Prefecture D Read online

  Tomoko left the room.

  The ring on her left hand reminded her of her husband. She chided herself for thinking of him now, for wanting yet again to seek his advice, but she could not rid herself of the desire to convey her sense of helplessness to the silver object.

  4

  Futawatari was out.

  Tomoko felt partly relieved, having not been sure whether she should report what she’d learned about the perfume and the reporter. At the same time, she’d been hoping to ask for advice on how to proceed. While she wasn’t sure how far she could trust him, she knew he was the only senior officer in Administration with whom she felt safe discussing the matter.

  The couch in front of the chief’s desk was overflowing with high-level officers from the various divisions of Administrative Affairs, each bearing a stack of papers. The daily pilgrimage to Akama’s office was, it seemed, already underway.

  Hajime Akama.

  The man had been appointed as successor to Director Oguro, the ever formidable and authoritarian leader of Administrative Affairs, following the latter’s transfer to the Regional Police Bureau in the spring. Those who had suffered under his rule had breathed a sigh of relief to see his gentle-looking replacement. Their celebrations had, of course, been short-lived. Akama turned out to have an obsession for statistics. He demanded reports on everything, spreading his focus across the whole department and pursuing even the tiniest of details. With a compulsion that bordered on the pathological, he called for data on everything from the number of batons being used in the substations to the number of trees the force had planted around the police apartments.

  The result was a threefold increase in the workload.

  Everyone had to have the answer to hand, backed up by the relevant data, whatever the NPA or the captain should ask. Akama’s goal, no doubt, was to carve himself a role as the prefecture’s most trusted functionary.

  Tomoko picked up the phone, keeping an eye on the excited procession of chiefs filing in and out of the man’s office. It was one in the afternoon, already long past the time she could justifiably delay informing Mizuho’s parents of the fact that their daughter was missing.

  She was trying to work out how to broach the subject when Mizuho’s mother answered and she found out there was no need.

  Morishima had already called.

  ‘I’m so sorry. This must be causing you so much trouble.’

  The woman would have been sick with worry, yet despite this her tone was primarily one of apology. Married to the force. That was perhaps how Mizuho’s parents, both farmers, had decided to rationalise their only daughter leaving home. Tomoko realised she had, until this point, been holding on to the hope that Mizuho would be there, that everything might be resolved without further incident. But Mizuho had not gone home. Far from it: she hadn’t even called. Her mother’s voice was almost inaudible when she confessed that she couldn’t think of a single reason why Mizuho would want to run away.

  Shirota approached the moment Tomoko ended the call.

  ‘Any progress?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Tomoko said, not wanting to give any details.

  She knew Shirota would pass anything she said on to Akama, who, aside from his obsession with detail, was also one of the force’s principal advocates for the total exclusion of women. Shirota, too, was acting in far too blasé a manner. Was it so trivial for a female officer to go missing? Was he simply clinging to the idea that, despite the time that had passed, this was simply a case of unreported absence? She’s Forensics. Criminal Investigations should look after their own. Maybe that was how he saw it.

  ‘Do you know where Futawatari went?’

  ‘He said he was going to the bank.’

  The bank. That meant he had probably gone to check the details of Mizuho’s account. If she’d taken out any substantial sums of money, that would support the theory that she’d run away of her own accord.

  Once free of Shirota, Tomoko took the chance to leave the office. She wanted to catch up with Morishima before Futawatari returned.

  The fourth floor was host to the various divisions of Criminal Investigations and as such was often given a wide berth by the officers of Administrative Affairs. For Tomoko, however, Forensics felt like a second home. There was nothing here that intimidated her.

  She saw Morishima’s bulldog-like features behind his desk. He was discussing something with Yuasa, who led the Mobile Forensics team, but raised his hand in greeting when he saw her come in.

  ‘Any luck at the dorm?’

