Lady Joker, Volume 1 Kaoru Takamura (ereader ebook .TXT) 📖

Looking at his watch to confirm there was still a while before the second evening edition went to press, Negoro crossed the news room floor, went out into the hallway, and stood in front of the elevators.

“Where are you going?” Sugano called out to him.

“I was thinking about getting something cold to drink,” Negoro responded.

“Then maybe I will too.” Sugano mumbled, and so together they headed down to the café on the third floor.

The inside of the café was bathed in warm, springlike sunshine, so Negoro thought he had made the right choice in ordering chilled tomato juice. Sugano, after taking a sip of the juice that was brought out to him, abruptly took out a miniature bottle of vodka from his jacket pocket, poured it into the glass, and tucked the empty bottle back into his pocket.

Negoro pretended not to notice but, unable to contain his urge to laugh, he ultimately gave in.

“It’s stress,” Sugano explained, and chuckled himself.

For going on twenty years now, the two of them had chased stories together—one homing in on public safety and the other muckraking—and though they were neither close nor distant with each other, they were adept at measuring each other’s stress level. Sugano’s network in the public safety sector was rock solid—even reporters from rival papers had to admit this—but on the flip side, it meant that Sugano was so fully assimilated into this web that he could no longer move a muscle. And whereas ostensibly the two men were quite different, the invisible ties that bound Negoro were not unlike the ones that held the other man in place within the police organization. And not only were their constraints similar, they were invariably connected within the larger sphere of society.

“Fumi, what were you doing in Shimbashi yesterday?”

“How’s your Bloody Mary?”

“Think the Hinode stock is going to move?”

“Depends on how the case develops. Incidentally, does the source of the tape from the nineties have anything to do with the Seiwakai?”

“Probably. I’m sure they’re the ones making trouble for Hinode.”

“We’d better keep a close watch on their stocks, too.”

“Yeah.”

Negoro refrained from mentioning Takeshi Kikuchi’s name, which had been on the tip of his tongue. He was all too familiar with how sharp Sugano’s ears were, and the fact that Sugano already knew he had been in Shimbashi yesterday convinced him to tighten his control valve. Negoro’s thoughts shifted as he stared at the light pink rose in a bud vase in front of him, and he again regretted having missed the chance to visit the rose show. The flower barely held its spindle shape, the tips of the petals curling slightly as they were beginning to unfurl. Negoro paused for a few seconds, expected to be at least a little stirred by this, but ultimately he gave up and looked away.

“Fumi, let me know when you make a move. I’ll gather as much information for you as I can.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Looks like we won’t be sleeping at home for a while.”

“I’d take it easy.”

Sugano tossed back his vodka-spiked tomato juice, and with a “See you later, then,” he took leave of Negoro.

城山恭介　Kyosuke Shiroyama

The police interview was scheduled to begin at nine-fifteen in the morning. Shiroyama wrapped up the morning assembly for executive staff in five minutes, simply reading aloud the speech he had written the night before, and was back in his office by 9:06 a.m. He took out his reading glasses before he even sat down and there, in the company of the managers of general affairs and of human resources, who had both been waiting for him, he scanned the array of documents that he had hastily demanded be assembled ahead of the noon press conference. Dismayed, Shiroyama looked up at the two executives.

“So what you’re saying is, there is no trace of Seiji Okamura’s letter in our records?”

“The Kanagawa factory was searched thoroughly as a result of the police’s request for documents. As for the main office, quite a lot of old paperwork was disposed of when we moved into the new building.”

“I see. Since we’re pressed for time, let’s move on. There are no materials pertaining to Hiroyuki Hatano’s recruitment exam, either?”

“Answer forms and interview materials of unsuccessful candidates are shredded and discarded at the end of each year.”

“Is there nothing else to prove that no discrimination took place? What about our hiring bylaws from the nineties?”

“We do have those.”

“Please bring them to me.”

After the human resources manager bowed and quickly left the room, Shiroyama turned his attention to the manager of general affairs, making sure to check the clock, which read 9:10 a.m.

“Were you able to contact him?”

“Yes, but it seems he’s suffering from dementia . . .” Ide replied. It had been discovered that a man named Kuwata, who back in June 1947 had held the same position as Ide—manager of general affairs—was still alive at the age of ninety-six, and Shiroyama had given instructions to contact him, but apparently they were too late. With the exception of Kuwata, all the other Hinode executives from forty-eight years ago had passed away. Shiroyama had kicked himself repeatedly for not taking care of the matter when it occurred back in 1990, but he hadn’t given up yet. He needed to know who had been the last person to handle Okamura’s letter in June of 1947. Once that became clear, so would the source of the leak.

“Please see if you can find someone who was relatively young at the time. There may be a chance someone still remembers what happened. How about the minutes from the board meetings back then?”

“They’re on your desk.”

“Have you read them? Are there any references to the letter?”

“The bigger issue is that the minutes from August are missing . . .”

“They’re supposed to be there?”

“I believe so. From what we can tell from the September meeting minutes, it seems two board meetings were held in August, and we can’t find the minutes from either of them.”

Distracted by the fact