wo people walked in just before closing time: a short man of about fifty and a skinny high-school boy. Father and son, Tomohiko thought immediately. The kid had a familiar face. He’d been in the shop several times before. He never asked any questions, never bought anything. He just stared at the computers on display and went home. There were a few others like him, come to ogle the high-end machines. As a rule, Tomohiko didn’t try to engage them; he didn’t want to spook them off. ‘They’re welcome to window-shop as much as they like,’ Ryo always said. ‘When that first big pay cheque lands, or their parents offer to buy them something to celebrate a good report card, they’ll be back.’

Ryo was the manager, and if he was happy, Tomohiko was happy.

The father peered through wireframe glasses at the centrepiece of their display – a computer Tomohiko had seen the boy staring at before. They stood side by side, looking at it, whispering, until the father leaned in to read the price tag. ‘What?’ he exclaimed, his voice loud in the quiet shop. The son, desperate to keep him from walking out, immediately switched to damage control, telling him about all the other, cheaper options.

Tomohiko watched his screen, feigning disinterest while continuing to observe them out of the corner of his eye. The father had a distant gaze as he moved down the rows of computers and peripheral devices, as though he were surveying the landscape of some foreign country. He was dressed casually, a wool cardigan over a turtleneck sweater, but he still smelled like a company man. Middle-level management in some industrial complex, Tomohiko guessed.

Hiroe Nakajima looked up from the parts shipment she was examining to give Tomohiko a look to say shouldn’t you talk to them?

Tomohiko nodded. I know, I know.

He waited for the right moment and then stood, smiling. ‘Can I help you find something?’

The father’s expression turned to a look of guarded relief. The boy, on the other hand, averted his eyes towards a shelf of boxed software.

Not very sociable, that one.

‘My son’s been asking for a computer,’ the father said, a thin smile on his face. ‘But to be honest, I have absolutely no idea what to get.’

‘Do you know how he’ll be using it?’ Tomohiko asked, glancing at the kid.

‘How’re you going to use it?’ the father asked.

‘Word processing, message boards, that kind of stuff,’ the boy replied quietly, still looking down at the floor.

‘Any games?’ Tomohiko asked.

The boy gave an almost imperceptible nod.

‘Well…’ He looked back at the father. ‘What’s your budget?’

‘I was hoping we could get away with something around a hundred thousand yen.’

‘A hundred thousand isn’t going to buy anything, I told you,’ the boy said.

‘Just a moment,’ Tomohiko went back to the computer at his desk and typed something. A list of the store’s inventory came up on the screen. ‘I’ve got an 88 that should work.’

‘Eight-eight?’ The father frowned.

‘An NEC-88 series. It just went on sale in October. The price for the computer body is about a hundred thousand, but I think I can cut it down a bit for you. It’s not a bad system. The CPU clock runs at fourteen megahertz, and it has sixty-four kilobytes of RAM, standard. Add a monitor, and I can probably get that for you at around a hundred and twenty thousand.’

Tomohiko picked a brochure off the shelf behind him and handed it to the father. He took it, leafed through the pages, and passed it to his son.

‘You need a printer?’ Tomohiko asked the son.

‘Yeah, probably,’ he muttered.

Tomohiko went back to their stockroom list.

‘I have a Japanese thermal that runs at about sixty-nine thousand eight hundred.’

‘So a hundred and ninety thousand altogether?’ The man made a sour face. ‘That’s way over budget.’

Tomohiko grinned sheepishly. ‘Actually, you’d also have to get some software to go with that.’

‘Software?’

‘Programs to make the computer run. Without those, it’s just a box. Unless you program?’ He glanced at the boy, who didn’t respond.

‘You mean those don’t come with the computer?’

‘Not usually. You need different programs for different uses, so not everyone wants the same package.’

The man grunted.

‘We can probably throw in a standard word-processing program, though,’ Tomohiko said as he punched some numbers into his calculator. He showed the resulting number to the father: 199,800. ‘How about this for a total? You won’t get a better deal anywhere else, I guarantee it.’

The man frowned, clearly unwilling to part with that kind of cash.

His son, however, was thinking in entirely the opposite direction. ‘How about the NEC-98?’

‘The 98 series runs at at least three hundred thousand yen. With peripherals, you’re looking at a price tag of over four hundred thousand.’

‘Four hundred thousand? For a toy?’ The father shook his head. ‘Even that 88 thing is overpriced.’

‘Well, let me know what you’d like to do. If your budget is fixed at one hundred thousand, I might be able to find something for you, but you’d be losing a lot of functionality. Might have to go with an older model, too.’

The father was clearly struggling, but finally, the pleading look in his son’s eyes won him over. He turned to Tomohiko. ‘We’ll take the 88.’

Leaving Hiroe to handle the payment, Tomohiko left the shop, which was nothing more than a converted apartment. If it hadn’t had a ‘Limitless Computers’ sign on the door, it would have been impossible to distinguish from any of the other units. The unmarked apartment next door served as their stockroom.

The stockroom had a work desk and a simple area for greeting guests with a low table and two sofas. Two men turned to look at Tomohiko when he walked in. One was Ryo, and the other was a man he’d seen a few times named Kaneshiro.

‘Sold the 88,’ Tomohiko said, showing the slip to Ryo. ‘Nineteen ninety-eight with a monitor and printer.’

‘Good,’ Ryo said. ‘More room for the 98s.’

The room behind them was filled with cardboard boxes stacked nearly to the ceiling. Tomohiko checked the numbers printed on the side of the boxes as he walked between the stacks.

‘Nice little operation you got here,’ Kaneshiro said. ‘How many hundred-thousand-yen customers you get a week?’ There was a faint mocking tone to his voice. He had turned away so Tomohiko couldn’t see his face, but he could picture his smile all the same, with those hollow cheeks, and squinting, sunken eyes. He reminded Tomohiko of a skeleton wearing a grey suit two sizes too big.

‘I like keeping things manageable,’ Ryo replied. ‘Low return, low risk.’

Kaneshiro gave a low, rolling laugh. ‘You did well enough for yourself last year, and I didn’t hear you complaining then. You wouldn’t have got this place open if it wasn’t for that job I gave you.’

‘Look,’ Ryo said, ‘I told you I’m not interested in crossing that bridge blindfolded again, now that I know how narrow it is. One misstep, and I lose everything.’

‘You’re exaggerating. Besides, we’re not stupid. Things are under control this time, nothing to worry about.’

