‘And?’
Urushibara was trying to dictate the pace of the conversation. Show no reaction, keep the story going . . . it was a technique detectives liked to use.
‘It hit him hard. After leaving Forensics, he spent the next fourteen years locked up in his room at home. But I’m guessing you know all this?’
‘Uhuh . . . and?’
‘I told him I’d listen to whatever he wanted to say, whether he wanted to complain or confess.’
‘Right . . . and?’
He was probing to find out the extent of what Mikami knew. It was getting difficult. If Mikami went too far, if he failed to temper the falsehoods with enough truth, he’d end up with Urushibara’s high-pitched cackle in his ear.
‘He’d been in tears, clutching the recording equipment. Even though the Amamiyas were there, too.’
It was too late to alter course now. He heard a quiet intake of breath, and Urushibara’s voice seemed suddenly closer.
‘And? Did Hiyoshi confess to anything?’
Mikami clasped his mouth shut. Could he let himself say it? He let the silence make his bluff for him, but Urushibara saw through it.
‘Look, Mikami, I’ve got no idea where you’re going with this. What the hell was this screw-up you keep alluding to? And me calling him incompetent? I certainly don’t remember having done that.’ His tone suggested he knew he had the upper hand. ‘Where did you dig up all these false accusations? And what’s with the Internal Affairs act? Isn’t Media Relations there to give the press a pure and just picture of us?’
‘I don’t believe the accusations are false.’
‘Of course they are. I guarantee it. Who was it that fed you all this nonsense?’
‘It was in the Koda memo,’ Mikami said, going all out.
‘The what—?’
His voice seemed to have clouded over. Mikami guessed he’d elicited the man’s first genuine response.
But . . .
‘I see. You and Futawatari, you’re a team in this.’
It felt like a punch to the nose.
‘He turned up at the station yesterday, hadn’t even made an appointment. Said he wanted everything I knew about this thing called the Koda memo.’
Futawatari had beaten him to it again.
Mikami felt his whole body flush. He had intended to mount a surprise attack, to land the decisive blow, but his failure had been decided before he’d even picked up the phone. Futawatari’s direct approach had given Urushibara the time he’d needed to prepare. Urushibara had raised his guard the moment he’d answered Mikami’s call. He’d been able to sidestep Mikami’s questions while dictating the course of the conversation. He’d even had his own final counter-attack ready.
You and Futawatari . . .
‘They’ve managed to tame you, too, is that it? Really, for you and that dog to get together . . .’
‘We have nothing to do with each other.’
‘You share the same master in Akama. So you’re Fido and he’s Benji: that’s about the only difference between you.’
He seemed to be enjoying the goading. But Mikami wondered if it was genuine. Could he really be so laid-back after having had Futawatari march in on his territory?
‘Here’s what I know. The Koda memo contains details of an error made by the Home Unit, one grievous enough to cost you your job.’
‘And you read it?’
The response came so fast Mikami ended up stalling.
Laughter resonated in his ears.
‘No, I don’t suppose you did. You can’t read something that doesn’t exist.’
His voice was triumphant. Mikami wondered if it could be true. The Koda memo didn’t exist. It had, once, but now it was gone. Could that be the source of Urushibara’s confidence?
‘It was an entertaining story, I’ll give you that. Call again when you have another.’
Mikami couldn’t just give up.
‘I got the intel from someone who has read the memo.’
‘Who . . . Futawatari?’
‘I’m not at liberty to say.’
‘Right, right. At least come out with it. What was this fatal error you say would have cost me my job?’
Mikami sank his teeth into his lip. He should never have let Urushibara ask the question.
‘Well? Come on.’
‘At this point, I’m not at liberty to say.’
Urushibara cackled again.
‘How about we call it a day on the Internal Affairs act? I’m going to hang up. I heard you out because you’re an old friend, but I’m under Arakida’s direct orders not to discuss anything with Admin.’
Mikami seized on the words. ‘So you’re just another Fido.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You’re sticking to the gag order, even though you don’t know what it’s all about . . .’
After a short pause, Mikami heard Urushibara cursing under his breath. ‘Mikami, are you trying to test my patience?’
‘No, I want to ask you, do you know what’s behind the gag order? Tell me if you do.’
‘You tell me. What do I need to say to make you happy?’
It sounded like Urushibara was trying to duck the question.
He’d been there when it had happened, so he’d known Criminal Investigation’s secret from the start. But even with that knowledge, he hadn’t been made aware of what the reason was behind the current, station-wide secret that had come into being so suddenly. They had shut him out.
If that was the case . . .
‘What would happen if the memo found its way to the commissioner?’
‘The commissioner . . .? What are you trying to say?’
He’d taken the bait.
‘You know about the commissioner’s visit next week?’
‘Yes. What of it?’
‘It’s the only reason the gag order is in place. Criminal Investigations wants to hide all traces of the memo’s existence.’
‘Look, I don’t know about any of this. What are you getting at?’
‘I’m sure you do know. This is Tokyo we’re talking about here. Arakida won’t protect you, not when push comes to shove.’
‘You’re pushing—’
‘He’ll assign all the blame to the Home Unit. That’s just how he operates. Trust me, I learned the hard way.’
There was no response.
The silence gave Mikami hope.
But . . .
‘You’re still pissed off with the Director, is that it?’
What . . .?
‘Not everybody gets the transfer they wanted; the system doesn’t work that way. You need to let it go. Spend two or three years towing the line and you’ll get what you deserve, eventually.’
Urushibara was goading him back. It was obvious enough, but Mikami refused to ignore it.
‘That’s not what this is.’
‘Despise Arakida, despise the whole department. That it? And now you’re bringing me into the fray with this fucking interrogation. Pain in the ass.’
‘No, that’s not—’
‘No? Then why the barbed phone call?’
‘This is just . . .’
‘. . . you doing your job, right. I’m asking you if that’s all this is. Are you sure this isn’t just some pretext for exacting revenge on Arakida, on your whole department? Are you certain that’s not what this is?’
‘I’m certain.’