Mikami’s heart stopped. He looked at his watch. It was already after ten.
I’ll call to let you know when I’m leaving the office.
A shiver ran through him. It was like waking from a dream. Reality flooded in, replacing the squandered time he’d spent immersed in noise and drink. He ran down the hallway and into the living room, his mind an empty space; he took hold of the phone and started to dial the director’s number. His fingers stopped. He couldn’t remember what came after the area code. He rammed his fist on to his forehead. Still unable to remember, he started to flick through his notebook.
Sitting formally, his knees together on the tatami, he listened to the phone ring. He’d broken a promise he’d made to his benefactor, despite being the one who had instigated contact. The moment he’d learned of Tokyo’s intentions from Arakida, he’d written Odate off as no longer useful. The truth was, he’d stopped expecting anything even before that. Odate hadn’t known about Ayumi running away from home; he’d been consigned to the past. How would someone like that have access to inside information on the commissioner’s visit? Mikami had realized this but asked to meet up regardless. To keep his worry at bay. Because he’d been desperate to do something.
The call connected.
‘Mikami. It’s great to hear from you.’ While the good humour in her voice was unchanged from lunchtime, Odate’s wife had lost a little of her earlier cheer.
‘I’m so sorry. I really don’t know how to express my—’
‘Oh, don’t be silly, we know you’re busy. Right, I’ll put my husband on then. He’s been up waiting for you.’
Her voice petered out; the time that followed seemed to stretch on for ever. What he heard next was more breathing than a voice, almost like interference on the line. Perhaps he’d been half asleep already. Or he’d been feeling bad and forced himself to stay up.
‘Director . . .’
‘Ah . . . yes, this is Odate.’
Mikami went through every apology he knew. He denied having had any business to discuss. ‘I just wanted to see how you were. I’ll come over soon . . . I’ll make sure of it.’ The whole time, Odate’s breathing was close in his ear. Every now and then this became a wheeze. Mikami had suggested he get some rest and was just about to hang up when Odate managed some words.
‘Thank . . . you for . . . the call.’
He’d sounded genuinely grateful. Mikami pressed his fingers into his brow. Even after he’d ended the call, he didn’t leave his formal seated position. Shozo Odate, Criminal Investigations Director, Prefecture D. Was he proud of his accomplishments? Or was that all gone now, vanished like a dream? What had a life in the force given him? What had it taken away?
The ferment inside Mikami had settled. The Prefectural HQ would lose its remit over the director of Criminal Investigations.
The idea of keeping his promise to Amamiya scattered like mist. He couldn’t base his decision on a make-believe story he’d come up with when he was backed into a corner. What he needed was the truth. A light that would shine right through his dilemma.
He needed something else.
A genuine third path.
53
‘Seven out of the thirteen said they were ready to call off the boycott. Although . . .’
Mikami had still been at the kitchen table when he’d answered Suwa’s call. Unable to sleep the previous night, he’d been camped there until the morning. Much of the time he’d spent asking himself questions. He’d been left with a single answer. But could he really pull it off? He’d been lost in thought when the unexpected call had arrived.
‘. . . that was last night. We’re probably back at square one, with this morning’s commotion. I don’t think we’re going to be able to convince anyone into holding a GM now.’
He’d sounded like he’d given up.
The storm in the morning papers had been unprecedented. As forewarned, the Yomiuri and Sankei had both run long articles detailing the arrest of the CEO of Hakkaku Construction. And it hadn’t ended there – the pages of the Asahi and Mainichi had also contained unanticipated scoops. The Asahi’s article was about a traffic official in Station S hushing up his niece’s speeding ticket. That had been enough of a blow, but the greatest surprise had been the Mainichi’s article: ‘Guard Asleep for Detainee Suicide of Two Years Ago?’
Mikami had reached the office by 7 a.m. Suwa, Kuramae and Mikumo all arrived soon afterwards. They’d ended up arguing with the reporters when the latter had demanded a press conference. Akama hadn’t shown up in his office. Ishii had poked his head into the room at one point but had left without issuing a single order or word of advice, either spooked by the rancour of the reporters, or by seeing the bandage on Mikami’s hand. Working at his own discretion, Mikami had set about making the various preparations for a press conference. When he’d finished calling the relevant divisions, debating the content and response to each of the articles, and arranging the schedule itself – thirty minutes each, starting with Second Division, then Transport, then Administration – it was already gone eight thirty.
He could hear Arakida’s shrill laughter. He had forced Akama into claiming a lack of negligence, then overturned it by leaking the fact that the guard had actually been dozing off. The Toyo might have fired the initial volley, but there was nothing to say they had to deliver the fatal blow themselves. Arakida would have realized that result wouldn’t change, whichever paper he used. And it was the safer way to do it. By seeding the information through different papers, he was making it harder to see through to his involvement.
The story on the bid-rigging had most likely been a calculated leak, too. And it was easy to imagine a detective in Station S hearing about the speeding ticket. Arakida – he was the principal instigator. And judging from the fact that he’d opted to release the information about the guard having been asleep, rather than keep it in reserve together with the volley of arrows accompanying it, it seemed safe to assume that the misconducts listed in Tokyo’s ‘letter bomb’ would be both numerous and deadly in their destructive potential.
The morning was long. The atmosphere remained feverish throughout, in both the office and the Press Club. Each of the three press conferences had ended in complete chaos. The press had asked a succession of barbed questions, cursing each time they thought the answer evasive; as the deadline for the evening edition drew closer, there were even scenes of reporters shouting each other down. It was impossible to predict what would happen next. The reporters appeared possessed as they busied themselves with calls and writing copy, and this left no room to bring up the proposal of a GM. Mikami hadn’t even been able to find out if Yamashina and Yanase had made good on their promise to Suwa.