Prefecture D: Four Novellas Page 7

  Takegami came into view. He wasn’t asking for Shindo’s opinion on the content of the letter. Three lines was insufficient to furnish a sense of whether the claim was genuine. That would take more work. For now, Takegami was asking for Shindo’s take on the source.

  Was the informant someone in the police? Or someone on the outside?

  If it was the latter, of course, that would present its own kind of problem. They would need to track the informant down and find a way to defuse the situation. If it was someone who was involved with the proprietress—the mama-san—someone who had grown jealous and sent the letter in, then Internal Affairs would have no choice but to intervene and sort out the mess. Such situations could not be allowed to fester, in case they became violent. And should the information ever go public, the fallout would not stop at Sone. The force itself would take a hit.

  The more worrying scenario, however, particularly when it came to safeguarding the interests of the force, was that in which the informant was a member of the police force. Internal Affairs was more than ready to hear out work-related grievances, but to hide in anonymity and seek to discredit a colleague or a senior officer … that kind of behavior was nothing short of contemptuous and could not be tolerated. There was a greater risk of the media becoming involved, too. Internal informants liked to hide in the shadows and keep an eye on the actions of Internal Affairs. Should things not go according to plan, they would invariably leak the story to the press. They were the enemy within, and they deserved the greatest censure the force could levy.

  Shindo examined the letter one last time. He saw nothing to override his gut feeling. The informant was someone on the inside.

  There was the fact that the letter was only three lines long. Outside informants tended to write line after line of invective, spilling their rage until it had abated. Furthermore, as there was nothing in the letter to suggest blackmail, someone on the outside would have had no real reason to use a word processor or a ruler to disguise their handwriting. The address, too, had contained an error in the spelling: “Internel” instead of “Internal.” The existence of the division was not common knowledge outside the force, and if someone had looked it up it seemed unlikely they’d have made such a basic mistake.

  “It’s a rat.”

  Takegami responded with a firm nod, signaling his agreement. “Do me a favor and look into it.”

  Shindo got up from his seat. He made two copies of the document and put them in his drawer, then left the room with the original in a plastic sleeve. He passed Senior Inspector Masanori Katsumata on the way. The man’s goggle eyes stood out against his golf tan.

  “Anything big today?”

  “Nothing special,” Shindo answered, keeping it vague as he headed for the stairs.

  He couldn’t let Katsumata catch wind of the letter. The appearance of an inspector from Internal Affairs always brought a certain level of tension, regardless of the division in question. Katsumata relished the feeling and had developed a tendency of making the rounds even when he had no official business. He liked to gossip and thrived on being the center of attention. If he chanced on someone he knew, there was the risk he would get carried away and mouth off about the content of the letter. There was evidence, Shindo knew, to suggest that this had happened in the past.

  Katsumata was not the kind of man you posted to a place like Internal Affairs.

  There was nothing to prove Sone’s misconduct, and yet Shindo knew that word of the letter would be enough to end Sone’s career. A vague image came to mind of the man standing at attention, in uniform, his face flushed red.

  He’s not a bad man, that much is certain.

  With the three o’clock period of calm over, the mood in the headquarters felt endlessly grim.

  2

  Shindo’s first step was to visit the crime lab on the fourth floor of the main building.

  He requested that Assistant Chief Mizutani test the letter for prints, inquiring at the same time whether it might be possible to deduce the model of word processor from the font. Mizutani had muttered that he’d give it a shot, the sort of clipped response that was typical of officers with a technical background. Shindo was fine with that. The lab was essentially a hive of scientists. They could spend the whole night peering through microscopes, examining each and every character in the letter, yet they would never once show any interest in the meaning contained within it. Theirs was a world far removed from anything as commonplace as gossip.

  Next on his list was Forensics.

  Tests like these were usually routed through Forensics, so Shindo thought it better to inform Division Chief Mitsuo Morishima that he’d gone straight to the crime lab. Back in his substation days, Shindo had kept an eye out for the man, who’d been a new recruit at the time. He was coarse, but he gave a sharp nod at the courtesy, indicating he would probably refrain from poking his nose into it.

  It’s too easy to kill a man with a rumor.

  Shindo considered this as he headed back downstairs.

  The prefecture was scheduled to host a number of major sporting events in the coming spring, each of which warranted a visit from the imperial family. In order to avoid any issues with security, the transfer season was to be moved forward. It was probably safe to assume that the groundwork was already underway, even though it was only autumn. If rumors of Sone being involved in an improper relationship were to surface now, at this key time, he’d probably remain inspector until his last day in the force.

  Police inspectors are undoubtedly the heroes of fiction. Armed with brains and muscle, they are the face of the organization, as they occupy the front lines. In many ways the image is accurate, the only difference being that in real life inspectors grow old. Those who make the rank at a young age naturally set their sights on becoming superintendent. The transition is necessary for anyone who wishes to approach the inner circle of the force, giving them more troops to lead and affording more opportunities to spearhead real change. It is only after you make superintendent, for example, that executive positions such as captain in the district, or division chief in the Prefectural HQ, become available.

  And yet, after seventeen years, Sone was still struggling to close the book on his chapter as inspector.

