•

Shoji hurried into the phone booth and closed the door. He rubbed his hands together. His fingers were frozen. It was March — the weather should have been warmer by now — but for some reason, Tokyo remained blanketed by cold air.

He retrieved some coins from his pocket. He should stop leaving these random messages — he’d been doing it over and over for the past few months — but he couldn’t help himself.

Before Shoji could feed the coins into the slot, the phone rang. Jolted, he picked it up.

‘Yoko?’

The line was silent.

‘Yoko, is that you? Are you there?’

No answer.

He heard a clatter, followed by sound of a string orchestra. His stomach knotted. He recognised the melody. The same music had been playing when he’d spoken to the mysterious man who’d answered his last call to Mr Odagiri.

Calm down, he thought. This time, he had to take control of the situation.

‘We spoke before,’ Shoji said.

The man on the other side of the line laughed. The sound was muffled, as if he had a handkerchief to mask his voice. ‘Nice of you to remember me, Mr Arai, and congratulations for making it safely out of Akakawa. But I must admit I’m a little disappointed you chose to ignore my warning not to look for Yoko Sasaki.’

Shoji’s palms began to sweat. The man knew.

‘Young, innocent love, so sincere yet so naïve.’

Shoji clenched the phone more tightly. He shouldn’t let his emotion overcome him. This was an opportunity to get more information. He had to make the man talk and, hopefully, reveal something useful. ‘What do you want?’

The man adopted a more serious tone. ‘Mr Arai, you made light of my warning. Instead of living a quiet life in Tokyo, you snooped around looking for Yoko Sasaki. Tell me, how many times have you visited the Shinagawa aquarium?’

Shoji felt a lump in his throat. He knew that too.

‘What made you think that we wouldn’t find out?’

He swallowed hard. ‘What are you trying to say?’

‘Mr Arai, I am going to give you one last chance. I owe you that.’

Shoji wondered what he could mean.

‘Live your life quietly, enjoy being a journalist, and forget about Yoko Sasaki. Stop leaving messages and making enquiries about her. Let go and move on. It’s as simple as that. You might not remember, but you did a brilliant job of it when you were young.’

Could this man be someone he knew in Fukuoka? He still couldn’t place the voice.

‘Are you trying to help me or threaten me?’

The man chuckled. ‘Perhaps both.’

‘Who are you? Are you connected to my family? What it is that I can’t remember?’

In the background, the orchestra was reaching a climax. The man laughed. ‘Oh, I love this part. Beautiful rendition, isn’t it? Can you hear it?’

‘We’ve met before, haven’t we? Was it in Tokyo, Akakawa, or Fuku—’

The man shushed him. ‘Enough for today. I hope we don’t encounter each other again.’