‘Sir, we need to talk.’
Futawatari intercepted Osakabe as he was leaving his house the next morning. His car had just arrived. Aoki seemed to stiffen as he caught sight of Futawatari, no doubt recalling the events of the previous day. Osakabe showed no reaction. He continued impassively towards the car, slipping into the back seat when Aoki smartly opened the door.
Futawatari rushed over and dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘I think I understand what you’re trying to do.’
Everything hung on the words. Futawatari knew he was close to understanding Osakabe’s motivations, yet he had nothing conclusive. He’d gained nothing from his conversation with Aoki and time was almost up. The deadline for notification of the transfers for officers ranked inspector and above was now only a day away.
Please.
For the first time, Osakabe reacted. He focused his gaze on Futawatari, looking like he was weighing things up. He held eye contact for some time.
‘Get in.’
Futawatari bowed deeply then hurried into the passenger seat.
‘What do you want to say?’ Osakabe asked soon after they pulled out.
Futawatari nodded in Aoki’s direction, so Osakabe would see. There was a pause before Osakabe spoke again: ‘It’s fine, go ahead.’ Futawatari turned around. He had to choose his words carefully.
‘I know about the case from five years ago. I know how it affected you. But I want you to know, sir, that we have officers even now who are—’
‘Which case?’ Osakabe said, cutting in.
‘Sir, five years ago, you must—’
‘Be specific.’
‘The rape and murder of the female office worker.’
Osakabe fell silent. He seemed unflustered but it was clear he was thinking. Perhaps he was trying to gauge the extent of Futawatari’s knowledge.
Futawatari realised that raising the subject of Megu might be enough to get Osakabe to open up. Still, he hesitated. They weren’t the only ones in the car.
‘It’ll be over soon,’ Osakabe said abruptly.
‘Sir?’
‘The detectives have what they need.’
‘Evidence?’
‘A hair. It’s all they need. They’ll close the case,’ Osakabe said. It was as though he was talking to himself.
Futawatari didn’t know how to respond. According to Sasaki, nothing had been left behind. Of course, he’d also said he hadn’t worked the case, so it was possible that he simply hadn’t known about the hair.
More confusing was the fact that Osakabe had suddenly dropped his guard. Why had he revealed case information? Wasn’t it in a detective’s DNA to maintain confidentiality? There would have to be a reason behind the casual revelation. I’m not on the case. It’s in capable hands. Was that what he’d wanted to say?
‘I assume headquarters will do?’ Osakabe said, giving Aoki the instruction before Futawatari had a chance to respond.
Futawatari turned to face the back of the car. ‘Sir, I implore you to consider the effect your actions will have on your successor.’
‘. . .’
‘It’s imperative that—’
‘. . .’ Osakabe shut his eyes.
Futawatari experienced a surge of anger. ‘Could you at least tell me how long it is you intend to stay on at the foundation?’
‘. . .’
‘Would it be until your daughter’s . . .’ Futawatari swallowed the rest of the sentence. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.
Osakabe’s eyes remained closed. Aoki’s hands, perhaps due to the tension in the car, were trembling on the wheel. It wasn’t long before they pulled up to the parking area outside the Prefectural HQ.
Futawatari leaned further in.
‘We need to—’
‘It’s like I already told you. There’s no need to worry.’
‘But you haven’t—’
‘We’re finished here. I have work to do.’
The car pulled away, leaving Futawatari standing alone. The sense of defeat was absolute. As was the sense of exhaustion. The man was a rock. I can’t get him to budge. There would be one final opportunity, that evening, when Osakabe arrived home. Futawatari needed something with which to move the unmoveable.
He had to at least try.
He turned away from the headquarters and started down the main road, pulling open the door to a public phone box. He would place a direct call to the district chief of Criminal Investigations, avoiding the switchboard.
‘Futawatari. What is it?’ Maejima sounded a little taken aback.
