maeda frowned as he pulled into the car park. There were dozens of spaces, and nearly all of them were full. ‘I thought the market bubble broke already,’ he grumbled.

He found an open space at the far back, parked his Honda Prelude, and took his golf bag out of the trunk. It had a light coating of dust on it from two years spent in the closet. He’d taken up golf at the suggestion of one of his former co-workers, and had been genuinely interested in it for a little while, but ever since he’d gone freelance, his clubs had languished inside their bag. It wasn’t that he was too busy; there just wasn’t any compelling reason for him to go. Golf was a pack sport – no fit pastime for a lone wolf.

He strolled through the front entrance of the Eagle Golf Driving Range – the décor of the place always reminded him of a second-rate business hotel – and his shoulders slumped. The lobby was full of golfers in various stages of ennui, all waiting their turn on the range. He counted nearly ten.

He considered leaving and coming back again later, but realised that he’d likely face the same scene unless he returned in the middle of the week, which wasn’t going to happen. Resigning himself to his fate, Imaeda went up to the front counter and put his name on the list.

Finding a free sofa seat, he sat and absent-mindedly watched television. A sumo bout was on: the big summer tournament. It was still early in the day, so only the lower-ranked wrestlers were competing. In the past they hadn’t even shown these matches, but with the recent surge in sumo’s popularity, fans were watching earlier and earlier in the day, giving some of the up-and-coming wrestlers coveted time in the spotlight. The sport’s reversal of fortune could be largely credited to a handful of rising stars: Takatoriki, Uminomai, and the Wakataka brothers. Of the brothers, Takahanada had recently become the youngest wrestler in history to sweep all three sansho prizes awarded to top-division sumo wrestlers, before going on to defeat reigning yokozuna Chiyonofuji to become the youngest wrestler to ever win the Gold Star. Chiyonofuji was defeated by another of these up-and-comers, Takatoriki, only two days later, spurring the yokozuna to announce his retirement.

The times are definitely changing, Imaeda thought as he watched the screen. The media had been announcing the end of the bubble economy for weeks, and people who had amassed fortunes in stocks and land were now standing with mouths agape, watching as it all vanished into thin air. He had expected things would quieten down a bit, and none too soon. When people were dropping five billion yen for minor van Gogh paintings, something had to give.

And yet, a casual glance around the lobby was enough to tell him that young women were clearly still flaunting their cash. Traditionally golf had been strictly a men’s sport and one enjoyed only by people who had attained a certain status, at that. Recently, however, younger, female players were a common sight on the greens and nearly half the people waiting their turn in the lobby today were women.

Which is precisely why I’m dusting off the clubs, he thought with a wry smile. He’d got a call from an old school friend four days earlier. His friend was taking two women, nightclub hostesses both, golfing, and had invited him along. Their planned fourth had backed out and his friend was looking to round out the number.

Imaeda didn’t have a problem swallowing his pride and accepting the invitation. He needed the exercise and he never passed up an opportunity to meet girls. The only thing holding him back was the fact that he hadn’t swung a club in years. Thus his visit to the range today, to brush up on his technique. His date on the golf course was two weeks away and he wanted to at least get to the point where he wouldn’t embarrass himself.

He only had to wait thirty minutes before his name was called, which he supposed was pretty good considering the number of people in line. The woman at the counter handed him coins for the ball machine and a card indicating his stall number and he headed out on to the driving range.

His stall was at the far end of the first level. He put a coin into the nearest ball dispenser and got two baskets’ worth to get him started.

He stretched a little bit to warm up before stepping into the stall, and decided to start with the seven iron – by far his favourite club. He wouldn’t be doing a full swing at first, just a nice controlled shot.

It took him a little bit of trial and error, but he’d soon got the feel of it back in his muscles. After about twenty balls, he was starting to loosen up and take bigger swings. His body was moving smoothly, and he was catching the ball with the sweet spot on the clubface. Imaeda figured he was hitting 150, maybe 160 yards with the seven iron, and was starting to feel pretty good about himself. Taking a break hadn’t set him as far back as he’d feared. Everything he’d learned in his lessons was coming back.

He had just switched to a five iron and hit a few balls when he felt someone’s eyes on him – the man hitting from the stall beside his was watching Imaeda’s shots while taking a break on the chairs. Imaeda didn’t mind, but it did make it a little harder to focus.

As he settled his grip on the new club, Imaeda glanced in the man’s direction. He was young, maybe not even thirty, and he looked oddly familiar. Imaeda stole another glance. Now he was sure he’d seen him somewhere before, but he couldn’t remember where. Judging by the way the man was looking at him, he didn’t recognise Imaeda at all.

He moved on to practising with the three iron. A short while later, the man got back up and started hitting balls himself. He was pretty good, and his form was excellent. He was using a driver and hitting the balls straight into the net two hundred yards away.

When the man twisted his neck a little to the right, Imaeda spotted two black moles on the back of his neck and the memories came rushing back.

Makoto Takamiya. Tozai Automotive.

Suddenly it all made sense. Seeing this particular man here hadn’t been a coincidence at all. The only reason Imaeda had known about this practice range was because of a job three years ago – the job on which he’d first seen Makoto.

No wonder he doesn’t know me.

Imaeda wondered what Makoto had been up to in the intervening years, and whether he was still seeing that woman.

His three iron was giving him trouble, so Imaeda decided to take a break. He bought a soft drink at the vending machine, leaned back in his chair, and watched Makoto hit the ball. Makoto was practising his pitch shot, aiming for a flag fifty yards away. He hit a half-wedge and the ball floated upward, hung in the air for an instant, and finally dropped down right by the flag. It was impressive.

Makoto turned around, perhaps sensing his eyes on him. Imaeda looked away and took a sip of his drink, noting by the shadows moving across the deck that Makoto was walking towards him.

‘Brownings, aren’t they?’

Imaeda looked up. ‘Huh?’

‘Your clubs. They’re Brownings, right?’ Makoto was pointing at Imaeda’s golf bag.

‘Oh,’ Imaeda checked the brand marker engraved on the head of the irons. ‘Yeah, they are. I’d forgotten.’

He’d bought them on impulse at a golf shop. The owner had recommended them, talking at great length about why they were the best clubs he had, perfect for someone with a slender frame – but Imaeda hadn’t really been listening. He’d bought them, he remembered now, because he liked the name Browning. It reminded him of a gun-obsessed phase he’d gone through.

‘Mind if I have a look?’ Makoto asked.

‘Go right ahead.’

Makoto pulled out the five iron. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘one of my friends got really good all of a sudden, and he’s using Brownings.’

‘You think the club has much to do with it?’

‘Well, he’d been plateaued forever, and then he shot right up after he switched, so maybe. I started thinking I should spend a bit of time looking for the right fit for me too.’

‘I’d say you’re good enough already, seeing you hit.’

‘Maybe out here, but not on a real course,’ Makoto said, assuming the stance and giving a light swing. ‘Hmm. The grip’s a little narrower than I’m used to.’

‘Why don’t you try hitting a couple?’

‘You don’t mind?’

‘Not at all.’

Makoto took Imaeda’s clubs over to his stall and started hitting a few balls. The balls zinged away, just the right amount of spin on them.

‘You’ve got it. That’s some fine hitting,’ Imaeda said. He wasn’t just being polite, either.

‘The club feels good,’ Makoto said.

‘Hit as many as you want. I need to practise with my woods anyway.’

‘Really? Thanks.’

Makoto started swinging again. He hardly missed a shot. But that wasn’t because of the clubs – his form was solid. Which made sense, since he’d practised for years at this very range. That girl had been taking lessons with him, too, Imaeda recalled. It took him a little while to dredge up her name: Chizuru Misawa.

Three years earlier Imaeda had been working at Tokyo General Research, a private investigations outfit with over seventeen offices throughout the country. Imaeda had been stationed at the Meguro office in southwest Tokyo.

Though they did their fair share of domestic cases, Tokyo General Research was unusual for its large number of corporate clients. They would frequently be asked to look into the management and earnings of a potential trade partner, or check whether a particular employee had been talking to headhunters. Once, they were asked to find out who the brash young CEO of a particular company was sleeping with, only to discover, much to their amusement, that he was sleeping with all four female members of the board.

Even with all this variety, the request that came from a man claiming association with Tozai Automotive was unusual: he wanted them to investigate a product by another company, a software developer by the name of Memorix. The product was a metallurgy expert system they had brought to market the year before.

He wanted Imaeda’s team to look into the history of the software’s development, the personal histories of the core members on the development team, and everyone in their social circles. The client hadn’t mentioned why he wanted this information, but they had a vague idea. Clearly, someone suspected that Memorix had stolen code from Tozai’s software and required evidence of the theft to prove it. A route connecting someone at Memorix to a conspirator inside Tozai would be the smoking gun they needed.

There were roughly twenty people at the Meguro branch of Tokyo General Research. Half of them were put on the job, including Imaeda.

Two weeks into the investigation, they had uncovered pretty much everything there was to know about Memorix. It had been founded in 1984, with former programmer Toru Anzai as CEO. Including part-time workers, they employed twelve system engineers who developed systems to meet the needs of various parts manufacturers.

