he late-autumn sunlight came streaming in through a gap in the blackout

curtains. Why does it have to be so darn bright and sunny? Yuto was

thinking, despite being in the middle of a phone call.

“I understand the situation you’re in. I’ll handle all the paperwork at

my end. You needn’t worry about any of that.” Sanada, Yuto’s homeroom

teacher, spoke in a slow and serious tone. “The important thing is that you

take proper care of yourself. You’ve probably lost your appetite, but you

must keep eating. If there’s anything on your mind, no matter how small,

feel free to come in and talk to me. I’ll do everything I can. I know this isn’t

easy for you, but you’ve got to be a rock for your mother’s sake. It’s you

she depends on now.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Hang in there.”

“Thank you,” he said and ended the call. He’d always thought of his

homeroom teacher as frivolous and flighty, but today, he’d sounded serious

and sincere.

Yuto decided to send a quick email to one of his friends, Tatsuya

Sugino. Not only had they attended the same junior high school, they’d also

both been on the school swim team. Now that they were in high school,

neither of them were doing any sports.

He thought for a moment, then typed the subject line: “My Dad’s

Dead.”

“You probably got a shock when you saw the title of this email, but it’s

true. Must be plastered all over the TV by now. My dad was stabbed and

killed, so I won’t make it to school for a while. No idea if I’ll be able to go on to university either. Put the word out that I don’t want any messages of

condolence. They’ll just make things worse. Be in touch.”

Yuto pressed Send and collapsed back onto his bed. He had no energy

and his head felt heavy.

Had he managed to sleep at all the night before? He wasn’t sure. He

must have dozed off at some point, but he didn’t feel any better for it. No

big surprise there.

After a while, a reply to his email came in.

“I don’t know what to say, Ao. I checked out the news online. It’s

awful! Anyway, I hear you loud and clear. I one-hundred-percent get why

you don’t want people pestering you with good wishes. If anyone comes

and asks me about you, I’ll tell them what you told me.”

Yuto was surprised to find that emailing his friend made him feel the

weight of the reality of his father’s death all over again. We’ve lost the

breadwinner of the family. The old life we all took for granted could be

gone for good. He felt increasingly anxious.

Although Yuto still felt a certain heaviness in his head, he forced

himself to get up, get dressed, and get out of his room. As he descended the

stairs, he heard his mother’s voice coming from the living room.

“It’s all very well you asking me all these questions, but I have no idea

what’s going on myself … No, I haven’t started thinking about the funeral

yet … Like I said before, I’ve no idea … no, I know nothing about it.”

Yuto opened the door. Fumiko had the landline receiver in her hand.

From something in her manner, he knew she was talking to a relative.

“Listen, I’m going to hang up now. I’ll be back in touch as soon as I

hear anything … Okay … yes, bye, then.” Fumiko sighed heavily after

replacing the phone in its cradle.

“Who was it?” Yuto asked.

Fumiko grimaced. “Granny. Up in Sendai.”

“Uh-huh,” Yuto grunted. His mother’s family came from Sendai. One

of Yuto’s uncles lived up there, as did his grandmother.

“I was just thinking I should call them when your uncle saw the TV

news and called me. He put Granny on halfway through. She started asking

me all sorts of questions, even though I told her I had no idea what was

going on—” The ringing of the phone interrupted Fumiko. She scowled as

she picked up the receiver, but her expression softened a little when she

caught sight of the caller ID. “Yes, this is the Aoyagi house … I see … Any

time you like is fine … Thank you … Great. We’re looking forward to

seeing you.” Fumiko hung up. “That was Mr. Kotake,” she said. “He asked

if it would be okay for him to come around. He’s going to be our point of

contact with your father’s firm.”

Kotake was Takeaki’s direct subordinate. He had known the children

since infancy.

“Did you call Matsumoto?” Yuto asked. Takeaki had been born in

Matsumoto, a city in Nagano Prefecture. Although the old family home had

been sold and both Takeaki’s parents were dead, they still had a few

relatives living there.

“Uh-huh … I called Kyoko. She hadn’t seen the news on TV, so I had

to tell her what had happened. It wasn’t easy. She burst into tears.”

Kyoko was Takeaki’s younger sister. Yuto hadn’t seen her for three

years or more, but his mental image of her was of a positive person always

with a smile on her face. It was hard to imagine her crying.