‘Regardless, I’m not interested. You’re going to have to take your business elsewhere.’

Tomohiko wondered what Kaneshiro’s business was. A few possibilities occurred to him, none of them particularly legal.

It took him a while to track down all the boxes: a computer, monitor, and printer. Tomohiko carried them to the door one at a time. Ryo and Kaneshiro had fallen to silently staring at each other, so he didn’t get to hear any more of their conversation.

‘Ryo,’ Tomohiko called as he was about to leave. ‘Think I can close up shop?’

‘Go ahead. Doubt we’ll get any more tonight.’

Tomohiko nodded and left. Kaneshiro hadn’t looked at his face once during this exchange.

Tomohiko handed the packages to the father and son and started to close the store.

‘Want to go get dinner?’ he asked Hiroe.

‘That guy’s here, isn’t he,’ Hiroe said with a frown. ‘The one that looks like a corpse.’

Tomohiko grinned.

‘Who is he, anyway?’ she asked, frowning. ‘What’s his connection to Ryo?’

‘That’s a better topic for somewhere else,’ Tomohiko said, putting on his coat.

Outside the shop, Tomohiko and Hiroe ambled down the pavement. December was just getting started, and there were Christmas decorations here and there. Tomohiko wondered what they would do for a Christmas Eve date this year. It was a tradition. Last year, he’d made reservations at a French restaurant in a big hotel, but so far he hadn’t had any good ideas. Either way, he’d definitely be spending it with Hiroe – their third Christmas Eve together.

Tomohiko had met Hiroe back in sophomore year in college. He’d had a part-time job at one of the big electronics stores, where he was in charge of microcomputer and word processor sales. At the time, there were very few people with any knowledge of those things whatsoever, so Tomohiko was highly valued. It was supposed to be a behind-the-counter position, but he often did service calls, too, since there was no one else to do them.

He’d picked up the job when Unlimited Designs went on hiatus after their initial success. Companies selling software had sprung up like mushrooms after the rain, trying to jump on the computer game boom, and crapware was ubiquitous. Most of the places had shut down after a wave of customer complaints, and Unlimited Designs had been caught in the backlash.

Tomohiko had been grateful for the break – and the chance to expand his social life. Hiroe worked on the same floor as Tomohiko, selling phones and fax machines. They ran into each other a lot, and began chatting during their breaks. Their first date came about a month later, and before long they were going steady.

Hiroe was not what you would call a beauty. She was short, with a round face, and moved less like a girl and more like a skinny boy. But she had a softness to her manner that put people at ease, and just seeing her made Tomohiko’s worries go away.

Their relationship hadn’t been all smooth sailing. Two years ago they’d slipped up and Hiroe ended up pregnant. She decided to get an abortion. They lay in bed the night after the operation and he held her body close as tears rolled down her face. But she never once cried about it after that night.

Tomohiko still carried the pregnancy test she’d used in his wallet, a clear tube about the size of a cigarette cut in half. When you looked at it end-on, you could see two concentric red rings on the bottom, which meant positive. Tomohiko carried it with him right next to a pack of condoms as a reminder. He would never put Hiroe through that again.

He’d shown it once to Ryo and much to his surprise, Ryo asked to borrow it ‘to show to someone’. He returned it to him a couple of days later without offering any further explanation.

‘Men are weak,’ Ryo had said off-handedly. ‘A woman just has to whisper the word “pregnant” and they’ll do anything.’

To this day, Tomohiko had no idea what Ryo had used it for.

Tomohiko and Hiroe went into a tiny bar, already mostly filled with salarymen. The only open table was at the very front. Tomohiko sat across from Hiroe and they draped their coats across the chair next to them. There was a television above his head; he could hear the sounds of a talk show.

A middle-aged woman wearing an apron came to wait on them and Tomohiko ordered two beers and a few dishes. The sashimi at this place was solid and the appetisers were pretty good too.

‘I met Kaneshiro last spring,’ Tomohiko said, taking a sip of beer to wash down some squid. ‘Ryo introduced me to him. He looked a lot healthier back then.’

‘A little meat on his bones?’

Tomohiko chuckled. ‘Something like that. He was dressing up a little more back then, too. Came on strong, wanting us to write a program for a game.’

‘What kind of game?’

‘Golf.’

‘You mean you wrote a whole game, from the ground up?’

Tomohiko drank down the rest of his beer. ‘It was a little more complicated than that.’

His mind wandered back. The whole project had smelled fishy from the get-go. The first thing Tomohiko had seen was the specs for the game and a partially completed program. Kaneshiro wanted them to take what they already had and polish it into working shape within two months.

‘Why make it this far and have someone else do the rest?’ Tomohiko had asked.

‘Because the programmer working on it died. Heart attack. The company didn’t have any other good programmers on staff. They got afraid they were going to slip even further behind schedule, and so they brought it to me,’ Kaneshiro had told him. Tomohiko remembered how he used to talk: calm, professional. That hadn’t lasted very long.

‘Well?’ Ryo had asked Tomohiko. ‘It’s unfinished, but the basic system is there. Filling in the missing pieces shouldn’t be too hard.’

Tomohiko wasn’t as confident. ‘What about debugging? We might be able to get the thing working in a month or so, but getting it to run smoothly? That’s at least another couple of months.’

‘Please, see what you can do,’ Kaneshiro had pleaded with them. ‘There’s no one else I can go to.’ It was the only time Tomohiko ever saw him ask nicely.

They took the job. The pay was good, maybe good enough that they could start up Unlimited Designs again.

The game was an ambitious attempt to make the most realistic golf game possible. Players chose clubs and swings based on their position, and checked the lie of the green for putting. In order to get all the nuances rights, Tomohiko and Ryo had to give themselves a crash course in golf. Neither of them had known much about the game to start with.

The story was that the game they made would be available in arcades and cafés. Kaneshiro promised them that if things went well, it could be the next Space Invaders.

Tomohiko knew very little about Kaneshiro, mostly because Ryo had neglected to tell him anything about the man. However, after several discussions, it came out that Kaneshiro had some connection to Hiroshi Enomoto – the yakuza who had been dating their old accountant, Namie Nishiguchi, before he was hunting her down.

Namie’s murder in a Nagoya hotel had never been solved. The paper trail of illegal transfers had led the police to suspect Enomoto, but there was never any conclusive evidence of murder, or even embezzlement. With Namie dead, it was difficult for the police to make any progress.

