"No," said the inspector. "There was no apparent cause. It did not seem polite to question someone who had just had a puncture who was obviously in a hurry."
Adachi grunted. Treating the citizenry politely was all very well, but like most policemen he believed that an extra question or two seldom went amiss. The innocent should have nothing to hide. Of course, everybody really had something they would rather not be known. He thought of Chifune and her secrets and the discretion with which they conducted their sporadic affair.
"One car, not two?" he said.
"One car," said Fujiwara. "Though it could have linked up with a companion nearer its destination. But the make, model, description, and timing fit."
"Was there anyone else in the car?" said Adachi.
"The koban cop did not know," said Fujiwara. "The windows were tinted. He said he thought he saw someone else in the passenger seat, but hadn't a clue about the rear."
"Put that cop on my shit list," said Adachi sourly. "He seems to think he's a social worker, not a policeman. What's the point of having kobans all over the place if the cops stationed there don't keep their eyes open?"
"He got the number," said Fujiwara, in defense of the beat cop. Actually, he thought Adachi's criticism was justified, but he had sympathy for the cops in the field. And the inspector had spent considerably more time working out of a koban than Adachi. "And we have traced it."
"This is not a TV quiz show," said Adachi.
Fujiwara laughed. "You'll like this, boss," he said. "It's registered to the Namaka brothers. It is one of their personal vehicles."
Adachi just stared at him. "Well, I'm buggered," he said. "First a lapel pin, and now this."
The phone on Adachi's desk rang. He picked it up. "Moshi, moshi," he said — the Japanese equivalent of ‘Hello’. The caller was brief. Adachi put the phone down and stood up. He checked his appearance.
Fujiwara spoke. He knew the signs, and it was not unexpected. "The top floor?" he said.
Adachi nodded. He had a thought floating around he could not seem to be able to grab a hold of. He headed out the door.
* * * * *
The Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department was headed up by the Superintendent-General. Like Adachi, he was a graduate of TokyoUniversityLawSchool and a highflyer. This high flying kept him busy mixing with the movers and shaker of the Tokyo power structure and much too busy with his social obligations to spend a great deal of time on actual police work.
The man who really ran MPD was the Deputy Superintendent-General, the DSG. And everyone knew it.
Adachi headed for the elevator. A group of policemen heading up to a training session were also waiting, and it was clear there would not be room for all of them and Adachi. He was bowed into the elevator and no one followed. The group would travel as a group.
The Deputy Superintendent-General, Saburo Enoke, was not a graduate of Todai. He had gone to a quite respectable provincial university, but owed his advancement to considerable ability and enormous political cunning. The apparently mild-mannered Enoke-san was a force to be feared.
Adachi bowed with deep respect. The Deputy Superintendent-General had always treated him politely, but he could not warm to the man. He had a gray personality that revealed nothing. The eyes behind the designer glasses were intelligent but enigmatic. Enoke-san was an extremely hard man to read.
The chain of command, as far as Adachi was concerned, was clear-cut enough but potentially politically fraught. He was a policeman and a member of the Tokyo MPD and reported ultimately to the Deputy Superintendent-General. However, the direction of specific investigations came from the prosecutor's office. Additionally, both the prosecutor's office and the Tokyo MPD were, in the final analysis, responsible to the Ministry of Justice. And the ministry was headed up by the Minister of Justice, who was a politician and a member of the Diet; and Adachi's little department specialized in investigating corruption of Diet members.
Effectively, Adachi was reporting to some of the very people he was investigating. It was, he thought, an interesting relationship.
The DSG, in addition to the offices of his secretariat, had a conference room of some size at his disposal, and an even larger private office with windows on two sides and an excellent view of central Tokyo. It was generally considered a good sign if he used his private office for an interview. Such was the case on this occasion.
Black coffee was brought after the initial pleasantries. If you spent all day meeting people of a certain social class in Tokyo, you spent all day drinking something or other. Even the yakuza bosses followed the social customs. One of the first things Adachi had learned in his anti-corruption job was to pee as and when opportunity presented itself. Sitting cross-legged with a full bladder on a tatami mat or on one of those damn low-slung sofas was agony.
"Superintendent-san," said the DSG for his consideration. People were always asking after his father. That tended to happen when your father was a senior advisor to the Emperor. The Emperor was not longer considered divine. He exercised no direct power. But his symbolic influence was considerable. A senior advisor to the Emperor was someone with friends in the highest places. It was a key reason why Adachi had been selected for his job. He had enough connections at the highest level to be considered reasonably invulnerable to political influence. And he had a temperament to match.
"The death of Hodama-san is extremely unfortunate," said the DSG.
Adachi nodded his agreement. He imagined Hodama, himself, had not been overly enthusiastic either. He noted that Hodama's staff, who had also died rather abruptly, did not get a mention. The DSG, who was an exceedingly small man, sat in a very large and well-padded black leather swivel chair. He swiveled his chair around so he could look out of the window after he spoke, and was silent. Adachi fought an impulse to peer over the DSG's desk. It was rumored that his legs dangled.
"Unfortunate," repeated the DSG quietly, almost as if talking to himself. He did not seem to expect a reply.
It was a characteristic of Japanese discussions that what was said was significantly less important than what was communicated in other ways. The ranking of participants, the context of the discussions, body language, shades of tone — all these elements were as important as the spoken word, and together added up to the dominant aspect of a meeting. Adachi understood all this as well as the next man, but considered that the DSG carried the whole process to excess. The man never seemed to say anything specific. He never committed himself. There was no feedback on recent developments. He just sat like a spider spinning some invisible web; and around him, senior street-hardened career policemen jumped if he called. He was not a popular man, nor even respected as a leader, and yet the consensus in the force was that the Tokyo MPD had never been in better shape. Whatever it was, the Spider had something. And, so it was rumored, part of that something was political clout.
"Hodama-sensei." The DSG's use of the term sensei was interesting and possibly disturbing. Sensei literally meant ‘teacher’ and was used as a term of respect. That Deputy Superintendent-General Enoke should talk about Hodama, a man who had been under active investigation by Adachi's own department, in such a way had implications. It implied connections which implied potential embarrassment for these connections; embarrassment which must be avoided. The DSG was warning Adachi to proceed carefully, to be cognizant of the political ramifications. Where the DSG stood on the matter was far from clear. He might be supportive. He might be warning Adachi off. The superintendent had not the faintest idea where the DSG stood, and he had not the slightest intention of asking. It would be pointless and it would offend protocol. The DSG was his superior, and Adachi was well-schooled in what was appropriate in such situations. This was Japan. Respect for one's seniors was fundamental.