Buzzcut’s eyes, staring at Ushikawa, were cold, as if only minutes ago he had been extracted from a glacier. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he said. “Are you thinking that we may in some way be involved in this incident? That one of us took this female police officer to a disreputable hotel, handcuffed her, and strangled her to death?”
Ushikawa pursed his lips and shook his head. “Don’t be absurd! The thought never crossed my mind. All I’m asking is whether you have any ideas about this case. Anything at all. I would welcome even the smallest clue. No matter how hard I try to squeeze out whatever I can from this brain of mine, I can’t find a connection between these two murders.”
Buzzcut gazed at Ushikawa for a time, as if measuring something. Then he slowly let out his breath. “I understand. I will let my superiors know,” he said. He took out a pocket notebook and made some notes. “Ayumi Nakano. Twenty-six. Traffic Bureau, Shinjuku Precinct. Possibly connected with Aomame.”
“Exactly.”
“Anything else?”
“There’s one more thing. Someone within your religion must have brought up Miss Aomame’s name. Someone who knew of a fitness trainer in Tokyo who was very good at stretching exercises. As you pointed out, I was hired to investigate the woman’s background. I’m not trying to excuse myself, but I did my absolute best. Yet I didn’t find anything out of the ordinary, nothing at all suspicious. She’s as clean as they come. And you all asked her to come to the suite at the Hotel Okura. So who was it who recommended her in the first place?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Ushikawa exclaimed. He looked like a child who has just heard a word he doesn’t understand. “You mean that while someone within your religion must have first raised Miss Aomame’s name, no one can recall who it was? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Correct,” Buzzcut replied, his expression unchanged.
“That’s pretty weird,” Ushikawa said, in a tone that reflected just how odd he found it.
Buzzcut didn’t say a word.
“So we don’t know when her name came up, or from whom, and things went forward seemingly on their own. Is that what you’re saying?”
“To tell you the truth, the one who most enthusiastically supported the idea was Leader himself,” Buzzcut said, choosing his words carefully. “Within the leadership, some thought it might be dangerous to allow a complete stranger to take care of Leader like that. As bodyguards we felt the same way. But Leader wasn’t worried. In fact, he is the one who insisted that we go forward with it.”
Ushikawa picked up his lighter again, flipped open the top, and flicked it on, as if testing it. Then he quickly snapped the top shut.
“I always heard Leader was a very cautious person,” he said.
“He was. Very careful, very cautious,” Buzzcut said. Silence continued for a time.
“There is one more thing I would like to ask,” Ushikawa said. “About Tengo Kawana. He was seeing an older, married woman named Kyoko Yasuda. She came to his apartment once a week, and they would spend some intimate time together. He’s young, so that’s only to be expected. But suddenly one day her husband calls him, telling him she won’t be paying him any more visits. And he hasn’t heard a peep from her since.”
Buzzcut frowned. “I don’t understand why you’re telling me this. Are you saying that Tengo Kawana was involved in all this?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. It’s just that something has been bothering me. Whatever the circumstances might be, you would expect the woman to at least give him a call. But she hasn’t gotten in touch. She just vanished, without a trace. Loose ends bother me, so that’s why I posed the question, to be on the safe side. Do you know anything about this?”
“Personally, I have no knowledge about this woman,” Buzzcut said in a flat tone. “Kyoko Yasuda. She had a relationship with Tengo Kawana.”
“She was married, and ten years older than him.”
Buzzcut noted down the name in his notebook. “I will let my superiors know.”
“That’s fine,” Ushikawa said. “By the way, have you located the whereabouts of Eriko Fukada?”
Buzzcut raised his head and stared at Ushikawa as if he were examining a crooked picture frame. “And why should we know where Eriko Fukada is?”
“You’re not interested in locating her?”
Buzzcut shook his head. “It is not our concern. She is free to go wherever she wants.”
“And you’re not interested in Tengo Kawana either?”
“He has nothing to do with us.”
“At one time it seemed like you were quite interested in both of them,” Ushikawa said.
Buzzcut narrowed his eyes for a moment, then opened his mouth. “At this point we are focused solely on Aomame.”
“Your focus shifts from day to day?”
Buzzcut’s lips parted a fraction, but he didn’t reply.
“Mr. Buzzcut, have you read the novel Eriko Fukada wrote, Air Chrysalis?”
“No, I have not. In the religion we are strictly forbidden to read anything other than books on Sakigake doctrine. We can’t even touch them.”
“Have you ever heard the term Little People?”
“No,” Buzzcut said, without missing a beat.
“That’s fine,” Ushikawa replied.
Their conversation came to an end. Buzzcut slowly rose from his chair and straightened the collar of his jacket. Ponytail took one step forward from the wall.
“Mr. Ushikawa, as I mentioned before, time is of the essence.” Buzzcut stood and looked down at Ushikawa, who had remained seated. “We have to locate Aomame as soon as possible. We are doing our very best, and we need you to do the same, from a different angle. If Aomame isn’t found, it could be bad for both of us. You are, after all, one of the few who know an important secret.”
“With great knowledge comes great responsibility.”
“Exactly,” Buzzcut replied without a trace of emotion. He turned and swiftly exited the room. Ponytail followed Buzzcut out, noiselessly shutting the door.
After they had left, Ushikawa pulled open a desk drawer and switched off the tape recorder inside. He opened the lid of the recorder, extracted the cassette tape, and wrote the date and time on it with a ballpoint pen. For a man with his sort of odd looks, his handwriting was neat and graceful. He grabbed the pack of Seven Stars cigarettes beside him, extracted one, and lit it with his lighter. He took a long puff, exhaled deeply toward the ceiling, then closed his eyes for a moment. He opened his eyes and looked over at the wall clock. The clock showed 2:30. What a creepy pair indeed, Ushikawa told himself once more.
If Aomame isn’t found, it could be bad for both of us, Buzzcut had said.
Ushikawa had twice visited the headquarters of Sakigake, deep in the mountains of Yamanashi Prefecture, and had seen the huge incinerator in the woods behind the compound. It was built to burn garbage and waste, but since it operated at an extremely high temperature, if you threw a human corpse inside there wouldn’t be a single bone left. He knew that in fact several people’s bodies had been disposed of in this way. Leader’s body was probably one of them. Naturally enough, Ushikawa didn’t want to suffer the same fate. Someday he would die, but if possible he would prefer something a bit more peaceful.
But there were some facts that Ushikawa hadn’t revealed. Ushikawa preferred not to show all his cards at once. It was okay to show them a few of the lower-value cards, but the face cards he kept hidden. One needed some insurance—like the secret conversation he had recorded. When it came to this kind of game, Ushikawa was an expert. These young bodyguards had nowhere near the experience he had.
Ushikawa had gotten ahold of Aomame’s private client list. As long as you don’t mind the time and effort, and you know what you’re doing, you can get ahold of almost any kind of information. Ushikawa had made a decent enough investigation of the backgrounds of the twelve private clients. Eight women and four men, all of them of high social standing and fairly well off. Not a single one the type who would lend a hand to an assassin. But one of them, a wealthy woman in her seventies, provided a safe house for women escaping domestic violence. She allowed battered women to live in a two-story apartment building on the extensive grounds of her estate, next door to her house.