wonder if you would mind not smoking, Mr. Ushikawa,” the shorter man said.

Ushikawa gazed steadily at the man seated across the desk from him, then down at the Seven Stars cigarette between his fingers. He hadn’t lit it yet.

“I’d really appreciate it,” the man added politely.

Ushikawa looked puzzled, as if he were wondering how such an object possibly found its way into his hand.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I won’t light up. I just took it out without thinking.”

The man’s chin moved up and down, perhaps a half inch, but his gaze didn’t waver. His eyes remained fixed on Ushikawa’s. Ushikawa stuck the cigarette back in its box, the box in a drawer.

The taller of the two men, the one with a ponytail, stood in the doorway, leaning so lightly against the door frame that it was hard to tell if he was actually touching it. He stared at Ushikawa as if he were a stain on the wall. What a creepy pair, Ushikawa thought. This was the third time he had met with these men, and they made him uneasy every time.

Ushikawa’s cramped office had a single desk, and the shorter of the two men, the one with a buzz cut, sat across from him. He was the one who did the talking. Ponytail didn’t say a word. Like one of those stone guardian dogs at the entrance to a Shinto shrine, he stood stock-still, not moving an inch, watching Ushikawa.

“It has been three weeks,” Buzzcut noted.

Ushikawa picked up his desk calendar, checked what was written on it, and nodded. “Correct. It has been exactly three weeks since we last met.”

“And in the meantime you haven’t reported to us even once. As I’ve mentioned before, Mr. Ushikawa, every moment is precious. We have no time to waste.”

“I completely understand,” Ushikawa replied, fiddling with his gold lighter in place of the cigarette. “There’s no time to waste. I am well aware of this.”

Buzzcut waited for Ushikawa to go on.

“The thing is,” Ushikawa said, “I don’t like to talk in fits and starts. A little of this, a little of that. I would like to wait until I start to see the big picture and things begin to fall into place and I can see what’s behind all this. Half-baked ideas can only lead to trouble. I know this sounds selfish, but that’s the way I do things.”

Buzzcut gazed coolly at Ushikawa. Ushikawa knew the man didn’t think much of him, not that this really worried him much. As far as he could recall, no one had ever had a good impression of him. He was used to it. His parents and siblings had never liked him, and neither had his teachers or classmates. It was the same with his wife and children. If someone did like him, now then he would be concerned. But the other way around didn’t faze him.

“Mr. Ushikawa, we would like to respect your way of doing things. And I believe we have done that. So far. But things are different this time. I’m sorry to say we don’t have the luxury of waiting until we know all the facts.”

“I understand,” Ushikawa said, “but I doubt you’ve just been sitting back all this time waiting for me to get in touch. I suspect you’ve been running your own investigations?”

Buzzcut didn’t respond. His lips remained pressed in a tight horizontal line, and his expression didn’t give anything away. But Ushikawa could tell that he wasn’t far from the truth. Over the past three weeks, their organization had geared up, and, although they had probably used different tactics from Ushikawa, they had been searching for the woman. But they must not have found anything, which is why they had turned up again in Ushikawa’s office.

“It takes a thief to catch a thief,” Ushikawa said, spreading his hands wide, as if disclosing some fascinating secret. “Try to hide something, and this thief can sniff it out. I know I’m not the most pleasant-looking person, but I do have a nose for things. I can follow the faintest scent to the very end. Because I’m a thief myself. I have to do things my way, at my own pace. I completely understand that time is pressing, but I would like you to wait a little longer. You have to be patient, otherwise the whole thing may collapse.”

Ushikawa toyed with his lighter. Buzzcut’s eyes patiently followed Ushikawa’s movements, and then he looked up.

“I would appreciate it if you would tell me what you’ve found, even if it’s incomplete. Granted, you have your own way of doing things, but if I don’t take something concrete back to my superiors, we’ll be in a tough spot. I think you’re in a bit of a precarious situation yourself, Mr. Ushikawa.”

