lack of muscle. The rules themselves are too sturdy.”
Or petrified, Mariko thought. But the truth was more complex than Kusama made it out to be. On the street, law enforcement had more to do with creative thinking than rote memorization. Even a simple traffic stop was never simple. Sometimes you let the driver off with a warning. Other times you looked for any excuse that would allow you to search the vehicle. Some drivers struck you as innocent and out of their depth; others were hiding something and both of you knew it. You might have reasonable suspicion in both cases, but that didn’t make the cases the same.
In Joko Daishi’s case, Mariko had logged a week’s worth of overtime helping the DA’s office dig up charges to level against him. No doubt he had followers willing to plead guilty to all of them. But there was at least one charge that left no wiggle room. “Captain, this man tried to run me down with a motorcycle. The last time I checked, that’s attempted murder.”
Kusama gave her a parental glare, warning her about her tone. Mariko lowered her gaze, softened her voice, and went on. “You’re good police, sir. I know you’re not the type to let this slide. Never mind that it was me. The guy tried to kill a cop. Please tell me that still means something in this town. Tell me we can hold him without bail.”
Kusama shook his head. Mariko opened her mouth, but Sakakibara cut her off before she could say something to get herself suspended. “His lawyer’s pushing for involuntary manslaughter,” he said. “Says his client was high on psychedelics at the time. Says he didn’t see you standing in front of him.”
Mariko was happy to direct her frustration at someone else—someone who wouldn’t threaten to strip her of her detective’s rank as well. “Sir, that’s bullshit.”
“It sure as hell is.”
“Can’t we just tell the DA not to push for manslaughter? Let’s call it aggravated assault and add the narcotics charge to it. He’s admitting he was high at the time, neh?”
Sakakibara snorted in disgust. “The damn lawyer claims his client didn’t take the drugs willingly. Says it was a part of a religious ceremony. The MDA was forced on him.”
“So what, it’s a normal part of church for these people to force-feed drugs to their priest?”
“That’s the story, yeah.”
Mariko wished she had a bokken in hand and something to smash with it. She managed to keep herself from hammer-fisting Kusama’s desk, choosing to hit her own thigh instead. “So no narcotics charges, a big fat no on the attempted murder, and another prime suspect on all the terrorism and conspiracy charges?”
“Looks like it.”
“And since Joko Daishi has no record—”
“Involuntary manslaughter isn’t enough to hold him without bail. Yeah.”
Mariko slammed her fist on her thigh again, then remembered what Kusama would infer about her violent tendencies. That made her angry enough to want to hit something again, but this time she managed to bottle it up—barely. Swiveling to face Kusama, she said, “Please, Captain, you’ve got to do something. I’m telling you, if this guy isn’t Tokyo’s number one security threat, I don’t know who is.”
“I want you to listen to me very carefully,” Kusama said, his voice low and cold. “You and I operate within a system. So does the district attorney who pressed to hold our perpetrator without bail. So does the judge who said that wasn’t warranted for a suspect with no priors. He’s not wrong, by the way. If it had been some kid driving drunk who almost hit you, they’d have released him on bail too.”
Mariko could hardly sit still. Her rage writhed like an animal trapped inside her skin. “Sir,” she said, keeping her voice as quiet and cold as Kusama’s, “if the drunk kid deliberately aimed the car at me, I think we’d keep him locked up for as long as we could hold him.”
“Yes. And we kept Koji-san as long as we possibly could, and then some. I’m told the bail was astronomical, but as you said, he has people willing to make extraordinary sacrifices on his behalf. He was released this morning, and his mask with him.”
“Then something awful is going to happen,” Mariko said, “and I hope to hell I don’t have to say I told you so.”
Kusama glared at her, inhaling like he was about to breathe fire. But just at that moment, his phone rang. “Please excuse me,” he said. He donned