Tomohiko was reasonably certain that Enomoto had killed Namie. The lingering question was who had told him she was in Nagoya. Tomohiko had a theory for that one too, but not one he’d ever say out loud.

Tomohiko kept his discussion with Hiroe to the details of the golf game job. While they talked, a sashimi plate and some fried aubergine had arrived at their table.

‘So you finished the golf game?’ Hiroe asked, cutting into the aubergine with her chopsticks.

‘In two months’ time, as promised. A month later it was being shipped throughout the country.’

‘It sold pretty well, right?’

‘How did you know?’

‘Because I’d heard of the game. I even played it a few times. I remember the approaches and putting being pretty difficult.’

It was strange to hear Hiroe using golf lingo.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’d like to take credit for that, but I’m not sure that the game you played was the one we made.’

‘Why not?’

‘The golf game sold about ten thousand units across Japan. Except we only made about half of those. The rest were sold by a different company.’

‘You mean someone copied you, like with Space Invaders?’

‘Not quite. With Invaders, the copies only came out after the original game was a big hit. But with our golf game, the pirated version came out at almost exactly the same time as the official release from Megahit Enterprises.’

‘What?’ Hiroe stopped, a piece of aubergine centimetres away from her mouth. ‘I’m guessing that wasn’t a coincidence?’

‘Hardly. Somebody got hold of the program before it was finished and started working on a copy before it was even released.’

‘Wait, so which version were you working on? The original, or the copy?’ Hiroe said, casting him a dubious look.

Tomohiko sighed. ‘Do I even have to say?’

She shook her head. ‘No, not really.’

‘I still don’t know how Kaneshiro got his hands on the program and design docs.’

‘I’m surprised there wasn’t any backlash.’

‘Oh, there was. Megahit scoured the countryside looking for the source of the pirate edition – in vain, ultimately. Whoever was in charge of distribution used some pretty convoluted sales routes.’

Gang channels, he thought to himself. He didn’t feel the need to explain that.

‘Aren’t you afraid you’ll get in trouble?’

‘So far, so good. If the cops come asking questions, we’ll just have to play dumb. I wouldn’t even be playing, really.’

Hiroe smiled. ‘I had no idea you were involved with such shady dealings.’

‘Yeah, well, I’ve had enough of shady.’

Tomohiko was pretty sure that Ryo had known exactly what the score was from the very beginning. He was far too sharp to let a low-level player like Kaneshiro pull the wool over his eyes. He hadn’t seemed particularly surprised when Tomohiko came to him with his belated realisation that they had been making the pirated version of the game.

Tomohiko had to admit he hadn’t been that surprised either, not after everything he’d seen Ryo get involved in over the years. Stealing someone’s half-finished golf game seemed pretty tame by comparison.

He wondered again how much Ryo had made out of that forged credit card scheme back in the day, the one he’d helped with. He guessed it was considerably more than two hundred thousand yen.

More recently, Ryo had gone on a wiretapping spree. He didn’t know who was making requests, or who Ryo was listening in on, but Ryo had come to him several times to talk about methods and technology.

Which was why it was refreshing to see him seemingly satisfied just to keep his computer shop running these days. Tomohiko hoped Kaneshiro didn’t bring him anything too enticing – not that Ryo was one to be easily swayed. The problem was, Tomohiko didn’t know what Ryo was really thinking, deep down. Ryo was his closest friend, and he didn’t know him at all.

Tomohiko took Hiroe to the station and returned to the shop. The lights on the upper floor were on. He went up the stairs, and used his own key to open the door, peering in to see Ryo glued to a computer screen, a can of beer on the table next to him.

‘Didn’t expect to see you again today,’ he said.

‘Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about Kaneshiro,’ Tomohiko said, pulling a folding chair off of the wall and sitting down. ‘What did he want?’

‘Money, what else? That golf game gave him a taste, and he’s having trouble letting it go.’ Ryo pulled the tab off another can of beer and took a slug. There was a small refrigerator by his feet that always contained at least a full case of Heineken.

‘So what was it this time?’

‘Something ridiculous,’ Ryo said, snorting. ‘I mean, there’s risky, and then there’s this. No way I’m touching it.’

Ryo had a hard set to his eyes, like when he was mulling over a problem. He might not be taking on whatever job Kaneshiro had brought, but it had definitely grabbed his interest.

‘So, what was it?’ Tomohiko asked.

Ryo chuckled. ‘You don’t want to know.’

Something about the way he said it made Tomohiko narrow his eyes. ‘No way. Not the Monster?’

Ryo raised his beer in a mock toast.

Tomohiko sat, speechless.

‘The Monster’ was their nickname for the most popular game in history: Super Mario Bros., for Nintendo’s game console. The thing had stormed the charts, selling out across the country since going on sale in September, to the tune of two million copies and counting. Featuring a charismatic plumber who avoided obstacles and enemies in his quest to rescue a princess, the game had expanded on the simple single-path gameplay of its rivals by introducing numerous shortcuts and sidetracks. There was the element of a treasure hunt to the game as well. Not just the software, but strategy guides and magazines featuring the game were selling like hot cakes and with Christmas looming, sales were steadily on the rise. Tomohiko and Ryo both agreed that the Mario boom was here to stay, probably well into the next year.

‘So what about Mario? Don’t tell me he wants us to make a pirate version,’ Tomohiko said.

‘That’s exactly what he wants,’ Ryo said, chuckling. ‘He’s claiming it’d be easy, from a technical standpoint.’

‘I don’t know about easy, but the finished game is out already. You’d just have to copy the data in the cartridge and build a new board. It wouldn’t be that hard with the right tools and a workshop.’

‘Which is what Kaneshiro wants us to set up for him. He already has a printer in Shiga prefecture that can do the fake packaging and instruction manual.’

‘Shiga? Why so far away?’

‘Some gang connection, most likely,’ Ryo said.

‘There’s no way they could make it in time for Christmas.’

‘He’s not even thinking about Christmas. He’s after the allowances kids get from their relatives on New Year’s. Still, even if we started right now, the fastest they could get product on the shelves would be the end of January. By which time I’m betting that the kids will have blown their cash already.’ Ryo grinned.

‘If he was going to sell it wholesale, he’d have to find some place willing to pay cash —’

Ryo shook his head. ‘That would just get the wholesalers breathing down your neck. You think they’re not going to suspect something if someone comes in trying to sell them a whole shipment of a sold-out game? Once they check with Nintendo, it’s over.’

