s he stepped down onto the station platform, the chilly air stung his ears.

Resisting the urge to shrink from the cold, Yuto took a deep breath and

drew himself up to his full height. I can deal with this cold, just like I can

deal with this situation, he thought. It may be uncomfortable, but we must

take it on its own terms.

Standing beside him, Kurosawa was looking up at the sky. It was

ashen. The scudding clouds suggested that rain was imminent. No, with this

cold, it’s more likely to be snow, he thought.

“Let’s go,” Yuto said. Kurosawa grunted in assent. He was holding a

paper carrier bag. It contained one thousand cranes, which they had both

made.

It was Yuto who had suggested coming to see Yoshinaga.

“We’ve got to tell his parents the truth. And we’ve got to say we’re

sorry. Both to the parents and to Yoshinaga himself. I don’t expect them to

forgive us, but we should apologize nonetheless. It’s about the only thing

we can do at this point.”

Kurosawa agreed. He had proposed that they make the one thousand

cranes.

Yuto doggedly set about making them up in his room. He bought

another six packs of Traditional Paper in Ten Colors for the task. (Sometime

after the case was solved, he had found several open packs in his father’s

car. All the colors from the yellow on down were gone. Yuto now knew

where his father had done his crane-making. He must have parked the car

somewhere on his way home and done it there.)

A multitude of thoughts ran through his mind as he folded the

individual birds. In the end, though, all he was left with were regrets. Why

hadn’t he come out and told the truth earlier? Why hadn’t he apologized to

Yoshinaga? Why hadn’t he had a man-to-man talk with his father?

Any one of those things would have been enough to keep things from

ending as disastrously as they had. His father wouldn’t have been killed.

Sugino wouldn’t have committed murder. Yuto had never met Fuyuki

Yashima, but he was just another victim of Yuto and his friends.

The two boys had finished all the cranes on the previous day. They’d

immediately called the Yoshinaga house. “There’s something we want to

tell you about your son’s accident. May we come and see you?” they asked.

It was Yoshinaga’s mother who answered the phone. If the detectives

had visited her to verify certain facts as part of their investigation into

Takeaki’s murder, she must have some idea of the situation. On the phone,

however, she didn’t ask any questions; she simply said she was looking

forward to seeing them. They took that to mean that she wanted to wait

until they were face-to-face before getting serious with them.

“Itokawa quit his job at the school,” Kurosawa said as the taxi drove

them to the Yoshinaga house.

Yuto merely grunted. He had nothing to say.

“I’m sorry, Ao. Things wouldn’t have turned out like this if I’d not

suggested sneaking into the school. This whole thing is my fault.”

Kurosawa was on the verge of tears.

“Don’t be stupid.” Yuto flicked Kurosawa in the chest with the back of

his hand. “If you go down that route, then everything is my fault, because I

didn’t stop you. We’re equally guilty. Which is why we’re both going to

apologize, right?”

“Yeah,” Kurosawa grunted.

After a while, the taxi came to a stop and the two boys got out. They

were in front of a large house. A wooden plaque with the name Yoshinaga

hung from the gatepost.

Yuto looked over the gate. The garden was blanketed in snow. At the

end of it was the door of the house. Tomoyuki Yoshinaga was asleep inside

at this moment.

Saying sorry isn’t good enough. We need to pray, Yuto thought. Pray

that he’ll wake up one day. Yes, we’re really here in order to pray. When we

see Yoshinaga, we’ll try talking to him. We’ll say we’re sorry for what we

did. Come on now, wake up! Wake up and then beat the crap out of us.

Come on, don’t keep us all waiting.

Yuto exhaled. His breath formed a little white cloud of vapor. He

slowly walked toward the house.