  In Prefecture D, promotion to superintendent depended on a mix of performance reviews and interviews. Length of service was also taken into account, meaning the older inspectors were, generally speaking, the first in line for promotion. Yet none of this was set in stone. The executive had the final say in who moved up, and the number of officers waiting their turn was always greater than the number of posts available. This led to the gradual emergence of people like Sone, who, overtaken by their juniors, might wait ten or even fifteen years and still not hear the “call from above.”

  There were, of course, those who had been held back for past indiscretions. Yet in the majority of cases there was nothing wrong with the officers themselves. They may not have had the right manager to pull them up. They may have had the right skill set but lacked ambition. Been unlucky enough to have a group of exceptional officers below them. Luck could play a significant role. Sure, Sone had been criticized for his failings as a leader, but a quick look around revealed superintendents who were no different. And he didn’t even scratch the surface when it came to currying favor to get ahead. There were superintendents now lounging in key positions who were completely without shame in that regard.

  All things being equal, inspectors constituted a group that had already navigated their way through a number of exams and declared their intention to aim for the top. It wasn’t easy, should your path to superintendent be delayed, to take a step back and argue the case for spending the rest of your career in the field. All that remained for those stuck in their position was a slow, creeping anxiety.

  There were calls for the prefecture to introduce, over the next couple of years, a written exam for officers trying for superintendent. Yet even this would be of little help to the veteran in
spectors. If anything, it threatened to worsen their situation. Immersed in the daily grind, they would have spent close to a decade away from exams. They would find it hard to summon the energy needed to outperform their younger peers, all of whom were capable and ambitious in their race up the ladder.

  That left the upcoming spring. The next round of transfers would be Sone’s last chance for promotion before the deployment of the new exam. He would be waiting with bated breath, hoping for the call from above. It would perhaps be a miracle, considering he’d never even held a vice captain’s post in the district. Still, it wasn’t unheard of for Personnel to grant a promotion out of charity. The man still had a greater-than-zero chance of making it.

  But someone was trying to reduce even that to nothing. Maybe someone he had worked with, someone who held a grudge of some kind.

  Shindo’s hand shot to his abdomen. Ever since he’d lost half his stomach, the remainder had taken to expressing his anger.

  If you’re going to hang someone, at least do it to someone more deserving. Someone with more clout.

  It was true that Sone lacked what it took to lead. That he wasn’t, perhaps, a natural fit for a role in management. Yet the man Shindo knew had never looked down on others. He’d always been the first to arrive at work and the last still hunched over his desk at night. He’d never sought to gain from his status as an officer of the law. Shindo remembered a time when Sone had spent hours listening to a woman talk about her runaway son, all the while interjecting his signature hmm, hmm, hmm. Shindo was struck by a thought. Wasn’t Sone, in that image, the very embodiment of a decent and hardworking member of the force?

  Despite this, the informant was mocking him. Sneering, even as Sone waited, anxiously praying for his last shot at promotion, humming his tune in the dark.

  It was, of course, possible that Sone had become involved with the mama-san, that Shindo’s impression was wide of the mark. It was possible that Sone had long ago abandoned any hope of promotion, that he’d lost sight of his former integrity. The man worked for Public Safety, too, which looked after the licensing of bars and other such venues. He would have contacts. What if he’d sought to take advantage of his status to make a move?

  Shindo left the main building.

  He headed down the city road and walked into the Prefecture D Mutual Funds Association, which was located alongside the headquarters. As it was an affiliated organization, many of the senior positions were occupied by officers who’d retired from the force. Shindo bowed to familiar faces as he requested an off-the-record appraisal of Sone’s accounts. If the claims were true, he would need money.

  Nothing came up.

  Sone had taken out a single loan of one million yen to help finance the purchase of a car. That was three years ago, and it had already been repaid in full. The man’s finances were clean. Still, there was no shortage of alternatives for securing money, particularly if your preference was for secrecy. The fact that Sone had a clean record with the association did not in itself prove that all was in order. Nonetheless, Shindo breathed a sigh of relief. If anything had been flagged at this stage, he would have had no choice but to consider more seriously the possibility of Sone’s guilt.

  There was a note on his desk when he got back to Internal Affairs. He waited until Katsumata was out, then put in a call to the crime lab.

  “No prints.”

  Mizutani’s clinical tone was all the more jarring over the phone, but Shindo was not disappointed to hear the result. It was what he had expected. Shindo thanked him and requested that he call again if they managed to work out the model of the word processor.

  He hung up.

  That leaves tonight.

  Shindo opened the commendations file. At the same time, he considered his assets in Station Q. Who should I use? Sorting through his options, he winced a little as the word “spies” flashed into his mind.

  3

  Shindo had dinner at a noodle bar near headquarters, one popular with the motorbike units for takeout. He’d heard they served a good meal that didn’t weigh too heavily in the stomach. No doubt this was an important consideration for the mobile squads, whose insides were constantly being churned up by the exposed engines of their bikes. For Shindo, who lacked half a stomach, the tip seemed too good to pass up.