‘So what’s the sales route?’

‘The black market. And no middlemen, like with Invaders or the golf game. He was talking selling it straight to kids.’

‘Except they’re not, because you said no, right?’ Tomohiko asked.

‘Of course I did. I’m not going down with that ship.’

‘Well, that’s a relief,’ Tomohiko said, pulling a Heineken out of the fridge for himself. He pulled back the tab, sending a white spray of foam into the air.

The man arrived on a Monday the week after Tomohiko and Ryo had talked about Super Mario Bros. Ryo was out on a purchasing run, so Tomohiko was handling all the in-store customers while Hiroe answered the phone. Half their business came from phone enquiries in response to their magazine advertisements. When Limitless first opened at the end of the previous year, it had just been Tomohiko and Ryo, and things frequently got hectic until they took on Hiroe in April.

Tomohiko had just sold an old model for half-price and was feeling pretty good about himself when the man walked in. He was of medium height and build, about fifty years old. His forehead sloped back a little with a receding hairline. What hair remained was slicked back. He was wearing white corduroy jeans and a black suede jacket. He took off his gold-framed green-tinted shades and slid them into his jacket breast pocket. Tomohiko was struck by how pale the man’s face looked. His mouth seemed permanently fixed in a scowl and the way his lips curled up at the edges put Tomohiko in mind of an iguana.

He first glanced at Tomohiko before his eyes went to Hiroe, where they lingered for at least twice as long. Hiroe frowned, and swivelled her chair so her back was facing him. He then went to look over the computers and peripherals on the shelves. It was clear from his expression that he had no intention of buying anything.

‘Got any games?’ he asked in a gravelly voice.

‘What sort of game are you looking for?’ Tomohiko asked, playing it by the book.

‘A fun game,’ the man said, ‘like Super Mario Bros. Got anything like that?’

‘Sorry, we only carry computer software.’

‘That’s a shame,’ he said, though he didn’t look disappointed in the least. A strange smile came to his lips.

‘If that’s the case, why not just buy a word processor?’ Hiroe was saying to someone on the phone, a bit loudly. ‘Yes, you can save files on a floppy.’ Tomohiko knew what she was doing: she was trying to send a signal that customers who weren’t interested in what they were selling were wasting their time. The man’s mention of Super Mario Bros. had Tomohiko thinking he was there for another reason entirely.

Hiroe hung up the phone and the man looked up, his eyes going between the two of them, until his eyes settled on Hiroe. ‘Ryo here?’

‘Ryo?’ Hiroe said, shooting Tomohiko a confused look.

‘Ryo Kirihara,’ the man said. ‘He’s the manager, isn’t he? He out?’

‘Yes, he’s out on a call,’ Tomohiko said.

The man turned to Tomohiko. ‘When’s he coming back?’

‘I’m not sure. He said he’d be late,’ Tomohiko lied. He expected Ryo back any moment, but he was damned if he was going to let this guy meet him.

The man grunted and stared Tomohiko in the eye. Tomohiko resisted the urge to look away.

‘Maybe I’ll just wait here a bit, then,’ the man said after a moment. ‘You don’t mind?’

‘Not at all,’ Tomohiko lied again. He really didn’t have a choice. Maybe Ryo would have a way of turning the guy out. He wished he had half Ryo’s talent when it came to being a hardass.

The man sat on a folding chair near the door. He started to pull a cigarette out of his jacket pocket, saw the no smoking sign, and put it back. A little ring on his pinky finger shone with a platinum gleam.

Tomohiko went back to sorting sales slips, but he kept making mistakes. He could feel the man’s eyes on him. Hiroe had her back turned again, looking over orders.

‘This is a nice shop,’ the man said, looking around. ‘Ryo’s done well for himself. How’s he been doing?’

‘He’s fine,’ Tomohiko replied without looking up.

‘Good to hear, good to hear. He always was a tough one.’

Tomohiko looked up. ‘How do you know Ryo, exactly?’

‘Oh, we go way back,’ the man said, a crooked smile on his face. ‘I’ve known him since he was a kid. Him, and his parents.’

‘Are you a relative?’

‘You could say that,’ the man said, nodding at some deep meaning in his own words. He looked up at Tomohiko. ‘He still gloomy?’

Tomohiko blinked.

‘Gloomy – you know, a cloud hanging over his head?’ the man explained. ‘With those dark eyes. Never knew what that kid was thinking. I was hoping he’d brightened up along the way.’

‘He seems normal enough to me.’

‘Normal, huh?’ The man chuckled. ‘Well, that’s good to hear.’

Something about the man’s attitude made Tomohiko think that even if he was a relative, Ryo wouldn’t want anything to do with him. Presently, the man looked at his watch, slapped his thighs and stood. ‘Guess he’s not coming. I’ll try again later.’

‘Want me to give him a message?’

‘Nah, that’s OK. I’ll tell him in person.’

‘Should I tell him you came?’

‘I said no messages.’ The man glared at Tomohiko and headed for the door.

Tomohiko shrugged. Ryo would know who it was when he described him, and besides, the man was leaving.

‘Come again any time,’ Tomohiko said to the man’s back.

The man was reaching for the door handle when it turned on its own, and the door opened inwards. Ryo was standing outside the shop, eyes wide with astonishment. Tomohiko thought he detected the hint of a scowl before Ryo’s expression hardened. It was like a shadow had fallen across his face. Tomohiko had never seen Ryo look like that. And yet, a moment later, he smiled.

‘Matsuura!’

The man took a step back to let Ryo inside. ‘Long time no see. You look good.’

Tomohiko watched as the two shook hands.

‘He’s an old friend,’ Ryo explained before they headed off to the stockroom.

Tomohiko was confused. Ryo was all smiles, but that did nothing to explain the darkness he’d glimpsed the moment he first met Matsuura at the door. The negative energy pouring off of him was almost tangible. Definitely weird.

Later, Hiroe returned from taking tea to the next apartment.

‘How were they?’ Tomohiko asked.

‘Laughing,’ she said, shrugging. ‘They were telling jokes to each other. Ryo, telling a joke. Can you believe it?’

‘I can’t.’

‘I thought I was hearing things,’ Hiroe said, rubbing her ear.

‘You find out what this Matsuura wanted?’

She shook her head. ‘They kept it to small talk while I was there. Whatever they’re really talking about, they didn’t want me to know.’

