Prefecture D Page 8

  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 kilometres 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 six and nine 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 concern that the call had come out of the blue. His was a coolness designed to keep others at a distance, a world 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 mid-sentence, 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. Public Safety Division, 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. Having 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. Public Safety Section. 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 laughing stock, 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.

  Shindo realised something.

  He’s no detective. The man’s still Security.

  The ‘Berlin Wall’ was a term used to describe a subtle transformation that had taken place in the Prefectural HQ. A crack had appeared in the once-inviolable ramparts that separated Security from the rest of the force, allowing a trickle of officers to flow into Criminal Investigations at a time when that department was under pressure because of an upturn in violent crime. The crack had, for the first time ever, created a link between two departments who each thought themselves number one. From an organisational standpoint, the event was no less significant than the fall of the Berlin Wall.

  Yanagi was one of the officers who had been transferred out during what came to be known as the ‘Berlin Departures’.

  Prior to this he had worked under Shindo for two years as a member of the riot police, before being headhunted into Public Security, one of the department’s core divisions. Shindo knew very little about the man’s duties after that. They were both Security, but Shindo’s time was spent in departments that were visible to the outside: working disaster response and the protection of key personnel. Public Security was different; their work, by definition, invisible. Even from a vantage point such as Shindo’s, the division remained shrouded in fog.

  It was, on occasion, unsettling.

  There was one story he’d heard. Yanagi had picked up intel that the perpetrator of a mortar attack in Tokyo was lying low in the prefecture. He’d conducted a private investigation and after six long months had finally managed to pin down the man’s location. He’d been ready to move in when an investigative team had swept in from the Public Security Bureau and robbed him of his quarry. The rumour was that Yanagi had set upon one of the investigators. The PSB had chosen to settle the matter amicably, yet it seemed likely that the incident had contributed to Yanagi’s inclusion as a candidate for transfer.

  Following his move out, Yanagi had spent his time working theft, moving from station to station in district. Yet Shindo had to wonder whether the work would be interesting enough for a man like Yanagi. Whether chasing down cases of larceny would truly excite him.

  Shindo took a moment to collect his thoughts before he returned his focus to the phone. Yanagi’s personal affairs were of little consequence. What mattered was that he would get the job done, and fast. He serves a purpose. That was how Shindo chose to justify his use of the man.

  ‘Toshio Saga and Atsushi Mitsui. Got it. Do you know if either uses a word processor?’

  ‘They both do.’

  ‘Do you know the model?’

  ‘Everything we use in the force is Brand K.’

  ‘The question, then, is whether they have one at home.’

  ‘I’ll look into it.’ There was a hint of excitement in his tone. Shindo saw the man’s pallid features, reminiscent of a traditional Noh mask. Perhaps there was a grin on the man’s thinly slanted lips.

  He’s enjoying this.

  Shindo spoke faster. He asked Yanagi to conduct a background check on the mama-san and to get photos. After giving him a few more points to take note of, Shindo asked Yanagi if he had access to the roster for the night watch.

  ‘Chief Sone is down for the thirtieth.’

  Shindo put down the receiver.

  It felt as though he were putting the lid on something dangerous. I should at least pay Sone a visit, look him in the face. Yanagi had immediately known what Shindo was thinking. Not only that, he had already known the date that Sone – a man who wasn’t even his boss – was scheduled for the night shift. Shindo felt a sudden pang of anxiety. Yanagi’s fangs, cutting through the informant, continuing until they reached Sone’s guts. The grotesque image manifested itself like a premonition.

  Was it even possible to keep a man like Yanagi on a short leash?

  It had started to rain. Shindo knew one person who would celebrate the fact. The thought was a pleasant distraction, but it wasn’t enough to dismiss the voice from the phone still lingering in his ears.

  4

  The rain lasted until morning.

  Shindo had put in an appearance at Internal Affairs but had returned to his apartment as soon as he’d updated Takegami on the situation. It was ten thir
ty when Yanagi’s call came in, right on schedule.

  ‘The fax machine is installed.’

  ‘Let me send you what I have.’

