Why was he doing it, even though he knew it was wrong?
Futawatari fully understood the dangers posed by the Koda memo. He might not know the contents, but he had already worked out that it was potentially explosive. No doubt he had immediately set out to learn what had happened. Two of the officers from the Home Unit had resigned from the force. Koda’s whereabouts were unknown. Hiyoshi had become a recluse. And relations with Amamiya had broken down. These facts alone would have suggested that the memo – itself classified, and bearing Koda’s name – was more than just a sheet of paper. He’d caught a whiff of gunpowder. But it was Six Four, and he’d known he would have to proceed carefully in case it brought down headquarters. Yet he had continued to accelerate his investigation.
Why?
Because his position had left him no choice. As far as Futawatari was concerned, ‘the police’ had become more than just the Prefectural HQ. More than just a department to uphold public safety, Administrative Affairs was in many ways a regional branch of the NPA. Futawatari was an inspector for the Prefectural HQ, but he was also a loyal servant to Tokyo. He had been quick to climb the ranks and be singled out, earn the trust and attention of many career executives, but, having done this, he was no longer able to move independently of their various machinations. The commissioner’s visit was in four days. Futawatari would have been instructed to bring Criminal Investigations into line, to make sure of its compliance. He was running out of time. And the Koda memo was the only weapon he had. He had decided to use it as his opening gambit, all the while averting his eyes to the danger it constituted to the station.
This time, the theory spread like water, saturating his thoughts. Futawatari was in the same boat as he was. They were both under pressure, backed into a corner. Beneath his poker face Futawatari’s eyes were bloodshot, fixated on the clock and the calendar. The commissioner’s visit was the watershed moment, in four days’ time. The deadline.
Of course.
Everything became clear. The commissioner’s visit would intensify the feud between the Tokyo faction and Criminal Investigations. The idea had been there, subliminal. But that wasn’t what would happen. The battle would be short, and decisive. And the countdown had already begun. The matter would be settled before the visit was even completed. The visit was more than just a formality, more than just ceremony or symbolism – it was going to be the sentence. Commissioner Kozuka would deliver the reality of Tokyo’s goal in person. He would make some kind of important announcement. It was probably safe to assume that much.
His heart skipped a beat. He didn’t know what the commissioner would say. But he knew where and when he intended to say it. Outside Amamiya’s house. During the walking interview scheduled there.
Mikami caught his breath. His subconscious suddenly became aware of a red light up ahead, which forced him to slam on the brakes. He was a good way past the stop line when the car finally came to a halt. He looked around, but there were no cars or pedestrians to be seen. He was at a small intersection in the middle of a farming area, already in what had been the district of Morikawa, before its absorption into the city. Just minutes from Amamiya’s house.
He felt a strong urge to turn back. His role was painfully clear. Bring Amamiya around. Change his mind. But this was much more than just groundwork for the visit. The commissioner intended to use the walking interview to issue a public message to Criminal Investigations. And the power of the media – in print and over the airwaves – would set the outcome in stone. If that was the true goal of the Tokyo faction, it meant that Mikami would be helping to set up the gallows on which to hang Criminal Investigations. He would act as producer, ensuring the final scene had as much impact as possible. It would be his job, as press director, to oversee the entire proceedings.
The lights changed and Mikami drove on, but he made a sharp turn as soon as the pickle factory came into view. There was a small park he remembered, down the road and along the river. Rows of poplar and camphor. Outdoor gym machines. An old, dilapidated phone box. The trees had grown impressively, but otherwise it was as he remembered from fourteen years earlier. Even the phone box was still there. The spread of mobile phones was forcing most of them out of commission; perhaps, in the wake of Six Four, the families having stopped coming here with their children, the park and its surroundings had been lost from memory.
Mikami pulled up alongside the phone box.
He would lose any chance of returning to Criminal Investigations. He was staring his greatest fear right in the face. He’d been repressing the love he felt for being a detective but it came rushing to the surface now that he realized he might never be one again.
Having had no other choice, he’d submitted to Akama’s will. He’d taken everything on board and donned the uniform of obedience. That didn’t mean he’d stopped hoping. That Ayumi would come home. That Akama would be transferred back to Tokyo. That, given time, everything would change for the better. That he would be able to shrug off his fake persona, continue his reform of Media Relations and return to Criminal Investigations with his head held high. How many times had he wished that?
But they wouldn’t forgive him. Plotting. Conspiracy. Betrayal. Removing his disguise would only make him stand out as a traitor. Tsuchigane’s words came forcefully to mind: I doubt you plan to run errands for the first floor until the day you retire.
Just take the gallows apart.