So Ayumi went out to the city at night alone, without Aomame, to be strangled to death, shackled by the cold steel of genuine handcuffs, blindfolded, her stockings or underwear stuffed in her mouth. The thing that Ayumi had always feared had become a reality. If Aomame had accepted her more willingly, Ayumi would probably not have gone out that night. She would have called and asked Aomame to go with her. They would have gone to a safer place, and checked on each other as they lay in their men’s arms. But Ayumi had probably been hesitant to impose on Aomame. And Aomame had never once called Ayumi to suggest an outing.

It was nearly four o’clock in the morning when Aomame found that she could no longer bear to stay alone in her apartment. She stepped into a pair of sandals and went out, walking aimlessly through the predawn streets, wearing only shorts and a tank top. Someone called out to her, but she kept walking straight ahead. She walked until she was thirsty. Then she stopped by an all-night convenience store, bought a large carton of orange juice, and drank it on the spot. Then she went back to her apartment to cry. I loved Ayumi, she thought, even more than I realized. If she wanted to touch me, I should have let her touch me anywhere she liked, as much as she liked.

The next day’s paper carried another report, under the heading “Policewoman Strangled in Shibuya Hotel.” The police were doing everything in their power to catch the man, it said, and the woman’s fellow officers were utterly perplexed. Ayumi was a cheerful person who was well liked by everyone, a responsible and energetic individual who had always earned high marks for her police work. Several of her relatives, including her father and brother, were also police officers, and their family ties were strong. All were puzzled as to how such a thing could have happened to her.

None of them know, Aomame thought. But I know. Ayumi had a great emptiness inside her, like a desert at the edge of the earth. You could try watering it all you wanted, but everything would be sucked down to the bottom of the world, leaving no trace of moisture. No life could take root there. Not even birds wouldfly over it. What had created such a wasteland inside Ayumi, only she herself knew. No, maybe not even Ayumi knew the true cause. But one of the biggest factors had to be the twisted sexual desires that the men around Ayumi had forced upon her. As if to build a fence around the fatal emptiness inside her, she had to create the sunny person that she became. But if you peeled away the ornamental egos that she had built, there was only an abyss of nothingness and the intense thirst that came with it. Though she tried to forget it, the nothingness would visit her periodically—on a lonely rainy afternoon, or at dawn when she woke from a nightmare. What she needed at such times was to be held by someone, anyone.

Aomame took the Heckler & Koch HK4 from the shoe box, loaded the magazine with practiced movements, released the safety, pulled back the slide, sent a bullet into the chamber, raised the hammer, and aimed the gun at a point on the wall with both hands solidly on the grip. The barrel was rock steady. Her hands no longer trembled. Aomame held her breath, went into a moment of total concentration, and then let out one long breath. Lowering the pistol, she reset the safety and tested the weight of the gun in her hand, staring at its dull gleam. The gun had almost become a part of her body.

I have to keep my emotions in check, Aomame told herself. Even if I were to punish Ayumi’s uncle or brother, they wouldn’t know what they were being punished for. And nothing I could do to them now would bring Ayumi back. Poor kid, something like this had to happen sooner or later. Ayumi was on a slow but unavoidable approach toward the center of a deadly whirlpool. And even if I had been warmer to her, there were probably limits to how much that could have accomplished. It’s time for me to stop crying. I’ll have to change my attitude again. I’ll have to put the rules ahead of my self. That’s the important thing, as Tamaru said.

On the morning of the fifth day after Ayumi died, the pager finally rang. At the time, she was in the kitchen, boiling water to make coffee and listening to the news on the radio. The pager was sitting on the kitchen table. She read the telephone number displayed on the small screen. It was not one she knew. But it had to be a message from Tamaru. She went to a nearby pay phone and dialed the number. Tamaru answered after the third ring.

“All set to go?” Tamaru asked.

“Of course,” Aomame answered.

“Here is Madame’s message: seven o’clock tonight in the lobby of the Hotel Okura’s main building. Dress for work as usual. Sorry for the short notice, but this could only be arranged at the last minute.”

“Seven o’clock tonight in the lobby of the Hotel Okura’s main building,” Aomame repeated mechanically.

“I’d like to wish you luck, but I’m afraid a good luck wish from me won’t do any good,” Tamaru said.

“Because you don’t believe in luck.”

“Even if I wanted to, I don’t know what it’s like,” Tamaru said. “I’ve never seen it.”

“That’s okay, I don’t need good wishes. There’s something I’d like you to do for me instead. I have a potted rubber plant in my apartment. I’d like you to take care of it. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks.”

“A rubber plant’s a lot easier to take care of than a cat or a tropical fish. Anything else?”

“Not a thing. Just throw out everything I leave behind.”

“When you’ve finished the job, go to Shinjuku Station and call this number again. I’ll give you your next instructions then.”

“When I finish the job, I go to Shinjuku Station and call this number again,” Aomame repeated.

“I think you know not to write down the telephone number. When you leave home, break the pager and get rid of it somewhere.”

“I see. Okay.”

“We’ve lined up everything to the last detail. You don’t have to worry about a thing. Just leave the rest to us.”

“I won’t worry,” Aomame said.

Tamaru kept silent for a moment. “Do you want my honest opinion?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t mean to say that what you two are doing is useless, I really don’t. It’s your problem, not mine. But I do think that, at the very least, it’s reckless. And there’s no end to it.”

“You may be right,” Aomame said. “But it’s beyond changing now.”

“Like avalanches in the spring.”

“Probably.”

“But sensible people don’t go into avalanche country in avalanche season.”

“A sensible person wouldn’t be having this conversation with you.”

“You may be right,” Tamaru had to admit. “Anyhow, are there any relatives we should be contacting in case an avalanche does occur?”

“None at all.”

“You mean there aren’t any, or they’re there but they’re not.”

“They’re there but they’re not.”

“That’s fine,” Tamaru said. “It’s best to travel light. A rubber plant is just about the ideal family.”

“Seeing those goldfish in Madame’s house suddenly made me want to have some of my own. They’d be nice to have around. They’re little and quiet and probably don’t make too many demands. So I went to a shop by my station the next day thinking I was going to buy some, but when I actually saw them in the tank I didn’t want them anymore. Instead, I bought this sad little rubber plant, one of the last ones they had.”

“I’d say you made the right choice.”

“I might never be able to buy goldfish—ever.”

“Maybe not,” Tamaru said. “You could buy another rubber plant.”

A short silence ensued.

“Seven o’clock tonight in the lobby of the Hotel Okura’s main building,” Aomame said again to reconfirm.