There were several question marks surrounding the metallurgy expert system, the largest of these being the question of where Memorix had sourced the large volumes of metallurgical know-how and data. The story was that a certain mid-level metals manufacturer had given them technical assistance when they were developing the program, but when Imaeda and his team investigated further, they found that by the time Memorix had requested the assistance, the software was already complete – the manufacturer had only been hired to check the software.

The most obvious explanation was that they had simply used data previously acquired from other clients. Memorix did a lot of work in cooperation with other companies, which gave them access to their partners’ data.

Yet there was a problem with this theory. Whenever Memorix worked with another company, they drew up very precise contracts detailing exactly how information was to be handled, with severe penalties if any of their employees were found disseminating information outside of the company without permission.

There was no connection, however, with Tozai Automotive, and thus no contractual agreements. If Memorix had stolen software from Tozai, no one would be watching. The theft would be extremely difficult to prove, moreover, because the Tozai software had strictly been for internal use and never widely circulated. Even if the Memorix software bore a similarity to the earlier product, Memorix could simply claim coincidence.

As the investigation went on, one man came to their attention: a chief developer at Memorix named Yuichi Akiyoshi who’d joined the company in 1986. Development of the metallurgy expert system began shortly after his arrival and was mostly completed by the following year. It was hard to reconcile the speed. The typical production cycle for a piece of software like that was three years at the minimum. Imaeda’s team came up with another theory: that Akiyoshi had already been in possession of the information forming the basis for the metallurgy expert system when he joined the company.

They knew very little about the man.

Akiyoshi lived in a rented apartment in north-west Tokyo but had never registered as a resident. Imaeda’s team went to the company managing the apartment to check on any places he might have lived previously, learning that he’d come up to Tokyo all the way from Nagoya.

An investigator went down to Nagoya to check it out, only to find a tall, chimney-like building where the residence should have been. None of the locals remembered an Akiyoshi having lived at the previous building that had occupied the space. City Hall had a similar lack of records. No Yuichi Akiyoshi had ever registered as a resident in the area, nor could they find anyone living at the Nagoya address he’d listed in the contact information for his guarantor when he signed the lease on his current apartment. Everything pointed to Akiyoshi as having forged his rental documents. It was likely he was living under an assumed name.

In order to find out who he really was, they were obliged to resort to the basics: they began a stakeout.

First, they planted bugs in Akiyoshi’s apartment when he was out one day: one in the living room and another on his phone. All the mail that arrived in his mailbox, other than registered mail and express packages, was opened and examined then they resealed the envelopes and put them back in the box. They would never be able to use any information gained this way in a trial, but for now, finding out who he was took precedence.

At first it seemed that Akiyoshi lived an entirely unremarkable life, just shuttling back and forth between office and home. No one paid him any visits, and there was nothing remarkable about his conversations on the phone. In fact, he hardly received any phone calls at all.

‘What does this guy do for fun? Doesn’t he have any friends?’ Imaeda’s partner said once as they were staring at the monitor in their van. The van had been disguised to look like a cleaner’s delivery truck. A camera on top of the truck was pointed at Akiyoshi’s apartment window.

‘He might be running from someone,’ said Imaeda. ‘Keeping a low profile.’

‘A murderer on the lam?’ his partner said, grinning.

‘We should be so lucky.’ Imaeda smiled back.

It was a little while longer before they discovered that there was someone Akiyoshi contacted with some regularity. They were monitoring him in the apartment when they heard a loud electronic warble – a pager. Imaeda tensed and listened to the feed over his headphones, expecting Akiyoshi to phone someone.

Instead, he left the apartment and walked down the street. Imaeda’s partner quickly started up the van and they followed him. Eventually Akiyoshi stopped at a public phone behind a bar and made a call. His face was expressionless while he talked, though he was keeping an eye on his surroundings, preventing them from getting too close.

The same sequence of events played out several times. After his pager rang, Akiyoshi would leave the apartment to place a phone call. They thought at first that he might have realised his phone was tapped, but then it would have made more sense for him to simply remove the tap. Instead, it seemed that Akiyoshi was in the habit of always using a public phone to make important phone calls. Nor did he use the same phone each time. After one or two visits to the same phone, he would switch booths, showing an unusual degree of thoroughness.

The big question was: who was ringing Akiyoshi’s pager?

Yet before they could unravel that mystery, the investigation took a sudden turn.

One Thursday after work Akiyoshi took a train to Shinjuku. This was more than unusual – it was the first time he had gone anywhere since they started watching him. He went to a café near the west exit of the station. There, he met a man. The man was thin and short, in his mid-forties, with a face as impenetrable as a Noh mask.

Akiyoshi received a large envelope from the man. After checking the contents he handed the man a smaller envelope out of which the man took a small stack of bills. He counted them quickly and placed them in his jacket pocket before handing Akiyoshi a slip of paper.

A receipt, thought Imaeda.

Akiyoshi and the man spoke for several minutes before they both stood from the table. Imaeda and his partner split up, Imaeda following Akiyoshi and his partner following the man. To Imaeda’s disappointment, Akiyoshi went straight home.

It turned out that the other man ran a small private detective agency in the city – ‘small’ meaning it was just him and his wife.

This confirmed the hunch Imaeda had formed the first time he saw him. There was just something about him that smelled like a man in their line of work.

Imaeda wanted to know what business Akiyoshi had hiring a private detective. If the agency had any ties to Tokyo General Research, a few well-placed questions would tell him what he wanted to know, but it turned out that the detective Akiyoshi had hired was running his operation almost entirely independently. They couldn’t risk making contact. If the man got wind of their investigation, it would be all over.

They continued their stakeout.

Akiyoshi made his next move on the following Saturday.

Imaeda and his partner were watching the apartment when Akiyoshi came out, dressed in jeans and a windbreaker. There was something about the way his shoulders were hunched that made Imaeda think this wasn’t just a trip to the convenience store.

Akiyoshi took a few trains, getting off in Shimokitazawa, a trendy suburb just west of central Tokyo. He cast his eyes around, wary of his surroundings, but didn’t seem to have noticed he was being tailed. He had a small notebook in his hand, and would occasionally check something in it as he wandered the streets near the station. He’s looking for someone’s house, Imaeda thought.

Finally he came to a stop by a small, three-storey building near the tracks. It looked like an apartment building made up entirely of small, single-resident units. But Akiyoshi didn’t go inside. Instead, he went into a café across the street. After a moment’s hesitation, Imaeda sent his partner into the café, in case Akiyoshi might be meeting someone inside, and himself went into a nearby bookshop to wait.

An hour later, his partner came out of the café alone.

‘He’s not meeting anyone,’ he said. ‘It’s a stakeout. He’s waiting for someone who lives in that apartment building.’ He nodded his head, indicating the building across the street.

Imaeda wondered if the private investigator hadn’t found whoever lived in the apartment for Akiyoshi.

‘Which means we’re on stakeout, too,’ Imaeda said. He sighed and went to look for a payphone so he could get someone back at the office to bring a car.

Akiyoshi left the café before the car arrived. Imaeda glanced at the apartment and saw a young woman just leaving. It looked as though she was walking towards the station, a bag of golf clubs in her hand. Akiyoshi followed the woman, keeping a good distance between them, with Imaeda and his partner behind him.

The woman was going to the Eagle Golf Driving Range. Akiyoshi followed her inside. Imaeda and his partner went in too. As they soon discovered, the woman was attending golf lessons. Akiyoshi watched her until lessons began, then took a brochure from the front desk and headed out. He didn’t return to the practice range that day.

It didn’t take them long to identify the woman. Her name was Chizuru Misawa, a temp worker with one of the large staffing agencies. They looked into her agency records and found that she had previously been assigned to Tozai Automotive. They had finally found their connection.

They renewed their stakeout on Akiyoshi, fully expecting him to make contact with Miss Misawa, until the investigation took another unexpected turn.

For a while, Akiyoshi did nothing out of the ordinary, until one Saturday when he went again to the driving range. He timed his visit for when Chizuru would be beginning her lesson. However, Akiyoshi didn’t approach her. He merely sat, undetected, watching.

Eventually, another man approached and sat down next to Chizuru and began talking to her. It was clear from the way they spoke that the two were in a relationship.

This, apparently, was what Akiyoshi had come to see, because as soon as he saw the two of them sit down he left the practice range.

That day was the last time he ever approached Chizuru Misawa. Nor did he again go to the Eagle Golf Driving Range for as long as they watched him.

Imaeda’s team looked into the man who was with Chizuru that day. His name was Makoto Takamiya, an employee of Tozai Automotive in the patent licensing division.

Fully expecting that they had hit the jackpot, they started to look into their relationship and their connection to Akiyoshi. However, they could find absolutely nothing connecting the two to the stolen software. The only thing they did discover was that Makoto Takamiya was married and having an affair with Chizuru.

Eventually, with the detective’s bills piling up, the client called off the investigation. Though Tokyo General Research handed off a thick file of findings to the client, it was unclear how useful the information would be.

Imaeda was willing to bet good money it had all gone straight into the shredder.

A wrenching metallic clang brought Imaeda back to the present. He looked up and saw Makoto Takamiya standing, dumbfounded.

