Lady Joker, Volume 1 by Kaoru Takamura (lightest ebook reader .txt) 📕

the morning paper and, starting with the front page, perused just the headlines and the leads, refolding the newspaper after scarcely ten minutes. His heartbeat had quickened momentarily when he saw the headline mysterious tape sent to hinode on the Metro page, but he was able to subdue his anxiety by running through the relevant administrative concerns in his mind. First, he must decide how to explain the matter to people both within and outside of the company. Next, he needed to research the effect that such an article would have on consumer awareness. Finally, he had to investigate the item in question—the letter from Seiji Okamura dated June 1947.

It had not occurred to him before but, judging from the sensitive content of the letter this Okamura had sent to the Kanagawa factory—if such a letter did in fact exist—it must have been reported to the board members at the time. Moreover, regardless of how the letter had been dealt with, if an artifact written half a century ago had found its way into the hands of someone outside the company, it behooved him to conduct a thorough investigation. He decided he would search for the board meeting minutes from back then.

“Dear, you should start to get ready. Please don’t forget to take your coat, it’ll be chilly all day again,” his wife said, the busy clatter pausing as she emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. Just then, the intercom rang to announce that the company car had arrived.

合田雄一郎　Yuichiro Goda

“All staff, report to the dojo!” As the order rang out, the investigators who had been on standby in the large meeting room rose to their feet en masse. Yuichiro Goda was among them. Passing the television, which had been left on, he was lured by the sound and glanced at the screen.

“It’s Hinode’s president, Shiroyama! Mr. Shiroyama is coming out the front door of his home! One day after his release, Mr. Shiroyama looks refreshed and seems much more at ease!” a reporter cried out. As three men who appeared to be Hinode employees, along with two uniformed police officers, struggled to fight off the encroaching horde of reporters in front of the gate, Kyosuke Shiroyama kept his head down and slipped out through a fifty-centimeter-wide gap. The suit he was wearing today was a deep lustrous navy blue. His necktie was an understated silver with a light-green pattern. In one hand he carried a black briefcase and a duster coat.

“Were you able to get some rest last night?” “How do you feel this morning?” The reporters thrust their microphones in Shiroyama’s face.

“Yes, very well, thank you,” Shiroyama responded with a slight bow of his head, his voice as aloof as his facial expression.

“The perpetrators are still at large.” “Do you have anything to say to them?” “Have you seen the papers this morning?”

Facing the surging crowd of people, Shiroyama spoke clearly, “I’m sorry, everyone, would you mind backing up a little?” He forced a reserved smile. As he surveyed the scene, the camera caught Shiroyama’s gaze—a strong will cloaked in politesse—and it traveled through the cathode-ray tube to meet Goda’s as he watched.

His eyes are a little bloodshot. Goda imagined Shiroyama would have been too psychologically charged to sleep much the first night after his release. Last night Goda had spoken to Kano—whose job as public prosecutor consisted of judging people’s appearances—and when Goda had asked what he thought of Shiroyama, Kano had responded, “He’ll pay lip service but never reveal what’s in his heart—the type who’s convinced what he’s doing is right. Similar to a politician.” To Goda, however, politicians were too far removed from his line of work as a police detective. As he stared at the company man on the TV screen and before he could stop himself, Goda began to wonder what it must be like to work for a private-sector enterprise. Whenever he felt the distance between the police and private citizens loom large, Goda always asked himself what the regular working people he saw outside his window must be thinking. Since being transferred from MPD to this local precinct, he had even more chances for such random ruminations.

“Hey, let’s get going. We’ll be late,” his partner called out, and Goda pulled himself away from the television. Investigation Headquarters had that day gone through another staff increase and turnover, and a surge of detectives from various departments and members of the Mobile CI Unit had mustered. Since the large conference room could no longer accommodate the additional officers, briefings by the chief of First Investigation would now take place in the dojo, starting this morning.

With the safe return of the victim, the weight of the investigation had shifted to legwork, canvassing neighborhoods on foot, and looking into stolen goods; now that they had assembled enough men, a full-on search operation was set to begin, but for those working on the fringes, the big picture of the investigation was still elusive. SIT and the team led by Second and Fourth Investigation tasked with researching the cross sections between and among the corporate and crime-syndicate connections had been using a separate meeting room so their progress remained private, and they did not share their findings during daily morning and evening meetings. This morning’s papers had reported that a mysterious tape was sent to Hinode back in November 1990—a story that was like a bolt from the blue for Goda—but he doubted that it would have any influence on the fieldwork of those tracking the perpetrators.

The narrow entrance to the dojo created a bottleneck as the procession of officers filed up the stairs to the fourth floor. In the jammed passageway, Goda caught sight of the back of the head of a detective a few steps ahead of him and thought it looked familiar. The dense hair, like a thicket of needles, and the crown with its elongated oval shape called to mind a tawashi scrub brush. After Goda entered the dojo, the