He nodded slowly, the voice in his mind a whispered invitation. If he abandoned his task of persuading Amamiya, talk of the commissioner visiting him would go away. With the situation as it was, the chance he would change his mind was minimal even if Mikami did try to talk him around.
Mikami decided he would see Amamiya again; he needed the alibi for when he saw Akama. But he wouldn’t make any real effort to twist the man’s arm. That way, the visit to his house – and, with it, the interview – was sure to be cancelled. Mikami didn’t doubt that the commissioner would still make his announcement. Perhaps at the scene of the kidnapping. Perhaps in front of the Six Four Investigative Team. But it would be weak. The impact would pale into insignificance compared to it being made at the victim’s home. We only got by because Mikami’s the press director. It was a little petty, but there would still be hope if people inside Criminal Investigations commented on his actions. Akama would be furious, but his anger would be directed at Mikami’s incompetence in failing to convince Amamiya; he wouldn’t suspect Mikami of having encouraged Amamiya not to take part. Even if he did somehow realize Mikami’s sabotage, there was a limit to the punishment he could issue, a line he couldn’t cross. He might have used Ayumi as leverage in controlling Mikami, but he wouldn’t be able to completely disregard a girl who was – as far as the police were concerned – family. He had authorized the search himself, and he couldn’t change that, whatever happened between him and Mikami.
Everything changes with this decision.
Even though Akama had clearly demonstrated that he had done it only to make him into his puppet, the gratitude and obligation Mikami had felt when Akama sent the fax ordering the search to Tokyo had, until now, tempered his will to fight. If he were able to dispel those emotions, particularly now his reforms had ground to a halt, there would be no more reason to bend to Akama’s will. There was, of course, the fear of being transferred somewhere else. If Akama decided he had sabotaged the commissioner’s visit, he would be tossed off to some post in the mountains. But if his career as a detective was to end in demotion, it was still better than being on the receiving end of a dishonourable discharge. If the alternative was remaining in Administrative Affairs as the man who took a shot at Criminal Investigations, he would rather start from scratch in the middle of nowhere. The smallest paths are still paths. As long as he didn’t resign, Ayumi’s status as family wouldn’t change. The 260,000 officers that made up the force would be sure to . . .
His phone started to vibrate in his jacket pocket.
He checked the display. His home phone. Minako? He pushed the answer button, hardly daring to hope.
‘What is it?’
‘Sorry, I know you’re at work.’ She was speaking quickly. Excited.
‘Did something happen?’
‘It’s just something I’ve been wanting to say. Ayumi called us on 4 November, right?’
Mikami couldn’t remember the date offhand. But if that was the date Minako gave him, it wouldn’t be wrong. ‘Yeah, that was it.’
‘Mizuki told me the silent call they had was on Sunday, the seventeenth.’
‘You called her?’
‘Yes. I couldn’t stop thinking about it so I just called to check. Anyway, that means you were wrong.’
‘Wrong? How do you mean?’
‘Ayumi called us thirty-four days ago. Mizuki’s call came in three weeks ago.’
‘That’s not what I said?’
‘You said they both called around the same time.’
She was sounding critical now.
‘Okay, well, one was a month ago and the other three weeks. They’re not too—’
‘It’s completely different. They were almost two weeks apart. They’re completely unrelated, I’m positive.’
Mikami found himself at a loss as for what to say, realizing now that this was the only reason for her call. It meant she’d been dwelling on it since the previous night.
‘You’re right. They can’t be related.’
He’d finally said it. Something like a sigh came over the line. Minako told him she needed to free the line.
Silence returned to his ears.
Mikami wound the driver-side window all the way down. Fresh air filtered into the car. He could hear the sound of the river. Even then, it felt hard to breathe, the sense lingering that his windpipe was constricted. He opened his mouth a little and tried to take in a deep breath, but only ended up coughing violently. His emotions followed soon after, as he came to realize the scale of his omission.
How could he expect Minako to come with him to some station in the mountains? She would choose to stay, to wait for the call. To wait and hope for Ayumi just to turn up one day. Would he go by himself? Would he leave her alone as he tried to reforge his career in such a remote location?
An optimist to the last, Mikami jeered inwardly. He was still looking for his place in the force. Dreaming of somewhere to lay his bones to rest, as a hero detective, using Ayumi’s suffering as his excuse. Why hadn’t he noticed? If he was sent away, if he and Minako were separated, their family would never be whole again. He slammed a fist into his kneecap.
Had he forgotten? He would be a guard dog for Administrative Affairs. Hadn’t he already decided that?
‘Talk Amamiya into it.’ Mikami issued the order to himself.
33
Amamiya was out.
Having seen the man as the embodiment of grief only three days earlier, Mikami hadn’t even considered the possibility that he might not be in. He was living alone now his wife, Toshiko, had passed away. It was likely he was doing his own shopping and cooking. Mikami circled around to the side of the building to check for his car. There was only a bike. He was out in the car, although that didn’t necessarily mean he had gone far. There were no real shops in the area, and the Prefecture D public-transport system was bad wherever you went, so you needed a car for errands even if you lived in town.
Mikami drove for about fifteen minutes before settling himself down in a family diner next to the prefectural highway. It was the same as the one he’d visited the previous day. The inside was a little bigger, and this one had benefited from what looked like a recent redesign; even so, over half the tables were empty, despite it being midday on a Sunday.
‘Are you ready?’
A middle-aged waitress arrived to take his order, probably a housewife working part-time; her vaguely belligerent tone suggested she was having a bad day. Mikami considered the contrast to the waitress from the previous day. It seemed a rare coincidence in this kind of family diner to run into two waitresses who let their personal feelings show through at work.
What had Amamiya eaten?
Mikami decided that was where he should start. He needed to get closer to the man’s feelings, to try to put himself in the suspect’s shoes, as detectives were apt to say. Work out his emotional narrative. Then he would take careful aim and deliver the line that would bring him around.
He lit a cigarette.