Haruka quietly entered the room. The slight puffiness of the eyelids

was the only sign that she’d been crying.

“Have you called your schools?” Fumiko asked.

“I did,” said Yuto.

Haruka nodded. “My teacher had heard about what happened,” she

said. “She just never imagined it was Dad who was the victim. She was

horrified.”

Yuto reached for the remote, switched on the TV, and started flicking

through the channels. A number of news and current affairs programs were

on, but none of them were covering last night’s incident.

“Just leave the TV on. It will come up on one of the channels,” Haruka

said.

Yuto felt mixed emotions. While he didn’t really want to watch the

news about his father’s murder, he was curious to see how it was being

reported. It was like wanting to fiddle with a rotten tooth even though you

knew it would hurt.

The front doorbell rang. It was probably Kotake. Fumiko walked over

to the intercom.

“Hello?… What?… Don’t know what to say. Now’s not the time …

I’m sorry. I am afraid that won’t be possible. Goodbye.” Fumiko replaced

the receiver, a flustered look on her face.

“Who was it?” Yuto asked.

“Some TV person. They asked me how I was feeling.”

“That’s outrageous. Was it one of the tabloid shows?”

“Guess so.”

Haruka sprang to her feet and rushed out of the room. They could hear

her feet pounding up the stairs.

Yuto sighed. “Seriously?”

“What are they thinking? I told them now’s not the time.”

Haruka reappeared in the room.

“There’s a station wagon parked out front and a load of people looking

like TV types wandering around.”

Yuto went over to the glass door that overlooked the front garden. The

street in front of the house wasn’t visible from there, but he pulled the net

curtain across nonetheless. He felt creeped out.

“I hate this. We can’t even leave the house with that lot outside,”

Fumiko said. She sounded miserable.

That was when it happened. A snatch of music, simultaneously

ominous and trite, burst from the television. Nihonbashi Bridge appeared as

a screaming caption flashed up on the screen: “The capital’s dead zone!

Murder in the heart of Tokyo!”

It was a little after a quarter past eleven in the morning when Kotake

reached the house. He had a couple of his junior colleagues with him. After

a few polite expressions of condolence, they began to discuss with Fumiko

the next steps. In fact, Fumiko just listened as the three men spoke at her. At

his mother’s request, Yuto joined the meeting, but for him his father’s work

life was a closed book.

One of the men brought up the subject of the funeral. There seemed

little point in discussing that in any detail when the police hadn’t yet

released his body. They decided to push ahead with the basic preparations,

but wait to settle on the day after hearing back from the police.

Kotake and his colleagues knew next to nothing about the incident.

They also appeared to have no idea what Takeaki was doing in the

Nihonbashi area in the first place.

“Someone from the Nihonbashi police contacted us a bit earlier this

morning. They’ll be sending a couple of detectives to our offices around

midday. We may learn a bit more then,” said Kotake soberly.

Several calls from relatives and friends came in while his father’s

three colleagues were in the house. Fumiko got Yuto to answer them.

Although he knew the callers were motivated by genuine concern, he

wished they had thought a bit more carefully about whether now was the

best time to call. “No, we really don’t know what happened.” He got tired

and resentful of having to say the same thing every time. To make things

worse, he had to thank them for calling.

There was also a steady stream of people ringing the front doorbell.

Mostly it was the TV reporters. Despite the family having made it clear

they had nothing to say, one of the reporters had the gall to ask if they had a

message for the attacker. Yuto flipped the switch to Off without bothering to

reply.

“They want to sensationalize the murder because it happened right in

the center of Tokyo. We’ll go and see if we can’t get them to back off,” said

Kotake as he was leaving.

He must have managed to negotiate some sort of truce because the

reporters stopped buzzing the intercom.

Just before twelve, the family finally had something to eat. It was a

simple meal: salad, bacon and eggs, and tinned tomato soup. None of them

was hungry. They swallowed their food mechanically and almost

wordlessly.

Yuto got a number of emails on his cell phone after lunch. They were

messages of condolence from his old junior high school classmates and

friends. Asking Tatsuya to head people off was clearly not enough. At least

with emails, as opposed to phone calls, Yuto didn’t have to reply right away.

“Yuto!” someone called. Haruka jerked her chin at the TV. There was

a map on the screen. Yuto started when he realized it was the schematic

diagram of a bridge with the caption “Nihonbashi Bridge” underneath it.