‘Man…’ He was staring at the club in his hand, his mouth agape. The end of the club had broken clean off.

‘What happened?’ Imaeda asked, looking around. The head of the club was lying on the floor some distance away from where Makoto stood. A few of the other golfers nearby had stopped swinging to look over. Imaeda stood up, walked over, and picked up the broken golf head.

‘Wow, I’m so sorry. I have no idea how that happened,’ Makoto said, holding the headless club in his hand. His face had gone pale.

‘Metal fatigue, most likely,’ said Imaeda. ‘I’ve been abusing that five iron for years.’

‘I don’t understand. I wasn’t even swinging it that hard.’

‘I know, it’s OK. Its number was up. It probably would’ve broken faster if I’d been swinging it. You’re not hurt, are you?’

‘No, I’m fine. Look, I’ll be happy to pay for your club. I broke it, after all.’

Imaeda shook his head. ‘No need. Like I said, that club wasn’t long for this world.’

‘No, I insist. And besides, I won’t even be using my own money. I have insurance.’

‘Insurance?’

‘Golfer’s insurance. I just have to fill out a few forms and they should cover the cost of a repair.’

‘Even if the club isn’t yours?’

‘I think so. We can ask at the shop.’

Makoto took the broken club in his hand and started walking towards the lobby. Imaeda followed. The shop was in a corner of the lobby. Makoto walked in like he was familiar with the place and waved to the suntanned attendant behind the counter. He showed him the broken club and explained what had happened.

‘Yeah, insurance should cover that,’ the attendant told them. ‘You just need to describe the place where it happened, attach a picture of the broken club, and the receipt from the repair shop.’ He leaned over the counter and whispered, ‘See, there’s no way to prove the club isn’t yours.’ Then, more loudly, he added, ‘We can get the forms for you, if you call the insurance company.’

‘Great, thanks. How long will repairs take?’

‘Well, we have to find the same size shaft, so two weeks, maybe?’

‘Two weeks…’ Makoto shot Imaeda a worried glance. ‘Is that OK?’

‘Sure, no problem,’ Imaeda said, smiling. Two weeks later would be after his golf date but the lack of one club wouldn’t really affect the score either way. More than that, he didn’t want to impose on Makoto any more than he already had.

They turned the club in for repairs and left the shop.

‘Hey, Makoto,’ a voice called out as they were heading back to the practice range. Imaeda looked around and his mouth tightened. He recognised this woman as Chizuru Misawa. A tall man was standing behind her, though his face was unfamiliar to him.

‘Hey there,’ Makoto said to them.

‘All done with practice?’ Chizuru asked.

‘Almost, if I hadn’t gone and broken this poor man’s club.’

Makoto explained what had happened to Chizuru and the man. Her face clouded as she listened.

‘How awful,’ she sympathised. ‘I bet that’s the last time you’ll loan your club to a stranger.’

‘No, really,’ said Imaeda, ‘it’s fine.’ He looked towards Makoto. ‘Is this your… wife?’

Makoto nodded, smiling.

So the affair stuck, Imaeda thought bemusedly.

‘I hope the club head didn’t hit anyone on its way down?’ the man standing behind Chizuru said.

‘Luckily, it didn’t. Here, let me give you my business card,’ Makoto said, pulling his wallet out of his golf trousers and handing a card to Imaeda.

‘Oh, thanks,’ Imaeda said, pulling out his own wallet. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of which card to give him. He always carried several, each with different names and job titles. After a second’s thought, he decided on his real card. There was no point using an alias here, and there was always a chance that Makoto or one of the other two might be a future client.

‘A private detective?’ Makoto asked, looking curiously at the card.

‘Let me know if you ever need our services,’ said Imaeda.

‘Ooh, do you catch people having affairs and things like that?’ Chizuru asked.

‘Of course,’ Imaeda nodded. ‘That’s probably our most frequent request.’

She laughed at that, then said to Makoto, ‘In that case, maybe I should hold on to that card.’

‘Probably a good idea,’ Makoto said, grinning.

It is a good idea, Imaeda wanted to say. Right now is the most dangerous time of all, he thought, his eyes noting the prominent swell of Chizuru’s belly.

Imaeda’s office, which also served as his residence, was located in west Shinjuku, on the second storey of a five-storey building facing a narrow street. There was a bus stop right out in front, so you could get there in just a few minutes from the station. Still, that wasn’t convenient enough for his clients. Whenever he explained the directions over the phone, he could hear the frustration on the other end. But he needed the business, so he always put in extra effort to sound welcoming. The end result was that most phone calls left him exhausted.

He knew it made more sense to move closer to a station. Clients usually had a lot on their mind when they first considered hiring a private eye. They could well change their mind in the several minutes it took to catch a bus. Yet, with the housing bubble, rents had gone through the roof. Imaeda still hadn’t got used to the eye-popping sums of money he had to pay each month just for his tiny office. Increased rents meant increased fees for services, which put the pressure on him. One of his goals when he went independent was to keep his fees reasonable and his clients happy, but it was getting harder to do both.

It was a Wednesday in late June when a call came to his office from one Kazunari Shinozuka. Rain was falling in a fine drizzle outside the window, and Imaeda had just given up hope that any customers would show themselves that day.

Imaeda knew from the moment Kazunari introduced himself on the phone that he would be a client. There was that certain ring in his voice. A few minutes later he was giving him directions to the office.

Imaeda hung up and scratched his neck, thinking. Kazunari hadn’t gone into specifics about his request over the phone, which left Imaeda to wonder what he needed. He knew Kazunari was single, which ruled out the usual adultery investigation. He didn’t peg him as the sort to hire someone else to look into a lover’s suspected infidelities, either.

Imaeda had first met Kazunari the day he ran into Makoto Takamiya at the driving range – Kazunari had been the man standing behind Makoto’s wife, Chizuru. The three of them had arranged to meet that day for dinner. Imaeda hadn’t gone so far as to invite himself along, but he had shared a cup of instant coffee with them in the lobby, which was when Kazunari had given him his business card.

He had since run into him twice more at the driving range. Kazunari was an accomplished golfer. They had spoken a little about Imaeda’s work on those occasions. Though Kazunari hadn’t seemed all that interested at the time, perhaps Imaeda had succeeded in sowing the seeds that led to today.

Imaeda pulled out a Marlboro and lit it with a disposable lighter. Putting his feet up on his cluttered desk, he leaned back and took a deep drag, sending a stream of smoke to drift up towards the dimly lit ceiling.

Kazunari Shinozuka wasn’t your average salaryman. He was next in line for an executive position at his uncle’s pharmaceutical company and that meant he couldn’t rule out a corporate investigation. Just thinking about that possibility made Imaeda’s heart race. He hadn’t felt this excited in a long while.

Imaeda had gone independent from Tokyo General Research two years earlier. He didn’t like the crappy working conditions and the low pay and after doing it for a couple of years he didn’t see why he couldn’t accomplish many of the same things himself. He certainly had all the connections he needed by that point.

And business had been good, for the most part. He was getting enough requests to support his own modest lifestyle. He was even saving a little and hitting the golf course once a month.

But he wasn’t satisfied. More than half of his jobs were looking into affairs. The kind of corporate cases he occasionally got when he was working for Tokyo General were nowhere to be seen. This meant he was spending every day out on the streets, wallowing in the stench of love and betrayal, and while he didn’t mind that per se, it was getting old. There was none of the tension he used to feel.

At one time, he had considered joining the police force. He passed the tests and had been accepted to the Academy, but he was discouraged by what he saw as the unnecessary harshness of laws and regulations that seemed meaningless to him at the time. He dropped out without graduating. That was when he was in his early twenties.

After that he drifted from one part-time job to another before finding the help-wanted ad for Tokyo General in the newspaper. If I couldn’t make it as a police officer, maybe I could make it as a private eye, he thought half-jokingly to himself as he went for the interview. He was hired on the spot, but in the beginning, it was little more than part-time work. That went on for about six months before he became a full employee.

It was on his very first investigation that he realised how well suited he was for the job. Being a private eye held none of the glamour depicted in the movies and on TV. It was repetitive, lonely work. Without the authority of the badge, you could never walk in the front door to any case. And you had to protect the privacy of your client. You left no traces of your investigation and could allow nothing to leak. And yet the feeling of fulfilment when, at the end of long hours, you got what you were looking for wasn’t something he’d ever found anywhere else.

The phone call from Kazunari started Imaeda thinking that maybe he could get some of that excitement back. He had a good feeling about this client.

Then he shook his head and stubbed out his cigarette. Don’t get ahead of yourself. You’ll probably be following some woman again. Just like always.

Kazunari arrived at twenty past two. He was wearing a light grey suit and his hair was perfect, despite the weather. He looked a good four or five years older than he had at the practice range and carried himself like a man with well-lined pockets.

‘I haven’t seen you much at the driving range,’ Kazunari said, taking a seat.

‘Yeah, I can never seem to make myself go when I don’t have a date set up to play,’ Imaeda told him as he went to pour coffee.

‘We should go play a round some time,’ Kazunari offered. ‘I know a few good courses.’

