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

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.