After a dozen years as a newspaper reporter, Yokoyama Hideo began writing manga stories, children’s books, novels based on actual incidents, and mysteries. The following tale won the Mystery Writers of Japan award for best short story in 2000. Since then, several of Yokoyama’s wildly popular novels, including Half a Confession, Climbers High, and Sea Without Exit have been turned into film and TV productions.

It was after 10 a.m. when the wind came up.

There was none of the year-end bustle in the lobby of the prefectural hospital. There were no patients waiting for prescriptions, no visitors to cheer the sick, no nurses rushing by in a whirlwind. It was always like this here. In this hospital that overlooked the seacoast, where the windows were fitted with bars, even air and time were sequestered.

This is the last time I’ll be here this year, Kaise Masayuki thought as he filled in his personal information and the date on the visitors’ list: J Prefecture Police Headquarters, Police Affairs Department, Planning and Investigation Officer. Superintendent. Age 44.

And he had a mountain of work to complete before the end of the year in order to prepare for next spring’s administrative reforms.

Kaise’s footsteps echoed as he walked across the lobby and climbed the stairs. He showed his visitor’s card at the reception area in front of the locked ward. A muscled young male nurse unlocked the door and pushed open the barred security gate. Kaise continued down the hallway, thinking only of walking. Against the wall was one patient. Then another. Two people sat on the floor. Others stood around, squatted, or were doubled over. All of them wore vacant expressions.

His father was in the recreation room, where he sat cross-legged, unkempt, facing the wall. His eyes, half closed beneath the sleep caked in the corners, were fixed on one point of the tatami. His medicine was working. The medication had increased over the years, robbing his father, one by one, of words, facial expressions, and characteristic habits. Kaise hadn’t seen him for a month, but it might have been simply the drab color of his sweater that made his back seem so shrunken. He looked like a pile of dirt that could crumble away at any minute.

Kaise’s emotions nearly overwhelmed him.

“Old man, I’ve come to see you,” he said gruffly as he sat down beside his father.

He pulled out a bag of rice crackers, cut it open, and held it in front of his father’s expressionless face.

“You like these, don’t you?”

“...”

“You eating your meals all right?”

“...”

Kaise sighed. He hadn’t heard his father’s voice for several years.

His father had been held up as a model beat police officer. He had started as a messenger boy in the department during the chaotic postwar period. His diligence was rewarded, and he was promoted to policeman. Most of his forty years on the force had been spent in local or residential police boxes. Hard-working. Simple. Courteous. Wherever he went he was liked by the citizens he served. But after he reached mandatory retirement age, and his wife died, he began to fall apart.

Kaise gazed at his father’s wrinkled profile.

My old man fell in the line of duty.

He thought that he had noticed the first signs of his father’s illness before his mother died. As mandatory retirement drew near, his father became taciturn and often brooded all day long. Being a police officer was not merely an occupation for his father, it was his life. When he took off his uniform, his life had ceased.

“My goodness.” A nurse with a youthful face and a too-cheerful voice stared at Kaise.

“I’m Kaise. My father is always...”

“So it is you! I thought you looked alike.”

The nametag at her chest read, “Yagi Akane.” This was the young woman who had sent him a postcard saying she was the new nurse assigned to his father. “Please come visit occasionally.” She could have written just that. But she must have thought it sounded too pushy, and had included “I know you must be busy” three times in her gentle note.

“Please stay awhile!” She sounded overjoyed. She slid down onto the tatami on both knees and took his father’s hands, as white as wax, and shook them up and down. “Isn’t it wonderful that your son has come?”

Suddenly, his father uttered, “Yah.” Startled, Kaise looked at his father’s face.

“Yes, that’s right, you’re happy, aren’t you?”

He’s happy? Kaise was perplexed by Akane’s interpretation. He saw no change in his father’s face. Was he really happy?

“Nurse...”

Just when Kaise started to speak, his chest pocket vibrated.

“Crap. They catch me no matter where I am.”

Kaise grabbed his cell phone and turned his back on Akane, who was no longer smiling.

“I’m sorry to bother you on your day off,” a loud voice said into his ear. It was Subsection Chief Ioka from Headquarters, the Police Affairs Section. He was Kaise’s immediate subordinate. “We have a problem. The department chief asks that you come in right away...”

“What’s happened?”

“Well...” Ioka hesitated. “Sorry for the extra trouble, but please could you call back on a land line?”

Kaise felt uneasy. When he stood up, Akane looked as if she was about to cry.

“I’ll be right back,” he said to his father, and he left the recreation room. He was reluctant to use the telephone in the nurses’ station. He retraced his steps back along the hallway, had the male nurse unlock the door, and went to the public phone in the open ward.

He punched the buttons to dial the internal line of the chief of police affairs. Department Chief Kosuga answered immediately.

“It’s Kaise. What’s happened?”

Kosuga hesitated before he answered.

“The police ID notebooks are gone.”

“What?”

“Thirty of them. Thirty officers’ identification documents that were stored together for safekeeping have been stolen.”

Kaise stopped breathing.

“I’ve called a meeting of department heads. Get back to headquarters immediately and come directly to the conference room,” Kosuga ordered hurriedly. Before he hung up, he spat out the words, “Your idea seems to have backfired.”

Kaise froze.

The collective storage was hit...

They had implemented a new system aimed at preventing the loss of police IDs — the passport-like books police officers flashed to show they were part of the police force. Previously, police officers had been obliged to carry their IDs on duty as well as off. The recent revision of that regulation had allowed the head of each section to be entrusted with the safekeeping of subordinates’ IDs during off-duty hours. That meant that officers who were finished with their workday no longer carried their IDs home with them. When they left their offices, they entrusted them to their respective departments.

Kaise was the one who had proposed this plan.

After he had overcome the opposition of the Criminal Investigation Department, a test of his plan was begun by the administrative section as well as by three police stations, including U Station. Zero missing identification documents. That was supposed to be the result. But now...

This measure which was to have eliminated the loss of the valuable IDs had resulted in an unprecedented large-scale burglary.

“Your plan seems to have backfired.”

Kosuga’s comment stung anew. It fit with the atmosphere swirling around at police headquarters at the moment.

Kaise headed toward the door, his pace quickening. He felt a searing pain at his temple.

Akane was at the stairway landing. She stared at Kaise reproachfully, her chin buried in the mountain of sheets she carried.

“I’ll come again.” It was all he could do to mutter the words.

Passing through the doors, his cheeks slapped by the wind off the pale ocean, Kaise’s only thought was of his route back to headquarters.

The seacoast road was empty, but the national highway leading to the city was congested. He escaped onto back roads, but even so it took nearly an hour for him to reach the Headquarters building in the government-offices area of town. It was nearly noon.

“Use the stairs to go up or down one or two floors.” These words posted on the wall in past days of energy conservation had at some point transformed into a slogan urging the staff to exercise more. Kaise, who had no problem with excess weight, adhered to this sign because the indicator lights for the elevators were hovering around the seventh and eighth floors.

Third floor. Police Affairs Department. Calming his breathing, Kaise pushed the door open. All of the staff turned toward him, but most quickly averted their eyes or looked down. Even his direct subordinate, Subsection Chief Ioka, behaved so. Handing Kaise a three-page document outlining the case, Ioka told him, “To the conference room,” in a low voice. He then fled back to his desk and buried his face in a pile of papers. Was he being considerate of Kaise’s feelings? Or was he trying to avoid being implicated? No, his posture suggested something else. There was a difference in the heat that would be felt by Kaise, who had proposed the collective storage of the IDs, and Ioka, who had merely prepared the paperwork as ordered.

Kaise left the section office.

The conference room was on the eighth floor. Though the elevator had just arrived, Kaise once again chose the stairs. He couldn’t go into a meeting of the top-level department heads with a blank mind. He wanted a bit of time to think about the situation, to deliberate and consider remedial measures... As he moved his feet, relying on the handrail of the stairs, Kaise’s eyes and brain pored over the document Ioka had given him.

“Location of incident: U Station, first floor.”

U Station had been collecting and storing the IDs by floor. The first floor housed the Police Affairs Section and the Traffic Section. It was those IDs that had been taken.

“Case summary.”

Yesterday, just after five p.m., the officer in charge of storing the IDs on the first floor began gathering the thirty documents belonging to the staff of the Police Affairs Section and the Traffic Section. He placed them in the safe and locked it. The precinct went into night-shift mode, during which time there was no suspicious occurrence. At 7:45 the following morning, when the officer in charge of storage reported to duty and opened the safe, all the IDs had disappeared.

