‘So it seems,’ Tsujiuchi replied equably.
‘Some people have begun a call to arms.’
‘Which is exactly why Akama has left for Tokyo. We’ve just had word that someone is posting a dangerous memo around head office.’
Mikami was dumbfounded.
‘It details a number of cases of misconduct in Prefecture D, none of which has been made public. It’s a veritable letter bomb. I’m sure whoever it is intends to warn off the commissioner.’
They’d released their third arrow. Was it Maejima? Had Arakida ordered him to take on the role of instigator?
‘Well, it’ll be interesting to see how the Commissioner’s Secretariat reacts,’ Tsujiuchi added, as though the matter didn’t concern him. ‘I wonder, have you ever heard the phrase, “Don’t send Kennedy to Dallas”?’
‘Dallas . . .?’
‘It describes an aide’s intuition. Their ideal is to keep their charge far from danger. Yet, in many cases, the people they’ve sworn to protect have a nothing-ventured-nothing-gained philosophy and actually prefer putting themselves in danger. This tests the aide’s decision-making powers, forcing them to evaluate the threat posed – in this case, the potential damage to the commissioner in the estimation of the public.’
Tsujiuchi kept his gaze firm, expecting a response.
‘Are you suggesting we’re Dallas?’
‘Let us hope that isn’t the case. If the danger looks genuine, perhaps the commissioner will reconsider his trip. Although, in that case, his announcement would lack authority if it were made from Tokyo, and there would be zero PR value in doing so.’
The commissioner, stepping bravely into the field only to have his podium taken away. The press, siding with Criminal Investigations. If they came to such a conclusion, would the Commissioner’s Secretariat be forced to regard Prefecture D as another Dallas?
‘Are we finished here?’ Tsujiuchi said. ‘I am due to have dinner with the governor this evening. The old fox needs humouring if we’re to secure a decent portion of the budget.’
He seemed tired of the conversation. It was as though he’d closed a book: it was obvious even from a glance that his mind was already elsewhere.
Mikami felt his blood boil. Tsujiuchi didn’t care. Not once had he stopped to consider the pain this would cause the regional police.
‘Have you talked this through with Criminal Investigations?’ Mikami said. ‘Positions like this are important in any organization. People will try to protect them if they feel they’re under threat. Especially if the change happens suddenly, without warning.’
Tsujiuchi was staring in blank amazement.
‘Why get so worked up? I thought Criminal Investigations was a thorn in the side for you people. Too cocksure, always trying to hide away anything vaguely worthy of attention. Believe me, the quickest way to effect change is to replace those at the top. You’ll find a vast improvement in the way they communicate with Administrative Affairs. Both sides will find it easier to get their jobs done.’
Mikami genuinely considered that Akama might be the lesser evil. He was at least conscious of the way he tormented others; that, at least, was human.
Why get so worked up?
‘I was based in Criminal Investigations until the spring. I worked as a detective for twenty-four years. Based on my experience, I—’
‘Ah! I did wonder . . .’
. . . if that was why you jumped into their ring.
Mikami imagined how he would continue, but missed the mark.
‘It was the shoes. Your shoes. I have to say, I thought they were a mess when you came in.’
Shoes? A mess?
Mikami was thrown by the sudden change of tack. He looked down and studied his leather shoes; the right one first, then the left. They looked fine. Perfectly clean. What had the captain seen to make a statement like that? They were well worn, true, but Minako made sure to buff them every single day. Any scuff marks were concealed under black polish. There was nothing about them that was a mess. The shine had perhaps dulled a little from the day’s use, but that was all.
‘How long does it take you to get through them?’
Tsujiuchi had switched to making small talk.
‘When I find shoes I like I always buy a couple of pairs. But it’s so hard to wear them out, and before you know it the second pair’s mouldy . . .’
Mikami was still gazing at his own feet. He hadn’t even blinked. He was seeing Minako, crouched in the entranceway. Mikami had always had polished black shoes to put on – even when he’d worn the synthetic leather police-issue shoes. Even after that, when he’d started to buy more comfortable shoes. Even after Ayumi had run away. The line of Minako’s mouth would always relax once she’d finished polishing and arranging his shoes.
What have I . . .
The shiver spread from his core, propagated down his limbs. He felt like he was coming out of a spell. His actions were indefensible. He’d gone over Akama’s head, tried to communicate with Tokyo directly. He’d shoved Ishii to the floor and forced a one-on-one audience with the captain of the Prefectural HQ, bombarded him with question after question. The future commissioner general.
One of the untouchables.
He felt his head go numb. His vision closed in. It wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, the sensation was almost pleasant.
‘These days, detectives wear trainers. Even then, they get through a good number of pairs each year.’
The words came flowing out.
‘Hoo, is that so?’
‘They do it because they have a need to bring criminals to justice. It’s nothing rational. Detectives work on instinct alone.’
Tsujiuchi inclined his head.
‘Try to understand their perspective. They’re itinerant hunters. Always moving from one case to the next. It’s the only language they understand.’
‘Itinerant hunters. Certainly has a nice ring to it.’
‘The post of director of Criminal Investigations is the pinnacle of their community. If they’re deprived of something to look up to, they will panic.’
Tsujiuchi barked with laughter. ‘That scoundrel, the pinnacle of their community? Besides, he came up from Security.’
‘I’m referring to the position as a symbol, something that’s about more than the individual who holds it. The further you delve into the regions, the more indispensable that kind of symbolism becomes.’
‘I see.’ Tsujiuchi’s tone had changed. ‘You wish to interfere in personnel decisions . . .’
Mikami’s anxiety was still captive to his numbness, but his respect for the hierarchy of the force was ingrained in his bones. He tensed, the unavoidable result of facing a superior officer’s displeasure.
‘This has been interesting. Perhaps we can do it again sometime.’
Tsujiuchi craned around, reaching behind him to push the buzzer on his desk.
‘Sir, could I ask you to at least suggest it to Tokyo? That they need to reconsider this?’
Ishii flew into the room before Mikami had finished. The division staff followed from behind, stony-faced. Tsujiuchi was beaming.
Mikami got to his feet and made a salute.