The details of transfers for officers ranked inspector and above were released two weeks later.
Shindo was in Internal Affairs when he picked up a copy of the document. He flicked to the last page. It was the first time he’d started with a name other than his own. Promotions: Superintendent. There were seven names on the page. Kazuo Sone wasn’t among them.
Guess it wasn’t enough.
Shindo took a moment to compose himself then turned back to the front. What? He flicked to the next page, then the next, and again. His hands were shaking. It wasn’t there. His name was nowhere to be seen.
One more year.
His stomach growled at the idea.
‘Looks like we’ll be together a bit longer,’ Katsumata said, not smiling. He was still paying the price for his game of mahjong. No doubt having expected as much, he didn’t seem particularly dejected.
Shindo gave notice that he was leaving early then went out into the corridor. His gut was burning with indignation. The door to Administration was open. Futawatari was sitting at his desk at the back of the room. He gave a brief tip of his head to acknowledge Shindo’s presence.
Futawatari.
Shindo was hit by a realisation.
Sone would have sent a copy of his letter to Administration. Maybe not even a copy. It was possible Administration had been his primary target. Send a single letter to Internal Affairs and you risked Administration – the section in charge of transfers – never finding out. That would have reduced the impact of Sone’s unveiling of the prostitution racket. The pieces were falling into place. The copy had been sent to Internal Affairs, and only to raise the stakes.
Futawatari had, of course, seen through the man’s subterfuge. He’d seen the truth behind the one-man show. And he’d known that Shindo had allowed it to go unpunished.
His chance of making director felt further away than ever. He knew he hadn’t joined the force with the express purpose of making it to the top. And he realised it was his own core beliefs that had compelled him to turn a blind eye to Sone’s actions.
And yet.
He suspected it would stay with him until the day he retired. The grudge he now held against the decent, hard-working, red-faced inspector.
It was this part of himself which became the final target of his anger.
With no destination in mind, Shindo pulled out of the parking area. He saw Yanagi’s Noh mask. He saw Kanako and Akiko, standing together, the former frowning and anxious, the latter deep in concentration. They seemed far away. Out of reach.
Yamamoto was the only one who remained close by, declaring, with unwavering confidence, that they would see snow by evening.
Shindo hammered his fist into the radio then reached instinctively for his gut.
Half gone and you still hurt like fucking hell.
A motorbike shot down the prefectural highway. Shindo knew, without checking the time, that it was three in the afternoon.