The newscaster was moving his pointer over the diagram. “There is a

short underground passage at the south end of Edobashi Bridge. The

passage is about ten meters long. Traces of blood were found there that

could well be Aoyagi’s. What does that mean? Basically, that there’s a

strong likelihood Aoyagi was stabbed in this passage. It’s thought that the

man who’s currently hospitalized and in a coma stole Aoyagi’s wallet and

briefcase, exited the underpass at the Edobashi Bridge end, crossed

Edobashi Bridge, and then fled in an easterly direction. Aoyagi, despite

being severely injured with a stab wound, managed to exit the underground

passage from the other end and make for Nihonbashi Bridge. There are two

possible reasons for him doing this. First, that he was trying to escape from

the attacker; second, that he was looking for help.”

Yuto found himself fascinated by the newscaster’s slick, speedy delivery. He remembered what the detective last night had told them about

Takeaki having staggered all the way to Nihonbashi Bridge after being

stabbed elsewhere.

Could a stabbing victim really stagger all the way to Nihonbashi

Bridge without anyone noticing?

The newscaster’s next remark made it seem that he had anticipated

Yuto’s question.

“People we spoke to in the area said that at nine p.m., the time the

incident occurred, there were very few people around. That means it’s quite

possible that Aoyagi managed to get all the way to Nihonbashi Bridge

without encountering anyone.”

Yuto pictured the scene in his head. Trying to walk with a fatal stab

wound in his chest must have been excruciating. His father was a stubborn,

strong-willed man who never let pain or discomfort show, but this time

must have been different. As he flickered in and out of consciousness, what

was he thinking about? What was keeping him going like that?

And what about Nihonbashi?

What was Takeaki even doing there? The fact that Kotake and his

colleagues had no idea meant it probably had nothing to do with work.

Yuto realized that Fumiko had come up beside him and was staring

hard at the TV. She was clasping a hand towel. Haruka had started

whimpering again.

The so-called expert commentators—a writer and a bunch of vacuous

minor celebrities—all waded in with their opinions. “Things aren’t what

they used to be.” “Society is angrier and coarser than before.” “Life is no

longer sacred.” They riffed freely on their theme.

Yuto grabbed the remote control and changed the channel. A close-up

of a face he vaguely recognized loomed up at him. The face belonged to a

middle-aged woman. He was just wondering who she was when Fumiko

murmured, “Oh, it’s Mrs. Yamamoto. You know, from three doors down.”

“Ah.” Yuto remembered her now. He often bumped into her on the

street.

“Oh yes, I think he was a very responsible man. Serious about his

duties as a father, but able to have fun too. It’s just too sad.” Mrs.

Yamamoto was responding to a microphone that the interviewer had thrust

into her face.

Yuto switched off the TV and flung the remote onto the floor. Their

neighbor probably meant no harm, but having strangers sound off about you

and your family like that was horrible.

Haruka blew her nose into a tissue, crying the whole time.

“You’re getting on my nerves. When are you going to stop

blubbering?” Yuto snapped.

Haruka glared at him with bloodshot eyes.

“I can’t help it. I’m actually sad. Unlike you.”

“Bullshit. What’s this ‘unlike you’ stuff? You mean because you’re a

girl or something?”

“That’s nothing to do with it, you moron. Unlike you, I actually loved

and respected our father. This is what a good daughter should do.”

“Oh, please! When you spent all your time bad-mouthing him behind

his back.”

“Not all the time. Only when he went after me first. You hated his guts

right up to the last day of his life. You always left home early to avoid him.

That’s what you did yesterday morning too, right?”

Yuto couldn’t stand up to his sister’s counterattack. She was right on

target.

“Who says I didn’t respect Dad? That’s not true.” His voice had lost its

aggressive edge.

“Yes, but respect’s not love, is it? You’re just worried about what’ll

happen when he’s not there to pay for everything.”

“Oh, come on. As if you’re not thinking the exact same thing.”

“That’s why I’m saying I’m not like you. I loved Dad.” Haruka gave a

toss of the head. “And that’s why I’m crying.”

“Why were you always so selfish, then?”

“I’m not selfish.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Cut it out, Yuto. And you too, Haruka,” said Fumiko, groaning as she

pressed her fingers to her temples. “Stop fighting. Please, can’t you make

an effort to get on?”

