‘What possessed you to agree like that? We’ll have to discuss the matter. All you had to do was say something along those lines.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Shirota had gone white. ‘I decided the number-one priority was to ensure the commissioner’s visit went smoothly; that it wouldn’t have been wise to argue in a press conference.’
‘And so you decided to offer me as a sacrifice?’
‘Sir, I would never . . .’
Mikami had a notebook in his lap. It contained Kuramae’s notes from the round-table meeting. He had scanned them briefly before coming in.
Nonomura: Without wishing to sound like I’m blowing our trumpet here – could I trouble Director Akama for his opinion on the news from Station F?
Akama: It is a most unwelcome situation. I can assure you all that we are all treating this with the greatest—’
Nonomura: Sorry, I didn’t mean here and now. If we could prevail on you to hold a press conference on the matter . . . I believe you had a suicide in another of your detention facilities, just a couple of years ago. At this point, I imagine it is necessary for Director Akama to offer a full and public explanation, detailing the system you have in place for managing detainees.
‘What’s happening with the press? Do they know about this?’
Akama turned to look at Mikami. His gold-rimmed glasses seemed arched, mirroring his questioning eyes and raised eyebrows.
‘Most of the reporters just got back from Station F. Their bosses have already appraised them of what happened in the meeting; they’re apparently discussing when the conference will take place.’
‘I can’t believe this is really going to go ahead.’
Graceless defeat. That was what it sounded like.
‘I’ve got Suwa looking into it.’
‘Get him on the phone.’
Mikami nodded. He excused himself and flipped open his mobile. Suwa answered immediately.
‘How’s it looking down there?’
‘They want us to hold the conference at 4 p.m.’
‘Do they have a venue in mind?’
‘The Press Room should be fine.’
‘Four o’clock, in the Press Room.’ Mikami repeated the details for the benefit of everyone there.
He checked his watch: three twenty-five.
‘Are they putting their questions together?’
‘I don’t think so. The only paper really behind this is the Toyo, so I think they’ll be happy if they get a picture of Akama lowering his head and apologizing.’
Wary of Suwa’s voice being heard, Mikami pressed the phone harder against his ear.
‘So it’s unlikely the club will put forward any official questions.’ Mikami repeated this out loud, summarizing Suwa’s meaning.
Akama’s head came forwards, looking impatient. ‘What about TV?’
‘Will the TV have cameras there?’
‘Yes. The association just called in the request.’
Mikami nodded in silent confirmation. Probably having pictured himself on the news, Akama put a fist to his forehead and threw his head back.
‘This is a joke. We’re playing right into their hands.’
Criminal Investigations’ hands.
Akama let out a heavy sigh, the gesture conveying both resentment and resignation.
‘We don’t have time for this. We should begin preparing. Ikoma, the suicide took place before I assumed my post. According to my predecessor, we were not at fault. May I assume this understanding is correct?’
‘Yes.’ Ikoma looked up, his eyes curiously tranquil for an inspector from Internal Affairs. ‘In view of the exceptional circumstances, we decided the suicide didn’t suggest there was anything at fault in the facilities or with their management. No dismissals were made. The press were mostly happy with the decision, and no articles were printed condemning our treatment of the case.’
Ikoma was right. Mikami had read the article at his desk in Second Division. A middle-aged man detained for trying to skip a restaurant bill had killed himself during the night in one of Station T’s cells. The method had been unprecedented – he’d been lying with his back to the guard on duty and choked himself on his vest, having pulled it through the cuff of his shirt and then forced it – and his fist – down his throat. Thinking the man was asleep, it had taken the guard more than three hours to realize something was wrong. Charges of negligence had seemed inevitable, but the focus of the investigation shifted after a number of detainees who had shared the man’s cell came forward to give evidence, testifying they hadn’t noticed anything wrong or heard a single groan. Internal Affairs had been confident in its press release stating that circumstances had made the man’s suicide extremely difficult to detect. It was also discovered that the man had stolen funds from work and spent the money on women in hostess bars. When his transgressions had come to light he’d run away, abandoning his family; his death had been a final, selfish act. Some of the reporters had even come forward, sympathizing with the police for the whole situation.
But . . .
A short while later, Mikami began to hear rumours.
That the guard had failed to keep an eye on the monitors showing the cells. That the guard had been asleep as the man lost consciousness, his legs kicking in agony. Most of what he’d heard had been like that. Had Station T been behind the cover-up, or had Internal Affairs decided to lead the whitewash in the interest of protecting the organization as a whole? It wasn’t hard to guess the tricks they might have used to secure the testimonies of the man’s fellow detainees. He doubted they would have taken the risk of openly pressuring them into giving false statements, but they could perhaps have suggested it was up to the detainees themselves if they wanted to draw certain conclusions. Making a good impression meant getting out of detention sooner. Rather than calculated strategy, it would have been desperate prayer. The truth, no doubt, was that the detainees had picked up on what was happening and volunteered to play nice, and that Station F and Internal Affairs had opted to accept the ‘harmless’ deception.
Mikami watched Ikoma from the side.
His eyes hadn’t wavered when he’d said it wasn’t a problem, but Mikami couldn’t know whether the man’s faith was as unyielding on the inside. He’d only been transferred from Security Second Division in the spring, so there was the possibility he didn’t know. Either that, or he was simply avoiding mention of the rumours so he could argue impunity later on.
Akama glanced around the people gathered there.
‘All right, then. The Toyo is hoping to build up the theme of negligence and repeated misconduct, to make more of this than there is. I can’t imagine much worse than them running that as a headline in the papers tomorrow morning.’