Mikami let out a heavy sigh; he took the copy of the press report from the desk, scrunched it up and tossed it into the bin. The confrontation had been unlike anything that had come before. Their attacks had been personal. It was the first time he’d seen them seem so thirsty for blood, and he felt all the more irritated for it. Nobody had died; it was just a car accident. News they would hardly have paid attention to if it hadn’t become embroiled in the question of anonymous reporting. It was small fry, the kind of news even local papers might not even cover these days.
The office went back to having enough room for its occupants. Suwa’s eyes were scouring the paper. He looked as if he wanted to say something but made no attempt at eye contact. Kuramae and Mikumo were both busy finishing work on the bulletin, their deadline looming. They seemed to be waiting for Mikami’s mood to settle. Or perhaps they simply felt sorry for him. All three had heard Akikawa’s words.
You’ve changed, Mikami.
Mikami lit a cigarette, crushing it after a couple of drags then drinking down the rest of his cold tea. They’d finally put it in words. For a while now, he’d had the strong suspicion that the press would eventually give up on him. Back to square one. He felt indignant as the realization took hold. But perhaps that was nothing more than the result of having overestimated their relationship from the beginning. It was as though he’d hallucinated an oasis in the desert. He hadn’t forged enough of a relationship to claim it was broken. The trust between them had been frail enough for a gust of wind to sweep it away. And he would still struggle to answer if someone asked whether his built-in animosity for the press had faded during his time reforming Media Relations.
He had been unlucky, too. Anonymous reporting was tricky. It had become an issue for the police on a national basis. That his turn had come now, when the faith the press had in him had begun to erode, was particularly unfortunate. The woman’s name was in a drawer in his desk: Hanako Kikunishi. District had included it when faxing in their report, but a call had come in from the station’s second-captain within half an hour of it arriving. Sorry to bother you. The woman’s pregnant, could you keep her anonymous this time?
Mikami called for Suwa to come over. ‘How do you think that went?’
Suwa knotted his eyebrows. ‘They did get a little worked up.’
‘Because of me?’
‘Not at all. I think you did all you could. Win or lose, nothing goes to plan when anonymity is on the agenda.’
His view of the job was similar to Director Akama’s. The only difference, Mikami supposed, was that Suwa employed the carrot as well as the stick. A ball of candy, wrapped in the expertise, skill and pride of a natural spin doctor.
Mikami relaxed back into his chair. He watched Suwa move briskly off to answer a call. Reinvigorated, Mikami found himself thinking, uncharitably. Perhaps Mikami’s arrival had transformed the office into a place difficult for Suwa to do his job. His raison d’être had been threatened by a press director with a background as a detective, inexperienced in Media Relations. Mikami wondered if that was how Suwa felt.
Okay, let’s see what you can do.
Mikami changed tack. He couldn’t allow himself to dwell on the failure of trust and do nothing about the current situation. Whatever action they ended up taking, if they discontinued their relations with the press, it would be equivalent to a detective refusing to investigate a case.
‘Everyone, listen up.’
Having just finished his call, Suwa got to his feet at the same time as Kuramae. Mikumo was on the edge of her chair, looking unsure whether she was included. Gesturing that she didn’t need to join them, Mikami waved Suwa and Kuramae over.
‘See if you can soften the blow next door. And see if you can’t work out who is really pushing this.’
‘No problem.’
Suwa had definitely perked up. He grabbed his jacket and, without waiting for further instructions, strode confidently from the room. Kuramae followed, his steps lacking the same self-assuredness. Mikami rolled his neck in a circle. His optimism was keeping his unease at bay.
The Press Room was a unique environment. As rivals in the same industry, the reporters sought to keep tabs on each other; at the same time, they had the solidarity of co-workers in a single workplace. When they came up against the police, this solidarity could grow into a sense of joint struggle. Sometimes – as they had just now – they were able to put up a monolithic front that could put even the police to shame. Even so, when it came down to it, they were all subject to different paymasters. Their companies all had their own unique policies and traditions, and this meant appearances were not always in sync with reality.
Yamashina came back into the room just as Mikami was considering this. His eyes darted around nervously, completely different to fifteen minutes earlier when they’d tried to measure Mikami’s mood.
‘Got something you want to say?’
He seemed to relax at Mikami’s tone, breaking into a grin as he walked across the room.
‘You’d benefit from being a little softer on us, you know. Just now? That was crazy.’
‘Crazy?’
‘They’re all furious.’
‘You were the one who set them all off.’
‘Now why would you go and say that? I was only trying to hold out an olive branch.’
He was scared of the police pulling away. Mikami realized his power had quietly persisted over the more ineffectual reporters like Yamashina.
‘How are things in there?’ Mikami probed.
Yamashina made a show of lowering his voice. ‘Like I said, they’re going crazy. The Toyo’s angry. Then there’s Utsuki from the Mainichi. And the Asahi’s –’
The phone in front of Mikami started to ring. He picked up the receiver, annoyed at the interruption.
‘The director wants you in his office.’
It was Secretariat Chief Ishii. He sounded pleased about something. Mikami could already imagine the look on Akama’s face. He felt a sudden foreboding. News that was positive for Ishii was often not so for him.
‘You’re needed somewhere?’
‘That’s right.’ As Mikami got to his feet he noticed a Post-it note on the floor, hidden in the shadow of the desk’s leg. Mikumo’s handwriting. He read it, taking care that Yamashina didn’t notice.
Call from Inspector Futawatari. 07.45.
Shinji Futawatari. They’d joined the force in the same year. Mikami felt the corners of his mouth tighten. He glanced at Mikumo but said nothing, squeezing the note in his hand. What could Futawatari be calling about? He’d know Mikami was avoiding him. Maybe it was just office business. Or maybe he’d heard about the previous day’s ID and felt he should say something as a colleague.
Mikami remembered Yamashina was there.
‘We can continue this later.’
Perhaps imagining he’d made progress, Yamashina gave a satisfied nod, sticking close to Mikami as he headed for the door. Just as Mikami reached the corridor, he said, ‘Oh, Mikami.’
‘What is it?’
‘Yesterday – was it true? That one of your relatives is in a critical condition?’
Mikami turned slowly around to face Yamashina. The latter was looking up intently.
‘Of course. Why are you asking?’
‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ Yamashina said hesitantly. ‘Only, I heard it might be something else.’