‘Sounds great. Definitely let me know if you’re heading out.’

‘I will. I’ll invite Makoto along, too,’ he said, taking a sip of his coffee. Imaeda detected that familiar stiffness in his movement and voice that every client had.

Kazunari put down his cup, took a breath, and said, ‘I have a rather odd request.’

Imaeda nodded. ‘Don’t worry. Nearly everyone that comes here thinks their request is odd. How can I help?’

‘It’s about a woman,’ he said. ‘I’d like you to investigate her.’

‘All right,’ Imaeda said. He felt his heart sank a little. ‘Your girlfriend, perhaps?’

‘No, actually. We’re not directly connected. Not like that, at least.’ He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a photograph that he placed on the table. ‘This is her.’

Imaeda picked up the photo.

It was a picture of a woman standing in front of a large house. From the white fur coat she was wearing, he guessed the photo had been taken during the winter. She had a natural smile and could easily have passed for a professional model.

‘She’s attractive,’ Imaeda said.

‘She is. In fact, my cousin is dating her now.’

‘By cousin, do you mean your uncle – the CEO’s – son?’

‘Yes. He’s a managing director at Shinozuka Pharmaceuticals.’

‘How old is he?’

‘Forty-five.’

Forty-five was a very young age to be managing director at a big company like that. Clearly the CEO’s son had been fast-tracked along the way.

‘Is he married?’

‘No, not currently. His wife died in the Japan Air crash six years ago.’

‘Oh, sorry to hear that. Did he lose any other family members?’

‘No, she was the only one of them on board.’

‘Any children?’

‘Two, a boy and a girl.’

Imaeda looked back at the woman in the photo. She had large eyes, with a slightly feline curve to them.

‘So, if his wife has passed away, am I right to assume that there’s no legal issue with your cousin seeing this woman?’

‘That’s right. In fact, we all hope he finds the right person soon.’

‘So,’ Imaeda said, tapping his finger on the desk next to the photograph, ‘you don’t think she’s the right person. There some kind of problem with her?’

Kazunari leaned forward in his chair. ‘Frankly, yes, there is.’

‘So what is it? If you don’t mind telling me.’

Kazunari nodded and clasped his hands together, resting them on the table. ‘Well, for one, she was married before. That in itself isn’t a problem; the problem is who she was married to.’

‘And who was that?’ Imaeda asked, his own voice growing softer.

‘Makoto.’

Imaeda sat up straight. ‘Makoto Takamiya?’

‘That’s right. She’s his ex-wife.’

‘Well,’ Imaeda said, shaking his head. ‘That’s a surprise.’

‘I thought it might be,’ Kazunari said, smiling. ‘As I may have mentioned before, Makoto and I were in dance club together during college. The woman in that photograph was in our club, too. That was how they met.’

‘When was the divorce?’

‘That was in ’88, so three years ago.’

‘And Chizuru was the cause?’

‘I don’t know the details, but that’s a good guess,’ said Kazunari, a faint smile on his lips.

‘So Makoto’s ex-wife is dating your cousin now. Was their meeting a coincidence? I mean, did Makoto’s ex-wife and your cousin meet at some other place and start dating without your knowledge?’

‘No, I wouldn’t call it a coincidence. I suppose you can say that I was the one who brought them together.’

‘How so?’

‘I took my cousin to her store, a clothes boutique in South Aoyama called R&Y. She told me it was named after herself and her mother, Reiko.’

Yukiho Karasawa had been running a couple of boutiques since before her divorce. Though Kazunari had never been a patron during the marriage, a short while after the divorce he’d received an invitation letter to a special sale. When he asked why she sent the invitation, she explained that Makoto had asked her to.

‘Apparently, he thought I could help out her business. He still felt responsible, I guess, and wanted to do what he could to support her.’

Imaeda nodded. It was a common enough story. Every time he heard something like this, he wondered anew at the foolish generosity of some men. Sometimes, even when the fault in a divorce lay clearly with the wife, the ex-husband would try to lend a hand afterwards, despite himself. Women, on the other hand, typically wanted nothing to do with their husbands after they split up.

‘I’d been wondering myself how she was doing after the divorce, and thought I might as well go, if only to check up on her. I mentioned the whole thing to my cousin and he said he wanted to come along too. He said he was looking for something he could wear on his days off that would still be a little classy.’

‘And the rest is history, as they say?’

‘Something like that, yes.’

Kazunari claimed that he hadn’t realised his cousin, whose name was Yasuharu, was smitten with Yukiho at all at first. It was only later that Yasuharu admitted to him that it had been love at first sight. He even went so far as to say that he couldn’t imagine being with any other woman. ‘My cousin’s always been a passionate sort of man. Once something catches his fancy, he’s not one to put on the brakes, no matter what people might say. I didn’t know this at the time, but apparently, ever since I brought him that day, he started visiting the boutique regularly. The maid says he owns more outfits than he can possibly wear.’

Imaeda chuckled. ‘I think I get the picture. So, Yasuharu made the moves and scored?’

‘Yes, and I believe my cousin is hoping they’ll get married. Except she seems to be playing hard to get. He thinks it’s their age difference and the fact that he has two children.’

‘I’m sure that’s a factor, yes. Also we have to remember that she’s been burned once already. I’d expect some caution on her part.’

‘Indeed.’

‘So,’ Imaeda stretched his arms and placed both hands on the table in front of him, ‘what about this woman do you want me to look into? From what I’ve just heard, it sounds like you already know quite a bit about her.’

‘You’d think so, but actually, that’s not the case. In fact, there’s quite a lot about her that’s frankly mysterious.’ Kazunari picked up the photograph. ‘You know, if it would make my cousin happy, truly happy, then I’d say he should marry her. Sure, I hesitate a little when I think that she’s my friend’s ex-wife, but I’m sure I could get used to that with time. It’s just…’ He turned the photo around so it was facing Imaeda. ‘The more I see of her, the more uneasy I feel. I can’t explain it. I just can’t shake the feeling that there’s something else to her, a darkness under the surface.’

‘I would propose that every woman has a little darkness under the surface,’ Imaeda said with a smile.

‘It’s more than that, I think. The way she smiles, she gives people the impression that it’s a learned skill, a sort of noble way to cope with the pain and the bitterness. Even my cousin says that it’s not her face that attracts him, it’s the goodness he sees shining from inside her.’

‘And you think she’s faking that.’

‘That’s what I want you to find out.’

‘That’s a tough one. Are you sure you don’t have any more, well, tangible reason for suspecting this woman isn’t all she seems?’

Kazunari looked down at the floor for moment before looking back up and saying, ‘I do.’

‘And that is?’

‘Money.’

‘Ah.’ Imaeda leaned back in his chair and shot a long look at Kazunari. ‘I was wondering when we were going to get to that. You think she’s after your cousin’s money?’

To Imaeda’s surprise, Kazunari shook his head.

‘Actually, it’s her money that concerns me. Makoto said he often wondered about it too. See, it was never really clear where her money was coming from. When she opened those boutiques Makoto didn’t help her out at all. She had been into stocks for a while, but with the kind of money she would’ve needed to open stores in those locations… it’s hard to imagine an amateur investor doing so well in such a short time.’

‘Does she come from a wealthy family?’

Kazunari shook his head again. ‘Not from what I’ve heard. Her mother teaches tea ceremony, but she’s just living on that income and what she gets from the government.’

Imaeda nodded. This was getting interesting. ‘Do you suspect anything in particular? Maybe she has a patron of some sort?’

‘I’m not sure. It’s hard to imagine her having some secret patron, especially after she got married… And yet, there is something there, something happening behind the scenes. I’m sure of it.’

‘Behind the scenes, right.’ Imaeda scratched the side of his nose with his pinky.

‘And there’s one other thing that bothers me.’

‘Yes?’

‘The people close to her,’ Kazunari said, his voice growing quiet. ‘All of them have met with some kind of misfortune.’

‘Huh?’ Imaeda blinked and looked back at him. ‘Are you serious?’

‘There’s Makoto, of course. He may be happily remarried to Chizuru now, but the divorce was certainly a kind of misfortune.’

‘Yeah, but that was his fault, wasn’t it?’

‘To all appearances, yes. But it’s hard to say for sure.’

‘Right, well, any other people who met with misfortune?’

‘My ex-girlfriend,’ Kazunari said, then he closed his mouth tightly.

‘OK.’ Imaeda took a sip of his coffee. It had gone lukewarm. ‘What happened there, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘Something bad. Almost the worst thing that could happen to a woman. That event was what drove us apart. So,’ Kazunari continued, ‘I guess you could say that I’ve met with misfortune, too.’

Imaeda parked on the street a good distance away from the shop. If anyone saw the beat-up Honda Prelude he’d driven, it would undo the impression made by the expensive suit and watch he’d borrowed from Kazunari.

‘Are you seriously not going to buy me anything? Maybe there’s something that’s not too expensive,’ Eri said. She was walking beside him in the best dress she owned.

‘It’s all too expensive,’ he told her. ‘Heart-attack-inducing levels of expensive, I’m guessing.’

‘But what if I really really want something?’

‘You have your own money. Spend it.’