What the hell? Kaise was irritated. He felt as if he were reading a newspaper account of office vandalism. It was too simple. Why wasn’t there more precise documentation? Was this really something that had occurred in a police station?

He turned the page.

“The Criminal Investigation Department and Security Department begin secret investigation... Three investigators enter U Station to take statements from those connected to the station in the fifth-floor physical training room.”

As a matter of course, they were pursuing the possibility of an inside job.

Here was the reality: The large-scale theft of police IDs — this unprecedented scandal — would shake the organization to its core. Kaise was treading up the stairs to the conference room as if he were about to be tried as a war criminal.

He envisioned the inside of U Station in his increasingly throbbing head. The ground level had an open floor plan. To the left of the entry was the Traffic Section, with the Police Affairs Section beyond. There were no walls or doors between the two sections, allowing for free access. The storage safe was in the wall behind the Police Affairs Section.

Could an outsider have done it?

Under normal circumstances, that would be difficult. The station went into night-duty mode at 5:15 p.m. The office for the night-duty staff was in a corner of the Traffic Section. There were two entrances to the station: the front entrance and the back door. Anyone entering from either doorway would be seen by the night-duty officers. Moreover, the key to the storage safe in question was hung on the wall directly facing the duty staff. To steal the key brazenly and pass through the night-duty office and enter the Police Affairs Section — that would be impossible. There was no way it could be done.

No, don’t make simplistic assumptions.

U Station’s night-duty officers numbered thirteen. By shortly after 10 p.m. nearly half of them, the “early sleep group,” would be asleep. If the theft had occurred during that time, the station would have been short-handed. The night-duty chief and the radio operator would have been at their seats, but even that wasn’t absolute. Should a drunken brawl cause several people to be taken into custody, the officers might leave their seats to assist in their detainment. If the thief chose that time...

If it was an outside job, who might it be?

Extremists. Cultists. Those were the types that first came to mind. A deranged police buff was also someone to watch out for. There had been cases in the past in which police boxes had been targeted for the theft of guns and police IDs. Disgruntled former police officers also needed to be kept in mind. If the thief had worked at U Station, he would be familiar with internal procedure. It was also necessary to investigate people who could enter the station without raising suspicions. Someone in an extra-governmental agency. Newspaper reporters. Restaurant delivery staff. Town drunks...

Kaise pressed a finger to the bridge of his nose. An infinite number of possibilities came to his mind.

As he passed the landing on the sixth floor, he forced himself to shift his thinking.

What about an inside job?

There was no question that the situation allowed for this. Anyone who worked at U Station could have done it. Most obviously, it could be last night’s night-duty staff.

Kaise returned his eyes to the report. The names of the thirteen night-duty officers were listed. The officer in charge of the night-duty staff was Masukawa Takashi, Assistant Police Inspector, First Criminal Investigation Section, Burglary Section Chief.

Masukawa...

His rugged face loomed up in Kaise’s mind. He had entered the force one year ahead of Kaise. Kaise had never spoken to Masukawa, but according to rumor, he was quite the tough guy. He was known as a member of the judo team when he was young. About five years ago, his rough handling of suspects had nearly led to a lawsuit.

What disturbed Kaise more than Masukawa’s reputation was finding out that the officer in charge of last night’s night duty was from the Criminal Investigation side. He couldn’t help but recall the furor of six months ago. The opposition of the Criminal Investigation Department to his proposal to store the IDs all together had been virulent.

“What do you mean by taking away the very soul of the police officer!”

“Do you mean to turn police officers into mere salary earners?!”

“Police officers are police officers twenty-four hours a day, three hundred sixty-five days a year!”

Kaise had not pulled back. He had felt he could not retreat.

Wasn’t being a police officer an occupation?

Of course, it was not the same type of occupation as working for a private enterprise that pursues profits. Yet in so far as one labored, received compensation, and made a living in that manner, it was certainly an occupation. Saying it was a “way of life” or a “divine calling” could not change that fact. And the times had surely changed. It was still an occupation worth doing. An occupation that engaged one’s spirit of service. But it shouldn’t matter if there was an increasing number of police officers imbued with a more practical awareness of the job as long as they worked with diligence.

He couldn’t give in on this matter. That was his thought. Having been born and raised as the “local policeman’s kid” and proud of his father, Kaise had chosen to become a second-generation police officer. But with the onset of his father’s illness, he had come to look at his own organization with sober eyes. To a certain extent this business of the police IDs was a battle to avenge his father, who had fallen in the line of duty.

Naturally, he did not speak of this. He had made a decisive proposal to prevent the loss of the IDs, and faced with the opposition of the Criminal Investigation Department, he had battled without yielding and forcibly pushed for a test case. However...

What if the opposition of the Criminal Investigation Department was much more deeply rooted than Kaise had imagined?

The storage-safe key was hung on the wall directly across from the night-duty officer. Even if some of the night-duty staff left to go outside the station, the officer in charge was always in front of the key.

What kind of guy was Masukawa Takashi?

The eighth floor. The door to the conference room was closed tight.

Kaise took a deep breath. It was not only from fear. He also felt the tension of stepping into an arena for confrontation.

Inside the conference room, with its expansive view of the far-off horizon, Headquarters Department Head Aoyama and heads of the departments of Police Affairs, Criminal Investigation, Community Safety, Traffic, and Security were seated around an oval table with solemn expressions. In chairs behind them sat the section chiefs, their hands rapidly jotting down notes.

Kaise stood erect against the wall.

No words of abuse or sarcasm were aimed at him. What greeted Kaise’s entry into the room were cold glances from the executive officials. It was their way of saying that the root cause of this scandal was this man. No one made any further acknowledgment of Kaise’s presence.

Except for one person, Kaise’s superior, Police Affairs Department Head Kamoike, who intentionally clicked his tongue. Was he indicating to the Headquarters Department Head that he hadn’t been enthusiastic about the collective storage of the police IDs?

Police Affairs Section Chief Kosuga, who had no doubt been forced to explain the circumstances in place of the absent Kaise, still had a flushed face. The gaze he directed at Kaise said, “You menace.”

His hooked nose beaded with sweat, the chief of the Criminal Investigation Department, Yamanouchi, spat out in a hushed voice, “The idiot.”

The meeting proceeded while Kaise remained standing against the wall. The course of action for the investigation had already been determined, but the biggest headache, how to deal with the mass media, was yet to be decided.

Should this incident be announced to the press? Or should it be kept quiet?

The majority opinion was that there was no choice but to make an announcement. Thirty police IDs had been stolen — too large a number to be kept hidden. If, while the matter was concealed, the IDs were misused, the fallout would be enormous. Even if nothing untoward happened, should the incident be exposed later on, there would be no way to avoid incurring blame for a cover-up.

Yet, as thirty IDs was such a large number, there was a sense that the incident shouldn’t be so readily publicized. It was an unheard-of scandal. Trust in the prefectural police would plummet drastically. Flitting inside the heads of all of the department heads was the spector of oversized newspaper headlines assailing the incompetence of the police.

Sighs filled the conference room.

“How about delaying the announcement until the papers are almost ready to go to press? The articles would be smaller then.”

“That wouldn’t help. The story is just too big. If we try to play gimmicks, they’ll get upset and continue writing about it for weeks.”

“At a time like this, it’s best to appear sincere. The collective storage was still in the test stage. We will review it. The only thing we can do is to say that and bow our heads in apology.”

Kaise was assaulted by the sensation that his innards were being eaten up.

This incident was going to become news. It would be broadcast on television. He was already dead within the organization. When the story broke, millions of citizens would also ridicule the collective storage system. Those within the force would heartlessly stomp on Kaise’s feelings. Sympathy. Pity. Ridicule. Abuse.

But he wasn’t thinking only of self-protection. He felt anger and chagrin. Any police officer understood the spell of the police IDs. Even when he is drinking with a friend or on a family outing, there is a moment when the police officer’s hand reaches for his breast pocket. If he loses his ID, it is noted as a red mark in his file, and this negative evaluation stays with him as long as he is a police officer. It can affect whether he passes the promotion tests.

It was clear that the collective storage system had taken a hit. On the surface, it had backfired. But the system itself was not necessarily defective, Kaise thought. If it was an inside job. there was no way to have prevented it. If someone on the inside wanted to, he could even take out guns and bullets from the arms safe. It wasn’t the system that was bad. What was bad was...

At that instant, the name Masukawa passed across Kaise’s brain. I can’t die like this, he thought. Kaise clenched his teeth and fists.

Faces with dubious expressions turned toward him as one. Several cast sharply piercing gazes at him.

Headquarters Department Head Aoyama stretched his neck.

