He took a deep breath and climbed over a bare cinder-block wall and into the courtyard. He paused, looking at the windows of the house, keeping his weight on the balls of his feet. If Sakura was inside and had heard him approach, he would have to move quickly. The windows that overlooked the small courtyard were obscured by paper blinds. The one clear window—he remembered that it belonged to the kitchen—showed no light or any other sign that anyone was at home.

The courtyard was small—perhaps ten feet by twelve—and the only decoration was a small table and chairs. There was a child’s scooter that had fallen onto its side. The walls to the courtyard were bare cinder blocks, and the only nod Sakura and Miyasato had made to decoration were planters filled with colourful shrubs. The plants had not been cared for recently; they had grown too large for their pots and were being slowly choked by weeds.

Katsuro crossed to the sliding glass doors and examined the locks. He knew that he could just force the lock, but that would betray the fact that he had been here; even though Sakura was likely not home, he preferred that she remain unaware that he was looking for her in the event that she did return. He stooped down next to the lock, put his bag down and opened it. He took out a thin set of lock rakes and used them to ratchet the tumblers in the lock; whoever had installed the doors clearly had not considered anyone trying to enter the house this way and had used a lock that a child could pick. Katsuro removed the pistol from the holster, opened the door and leaned his head inside. He couldn’t hear anything. He listened intently, but, apart from the noise of a car passing nearby, it was silent. No television, no radio, no sounds of anyone moving about inside, no breathing that might have suggested that she was upstairs, asleep.

Katsuro slipped his shoes off and arranged them so that the toes were pointing away from the door, then stepped onto the tatami mat inside the house. He walked across the mat to the sliding door that led into the house proper, still listening intently. The room beyond was the kitchen.

He stopped and listened again: still nothing.

He checked the house room by room. The stairs leading to the upper floor of the house creaked as he put his weight on them, but he was increasingly sure that he was alone inside the property. He cleared all three bedrooms. All were empty.