  The three reconvened on a couch behind a partition that closed off an area from the rest of the room. Tomoko’s nose bristled at the mix of Morishima’s pomade and Yuasa’s hair oil. It was also evident that neither feared the effects of smoking on their mortality.

  Tomoko summarised what she’d heard from Toshie but took care not to mention the reporter or the perfume. It wouldn’t do Mizuho any favours to let them know she’d accepted a gift from someone in the press, even if it had been forced into her hands. Once this was done, Tomoko moved on to her questions.

  ‘How was Mizuho yesterday?’

  ‘Over the moon. You saw her, right, Sniffer?’

  ‘I know she was fine when I saw her. But what about later in the day? Did anything happen at work?’

  ‘Don’t think so. She seemed happy right up until she left. Right, Yuasa?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Yuasa seemed to be a sensitive man, at least in comparison to the boorish Morishima. He looked genuinely distraught that one of his team had gone missing. He agreed that nothing major had taken place and that Mizuho had left the office at around six.

  ‘Did she say anything about stopping off somewhere on the way?’

  ‘No, not particularly.’

  She’d left headquarters at six and nothing had seemed out of the ordinary at that point. That left a four-hour window between six and ten. Whatever had happened to wipe the smile from her face, it would have happened then. Perhaps she’d met up with someone. Perhaps the reporter. Tomoko suspected it wouldn’t be easy to fill in the gaps. She could have extracted more information, perhaps, if Mizuho had had other female colleagues, but she was the only woman in Forensics. There had been two, sometimes even three, stationed here in the past. But Futawatari’s plan to distribute the female officers more widely across the prefecture had left just one slot. Her own proposal to reshuffle these allocations, submitted that morning, had questioned whether this was, in fact, the best way of doing things.

  Ceasefire, remember?

  She tried to drive Futawatari from her mind.

  Still . . . I could use this as a case in point.

  She scolded herself for even entertaining the idea. She already had good reasons with which to argue against the individual posting of female officers. They were left isolated. And that increased their chances of becoming tokens like Junko Hayashi. That was what she wanted him to understand.

  Returning to the present, Tomoko turned to face Yuasa. ‘How’s she been doing, in your assessment?’

  ‘Good, very good. She works hard. Gets on with her team. I haven’t seen anything to suggest any problems. I mean, you know, there’s always the fact that she’s—’ Yuasa caught himself mid-sentence. His expression seemed to suggest he’d just realised who Tomoko was.

  That she’s . . .

  The rest was obvious enough: That she’s a woman, so who’s to say what she’s really thinking? There was a part of Tomoko that couldn’t help agreeing. She thought about this as she made her way back downstairs. It was true that it was sometimes a challenge to judge what the officers under her purview were thinking. They were all women who had decided to join the force. As such, they were generally level-headed and in possession of a greater-than-average drive to contribute to society. Yet she couldn’t deny that, with every passing year, she found it increasingly di
fficult to understand their motivations.

  She couldn’t help it. It was something she felt in her bones.

  She didn’t doubt that she was changing, too. She still considered herself one of them, but the truth of the matter was that she was now on the side of management, in charge of overseeing their forty-eight-strong headcount. She did, of course, try to see things from their perspective but she would also take the interests of the force into account when making any kind of decision. Even now, as she tried to understand what it was that Mizuho was going through, there was a part of her that was hoping to minimise potential damage to the force.

  Shirota raised his hand when she arrived back in Administration. He pointed a finger towards Akama’s office. As she made her way to the door, Tomoko thought she could already smell the cloying spice of the man’s cologne.

  5

  ‘Am I right, Officer Nanao, to assume we’re not yet treating this as a case?’ Akama enquired in his usual smooth tone.

  ‘Not at this point in time.’

  ‘Does she have a boyfriend?’ Akama said, holding up his ring finger.

  ‘Not that I’m aware of, sir,’ Tomoko answered, before averting her gaze.