“What is it?”

Kaise swallowed the dryness at the back of his throat. His thoughts were in disarray. An inside crime. Retaliation. Blocking the news conference. Recovery of the IDs... Speculation and desire confused his mind.

“What is it? If you have an opinion, give it.”

“Yes, sir.” Kaise took a step forward. His brain exerted itself to expand on a quickly formed idea. “As long as we have the suspicion that it might be an inside crime, I think it would be prudent to wait until the internal investigation has been completed before announcing it to the press.”

“Why is that?”

“I think it is hardly likely that an insider would have stolen the IDs for the purpose of misusing them. If it is a case of malicious mischief or harassment, it is possible that the IDs may be returned quite soon.”

Aoyama leaned forward. “The IDs may be returned? What makes you think so?”

“Well...” He felt that he was getting into deep water. Wasn’t he just spinning a fantastic yarn to cover his shame? Despite his dread, Kaise couldn’t stop his words. “The perpetrator may have already achieved his aim by causing such a disruption. He may become scared and return the IDs. That is a possibility.”

Aoyama gazed into space. The other senior officials also mulled this over.

But Yamanouchi, the Criminal Investigation Department Head, responded differently.

“Mischief or harassment... Why would someone in the police do that?”

“That would be...” Kaise couldn’t avoid saying it. He braced himself. “The aim may be to upset the agency, or to bring down a certain person...”

“Who do you mean?” Yamanouchi shouted. He had sniffed out the scent of Kaise’s reference to the feud between the Criminal Investigation Department and the Police Affairs Department. “Who’s bringing down who? Just say it!”

Kaise turned silent. It was not because he feared this tirade. Yamanouchi’s reaction had raised Kaise’s suspicions to another level. A crime committed by someone in the Criminal Investigation Department. It might be that Yamanouchi was concerned about this in a corner of his mind. The collective storage of notebooks was not the only seed of discord between the Police Affairs Department and the Criminal Investigation Department. Last spring’s personnel change was a case in point. The previous Police Affairs Department Chief had sidelined Yamanouchi’s right-hand man, the chief of the First Criminal Investigation Section, to the post of Counselor of the Traffic Department. The official reason given was “to allow a rest” for the section chief, who was in poor health and prone to taking days off. But the department chief’s intent was elsewhere. His own change of posting to Headquarters had been decided and he had, to use his words, “slammed the swollen-headed Criminal Investigation Department with a parting gift.”

J Prefectural Police historically had a strong Criminal Investigation Department. The head of the First Criminal Investigation Section, the core of the department, had been removed. It was not hard to imagine that there were many in the investigation field who harbored feelings of humiliation and anger. With this background of resentment toward the Police Affairs Department, the further antagonism caused by the collective storage system may have triggered this case. The theory made sense. It was suspicious that the incident had occurred during the test phase. The time to crush the effort was now, its opponents would think.

But perhaps it wasn’t a concerted effort. What if it was just one individual? There were all manner of types in the organization. If someone had expanded without limit his hatred toward the Police Affairs Department or had been fired up with righteous indignation and acted out his anger, then...

“Why are you keeping silent? Say something!” Pushing his hooked nose forward, Yamanouchi yelled, “Or are you making irresponsible comments because you want to evade your responsibility?”

“No, that is not it.”

“Then make it clear. What makes you think it’s an inside job? Who’s bringing down who? Just say it.”

“I don’t know,” Kaise said, sensing he was walking a tightrope. “I am saying that if it is an internal matter, then there is the possibility that the IDs will be returned. That is what I am saying.”

“Don’t play around—”

As Yamanouchi suddenly stood up, Headquarters Department Head Aoyama motioned to restrain him.

“It’s worth considering. If the IDs are returned, everything will turn out all right...”

Aoyama crossed his arms across his chest. There was a thin sheen of perspiration on his forehead, which looked like a plastic doll’s, but it must have been in full motion inside. Was it disadvantageous or advantageous to do as Kaise said?

The conference room became steeped in silence. Every man was waiting for the next word from the Headquarters department head.

The plastic forehead turned around.

“How long will it take to do the internal investigation?”

The Internal Investigations Head pushed back his chair and stood up. “We need at least two days.”

Feeling Yamanouchi’s fierce gaze, Kaise stood up straighter. I beg of you, he thought to himself.

“We’ll delay the press announcement until the day after tomorrow,” Aoyama said.

Kaise put in a call to his home in the police housing unit to say that he would be late getting home and left the prefectural police headquarters by car.

It was about a fifteen-minute trip to U Station. It was after 4:30, and already the sky was turning dusky. Early Christmas decorations highlighted the desolation of the local shopping street, whose customers had been lured away by the large-scale shops.

Kaise let out a heavy breath.

A two-day suspended sentence—

He had spoken with bravado. He had gained some time. But there were only two days to find the culprit and retrieve the IDs. Was that even possible?

Next to him on the passenger seat was a file. Masukawa Takashi, U Station, First Criminal Investigation Section, Chief of Burglary. Assistant Police Inspector. Age 45. Commendations received: 21. Residence: family dormitory, with wife and two daughters.

It was hard to feel the reality of this. He was suspecting a man he had never even talked to. A feud. Righteous indignation. Retaliation. Those words wouldn’t string together in one line now that the excitement had died down. It just so happened that someone in the Criminal Investigation Section was the duty officer in charge last night. Wasn’t he just trying to force this coincidence into a result?

Stop it!

For Kaise, now, there was only Masukawa. He had thrown out the possibility of it being an outside crime. Work like that — like finding a needle on the beach — was best left to the tactics of the Criminal Investigation and Security departments. Even for Internal Investigations, it was going to be a major task to investigate the thirteen night-duty staff in merely two days. For the time being, he would fix on Masukawa. He had to believe that Masukawa had a motive.

But it was doubtful if he could approach Masukawa. Internal investigations were under the sole authority of the Internal Investigations office. Even if he asserted that he was the original proponent of the collective storage of IDs, he would not be permitted to supercede the investigators and question anyone. Neither could he hope for backup from the Police Affairs Department. “Write up a text for the news conference.” This was the only directive given Kaise by Department Head Kamoike after the meeting.

I’ll just have to use guerilla tactics...

Kaise turned the steering wheel and drove into the U Station parking lot. Lights were on in the fifth-floor exercise room. It appeared that the questioning by the investigators was still in progress.

He had expected the station to be in a tumult, but instead, it was quiet. There were only a few people in the Traffic Section just inside the door; and in the Police Affairs Section farther in, he saw only Yamazaki Tomoyo, a civil-service staff member, and one young officer of the section.

I’m in luck, Kaise thought.

Tomoyo was an old-timer at U Station. She had been there for over thirty years, and during that time had given birth to three children, two of whom were now adults. Kaise himself had been posted to U Station for two years while he was a policeman. He might be able to get quite of bit of information out of Tomoyo.

“Hello, it’s been quite awhile.”

“Oh, hello, Mr. Kaise.” Tomoyo clapped her hands in joy. But realizing immediately why his nostalgic face had appeared before her, she furrowed her brow. “It’s a terrible situation.”

“Yes.”

“Who could have done it?”

Her way of saying “who” troubled him. “Who do you think it could be, Mrs. Yamazaki?”

“I don’t know... The only certain thing is that it wasn’t me.” Tomoyo’s expression had switched back to a smile.

Kaise wanted to ask about Masukawa, but it was difficult to broach the subject. He turned his eyes toward the storage safe at the wall. It was just about at Kaise’s eye-level. It was a locker-type model, so the steel plates were as thick as commercially available heat-resistant safes. There was a light dusting of powder around the handle.

If the culprit is a detective, he would hardly leave any fingerprints...

“Mr. Kaise, have a seat. We’re just having some tea.”

Turning around at Tomoyo’s voice, Kaise noticed a young officer standing erect holding a tray of tea cups. This policeman, who gave his name as Kamiya Junichi, with his bright eyes and lack of sophistication, made Kaise think of Yagi Akane at his father’s hospital.

“Young Kamiya has an excellent record. Some day he’ll become important like you, Mr. Kaise.” Having flattered both Kaise and Kamiya, Tomoyo’s face suddenly clouded over. “Mr. Kaise, does this mean that our section is under suspicion?”

Since morning, four members of the Police Affairs Section had been called to the exercise room to be questioned by the investigators. It seemed that Tomoyo was trying to get information about Headquarters from Kaise.

“I don’t think your section is under particular suspicion. They’re trying to clear all the possibilities.”

His answer satisfied Tomoyo, but Kaise was troubled by the new pebble of doubt that had been thrown into the pond.

