Lisa Atkinson - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 131, No. 5. Whole No. 801, May 2008

“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.”