  It was dark by the time he had finished, and still not raining. Shindo suspected that Yamamoto would be getting more than a little peeved by now.

  The police apartments were five minutes away by car. On the second floor, room eight was completely dark. Turning his key in the door, Shindo came to a sharp halt when he sensed something move in the room. It’s just the fax machine. He flicked on the lights to see a sheet of paper with handwriting on it he recognized—characters slanted upward and to the right—slide into view.

  I hope work was okay. How was the checkup? Akiko is studying hard. We got the results of her mocks. She was placed fifty-six out of a thousand!

  Love, Kanako

  His wife’s current obsession was to get their daughter through her university entrance exams. She spent half the week at the apartment in Tokyo, helping her while she attended cram school. Why did it have to be English lit? The two of them shared a passion he simply couldn’t understand, however much he tried. He waited for the buzz that signaled the end of the transmission, then picked up the receiver.

  Kazuki Yanagi.

  That was who he had decided to use. Police sergeant, Criminal Investigations, Station Q. Thirty-two. Single. Yanagi had worked under him for two years back when he’d been sub-leader in the riot police. The man’s work was impeccable; he was levelheaded and utterly reliable. More importantly, he was like a clam in his ability to keep a secret.

  Yanagi’s sister answered. The two had lost their parents while they were still young, and Yanagi was currently letting her bunk in his room in the Station Q dorms while she studied at technical college. It was only seven o’clock, so it was no surprise to hear he was still out. Shindo asked if she would get Yanagi to return his call when he got back, whatever the hour; he then inquired whether she knew if her brother owned a fax machine. She sounded puzzled when she told him she didn’t think so.

  Shindo ended the call. Receiver still in hand, he punched in the number of an electronics shop that was owned by an old acquaintance. He told the man he wanted a fax installed in Yanagi’s room first thing in the morning, adding that the delivery had to be discreet. It wasn’t the first time he’d made such a request, so the man readily agreed, saying he’d take it in a box for a vacuum cleaner, something like that.

  Good.

  Shindo took out the city map and phone book that he’d brought from the office and opened them on the table. First was the bar: Mumu. He flicked through the directory and quickly found it. He’d guessed the characters would read as “Mumu” and the index confirmed that this was the case. He took note of the address and slid his finger over the map. There. Right in the middle of the red-light district. Next was Hotel 69, City P. Yep. He caught sight of the name on the map. It was around five kilometers west of the bar, straight along the city road. It appeared to fall under the jurisdiction of Station F, just beyond that of Station Q. In the informant’s letter, the numbers 6 and 9 had been printed with a space between them, yet no such gap existed in the phone book or on the map, meaning it had probably been a typo.

  Shindo felt a little bothered by the fact that the bar and hotel had turned out to be real. The letter seemed all the more credible for it. And it didn’t help that the hotel was under the jurisdiction of Station F. If you’re going to meet someone, make sure it’s outside your territory. It was a textbook move, and that was why he didn’t like it.

  It was after ten when Yanagi called.

  “Sir, it’s been a while.”

  The words were polite enough, but the man’s tone was flat, hinting neither at nostalgia for an old boss nor at concern that the call had come out of the blue. His was a coolness designed to keep others at a distance, a worl
d apart from the clinical indifference of the officers in the crime lab. It was exactly why Shindo considered him a perfect fit for this kind of investigation.

  Telling him first that this was to remain private, Shindo went on to outline the content of the letter.

  “That’s what we’ve got. Can you think of anyone who might have something against Sone?”

  “I can think of two people. The first—”

  Shindo was caught unprepared. Stopping Yanagi midsentence, he searched for something to write on. “Okay, go ahead.”

  “The first would be Toshio Saga.”

  Shindo scribbled the details on the back of a leaflet. Toshio Saga. Forty-three. Police sergeant. Department of Public Safety, Juvenile Section. Station Q. The man lived with his mother, who was frail and essentially bedridden. Personnel had treated him exceptionally well and had allowed him to stay in Station Q for twenty years. He had been through most of the divisions and two years ago had been posted to Public Safety. According to Yanagi, the man hardly spoke to Sone. If anything, he had been openly hostile since the latter’s transfer one year ago. Since he had a reputation for being a troublemaker, it wasn’t unthinkable that he would take action to get rid of someone he didn’t like.

  “The second would be…”

  Atsushi Mitsui. Thirty-four. Department of Public Safety. Patrol officer. Sone had given Mitsui the task of setting up a crime-prevention committee and told him to sell the idea to the landlords. The aim was to improve the vetting process for tenants moving into the station’s jurisdiction. The landlords, however, worried that additional checks would steer potential tenants away, were unwilling to cooperate. Struggling to get the project going, Mitsui was beginning to crack under the stress. The man was already a bit of a laughingstock, having visited a lawyer five years ago to seek advice on what he’d termed as “trying work conditions.”

  As he struggled to keep up, Shindo felt a chill creep down his spine. Having only been transferred in the spring, Yanagi was still a newcomer to Station Q. And he was based in Criminal Investigations. Despite this, the level of detail was astounding. He was discussing, off the top of his head, the detailed affairs of officers from divisions other than his own. Right down to their age.