Was it a member of the Police Affairs Section?

Of course, this was a possibility. It wasn’t just last night’s night-duty staff who would be under suspicion internally. The staff of the Police Affairs Section was in charge of the storage safe. They were solid suspects as well. His thinking was muddled after all, not to have thought of such an obvious prospect. Even though he, being with Police Affairs at Headquarters, was not in the same jurisdiction as U Station, they were all still part of the same Police Affairs Section. Somewhere in his mind he may have felt that he wanted to avoid suspecting those within his own section.

Given the circumstances, a member of the Police Affairs Section could have done it. It would be easiest for the person in charge of storing the IDs to commit the crime. Pretending to place the documents into the storage safe, he could actually lock up the empty safe. It would be as easy as fooling children to take the IDs in such a way.

He didn’t have to look at the files. The first-floor storage officer was “Army Sergeant.” Anyone who didn’t recognize this nickname was an imposter in the department.

— Owada T — oru, Charge Officer, Police Affairs Section, U Station. Police Sergeant. Age 59. Nicknamed “Army Sergeant” or “Top Sergeant,” he was the most rigid man in J Prefectural Police Agency.

He was an extreme stickler about rules and regulations. He would yell at officers if he thought their way of saluting wasn’t up to par. If he found that the sleeping room was dirty, he would call back officers who had returned to the dormitory and order them to clean up the room. He was said to have slapped a young officer for wearing his police cap at an angle. He was also said to have insisted to the station chief that he move his car, as it wasn’t parked in his designated space. He was seen as an annoyance by both his superiors and those lower in rank. But, as they were in the police force, which places a high value on discipline, those around him thought it a necessary evil to have such a person. This was the uncomfortable narrow niche occupied by — Owada.

Kaise had for just one year been put through his paces where — Owada was stationed. It was while he was posted at a police box. Kaise was not directly under — Owada’s supervision, but that didn’t matter to the sergeant. “Your father was a great policeman,” he told Kaise at every opportunity. And Kaise couldn’t stand it.

However... if — Owada was the culprit, it was the end of the police force, Kaise thought.

He may have gone too far at times, but — Owada had an upright streak. Heeding the rules and regulations was his abiding concern, even to the point of snapping at superiors without flinching. If

— Owada had gone beyond violating regulations to commit a theft, Kaise wouldn’t be the only one to think that the institution of the police was in danger of collapse.

— Owada was facing mandatory retirement in the spring. But after the turn of the year, he would be promoted one rank to acknowledge his many years of service, and the normal practice was then to take accumulated leave before unofficial notification of his next assignment. That meant his actual remaining time on duty was less than one month.

Something crossed Kaise’s mind.

“Mrs. Yamazaki, how has Police Sergeant — Owada been recently?”

“What do you mean, how? He’s just the same as usual.” So saying, Tomoyo widened her eyes. “You can’t be suspecting Mr. — Owada, can you?”

“No...”

It wasn’t that he suspected him. Yet he was concerned about the retirement of “Army Sergeant.”

It was not only his father’s case. Kaise had seen many instances of the inner wavering of policemen whose countdown to retirement had begun. Those who were constantly harping at others could become quiet, while those who were taciturn became voluble. There were those who became awfully tearful. Those who made unbelievably foolish mistakes. Those who sat staring out the window...

For forty years, they had watched over society and had been watched by society. The liberation from the burden of the uniform. At the same time, the sense of nothingness that surges toward them...

In most cases, it was a passing phase. The feeling no doubt gradually fades as one breathes the new air of the private company where one is reemployed, or becomes busy taking care of grandchildren, or engages in long-awaited hobbies. However, there are only a few who can imagine themselves as anything other than police officers before they retire. That was why, Kaise thought, the “season of the devil” exists just before retirement.

What was the case with — Owada? Was there no hint of wavering, as Tomoyo said? In this police agency, which had strict controls perforce, what was going through the mind of this old charge officer, who had bound himself and others hand and foot with rules and regulations, as he faced retirement?

If — Owada was the culprit, it spelt the end of integrity for the police agency. As he ruminated over this, Kaise was overtaken by the thought that he had discovered a new suspect. It was not suspicion toward — Owada personally. It was suspicion toward the transition that had so brutally destroyed his father.

“Officer Kamiya!”

Kaise ducked his head at the loud voice from behind. He knew without turning around. This voice was...

— Owada stood there.

Kaise tensed as he stood up. “Hello, I’m afraid it’s been a long time.”

— Owada bowed scrupulously to the younger superintendent from Headquarters. Having done so, he paid no further attention to Kaise as he shouted at Kamiya that the table was dirty. Bring the cleaning cloth. Wring it well. Wipe the table twice.

The eyes that glared like a demon-god statue were just as Kaise had remembered, but — Owada’s hair and eyebrows were sprinkled with white, and Kaise couldn’t help but look with shock at the deep wrinkles in his cheeks. The nickname “Army Sergeant” had been based in the main on his burly appearance, but seeing him after many years made Kaise realize that he had become an aging soldier.

When he had checked Kamiya’s work, — Owada went to his own desk to prepare to leave.

Kaise looked at his watch. It was 5:15.

He should hear what — Owada had to say, he thought. But he had trouble finding a way to approach him. His expressions were hard to read, but he could tell that he was glum, perhaps angry at the investigators’ questioning.

As Kaise hesitated, — Owada hoisted his black shoulder bag onto his shoulder.

Making up his mind, Kaise stepped toward him.

“Mr. — Owada, is the questioning...”

— Owada raised his voice to intercept him. “Yesterday, at five-twenty p.m., I placed thirty ID documents into the storage safe and locked it up! This morning at seven forty-five a.m., I unlocked and inspected the inside of the safe to confirm that all thirty IDs were gone. Immediately I made telephone contact with the related departments — that is all!”

Kaise was daunted by this display. He understood why — Owada was the first to be released from the investigators’ questioning. There was no one in the entire organization who could grill as a suspect this man who seemed made of steel and who had regulated himself for forty years.

“I will take my leave now!” Once again — Owada bowed precisely and left Kaise’s side.

Wavering... season of the devil... All his misgivings evaporated. To an astonishing degree, — Owada still remained the “Army Sergeant.”

His eyes followed — Owada as he exited the building. It would be easy to carry thirty ID documents in that shoulder bag, Kaise thought grudgingly.

He continued to wait for Masukawa Takashi.

It was past six o’clock. Yamazaki Tomoyo and police officer Kamiya had gone home, leaving Kaise alone in the Police Affairs Section. He asked the night-duty staff to order a delivery of a bowl of Chinese noodles. He thought of gathering information if there was anyone he knew, but unfortunately there was no one he recognized that night. The night-duty staff in the Traffic Section occasionally looked over suspiciously and whispered to each other, foreheads together.

As he slurped his noodles, Kaise kept watch on the stairway.

His impatience at the internal investigators increased. It would be helpful if they found the culprit, but his expectations were low. Those being questioned were the seventeen night-duty staff and Police Affairs Section officers from last night. Six of them, including — Owada, had gone home, but there were eleven still left. How thoroughly could only three investigators conduct the questioning?

Crap, they’re still not done.

Kaise sank into the couch.

The atmosphere of the “Army Sergeant” still lingered. Not a speck of dust littered the floor. The desk was tidied. Its surface brightly reflected the light from the fluorescent bulbs. He recalled Officer Kamiya working hard to dust it with the dustcloth. And shouting at him from behind...

Just then an unpleasant thought crossed his mind.

There must be many who detested — Owada. Hatred aimed at — Owada, not at the Police Affairs Section. Could that turn into a motive?

Perhaps so. By stealing the IDs, the culprit could have put — Owada, the one responsible for storage, into a tight corner. It could have been done to embarrass him, by aiming at this time just before he was to retire.

His line of thought was interrupted.

He heard footsteps on the stairs. The first person... the second person... the third person was Masukawa. His cheekbones jutted out. His eyes pierced like those of a bird of prey. Kaise knew this much from the file photograph, but what he observed now was the heavy build of a rugby player.

Kaise ran after him. He caught up with him at the back entrance.

“Section Chief Masukawa.”

The thick neck turned the head around.

“I’m Kaise, from Headquarters, Police Affairs Section.”

“Eh? Oh, yes. I know. I know.” Masukawa shook his head with obvious feigned innocence.

“Sorry to bother you when you’re tired, but I’d like to ask you some questions.” Kaise spoke humbly. He was two grades higher, but Masukawa had entered the agency a year earlier. Moreover, it was practically the first time they had met.

“I spoke to the investigator. Plenty.”

“I realize that. But...”

