He opened her desk drawers. Just the normal assortment of stationery supplies, like any high school girl would have, rather neatly arranged. Three snapshots, a junk box, letters, a notepad, a sewing kit. Had her parents gone through here after she died? It didn’t look like it. Probably she was just naturally neat. He was hoping to find a diary—it would save him a lot of time. Today I got together with Haruko Tsuji, Takehiko Nomi, and Shuichi Iwata, and we … If he could just find an entry like that. He took a notebook from her bookshelf and flipped through it. He actually came across a very girlish diary in the back of a drawer, but there were only a few desultory entries on the first few pages, all of them dated long ago.
On the shelf beside the desk there were no books, only a red flowered makeup stand. He opened the drawer. A bunch of cheap accessories. A lot of mismatched earrings—it seemed she had a habit of losing one of every pair she owned. A pocket comb with several slender black strands of hair still wrapped around it.
Opening the built-in wardrobe, his nose was assailed by the scent of high school girls. It was packed tight with colorful dresses and skirts on hangers. His sister-in-law and her husband had obviously not figured out what to do with these clothes, which still carried their daughter’s fragrance. Asakawa pricked up his ears at what was going on downstairs. He wasn’t sure what they’d think if they caught him in here. There was no sound. His wife and her sister must still be talking about something. Asakawa searched the pockets of the clothes in the wardrobe one by one. Handkerchiefs, movie ticket stubs, gum wrappers, napkins, commuter pass case. He examined it: a pass for the stretch between Yamate and Tsurumi, a student ID card, and a membership card. There was a name written on the membership card: Something-or-other Nonoyama. He wasn’t sure how to pronounce the characters for the first name—Yuki, maybe? From the characters alone he couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. Why did she have someone else’s card in her pass case? He heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He slipped the card into his pocket, put the case back where he’d found it, and shut the wardrobe. He stepped into the hall just as his sister-in-law reached the top of the stairs.
“Sorry, is there a bathroom up here?” He made a show of acting antsy.
“It’s there at the end of the hall.” She didn’t seem to suspect anything. “Is Yoko sleeping like a good girl?”
“Yes, thanks. Sorry to put you to such trouble.”
“Oh no, not at all.” The sister-in-law bowed slightly, then stepped into the Japanese-style room, hand on her kimono sash.
In the bathroom, Asakawa took out the card. “Pacific Resorts Club Member’s Card” it read. Underneath this was Nonoyama’s name and membership number and the expiration date. He flipped it over. Five membership conditions, in fine print, plus the name of the company and its address. Pacific Resorts Club, Inc., 3-5 Kojimachi, Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo. Phone no. (03) 261-4922. If it wasn’t something she’d found or swiped, Tomoko must have borrowed this card from this Nonoyama person. Why? To use Pacific Resorts facilities, of course. Which one, and when?
He couldn’t call from the house. Saying he was going to go buy cigarettes, he ran to a pay phone. He dialed the number.
“Hello, Pacific Resorts, may I help you?” A young woman’s voice.
“I’d like to know what facilities I can use with a membership card.”
The voice didn’t respond right away. Maybe they had so many facilities available that she couldn’t just list them all.
“That is … I mean … for example, like on an overnight trip from Tokyo,” he added. It would have stood out if the four of them had gone away for two or three nights together. The fact that he hadn’t turned anything up so far meant that they had probably gone for no longer than a single night. She could easily get away for a single night by lying to her parents that she was staying at a friend’s house.
“We have a full range of facilities at our Pacific Land in South Hakone,” she said, in her businesslike manner.
“Specifically, what sorts of leisure activities do you have there?”
“Certainly, sir. We have provisions for golf, tennis, and field sports, as well as a swimming pool.”
“And you have lodging there?”
“Yes, sir. In addition to a hotel, Pacific Land features the Villa Log Cabin community of rental cottages. Shall I send you our brochure?”
“Yes. Please.” He pretended to be a prospective customer, hoping it would make it easier to extract information from her. “The hotel and the cabins, are they open to the general public?”
“Certainly, at non-member rates.”
“I see. Can you give me the phone number? Maybe I’ll go have a look.”
“I can take care of reservations right now, if you wish …”
“No, I, ah, may be going for a drive down there sometime and just decide to have a look … So could I just have the phone number?”
“One moment, please.”
As he waited, Asakawa took out a memo pad and pen.
“Are you ready?” The woman returned and dictated two eleven-digit phone numbers. The area codes were long—they were way out in the sticks. Asakawa scribbled them down.
“Just for future reference, where are your other facilities located?”
“We have the same sort of full-service resorts at Lake Hamana and at Hamajima in Mie Prefecture.”
Much too far! Students wouldn’t have that kind of war chest.
“I see. Sounds like they’re all on the Pacific, just like the name says.”
Then the woman began to detail all the fabulous advantages of becoming a Pacific Resorts Club member; Asakawa listened politely for a while before cutting her off. “Great. The rest I’m sure I can find out from the pamphlet. I’ll give you my address so you can send it.” He told her his address and hung up. Listening to her sales pitch, he’d begun to think it actually wouldn’t be a bad idea to join, if he could afford it.
It had been over an hour since Yoko had gone to sleep, and Shizu’s parents had already returned to Ashikaga. Shizu herself was in the kitchen doing the dishes for her sister, who was still prone to break down at the slightest provocation. Asakawa briskly helped carry dishes in from the living room.
“What’s got into you today? You’re acting weird,” said Shizu, without interrupting her dishwashing. “You put Yoko down, you’re helping in the kitchen. Are you turning over a new leaf? If so, I hope it sticks.”
Asakawa was lost in thought, and didn’t want to be bothered. He wished his wife would act like her name, which meant “quiet”. The best way to seal a woman’s mouth was not to reply.
“Oh, by the way, did you put a disposable on her before putting her to bed? We wouldn’t want her to leak at someone else’s house.”
Asakawa showed no interest, but just looked around at the kitchen walls. Tomoko had died here. There had been shards of glass and a pool of coke next to her when she was found. She must have been attacked by the virus right when she was going to have a drink of coke from the fridge. Asakawa opened the refrigerator, mimicking Tomoko’s movements. He imagined holding a glass, and pretended to drink.
“What in the world are you doing?” Shizu was staring at him, mouth wide open. Asakawa kept going: still pretending to drink, he looked behind him. When he turned around, there was a glass door right in front of him, separating the living room from the kitchen. It reflected the fluorescent light above the sink. Maybe because it was still bright outside and the living room was filled with light, it only reflected the fluorescent light, and not the expressions of the people on this side. If the other side of the glass was dark, and this side light, like it would have been that night when Tomoko was standing here … That glass door would have been a mirror reflecting