  Shindo faxed a copy of the letter. The response came in thirty minutes. The text was just as it had been in the original but the characters were now twice the size. Yanagi had typed the letter using a Brand K word processor, the one used by the force, and taken a copy in order to blow up the text. As it was still too early to rule out the possibility that the informant had used a word processor from the station, Shindo would take this to the crime lab for analysis.

  He was getting to his feet when his eyes jumped back to the machine. The fax was in motion again. It droned and whirred, this time ejecting what seemed to be a photograph of a woman’s face.

  ‘I sent the original by registered mail,’ Yanagi said when he answered the phone.

  The woman in the photo – the mama-san – was standing with her head poking out of the bar’s front door, perhaps bidding a patron goodnight. The fax cast her features in shadow, making them appear harsh, but even so it was easy to see that she was strikingly attractive. Yet it was the face of the man on the other end of the phoneline that preoccupied Shindo’s thoughts as he watched the paper feed through the machine. His speed off the blocks was incredible. He would have had to have headed into town late last night and used an infrared camera to get shots like these.

  ‘Did you go inside?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about the background check?’

  ‘I’ll have it ready by tonight.’

  Shindo thanked him and hung up. He left the building. Half of him regretted having involved Yanagi. He had other assets in the station, albeit none who had the man’s investigative prowess. And he’d had the option of taking the case directly to the captain, or vice-captain, of the station. It was fairly standard, he knew, for an Internal Affairs inspector to take that route when investigating a case like this.

  It’ll be fine. Too late to do anything about it now.

  After another lunch at the noodle bar Shindo bypassed his office to go directly to the crime lab on the fourth floor. Mizutani was looking bored, picking at a bento. Shindo asked if they could run a comparison against the retyped version of the letter. Mizutani told him it’d be a piece of cake. He put his chopsticks down and disappeared into the back, leaving behind his half-eaten lunch. Shindo had worried that the clarity of the faxed document would make a comparison difficult, but Mizutani had said nothing to suggest this would be an issue.

  With no way of knowing how long the man would take, Shindo opted to wait for the results in Internal Affairs.

  ‘Busy?’ asked Katsumata, clearly probing.

  Shindo muttered a non-committal response then returned to his work on drafting the commendations. With Katsumata there, he knew Takegami would not press him for an update.

  Mizutani’s ‘piece of cake’ turned out to take two hours.

  ‘It’s a completely different font.’

  Shindo sighed. Still, he could at least now dismiss the possibility that the informant had used one of the force’s machines. The troublemaker Toshio Saga, and the misfit Atsushi Mitsui – if he found that one of them had a different make of word processor at home . . .

  The sound of a motorbike interrupted Shindo’s line of thought. Takegami, already having put on his reading glasses, was reaching for the gloves in his drawer.

  5

  ‘They call her Ayumi in the bar, but her name is Yaeko Kato.’

  Yanagi reported in after Shindo returned home that night.

  Yaeko Kato. Thirty-six. Twice divorced. Lives alone. Address: Room 806, Seventh Floor, Blue Heights Apartments, City P. Established Mumu three years ago after a period hopping from one bar to the next. Patron is a local loan shark who goes by the name of Oshima.

  ‘Patron, huh? Did you find anything to link her to Sone?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll look into that. I want you to focus on Saga and Mitsui,’ Shindo said, stressing the point again before he ended the call.

  It seemed a good idea to have Yanagi work on the informant’s identity, better than allowing him to investigate the relationship between Sone and Yaeko Kato. The man’s arguments were airtight. As such, there would be no wiggle room should he conclude the claims in the letter to be true. That would be a hard pill to swallow. Sone was teetering on a cliff edge. He had been inspector longer than anyone else in the prefecture yet an anonymous tip-off was threatening to rob him of his final chance at promotion. Shindo did not wish the man’s future as an officer to be decided by a single, indifferent report, one which he knew would not take the man’s particular circumstances into account.

  If it has to be done, I should be the one to do it.

  Shindo turned to face the calendar on the wall. As he scanned the page, he realised it was still showing September. He got to his feet and tore it off, revealing a crisp, autumnal scene. The thirtieth. According to Yanagi, Sone was scheduled for the night watch in three days. That’s when I pay him a visit. The decision was made.