“Oh, yes. Superintendent, it was your idea, the collective storage or whatever, wasn’t it?” Masukawa snickered, yet his eyes were not smiling as he searched for Kaise’s reaction.

Kaise clenched his fists in anger. “I won’t take up much of your time. Let me ask you—”

Masukawa rolled his neck in a circle, looking fatigued.

“Too bad. The investigators have forbidden it. I’m not supposed to say anything to anyone.”

“Hasn’t your questioning ended?”

“They’re going to continue tomorrow. So, I’ll be leaving now. Excuse me.”

Pushing the back door open, Masukawa headed for the parking area in the cold wind.

Crap! Kaise kicked the floor with the heel of his shoe.

Masukawa turned toward Kaise and, without bowing his head, got into his car. A navy-blue four-door sedan. Suddenly Kaise was overtaken with misgiving.

Had the investigating officer checked the car?

Masukawa had been in the station all night as officer in charge. And, it was this morning at 7:45 that — Owada had opened the storage safe. That meant that the station was still in night-duty mode when the theft of the IDs was disclosed. The night-duty staff had not been allowed to go home and had been confined in the exercise room. If Masukawa was the culprit, he would have had no chance to take the stolen documents out of the station.

His body advanced of its own accord. He jumped in front of Masukawa’s moving car. The brakes squealed.

“That’s damn dangerous!”

“Sorry — could you let me look inside the trunk?”

Anger drained from Masukawa’s face. “Why is that?”

“To confirm, just to make sure.”

“Is that an order?”

Just open it up! Kaise’s eyes burned with what he felt in his gut.

Masukawa nodded slightly and flipped the switch. The trunk slowly opened up. Kaise scurried to the back of the car. He peered inside. Some tools. Chains. Rags. A brush...

“The investigating officer checked it first thing this morning.”

Kaise raised his face as if he had been hit. Masukawa was looking at him out the driver’s-side window. A triumphant smile played on his boastful face.

— Bastard!

“They also searched my belongings. They’re treating me like a suspect.”

“...”

“Are you finished?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Masukawa echoed softly.

Glaring at him, Kaise pulled in his chin slightly. “Sorry for stopping you.”

Suddenly the engine roared. Its sound could have been Masukawa’s shouts or his laughter.

When he returned to the living room from looking in on K — oichi’s and Yumiko’s sleeping faces, Aiko was pouring tea.

“Were they asleep?”

“Yeah, fast asleep.”

Aiko handed him a teacup and continued what she had been telling him.

“What do you think he did — the kid who spilled the paint on the floor?”

“What did he do?” So asking, Kaise sat down and tucked his legs into the covers under the table, warming them in the brazier.

“He overturned the bucket of water kept in the classroom in case of fire, so the paint would wash off. The floor was all wet, and K — o-chan’s socks got soaked.”

“That’s extreme.”

“He’s only in fourth grade. It’s a bit scary. There’s all this talk about disruptions in classrooms these days.”

On days when he came home late, he heard about the children’s school from Aiko. This was a daily routine that Kaise had asked for, but tonight he was so tired it was hard to give attentive responses.

“Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you. We received a box of apples from Mr. Fuwatari.”

Kaise turned his eyes to the wall clock. It was after ten o’clock.

“I’ll call to thank him tomorrow,” he said.

“Please do. He sends them each year...” So saying, Aiko turned her head toward the kitchen. Her eyes widened.

What? Again?

She had heard it. The sound of the gas valve opening. Aiko was the only one who could hear it.

“It’s all right,” Kaise said softly.

Aiko turned her pale face back and put both of her hands on her chest to calm her breathing.

During the five years that his father had lived with them, it was Aiko who had battled: Gas valve. Medicines. Knives. Rope... Anything that could be used to commit suicide was under her supervision. Twenty-four hours a day. Three hundred sixty-five days a year. That was why his father was still alive. In exchange for Aiko’s cheerfulness and the sheen of her hair.

“Dear...”

“Hm?”

“You went today, didn’t you? To the hospital?”

“...”

“How was your father?”

“He seemed the same as usual.”

“I see... Next time I’ll go too.”

Kaise did not give her a response.

His father and Aiko had shared the illness. Their hearts still resonated with each other. If she saw him, she would be held captive. Aiko’s mind would not be able to slip out from the iron-barred hospital.

He now regretted that he had not talked it over with Aiko before committing his father to the hospital. Kaise had made the decision on his own, which had caused some ill feeling between the two of them. They were no longer a close couple. Those chilled feelings weighed heavily on Kaise’s heart whenever they spoke of his father.

After Aiko had gone to the bedroom, Kaise snuggled under the cover up to his chest and lay back, resting his head on his arms crossed under his head. He was exhausted.

He had gone to the hospital that morning, been informed of the theft of the IDs, and had taken the full brunt of the attacks at the department heads’ meeting. Going to U Station, he had endured — Owada’s shouting and had been treated high-handedly by Masukawa.

Is Masukawa guilty...?

He didn’t get it. It was certain that Masukawa didn’t think well of the Police Affairs Department. From his way of talking, it could be deduced that he harbored quite some animosity. Kaise also felt that Masukawa had a terribly twisted character. But, if pressed as to whether Masukawa was suspicious, he would be in a dilemma as to the answer. He wouldn’t put it past him to have done it, but if he had done it, he wouldn’t have been that calm. And the IDs were not in Masukawa’s car or belongings. The starting point for his suspicion of Masukawa was that he was the night-duty officer in charge, but Masukawa, who was unable to move away from his seat during his duty, was the most inconvenient person to take out the documents.

The most inconvenient, was it...?

Kaise sighed.

Most convenient. Most inconvenient. From the start, Kaise’s thinking had been along those lines. In the end, Masukawa was nothing more than a convenient suspect for Kaise.

If the culprit was from outside the agency, the collective storage system would go down in defeat along with its original promoter, Kaise. If, however, the culprit was on the inside and the crime had been committed by someone related to the Criminal Investigations Department because of resentment toward the Police Affairs Department, the situation was entirely different. What should be blamed would be neither the storage system nor Kaise. It would be the culprit. Criminal Investigations Department Head Yamanouchi could never again beat up on Kaise. Thus the theory that Masukawa was the culprit was a scenario born of Kaise’s wishes. He had designated Masukawa from among the countless suspects, including those outside the agency.

It was just a pipe dream, he began to see.

Even if Masukawa had done it, he seemed to be an opponent Kaise was unable to touch. He was a skilled detective who had dealt with all manner of criminals for more than twenty years. Kaise didn’t have any experience in investigations, and he was in management without any authority to investigate this matter. The outcome of this struggle was clear before it had even begun.

Let Internal Investigations deal with it.

Exhaling roughly, Kaise sat up. He reached for his briefcase.

He spread some writing paper on the table. He had to prepare a draft of the press announcement. This was the one duty assigned to Kaise in this case.

Thirty minutes... One hour...

His pen wouldn’t move.

Why the hell did he have to write this? Was this why he had become a police officer?

He was despondent.

He felt great respect for his father, who had been a lifelong policeman. Kaise had followed in his footsteps. He had never put much thought into promotions or advancements. All he had wanted was to be active on the front lines, whether it was as a beat cop, a detective, or a traffic cop. This was what he had repeatedly written in the journal assigned at the police school.

His environment had raised Kaise. The agency was overjoyed at the birth of a second-generation police officer. It had high expectations, just as parents do of their children. He was encouraged by many superiors who knew his father. Aim to be like your father. Go beyond your father.

He made efforts to fulfill those expectations. He worked hard at his duties and at passing the grade-promotion tests. But it was tough on him. He felt pressured. He felt that he was not being true to himself, that he was always reaching beyond his abilities as more demands were made on him.

Each time he was promoted, a voice inside whispered to him, This is enough, don’t go beyond this, this is about where it suits you best. He also felt that the number of stars designating his rank trampled on his father’s legacy. When his father became ill, he began to see the agency from a more distant perspective. Still, the higher-ups backed Kaise. Education Section. General Affairs Section. Police Affairs Section... He was assigned to numerous responsible posts as a young candidate for management positions.

And this is the pitiful result.

The organization that had raised Kaise and had pulled him up to superintendent had turned on him due to just one incident. It had forced Kaise to take all the responsibility, had convicted him, and had isolated him.

He flung the pen down. As if in response, he heard a cough from the children’s bedroom.

Kaise quietly opened the sliding door. Koaichi was curled up on his mattress. His covers had fallen onto the floor. It was the same for Yumiko. They were sleeping in the same posture. He replaced their covers and gazed at their sleeping faces. For a while he stayed that way.

