Free Rules of the Hunt by Victor O'Reilly Page A

case
consisted of three islands of eight detectives headed by a sergeant — with the
remaining three desks by the windows occupied by two inspectors and Adachi
himself, when he was not using his private office.   Down the corridor were individual interview
rooms, and anybody who needed privacy or to concentrate went there for the
period necessary.
    However, being
apart from the group for long was frowned on.   The group system, the basis of Japanese social culture, had served them
well.   The most frequently heard saying
in
Japan
was “The nail that protrudes gets hammered down.”   The system did encourage individual
initiative, but only in the sense that it contributed to the progress of the
group.
    Personally,
Adachi was surprised how many nails were protruding these days, but thought it
had probably always been so in reality.   The trick was to avoid the hammer, and the best way to do that was not
to be perceived as a nail.   Alternatively, the nails could come together as a group.   One way or another in
Japan
, it was
hard to avoid the group.
    Most of the
desks were occupied when Adachi walked in.   His detectives were hand-picked, and selection for the elite unit was
regarded as a privilege, but the level of commitment demanded was high.   Typically his detectives worked seventy to
eighty hours a week on top of commuting up to three hours a day and attending
the near-obligatory group drinking sessions after work.
    Quite a number
of his men were unshaven and bleary-eyed from having been up all night.   The killing of the kuromaku was a serious business, and its resolution demanded every
effort.   Also, it was well understood
that the twenty-four hours after a murder were a particularly crucial
time.   Physical evidence quickly got
lost.   Human memory had a short shelf
life.   You had to search and interview as
quickly as possible.   That was the
well-understood routine.
    Adachi felt a
pang of guilt for not having been up all night with his men as well, but then
reflected that in his own way he had been making a contribution to the
inquiry.   Anyway, his right-hand man,
Detective Inspector Jim Fujiwara, was about as reliable as another human being
could be.   They had worked together for
the last three years and knew each other well.   Fujiwara, a stocky powerful man in his late forties, had worked his way
up through the ranks.   He had more street
experience than Adachi and an encyclopedic knowledge of the yakuza .   Their respective skills were complimentary and they worked together
well.   Adachi felt fortunate.
    Adachi sat
down at his desk and Fujiwara sat down facing him.   A detective brought tea.   He was wearing house slippers.   Most of the detectives were.   In
Japan
, workers spent so much time
in their offices that it was customary to make yourself comfortable and as much
at home as you could.   And, of course, no
one wore shoes inside the home.   They
were removed as you entered and placed by the door.   It was a barbaric idea to bring dirt from the
street into the home, and, anyway, outside shoes were not comfortable to relax
in.
    There was a
pile of reports on Adachi's desk.   It
stretched several inches high.   He might
have sneaked in a little relaxation last night, but such interludes would be
scarce until Hodama's killers were found.   There would be work, work, and more work.   It was the Japanese way.
    Adachi gestured
at the reports.   "Fujiwara- san , I see you have been busy."
    Fujiwara
acknowledged the implied compliment.   Specific praise was uncommon.   You
were expected to do your work as well as you could and you did it.   Nothing else would be appropriate.   There was nothing exceptional about doing
your duty.
    "We have
completed the house-to-house questioning and we have in all the reports from
the kobans and mobiles in the
area.   In addition, we have the
preliminary pathology reports and those of the Criminal Investigation
Laboratory.   There have