‘Ah. Actually, do you think you can help me ask around about another person?’ He tore a piece of paper from a notepad and wrote Yoko’s name on it. ‘She’s someone very important to me, but we lost contact when I left Akakawa.’

‘Yoko Sasaki …’ Yoshioka mumbled the name. ‘Who is she?’

‘She was a student at Waseda, but then she left to work for a shady company owned by Kazuhiro Katou. I’m not too sure what she’s doing right now or where she is. Her former employer might be after her, so you’ll need to be discreet.’

‘I bet she’s keeping a low profile.’

‘Uh-huh. I believe so.’

‘A civilian in hiding can be the toughest nut to crack, but I’ll see what I can do. Anything else?’

‘Nothing for now,’ Shoji said. ‘Thank you so much. I appreciate it. Can I treat you to a meal?’

‘You don’t need to.’ He patted Shoji’s back. ‘I didn’t do much.’

After Yoshioka left, Shoji called Uncle Hidetoshi’s office, but the older man had been transferred somewhere else.

‘He moved to the Osaka prefecture,’ the officer said. ‘I think he’s in Ibaraki or Kishiwada. Or is it Matsubara?’ A pause. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t recall.’

‘It’s all right,’ Shoji said, cutting the conversation short. He didn’t want to arouse suspicion.

Shoji thought of travelling to Akakawa in a few weeks, but with no name or address to go on, and with Mizuki’s deceased husband’s men possibly still after him, it would be a suicide mission.

He decided against it. He had learned from his mistake.

When he reached home, a small package was waiting for him on the table. Shoji picked it up, wondering what it could be. The sender’s name was Jin Fujiwara.

18 It’s Not So Bad to Live in Tokyo

CHAPTER 18

IT’S NOT SO BAD TO LIVE IN TOKYO

Shoji watched the foam on his beer subside. A group of salarymen seated nearby laughed. He checked his watch. An hour had passed, yet the person he was supposed to meet wasn’t here. Perhaps she had been held up by work. He ate the last asparagus skewer on the ceramic plate, contemplating whether he should return to the office. He still had some unfinished work but, in the end, Shoji decided to call it a night and go home. It was a Friday, anyway.

He raised his hand to call over the izakaya’s waiter, but a woman in a beige dress entered, stealing the young man’s attention.

‘Welcome,’ the waiter said to her.

She gave him a polite bow. Her face was partially covered by long, wavy auburn hair.

‘Eri?’ Shoji asked.