He felt a warm glow in his heart.

The family ate dinner together. If that was impossible for him, he made every effort to return home before the children went to bed. He had tried to fulfill this promise to himself. He did what his own father had been unable to do in order to be a father himself.

But that would only be until next spring.

He would be ousted from headquarters. He would be sent off to a district office. He wouldn’t be able to return soon. It might be three years. It might be five years. Or he might have to go from one district post to another for a much longer time. It would be cruel to pull his children away from their friends. He would go alone, leaving his family here.

Kaise went back to the living room.

He put away the writing paper and took out the file from his briefcase. It was a copy of U Station’s night-duty report. He had been able to get ahold of this. What had been the scene in the station last night? He didn’t know how much significance there was in finding that out, but he had to try.

I’ll flail around as much as I can.

He looked through the copy.

6:23 p.m.: Injury traffic accident. Three officers sent out. Returned at 8:40. 7:10: Report of a fight. Two officers sent out, determined it was a false report. Returned at 7:58. 8:20: Traffic accident involving an object. Two officers. Returned at 10:05.

He checked the names of the night-duty officers and the times they were out of the station according to each incident and accident. It was more complicated than he had expected. It was more than he could keep straight in his mind.

Kaise used scissors to cut the writing paper to make thirteen rectangles. He filled in the name of each night-duty officer on each piece of paper. He set the right side of the table as “inside U Station,” the left side as “outside station” and “sleeping quarters,” and reenacted the events in the night-duty report.

He spent two hours working on the puzzle-like task. He was still in the midst of it when his hand stopped.

For twenty-three minutes, from midnight on, there were only two slips of paper, “Masukawa” and “Totsuka,” in U Station.

Totsuka K — oichir — o. First Criminal Investigations Section, Burglary Section Police Officer. Age 25. He was directly subordinate to Masukawa.

An accomplice...

If that were the case, it would explain why the IDs were not with Masukawa. He had ordered Totsuka to take them out of the station.

Three a.m. Calming down his excitement, Kaise went to the bedroom. He crept in quietly, but, as always, Aiko opened her eyes.

“I’ll be a little late.” Kaise put in his call to his section first thing in the morning. Flustered, Subsection Chief Ioka transferred the call to the section chief. Section Chief Kosuga didn’t ask the reason for Kaise’s tardiness. He told him perfunctorily to hurry up and hand in the draft for the press conference. It would be held the next day at one p.m.

I still have a day.

Nine a.m. Kaise visited the singles dormitory for U Station. Announcing himself to the dormitory caretaker, he went up to the second floor.

Room 203. Just as he expected, Totsuka K — oichir — o was dead asleep in his bed. The time allowed for sleep by night-duty officers was only four hours. His day off, yesterday, was taken up with questioning by Internal Investigation, so he was sleeping as long as he could today.

“Officer Totsuka, please get up.” Kaise shook his body. Mumbling a few senseless words, Totsuka opened his eyes halfway, then suddenly sprang up.

“Good morning, sir!”

He had been posted to U Station after police-box work and had spent one year as guard of the holding cell. It was from this spring that he had joined the burglary group. He was in the midst of a three-year training period to become a detective. His round face and buzz cut reminded one of a potato. But looking close, Kaise saw narrow eyes that looked unyielding and a mouth clamped shut in a straight line.

“I’m being questioned by Internal Investigations in the afternoon. I cannot reply to your questions.” Sitting formally on the floor with his legs tucked under him, Totsuka refused point-blank.

“You don’t have to be so hard-headed. All I want to know is what the station was like night before last.”

He got no replies no matter what he asked. Totsuka kept repeating that he couldn’t answer. Although it was impossible to make a seasoned detective like Masukawa talk, Kaise had hoped that he might make a greenhorn give something up. It seemed, however, that the blood of the Criminal Investigation Department flowed all the way to the nerves of the lowest-ranking officers.

Show me your real feelings, Kaise thought in frustration.

“Then let me hear your opinion. This isn’t an interrogation.”

“...”

“Do you think this crime was committed by an outsider?”

“No, sir, I don’t,” Totsuka’s firm voice answered immediately.

“Why is that?”

“We were on night duty. We didn’t let anyone in, not even a cat.”

“So that means it was an inside job?”

“That, I wouldn’t know.”

“If it wasn’t an outside job, then it would have to be an inside job, wouldn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Kaise’s leading questions also reached a dead end.

He put his final question to Totsuka. “What do you think of the collective storage of IDs?”

“Well...” There was a pause. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

Kaise stood up. “Sorry to bother you. Go back to sleep.”

“Sir...” Totsuka started. His face was flushed red.

“What is it?”

“I think the collective storage of the IDs leads to a significant decline in police-officer morale.”

Kaise gazed at Totsuka as if looking at something that was too bright, then he looked around the room. The thirty IDs might have been here for a while. Just outside the window was the U Station building with the national flag fluttering in the wind.

Kaise went to the Headquarters Police Affairs Department. Totsuka hadn’t leaked any information. But this was a course he had embarked on, so he would confront Masukawa again this evening. As he was so thinking, he received a telephone call from Masukawa himself, saying he wanted to talk to him.

What had made him do that?

With a sense of caution, Kaise climbed the stairs of U Station.

The third floor. First Criminal Investigation Section. His hand on the door, he hesitated a moment. He had never entered this section, even when he was posted at U Station.

So what?

Opening the door, he was surrounded by a particular scent and heaviness to the air inside the room. The overlapping faces of the detectives. Their eyes. Their way of breathing.

“Thank you for coming over.” A voice sounded from a seat deep inside the room, and Masukawa came forward. His loping movement was the same as the night before, but his face looked entirely different. The dullness of the night before was replaced by a sharp light from eyes that dominated his entire face.

Masukawa opened the door to the interrogation room. “Let’s do it in here.”

Masukawa sat his large frame down on the flimsy chair readied for the suspect on the other side of the steel desk. He crossed his legs with an exaggerated motion.

“Why don’t you start off first? The Internal Investigations questioning has finished. So I can reply to any of your questions.”

What is he up to? Kaise was troubled by the phrase “start off first.” But Masukawa had also said he would answer any question he had. He would be foolish to let this opportunity pass. Sitting down in the chair, Kaise promptly began.

“During the night duty, there were no intruders from the outside. That means it’s an inside job, doesn’t it?”

“Probably,” Masukawa stated readily.

“Who do you think it was?”

“Army Sergeant would be the most likely. Because he was the one who opened and closed the storage safe.”

That was most logical. However...

“Does Police Sergeant — Owada have a motive to steal the notebooks?”

“Right. That is where we hit a dead end.”

“If not him, then who is suspicious?”

Masukawa rolled his neck around in a circle. “I guess it would be me. Since the storage-safe key was hanging right in front of my eyes.”

There was a breath-long pause. Kaise looked into his eyes.

“Do you have a motive?”

“I certainly do. I’ve wanted to quash this crappy system of collective storage.”

“What do you mean by crappy system...?”

It was Masukawa who first showed his anger.

“Isn’t that enough? Now, you listen to what I have to say. Aren’t you playing dirty, barging in on Totsuka when he was asleep?”

Was that the issue? Now that he realized what Masukawa really felt, Kaise’s tension relaxed.

“I don’t think it was dirty. I just want to get the stolen documents back.”

“You mean, Totsuka and I did it. That’s what you want to say?”

“You have motive. You said so yourself, didn’t you?”

“Hey, keep it within limits, why don’t you? If detectives who catch thieves become thieves, it’s the end.”

“You were alone with Totsuka from midnight, weren’t you?”

“Don’t bother. Forget about lording it over and playing at interrogating when you’re an inexperienced Police Affairs guy.”

“What are you calling me...?”

“I don’t have any interest in a castrated management type. Go back to Headquarters and kiss the ass of the career executives.”

Anger shot through the core of Kaise’s body. He charged at Masukawa and grabbed his shirt. “Say that again!”

“You want to fight?”

Masukawa grabbed Kaise’s shirt with twice the strength. He throttled him with his powerful grip. The two of them shot out to the side of the desk, still grabbing on to each other.

“Take it back!”

“You take it back! Totsuka is turning in the cold air about now!”

“This is work for me, too!”

“Well then...”

Charged by Masukawa’s massive body, Kaise was smashed against the wall. He couldn’t move.

“Don’t make it sound like you know what you were asking! What kind of work do you guys do, anyway? We’re putting our lives on the line here. We’re protecting the town. What the hell are you guys protecting? The Headquarters Department Head? Yourself? Just give me an answer!”

“Idiot! It’s my family that I’m protecting, of course!”