These guys really are up a creek, Ushikawa realized. The two of them were martial arts experts, which is why they were selected to be Leader’s bodyguards. Despite that, Leader had been murdered right under their noses. Not that there was actually any evidence that he had been murdered—several doctors in the religion had examined the body and found no external injuries. But medical equipment within the religion was rudimentary at best. And time was of the essence. If a thorough, legal autopsy had been performed by a trained pathologist, they might very well have discovered evidence of foul play, but it was too late now. The body had been secretly disposed of within the Sakigake compound.

At any rate, these two bodyguards had failed in their assignment to protect Leader, and their position in the religion was shaky. Their role now was to locate this woman, after she had seemingly vanished into thin air. The order was out: leave no stone unturned until they found her. But so far they had come up empty-handed. They were trained bodyguards, but when it came to finding missing persons, they lacked the right skills.

“I understand where you’re coming from,” Ushikawa replied. “And I will tell you some things I’ve discovered. Not the whole story, but I can reveal parts of it.”

Buzzcut sat there for a while, his eyes narrowed. And then he nodded. “That would be fine. We have uncovered a few details ourselves, things you may already be aware of, or perhaps not. We should share whatever information we have.”

Ushikawa put the lighter down and tented his fingers on top of the desk.

“The young woman, Aomame,” he began, “was asked to come to a suite at the Hotel Okura, and helped Leader to relax his muscles by working his body through a series of stretching exercises. This was at the beginning of September, on the evening of that tremendous thunderstorm. Aomame treated him for around an hour in a separate room, then left Leader while he slept. She told you to let him sleep undisturbed for two hours, and you followed her instructions. But Leader wasn’t asleep. He was already dead. There were no external injuries, and it appeared to be a heart attack. Right after this, the woman vanished. She had cleared out of her apartment beforehand. The place was empty. And the next day her resignation letter arrived at the sports club. Everything seemed to follow a preset plan. The inevitable conclusion is that this Miss Aomame was the one who murdered Leader.”

Buzzcut nodded. It all sounded correct to him.

“Your goal is to get to the bottom of what actually occurred,” Ushikawa added. “Whatever it takes, you need to catch this woman.”

“If this Aomame really is the one who killed Leader, we need to know why, and who’s behind it.”

Ushikawa looked down at his ten fingers resting on the desk, as if they were some curious object he had never set eyes on before. He raised his head and looked at the man across from him.

“You’ve already run a background check on Aomame’s family, correct? All of her family members are devout members of the Witnesses. Her parents are still quite active and they have continued to proselytize door to door. Her older brother, who is thirty-four, works at the religion headquarters in Odawara. He is married and has two children. His wife is also a devout Witness. Aomame is the only one in the family who left the religion—an apostate, they called her—and she was essentially disowned. I have found no evidence that the family has had any contact with her for nearly the last twenty years. I think it’s impossible her family would hide her. At the age of eleven, she cut all ties with her family, and has been on her own pretty much ever since. She lived with her uncle for a while, but since she entered high school she has effectively been independent. Quite an impressive feat. And quite a strong-willed woman.”

Buzzcut didn’t say a word. He might have already had all this information.

“There is no way that the Witnesses are involved,” Ushikawa went on. “They are well known to be pacifists, following the principle of nonresistance. It’s not possible that their organization itself was aiming to take Leader’s life. On that we can be agreed, I think.”

Buzzcut nodded. “The Witnesses aren’t involved in this. That much I know. Just to be sure, though, we had a talk with her brother. We took every possible precaution. But he didn’t know anything.”

“By every possible precaution you don’t mean ripping off his fingernails, do you?”

Buzzcut ignored the question.

“Don’t look so upset,” Ushikawa said. “I’m joking. I’m sure her brother knew nothing about her actions or her whereabouts. I’m a born pacifist myself and would never do something so harsh, but that much I can figure out. Aomame has nothing to do with either her family or the Witnesses. Still, she couldn’t have pulled off something this complicated on her own. Things were carefully arranged, and she just followed the plan. And that was also a pretty nimble vanishing act she pulled. She had to have a lot of help and a generous amount of funding. There’s got to be someone—or some organization—who is backing her, someone who wanted Leader dead. They’re the ones that plotted all this. Agreed?”

