Sone turned out neither to have fallen for nor made a pass at Yaeko Kato.
It was Monday morning, the last week of November, when irrefutable proof of this arrived on the doorstep of Internal Affairs. The intel came, surprisingly, in the form of a case report drafted for the press by Media Relations.
‘Shindo, you need to see this.’ Division Chief Takegami, glasses perched on his forehead, got to his feet and held out the document.
‘Amazing.’
Late the previous night the Public Safety division in Station Q had staged a raid on Mumu. The bar had been charged with running a prostitution racket. For Shindo, the news was revelatory. Sone hadn’t been trying to get Yaeko into bed. He’d been trying to get her arrested. He’d concealed his name and identity and made himself a customer as part of an undercover investigation.
‘Why all the fuss? It’s not like this kind of thing never happens.’ Katsumata’s head popped up at his side; he looked unimpressed.
Shindo ignored him and walked up to Takegami. He suggested they think about awarding Sone the Captain’s Trophy. The district equivalent would have been given out the previous day. It was perhaps too late but he wanted to try. The work on the executive transfers was almost finished. With a bit of luck, Sone might still get to hear his call from upstairs.
News continued to flow in. That afternoon Shindo received a call from Mizutani in the crime lab.
‘We got the model of the word processor.’ The man’s usual tone was mixed with a hint of excitement, even pride. ‘It’s a Brand Z. Model 36. Only released a few months back.’
‘I see. Good work.’
‘It was blind luck more than anything else. One of the subsidiaries came up with this new typeface, just for the Model 36.’
‘Typeface?’
‘It’s like a design, a blueprint for the characters. They worked out a way of keeping the hiragana nice and round, even when they’re small. That’s what gave it away.’
‘This is good. I owe you a favour.’
Mizutani continued as though he hadn’t heard the pleasantry. ‘There’s another thing you might find interesting. You remember the numbers six and nine had a gap between them?’
‘Sure.’
‘That means whoever typed the letter didn’t know how to adjust the typeface so the numbers come out without the gap. Could be because it’s a new model. Or it could be that whoever did this isn’t very . . . well, very savvy with this kind of thing.’ Mizutani was uncharacteristically talkative; it was clear he was in a celebratory mood.
Shindo told Takegami he was going out then set off for home.
He was in high spirits. The claims made against Sone had turned out to be false and he now had the model of the word processor. The case would be closed if the misfit Mitsui was discovered to own a Model 36. Now they had the make and model, they could investigate the shops that sold them. Shindo had to make double sure that Yanagi understood he wasn’t to do anything reckless.
Time to rein him in.
A familiar voice began to relay the details of the raid on Mumu. Yamamoto played up the sense of sleazy indignation as he outlined how the five women who worked at the bar had been robbed of their passports, how they’d been forced to live cramped together in a small tatami room. He mentioned Yaeko Kato but went on to name the ringleader as Sasaki, a woman of forty-six.
Huh.
The plumpish woman in the kimono came to Shindo’s mind. It was obvious, in retrospect. Sasaki had been manipulating Yaeko from the shadows. She was the mama-san.
‘But that’s . . .’
The mama-san. Shindo’s mind lurched. It would be only natural, on seeing Sasaki for the first time, to conclude that she was the proprietress. Yet one man had reached a different conclusion.
Shindo felt a sudden dizziness, followed by the sensation of everything falling neatly into place. The misfit was gone. In his place stood the informant, the man who had set his sights on Sone. Shindo parked his car and made his way slowly up the stairs. His stomach convulsed under the full weight of his fury.
He ran a blank sheet through the fax.