  She felt herself shiver. The gold-rimmed glasses, the tailored suit. The expensive cologne. Akama liked to play up to his image as one of the Tokyo elite but the man could still be appallingly crude. Three others had been called in with her: Chief Shirota of Administration, Chief Ogino of Welfare and Chief Takegami of Internal Affairs. A one-to-one conversation with a female officer was not something Akama’s pride would permit.

  ‘And what’s she like – I mean, really like – in her job?’

  ‘Highly conscientious, sir. No absences to date. She’s reliable, definitely not the type to just give up and she takes pride in her work.’ The words came easily. Current situation notwithstanding, this was the Mizuho she knew.

  ‘Her type’s the most vulnerable. They lack the necessary defences,’ Akama said, looking satisfied with his analysis.

  There’s no telling what might happen when there’s a man involved. Love makes them crazy. Crazy enough to sacrifice everything they’ve worked for.

  Akama was the kind of man who would take such statements at face value, not even thinking to question them. It was true that Tomoko had herself wondered whether there might be a man behind Mizuho’s disappearance. She suspected it even now, whether it was the reporter or not. Yet in her mind all this signified was a recognition that relationships could, every now and then, break through the barriers of common sense and reason. It did not signify a one-sided belief that such things occurred only to women.

  There were plenty of cases where the opposite was true.

  She knew, of course, that nothing could be done to change Akama. Not long after his appointment to the role, he had asked her for the list of female officers in the prefecture.

  You have forty-eight? Why so many? It was a single-digit number at my last post. I suggest you look into getting some of these girls a husband.

  There was a cap on the number of officers a prefecture could enrol at any given time. This was governed by a ratio which took into account the general population. Despite an increase in crime and the number of calls requesting police assistance, the ratio had not changed in years. This left the force struggling to meet the demands made on them. A further issue with the cap was that it made no special provision for female officers. Every one of them, then, meant that one less male could be brought in. They’re better at the details. There were executives who reeled off such niceties in public, even as they griped about the situation in private. They’re difficult to manage. It’s a man’s job to keep the peace. Having been in the force for a while, Tomoko knew exactly how deep-rooted such opinions could be.

  Yet she had never come across anyone who expressed their prejudice quite as openly as Akama. He would of course hope that nothing serious had happened to Mizuho. But he would also be considering using the incident as ammunition to rid himself of a female officer. Tomoko couldn’t help suspecting, based on the man’s outward calm, that this was the case.

  ‘Good. Let’s keep an eye on developments.’

  Akama was getting up from the couch when Futawatari knocked and came straight in.

  ‘We found Mizuho’s car.’

  There was silence.

  ‘Where?’ Tomoko asked, the words catching in her throat.

  ‘Parked outside Train Station M.’

  Tomoko didn’t know how to respond. Train Station M. That was where the gang leader had snatched the elderly woman’s bag. The fear she’d dismissed, that of Mizuho having become involved in something dangerous, came rushing back. She hurried out after Futawatari. Her head was a mess. What had Mizuho been thinking? What had she been trying to accomplish? Could she be in some kind of danger?

  Let her be safe.

  The words hadn’t come from her status as a fellow officer of the law, nor from her position as management. They had come, instead, from her natural instinct to protect a daughter.

  6

  ‘I can drive.’

  ‘It’s fine. We’re almost there.’

  Perhaps it was Futawatari’s unparalleled talent for managing risk that had compelled him to sit behind the wheel. It was true that Tomoko had been in no state to drive when they’d left the building.

  ‘Do you . . .’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Do you think the bike gang might be involved?’

  ‘It’s hard to say at this point.’

  ‘It’s just that I was a bit concerned. After reading the articles this morning.’

  ‘Understandable.’

  Tomoko had expected Futawatari to agree but his response seemed unexpectedly muted. Did he have a theory of his own?

