Yamamoto declared over the FM radio that the weather wouldn’t last; that, come evening, there would be rain. Takayoshi Shindo glanced up and saw heavy clouds in the distance. Arranged like a recumbent Buddha, they obscured the strikingly beautiful line of the mountains, muddying the colours that stretched from the hills to the peaks.
But it was the time, more than the weather or the view, that was dominating Shindo’s thoughts as he sat with his hands on the wheel. He had hoped to be back at the headquarters by three. The routine check-up following his operation to remove a stomach ulcer had taken longer than expected. The main building was already visible up ahead, yet construction work and a closed lane meant traffic was moving at a slow crawl.
Despite all this, he managed to pull into the officers’ parking area as his watch, set a few minutes fast, changed to three o’clock. He climbed the gravel slope, jogged across the city road and was just passing behind the garage used by Transport’s mobile unit when the familiar music came into earshot.
The daily exercises, funnelled over the crackle of the building’s tannoy.
It was a time of day when the officers of the Prefectural HQ allowed their stern expressions to relax. Some slumped back in their chairs, dispensing eyedrops into bloodshot eyes. Others swayed in time to the music, moving flabby waists. A female officer clutching a bright-red purse gave Shindo an abbreviated bow as she hurried downstairs, shoes clicking loudly. Perhaps the stall in Welfare had been restocked with sweets.
Three in the afternoon. It was a time of day Shindo had always enjoyed – until this year, and until he had turned fifty. It had been six years since his promotion to superintendent and, if all had gone to plan, he would have been appointed captain of a small district station in the spring. Instead, he had coughed up blood just before the transfers were due. Hospitalisation. Operation. Recuperation. The amended details of his transfer had been delivered to him while he was in bed at home. Inspector, Internal Affairs Division, Department of Administrative Affairs. He had started the post a month behind schedule. Ever since, the time of day had become a bleak reminder of what might have been.
It was also the time when, every day, the bike carrying the day’s post would roll up to the main entrance.
Shindo pushed on the rust-coloured door and walked into Internal Affairs, not quite blending in with the calm around him. At the chief’s desk at the back of the room, a pair of white gloves were in motion.
They’d had post today, too.
‘Sorry. The tests took a bit longer than expected.’
Division Chief Takegami peered up in brief acknowledgement, but his eyes fell quickly back to the letter in his hands. The light reflecting in his glasses made it hard to read his expression. Shindo made a quick scan of the desk.
Five letters.
The first to catch his attention was an envelope with an address written in oversized characters. Captain, Prefecture D Police Headquarters. Judging by the shoddy penmanship, it was probably the usual from the butcher. Each week the man sent a list of complaints, bemoaning traffic management or the lack of patrols in the commercial shopping district. An ‘under consideration’ would suffice for him. That left four more.
Takegami’s examination of the letter looked as though it would take a while longer.
I’ll get on with my work.
Shindo turned the key to his locker and extracted the bunch of papers relating to commendations and disciplinary actions. Information on both were collected here, in Internal Affairs.
Commendations were fine.
For someone who had made a significant contribution to closing a case, there were accolades such as the Captain’s or Director’s Trophy, awarded by the Prefectural HQ and National Police Agency respectively. It was in his remit to congratulate the general workforce for their tireless labour, too, those who engaged day and night in work that was far from glamorous. He could cast a spotlight, say, on the young married couple who had watched over a snow-blasted parking area in the middle of nowhere.
As a fellow officer of the law, it was work that felt good. It was the disciplinary side which was a challenge.
The majority of the force saw the primary role of Internal Affairs as being to sniff out and investigate inappropriate behaviour then assign the appropriate penalty. Shindo had been no different.
Fucking spies.
He’d said things like that in the past. Now, he was one of them.
‘Shindo!’ Takegami called out, removing his glasses.
Here we go.
Shindo donned a pair of white gloves and approached the chief’s desk. As was usual, Takegami had sorted the letters into groups. Three to the left. One in the middle. One more to the right.
‘I think the first three can be safely dismissed. The one in the middle claims that an officer from Station W got a bit rough handling a drunk. I think I’ll get Katsumata to check that out. Now, this last one . . .’ Takegami motioned his chin towards the letter on the right. ‘I’d like you to take a look at it.’
Shindo took the letter and returned to his desk. First was the envelope. The address read: Internel Affairs, Prefecture D Police Headquarters. The characters were oddly flat on the bottom, suggesting the use of a ruler. The postmark belonged to the central sorting office in City P, which was under the jurisdiction of Station Q in the south. Shindo turned the envelope over. There was nothing to indicate the sender.
It’s a tip-off.
Shindo took a breath before he inspected the contents. A single sheet of A4. The paper was glossy, the kind used with word processors. The characters were . . . yes . . . printed. The content was spaced over three rows:
Division Chief of Public Safety, Station Q
Seeing Proprietress of Mumu
Hotel 6 9
Division Chief of Public Safety, Station Q . . .
Shindo was unable to immediately put a name to the position. This was partly due to the fact that he’d been in hospital during the last set of transfers but also because his history was in Security, as a member of the riot police and as a bodyguard for key personnel. As such, his knowledge of Public Safety was limited, at best. Even then, the blip lasted only a few seconds.
Yoshio Sone.
The memories flowed in. The man’s name, his face, even the mocking jingle he was known for: Sone, Sone. Hmm, hmm, always hmm. The tune, sung behind the man’s back, played in his head, as clear as ever. Should we bring the bastard in? Hmm, hmm, hmm. Should we let him go? Hmm, hmm, hmm.
Always running to the captain for help. Guy isn’t cut out for the job. It was the bitter conclusion drawn by each and every one of his juniors. Back when Shindo had been ranked inspector, he’d spent a year in the same district station as the man. Shindo had been chief of Security, while Sone had been chief of Community Safety, the name of which had been changed, this year, to Public Safety. Five years Shindo’s senior, Sone would be fifty-five. When his name came up these days it was no longer in reference to the jingle but to the length of time he’d spent as inspector. At seventeen years and counting, his term was the longest in the prefecture.
‘Well? What do you think?’
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 behaviour 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 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, signalling his agreement. ‘Do me a favour and look into it.’
Shindo got up from his seat. He took 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 centre 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 to 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.