‘You’re stingy, you know that?’

‘Just be happy I’m paying you to come along.’

They arrived at the R&Y Boutique. The storefront was all glass windows, giving them a good view of the women’s clothes and accessories within.

‘Wow,’ Eri breathed. ‘Those do look expensive.’

‘Watch what you say when we’re inside.’ He gave her a jab in the ribs with his elbow.

Eri worked at the bar next to Imaeda’s office. She went to a professional school of some sort during the day, though Imaeda had no idea what she was studying. All he knew was that she was trustworthy and whenever he needed to go anywhere as a couple, he could pay her to come along. She seemed to like the work, besides. It was fun pretending to be someone else.

Imaeda opened the glass door and took a step inside. A faint, tasteful scent of perfume lingered in the air.

‘Hello,’ said a young woman, coming out of the back. She was wearing a white suit, and had on a canned smile, like a stewardess. She wasn’t Yukiho Karasawa.

‘Yes, the name’s Sugawara. I made an appointment?’ Sugawara was Eri’s real last name. He used it because sometimes she would forget to respond when people called her by an alias.

‘What can I help you find today?’ the woman asked.

‘Something for her,’ Imaeda said, indicating Eri. ‘Classy, good in summer or autumn, but nothing too fancy. Something she could wear to the office if she wanted. This is her first year at work, so I wouldn’t want her standing out too much.’

‘I see,’ said the woman in the white suit. ‘I think I have just the thing. Give me just a moment.’

As soon as her back was turned, Eri looked over at Imaeda. He shook his head. Another person emerged from the back of the shop. Imaeda turned to see Yukiho Karasawa coming towards them, weaving carefully through the clothes hanging on the racks. She had a pleasant, utterly natural smile on her face, and a soft, gentle light in her eyes. There was an aura around her, as though her desire to meet the needs of every customer who came into her shop was some visible, tangible thing.

‘Hello,’ she said, bowing gently, her eyes never leaving them.

Imaeda nodded back in silence.

‘Mr Sugawara, correct? You heard about us from Mr Shinozuka?’

‘That’s right,’ Imaeda said. He’d been asked how he heard about the shop when he called to make an appointment.

‘Would that be Kazunari Shinozuka?’ Yukiho asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘Yes,’ Imaeda replied, wondering why her first guess had been Kazunari, and not Yasuharu – the Shinozuka she was dating.

‘Buying something for your wife?’ she asked with a glance at Eri.

‘No,’ Imaeda said laughing. ‘My niece. It’s a present to celebrate her first job.’

‘Oh, I see. My apologies,’ Yukiho said, still smiling. Her long eyelashes fluttered, and a few strands of hair fell across her forehead. She lifted them away with her index finger, an utterly graceful gesture that put Imaeda in mind of women he’d seen in old foreign films.

If he remembered correctly, Yukiho Karasawa was only twenty-nine years old. He wondered how she managed to project that kind of refinement at such a young age. Imaeda thought he could understand how Yasuharu had fallen for her. He’d like to meet the man who wouldn’t feel some twinge of longing in her presence.

The woman in the white suit brought several outfits for them to look at. She showed them to Eri, asking her what she thought.

‘Take your time,’ Imaeda told her. ‘Talk it over with this nice lady here and pick the one that really suits you.’

Eri looked around at him, a curious smile coming to her lips. Like you’re going to buy me anything, her eyes seemed to be saying.

‘How is Mr Shinozuka doing these days?’ Yukiho asked.

‘Busy as always.’

‘If you don’t mind me asking, how do you know him?’

‘He’s a friend. We play golf together sometimes.’

‘Ah, that makes sense,’ she said, nodding. Her almond-shaped eyes went to Imaeda’s wrists. ‘That’s a lovely watch.’

‘What, this?’ Imaeda self-consciously covered his watch with his right hand. ‘It was a gift.’

Yukiho nodded again, yet he couldn’t help but notice that something about her smile had changed. For a second, he wondered if she had somehow guessed it belonged to Kazunari, despite his assurances that he had never worn it in front of her. So how could she know?

‘This is really a nice shop you’ve got here,’ Imaeda said. ‘You have a fantastic selection. You must be a very talented businesswoman. Remarkable for one so young.’

‘Thank you. Though we do have trouble meeting some clients’ requests.’

‘You’re just being modest.’

‘No, it’s true. But where are my manners? Would you like something to drink? I have iced coffee, and tea. Or something hot, if you prefer.’

‘That’s nice of you. I’ll take a coffee. Hot, thanks.’

‘Right away. Have a seat over there.’ Yukiho indicated a corner of the shop with a sofa and a table.

Imaeda sat down on the sofa. It was Italian-made, with little clawed feet. The table doubled as a display stand. Beneath the glass top, necklaces, bracelets and the like were lined out for customers to see. There were no price tags, but these were clearly for sale. No doubt they were put here to catch the eye of shoppers who came over to take a break from the clothes.

Imaeda took a pack of Marlboros out of his jacket pocket and pulled out his lighter. The lighter, too, was a loan from Kazunari. He lit his cigarette and filled his lungs with smoke. Gradually he could feel his nerves relaxing. He hadn’t realised how tense he was. All because of one woman.

He wondered where she got her seemingly natural elegance and grace. What had polished her to gleam so brightly?

An old two-storey apartment building floated in the back of Imaeda’s mind. Yoshida Heights. The building had somehow remained standing since the 1950s. Imaeda had paid the place a visit the week before in an attempt to gain some insight into Yukiho’s past.

There were a few old houses nearby, pre-war structures, most of them. Some of the residents remembered the mother and daughter who had lived in Yoshida Heights No 103.

The mother’s last name had been Nishimoto, making Yukiho’s original name Yukiho Nishimoto.

Her father had passed away when she was still young, so she had lived alone with her mother, Fumiyo, who worked a few part-time jobs to make ends meet. Fumiyo had died of gas poisoning when Yukiho was in sixth grade. Officially, the death had been ruled an accident, but one of the older women living nearby had told him about the rumours of suicide.

‘She was taking all kinds of medicine, you know,’ she told him. ‘And there were all these other strange things going on. The poor thing was so tired all the time, what with her husband passing and all. Still, they never found out what really happened,’ she added in a hushed voice.

Imaeda went over to the apartment building to give it a closer inspection. Around the back, someone had left a window open, letting him take a good look inside. The unit was tiny, a small tatami-matted room next to a little kitchen. There was an old dresser and a wicker basket along the wall. Both had seen better days. A low table sat in the middle of the matted room, on which had been left some glasses and a few bottles of pills. Whoever lived there was elderly – nearly all the residents of Yoshida Heights were, according to what he had heard.

He tried to imagine an elementary school girl and her mother – probably in her late thirties – living in the tiny apartment in front of him. The girl would be doing her homework at the little table. Behind her, the mother moved wearily as she prepared supper…

Something tugged at his chest, and he remembered another thing the people who lived near Yoshida Heights had told him about. A murder.

The murder had taken place about a year before Fumiyo’s death. The victim had been the owner of a pawnshop who paid occasional visits to Fumiyo, which had put her on the list of suspects. She was never arrested, however.

‘But of course word got around that the police had paid her visit, so everyone figured she had something to do with it. I heard she had real trouble getting jobs after that, the poor lady,’ an old man who ran a tobacco shop nearby told him.

Imaeda had gone to the library and looked through archival newspapers to find out more about the murder. A year before Fumiyo’s death made it 1973. He also knew it had happened during the autumn.

The article wasn’t hard to find. According to the report, the body had been discovered in an unfinished building located in a part of town called Ōe. The victim had been stabbed several times with something like a slender knife, but the murder weapon was never found. The victim, one Yosuke Kirihara, had left his house sometime after noon that day and not returned. The wife had called the police. Though he typically carried little money on his person, he had just withdrawn a considerable sum of money before he was killed, making it likely that the murderer knew him. Imaeda searched for an article reporting that the case had been solved, but couldn’t find one. The man at the tobacco shop had been right, then. The killer was never found.

If Fumiyo Nishimoto had been a regular at the pawnshop, he could see why the police would have suspected her. She could have approached the owner without alarming him, and caught him unawares with the knife. And yet the way public opinion had turned against her after the questioning made him think that, in a sense, Fumiyo Nishimoto had been a victim, too.

Imaeda looked up as someone approached him. The aroma of coffee hit his nostrils. A woman just over twenty years old, wearing an apron, had come over with a coffee cup on a tray. Beneath the apron she wore a tight-fitting T-shirt that showed off her curves.

‘Thanks,’ Imaeda said, reaching out for the cup. Just being in a place like this made even the coffee smell richer. ‘Do you always have three people running the shop?’

‘Most of the time,’ the girl said. ‘Though Miss Karasawa often spends time at another one of our boutiques.’

‘Where would that be?’

‘Daikanyama.’

Daikanyama was another trendy area, on the western edge of central Tokyo. ‘Two stores, at her age?’ Imaeda said. ‘That’s impressive.’

‘Actually, we’re about to open a third store selling children’s clothes in Jiyugaoka.’

‘Amazing. Miss Karasawa must have a goose tucked away somewhere that lays golden eggs.’

