Fumio returned to the tower block and took the elevator to the tenth floor, where he had an apartment at the front of the building. It was a million miles away from the opulence of the quarters on the floors above, but Fumio had never minded that. He was not interested in ostentation. He liked money and had salted away a small fortune over the years, but showing it off had always struck him as both gaudy and unwise, given that it might attract the attention of the authorities or others who might try to take advantage of his advancing years in an attempt to relieve him of it.

He went over what he had done as the elevator ascended the shaft. He had not expected Hachirō to greet him warmly; they had been estranged for years, and the recent treatment of his daughter, even though it had been at the instigation of Takashi, would inevitably also be attributed to him. Fumio had wondered whether he would be given the opportunity to pass on his information, but Hachirō had had little choice once he knew what Fumio was there to say. The gaijin had asked a series of questions and had struck Fumio as measured and confident. He looked as if Katsuro had given him a significant beating, but the cuts and bruises were evidently not enough to persuade him against further intervention. Neither he nor Hachirō had trusted Fumio enough to tell him what they were planning, but that didn’t matter. Milton was going to make an attempt to infiltrate the building and recover Sakura and her son; Fumio hoped that he had given him the information he needed to increase the odds of success.

The elevator arrived. Fumio took out his key, unlocked the door and went inside, slipping off his shoes. He had a small sitting room and bedroom with tatami mats on the floors. The sitting room had a short-legged kotatsu table with a futon pinched between the tabletop and the frame. He had a futon to sleep on in the bedroom and a bookcase for his books. It was simple, almost ascetic, and it suited him well. He took off his coat, hung it on the back of the door and went through into the tiny kitchen.

Katsuro was standing next to the hob. The burner had been lit, the blue flame lighting up the gloom.

“What are you doing here?” Fumio said.

“Where have you been?”

“For a walk.”

“It’s late for a walk, isn’t it?”

“It helps me to think.”

“What do you need to think about?”

“I don’t agree with what your father has decided to do. I wanted to think about how I might be able to change his mind.”

“I don’t believe you. Where did you go?”

“Get out. I’m tired and I want to go to bed.”