Worry stirred in his chest. Whatever they were discussing on the other side of that wall, it was trouble.

About thirty minutes later, he heard a door open outside. Ten seconds more and the shop door opened and Ryo stuck his head in. ‘I’m going to see Matsuura off.’

Tomohiko saw Matsuura behind him, waving as the door closed.

Tomohiko and Hiroe exchanged looks.

‘Wonder what that was about?’ wondered Tomohiko.

‘I’ve never seen Ryo look like that,’ Hiroe agreed, her eyes wide.

Ryo returned a few minutes later. ‘Tomohiko,’ he said, sticking his head in the door. ‘Next door.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Tomohiko replied, but Ryo was already gone.

Hiroe raised an eyebrow at Tomohiko but all he could do was shake his head.

In the next apartment over, Ryo was busy opening the windows and airing the place out. The smell of cigarette smoke hung in the air. To Tomohiko’s knowledge, Ryo had never let anyone smoke in the stockroom before. A leftover aluminium tray from some instant noodles had served as a makeshift ashtray.

‘After all the guy’s done for me, I figured I should at least let him light up,’ Ryo said, by way of explanation.

First jokes, now he’s making excuses?

Once the air was a little fresher and feeling thoroughly like December, Ryo shut the window and took a seat on the sofa. ‘I’m sure Hiroe’s imagining all kinds of things by this point, so if she asks, tell her Matsuura wanted me to sell him some computers wholesale.’

‘Who is he, anyway?’ Tomohiko said. ‘I can’t say I got the best vibes off the guy.’

‘An old employee,’ Ryo said.

‘What, at Unlimited Designs?’

‘Not my employee. My dad’s. Back at the pawnshop. I told you about that, didn’t I?’

Tomohiko nodded, surprised.

‘After my father died, he kept working until we finally closed down. If Matsuura hadn’t been there, we would’ve been out on the street.’

Tomohiko wasn’t sure what to say. That was more information about Ryo’s past in a few words than he’d heard the entire time they’d known each other.

‘So what did this benefactor of yours come to talk about? And how did he know you were here, anyway? You call him?’

‘No, I didn’t know he was coming. He heard I was working here, apparently.’

‘From who?’

The corner of Ryo’s mouth twisted in a slight smile. ‘Kaneshiro.’

Tomohiko frowned.

‘Remember we were saying how hard it’d be to sell a pirated version of Mario? Well, they found the answer.’

‘What’s the trick?’

‘No trick at all.’ Ryo chuckled. ‘It turns out their target audience already has a black market all set up.’

‘Their target audience? You mean kids?’

‘Yeah. Matsuura’s a broker for a shady speciality shop these days, dealing in just about everything you can imagine. Whatever they think will sell, they buy. Lately, they’ve been putting a lot of energy into kids’ software. Because Super Mario Bros. is so light on the shelves in regular stores, they don’t even have to lower prices to move serious units.’

‘But where does he source his carts? He got a pipeline to Nintendo or something?’

‘Better.’ Ryo flashed white teeth. ‘Other kids. They shoplift the carts, or steal them from their friends, and bring them in to sell. Matsuura said he has a list of over three hundred of these juvenile offenders. He buys it from them at ten to thirty per cent of retail, and sells at seventy per cent retail.’

‘And he wants to sell pirated Mario games at his store?’

‘Not just at his store. Him and a bunch of like-minded brokers got a network set up. It’s a regular pipeline of illicit goods. With a product like Mario, he claims he can move five or six thousand without even lifting a finger.’

‘Ryo,’ said Tomohiko, ‘you said you weren’t going to do this. You said it was too dangerous, and I agreed.’

A wry smile came to Ryo’s lips. ‘I did. That’s why they sent Matsuura to win me over.’

‘Please don’t tell me it worked.’

Ryo gave a deep sigh. He leaned forward. ‘Look, I’m doing this alone. You don’t have to be involved at all. In fact, I don’t want you involved. Hiroe either. Mum’s the word as far as she’s concerned, got it? ‘

‘Ryo.’ Tomohiko shook his head. ‘What happened to “too risky”?’

‘It’s still too risky.’

Tomohiko began to protest, but when he saw the look of resolve in Ryo’s eyes, his heart sank. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘I’ll help you.’

‘No, you won’t.’

Tomohiko sighed and looked away. This was not good.

While the rest of the country was shutting down for the year-end holiday, Limitless stayed open until 31 December to court two potential categories of customer: the first being the people who’d waited until the last possible minute to write their New Year’s cards and came to buy a word processor in order to make their lives easier; the second small business owners who had to settle accounts at the end of the year, and showed up with a broken computer.

Thus went Ryo’s rationale, but the fact was that, after Christmas, hardly anyone came to the shop, aside from the occasional kid who mistook them for a video game store. Tomohiko played cards with Hiroe to pass the time. They lined tricks up on the table and wondered out loud if people would soon stop playing games like Go Fish and Old Maid altogether.

Despite a lack of customers, Ryo kept busy – working on Super Mario Bros., Tomohiko knew. He was already running out of excuses to give Hiroe.

Matsuura showed up again on the twenty-ninth. Hiroe happened to be out at the dentist, so Tomohiko was holding the fort alone. He hadn’t seen Matsuura since his first visit to the shop. The man’s face was still pale, his eyes hidden behind those green-tinted sunglasses. When Tomohiko told him Ryo was out, he again offered to wait in the folding chair by the door.

Matsuura took off his jacket – dark leather with fur around the collar – and hung it on the back of his chair before taking a look around the shop. ‘I’m surprised you’re still open this late in the year,’ he commented.

Tomohiko told him it was Ryo’s policy, and Matsuura laughed, his shoulders shaking a little. ‘The boy’s got it in his genes. His pops always stayed open until the last possible minute on New Year’s Eve. Lots of people cleaning house around then, selling off stuff cheap.’

It was the first time Tomohiko had ever heard anyone other than Ryo talk about his father.

‘Were you there when his father died?’ Tomohiko asked.

Matsuura swung his eyes around to look at him. ‘Ryo tell you about that?’

‘A little. He said it was a mugging.’

His dad had been stabbed and left to die – that was about all Ryo had ever said about his father, and that was years ago. The story had piqued Tomohiko’s interest, but Ryo had made it clear it wasn’t a topic he wanted to discuss.

‘I don’t know if it was a mugging or not. I just know they never caught whoever did it.’