‘She’s a very hard worker. I wonder sometimes if she ever sleeps,’ she added in a quiet voice, glancing towards the back. ‘Enjoy,’ she said, leaving him alone with his coffee.

Imaeda drank his coffee black. It was much better than the stuff they served at the café near his office.

It occurred to Imaeda that Yukiho might be more frugal than she appeared. Most successful businesspeople were. And she would have had plenty of time while living at Yoshida Heights to hone that part of her character.

When her mother died, a nearby relative, Reiko Karasawa, had taken Yukiho in. Reiko was Yukiho’s father’s cousin.

For his next trip, Imaeda had paid a visit to the Karasawa house. It was an elegant Japanese-style home, with a small garden. A sign hanging on the door announced that tea ceremony classes were held there regularly.

This was where Yukiho’s foster mother had taught her tea, flower arrangement, and a number of other skills that would serve her well in her future life. He imagined it was during her time living here that the femininity she seemed to exude from her entire body had begun to bud.

Because Reiko Karasawa was still alive, he had to be circumspect in his questioning in the area. Still, he was able to gather that Yukiho’s life after moving to the Karasawa household wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Most of the residents remembered little about her other than that she was a ‘pretty, well-mannered sort of girl’.

Someone else approached and he looked up to see Eri Sugawara wearing a black velvet dress. The hem sat alarmingly high up her shapely legs.

‘You sure you can wear that to work?’

‘It’s a bit much, huh.’

‘How about something like this?’ the woman in the white suit said, showing her another outfit. It was a blue jacket, with a white collar. ‘You can wear this with a skirt or knee-length pants if you prefer.’

‘Hmm…’ Eri rubbed her chin. ‘I like it – it’s just that I already have something very similar.’

‘Well, no sense getting two,’ Imaeda said. He looked at his watch. It was almost time for them to leave.

‘Do you think we could come back?’ Eri asked him. ‘You know, I’m starting to forget exactly what I already have.’ This was her line, exactly as they had rehearsed.

‘I suppose, though I hate having put them through all this trouble.’

‘I’m really sorry. Thank you for showing me everything,’ Eri apologised to the woman in the white suit.

‘Not at all,’ the woman replied with a saccharine smile.

Imaeda stood and waited for Eri to change back into her own clothes. Yukiho reappeared from the back.

‘Couldn’t find anything for your niece?’

He shook his head. ‘I apologise. She has trouble making up her mind sometimes.’

‘Not to worry,’ Yukiho said. ‘It’s often difficult to find something just right.’

‘Apparently so.’

‘I’ve always thought that clothes and jewellery aren’t meant to hide what’s inside a person. They’re meant to bring it out. That’s why, when we help our customers find something, we like to talk to them so we can understand what they’re like on the inside as well as the outside.’

‘That’s an interesting approach.’

‘Someone who’s been well raised can wear practically anything and make it look elegant. Of course…’ Yukiho stared directly at Imaeda before continuing, ‘… the opposite is also true.’

Imaeda nodded and looked away. Maybe his suit didn’t fit him. Or maybe it was Eri who seemed unnatural.

Eri returned from the fitting room. ‘All ready,’ she said.

‘I’d like to send you a postcard the next time we have a sale, if you’d write your address here for me,’ Yukiho said, handing a piece of paper to Eri, who shot Imaeda an uneasy look.

‘Your address is fine,’ he said. ‘You can let me know.’

She started to write.

‘It really is a nice watch,’ Yukiho said, her eyes on Imaeda’s wrist.

‘Yes, you seem to like it.’

‘It’s a Cartier Limited edition. In fact, I only know one other person who owns one.’

‘You don’t say,’ Imaeda replied.

‘We hope to see you again soon,’ Yukiho said.

‘Yes, soon.’

Outside, Imaeda gave Eri a ride back to her apartment and paid her ten thousand yen. ‘Not bad just for trying on some fancy clothes, huh?’

‘Are you kidding? That was torture. Next time I’m definitely making you buy me something.’

‘If there is a next time,’ Imaeda said to himself as he drove away. Today’s visit hadn’t strictly been part of his investigation. He just wanted to meet Yukiho Karasawa in person.

He sensed it would be dangerous to go back. Yukiho was clearly someone to watch out for, far more than he had realised.

Back at his office, he gave Kazunari a call.

‘How did it go?’

‘I think I understand what you’re saying now, a little,’ Imaeda told him.

‘How so?’

‘There is something mysterious about her.’

‘You see?’

‘And she’s incredibly attractive. I can understand why your cousin fell for her.’

There was silence on the other end of the line.

‘Actually,’ Imaeda continued, ‘there was one thing I wanted to ask you about: the watch you loaned me.’

‘What about it?’

‘Are you sure you never wore it in front of her? Or spoke to her about it in any way?’

‘I don’t think so. Did she say something?’

Imaeda related what Yukiho had said at the shop. He heard Kazunari groan.

‘I’d be really surprised if she knew I had it,’ he said. ‘Except…’ His voice grew quiet.

‘Except what?’

‘Actually, I did wear it once when she was around. But there’s no way she could have seen it. And even if she had, I’d be amazed if she remembered.’

‘Where was this?’

‘Her wedding reception.’

‘You wore it to her reception? What makes you so sure she didn’t see it?’

‘I talked a little with Makoto, but I never got that close to her. The only time I did was when the couple was going around the tables with a long taper, lighting the candles at each table – you know that thing they do at receptions sometimes. But the lights were down, and I have a hard time believing she could have either seen or remembered my watch.’

‘Right, well, probably not something worth worrying about, then.’

‘I wouldn’t think so, no.’

Imaeda nodded, holding the receiver in his hand. Kazunari seemed like a bright enough man. If he didn’t think she had seen the watch, he would have to take his word for it.

‘I’m sorry to put you through all this trouble,’ Kazunari apologised.

‘All in a day’s work,’ said Imaeda. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m a little interested in her now, too. Don’t get the wrong idea, I don’t mean I’m smitten with her. It’s just… there’s definitely something going on there.’

On the other end of the line, Kazunari fell silent. After a moment, he said, ‘Well, thanks, and let me know if you find out anything else.’

‘Will do,’ Imaeda said and hung up the phone.

Two days later, Imaeda was back in Osaka to meet someone he’d learned of while questioning people who lived near the Karasawa house.

A woman running a small bakery had told him he should look for ‘Mrs Motooka’s daughter – she went to Seika. She might know the Karasawa girl. She’s about the same age as her, I should think. Sorry, I don’t know for sure.’

The daughter’s name was Kuniko, a regular at the bakery. The woman had told him she was an interior designer who did work for one of the large real estate agencies in town.

Back in Tokyo, he looked into the estate agency. It took some doing, but he managed to dig up Kuniko’s phone number and gave her a call. Imaeda introduced himself as a freelance writer doing some research for a column he was writing for a woman’s magazine.

‘We’re doing a special on women from elite girls’ schools who’ve gone independent in the workforce. I was looking for women in the Tokyo and Osaka area who are making a name for themselves in business,and your name came up.’

Kuniko sounded surprised, but not displeased. She wanted to know who had given him her name.

‘Sorry, but I can’t say. Source confidentiality, and all that. I was wondering if I could ask you what year you graduated from Seika?’

‘1981.’

Inwardly, Imaeda cheered. That put her in Yukiho Karasawa’s year.

‘Do you happen to know someone by the name of Ms Karasawa?’

‘You mean Yukiho?’

‘That’s right – you know her?’

‘Yes, though we weren’t in the same class, ever. Was there something about her?’

Imaeda thought he detected a note of alarm in the woman’s voice.

‘Yes, actually, I had planned to interview her as well. She’s running a few boutiques up here in Tokyo.’

‘I see. I had no idea.’

‘Anyway,’ Imaeda said, ‘I was hoping we might meet some time. I’d only need an hour, tops. I’d like to hear more about the work you do, and your lifestyle, things like that for the article – as long as you can fit it into your schedule.’

Kuniko hesitated a moment before agreeing.

Kuniko worked at an office several minutes’ walk from the subway station in central Osaka, a part of town called Senba. It was known for its wholesalers and financial institutions and the streets were lined with business hotels. Even now that the economic bubble had burst, businessmen and women hurried along the streets, no one seeming to have a second to waste.

The office for her company, Staging Success, was on the twentieth floor of a building owned by the estate agency. Imaeda waited for her in the café in the shopping mall beneath the building.

The glass clock on the wall read five past one when a woman wearing a white jacket came into the café. She had on glasses, the frames a bit large on her face. For a woman, she was very tall and she fitted the image Imaeda had from talking to her on the phone to a T. She had slender legs, too, and was quite attractive.

Imaeda stood and introduced himself, handing her a business card that said he was a freelance writer. The name on the card was an alias.

She ordered a milk tea and sat down.

‘Thanks for taking the time to see me,’ he said.

‘It’s no problem, I only hope it’s worth your time,’ Kuniko said. She had a noticeably Osakan accent.

‘I have no doubt it will be. I’m interviewing a number of people for this project.’

‘I had a question about that, actually,’ she said. ‘Will my real name appear in the article?’