‘I wanted to ask you something regarding the case you mentioned, the murder of the female office worker.’
Silence. ‘Are you in headquarters?’
‘I’m in a phone box. No need to worry.’
‘Okay, go ahead. Bear in mind there’s some things I can’t talk about.’
‘Is it true you have evidence? A hair?’
Across the line, Futawatari heard Maejima take a sharp intake of breath. ‘Who told you about that?’
‘Osakabe.’
Maejima sounded genuinely astonished. He asked repeatedly whether Osakabe had really said such a thing.
‘So, it’s true?’
‘Not really.’
‘Osakabe was lying?’
‘No, I mean, we did have a hair. But we don’t any more.’
‘Not any more? What do you mean?’
‘The sample was broken down. Atomised.’ The effect of Osakabe’s endorsement was astounding. Maejima began to talk, almost whispering as he broke the detectives’ code of secrecy. It was a particular talent of the detective to come across clearly even when talking quietly.
They had recovered a single hair from the woman’s clothes, one that belonged neither to her nor to her family. A year later, still lacking any leads as to the identity of the perpetrator, First Division had made a decision. They had sent their only evidence in for analysis. The testing required chemical processing, which would destroy the sample. That was what Maejima had been referring to. Following the test, the hair would be useless.
The risks, then, had been significant. It was the only evidence they had, but the lack of progress – and the resulting lack of suspects – meant it wasn’t being put to use. Getting a blood type would at least allow them to tighten the investigative net. They might even get a lead. Those were the official reasons cited when they submitted the sample for testing.
But there had been more to it than that.
Osakabe’s retirement had been a contributing factor, albeit an invisible one. Prior to a senior officer’s retirement, detectives liked to do all they could to close any cases that were still open. It was all but tradition to make a special effort to mark the departure of a respected officer. Further complicating the matter in this case was the fact that they had believed the murderer responsible for the rape of Osakabe’s daughter. Emotion had taken hold and, as a result, First Division had rushed too soon into the process.
The results had been crushing.
They had sacrificed their only sample and all they learned was that the offender was blood-type A, which applied to four out of ten people. The hair was found to have fallen naturally from the man’s head. As such, it had lacked the pieces necessary for DNA processing. The analysis had yielded no further information.
‘Maybe it would have been too much to ask for something like Rh negative. But AB, at least, right?’ Maejima’s voice sounded downcast in Futawatari’s ear.
Why lie?
Futawatari recalled what Osakabe had said on the way back to headquarters. Why claim to have evidence where none existed? Had it been some kind of bluff? Just another way to deflect Futawatari’s questions, more of the man’s signature smokescreen? Could the words have carried some other kind of meaning? Thinking about it now, much of what Osakabe had said didn’t seem to make sense. Futawatari couldn’t even tell if Osakabe had meant what he’d said. It was possible he’d only said whatever he thought necessary to get Futawatari to back off.
Futawatari tipped his head in response to the duty officer’s salute as he walked into the Prefectural HQ. He felt physically and mentally heavy. I can’t see tonight going well. Not at this rate. He had braced himself for the director’s rancour upon entering Administration but the office was almost eerily quiet.
Shirota came over and whispered the words, ‘Director Kudo has announced he won’t be taking the position.’
Futawatari opened his eyes and looked the man in the face. He was grinning.
‘Turns out he’s been having some health issues.’
‘Health issues?’
‘Right. Anyway, we’re in the clear.’
‘A job well done.’ A deep voice sounded behind them. Oguro’s smile reached all the way to his eyes.
Futawatari felt like he’d fallen into a well. The question of Osakabe’s refusal to step down had resolved itself. Just like that, with no harm done.
Don’t you see what this means?
He felt the urge to scream the words. Osakabe had intervened and Kudo had followed his bidding, removing Futawatari from the equation.
Laughter came from inside the director’s office. Futawatari clenched his hands to extinguish the shame, which now burned more strongly than ever.