‘I see.’

‘He was killed in an abandoned building in the neighbourhood. Stabbed in the chest.’ Matsuura frowned. ‘They took his money, too. The thing is, he was carrying a lot that day, more than he’d ever had on him. That made the police think it was someone who knew him.’ A grim smile had spread across Matsuura’s face halfway through his story, prompting a question in Tomohiko’s mind.

‘Were you a suspect too?’

‘For a while,’ Matsuura said, his smile growing wider, though there was no warmth in it. ‘See, Ryo’s old lady was a real looker in those days. When the cops found out there was a single guy working at the pawnshop, well, it got their imaginations all fired up.’

Tomohiko blinked and looked back at him. They suspected this guy was having an affair with Ryo’s mom?

‘Wait, did you…?’ Tomohiko began.

‘Kill him? Absolutely not.’

‘I meant about Ryo’s mom.’

‘Oh,’ Matsuura said. He rubbed his chin for a moment then said, ‘Nah. I was the hired help, that’s all.’

‘OK.’

‘You don’t believe me?’

‘No, I believe you,’ Tomohiko lied. It was a sure bet there had been something between Matsuura and Ryo’s mom, though he fell short of suspecting him of murdering Ryo’s father. ‘Did they check out your alibi and stuff like that?’

‘Of course. I’ll give those detectives one thing: they were persistent. At first they didn’t like my alibi, but luckily for me someone called the shop right around the time that his father was killed. And once they figured out it wasn’t some kinda set-up, they finally gave up.’

‘Lucky break for you,’ Tomohiko said. The whole thing sounded like a mystery novel. ‘How’d Ryo handle it?’

‘Oh, everyone sympathised with him. And we told them he was with me and his mom when it happened, so the cops didn’t pester him too much.’

Tomohiko raised an eyebrow. ‘You told them?’

‘Yeah,’ Matsuura said, ‘we told them he was with us ’cause he was with us.’ He grinned, showing nicotine-stained teeth. ‘Ryo ever tell you anything about me?’

‘Well, he said that you worked at his father’s pawnshop and that he owed you a lot. That you basically helped raise him, kept food on the table, that kind of thing.’

‘He owes me, huh?’ Matsuura’s shoulders shook with a laugh. ‘That’s rich. He does owe me. More than he thinks.’

Tomohiko was about to ask what that meant when he heard Ryo say, ‘Talking about old times?’ Tomohiko looked up to see Ryo standing in the entrance.

‘What’s the point talking about ancient history?’ Ryo asked, undoing his scarf. ‘What’s done is done.’

‘Actually, it was pretty interesting,’ Tomohiko said.

‘We were talking about alibis,’ Matsuura said. ‘You remember that detective, Sasagaki? That guy did not know when to give up. All those statements we gave him. I felt like we said the same thing a hundred times.’

Ryo sat down in front of the electric heater in the corner of the shop, warming his hands. He looked around at Matsuura. ‘You need something?’

‘Nothing particular. Just thought I’d drop by, wish you a Happy New Year.’

‘Then maybe I should see you off. Sorry, but we’ve still got a lot of things that need doing today.’

‘We?’

‘Me and Mario.’

Matsuura chuckled. ‘Yes, you do. Everything going well?’

‘I’m on schedule.’

Matsuura gave a satisfied nod.

Ryo stood and wrapped his scarf back around his neck. ‘We can continue our little chat next time,’ Matsuura said to Tomohiko as they left.

It was a short while later when Hiroe came in. She had seen Ryo downstairs, waving off Matsuura’s taxi.

‘What’s Ryo’s connection to that guy?’ Hiroe wondered. ‘I mean, besides the fact that he helped them out after his father died? They seem pretty close.’

Tomohiko shrugged. He was rapidly losing confidence in his earlier conviction that there had been something between Matsuura and Ryo’s mom. For one thing, it was hard to imagine Ryo not catching on. And then how could he explain Ryo’s friendliness to Matsuura now?

Hiroe looked up from the office desk. ‘Is Ryo not coming back?’

‘Maybe not, now that you mention it.’

Tomohiko left the shop and was about to go downstairs when he stopped. Ryo was on the staircase, his back turned to Tomohiko.

Tomohiko almost called out to him, but his voice caught in his throat. There was something odd about Ryo as he stood there looking out of the landing window. The headlamps of passing cars scanned over his body, framing his silhouette. There was a darkness to him that reminded Tomohiko of the time when Matsuura had first walked through their door.

As quietly as he could, Tomohiko went back to the shop.

Business hours at Limitless for the year 1985 ended at six o’clock on 31 December. They did a big clean-up of the office, then toasted the year, just the three of them. Hiroe wanted to know what everyone’s New Year resolutions were.

Tomohiko said he wanted to make a computer game that was as much fun as a Nintendo game.

Ryo said he wanted to take time out for walks during the day.

‘Miss walking to school?’ Hiroe asked, laughing. ‘Or are you just not getting enough exercise?’

‘Nothing like that.’ Ryo shook his head. ‘It’s just… sometimes I feel like I spend my life under a midnight sun.’

‘Come again?’ Tomohiko asked.

Ryo shook his head, finished his Heineken, and looked at them. ‘When are you two getting married?’

Tomohiko almost choked on his beer. ‘Ah, I guess we haven’t really thought about it?’

Ryo reached over and pulled open the drawer of his desk. Inside was a single page of printer paper and a small, flat box. Tomohiko had never seen the box before. It looked old; the corners had been worn smooth.

Ryo opened the box and pulled out a pair of scissors. They were long, with ten centimetres or more just in the blade, and sharp-looking tips. The metal shone with a silvery light, as though newly forged, yet they were clearly antique.

‘Wow, nice scissors,’ Hiroe breathed.

‘They’re German,’ Ryo said. ‘Somebody sold ’em to our pawnshop back in the day.’ He picked up his scissors and snapped them open and shut a few times. The intersecting blades made a crisp sound in the silence of the shop.

Picking up the piece of paper, Ryo began to make little cuts, rotating the paper smoothly as he went. Tomohiko’s eyes were glued to his fingers as his hands worked in perfect unison.

When he was done, Ryo handed the cut paper to Hiroe.

Her mouth opened in surprise. ‘Amazing!’

It was two figures, a boy and a girl, holding hands. The boy was wearing a hat, and the girl had a ribbon in her hair.