Buzzcut nodded. “Generally speaking, yes.”

“But there’s no clue what sort of organization we’re talking about,” Ushikawa said. “I assume you checked out her friends and acquaintances?” Buzzcut silently nodded.

“And—let me guess—you found no friends to speak of,” Ushikawa said. “No friends, no boyfriend. She has a few acquaintances at work, but outside of work she doesn’t hang out with anybody. At least I wasn’t able to find any evidence of her having any close relationship with anyone. Why would that be? She is a young, healthy, decent-looking woman.”

Ushikawa glanced at Ponytail, standing by the door, seemingly frozen in time. He was devoid of all expression to begin with, so what was there to change? Does this guy even have a name? Ushikawa wondered. He wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t.

“You two are the only ones who have actually seen Miss Aomame,” Ushikawa said. “How about it? Did you notice anything unusual about her?”

Buzzcut shook his head slightly. “As you said, she is a fairly attractive young woman. Not beautiful enough to turn heads, though. A very quiet, calm person. She seemed quite confident in her abilities as a physical therapist. But nothing else really leapt out at us. It’s strange, in fact, how little of an impression her outward appearance made. I can’t even remember much about her face.”

Ushikawa again glanced over at Ponytail by the door. Perhaps he had something to add? But he didn’t look like he was about to open his mouth.

Ushikawa looked back at Buzzcut. “I’m sure you checked out Miss Aomame’s phone record for the past few months?”

Buzzcut shook his head. “We haven’t done that yet.”

“You should,” Ushikawa smiled. “It’s definitely worth checking out. People call all sorts of places and get all sorts of calls. Investigate a person’s phone records and you get a good idea of the kind of life they lead. Miss Aomame is no exception. It’s no easy thing to get ahold of private phone records, but it can be done. It takes a thief to catch one, right?”

Buzzcut was silent, waiting for him to continue.

“In looking over Miss Aomame’s phone records, several facts came to light. Quite unusually for a woman, she doesn’t like talking on the phone. There weren’t so many calls, and those that she made didn’t last long. Occasionally there were some long calls, but these are the exception. Most of the calls were to her workplace, but since she works freelance half the time, she also made calls related to private business—in other words, appointments she made directly with clients rather than going through the sports club desk. There were quite a few calls like that. But as far as I could tell, none of them were suspicious.”

Ushikawa paused, and as he examined the nicotine stains on his fingers from a number of angles, he thought about cigarettes. He lit an imaginary cigarette, inhaled the imaginary smoke, and exhaled.

“There were two exceptions, however. Two calls were to the police. Not 911 calls, but to the Traffic Bureau in the Shinjuku police station. And there were several calls from the station to her. She doesn’t drive, and policemen can’t afford private lessons at an expensive gym. So it must mean she has a friend working in that division. Who it is, though, I have no idea. One other thing that bothered me is that she had several long conversations with an unknown number. The other party always called her. She never once called them. I tried everything but couldn’t trace the number. Obviously there are numbers that can be manipulated so that the party’s name remains undisclosed. But even these, with some effort, should be traceable. I tried my best, but I couldn’t find out anything. It’s locked up tight. Quite extraordinary, really.”

“This other person, then, can do things that aren’t ordinary.”

“Exactly. Professionals are definitely involved.”

“Another thief,” Buzzcut said.

Ushikawa rubbed his bald, misshapen head with his palm, and grinned. “That’s right. Another thief—and a pretty formidable one at that.”

“So at least we understand that professionals are backing her,” Buzzcut commented.

“Correct. Miss Aomame is connected to some sort of organization. And this isn’t some organization run by amateurs in their spare time.”

Buzzcut lowered his eyelids halfway and studied Ushikawa. Then he turned around, toward the door. His eyes met Ponytail’s, and Ponytail gave a slight single nod to indicate he understood their conversation. Buzzcut turned his gaze back to Ushikawa.

“So?” Buzzcut asked.