Masukawa’s grip slackened a bit. Kaise took advantage of this opening and desperately moved his hips aside. Their balance crumbled. They fell against the steel desk.

Hearing the ruckus, several detectives burst into the room.

“Let go!” Kaise yelled, but his arms and hips were pinned down, as he and Masukawa glared at each other. They were both breathing heavily.

“It’s nothing. We were just playing.” Masukawa shook off the hands of the detectives and turned his face toward Kaise. He had lost his will to fight.

“Are we finished, Superintendent?”

“...”

Leaving the interrogation room, Masukawa stopped in his tracks, and after a while turned back. “It’s the same for me, too. When all is said and done, I’m protecting my family.”

This guy is innocent. Kaise realized this when he heard the quiet seriousness in Masukawa’s voice.

Headquarters, Police Affairs Section. Eight p.m.

The only light was at Kaise’s desk. His writing paper was still blank. Kaise didn’t even attempt to take out his pen.

His brain repeatedly checked the facts of the case.

Masukawa is innocent.

His conviction was unwavering. Masukawa had been facing the key on the wall all night. That meant that the other night-duty officers were also innocent. It appeared that way.

Masukawa would have left his seat to go to the toilet. There might be a culprit who had a copy of the key. There might be an outside person who could succeed in committing the crime in a million-in-one chance of timing. But Kaise did not turn his eyes toward such farfetched possibilities. It was because he had forcibly set Masukawa up as a “convenient culprit” that he had lost sight of the true nature of the case and had strayed off course. He was through with choosing a side path and getting lost in a forest with no exit.

He would follow the main branch. If he got rid of the possibilities of the night-duty staff and an outside culprit, what was left was the Police Affairs Section. That was where the perpetrator was.

That evening, he had got hold of Yamazaki Tomoyo and talked with her at a coffee shop. Did anyone in the section have a grudge against — Owada? Tomoyo laughed off the question. “He is disliked, for sure, but it’s overstating it to say he’s hated.” He cast out the name of Officer Kamiya, but she said he was on daytime duty the day of the incident and was not at the station that night. “Besides, young Kamiya isn’t the kind of kid who goes around hating people. He’s never even complained about Police Sergeant — Owada.” Perhaps fed up with Kaise, who continued to persist, Tomoyo said in the end, “You won’t get anywhere suspecting people in the Police Affairs Section. After all, it’s Mr. — Owada who has the key to the storage safe.”

Ultimately, that was what he came back to.

— Owada T — oru.

He was in charge of the first-floor storage safe. He alone took care of the key to the storage safe, and on the day of the incident, he had collected the IDs. Circumstantially, he satisfied all the conditions for being a suspect.

Tomoyo’s face concurred. Masukawa had also clearly stated this. The conclusion that a seasoned detective had reasonably come to was — Owada.

Yet, no one could fathom his motive.

Kaise leaned back in his chair.

Motive...

Nothing came to mind. — Owada stole the notebooks. That “Army Sergeant” whose beliefs were based on strict obedience to rules and regulations.

If he had a motive, it could only be the “season of the devil” so immediately prior to his retirement; that a storm unable to be detected from his outward appearance was raging in — Owada’s heart.

Or might there be an unavoidable circumstance? Some circumstance making him steal the IDs... Kaise couldn’t think there was one. A circumstance that would make him throw away the convictions he had held for forty years and steal his fellow officers’ documents.

Circumstance...

What? Kaise was beset by a strange thought.

I know that circumstance. I’ve heard it somewhere. He had that sense.

Not a circumstance, but a setup. That might be it. He felt he knew something.

He searched inside himself. As if he were following the afterimage of a shooting star. In his heart. Where his memory was lodged. Desperately.

It disappeared. It disappeared and scattered away. Where did it go? What was that strange sensation?

“Excuse me.” The section room’s door opened, and the beam of a flashlight swept across the wall. It was the Headquarters night-duty officer making his rounds.

“Superintendent, is everything all right?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Your face is pale white.”

“Yumiko said she was praised by her teacher today.”

“Oh, for what?”

“For being able to write her name in characters even though she’s only in second grade. She had practiced a lot.”

“Yes, she had.”

Kaise looked at Aiko’s profile as she peeled a tangerine. She’s gotten older, he thought.

“Aiko...”

“Yes, what is it?”

“How about building a house soon?”

In general, transfers meant the entire family moved. But if one had a house, one’s superiors gave tacit approval for a posting unaccompanied by family. Aiko looked intently at Kaise.

“A house...? But you’re not expecting to be transferred for a while. So it doesn’t make sense to build now.”

“But I may be, in the spring.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. So let’s at least be prepared.”

He stood up and went to the toilet as if to escape.

The time limit is near.

A sense of resigning himself to the inevitable spread over him. Two days was just too short a time. Tonight, after Aiko went to bed, he had to write up what would be quoted in the newspapers and on television. With this he would be ousted from his position in his section.

Is this also one of my punishments?

— Owada’s face kept flitting across his mind. He might be the culprit. Even so, there was nothing Kaise could do now. He had no proof. He couldn’t figure out a motive. Kaise didn’t have a strong enough sense of intuition to insist that he was the perpetrator.

It’s over. It’s all...

When he left the washroom, he heard a dry cough. It was worse than the night before.

Kaoichi’s really caught a cold now.

He went into the children’s room and placed the covers over them. Noiselessly he turned his body around. It was then.

Ah.

Kaise stood stock-still.

It came.

The sensation he’d had. Again.

It was last night. Yes, he had heard it last night. He had definitely heard something. Something important...

Kaise rushed back to the living room.

“Aiko, what was it?”

“What?”

“You were saying something yesterday...”

“Well, Mr. Fuwatari sent some apples...”

“No. That’s not it.”

“Oh, about Kao-chan’s class? There was a kid who spilled some paint...”

That was it.

In order to cover up the fact that he had spilled paint, he had doused it with a bucket of water.

That was the setup.

In order to hide the fact that one ID had disappeared, twenty-nine others were stolen.

Say — Owada lost his ID. Though it was not obvious from his outward appearance, there was some disturbance in — Owada’s mind as he faced imminent retirement. He was absent-minded. He was careless. He lost his ID, the very soul of a police officer. Take that as an assumption.

He couldn’t report that he had lost his ID. Even if his lips were pried open, — Owada couldn’t admit this. This man who had lived strictly according to rules and regulations would be fully disgraced. His forty years of life as a police officer would burst like a bubble. That was his motive. That was the sole thing that could be the motive that pushed — Owada to commit this crime. His retirement date was soon. — Owada valued his “Army Sergeant” moniker. Wasn’t that what was at the root of this incident?

Kaise looked at the clock. Ten-fifteen.

He saw the motive. But he had no proof.

What should I do?

If — Owada was the culprit, the IDs were no doubt safe. Kaise couldn’t fathom him throwing them away. He would return them after he retired. He must be thinking along those lines.

They were hidden somewhere. His house. His garden. A park. A coin locker...

Should Kaise contact Internal Investigations? Or should he collaborate with the Criminal Investigation Department to deal with this?

That would be useless. His idea would be laughed off. Even if the higher-ups moved on this, what if the culprit wasn’t — Owada? It would be accusing a police officer who had lived strictly by the book of being a burglar. Kaise’s word would smear mud on the last moment of — Owada’s life as a police officer.

I’ll have to make him admit it myself. Kaise made up his mind.

But his opponent was “Army Sergeant.” If he approached him directly, he would probably be rebuffed. If — Owada was guilty, he must have committed the crime under duress. He would hardly admit at this point that he was the one.

No...

It wasn’t necessary to make him admit it. What was at stake was the IDs. It was all right as long as twenty-nine IDs were returned. Then, what could be done...

Kaise fell into deep thought. He didn’t hear Aiko speaking.

Eleven o’clock. Kaise stood up. “I’m going out for a bit.”

The two-story house was small for a single-family dwelling.

With no hesitation he rang the doorbell. Three times... four times... five times...

“Who’s there at this hour?”

He heard the voice first as — Owada burst out the door.

“Superintendent?... What is it that you want of me? And at this hour!”

Kaise apologized for his rudeness and said, “I found out who stole the IDs.”

— Owada’s large eyes opened wider. He tried to say something in response, but his lips only trembled a bit and no words came forth.

Kaise’s conviction was confirmed. It is this man after all.

He was led into the living room.

There was a framed photograph of — Owada’s three sons. One worked for an apparel manufacturer. Another was a hair stylist. The third was a video-game software designer. Kaise had heard this from Tomoyo. It appeared that the occupations chosen by the sons were witness to a long history of family discord. A negative role model. No doubt — Owada had been the “Army Sergeant” at home as well.

