’
It was Division Chief Ishii. Mikami fought an urge to yell at the man. Why the hell hadn’t he used Mikami’s work number?
‘What is it?’ Mikami said, discarding formality.
‘Ah, I was just wondering how it was going. With Amamiya.’
‘I was just working on it.’
‘What, at home?’
The snide tone went beyond sarcastic. After having prostrated himself before Akama the previous day, Ishii had jumped down Mikami’s throat before leaving. Don’t think I’m going to go down with you, Mikami.
‘Hang on a moment.’
He whispered to Minako that it was Ishii, then carried the phone out to the corridor. It took all the effort he could muster. What would be going through Minako’s head? Had his words managed to comfort her even a little?
The bedroom was ice-cold.
‘Sorry about that. I’ve come across something I think I can use as leverage in bringing Amamiya around. I’m going to go and see him again, probably tomorrow.’
‘Meaning you haven’t managed it yet.’
Isn’t that what I just said?
‘This is far from acceptable, Mikami.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
Mikami flicked on the room’s electric heater. He decided it better to wait a while before going back into the living room, and settled himself down. Either way, he’d been planning to put in a call to Urushibara’s home before the night was out. He was impatient to end Ishii’s call, but it seemed he hadn’t called only to taunt.
‘The round-table meeting, on Monday. You’re planning to make an apology for the trouble surrounding this anonymity issue, yes?’
‘I was told to go through what happened, not to offer an apology.’
‘It’s the same thing.’ There was an uncharacteristic brashness in the way Ishii said this. ‘Anyway, I’m getting ready to call around, make the necessary invitations, but I can’t help thinking an apology might not do the trick by itself . . . that we probably need to sweeten the pot a little. However this goes, it’s absolutely necessary that we convince the press to withdraw their intention of boycotting the commissioner’s visit.’
‘Okay. What do you mean when you say “sweeten the pot”?’
‘In a nutshell, some additions to the services you provide in Media Relations. Sending the press information on breaking cases, even if it comes in late at night or on a holiday. Emailing reporters individually, if they opt in. That sort of thing.’
Mikami snorted loudly. He’d known that a few of the headquarters in other prefectures had rolled out an emergency-bulletin service, but only in cases where Media Relations was well staffed; such a system went far beyond the resources of an office of four.
Besides . . .
‘And this is your idea?’
Akama would never submit a proposal like this. To offer these kinds of extra services was no different to offering the Press Club an apology.
‘Shirota’s, actually.’
‘Shirota, from Administration?’
The name came as quite a surprise. Shirota was officially ranked highest among the division chiefs in Administrative Affairs, but his authority did not extend to matters involving the Secretariat.
‘He’s going to be at the meeting, and he’s expressed his concerns. He’s aware of the trouble we’re having with this.’
‘Still, I doubt the press would back off, even if we were to offer such blatant concessions.’
‘Maybe not the reporters, granted, but the executives aren’t as worked up as the front line. This kind of bargaining works. It plays up to their egos.’
‘How about scheduling the meeting for an earlier date? Wouldn’t that be enough to let them know we’re treating the issue seriously?’
‘You don’t get it, do you? If we bring the meeting forwards that will only raise their expectations. They’ll want an apology – at the very least, some kind of compromise. Basically, we’re going to give them a gift to take home, in place of those things.’
Mikami had to stop himself from sighing.
‘What you’re suggesting is too much. The reporters will only get lazy, more than they are now, if we start sending them individual emails. They won’t need to phone us for stories, let alone drag their sorry asses into the station.’
‘Perhaps, but what do we care if they get lazy?’
‘I would need more staff, if you expect us to cover holiday and night shifts. There is no way I can do it with the resources I have now.’
Mikami had hoped this would end the conversation, but it only prompted more taunting from Ishii.
‘Now that doesn’t sound like something a hardened detective would say. I thought you guys liked to fight to the bitter end, even when you know something is impossible?’
Like you have a fucking clue.
‘Do you have Akama’s approval on this?’ Ishii went silent on the other end of the line. He hadn’t mentioned anything to his boss. ‘No, I don’t suppose you do. He wouldn’t tolerate such a weak stance,’ Mikami said, using Akama to deliver the final blow. It felt underhand, like mentioning family in the interrogation room.