“So—” Ushikawa said, “it’s my turn to ask you the questions. Do you have any idea which group or organization might want to rub out Leader?”

Buzzcut’s long eyebrows became one as he frowned. Three wrinkles appeared above his nose.

“Listen, Mr. Ushikawa. Think about it. We are a religious organization. We seek a peaceful heart and a spiritual life. We live in harmony with nature, spending our days farming and in religious training. Who could possibly view us as an enemy? What is there to gain?”

A vague smile played around the corners of Ushikawa’s mouth. “There are fanatics in every area of life. Who knows what kind of ideas fanatics will come up with?”

“We have no idea who could be behind this,” Buzzcut replied, his face blank, ignoring Ushikawa’s sarcasm.

“What about Akebono? There are still members of that group at large, aren’t there?”

Buzzcut shook his head once more, this time decisively, meaning this was impossible. Anyone connected with Akebono must have been so thoroughly crushed that there were no fears about them. So there was no trace of Akebono left.

“Fine. So you have no idea who it could be either. The reality is, though, that some organization somewhere targeted your Leader and took his life. Very cleverly, very efficiently. And then they vanished, leaving nothing behind. Like smoke.”

“And we have to find out who is behind this.”

“Without getting the police involved.”

Buzzcut nodded. “This is our problem, not a legal problem.”

“Fine,” Ushikawa said. “Understood. You’ve made that clear. But there’s one more thing I would like to ask you.”

“Go ahead,” Buzzcut said.

“How many people within your religion know that Leader has died?”

“There would be the two of us,” Buzzcut said. “And the two other people who helped transport the body. Subordinates of mine. Only five of the council know about this. That would make nine people. We haven’t told his three shrine maidens yet, but they will find out soon enough. They serve him personally, so we can’t hide it from them for very long. And then there’s you, Mr. Ushikawa. Of course you know about it too.”

“So all together, thirteen people.”

Buzzcut didn’t reply.

Ushikawa sighed deeply. “May I speak frankly?”

“Please do,” Buzzcut said.

“I know it doesn’t do much good to say this now,” Ushikawa said, “but when you found out Leader was dead you should have contacted the police immediately. You should have made his death public. This kind of major event can’t be hidden forever. Any secret known by more than ten people isn’t a secret anymore. You could soon find yourself in a lot of trouble.”

Buzzcut’s expression didn’t change. “It is not my job to decide. I just follow orders.”

“So who makes the decisions?”

No reply.

“The person who has taken over for Leader?”

Buzzcut maintained his silence.

“Fine,” Ushikawa said. “Someone above you instructed you to take care of Leader’s corpse behind closed doors. In your organization, orders from above can’t be questioned. But from a legal standpoint this clearly involves willful destruction and disposal of a dead body, which is quite a serious crime. You’re aware of this, I’m sure.”

Buzzcut nodded.

Ushikawa sighed deeply again. “I mentioned this before, but if by some chance the police get involved, please make it clear that I was never informed of Leader’s death. Criminal charges are the last thing I need.”

“You were never told about Leader’s death,” Buzzcut said. “We hired you as an outside investigator to locate a woman named Aomame, that’s all. You have done nothing illegal.”

“That works,” Ushikawa said.

“You know, we had no desire to have an outsider like yourself find out about Leader’s death. But you’re the one who conducted the initial background check on Aomame, the one who cleared her. So you’re already involved. We need your help to locate her. And we need you to keep the whole thing confidential.”

“Keeping secrets is what my profession is all about. There is nothing to worry about. I assure you that no one else will ever hear about this from me.”

“If it does get out, and we find out that you were the source, this could lead to something unpleasant.”

Ushikawa looked down at his desk again, at the ten plump fingers resting on it. He looked surprised to discover that these fingers were his.

“Something unpleasant,” he repeated, and looked up.

Buzzcut’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Above all we have to keep Leader’s death a secret. And we’re not concerned about the means we use to accomplish this.”