An uncomfortable silence settled on the room. Yuto reached for his

phone and got to his feet. “I’m going out for a bit.”

“Going where?” Fumiko asked.

“No idea. I just can’t stand it in here anymore.”

“Don’t be stupid. God only knows what the neighbors will say if you

go out for a casual stroll.”

“Go outside, and the TV reporters from those tabloid news shows will

harass you. I guarantee it.” Haruka was looking up at him. “You fancy

being on TV?”

Yuto picked up a cushion and slammed it down on the sofa. Just then,

the phone rang again.

“Wonder who it is now.” Fumiko picked up the phone. “Yes, this is the

Aoyagi house … Uhm, yes, that will be okay … I see. Yes, in about half an

hour. We’ll see you then.” She put down the phone, a bemused expression

on her face, and turned to look at her children. “That was someone from the

police. He says they want to talk to us.”

There were two of them: Matsumiya, a young detective from the Tokyo

Metropolitan Police Homicide Division, and Kaga, a detective from the

Nihonbashi police. Kaga looked to be the older of the two. They had

encountered Kaga the night before in the meeting room at the Nihonbashi

Precinct station.

“How are you feeling?” asked Matsumiya.

After serving the two detectives green tea, Fumiko cocked her head to

the side.

“Frankly, I still can’t believe it’s all real. Even when I see the reports

on the TV, I can’t help feeling as though it happened to someone else. It’s

only when one of our relatives calls that I think, ‘Oh, something terrible’s

happened.’”

Matsumiya frowned sympathetically and tipped his head forward.

“That can happen. Please accept our condolences.”

“That man,” Yuto broke in, “what’s going on with him? The man who

stabbed my father. They’re saying he’s still in a coma.”

Kaga looked Yuto in the eye. “We can’t yet be sure that he is

responsible for the stabbing.”

“Maybe, but still…”

“There’s been no change in his condition,” Matsumiya said. “He’s still

in a coma.

“The fact is, we’ve something here we’d like you to look at.”

Matsumiya slipped his hand into his suit jacket and extracted a photograph.

It was a headshot of a young man. It looked like a color photocopy from a

driver’s license photo. “This is the suspect who’s currently in a coma. His

name’s Fuyuki Yashima. It’s written like this.” He turned the photograph

around to show the name and the characters with which it was written. He

turned the picture back around so it was faceup again. “Have you ever seen

him? Have you ever heard the name?”

Fumiko took the photograph from Matsumiya, while Yuto and Haruka

looked on from either side. The man in the picture was looking straight at

the camera. He was thin and his cheeks were hollow. His short hair was

dyed brown and there was a certain sharpness in his eyes. He reminded

Yuto of a boxer: pugnacious and up for a challenge.

“Do you recognize him? Has he ever been here to the house? Have

you seen anyone who looks like this in the neighborhood?” Matsumiya

asked again.

Fumiko looked inquiringly at Yuto and Haruka. They both shook their

heads.

“We’ve never seen this man before,” said Fumiko. She put the picture

down on the table.

Matsumiya turned it upside down and pointed to the characters for

Fuyuki Yashima on the back.

“What about the first name, Fuyuki, or the family name, Yashima? Do

they ring any bells? Have you ever received anything in the mail from

someone with that name? Or maybe a phone call? Did Mr. Aoyagi ever

mention this name? The name doesn’t have to be completely identical—

Yajima with a j will do too.”

Yuto stared at the name as he rooted through his memory. Despite his

efforts, he came up with nothing.

“You don’t need to be one hundred percent certain. It really doesn’t

matter if you think you remember something which later turns out to be

wrong. Fuyuki Yashima. Twenty-six years old. Born in Fukushima

Prefecture. Present address: Umeda in Adachi Ward. Was working at

Kaneseki Metals in Kunitachi until six months ago. Well? Does any of that

jog your memory?”

“Kaneseki Metals? Are you sure?” Fumiko asked.

“No doubt about it. We got confirmation from the head office. He

wasn’t a full-time employee, but he’s on record as having worked there.”

Fumiko exchanged another look with her children, then shook her

head again.

“As I told you yesterday, my husband hardly ever mentioned his

work.”

“I see.” Matsumiya put the photograph back in his pocket.

