Shindo had dinner at a noodle bar near headquarters, one popular with the motorbike units for takeaways. 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, 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 recognised – characters slanted upwards and to the right – slide into view.
I hope work was okay. How was the check-up? 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 signalled 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 level-headed 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 enquired 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 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.