Eventually, Kodaka showed his new client out. Mrs Takenaga cast Wada a long frowning glance as she collected her Mitsukoshi carrier bag along with her umbrella. It was faintly disquieting. Wada could think of nothing she had done to merit such attention.

It had started to rain during the hour Mrs Takenaga had spent with Kodaka. The sky was unnaturally dark for the time of day and the rain, coursing down the window, appeared from Wada’s place behind her desk to be coursing down Kodaka’s forehead and cheeks as well as he stood close to the glass, gazing down, waiting, it was soon apparent, to see his visitor emerge on to the street.

‘Hasui could have painted this,’ he said at length, just as watery sunlight began to wash over his face. His interest in art, whenever it revealed itself, always came as a slight surprise to Wada. She was fond of Hasui’s work herself, though she’d never mentioned this to Kodaka. ‘He might have called it Spring rain in Nihonbashi. Takenaga-san has a traditional umbrella. Did you notice? Dark red.’

‘Maroon.’

Kodaka smiled. ‘Why do problems always seem simpler when I discuss them with you? I wonder. Perhaps your precision is the reason.’ He turned towards her. ‘Please lock the outer door and come into my office. Oh, and more tea would be welcome.’

The play of cloud and low sun was casting eerie variations of light across the walls of Kodaka’s office when Wada delivered the tea and sat down, facing him across his desk. The green-shaded lamp wasn’t on. Shadows were being given free rein, as Kodaka often seemed to prefer. There was cigarette smoke in the air, adding its own layer of haze to the atmosphere.

‘Takenaga-san asked if she could smoke,’ Kodaka said with an apologetic shrug. ‘She was a little … nervous.’

Kodaka looked a little nervous himself, which was unlike him. But it was clear to Wada that he wanted to tell her why Mrs Takenaga had come to him. ‘What is the nature of the case?’ she enquired gently.

‘The nature of the case?’ Kodaka frowned pensively and took a sip of tea. ‘Certainly this is not a normal problem. It is … complicated. And not just because of Takenaga-san’s position. I will explain. Takenaga-san’s father, Shitaro Masafumi, died when she was five. He committed suicide. Officially. She has never believed that. She believes he was murdered.’

‘With good reason?’

Kodaka sucked his teeth. ‘Hard to say. Masafumi died in Showa fifty-two.’ 1977, fifty-second year of the Showa era, was more than forty years ago. Wada realized at once that the statute of limitations ruled out challenging a suicide verdict at such a distance in time.

‘Too long ago for criminal or civil redress,’ she remarked simply.

Kodaka nodded. ‘Takenaga-san wants to know the truth, though. What she will do with the truth … I do not know. I am not sure she knows.’