“That man—did he work for my dad?” Yuto asked.

“He was a contract worker, so he wasn’t a direct subordinate, though

he did work in your father’s division. We don’t know if the two of them

actually knew one another. That’s what we want to find out.”

“If they knew one another, would that mean the murder wasn’t about

money? That he had some kind of grievance against my dad?”

“We can’t yet say.”

“What are his family and friends saying?”

“Family? Whose family?”

“Him. That guy. He’s got to have a family. What have they got to say

about him?”

Yuto looked into each of the detectives’ faces in turn. Neither said

anything. “Thank you for this,” Kaga eventually said, picking up his

steaming teacup. He took his time as he swallowed a mouthful, then

replaced the cup on the table.

Yuto was getting annoyed and he couldn’t help showing it. “Just damn

tell me,” he snapped.

“Yuto!” Fumiko interrupted reproachfully.

“I’m very sorry,” Matsumiya said. “We’re not at liberty to discuss the

details of the investigation.”

“But we’re the victim’s family. Surely we have a right to know what

the killer’s family and friends are saying about him.”

“As I’ve already said, we don’t know for sure that he is the

perpetrator. Right now, he’s just the victim of an accident.”

“I don’t care what you call him. All I want is—”

“Look, I understand how you must feel,” Kaga broke in. “We would

like to give you an answer, but we’re not at liberty to do so. Proper

information management is an essential part of solving a crime. If leaks

slow us down or even prevent us from discovering the truth, then ultimately

that’s not good for you either. We’d really appreciate it if you could see

your way to being patient for a while.”

Kaga gave a formal bow and Matsumiya followed suit. In the face of

such respectful treatment from two grown men, there wasn’t a thing Yuto

could do. He crossed his arms and shut his mouth.

“Please, please, that’s enough bowing,” Fumiko said. “Will you at

least tell us when you find out what happened? The truth: that’s what we

want to know. The reason my husband was killed.”

“When the time is right, of course we’ll tell you,” Matsumiya said.

“You mean it? You promise?”

“Absolutely.” Matsumiya nodded forcefully.

“Actually, I have a question of my own.” Kaga turned to look at Yuto.

“I think you’re the best person to ask.”

“What is it?”

Kaga flipped open his notebook. “You graduated from a junior high

school called Shubunkan Junior High?”

Yuto was dumbfounded. That was the last thing he had been expecting

to hear.

“Yes, I did, but so what?”

“There’s a record of a call to the school in the recent call log on your

father’s cell phone. The call was made three days ago. Any idea what it was

about?”

“My dad? He called the school?” Yuto looked at his mother. “Did he

mention it to you?”

Fumiko made a noncommittal sound and tipped her head to one side.

“Why would he have called Yuto’s junior high?”

“So you didn’t know anything about it either, Mrs. Aoyagi?”

“No, this is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“Okay, I’ll try asking the school, then.”

“Uhm … could you tell us if you learn anything?”

“Certainly.” Kaga shut his notebook. “Oh yes. There’s just one more

thing. Did your husband often visit the Nihonbashi area?”

“None of us really know,” Fumiko sheepishly replied. “What he was

doing there, I mean.”

“Of course, Nihonbashi is made up of several different districts. Did

your husband ever mention any of them?”

Fumiko shot a questioning glance at Yuto and Haruka. They both

shook their heads in silence.

“I see.” Kaga gave a smile of acknowledgment and the two of them

took their leave.

After the detectives had left, Yuto felt a sense of lingering malaise. He

had hoped for some clear and concrete news from them, but, if anything,

their visit had only increased his sense of frustration.

With just the three of them in the room, the atmosphere once again

grew tense. “This is hopeless,” Haruka muttered. “We’re hopeless.”

“Why?” Yuto asked. “What’s so wrong with us?”

“What’s wrong with us?” Haruka replied. “We know nothing about

Dad. We couldn’t provide a single decent answer to even one of the

detectives’ questions. ‘I don’t know.’ ‘Never heard of it.’ ‘Never seen it

before.’ That was the best we could do. They must think we’re complete

fools.”

“You’re out of li—” Yuto began, but his voice trailed off. He shared

his sister’s overwhelming sense of impotence.

Without a word, Fumiko went into the kitchen.

Haruka went back to crying and Yuto no longer had it in him to

criticize her.