‘Our general rule is to use aliases. Unless of course you wanted to request that we use your actual name?’

She shook her head. ‘No, no. An alias is fine.’

‘Right, let’s begin, then.’

Imaeda took out his pen and notebook and started asking the kind of questions he might have asked if he had really been doing a report on graduates from girls’ schools. Kuniko answered each question thoughtfully and Imaeda felt oddly guilty, so he tried to at least pay attention and be serious with his follow-up questions. As a result, he learned all about the merits of using an interior designer and the added value an estate agency gained by working with her team. It was all very interesting, actually.

Getting through his first questions only took about thirty minutes. Kuniko stopped talking for a moment to take a sip of her tea.

Imaeda had been waiting for the right moment to bring the conversation around to Yukiho. He had already laid the groundwork on the phone the other day, but was struggling for a natural segue when Kuniko asked, ‘You said you were looking at Ms Karasawa as well?’

‘That’s right,’ Imaeda said, a little surprised.

‘She’s running some kind of boutique?’

‘Yes. In Aoyama, up in Tokyo.’

‘My, she’s really done well for herself,’ Kuniko said. Her expression looked a little hard.

Apparently, this woman didn’t have a very favourable impression of Yukiho. That was perfect – if he was going to start asking questions about Yukiho’s past he wanted someone who wouldn’t mince words.

Sticking his hand in his jacket pocket, he asked if she minded if he had a cigarette. She shook her head.

He put a Marlboro in his mouth and lit it – a calculated move to indicate that the real interview was over and now they were just chatting.

‘It’s funny you should mention her,’ Imaeda said. ‘We’ve actually been having a bit of a problem with her part of the story.’

Kuniko’s eyes lit up. ‘What sort of problem?’

‘It’s probably nothing,’ Imaeda said, ‘just, some of the people I’ve talked to don’t have a very favourable impression of her.’

‘Oh? In what way?’

‘Well, I think because she’s young and she’s running a few stores, people are envious of her success. That, and I’m sure she had to step on a few people to get where she is. Comes with the territory.’ Imaeda took a sip of his tepid coffee. ‘You know, we’re hearing comments like “she’s tight with her money”, or “she’s not afraid to use people if her business will benefit”, that sort of thing.’

‘I see.’

‘Of course, we’re very interested in featuring her as a young female entrepreneur, but if it turns out she actually does have a bad reputation, well, some people in editorial think we should give her a pass. So now I’m wondering what to do.’

‘I suppose it wouldn’t be good for the magazine if something came out.’

‘That’s just it,’ Imaeda said, stealing a glance at Kuniko’s expression. She didn’t seem to find this discussion of her former classmate’s flaws uncomfortable. ‘You were in middle and high school with her, was it?’

‘That’s right.’

‘You remember anything about her from those days? Did she seem like the kind of person who might get into trouble later in life? I won’t include any of this in the article, of course, so feel free to be honest.’

‘I’m not sure,’ Kuniko said, frowning. She glanced at her watch. ‘Like I said on the phone, we were never in the same class together. But I definitely knew about her. Everyone in school knew about her. She was a minor celebrity.’

‘You don’t say?’

‘Well, it’s just,’ she blinked a few times, ‘looking like she does, she stood out. Some of the boys from a nearby school even made a fan club in her honour.’

‘A fan club?’ Imaeda chuckled. Having met her in person, he wasn’t surprised.

‘She was a good student, too, I hear. One of my friends had been in the same class as her since middle school.’

‘So a real achiever, then.’

‘Yes, but I don’t know much about her first-hand. I don’t think we ever spoke, even.’

‘Did your friend have anything to say about her?’

‘No, she never said anything bad about Yukiho. It was just talking about how lucky she was to be born so beautiful, things like that.’

‘She never said anything bad… but someone else did?’

Kuniko thought for a moment.

‘There was a strange rumour going around about her in middle school,’ Kuniko said. Her voice grew quieter.

‘What sort of rumour?’

She shot him a suspicious look. ‘You swear you’re not going to put this in your article?’

‘You have my word,’ he said.

Kuniko took a breath. ‘People said she was lying about her past.’

‘In what way?’

‘Well, they said that she was born into a really bad household, but she hid it and was just pretending to be well-to-do.’

‘You sure they weren’t just talking about her being adopted by a relative when she was little?’

Kuniko leaned forward slightly. ‘There was that, yes, but the problem was the house where she was born. They said that her real mom made money through special… arrangements with men.’

‘I see,’ Imaeda said, taking care not to seem too surprised. ‘You mean she was someone’s mistress?’

‘Not just someone, several people. It was only a rumour, of course,’ she added. ‘Except,’ she continued, ‘one of the men she was seeing was killed.’

Now Imaeda acted surprised. ‘Really?’

She nodded. ‘Apparently the police had Yukiho’s mom in for questioning.’

That would be the pawnshop owner, Imaeda thought, staring at the tip of his cigarette. So the police hadn’t had their eyes on Fumiyo Nishimoto just because she was a customer at the shop – if the rumour was actually true.

‘Please don’t tell anyone I told you this.’

‘I won’t, I promise.’ Imaeda smiled at her. Then his face went serious again. ‘Still, that’s a pretty heavy rumour. There wasn’t any trouble because of it?’

‘Not that I ever noticed. I mean, word did get around, but it was only in our little circle. And besides, everyone knew who started the rumour.’

‘They did?’

‘Yes. It was a girl who had a friend or relative or something who lived near the house where Yukiho grew up, which is how she knew about it. I wasn’t close to her myself, but I heard about it through a friend.’

‘Was this girl also at Seika?’

‘She was our classmate.’

‘What was her name?’

‘I’m not sure I should say.’ Kuniko looked down at the table.

‘Of course, I’m sorry,’ Imaeda said, tapping his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray. He didn’t want to raise any suspicions by probing too deeply. ‘Still, that’s quite a rumour to spread. Don’t you think she would’ve been worried that it would get back to Yukiho?’

‘Oh, it was pretty clear that they were enemies back then. This other girl was an over-achiever herself, so she probably thought of Yukiho as a rival.’

‘Sounds like a classic girls’ school story.’

Kuniko smiled. ‘Thinking back on it now, it sure does.’

‘So what happened to their rivalry in the end?’

‘It’s funny, actually,’ Kuniko said, then she fell silent. After a long moment, she said, ‘There was an incident, I guess you’d call it, and after that, they became friends.’

‘An incident?’

Kuniko glanced around them. No one was sitting near their table. ‘The girl who spread the rumour was attacked.’

Imaeda leaned forward. ‘How do you mean, attacked?’

‘Well, she was absent from school for days. They told us she’d been in a traffic accident, but I heard later that she’d been attacked on her way home from school one night and was resting to recover from the shock.’

‘How exactly was she attacked, if you don’t mind me asking?’

Kuniko shook her head. ‘I don’t know the details. Some people said she was raped, but there were others who said it didn’t go that far. All I know is something bad must have happened to her. Someone who lived nearby said the police were coming around and asking questions.’

Something tugged at the back of Imaeda’s mind. This was important, he was sure of it. ‘And this incident brought the girl and Yukiho together somehow?’

Kuniko nodded. ‘It was Yukiho who found her after it happened, apparently. And I guess she visited her at her house afterwards and brought her notes from class, that sort of thing.’

Imaeda’s mind started racing. He tried to act calm, but he could feel his skin prickle.

‘Do you know if Yukiho was alone when she found her?’

‘No, I heard she was with a friend.’

Imaeda nodded and swallowed. His throat was dry.

That night he stayed at a business hotel near Umeda Station in the heart of Osaka. Imaeda listened to the tape of his interview with Kuniko Motooka, taking notes. She had never noticed the tiny recorder in his jacket pocket and he had managed to keep it running the entire time.

He thought about Kuniko going out to the newsstand every week to buy the magazine she thought her story would be in. He felt a little bad about it, but decided that at least he had given her something to dream about. He reached for the phone on the bed stand, pressing the buttons as he read the number out of his notebook.

The phone rang three times before Kazunari picked up.

‘Hello? Mr Shinozuka? It’s Imaeda. I’m in Osaka… That’s right. I’m calling because there was somebody I wanted to meet and I thought you could help me with her address or number.’

The name of the woman he wanted to meet was Eriko Kawashima.

The doorbell rang just as Eriko was taking clothes out of the dryer. She tossed her handful of sheets and underwear into the basket.

The intercom for the front door was on the wall in the dining room. She went in, picked it up and said, ‘Hello?’

‘Mrs Tezuka? It’s Maeda from Tokyo.’

‘Oh, be right there.’

Eriko took off her apron and walked to the front door. They had just bought this old house and she was getting familiar with the way some of the floorboards in the hallway squeaked when she walked across them. She’d been on at her husband to fix them for a while, but he had yet to rise to the challenge.

She opened the door with the chain still attached. A man was standing outside wearing a short-sleeved shirt with a blue tie. He looked a little over thirty.

‘Sorry to drop in on you like this,’ the man said, bowing. His hair was perfectly combed. ‘Your mother mentioned I was coming, I hope?’

‘Yes, she called.’

