There were lots of things she needed to think about, and an equal number of decisions she had to make. She felt in her pocket and reset the safety on the pistol. Then, away from any possible prying eyes, she shoved the pistol in the back of her jeans. I can’t get my expectations or hopes up too high, she told herself. The Kawana who lived there might be Tengo. And then again he might not. Once you get your hopes up, your mind starts acting on its own. And when your hopes are dashed you get disappointed, and disappointment leads to a feeling of helplessness. You get careless and let your guard down. And right now, she thought, that’s the last thing I can afford.

I have no idea how much Bobblehead knows. But the reality is that he’s getting close to me. Almost close enough to reach out and touch. I need to pull myself together and stay alert. I’m dealing with someone who is totally dangerous. Thetiniest mistake could be fatal. First of all, I have to stay away from that old apartment building. He’s hiding in there, scheming how to capture me—like a poisonous, blood-sucking spider who has spun a web in the darkness.

By the time she got back to her apartment Aomame’s mind was made up. There was but one path she could follow.

This time she dialed Tamaru’s entire number. She let it ring twelve times, then hung up. She took off her cap and coat, returned the pistol to the drawer, then gulped down two glasses of water. She filled the kettle and boiled water for tea. She peeked through a gap in the curtain at the park across the street, to make sure no one was there. She stood in front of the bathroom mirror and brushed her hair. Even after that her fingers didn’t work right. The tension remained. She was pouring hot water in the teapot when the phone rang. It was Tamaru, of course.

“I just saw Bobblehead,” she told him.

Silence. “By just saw him you mean he’s not there anymore?”

“That’s right,” Aomame said. “A little while ago he was in the park across from my building. But he’s not there anymore.”

“How long ago do you mean by a little while ago?”

“About forty minutes ago.”

“Why didn’t you call me forty minutes ago?”

“I had to follow him right away and didn’t have the time.”

Tamaru exhaled ever so slowly, as if squeezing out the breath. “Follow him?”

“I didn’t want to lose him.”

“I thought I told you never to go outside.”

Aomame chose her words carefully. “But I can’t just sit by when danger’s approaching me. Even if I had called you, you wouldn’t have been able to get here right away. Right?”

Tamaru made a small sound in the back of his throat. “So you followed Bobblehead.”

“It looks like he had no idea at all he was being followed.”

“A pro can act like that,” Tamaru cautioned.

Tamaru was right. It all might have been an elaborate ruse. Not that she would admit that. “I’m sure you would be able to do that, but as far as I could tell, Bobblehead isn’t on the same level. He may be skilled, but he’s different from you.”

“He might have had backup.”

“No. He was definitely on his own.”

Tamaru paused for a moment. “All right. So did you find out where he was heading?”

Aomame told him the address of the building and described its exterior. She didn’t know which apartment he was in. Tamaru took notes. He asked a few questions, and Aomame answered as accurately as she could.

“You said that when you first saw him he was in the park across the street from you,” Tamaru said.

“Correct.”

“What was he doing there?”

Aomame told him—how the man was sitting on top of the slide and staring at the night sky. She didn’t mention the two moons. That was only to be expected.

“Looking at the sky?” Tamaru asked. Aomame could hear the gears shift in his mind.

“The sky, or the moon, or the stars. One of those.”

“And he let himself be exposed like that, defenseless, on the slide.”

“That’s right.”

“Don’t you find that odd?” Tamaru asked. His voice was hard and dry, reminding her of a desert plant that could survive a whole year on one day’s worth of rain. “That man had run you down. He was one step away from you. Pretty impressive. Yet there he was, on top of a slide, leisurely gazing up at the night sky, not paying any attention to the apartment where you live. It doesn’t add up.”

“I agree—it doesn’t make much sense. Be that as it may, I couldn’t very well let him go.”

Tamaru sighed. “But I still think it was dangerous.”

Aomame didn’t say anything.

“Did following him help you get any closer to solving the riddle?” Tamaru asked.

“No,” Aomame said. “But there was one thing that caught my attention.”

“Which was?”

“When I looked at the mailboxes I saw that a person named Kawana lives on the third floor.”

“So?”

“Have you heard of Air Chrysalis? The bestselling novel this past summer?”

“Even I read newspapers, you know. The author, Eriko Fukada, was the daughter of a follower of Sakigake. She disappeared and they suspected she was abducted by the cult. The police investigated it. I haven’t read the novel yet.”

“Eriko Fukada isn’t just the daughter of a follower. Her father was Leader, the head of Sakigake. She’s the daughter of the man I sent on to the other side. Tengo Kawana was hired by the editor as a ghostwriter, and rewrote Air Chrysalis. In reality the novel is a joint work between the two of them.”

A long silence descended. Long enough to walk to the end of a long, narrow room, look up something in a dictionary, and walk back. Finally Tamaru broke the silence.

“You have no proof that the Kawana who lives in that building is Tengo Kawana.”

“Not yet, no,” Aomame admitted. “But if he is the same person, then this all makes sense.”

“Certain parts do mesh together,” Tamaru said. “But how do you know that this Tengo Kawana ghostwrote Air Chrysalis? That can’t have been made public. It would have caused a major scandal.”

“I heard it from Leader himself. Right before he died, he told me.”

Tamaru’s voice turned a little cold. “Don’t you think you should have told me this before?”

“At the time I didn’t think it was so important.”

There was silence again for a time. Aomame couldn’t tell what Tamaru was thinking, but she knew he didn’t like excuses.

“Okay,” he finally said. “We’ll put that on hold. Let’s cut to the chase. What you’re trying to say is that Bobblehead marked this Tengo Kawana. And using that as a lead, he was tracking down your whereabouts.”

“That’s what I think.”

“I don’t get it,” Tamaru said. “Why would Tengo Kawana be a lead to find you? There isn’t any connection between you and Kawana, is there? Other than that you dealt with Eriko Fukada’s father, and Tengo was the ghostwriter for her novel.”

“There is a connection,” Aomame said, her voice flat.

“There’s a direct relationship between you and Tengo Kawana. Is that what you’re saying?”

“He and I were in the same class in elementary school. And I believe he’s the father of my baby. But I can’t explain any more beyond that. It’s very—how should I put it?—personal.”

On the other end of the phone she heard a ballpoint pen tapping on a desk. That was the only sound she could hear.

“Personal,” Tamaru repeated, in a voice that sounded like he had spied some weird creature on top of a rock in a garden.

“I’m sorry,” Aomame said.

“I understand. It’s a very personal thing. I won’t ask anymore,” Tamaru said. “So, specifically, what do you want from me?”

“Well, the first thing I would like to know is if the Kawana who lives in that building is actually Tengo Kawana. If it were possible, I would like to make sure of that myself, but it’s too risky to go there again.”