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  'Please,' said Yayoi. 'No more, please.'

  'But there is more, plenty more, and you have to hear it! D'you think I did this because I owed you a favour or something?'

  'I'm sorry,' Yayoi murmured, crouching down like an animal.

  Kuniko let go of her with a spiteful laugh.

  'Fine,' she said. 'That's not why I came, anyway. I wanted to know if you're really going to pay the Skipper and me.'

  'Yes, of course I'll pay you.' So that's why she's here. Feeling slightly relieved, she dropped her arms and watched warily as Kuniko stood drying off under the air-conditioner. As she studied her, Yayoi was sure she'd lied when she said she was twenty-nine; Kuniko had to be older than her. What kind of lousy friend would be vain enough to lie to you about something like that?

  'When?' Kuniko said.

  'I haven't got the money now,' said Yayoi. 'I have to borrow it from my parents, and that's going to take time.'

  'And am I really getting ¥100,000?'

  'That's what Masako said . . .' Yayoi mumbled. 'Something like that.' At the mention of Masako's name, Kuniko folded her arms across her ample stomach with an annoyed look. Her voice grew suddenly coarser.

  'And just how much are you paying Masako?'

  'She said she doesn't want anything.'

  'I don't get her,' Kuniko said, looking sceptical. 'What makes her think she can act so high and mighty?'

  'But without her ... '

  'Yeah, yeah, I know,' she nodded impatiently, interrupting her.

  'Anyway, I'm wondering whether you can give me ¥500,000 instead.'

  Yayoi gulped, unsure how to deal with this new demand. 'I couldn't come up with that much now,' she told her.

  'When can you?'

  'I'll have to ask my father. It could take a couple of weeks, maybe longer. And I might have to give it to you bit by bit.' She hung back from any commitment, worried especially that Yoshie would complain if she found out that Kuniko was now getting more than she was. Kuniko appeared to think over what she'd said for a moment.

  'Okay. We can work that out later. In the meantime, could you sign this for me?' She extracted a sheet of paper from her vinyl tote bag and put it on the dining-room table.

  'What is it?' Yayoi asked.

  'A guarantor's contract.' Pulling out a chair, Kuniko sat down and lit one of her menthol cigarettes. Yayoi put an ashtray on the table in front of her and hesitantly picked up the paper. It seemed to be a contract from somewhere called the Million Consumers Centre for a loan that carried a forty-percent interest rate. There was lots of small print about 'compounded delinquency charges' and other things she didn't understand, with the line for 'guarantor' left blank. A circle had been drawn around it lightly in pencil to indicate where Yayoi was supposed to sign.

  'Why do you want me to sign?' she said.

  'I just need a name. Don't worry, I'm not asking you to co-sign the loan, just be the guarantor. Seems we're sort of in the same boat. My husband disappeared, too, so I have to have someone else to sign it. They said anybody will do . . . even a murderer.'

  Yayoi frowned at the last bit. 'What do you mean, your husband disappeared?'

  'It's none of your business. But at least I didn't kill him,' she said with a snicker.

  'I don't know ... '

  'Look, you're not taking over the payments. It's not a big deal really. You paying me the ¥500,000 is the main thing, signing this doesn't count. Just do it.'

  Vaguely reassured by her explanation, Yayoi signed the paper. If she didn't, she was afraid Kuniko might never leave; and it would soon be time to go get the boys. She didn't want her coming around again when they were home.

  'Here,' she said, handing her the contract.

  'Thanks,' said Kuniko, stubbing out her cigarette. Her business finished, she stood up to go. Yayoi followed her to the door and watched as she slipped into her white shoes. As she was about to leave, Kuniko turned around as if suddenly remembering something. 'What does it feel like? Killing someone?' she asked.

  Yayoi said nothing, staring intently at the spreading sweat stains on Kuniko's dress. She had only just realised that she was being blackmailed. 'What does it feel like?' Kuniko insisted.

  'I don't know,' she murmured.

  'You do. Go on, tell me.'

  Yayoi's voice dropped to a whisper. 'The only thing that went through my head was that it served him right.' Kuniko took a step backward, eyeing her nervously and grabbing the corner of the shoe cupboard to keep her balance as one of her heels wobbled. 'I did it right here,' Yayoi said, stamping her foot. Kuniko looked down at the spot, her eyes wide. As Yayoi watched her, she was surprised to realise that what she'd done could scare even a thickskinned character like Kuniko. It made her see how numb she'd been inside since the night of the murder.

  'Are you coming back to work soon?' Kuniko asked, straightening up and trying to recapture her superior tone. 'I want to, but Masako thinks I should stay home a bit longer.'

  'Masako, Masako, Masako! Are you two lesbians or something?'

  Kuniko turned and left without another word. Get out, you pig! Yayoi thought, watching from the doorway - from the exact spot where she had killed her husband three days earlier.

  She went back into the house and picked up the telephone to call Masako. She wanted to discuss what had just happened, but as the phone started to ring, she hung up, aware that her friend would probably be mad at her for having signed that document.

  So the day had ended without her talking to anyone else. But today she wondered if it really mattered that Masako would be mad at her. She still needed to let her know what had happened yesterday with Kuniko. Yayoi put the potatoes in a bowl to soak and went to the phone. Just as she was about to make her call, though, the buzzer on the intercom sounded. Startled, she let out a little squeal, thinking that it might be Kuniko again, but when she picked up the receiver it was a slightly hoarse man's voice.

  'Excuse me, ma'am. I'm from the Musashi Yamato police station,' he said.

  'Oh? Yes?' she stammered, her heart beginning to pound.

  'Is that you, Mrs Yamamoto?' the voice asked. Despite his polite tone of voice, Yayoi felt a surge of panic. Why would the police be coming so soon? Had something happened? Had Kuniko gone straight to the police last night and told them everything? It was all over! They knew! She wanted to run out the back door and never stop running. 'I've got a few questions to ask you,' the voice on the intercom said.

  'I'll be right there,' she managed to answer, trying to collect herself as she went out to the hall. She opened the door to find a greying, slightly shabby man With his coat over his arm smiling amiably at her. It was Inspector Iguchi from the Public Safety Division.

  'So your husband still hasn't shown up?' he said. She had met him before, when she went to file the missing persons report. The clerk who should have dealt with the form had been away from his desk, so Iguchi had politely explained the process to her and taken her paperwork. He had also answered the phone when she first called, so Yayoi had begun to feel comfortable with him.

  'No, not yet,' she said, fighting to keep her anxiety under control.

  'I see,' said Iguchi, his manner growing more serious. 'I'm afraid I have to tell you that pieces of a man's body were found this morning in Koganei Park.' As he spoke, Yayoi began to feel faint, as if the blood had suddenly drained from her head. She clutched at the door, certain that it was all over, that she'd been found out. But she soon realised that Iguchi had taken her panic to be shock at the news.

  'Now don't worry,' he added in a hurry. 'We don't know that it's your husband. We're just checking all the missing person cases in the area.'

  'Oh, I see.' Yayoi managed a relieved smile, but she knew that it had to be Kenji and she could feel the panic rising again.

  'Would you mind if we come in for a moment?' Iguchi said, pushing open the door with his foot and sliding his thin frame past her in one motion. As he did so, Yayoi could see several officers in blue uniform wait