  He brought the vehicle around, joining the roundabout in front of the station. Tomoko caught sight of Mizuho’s red car. The van belonging to Mobile Forensics was parked next to it. Morishima was there, too.

  ‘I’m getting out.’

  Tomoko hopped from the not quite stationary vehicle and began to jog towards the cars.

  ‘Sir!’

  ‘That was quick, Sniffer.’

  Mizuho’s car was parked at the edge of the drop-off area.

  ‘How long has it been here?’

  ‘Not quite two hours, according to those guys.’

  Morishima jutted his chin in the direction of a substation located some thirty metres down the road. His team having just arrived, Yuasa and the others were still unloading their equipment from the van. Headquarters wouldn’t usually mobilise for a case like this but this was one of their own so they’d no doubt decided they couldn’t leave it in the hands of district.

  Tomoko began to inspect the car. She remembered the drill. The first step was to observe from a distance. There was nothing to suggest it had come to a sudden stop. It was flush with the kerb and the front wheels were neatly aligned. There were no visible scratches or dents and the side mirrors were angled correctly. She took a walk around the chassis, checking each of the windows. No cracks, and no sign of blood.

  ‘Make sure you don’t touch anything.’

  At Morishima’s warning, Tomoko drew her head away from the glass. She scanned the area. Footfall was high. The drop-off point was in open view. It wasn’t, she thought, a viable spot to abduct a grown woman.

  ‘Here.’

  Yuasa’s team gathered around the car. With a practised hand, he used a standard-issue metal wire to open the lock.

  ‘Mind if I go first?’

  Tomoko pushed her way to the front. If Pomade or Hair Oil moved in before her, she’d lose her chance to get a good whiff of the interior.

  Morishima put on a pair of white gloves then opened the front door, cautioning that she was to use nothing apart from her nose. Tomoko leaned in and angled her head. S
he’d expected Chanel but her nose bristled at something unexpected. Cigarettes. The smell was faint but unmistakeable. It was her least favourite smell. She took another sniff, moving in until her nose was almost touching the driver’s seat. Still there was no hint of perfume. Could it have faded with time? Been overpowered by the tobacco? It was possible, she supposed, that Mizuho hadn’t been wearing any to begin with. The smell had been there in her room but no one had confirmed that she’d been wearing any when she’d left the dorm that morning.

  ‘Anything?’

  Morishima called out from behind. Tomoko turned around and asked if they would open the ashtray. Yuasa obliged, sliding the drawer open. Two stubs. Mild Seven. The filters were unmarked, no traces of lipstick. The reporter? Tomoko’s thoughts raced as Morishima and the others exchanged looks. They looked a little let down.

  ‘Really? A man?’

  Tomoko put her head inside for a second time. This time she ignored any smells and used her eyes instead.

  Angle of rear-view mirror? Good. Sun visors? Stowed. Mats and upholstery? Clean. Anything easily missed, maybe a good-luck charm, on the floor? Nothing. Visible bloodstains? None.

  ‘Time’s up, Sniffer.’

  The driver’s seat was positioned close to the wheel. Too narrow for a man, barring someone who was exceptionally small. Which meant that Mizuho had been driving . . .

  Morishima took Tomoko by the shoulder and tugged her out of the circle of officers. It was only then, as her body relaxed, that she realised how tense she’d become. Mizuho hadn’t been abducted. There were the cigarette butts, sure, making it more or less certain that a man had been in there with her, yet there was nothing to suggest that anything untoward had taken place. If a struggle had taken place, there were always signs, but Tomoko hadn’t found any. Not one. Mizuho had driven to the station, parked her car, locked the doors and walked away. With the man who smoked the Mild Seven. Either that, or she’d come here alone with a view to meeting him later. What seemed certain was that she’d come here to the station. The parking area served the station and the station alone. Which meant she’d probably boarded a train. The Shitetsu line ran east to west, and she could switch midway to a JR train and head north or south. Those trains could take her outside the prefecture.