‘That’s fine. I’ll go and see them later.’
Mikami watched Kuramae move away with slumped shoulders, then let out a bitter sigh. Kuramae had previously worked in an office job at Second Division in one of the district stations. Mikami had asked him to go in the hope that he would be able to use the contacts he’d made there to extract some new information, but he’d been over-optimistic. Anything you gave Media Relations went straight to the press, who would then use it as a bargaining tool. Many detectives still swore by this belief.
Mikami had been no exception.
Back when he was a rookie detective, Media Relations had been nothing but a department to distrust. A pawn of the press. A guard dog for Administrative Affairs. A place to brush up for exams. He had no doubt said as much himself, mimicking the behaviour of his fault-finding superiors. Even from a distance he had found their intimacy with the press distasteful. They would spend night after night drinking, plying the reporters with compliments. At crime scenes they stood aloof, bystanders as they chatted to the press.
Mikami had never considered them to be fellow officers.
Because of this, he had become despondent when, in his third year as a detective, he had received his first transfer to Media Relations. He thought he’d been branded a failure. He took to the work in despair, fully aware of his inability to live up to the task. Then, after only a year, and before he’d even had a chance to learn the ropes, he had received a transfer back to Criminal Investigations.
He had been thrilled by the reinstatement, but had also found himself unable to write off the year-long gap in his detective’s career as simply a whim of Personnel. He began to develop a festering mistrust of the system and, with it, an even more potent sense of fear. He buried himself in his work with newfound urgency, all the time wary of the next round of transfers. Even five or ten years later, he still felt on edge. It was true to say that his fear had served to heighten his fierce commitment to the job. He refused to let himself grow lazy, to submit to any form of temptation, to relax in any way – and this brought results. During his time in First Division he was decorated with commendation after commendation, regardless of whether he’d been working in Theft, Violent Crime or Special Investigations.
Even then, it wasn’t until his transfer to Second Division that Mikami truly came into his own as a detective. Specializing in non-violent crime, he forged himself an indisputable niche within Criminal Investigations, in both district and the Prefectural HQ.
He still hesitated to call himself a genuine, dyed-in-the-wool detective. And those around him wouldn’t let him forget what had happened, even if he’d wanted to. Whenever sensitive case information leaked to the papers, his colleagues and superiors would resist making eye contact. There was a limit to how much he could dismiss as paranoia. The chill horror as the invisible feelers of the witch hunt drew closer was something only those who had experienced it first-hand could understand. Mikami had never been asked to join the hunt for the source of the leaks, no matter how much he’d impressed his superiors with his work, and regardless of his promotion from assistant inspector to inspector. In this respect, the time he had served in Media Relations had been akin to having a ‘criminal record’.
You’re going to be our new press director.
Mikami’s mind had gone blank when Akama, the director of Administrative Affairs, had given him unofficial notification of his transfer earlier in the spring. The only words to enter his mind had been ‘criminal record’.
Akama had gone on to lay out the rationale behind the appointment:
‘I will not stand back and do nothing while the press continues to chastise us for every mistake we make; they lack integrity, along with any understanding of social justice. It’s as though their only goal is to undermine our authority. We’ve been soft, and now they seek to abuse our trust. That’s why we need someone like you, Mikami. A tough press director, someone fierce, someone ready and able to stare them down.’
Mikami had found it hard to accept these words. The police had a tough-guy culture and placed a premium on strength, meaning there was no scarcity of fierce-looking men either in Criminal Investigations or outside it. How did Personnel benefit from taking an inspector at the top of his game, one whose head was filled with the strict application of the criminal code, and assigning him to be protective gatekeeper in a role divorced from the force’s original mission?
Akama had spoken of the transfer as though it were an opportunity. It was true that the post was director grade, usually beyond officers of Mikami’s rank, and that it guaranteed his promotion to superintendent. Yet, even if he’d stayed in Criminal Investigations, Mikami had expected to be promoted in two or three years, and he disliked having the carrot dangled before him when the promotion was in some other area of expertise.
He had been certain that his ‘criminal record’ had influenced the selection. When multiple candidates were considered for a single position, it was Personnel’s standard policy, as a kind of insurance, to go with the person who had the most experience in the chosen field. So Mikami’s issue hadn’t been with the fact that he’d been chosen, but rather with Criminal Investigations having put him forward in the first place.
Mikami had steeled himself and visited Arakida, the director of Criminal Investigations, at his home that same evening. ‘The decision’s been made’ was all the director had said. Exactly as he had twenty years earlier. It had felt to Mikami as if the man had simply dismissed his talent for the job. His disappointment and feelings of dejection were made all the worse for the long years he’d devoted to being a detective.
He was to return to Criminal Investigations in a couple of years. In the meantime, Mikami had taken on the role of press director with a single pledge: to keep his various emotions in check and prevent the rot from setting in. He would not repeat his previous mistakes, nor would he let himself become negligent, or squander the time. More than anything else, his long years of hard work had resulted in a physical and mental routine that ensured he couldn’t bear to leave any problem unattended.
Reforming Media Relations. He knew he had to make this his first task.