“I will keep your secret. Rest assured,” Ushikawa said. “So far, we’ve worked together perfectly well. I’ve done a number of things behind the scenes that would have been hard for you to do openly. The work hasn’t always been easy, but the compensation is more than adequate. So okay—double zippers on my mouth. I have no religious beliefs, but Leader helped me personally, so I am doing all I possibly can to locate Miss Aomame. I will do my utmost to uncover what is behind this. And I’m starting to see some progress. So please, be patient for just a while longer. Before too long, I should have some good news.”

Buzzcut shifted ever so slightly in his chair. Standing by the door, Ponytail shifted in tandem, moving his weight to his other leg.

“Is this all the information you’re able to share?” Buzzcut asked.

Ushikawa mulled this over. “As I said, Miss Aomame called the Traffic Bureau of the Shinjuku Metropolitan Police Precinct twice, and the other party called her a number of times. I don’t know the other party’s name yet. It’s the police. I can’t just ask them. But an idea did flash through this inept brain of mine. There was something I remembered about the Traffic Bureau in the Shinjuku Precinct. I thought about it a lot, wondering what it was that was clinging to the edges of my pathetic memory. It took quite some time before it came to me. It’s no fun growing old, no fun at all. The drawers where you store memories get harder to open. I used to be able to just yank them open with no problem, but this time it took me a good week before it finally dawned on me.”

Ushikawa stopped talking, and a theatrical smile rose to his lips. He gazed at Buzzcut, who waited patiently for him to go on.

“In August of this year, a young female police officer with the Traffic Bureau in the Shinjuku Precinct was found strangled to death in a love hotel in Maruyama Ward, in Shibuya. Stark naked, handcuffed with her own police-issue handcuffs. Naturally this caused a scandal. The phone conversations between Miss Aomame and the Shinjuku Precinct were in the several months before this incident. There were no calls at all after the murder. What do you think? Too much to see this as mere coincidence?”

Buzzcut was silent for a while, then finally spoke. “So you’re saying that the person Aomame contacted was this female police officer who was murdered?”

“The officer’s name was Ayumi Nakano. Age twenty-six. A very charming-looking young woman. She came from a police family. Her father and older brother were both in the force. She was a fairly top-ranked officer. Needless to say, the police have tried very hard to locate the murderer, but with no luck so far. I apologize for being so forward with this question, but is there any chance that you might know something about this incident?”

Buzzcut’s eyes, staring at Ushikawa, were cold, as if only minutes ago he had been extracted from a glacier. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he said. “Are you thinking that we may in some way be involved in this incident? That one of us took this female police officer to a disreputable hotel, handcuffed her, and strangled her to death?”

Ushikawa pursed his lips and shook his head. “Don’t be absurd! The thought never crossed my mind. All I’m asking is whether you have any ideas about this case. Anything at all. I would welcome even the smallest clue. No matter how hard I try to squeeze out whatever I can from this brain of mine, I can’t find a connection between these two murders.”

Buzzcut gazed at Ushikawa for a time, as if measuring something. Then he slowly let out his breath. “I understand. I will let my superiors know,” he said. He took out a pocket notebook and made some notes. “Ayumi Nakano. Twenty-six. Traffic Bureau, Shinjuku Precinct. Possibly connected with Aomame.”

“Exactly.”

“Anything else?”

“There’s one more thing. Someone within your religion must have brought up Miss Aomame’s name. Someone who knew of a fitness trainer in Tokyo who was very good at stretching exercises. As you pointed out, I was hired to investigate the woman’s background. I’m not trying to excuse myself, but I did my absolute best. Yet I didn’t find anything out of the ordinary, nothing at all suspicious. She’s as clean as they come. And you all asked her to come to the suite at the Hotel Okura. So who was it who recommended her in the first place?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Ushikawa exclaimed. He looked like a child who has just heard a word he doesn’t understand. “You mean that while someone within your religion must have first raised Miss Aomame’s name, no one can recall who it was? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Correct,” Buzzcut replied, his expression unchanged.

“That’s pretty weird,” Ushikawa said, in a tone that reflected just how odd he found it.

Buzzcut didn’t say a word.

