‘Sir, if you could at least give some though to—’
Get him out! A number of hands took hold of him on Ishii’s command, pulling him backwards with astonishing force.
Amidst the chaos, he could hear Tsujiuchi’s voice.
Don’t let anything like that happen again.
Mikami was escorted through the office and into the adjoining annexe. The TV on the desk was showing pictures of Akama. Perhaps because of this, Ishii became conscious of his surroundings, keeping his voice low as he snarled.
‘What do you think you’re playing at, Mikami? What on earth did you say to the captain?’
‘Let go of me, now!’ Mikami threw off the hands still holding him. It felt as if he were on fire.
‘You need to tell me, Mikami. What did you say to—’
‘As if telling you would change anything.’ The TV flashed white. Akama was bowing, luminescent under the wave of camera flashes. ‘None of you knows a bloody thing. Craning upwards the whole time . . . you can’t even see that the ground’s cracking under your feet.’
‘I’m afraid you’re the blind one, Mikami. What do you think will happen if you make the captain angry? We’re the ones who are going to suffer for this – the Prefectural HQ. We’re all going to feel the blowback for what you’ve done.’
‘Damned fool! That’s why they make idiots of us. The Prefectural HQ belongs to us. Don’t think I’m going to stand by and let those bastards do what they want.’
Mikami drove his fist into the TV.
Akama’s face contorted before being sucked into darkness, scattering into the air as countless fragments of glass.
51
There was someone else who deserved to be hit.
Mikami burst out of the Secretariat and strode down the corridor; he swept open the door to Administration. The noise was loud enough for most of the staff to look up in surprise.
Futawatari . . .
He wasn’t there; his desk was still empty. Shirota was also nowhere to be seen. Section Chief Tomoko Nanao, who was in charge of looking after the female officers on the force, turned in her chair before getting to her feet.
‘What happened to your hand?’
He hadn’t noticed until she’d pointed it out. His right hand was covered in red, the skin torn between the base of his index finger and the back of his hand. Drops of blood hit the floor.
‘Is Futawatari in the building?’
‘No, he left.’
Before her reply, Nanao had started jogging towards one of the wall lockers.
‘Will he be back?’
‘Not today. He said he was going to go home straight afterwards.’
In that case. Mikami crossed the floor and walked into Akama’s office, not even bothering to knock. The director’s cologne was still in the air, suggesting he’d been there only moments earlier. Nanao came rushing in holding a first-aid kit. She set about finding disinfectant and bandages, then held her hands out.
‘Let me bandage you up.’
‘I can do it.’
‘It’s fine, let me.’
‘I can do it. Just leave it with me.’
He shut her out, then pulled a wad of cotton wool from the box. He applied this to the wound and used his teeth to unroll the bandage, then proceeded to wrap it around his hand. He was still doing this when he walked over to Akama’s desk, its master now absent, and perched himself unceremoniously on the edge. He took out his phone and scrolled to Futawatari’s number, then used Akama’s phone to make the call.
It would show as Akama’s direct line. Futawatari would surely have to answer.
The call connected after only a couple of rings.
‘How can you say this doesn’t matter?’ Mikami didn’t wait. ‘I found out what Tokyo’s planning. If this doesn’t matter, what the hell does?’
‘How did you get this?’
‘From Captain Tsujiuchi.’
‘No – who gave you my number?’
‘You fucking dolt. Don’t you understand what this is? This isn’t some plot to take over Criminal Investigations. This is a plot to destroy the whole Prefectural HQ. Are you aware that that’s what you’re taking part in here?’
He didn’t answer. Footsteps. Noise in the background. A car door shutting.
‘Futawatari . . .’
‘I thought I’d already told you. There are no distinctions; no headquarters; no Tokyo. The police force is monolithic.’
‘That’s the kind of delusional crap Tokyo comes out with. How can we call ourselves the regional police if we don’t even own the director of Criminal Investigations?’
‘Cool down. Nothing bad is going to come of this. If anything, it’ll be a boost for efficiency.’
Efficiency? The comment mirrored what Tsujiuchi had said.
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.
He felt like he finally understood. That, for the first time, he’d touched on what it was that Futawatari believed in. He’d been hell-bent on weakening Criminal Investigations, on creating a dominant and unshakable Administrative Affairs. That was what Mikami had always suspected, but he’d been wrong. His Tokyo mindset. His orders from Tsujiuchi. They weren’t the only factors motivating Futawatari’s behaviour.
‘Are you scared by it?’
‘Hmm?’
‘The director’s chair, Criminal Investigations.’
Futawatari said nothing. He made no attempt to ask what Mikami was talking about.
Bullseye.
Futawatari would know more about it than anyone. The hierarchical order couldn’t be changed. For someone who had made superintendent at the young age of forty, the only post waiting for them on promotion was director of Criminal Investigations. The hidden force behind all personnel decisions would become the face of Criminal Investigations. The ironic truth awaited him in just over ten years, and he was scared of it. He might have been skilled in Administration, but, as someone who didn’t know the first thing about being a detective, all that lay ahead of him was a barren desert, a secret betrayal. The shrine would be carried, but it would be empty. He would be disgraced, become one more addition to the list of failed candidates. For someone who had spent so long effectively in control of the organization itself, it was an unacceptable outcome. In this context, the talk of the ‘sequestering’ had seemed like good news.
‘Is something wrong? Tell me.’
‘You should try to make more sense when you talk.’
‘You know exactly what I’m talking about. Your plan to forge a utopia for yourself.’