Amamiya had seen the error take place in front of him. Yet, instead of losing his temper, he had actually apologized for taking the call without having been given permission.
His response wasn’t particularly unusual. He had been completely dependent on the police. When they had asked him to cooperate with the Home Unit, he had agreed out of a desperate wish to recover Shoko, his only daughter. Their single-minded focus would have been plain to see. He would have sat with them, their hearts as one as they waited for the kidnapper’s call. The phone had started to ring. Amamiya had panicked, seeing the tapes hadn’t started, but he hadn’t had time to get angry. He’d been scared it would annoy the kidnapper to be kept waiting. He’d wanted to hear his daughter’s voice. Above all else, he’d been terrified that the phone would stop ringing. Feeling he had to do something, he had answered it.
They would have tested the recording equipment beforehand. It would have been working when they set it up. It was possible that the failure had been down to a faulty connection, not an actual problem with the machine. Maybe they could have got the kidnapper on tape, if only Amamiya had let the phone ring just a few more times. He might have come to the same conclusion after the call ended. He had broken his promise and cost the police a valuable lead. He saw himself as having disrupted the solidarity of the team. He found himself apologizing. No doubt it had been a true representation of his feelings.
Even so . . .
At the time, he had still believed his daughter would be coming home.
Some ash fell on to his knee. He flicked it away, pulled an ashtray towards him and stubbed out his cigarette. He mulled over an idea as he did so. It had been fourteen whole years. Amamiya wouldn’t have spent the whole time wallowing in grief. He’d had a lifetime of opportunity to revisit, deliberate, ask questions, to examine the case in exhaustive detail.
What conclusion would he have come to, in his heart, about the error? Nothing about the call had ever come to light, even after the press had set out the case in minute detail – in the papers and on TV – once the embargo had been lifted. Kakinuma had probably been right to say that Amamiya would have realized the cover-up was motivated by fear of public criticism.
After Shoko’s body was found, the Home Unit had been left with nothing more to do. They had worked with Amamiya, all together as one entity, but then they had moved on. Running away. It was possible Amamiya might have interpreted it this way. Nobody had shown up after that. Not even last year, after Toshiko’s death.
Mikami had been part of the Six Four investigation, albeit only in the beginning. He was qualified enough to express his regrets on behalf of the Prefectural HQ. He would make a formal apology, to Amamiya, then to his wife and daughter at the Buddhist altar. He wouldn’t need to be explicit – Amamiya would know what he was apologizing for.
Would his apology be enough to get Amamiya to open up? It was possible. He’d trusted the police in the past; maybe he’d been waiting all this time for a tiny shred of decency in the form of an apology. The question was whether or not Mikami could do it properly. He had to. He needed to get Amamiya on their side. For Ayumi’s sake. So his family could be complete again.
But he would be apologizing to a man who had lost his family for good.
It’ll be fine . . .
Mikami reached for the bill just as his phone started to vibrate. Again? He saw a brief image of Minako, but it was someone else – although he hadn’t been wrong to be wary.
‘I need an update on Amamiya.’ It was Ishii, sounding even more agitated than he had the night before.
Mikami scanned his surroundings before answering in a low voice, ‘I’m working on it.’
‘Haven’t you been to see him yet?’
‘He wasn’t in.’
‘Where are you now?’
‘Somewhere nearby.’
‘I just had a call from Akama. Asking the same thing.’
Akama was conscious of the deadline. He’d planned to make quick work of setting up the gallows, to stay ahead of Criminal Investigations. He hadn’t foreseen that Amamiya would put up a fight.
‘You know what that means, right? He’s chasing us to get it done.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Well? Go and keep a watch on the place. We can’t go back to Akama saying he was out, now can we?’ Mikami said nothing; Ishii heaved a sigh. ‘It’s okay for you, you don’t have to deal with this directly.’
The line went dead, the signal apparently failing. Ishii didn’t try calling back. Amamiya didn’t figure into his idea of ‘directly’; nor did anyone else who had been involved in the case. He didn’t know anything about it, and he didn’t want to know anything about it. But even then, he was getting caught up in the waves Six Four was making. Mikami saw the image of Koda waving a red baton. He saw the tortured look on Kakinuma’s face; Hiyoshi’s mother, her face buried in her hands.
If the worst comes to the worst, it’s your fault.
Mikami pulled his bag over and opened it; he took out the writing pad he’d bought the day before.
It’s not your fault.
That was all he wrote. He’d never genuinely tried to save Hiyoshi.
Do a good deed, and it’ll find its way back to you. It was something his dad used to say. One good turn deserves another. That was what he’d meant, but he’d lacked a proper education and always had his own way of saying things.
Mikami downed the rest of his tepid coffee, then got to his feet. He wasn’t even sure what it meant to be good any more, not really. Thinking she might be good luck, he looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the waitress, but she was nowhere to be seen.
34
It was just after 2 p.m., but the clouds that had gathered made it seem already dark outside.
Amamiya’s car was back in its parking space. Mikami touched the bonnet as he walked by. Already cold. He couldn’t have gone far, unless it was the wind that had cooled the engine.
Mikami pressed the buzzer and used his hands to press the creases out of his suit. There was a long pause, enough to suggest nobody was in. Finally, the door opened and Amamiya appeared from inside. He looked empty. The chalky, white skin. The gaunt cheeks. Although he did seem very slightly healthier than three days earlier; Mikami realized that this was because he’d trimmed his overgrown white hair.
‘Please excuse me for disturbing you a second time.’ Mikami came forwards in a deep bow. Amamiya didn’t respond. His eyes, obscured under his creased skin, silently asked him the reason for his visit. ‘Can I ask you to hear me out one more time? I promise this will be the last time.’
Amamiya was silent.
‘Please. It won’t take long.’
There was another pause before Amamiya let out a faint sigh.
‘Come in, then.’
‘Thank you.’
Mikami followed the man’s thin form inside. Amamiya showed him into the living room, as before. This time, Mikami asked before sitting down.