“So we don’t know when her name came up, or from whom, and things went forward seemingly on their own. Is that what you’re saying?”

“To tell you the truth, the one who most enthusiastically supported the idea was Leader himself,” Buzzcut said, choosing his words carefully. “Within the leadership, some thought it might be dangerous to allow a complete stranger to take care of Leader like that. As bodyguards we felt the same way. But Leader wasn’t worried. In fact, he is the one who insisted that we go forward with it.”

Ushikawa picked up his lighter again, flipped open the top, and flicked it on, as if testing it. Then he quickly snapped the top shut.

“I always heard Leader was a very cautious person,” he said.

“He was. Very careful, very cautious,” Buzzcut said. Silence continued for a time.

“There is one more thing I would like to ask,” Ushikawa said. “About Tengo Kawana. He was seeing an older, married woman named Kyoko Yasuda. She came to his apartment once a week, and they would spend some intimate time together. He’s young, so that’s only to be expected. But suddenly one day her husband calls him, telling him she won’t be paying him any more visits. And he hasn’t heard a peep from her since.”

Buzzcut frowned. “I don’t understand why you’re telling me this. Are you saying that Tengo Kawana was involved in all this?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. It’s just that something has been bothering me. Whatever the circumstances might be, you would expect the woman to at least give him a call. But she hasn’t gotten in touch. She just vanished, without a trace. Loose ends bother me, so that’s why I posed the question, to be on the safe side. Do you know anything about this?”

“Personally, I have no knowledge about this woman,” Buzzcut said in a flat tone. “Kyoko Yasuda. She had a relationship with Tengo Kawana.”

“She was married, and ten years older than him.”

Buzzcut noted down the name in his notebook. “I will let my superiors know.”

“That’s fine,” Ushikawa said. “By the way, have you located the whereabouts of Eriko Fukada?”

Buzzcut raised his head and stared at Ushikawa as if he were examining a crooked picture frame. “And why should we know where Eriko Fukada is?”

“You’re not interested in locating her?”

Buzzcut shook his head. “It is not our concern. She is free to go wherever she wants.”

“And you’re not interested in Tengo Kawana either?”

“He has nothing to do with us.”

“At one time it seemed like you were quite interested in both of them,” Ushikawa said.

Buzzcut narrowed his eyes for a moment, then opened his mouth. “At this point we are focused solely on Aomame.”

“Your focus shifts from day to day?”

Buzzcut’s lips parted a fraction, but he didn’t reply.

“Mr. Buzzcut, have you read the novel Eriko Fukada wrote, Air Chrysalis?”

“No, I have not. In the religion we are strictly forbidden to read anything other than books on Sakigake doctrine. We can’t even touch them.”

“Have you ever heard the term Little People?”

“No,” Buzzcut said, without missing a beat.

“That’s fine,” Ushikawa replied.

Their conversation came to an end. Buzzcut slowly rose from his chair and straightened the collar of his jacket. Ponytail took one step forward from the wall.

“Mr. Ushikawa, as I mentioned before, time is of the essence.” Buzzcut stood and looked down at Ushikawa, who had remained seated. “We have to locate Aomame as soon as possible. We are doing our very best, and we need you to do the same, from a different angle. If Aomame isn’t found, it could be bad for both of us. You are, after all, one of the few who know an important secret.”

“With great knowledge comes great responsibility.”

“Exactly,” Buzzcut replied without a trace of emotion. He turned and swiftly exited the room. Ponytail followed Buzzcut out, noiselessly shutting the door.

After they had left, Ushikawa pulled open a desk drawer and switched off the tape recorder inside. He opened the lid of the recorder, extracted the cassette tape, and wrote the date and time on it with a ballpoint pen. For a man with his sort of odd looks, his handwriting was neat and graceful. He grabbed the pack of Seven Stars cigarettes beside him, extracted one, and lit it with his lighter. He took a long puff, exhaled deeply toward the ceiling, then closed his eyes for a moment. He opened his eyes and looked over at the wall clock. The clock showed 2:30. What a creepy pair indeed, Ushikawa told himself once more.

