‘Officer Hirano hasn’t come in?’
Prefecture D Police Headquarters, Administration. Section Chief Tomoko Nanao, in charge of the female officers in the prefecture, found herself parroting the words.
‘That’s right. Maybe the fame’s gone to her head?’
The glum voice belonged to Division Chief Mitsuo Morishima of Forensics. He was claiming that Sergeant Hirano, part of the Mobile Forensics team, had not shown up at work. That they’d heard nothing all morning. Tomoko glanced at the clock on the wall.
Already ten thirty.
‘Maybe she’s ill? Did you get in touch with the dorm?’
‘I did. The caretaker said she left as usual this morning. In her car, at seven thirty.’
‘Okay. Leave it to me.’
‘Thanks, Sniffer.’
Fifteen years ago, Tomoko had also worked at Mobile Forensics. Her heightened sense of smell had led to her nickname of ‘Sniffer’, a reference to the abilities of the police dogs. Morishima, her team leader at the time, had coined it himself. Now she was forty-two and he was the last member of the force to persist in using it.
She hung up the phone, finding the fact a little hard to process.
Mizuho Hirano.
At twenty-two, she was in her fifth year as police sergeant. She was pretty, with the kind of dainty features that were always in vogue. At the same time, her brownish hair and eyes combined with a generally light complexion to form an impression that was somewhat lacking in impact. This belied a strong will, however, and the girl had worked tirelessly to achieve her dream of becoming an officer of the law. She was conscientious and had a genuine wish to help. Questions of gender aside, she was exactly the type of officer the force needed.
It was hard to imagine someone like her taking a day off without notice. She valued her work and had become an integral part of her team. More to the point, today should have been her special day. Morishima had alluded to it on the phone: the morning newspapers were all running articles on her latest achievement.
‘Officer Nanao. Do you have a moment?’
The voice came from the desk behind her. Inspector Futawatari was skimming one of the articles covering the previous day’s events. He had no doubt overheard her conversation with Morishima. She’d noticed when the tang of his hair wax had returned, but had decided to ignore him, still irked at his earlier rejection of her draft plans to reassign the female officers in the prefecture.
She guessed she no longer had that luxury.
One of the morning papers lay open on his desk. A collection of upbeat headlines jumped up from the middle section of the local pages.
Female Officer’s Triumph. Spitting Image. Bag-snatcher Arrested.
Tomoko already knew the gist of the article.
A seventy-year-old woman had her bag snatched yesterday on the pavement outside Train Station M. Police Sergeant Mizuho Hirano arrived to question her and drew a likeness of her assailant. Police used the drawing in their investigation. Upon seeing it, a local store owner proclaimed it the spitting image of a man he knew. The arrest of the twenty-year-old male, living behind the station, was made within the hour.
The coverage was impressive, even considering the lack of newsworthy events the previous day, and especially so in light of the favourable tone. The likeness Mizuho had drawn was reproduced next to a mugshot of the assailant, as though to emphasise its incredible accuracy. A small photo of Mizuho had been included at the bottom, the one Morishima had attached to the drawing and the other documents he’d handed to the press during the previous day’s briefing at the Press Club.
That day, Tomoko had rushed over to Forensics during her lunch break. When she’d congratulated Mizuho, the girl had responded with all the bubbly giddiness of a girl in high school. Tomoko had even promised to take her out for anmitsu, a celebratory dessert, over the weekend. What reason could Mizuho possibly have for not coming in?
Futawatari raised his eyes from the article.
‘Has anything like this happened before?’
‘No, never. She’s not the type to take time off without letting her team know.’
‘Okay. So what does this mean?’ Futawatari looked straight at her. With his thin profile silhouetted against the light of the window, all Tomoko could see was the keen glint in his eyes.
‘It’s hard to say, sir.’
Even as she spoke, a string of unpleasant words unfolded in her mind. Trouble. Accident. Crime. Futawatari was silent, sitting with his arms folded. His eyes were skimming back over the article. It was possible he feared the same thing.
There was one particular detail which had caught her attention when she’d read one of the articles earlier that day. The assailant had previously led a biker gang. She’d told herself it would be fine. That there wasn’t a gang out there with the gall to launch a direct attack on the police. And yet, she knew that certain types of scum refused to consider women real officers of the law. There was also the fact that the press had distributed tens of thousands of copies of their articles, each mentioning that Mizuho’s drawing had been directly responsible for the arrest and each printing her name and photograph.
Whatever the cause of her absence, the fact remained that Mizuho had not come in on what would be a special day for her. Tomoko felt increasingly concerned that something had happened.
‘I’ll go and check at the dorm.’
‘Leave me the model and registration of her car before you go.’
Tomoko grimaced at the request. Futawatari was planning to send a bulletin to the other stations. Maybe it was the right move. It was important to cover all bases. Tomoko handed him the details on a memo then hurried out.
He called after her.
‘Phone if you find out anything.’
He looked uneasy. Tomoko took this as confirmation that he, too, was considering a number of unwelcome outcomes. She knew that the high-flying superintendent, who was two years her senior and the implicit authority behind all things related to personnel, would be unlikely to do anything that would draw attention to himself. Yet she also knew that his delicate appearance belied an incredible tenacity, that he was one of the most committed individuals in the force when it came to averting a crisis.
In the locker room Tomoko changed back into her civilian clothes. There was the possibility of more legwork after the dorm and her uniform would only slow her down. A middle-aged woman gazed back from the small mirror on the inside of the locker door. She didn’t even flinch. There was still beauty there, she thought, in the narrow eyes, in the curved line of her mouth. The mirror had been with her since she was eighteen. It had witnessed her tears, her laughter, everything there was to see. She could face it with confidence, knowing she needn’t conceal the sagging of her skin or the wrinkles forming around her eyes.
Tomoko was the only female officer in the Prefectural HQ who was ranked inspector. She was elder sister and mother to forty-eight women, a number that was greater than the total headcount of some of the smaller stations in district.
She didn’t have time for make-up.
She left the main building and set off quickly towards the parking area. She’ll be fine. It’ll turn out to be nothing. This was her habit. Her first step was always to banish any fears or worries that were festering inside her. For twenty-five years she’d steeped herself in a world that was dominated by men. She knew only too well that fragility was the single greatest threat you could face as a female officer.