Adachi's team worked in a large open office on the sixth floor.
The layout was designed so that everybody could see what everybody else was doing. It was not ideal for concentrated individual work, but it was excellent for supervising and integrating the group.
There were thirty detectives, including the superintendent himself, in Adachi's department. The layout in this case consisted of three islands of eight detectives headed by a sergeant – with the remaining three desks by the windows occupied by two inspectors and Adachi himself, when he was not using his private office. Down the corridor were individual interview rooms, and anybody who needed privacy or to concentrate went there for the period necessary.
However, being apart from the group for long was frowned on. The group system, the basis of Japanese social culture, had served them well. The most frequently heard saying in Japan was “The nail that protrudes gets hammered down.” The system did encourage individual initiative, but only in the sense that it contributed to the progress of the group.
Personally, Adachi was surprised how many nails were protruding these days, but thought it had probably always been so in reality. The trick was to avoid the hammer, and the best way to do that was not to be perceived as a nail. Alternatively, the nails could come together as a group. One way or another in Japan, it was hard to avoid the group.
Most of the desks were occupied when Adachi walked in. His detectives were hand-picked, and selection for the elite unit was regarded as a privilege, but the level of commitment demanded was high. Typically his detectives worked seventy to eighty hours a week on top of commuting up to three hours a day and attending the near- obligatory group drinking sessions after work.
Quite a number of his men were unshaven and bleary-eyed from having been up all night. The killing of the kuromaku was a serious business, and its resolution demanded every effort. Also, it was well understood that the twenty-four hours after a murder were a particularly crucial time. Physical evidence quickly got lost. Human memory had a short shelf life. You had to search and interview as quickly as possible. That was the well-understood routine.
Adachi felt a pang of guilt for not having been up all night with his men as well, but then reflected that in his own way he had been making a contribution to the inquiry. Anyway, his right-hand man, Detective Inspector Jim Fujiwara, was about as reliable as another human being could be. They had worked together for the last three years and knew each other well. Fujiwara, a stocky powerful man in his late forties, had worked his way up through the ranks. He had more street experience than Adachi and an encyclopedic knowledge of the yakuza. Their respective skills were complimentary and they worked together well. Adachi felt fortunate.
Adachi sat down at his desk and Fujiwara sat down facing him. A detective brought tea. He was wearing house slippers. Most of the detectives were. In Japan, workers spent so much time in their offices that it was customary to make yourself comfortable and as much at home as you could. And, of course, no one wore shoes inside the home. They were removed as you entered and placed by the door. It was a barbaric idea to bring dirt from the street into the home, and, anyway, outside shoes were not comfortable to relax in.
There was a pile of reports on Adachi's desk. It stretched several inches high. He might have sneaked in a little relaxation last night, but such interludes would be scarce until Hodama's killers were found. There would be work, work, and more work. It was the Japanese way.
Adachi gestured at the reports. 'Fujiwara- san, I see you have been busy.'
Fujiwara acknowledged the implied compliment. Specific praise was uncommon. You were expected to do your work as well as you could and you did it. Nothing else would be appropriate. There was nothing exceptional about doing your duty.
'We have completed the house-to-house questioning and we have in all the reports from the kobans and mobiles in the area. In addition, we have the preliminary pathology reports and those of the Criminal Investigation Laboratory. There have been some developments.'
'The case is solved?' said Adachi with a smile.
'Not exactly, boss,' said Fujiwara with a grin. 'I think on this one we are going to earn our pay.'
Adachi became serious. Fujiwara continued. 'We now have several reports of two black limousines in the area around seven in the morning – within the time window, anyway. The models were current-year Toyota Crown Royal Saloons. They were noticed because the two cars were in convoy and there was some speculation as to what dignitary was inside. Otherwise there was nothing suspicious. The windows were tinted, so the witnesses have no idea how many people were inside or who they were. Still, we now have sufficient evidence to indicate that the killers came in went in those cars.'
Tokyo was wall to wall with shiny black executive limousines, thought Adachi, and tens of thousands of them would be current-model Toyotas. It did not seem a promising line of inquiry. It was a pity the killers had not favored Cadillacs or Mercedeses. Both makes were comparatively uncommon and were favored by the yakuza. At least he would have a pointer as to where to look. Also, the good thing about leaning on the yakuza was that you normally got a result. To get rid of police harassment, the yakuza had the useful custom of giving up a suspect. The suspect might well not be the guilty party, but he would plead guilty and confess and the police could mark the case closed. In return, the nominated perpetrator would receive a light sentence and when he came out would be greeted by the gang and feted. It was a common way for a gang member to establish himself with his gang. It was, so to speak, part of the apprenticeship system.
Adachi had once described the custom to a visiting police group from the West, and they had been horrified. Personally, Adachi thought the custom had a lot to recommend it. No yakuza operated on his own initiative anyway; actions were always dictated from the top, so the idea of a specific guilt or innocence was somewhat academic. Second, the custom incorporated a built-in check on the crime rate. A yakuza gang did not mind giving up a member now and then for a few years, but it did not help practical operations or morale if half the gang was behind bars. Finally, it made the job of both the police and courts a lot easier, which was good not just for them but for the taxpayer. Everyone gained.
'Nothing helpful like a license plate?' said Adachi helpfully.
'And a signed confession,' replied Fujiwara. 'Nothing so convenient at the scene. However, a policeman in a koban several blocks away saw a Toyota Crown Royal Saloon of the right year and color parked, and took its number as a matter of routine. The driver was fiddling in the trunk. When questioned, he said he had had a puncture and had just finished changing the tire. The beat cop expressed his sympathy and let the man go, and apart from making a record in his log, thought no more of it. But when he was questioned again, he said one thing struck him afterward – the driver's hands were clean and his uniform was immaculate. Of course, he could have been wearing gloves when he was changing the wheel.'
'Did he look at the driver's ID?' asked Adachi. The thought occurred to him that the drive would certainly have had gloves. Even the cabdrivers wore gloves in Japan, and a conscientious chauffeur would certainly come prepared for such an eventuality as a puncture.
'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
