‘Just that?’
‘Also, because I’m press director. If nothing changes, the trouble will spread to involve the press and—’
‘I’ll bet you came here with an expectation.’
‘An expectation of what?’
Arakida didn’t answer. The expression on his face suggested that Mikami should try asking himself.
There was no need.
‘Take my advice. Take off that ill-fitting disguise. Even if you end up clashing with Akama, I’ll make sure you make it back here.’
Mikami levelled his gaze on Arakida. He let his thoughts charge the silence.
The answer is no.
The silence held until Arakida clicked his tongue in frustration.
‘You’d be acting differently if you knew what Tokyo’s real motives were . . .’
Mikami recoiled. That would have been his final question, and he’d expected Arakida to refuse to answer.
Was he going to tell him?
‘The second matter of business.’ As though turning a page, Arakida steered the conversation back to the beginning. ‘You seem to have a talent as an instigator.’
‘An instigator?’
‘Yes. Someone whose job is to cause trouble and get the ball rolling. Some are paid professionals, tasked to incite violence during peaceful demonstrations. Ring any bells? That’s right – the clash you staged with the press in the Secretariat, after all the talk of the written protest. It’s because of your handiwork there that they decided they would boycott the commissioner’s interview.’
‘I couldn’t do anything to stop that. It certainly wasn’t my plan.’
‘Then make it your plan. Agitate some more. Get them riled up, make sure they go through with the boycott.’
I’m sorry . . .?
Mikami’s eyes sharpened.
‘I don’t see any reason to do that.’
‘Because you don’t think they’d go through with it anyway?’
‘No, because I would be remiss in my duties.’
‘I want to know how things look. Is it likely they’ll go through with it, or will they call it off?’
‘Avoiding the boycott is looking difficult. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have a hand I can play.’
‘Then don’t play it. Just stand back and watch. Surely your conscience can forgive that?’
‘That won’t do.’
‘You don’t care what happens to your home?’
‘This is all just bullets flying over my head. I don’t even know what it was that kicked this off in the first place.’
The room was silent once again. This time the quiet was longer, more oppressive. Arakida’s giant frame shifted. Then he let out a sigh, seeming to sag as he leaned back into his couch.
‘Then let me tell you,’ he said gravely. ‘Once you know Tokyo’s intentions, I hope you will reconsider your position.’
Mikami gave a cautious nod. His hands tensed over his knees.
‘This is a sequestration.’ Arakida glowered into open air. ‘The bureaucrats intend to take over the post of director in Criminal Investigations. The NPA intends to make us into a fiefdom of Tokyo.’
49
Mikami could hardly feel the ground under his feet.
He stood on the emergency stairs, having come through the steel door at the end of the corridor. He couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. The sun was long gone. The wind was strong, but it didn’t feel cold at all. Mikami’s body continued to generate heat regardless of how much was stolen away.
Sequester the director’s post.
The decision had come first, after which they’d drafted the scenario of the commissioner’s visit into Six Four. Commissioner Kozuka would march right into the headquarters. He would pay his condolences at Amamiya’s house and pledge to arrest Shoko’s kidnapper and murderer. It would be more than just paying lip service. Directly afterwards he would use the walking interview to reveal the strategy with which he intended to back up his words. His intention was to post one of Tokyo’s best career officers as director of Criminal Investigations, thereby strengthening links with Tokyo and helping the Prefectural HQ achieve its full potential as it continued its investigation into the Six Four kidnapping.
It was just a front. The case was frozen solid; it wouldn’t budge an inch, even if they did send in someone from Tokyo. It would end with the new director issuing orders for the sake of making his presence known; he would throw the investigation into disarray, squandering both time and resources as he demanded report after report. Tokyo, perfectly aware that they had no chance of solving the case, had decided to use Six Four as a smokescreen to hide their hostile takeover of the director’s job. Just you wait and see. It didn’t matter if they solved Six Four or if the statute of limitations kicked in – whatever happened, the bureaucrats would hold on to the director’s chair after it was all over.
Mikami gazed upwards. The pitch-black, starless sky drank up the wind.
Come Thursday, it’ll be gone.
They had no doubt set their sights on Prefecture D. The current system of local directors had resulted in a run of poor candidates, and the situation seemed as if it was going to continue for years to come. Six Four had been fourteen years ago. Out of all the cases of kidnapping and murder that had happened since, it was the only one in which the perpetrator was still at large.
Mikami could ask what it was that had prevented Tokyo from extending its feelers until now. They hadn’t hesitated to set aside a position for themselves in Second Division, under Arakida’s direct authority. With the sole justification of zero tolerance when it came to discrepancies in the unmasking of corruption and election violations, they had dispatched young career officers to head up divisions across the country. They could have taken over the director’s position long ago, used their state-invested powers to assume a ‘bigger is better’ approach, without resorting to such roundabout means. Yet they hadn’t.
Why disrupt that balance now?
They would have expected local resistance. Criminal Investigations was certainly putting up a vicious fight. Tokyo may have set its sights on the debacle that was Six Four, but what was the good in seizing the position if it meant unilaterally destroying the tacit understanding that had benefited them so much until now?
It had to be something else. He could try to apply logic, but nothing he came up with would be correct.