‘Am I right, Officer Nanao, to assume we’re not yet treating this as a case?’ Akama enquired in his usual smooth tone.
‘Not at this point in time.’
‘Does she have a boyfriend?’ Akama said, holding up his ring finger.
‘Not that I’m aware of, sir,’ Tomoko answered, before averting her gaze.
She felt herself shiver. The gold-rimmed glasses, the tailored suit. The expensive cologne. Akama liked to play up to his image as one of the Tokyo elite but the man could still be appallingly crude. Three others had been called in with her: Chief Shirota of Administration, Chief Ogino of Welfare and Chief Takegami of Internal Affairs. A one-to-one conversation with a female officer was not something Akama’s pride would permit.
‘And what’s she like – I mean, really like – in her job?’
‘Highly conscientious, sir. No absences to date. She’s reliable, definitely not the type to just give up and she takes pride in her work.’ The words came easily. Current situation notwithstanding, this was the Mizuho she knew.
‘Her type’s the most vulnerable. They lack the necessary defences,’ Akama said, looking satisfied with his analysis.
There’s no telling what might happen when there’s a man involved. Love makes them crazy. Crazy enough to sacrifice everything they’ve worked for.
Akama was the kind of man who would take such statements at face value, not even thinking to question them. It was true that Tomoko had herself wondered whether there might be a man behind Mizuho’s disappearance. She suspected it even now, whether it was the reporter or not. Yet in her mind all this signified was a recognition that relationships could, every now and then, break through the barriers of common sense and reason. It did not signify a one-sided belief that such things occurred only to women.
There were plenty of cases where the opposite was true.
She knew, of course, that nothing could be done to change Akama. Not long after his appointment to the role, he had asked her for the list of female officers in the prefecture.
You have forty-eight? Why so many? It was a single-digit number at my last post. I suggest you look into getting some of these girls a husband.
There was a cap on the number of officers a prefecture could enrol at any given time. This was governed by a ratio which took into account the general population. Despite an increase in crime and the number of calls requesting police assistance, the ratio had not changed in years. This left the force struggling to meet the demands made on them. A further issue with the cap was that it made no special provision for female officers. Every one of them, then, meant that one less male could be brought in. They’re better at the details. There were executives who reeled off such niceties in public, even as they griped about the situation in private. They’re difficult to manage. It’s a man’s job to keep the peace. Having been in the force for a while, Tomoko knew exactly how deep-rooted such opinions could be.
Yet she had never come across anyone who expressed their prejudice quite as openly as Akama. He would of course hope that nothing serious had happened to Mizuho. But he would also be considering using the incident as ammunition to rid himself of a female officer. Tomoko couldn’t help suspecting, based on the man’s outward calm, that this was the case.
‘Good. Let’s keep an eye on developments.’
Akama was getting up from the couch when Futawatari knocked and came straight in.
‘We found Mizuho’s car.’
There was silence.
‘Where?’ Tomoko asked, the words catching in her throat.
‘Parked outside Train Station M.’
Tomoko didn’t know how to respond. Train Station M. That was where the gang leader had snatched the elderly woman’s bag. The fear she’d dismissed, that of Mizuho having become involved in something dangerous, came rushing back. She hurried out after Futawatari. Her head was a mess. What had Mizuho been thinking? What had she been trying to accomplish? Could she be in some kind of danger?
Let her be safe.
The words hadn’t come from her status as a fellow officer of the law, nor from her position as management. They had come, instead, from her natural instinct to protect a daughter.