Wada said nothing for a moment. If one of the country’s leading entrepreneurs, founder and chairman of the Nishizaki Corporation, was somehow implicated in the death of Shitaro Masafumi, then the need to tread carefully – very carefully indeed – hardly needed stating. The Nishizaki Corporation had grown over recent decades into an investment and consultancy giant, prospering initially by buying and selling stakes in other companies, usually at just the right time, and more recently by dispensing expensive advice to those convinced they needed their expert guidance. The corporation had split into two supposedly autonomous branches to avoid any perceived conflicts of interest, Nishizaki Investment and Nishizaki Consultancy. But not everyone was convinced about their autonomy since Hiroji Nishizaki was firmly in charge of both. Was he a leech on the commercial efforts of others? Or a shrewd judge of what was and wasn’t profitable? Opinion was divided, but there was no doubt about Nishizaki’s success. He’d become staggeringly wealthy. And the Nishizaki Corporation was a fixture near the top of the Nikkei index.

‘Do not mention this to anyone,’ Kodaka continued. ‘The fact that Shitaro Masafumi knew Hiroji Nishizaki more than forty years ago – if it is a fact – proves nothing, particularly in relation to the circumstances of Masafumi’s death. We should regard it as background information, nothing more. All you have to do in London is listen to what Caldwell says and report what you learn from him.’

‘I will do that.’

‘Good.’

‘Still, this could be … a complication.’

‘Potentially, yes.’ Kodaka drained his glass and refilled it. Wada had so far taken only the tiniest sip of her whisky. ‘But our efforts for the moment should be confined to identifying Peter Evans.’

‘A copy of his photograph would be helpful.’

‘I agree.’

‘I will try to access the archives of the newspaper in which the advertisement appeared.’

Kodaka squinted at the notes he’d made while talking to Mrs Takenaga. He had to turn the desk lamp on before he could decipher them. His whisky glistened like gold in the pool of light it cast. ‘The London Evening Standard,’ he read. ‘May, 1992.’

‘I will start straight away.’

‘Leave it until tomorrow, Wada. A tired mind finds nothing.’

‘When shall I fly to London?’

‘When you like.’

‘I will book for Monday morning if I can.’

‘I may have more information for you by then. Tomorrow I go to Fukuoka. Takenaga-san gave me the name and address of the tour party member who sent her mother the group photograph. If the lady is still living …’

‘It is a long time ago.’

‘And it is a long way to go. But I might learn much. I will be back in time to manage the office while you are away.’

Wada paused to think about that, then said, ‘Please leave most things as they are.’

Kodaka smiled. ‘Of course.’