  ‘I’ll know. I just need to look him in the face.’

  The fax kicked into motion, as though responding to his words.

  I hope you’re taking your pills?

  Fix the fucking calendar if you’ve got the time to worry about me. Shindo vented his irritation on the page showing September, crushing in his fist the relaxing image of an alpine pasture.

  6

  Yaeko Kato’s looks surpassed all expectations.

  It was the next day when Yanagi’s parcel arrived containing the prints. The quality was incredible, considering he’d had to use an infrared camera.

  Perfect.

  Shindo headed out a little after midday, driving south down the national highway. Yamamoto, having contracted a throat infection, was forcing his listeners to endure an unpleasant stream of pop hits.

  The traffic was, thankfully, light. And there was no need to look for the hotel; it slipped into view the moment he exited the highway. It was an odd structure, designed to look like a temple from Southeast Asia. Shindo swung around and into the parking area, crossing the sheets of multicoloured plastic which functioned as a barrier. He was familiar enough with this kind of place. As a young officer in district, he’d often made the rounds of these ‘love hotels’ when investigating cases of sexual misconduct.

  He entered and called out as he approached the counter. After a short pause a stubbled face appeared, tilted sideways in the narrow aperture which connected the room on the other side. Shindo wasted no time in showing his ID.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing to do with you,’ he said. During the course of living a normal life, of working for a wage, most people ended up with a blip or two that could be of interest to the force. That was why the first thing you did was make sure they felt at ease, get them to drop their guard.

  Stubble proved no exception. He emerged from a side door, looking placid and half asleep. ‘What do you want?’

  Shindo decided to skip the introductions. He held out one of the photos of Yaeko Kato. ‘Have you seen this woman here?’

  Stubble nodded to confirm he had.

  ‘Is she a regular?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Okay. What about this man?’ Shindo held out a photo of Sone, taken in profile. It was from his file in Internal Affairs, cropped neatly around the chin. He couldn’t show the man’s police uniform.

  Stubble cocked his head to one side. ‘Hard to say.’ He didn’t appear to be lying.

  ‘She comes here with someone else?’

  ‘I mean, there are a few of them . . .’

  ‘More than one?’

  ‘Sure, why not? She’s a good-looking woman. This some kind of case?’

  The man seemed to be waking up, which indicated to Shindo that this was a good ti
me to stop asking questions. During any normal investigation he would have ordered a warrant, requested a list of car registration numbers alongside the log of calls from the room.

  This time, his hands were tied.

  Still, he’d made progress. Yaeko Kato frequented the hotel with various partners, yet Stubble had not recognised Sone’s red face. If nothing turned up linking him to the bar, the letter could probably be dismissed as a case of unfounded slander.

  Shindo allowed himself to relax during the drive back.

  That leaves finding out who wrote the letter.

  Shindo entered his apartment. There was a fax from Kanako asking him to call, followed by a single blank sheet. The signal that Yanagi wanted him to get in touch.

  When the man answered, he said the words matter-of-factly: ‘Sone has been frequenting Mumu.’

  7

  The thirtieth. Evening.

  With a section chief behind the wheel, Shindo left to commence the unscheduled inspection. Surprise checks such as these were detested by the front-line officers in district and usually referred to as ‘raids’. Shindo had received the go-ahead after notifying Takegami of his intention to inspect five stations to the south. The chief had, of course, understood that Shindo’s real target was in Station Q.

  Shaken by the motion of the car, Shindo’s stomach was all too tangible a presence. Despite his instructions to the contrary, Yanagi had continued to look into the relationship between Sone and Yaeko Kato. And the intel that Sone had been frequenting Mumu was no doubt good, considering the source.

  Shindo didn’t like it.

  I’ll know when I see him.

  With a headcount of more than 200 officers, Station Q was one of the largest the prefecture had. The four-storey building was old, with visible cracks, but a renovation last year and a fresh lick of cream-coloured paint had allowed it to maintain its status as a major hub in the south. It was seven thirty when Shindo, wearing full uniform, stepped out of the car in front of the station. A couple of young officers stood to attention, giving sharp salutes as he walked through the glass entrance doors.