‘That’s real impressive,’ Tomohiko said. ‘You’re a man of many talents, Ryo.’

‘Consider it an early wedding present.’

Hiroe thanked him, carefully setting the cut paper on top of a glass case on the table.

‘So, Tomohiko,’ Ryo said. ‘Computers aren’t going away any time soon. I’m guessing the shop will make you some good money.’

‘What can I say, you run a tight ship,’ Tomohiko said.

Ryo shook his head. ‘Not me. The fate of this store is on your shoulders.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Tomohiko laughed. ‘Way to put pressure on a guy.’

‘I’m not joking.’

‘Ryo —’

The phone rang. Even though she was sitting farthest away, Hiroe got up and answered it by force of habit.

‘Hello, thanks for calling Limitless.’ A cloud came over her face. She handed the receiver to Ryo. ‘It’s Kaneshiro.’

‘On New Year’s Eve?’ Tomohiko said.

Ryo held the phone up to his ear. ‘Yeah? ‘

A moment passed before Ryo’s face hardened. He stood, phone still in hand. His other hand went for the baseball jacket he’d hung on the chair. ‘Right. The case and the packages, got it. Thanks.’ He set the phone down and turned to them. ‘I’m heading out.’

‘Where to?’

‘I’ll explain later,’ he said, picking up his scarf and wrapping it around his neck as he walked to the door.

Tomohiko got up to follow him, but Ryo was practically running. He didn’t catch up until they were both on the street outside.

‘Ryo!’ he called out, stopping him. ‘What happened?’

‘Not what happened. What’s going to happen.’ Ryo was walking with long strides towards the car park where he kept his work van. ‘Someone caught wind of pirate Mario. Criminal Affairs is going to raid the factory and the warehouse early tomorrow morning.’

‘How’d they find out?’

‘Somebody must have snitched.’

‘But how could Kaneshiro possibly know that the police are coming?’

‘The snitching works both ways.’

They reached the car park. Ryo jumped in the van and keyed the ignition. The engine turned over grudgingly in the cold December air.

‘I don’t know when I’ll be back, so go ahead and close up without me. Don’t forget to lock the door. Tell Hiroe whatever you need to.’

‘You sure you don’t need me to go with you?’

‘Like I said, I don’t want you anywhere near this.’

With a squeal of tyres, Ryo drove the van out of the car park, quickly disappearing into the night.

Tomohiko went back to the shop and found Hiroe waiting for him, a worried look on her face.

‘Where’d Ryo run off to?’

‘Some arcade game subcontractor found a problem in the code on a machine Ryo worked on before.’

‘They found a bug on New Year’s Eve?’

‘This is big business time for game makers. Guess they wanted to get it sorted out before shops open back up after the break.’

Tomohiko was pretty sure that Hiroe wasn’t buying the story, but at least she didn’t press for more information. She frowned and looked out of the window.

Tomohiko and Hiroe turned on the television and watched some of the year-end retrospectives. There was a shot of the Tigers’ manager being lifted into the air by his team – footage Tomohiko had seen at least a dozen times already. They sat barely saying a word, though Tomohiko felt sure Hiroe was as unable to focus on the TV as he was.

Ryo showed no signs of coming back.

‘You should probably head home,’ he said at length. The Kohaku Utagassen ‘song battle’ – an annual tradition on NHK public TV that brought all of the year’s big acts together on one stage – was just starting up.

‘I guess.’ Hiroe hesitated for a bit. ‘Are you going to wait for him?’

Tomohiko nodded.

‘Keep warm, OK?’

‘Thanks.’

‘What about later?’ she asked.

‘I’ll be over. Might be a little late, though.’

‘OK. I’ll get some soba noodles ready. It’s tradition.’ She slid into her coat and headed out of the shop.

Alone, Tomohiko’s imagination ran wild. He half expected the police to break down the door. At some point he noticed that the programmes had gone from retrospectives to New Year’s celebrations. He called Hiroe at her apartment and apologised that he might not be able to make it after all.

‘Ryo not back yet?’ she asked.

‘No. Sounds like he’s having a bit of trouble. I’m gonna wait just a little longer. Don’t wait up for me.’

‘I’m fine. I’ve got some movies to watch,’ she said, the forced cheer plain in her voice.

Tomohiko was watching a movie himself, just after three in the morning, when the door to the shop opened. Ryo stood in the doorway, a sour look on his face. Tomohiko took one look at him and gaped. His jeans were covered with mud and the sleeve of his baseball jacket was ripped. He was holding his scarf in one hand.

‘What the hell happened to you?’

Ryo didn’t answer. He looked exhausted. He squatted down on the floor and hung his head.

‘Ryo —’

‘Go home,’ Ryo said, his eyes closed.

‘But —’

‘Go. Home.’

Tomohiko shrugged and got his stuff together. All the while, Ryo sat unmoving.

‘OK, I’ll see you,’ Tomohiko said. Ryo didn’t answer.

Just as Tomohiko opened the door, Ryo called his name from behind.

‘Yeah?’

Tomohiko turned, but Ryo just sat there staring at the floor. Just when Tomohiko was about to say something, Ryo said, ‘Happy New Year.’

‘Yeah, you too. You should go home and get some sleep.’

Ryo didn’t answer.

Shrugging, Tomohiko opened the door and stepped out of the shop.

The discovery of a large volume of pirated copies of Super Mario Bros. was in the morning paper on 3 January. The cartridges had been found in a car park by the house of a videogame wholesaler who had gone missing.

Tomohiko’s best guess was that the wholesaler was Matsuura. The police didn’t know anything about the creation of the pirated software or the intended sales route, other than that yakuza were probably involved. Ryo’s name was nowhere in the article.

Tomohiko tried calling Ryo at home, but no one picked up.

On 5 January, Limitless opened as scheduled. Ryo still hadn’t shown up, so Tomohiko and Hiroe worked purchasing and sales themselves. It was still winter vacation from school, so they had a lot of high school customers.

Tomohiko called Ryo’s apartment several times that day, but no one ever answered.

‘You think something happened to him?’ Hiroe asked.

‘Knowing him, it’s probably nothing to worry about,’ Tomohiro assured her. ‘I’ll drop by his place on the way home.’

‘Yeah, good idea,’ Hiroe agreed, her eyes straying to Ryo’s usual seat. His scarf was hanging from the back of the chair – the one he’d been wearing on New Year’s Eve.