‘That’s good,’ the man said with a relieved smile. He offered her his business card, which introduced him as Kazuro Maeda, an investigator with the Heart-to-Heart Marriage Counselling Centre.

She took the card, closed the door, and undid the chain before opening it again. Still she was reluctant to let him inside the house. ‘I’m sorry, the house is a bit of a mess,’ she said.

Maeda shook his head. ‘Here is fine, if you don’t mind.’ He pulled a small notebook out of his shirt pocket.

Her mother had told her on the phone that morning that an investigator from a place specialising in prenuptial background checks would be visiting to talk to her. Apparently, he had gone to her family’s home first.

‘He wants to know about Yukiho,’ her mother said over the phone.

‘Yukiho? But she’s divorced,’ Eriko had said.

‘Not for long, apparently.’

Her mother explained that someone interested in Yukiho had hired an investigator to look into her. ‘He wants to talk to some of her old friends. I told him you were married and didn’t live here any ore, and he asked where you’d moved to. You don’t mind if I tell him, do you?’

‘No, it’s fine, go ahead.’

Apparently the man was still at her mother’s house, because she put down the phone for a while before returning to say, ‘OK. Mr Maeda says if it’s all right, he’ll drop by later today.’

‘OK, that’s fine. Whatever.’

Normally she would have turned down a meeting with someone she didn’t know. The only reason she didn’t was because it concerned Yukiho Karasawa. They hadn’t talked for years, and Eriko wanted to know how her old friend was doing.

Still, she was a little surprised that the investigator was asking about her so openly. She had always assumed that these investigations into potential partners happened under a veil of secrecy.

She gave him a general overview: how she and Yukiho had got to know each other in middle school, and gone to the same college and the investigator took notes.

‘Can I ask who it is that wants to marry her?’ Eriko asked during a pause in the questions.

Maeda looked surprised, then a wry smile came to his face. ‘I’m sorry, but that’s confidential for the time being.’

‘For the time being?’

‘Well, if all goes well, I’m sure you’ll hear about it directly. However, at the current stage, there’s always the possibility that things might not, er, get as far as that.’

‘You mean this man has other options for brides?’

‘Something like that, yes.’

Apparently this guy was some kind of high-roller if he was hiring investigators to look into a number of potentials.

‘I’m guessing I shouldn’t talk to Yukiho about this?’ Eriko asked.

‘It would be extremely helpful if you could keep this to yourself, yes,’ Maeda told her. ‘Not many people look favourably upon being investigated. Are you still in contact with Ms Karasawa, incidentally?’

‘Not really,’ she told him. ‘We send each other New Year’s cards, and that’s about it.’

‘I see. If you don’t mind me asking, when did you get married?’

‘Two years ago.’

‘Did Ms Karasawa attend the wedding?’

Eriko shook her head. ‘We had a ceremony, but we didn’t do a big reception. It was just a little family party. I sent her an announcement, of course, but no invitation. She’s all the way up in Tokyo, and the timing wasn’t so great, so I didn’t think it was appropriate…’

‘By timing, you mean…?’ Maeda asked, then it seemed that a light went off in his head and he nodded. ‘Of course. That was right after Ms Karasawa’s divorce, wasn’t it.’

‘Yes. She’d written about it on her New Year’s card.’

When she’d heard about the divorce, Eriko had wanted to call and ask what had happened. But then, she didn’t want to open any fresh wounds, and so in the end they never spoke. She still didn’t know the reasons for the divorce. All the New Year’s card had said was that Yukiho was ‘going back to the starting line, and beginning again’.

Eriko had spent a lot of time with Yukiho through their first two years in college, just as they had in middle and high school. They went shopping together, went to concerts together – they were practically attached at the hip. Eriko had clung to Yukiho even more after what happened to her as a freshman. She avoided dating anyone she didn’t know and was scared to make new friends. In many ways, Yukiho became her lifeline to the outside world.

It wasn’t a state of affairs that could go on forever. Eriko knew that better than anyone. She couldn’t keep Yukiho from living her own life. Though she never said as much, she’d clearly begun dating Makoto from dance club. It was only natural that she would want to spend more time with him.

Yukiho and Makoto’s budding relationship reminded Eriko of someone else she didn’t want to think about: Kazunari Shinozuka. When she thought of him, her heart sank into a deep, dark place.

Around halfway through sophomore year, Eriko began intentionally reducing the amount of time she spent with Yukiho. At first Yukiho seemed confused, but gradually she began to draw away, too. Maybe she thought that if they kept on the way they were, Eriko would never have a chance to find her own footing.

Of course, they were still friends and they kept in touch. They could talk for hours whenever they got together, and they occasionally called each other to chat on the phone, but no more than they talked with other friends.

After graduation the two of them grew even further apart. Eriko’s parents had got her a job at a local bank and Yukiho went up to Tokyo and married Makoto.

‘What sort of person would you say Yukiho is?’ Maeda asked. ‘Just your impressions are fine. Would you say she’s nervous, or withdrawn? Is she detail orientated? Does she like to win? Simple things like that.’

‘I’m not sure it’s that simple to sum a person up.’

‘Then maybe you could tell me about her in your own words.’

‘Well…’ Eriko paused a moment to think. ‘She’s a strong woman. Not the go-out-and-get-’em type. A quieter kind of strength. When you’re near her, you can feel her radiating a kind of power.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Well, she seemed to know everything, sometimes.’

‘I see,’ Maeda’s eyes opened a little wider. ‘That’s interesting. A woman who knows everything. Was she very erudite?’

‘No, it’s just that she seemed to know a lot about people’s true natures and the underside of the way the world worked. Talking with her sometimes, I…’ She hesitated a moment before continuing, ‘I learned a lot.’

‘I see. And yet this woman-who-knew-everything failed at marriage. What do you think about that?’ Maeda asked quickly.

Clearly, the investigator – and his client – wanted to know why Yukiho had got a divorce and whether the cause had lain with her.

‘It’s possible,’ Eriko said after a moment’s thought, ‘that she made a mistake getting married in the first place.’

‘How so?’

‘I feel like – and this is unusual for her – that she got caught up in the moment when she agreed to marry. I think that if she had thought about it more, she might not have gone through with it.’

‘You mean the man she married forced her hand?’

‘Not forced, no,’ Eriko said, careful to choose the right words. ‘I just think, when people get married, ideally, they have to reach a certain stable level in their feelings for each other – a balance. And I’m not sure they had that.’

‘You mean Ms Karasawa wasn’t as enthusiastic about the relationship as Mr Takamiya?’

‘It’s hard to express it exactly,’ Eriko said, frowning. ‘But I wouldn’t call him the love of her life.’

‘Interesting,’ Maeda said, his eyes widening slightly.

Eriko immediately regretted having said it. ‘I’m sorry, that’s entirely just my opinion. I’m probably completely off the mark.’

Maeda fell quiet, looking at her. Then, gradually, the smile returned to his face. ‘It’s all right. Like I said before, I’m interested in your impressions. I understand you weren’t directly involved.’

‘Even so, I think I should stop. I don’t want to cause any trouble for her. I think you should be able to find other people who know her far better than I do these days.’

Eriko reached for the doorknob.

‘Just one more question…’ Maeda lifted his index finger. ‘There was something I wanted to ask you about your time together in middle school.’

‘OK,’ Eriko said warily.

‘About a certain incident that happened in your last year of middle school, when one of your classmates was assaulted. Is it true that you were with Ms Karasawa when she discovered her?’

Eriko felt the blood drain from her face. ‘What does that have to do with —’

‘I was just wondering if you remembered anything about Ms Karasawa’s reaction, anything that might illuminate her character.’

Eriko had already started shaking her head violently before he finished talking. ‘No, nothing. I’m sorry, but I think we’re done here. I have things to do.’

Apparently, she had made her point. The investigator took a step back from her door. ‘I understand. Thanks for your time.’

Eriko closed the door without answering. She didn’t want him to see her shaking, and pretending she was fine wasn’t an option.

She sat down on the entrance hall mat. Dark memories filled her mind. It was incredible how many years had gone by and still the wound inside her felt raw. It had never healed. She’d just forgotten it was there.

It was only partially the investigator’s fault for bringing up Miyako Fujimura, the girl who had been assaulted. In truth, just talking about Yukiho had already started the memories surfacing in the back of her mind.

Eriko wasn’t sure what it was, but from a certain point she had started to imagine things about her old friend. At first she’d thought she was just obsessing about things, but gradually her suspicions and fears had coalesced into a story.

She never spoke about it to anyone. It was a horrible thing to think, so horrible she didn’t want anyone else to know she’d thought it. She tried to forget, but the story had settled in her mind, lurking, indelible. She hated herself for thinking it. When she thought about Yukiho’s kindness over the years, she felt like a beast by comparison.

And yet another part of her repeated the story over and over, like a mantra. Was it really just her imagination? Was there no kernel of truth to it?

Therein lay the true reason she had distanced herself from Yukiho back in college: she couldn’t stand the weight of the doubt and the self-loathing she felt inside whenever she saw her friend’s face.

Eriko put a hand on the wall to help her stand. She looked up and saw that she had left the front door unlocked. Reaching out, she turned the deadbolt and pulled the chain firmly shut.