“Thank you for waiting.” —Owada appeared, neatly dressed. He had regained his composure, but he couldn’t hide his stiff expression.

They sat formally facing each other.

“Inspector, who is the perpetrator?” —Owada started off, in the tense atmosphere.

Kaise spoke slowly, “I don’t have a name.”

“What do you mean? You just said you knew...”

“I had a telephone call from the culprit. Anonymously.”

“Yes?” The muscles of — Owada’s face slackened. “But why did you come here?”

“Because it is related to you.”

“To me?”

“Yes.” As he gauged — Owada’s response, Kaise continued to read the script he had in his mind. “The culprit didn’t give his name. But he did state his motive. He was full of hatred toward you. If he stole the IDs, it would cause hardship for you as the one in charge of the storage. He said that is why he did it.”

— Owada sank into silence. He probed Kaise’s eyes.

Kaise gave force to his words. “But he has become afraid. He wants to return the documents. That is what he said. However...” his voice became even firmer, “he tore up your ID. So he can only return twenty-nine of them.”

“...”

Listen to me carefully, Kaise thought, as he continued in a prayerful way. “I told the culprit to make certain he returns them by noon tomorrow to a place where a police officer can find them.”

— Owada nodded. Or Kaise had this illusion.

“That is all. I ask that you keep this matter a secret. I don’t intend to report this to my superiors.”

“You’re not reporting it?”

“No. If it causes a commotion and the culprit is scared off from returning the IDs, all this will be futile. As long as the IDs are returned, the rest doesn’t matter. That is the way I feel.”

Their gazes locked onto each other.

It’s all set, Kaise thought. He believed it.

As — Owada saw Kaise out, he took a breath and said with deep emotion, “Your father was a fine man, but you’ve become a fine police officer just like him.”

Kaise couldn’t fathom — Owada’s intent.

He looked once more into — Owada’s eyes.

Tomorrow. You must.

The Headquarters Police Affairs Section was bustling from early morning.

On orders from the Headquarters Department Chief, Police Affairs Department Head Kamoike would be in charge of the press briefing at 1 p.m. Section Chief Kosuga was off the hook, but learning that Kaise had not drafted the briefing text, he flew into a rage. But that was only his way of posturing to those in the section. No doubt thinking that there might be a problem, as usual he had given a second order for the text. The announcement that Subsection Chief Ioka had prepared on the word processor had already been printed out and had received the approval of the Headquarters Department Head.

Kaise sat at his desk without moving. He was fretfully waiting for news of the discovery of the IDs.

I beg of you. All he could do was to pray for the result.

Time passed quickly. All of a sudden it was past 10:30, and when he next looked up it was close to 11:00.

The promise was for morning. Wasn’t that it?

The telephone rang. “Yes, Kaise here.”

“Hello, dear.” It was Aiko.

“What is it?” His voice was mixed with irritation.

“There was a call from the hospital... Your father’s condition is worse.”

Father’s condition...!

“How bad is it?”

“I don’t know. They said he suddenly collapsed in the hallway.” Aiko was upset.

“...”

Kaise was distressed. Should he go? But...

“I’ll leave right now,” said Aiko.

“...”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll take a taxi.”

“Sorry.”

He placed the receiver down as he contained his feelings.

After this the telephone remained silent.

The clock advanced. Both the second hand and the minute hand. They were moving too fast.

Did — Owada intend not to return the IDs? Or did Kaise miss hitting the target?

No, it’s — Owada. There’s no mistake.

The noon signal rang out. “By morning” was over.

Crap!

Someone turned on the television. The noon news was being broadcast. The next news was at three o’clock. The top story was certain to be the large-scale theft of IDs from J Prefectural Police.

Surely, it can’t be... A new worry rose up.

— Owada may have done his part and placed the IDs somewhere on the station grounds. But they hadn’t been found. They might be in a hard place to locate. Perhaps that was it.

“Subsection Chief Ioka, come over here please.”

To Ioka, who approached with a stiff expression, Kaise whispered, “The IDs are on the grounds of U Station.”

“What?”

“I want to ask you to search for them. In the hedges. The parking lot. The garage. Make a full search.”

Out of the corner of his eyes Ioka glanced toward Section Chief Kosuga. Kosuga was looking in Kaise’s direction. Kaise pulled Ioka toward him.

“No matter what happens, I’ll be leaving in the spring. It’s my last request. Please do as I ask.”

“But, but, Superintendent...” Ioka’s face was distorted. He was not a bad human being. He was just timid.

“Will you do it for me?”

“I understand. I’ll go.” Ioka flew out of the section room.

Twelve-fifteen... Thirty... Forty-five.

Nothing from Ioka yet...!

Department Head Kamoike walked into the section room. The press announcement was to be in fifteen minutes.

It won’t be in time! Kaise grabbed the telephone receiver roughly.

He called U Station’s internal line. — Owada’s desk...

Yamazaki Tomoyo’s bright voice came on the line. She said — Owada had gone to lunch.

“Crap!”

Kamoike glared at Kaise as he slammed the receiver down.

“I’m off to wipe up after your mess.”

It’s no good.

Kamoike turned his back on Kaise. It was then that the telephone rang. He snatched the phone. It was Ioka’s voice.

“I found them! Behind the garage!”

Kaise stood up and shouted toward the section-room door. “Wait on the announcement! The IDs have been found!”

The section room broke out in an uproar. Kamoike and Kosuga stood, shocked looks on their faces.

Kaise yelled into the receiver, “Ioka, how many IDs are there?”

“I’m counting them. Let’s see, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight... There are twenty-eight!”

Twenty-eight?

“Count them again.”

“There’s no mistake. Twenty-eight. There are two missing.”

“Whose are missing?”

“Um, Police Affairs Section Police Sergeant — Owada’s... and Police Affairs Section Police Officer Kamiya’s IDs.”

Kamiya’s ID...? Kaise’s strength drained from him. He dropped into his seat and leaned back. Why...?

The section room was in turmoil. The press conference on the theft of the IDs was hastily replaced with an announcement of new police jackets. The young section staffer and female officer who were just now chosen to be models pulled on the prototype jackets and rushed out the door.

It was after the commotion was over that Kaise at last arrived at a conclusion. He wondered if it was what had actually transpired. He still couldn’t believe it.

So that was it.

It had been officer Kamiya who had lost his ID. Receiving this report, — Owada had committed the theft to hide this fact. He had covered up for the younger man. The penalty for losing one’s police ID was heavy. It would affect Kamiya in the future. It might even block his promotions...

He had covered for his subordinate.

That wasn’t all, though. — Owada wouldn’t stain his hands with a crime for such a simplistic motive. Most likely, — Owada’s inner feelings complicated the situation.

— Owada had said, “Your father was a fine man, but you’ve become a fine police officer just like him.”

His own three sons had chosen other paths in life. — Owada must have wanted them to follow in his footsteps. Hadn’t he wished for sons who would take their father’s way of life as their model and follow him?

He had placed his unfulfilled dream on Kamiya, who had just begun his way in the police force. On that fresh, young police officer.

“Season of the devil”... that was the only explanation.

Kaise still had a hard time believing it.

But the fact that it was twenty-eight IDs that were returned told Kaise it was — Owada’s crime after all. If it was only Kamiya’s ID that wasn’t returned, he would be the one under scrutiny. That was why — Owada got rid of his own ID as well. With the discovery of hatred toward the “Army Sergeant,” Internal Investigations wouldn’t be able to see through to the core of the case.

It would remain an unsolved case. Along with — Owada’s retirement...

Telling Kosuga that he was going to the hospital, Kaise left the Headquarters building.

He drove toward the highway. Just as he was about to leave the city, he felt his mobile phone vibrating in his chest pocket. Kaise slid his car into the gasoline stand at the corner.

“Dear, he seems fine. He had a bit of anemia.” The tone of Aiko’s voice was like a song. He had forgotten what her true voice was like.

“Really?”

“He’s sleeping in his bed now. He was awake when I came. When he saw me, he said, ‘Yah.’”

“Oh, that, it means he’s happy.”

“You knew that?”

“You knew that, too?”

“Of course, from a long time ago.”

“Really...”

“I’ll come from now on. I’ve become friendly with the nurse.”

He thought of Yagi Akane’s bright, smiling face.

Putting his mobile phone back into his chest pocket, Kaise turned his car onto the highway and stepped on the accelerator.

“Yah,” he said softly to himself.

It was then that a view of the sea — with a calmness that belied the winter season — opened up in front of him.