If Aomame isn’t found, it could be bad for both of us, Buzzcut had said.

Ushikawa had twice visited the headquarters of Sakigake, deep in the mountains of Yamanashi Prefecture, and had seen the huge incinerator in the woods behind the compound. It was built to burn garbage and waste, but since it operated at an extremely high temperature, if you threw a human corpse inside there wouldn’t be a single bone left. He knew that in fact several people’s bodies had been disposed of in this way. Leader’s body was probably one of them. Naturally enough, Ushikawa didn’t want to suffer the same fate. Someday he would die, but if possible he would prefer something a bit more peaceful.

But there were some facts that Ushikawa hadn’t revealed. Ushikawa preferred not to show all his cards at once. It was okay to show them a few of the lower-value cards, but the face cards he kept hidden. One needed some insurance—like the secret conversation he had recorded. When it came to this kind of game, Ushikawa was an expert. These young bodyguards had nowhere near the experience he had.

Ushikawa had gotten ahold of Aomame’s private client list. As long as you don’t mind the time and effort, and you know what you’re doing, you can get ahold of almost any kind of information. Ushikawa had made a decent enough investigation of the backgrounds of the twelve private clients. Eight women and four men, all of them of high social standing and fairly well off. Not a single one the type who would lend a hand to an assassin. But one of them, a wealthy woman in her seventies, provided a safe house for women escaping domestic violence. She allowed battered women to live in a two-story apartment building on the extensive grounds of her estate, next door to her house.

This was, in itself, a wonderful thing to do. There was nothing suspicious about it. Yet something bothered Ushikawa, kicking around the edges of his consciousness. And as this vague notion rattled around in his mind, Ushikawa tried to pinpoint what it was. He was equipped with an almost animal-like sense of smell, and he trusted his intuition more than anything. His sense of smell had saved him a few times. Violence was perhaps the keyword here. This elderly woman had a special awareness of the violent, and thus went out of her way to protect those who were its victims.

Ushikawa had actually gone over to see this safe house. The wooden apartment building was on a rise in Azabu, prime real estate. It was a fairly old building, but had character. Through the grille of the front gate, he saw a beautiful flower bed in front of the entrance, and an extensive garden. A large oak cast a shadow onto the ground. A small die-cut plate glass was set into the front door. It was the kind of building that was fast disappearing from Tokyo.

For all its tranquillity, the building was heavily secured. The walls around it were high, and topped with barbed wire. The solid metal gate was securely locked, and a German shepherd patrolled the grounds and barked loudly if anyone approached. There were several cameras set up to scan the vicinity. Hardly any pedestrians walked on the road in front of the apartment building, so one couldn’t loiter there long. It was a quiet residential area, with several embassies nearby. If a strange-looking man like Ushikawa were seen loitering, someone would be sure to question his presence.

The security was a little too tight. For a place meant to shelter battered women, they went a bit overboard. Ushikawa felt he would have to find out all there was to know about this safe house. No matter how tightly it was guarded, he would somehow have to pry it open. No—the more tightly it was guarded, the more he had to pry it open. And to do so, he would have to wrack his brain to come up with a plan.

Ushikawa recalled the part of his conversation with Buzzcut concerning the Little People.

“Have you ever heard the term Little People?”

“No.”

The reply had come a little too fast. If you had never heard that name before, you would normally pause a beat before answering. Little People? You would let the sound roll around in your mind for a second to see if anything clicked. And then you would reply. That’s what most people would do.

Buzzcut had heard the term Little People before. Ushikawa didn’t know if he knew what it meant or what it was, but it was definitely not the first time he’d heard it.

Ushikawa extinguished his now stubby cigarette. He was lost in thought for a while, and then he pulled out a new cigarette and lit it. He had decided years ago not to worry about getting lung cancer. If he wanted to concentrate, he had to get some nicotine into his system. Who knew what his fate was, even two or three days down the road? So what was the point in worrying about how his health would be fifteen years from now?

As he smoked his third Seven Stars, an idea came to him. Ah! he thought. This might actually work.