Prefecture D: Four Novellas Page 12

  Tomoko summarized what she’d heard from Toshie but took care not to mention the reporter or the perfume. It wouldn’t do Mizuho any favors 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 with 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 6:00 and 10:00. 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.

  Cease-fire, 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 along 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 midsentence. His expression seemed to suggest he’d just realized 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 levelheaded 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 difficult 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 head count. 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 minimize potential damage to the force.

  Shirota raised his hand when she arrived back in Administration. He pointed a finger toward 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 inquired 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 defenses,” 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 enroll at any given time. This was governed by a ratio that 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.

  “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, entering the traffic circle 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 toward 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 meters down the road. His team having just arrived, Yuasa and the others were still unloading their equipment from the van. Headquarters wouldn’t usually mobilize for a case like this, but she 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 curb 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. Foot traffic 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 practiced 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. She’d expected Chanel, but her nose bristled at something unexpected. Cigarettes. The smell was faint but unmistakable. It was her least favorite 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 rearview 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 shoulders and tugged her out of the circle of officers. It was only then, as her body relaxed, that she realized 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 Sevens. 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.

  Tomoko’s head reeled at the thought. She realized she hadn’t yet eaten lunch. She angled her wrist to check her watch. It was already 3:30.

  I should get something in my stomach.

  She walked to the first shop she could see and picked up a random selection of pastries. She was about to head back to the station when she saw a phone booth. Still edgy from nerves, she punched in a number. The unwelcome sound of her own voice came on after a few rings, informing her that she was out.

  She left a brief message.

  “Yacho. I may be late. There’s curry in the freezer.”

  She put the phone down and noticed Futawatari standing behind her, holding a cup of coffee.

  “Your son is in year nine?”

  “Year ten now,” Tomoko answered, blushing a little.

  “So he’s got exams. That’ll be tough on the lad.”

  “Yes, well, he’s kind of given up on them. Your daughter, she…?”

  “Started secondary school this spring. She’s cheeky, always looking for trouble.”

  Futawatari had already heard from Morishima that there was nothing in the car to suggest that a crime had taken place. He told Tomoko he was going back to headquarters and asked what she was planning. She considered waiting but thought she would be too conspicuous in her uniform. Forensics, too, would be a while yet. She told him she’d come back with him, at least for the time being, and took the wheel for the return journey.

  “How did it go at the bank?”

  “She hasn’t touched her account. No activity at all.”

  “Meaning she can’t have gone far.”

  “Perhaps. Although she could probably take money out en route, if she needs it.”

  “And she might not even need to, if she’s with someone.”

  “Yes.”

  Not for the first time, Futawatari’s reaction seemed a little muted. Perhaps he’d already concluded that Mizuho was by herself. That would be perfectly normal. He didn’t know about the perfume in her room or about the reporter who had given it to her. Tomoko began to worry that his judgment was being affected by the lack of information. She should probably bring him up to speed. There’d been the development of the cigarettes in the car, too. Considering there were no other men she knew about in Mizuho’s life, she decided it was probably time to mention the reporter.

  “Sir…”

  She told Futawatari everything she had learned: about the perfume and about the man. Futawatari did seem a little surprised, but his tone was as relaxed as before when he answered.

  “I suppose we should look into that.”

  7

  Tomoko changed in the locker room before returning to Administration, where she saw Press Director Genichi Funaki at Futawatari’s desk. The two
men were locked in a heated discussion.

  “What if it turns out not to be the reporter? Look, we have to be careful. If the press catch wind of the fact that Officer Hirano has gone missing…”

  Tomoko caught the man’s trademark body odor as she overheard part of their conversation. Funaki was a contemporary of Futawatari’s. Equally aggressive in their pursuit of advancement, they had made inspector together. Yet Futawatari’s promotion to superintendent had come two years ahead of his colleague’s. Their relationship, Tomoko had heard, had never been the same since. This made it difficult to gauge how much the press director’s refusal to cooperate stemmed from his fear of tipping off the press and how much from his personal issues with Futawatari.

  Tomoko bit into a pastry, using her free hand to pull out a binder marked “Female Officers Network.” Inside were the phone numbers of all forty-eight female officers posted across the headquarters and the prefecture’s seventeen district stations. She had decided it would be useful in gathering more information on Mizuho. Tomoko had hesitated until now, not wanting to be the source of gossip, but it was already 4:30. She couldn’t allow herself to sit back and do nothing while she waited for Mizuho to return.

  She dialed the first number on the list.

  Police Sergeant Saito. Criminal Investigations. Station W.

  Officer Saito had worked with Tomoko in Administration until her transfer out last year.

  “I’d like you to make some calls.”

  Tomoko brought Saito up to speed, leaving her with instructions to call the officers at the substation near Train Station M if she learned anything new, anything at all. Putting the phone down, Tomoko turned around.

  Futawatari and Funaki were still sniping at each other.

  “You must know the brands your reporters smoke. You are the press director?”

  “Of course I am. That’s why I’m telling you: this is dangerous.”

  Tomoko waited for an opening, then informed Futawatari that she was going back to the train station. She left the office and walked down the corridor. Making quick work of the stairs, she left via the building’s main entrance. It was already growing dark outside, mirroring the half-light inside the building.