‘Akama’s out if you’re after him.’
Futawatari continued to approach in silence. Now he was closer, Mikami could make out the severe expression on his face. He seemed to be avoiding eye contact, but not by much.
‘Working hard, I see,’ Mikami said, looking him square in the face.
‘You, too,’ Futawatari replied, walking straight by and keeping his eyes ahead.
You bastard . . .
Mikami spun around and started after him. He followed Futawatari’s wispy frame from behind, moving slightly to the side, and caught up with him at the far end of the wall outside Akama’s house. At the intersection, Futawatari turned towards a smaller road. His dark-blue sedan was visible in the distance, parked ahead on a wider section.
‘Confidential discussions with the captain?’ Futawatari didn’t answer. ‘Right, the silent treatment. That’s cold even for you.’
‘I don’t have the time.’
Mikami could see he actually meant it.
‘I found out what’s in the Koda memo.’
He’d said it to freeze Futawatari in his tracks. It didn’t work. His steps shortened as he pulled his keys from his pocket and pushed the button, unlocking his car.
‘What do you intend to do to Criminal Investigations?’
Still mute, Futawatari reached towards the driver-side door.
‘Look, just wait.’ Mikami lowered his voice, putting himself between Futawatari and the car.
‘Didn’t I just tell you I don’t have the time?’
Futawatari glared at him. Mikami glowered back.
‘Neither do I.’
‘Go and do what you need to do, then.’
‘What is the commissioner planning to say?’
‘It doesn’t concern you.’
‘I think it does. Don’t think I’m going to play a role in taking down Criminal Investigations without knowing the reason first.’
‘As if it matters.’
Mikami was dumbstruck. As if it matters. Had he heard correctly? He let his voice drop to a whisper.
‘Listen to me. The Koda memo is a veritable Pandora’s box. That thing’s capable of destroying the entire headquarters, not just Criminal Investigations.’
‘What if it does?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Get out of my way,’ Futawatari snarled, reaching again for the door.
Mikami took him by the wrist.
‘Is it your plan to sell us out to Tokyo?’
His hand was knocked away with surprising violence.
‘Don’t be so narrow-minded. There are no distinctions; no headquarters, no Tokyo. The police force is monolithic.’
Futawatari took his opportunity. He shoved Mikami out of the way. His lanky frame slid into the driver’s seat; he keyed the ignition. Wait. Mikami’s cry was lost against the noise of sudden acceleration. Mikami started walking then broke into a run. He got into his car and pulled out. The road Futawatari had headed for was littered with traffic lights. He could still catch him.
He couldn’t ignore what Futawatari had just said.
The police force is monolithic.
Mikami made a sharp turn to rejoin the main road. His eyes were focused directly ahead. There. Futawatari’s dark-blue sedan was stuck at a red, two sets of lights ahead.
Mikami had already guessed that his interests weren’t going to be compatible with Futawatari’s. But he’d hoped, regardless. He’d hoped that they were both torn between their allegiances, single bodies with two minds, existing in a world where hierarchy was everything; that the man’s conflicted state would come to the surface if he challenged him face to face; that Futawatari might finally drop his mask of indifference.
But he’d been wrong.
Mikami hit the accelerator the moment the lights turned green. He pulled ahead of the small yellow car to his side and crossed into the right-hand lane; he accelerated past a truck then slid back to the left. The dark-blue sedan was ten cars ahead. The sky was already growing dark. Perfect. Mikami pulled the sun visor close to his eyes, then used one hand to remove his tie. Spying an opportunity, he passed the next car in front. The road was full of Sunday drivers. They were either driving far too slowly or jumping mindlessly around, forcing him to concentrate. He repeated the cycle of accelerating, decelerating. The sedan was only four cars ahead now. He settled into the standard routine for close pursuit.
What kind of police officer lets himself be tailed?
Mikami pulled at the wheel, abruptly switching lanes. The back of Futawatari’s head was visible through the sedan’s rear window. Something urgent. Where was he going? Who was he hoping to see? Mikami would follow him until he stopped, back him into a corner, force him to confess his true intentions.
The sedan took a left at the next junction, entering an older road that followed the river. The road narrowed to a single lane on each side. Mikami maintained his tail, keeping two cars between them. There were no more buildings outside the window, just a flood plain stretching off to the left. The road snaked through a gentle curve as it followed the river. At each bend the two cars ahead would slide momentarily to one side, giving Mikami a clear view of the sedan’s rear lights.
The station wagon just ahead started to brake. At the front, Futawatari was slowing down. His indicators flashed to turn right. He taxied to let an oncoming car pass, then left the road at a crossroad intersection.
Mikami followed after him, turning slowly so as not to give himself away. He saw the sedan take a left at the next junction, into a quiet, old-fashioned residential district. Mikami finally realized where Futawatari was going. Instead of a destination, the name of a man Mikami knew lived nearby came into his head.
But that’s . . .
Mikami edged forwards, not daring to breathe. He glanced down the street the sedan had entered. His eyes registered the shock first. The car was parked next to a hedgerow of red photinia. Outside the house of Michio Osakabe.
Futawatari’s thin profile vanished through the door.
38
The hazy winter sun was getting ready to set.
Having decided to wait, Mikami circled around to park at a sports complex down towards the flood plain. He kept his eyes glued to the road. He intended to keep watch until Futawatari was gone.