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still wasn’t hungry. The little refrigerator was stocked with whisky and beer, and he felt so satisfied with the work he’d done that he decided to allow himself a drink. He took a mini-bottle of cheap domestic whisky from the refrigerator, poured it into a glass and had a sip. It was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.
    He read over his seven pages of notes, making a few small additions, then put the notebook in his briefcase and spun the dials on the combination lock. He opened the curtains and looked at Tokyo Tower, whose lights were off now, and as he took another sip of whisky he was aware of the heat in his throat and stomach radiating waves of sexual desire through his body. After the second glass he decided not to drink any more, fearing that he might give in to the temptation to call an S&M club and have a woman sent over.
    He hadn’t yet decided how old the victim should be. The idea of someone in her late thirties appealed to him, but he somehow felt it would be more satisfying to plunge the ice pick into a firm, smooth young belly this time, rather than one that was soft and sagging. A young woman, yes, with resilient, snow-white skin.
    As soon as Kawashima made up his mind on this point, he began to ache with desire for an older woman. The whisky-fuelled revelation that the victim should be young, after the excitement of writing out all those notes, had left him helpless with lust. Rationalising that unless he did something about it he’d never get any sleep, which would only hinder his ability to begin preparations tomorrow, he leafed through the sex guide and dialled a place that advertised Erotic Massage by Mature Ladies .
    ‘Good evening. Essence Clinic.’
    It was a man’s voice.
    ‘I’m at a hotel in the city. Is it too late to ask for a massage?’
    He’d never called a place like this before and was surprised at how calm he managed to sound.
    ‘Which hotel, sir?’
    ‘The Akasaka Prince.’
    ‘Thank you. If I may ask your room number, we’ll ring you right back to confirm.’
    About ten seconds after he hung up, the phone rang.
    ‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’ The man had an odd way of intoning his words. ‘We have a thirty-eight-year-old widow who is available immediately.’
    The voice was tranquil and mechanical and gave no sense of the person producing it. It was impossible even to imagine what the man’s face looked like. Kawashima didn’t answer right away, and the voice continued.
    ‘If you wouldn’t mind waiting another hour or so, however, we can send a lady in her early forties.’
    ‘No. Send the one who can come right now, please.’
    ‘The basic massage is 7,000 yen, and the erotic version is 17,000. Which would you prefer?’
    It sounded as if the man were holding a baby as he talked. Or sitting at someone’s deathbed - Kawashima pictured a shrivelled, comatose old man hooked up to an IV drip.
    ‘Erotic.’
    ‘She’ll be at your room in approximately half an hour. Of course we ask you to supply her with taxi fare both ways.’
    Before hanging up, Kawashima ventured to ask if they got many young men requesting these older women. ‘Quite a few,’ the smooth voice said, and replaced the receiver so quietly that he scarcely heard the click.
    What if it turned out to be her ? It had been just ten years now, so she’d be forty-eight. The voice had said the woman was a decade younger than that, but it’s not unusual for women in the sex trade to lie about their age. In fact, at the strip clubs where she was working back then, she’d told people she was twenty-eight. How many men could really distinguish ten years one way or the other, after all? If it did turn out to be her, though, what should he say? Would there still be a small round scar, or would it have healed completely by now? They’d spoken very little after she was released from the hospital, but he clearly remembered her mentioning how complicated and time-consuming the treatment was for an