A tiny frame Hiroe had brought in hung on the wall just above the chair. Inside the frame she’d placed the intricate paper cut-out Ryo had made of the boy and girl holding hands.

A sudden thought struck Tomohiko and he opened the drawer to Ryo’s desk. The box with the scissors was gone. For the first time it occurred to Tomohiko that he might not see Ryo again.

That day after work, Tomohiko stopped by Ryo’s apartment. The shades were drawn and all the lights were off. He knocked on the door and rang the bell half a dozen times but there was no hint of anyone inside.

The next day, and the day after that, Ryo didn’t come in to work. Eventually, his phone was disconnected. Tomohiko paid a visit to his apartment and found several men he’d never seen before loading his furniture and appliances into a truck.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked one of the men who looked like he might be in charge.

‘Cleaning out this apartment. Got a request from the owner.’

‘And who are you?’

‘Handyman service,’ the man said, giving Tomohiko a suspicious look.

‘Did Ryo move?’

The man lifted an eyebrow. ‘Ryo?’

‘The guy who lived here.’

‘Must have, if he’s cleaning out the place.’

‘You know where he’s moved to?’

‘We haven’t heard anything about that.’

Tomohiko frowned. ‘Aren’t you taking the stuff somewhere?’

‘Actually, we were told to get rid of it all.’

‘Get rid of it? Everything?’

‘Everything.’ The man turned to shout some instructions to the rest of the crew. ‘Sorry, but we’re a little busy here.’

When Hiroe heard the news, the bewilderment showed on her face. ‘Why didn’t he say anything?’

Tomohiko shook his head. ‘I’m sure Ryo’s got a plan – he always does. We’re just going to have to stick it out in the meantime and see what we can do by ourselves.’

‘You think he’ll call?’

‘Of course he will. We just need to hang on till he does.’

Hiroe nodded, though she didn’t look convinced.

Five days after they reopened, a man dropped by the shop in the afternoon. He looked around fifty, wearing an old herringbone jacket. He was tall for his age, with broad shoulders. There was a keenness to his eyes and a softness to his smile that Tomohiko immediately liked, even as he realised the man had not come shopping for a computer.

‘You run this place?’ the man asked looking over at him.

‘Yes,’ Tomohiko told him.

The man nodded. ‘You’re awfully young. Same age as Ryo, are you?’

Tomohiko’s eyes widened a little.

‘I’ve got a few questions, if you have a moment.’

‘Sorry, were you looking for something?’

The man shook his head. ‘I’m not a customer.’ He pulled a police badge out of his jacket.

Tomohiko remembered when the detectives visited him back in high school. The man standing in front of him gave off the exact same aura they had. Tomohiko was glad he’d come while Hiroe was out.

‘You here about Ryo?’

‘OK if I sit down?’ the man said, indicating the folding chair directly in front of Tomohiko.

‘Be my guest.’

‘Thanks.’ The man sat, leaning back in the chair. He took a look around the shop. ‘Quite the selection of stuff you have here. So kids actually buy these things?’

‘We have a lot of adult customers as well, but they range as young as middle school.’

The man shook his head. ‘The world never stops changing. I can’t keep up.’

‘Sorry, what did you want to ask me about?’ Tomohiko asked, a little anxious.

The detective smiled, enjoying Tomohiko’s discomfort. ‘Your manager, Ryo Kirihara. You know where he is?’

‘Did you need him for something?’

‘I had some questions for him,’ the detective said, smiling. ‘He moved out of the apartment he’d been renting since last year; the place is stripped bare. Which brings me here, to you.’

Tomohiko had already decided he wouldn’t gain much by misleading the guy. ‘Actually, we’ve been wondering where he is, too. It’s tough having your manager suddenly disappear on you.’

‘When’d you last see him?’

‘New Year’s Eve. He closed up shop with us.’

‘You talk to him since? A phone call, maybe?’

‘Nope.’

‘So he just up and vanished, without a word to his friends. Seems strange to me.’

‘Strange isn’t the half of it. We’re kind of in a tight spot here.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ the detective said, rubbing his chin. ‘You notice anything different about Ryo the last time you saw him?’

‘Nothing particular,’ Tomohiko said with a shrug, careful to keep his tone as casual as before. ‘He seemed the same as always.’

The detective put his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out a photograph. ‘Ever seen this man?’

It was a shot of Matsuura from the waist up.

Tomohiko only had a second to decide how he was going to respond. The fewer lies the better.

‘That’s Matsuura. Didn’t he used to work for Ryo’s family?’

‘He ever been by here?’

‘A few times, yeah.’

‘What about?’

Tomohiko shrugged. ‘The only time I talked to him was the first time he came. He said he looked up Ryo for old times’ sake.’

The detective gave Tomohiko a penetrating stare. Tomohiko met it without blinking.

‘Did you see any change in Ryo the day Matsuura showed up? Anything at all that got your attention?’

‘Not really, no. He seemed happy to see him. They talked like it’d been a while.’

‘A while? That right?’ The detective’s eyes sparkled.

‘Yeah.’

‘You don’t remember exactly what they were talking about, do you? Anything about the old days?’

‘I didn’t hear anything specific. Most of the time I had customers to deal with.’

Instinct told him it was better not to mention overhearing them talking about Ryo’s father.

Just then, the door opened and a boy came in. ‘Hi,’ Tomohiko called out, smiling.

The detective stood. ‘Thanks. I’ll be back.’

‘Has something happened to Ryo?’ Tomohiko asked as he was standing.

The detective hesitated a moment before saying, ‘I don’t know what he’s done, not yet. But he’s got himself involved in something.’

‘Something?’

The detective ignored him. He was looking up at the paper cut-out in the frame on the wall. ‘Ryo make that?’

‘Yes.’

‘The kid hasn’t lost his touch. A boy and a girl holding hands? Cute.’

It occurred to Tomohiko that whatever the detective was here about, it went much deeper and much older than pirate Mario.

‘Sorry to take your time,’ the detective said, walking towards the door.

‘Excuse me, sir?’ Tomohiko said to his back. ‘Might I ask your name?’

He stopped and looked around. ‘Sasagaki,’ he said, then with a wave of his hand he walked out of the door.

Tomohiko pressed his fingers to his forehead. Hadn’t Matsuura mentioned a Sasagaki? Could he have been the detective who’d pestered them about their alibis all those years ago?

Tomohiko sighed and looked up at the paper cut-out. That and the scarf were the only things Ryo had left behind.