The first three days of the new year were almost past, with none of the traditional soba, osechi ryori, or good-luck first visit to a shrine. Ever since she’d heard that the Hakata college student wasn’t the killer, Satoko hadn’t done any cooking, so Yoshio bought two maku-nouchi bentos for them at the take-out place in front of the station.

He made hot tea for them, and placed the bento in front of Satoko. As she listlessly separated the disposable chopsticks, she murmured, “So bento shops are still open during New Year’s…”

“Yeah, it was actually pretty crowded.”

Satoko looked about to reply, but silently speared a boiled carrot instead.

Yoshio had yet to tell Satoko about seeing Yoshino in the pouring rain at Mitsuse Pass. He knew she’d believe him if he did, and would insist that he drive her there. But when he thought about going and the possibility that they might not see Yoshino again, he couldn’t bring himself to explain what had happened.

He’d driven up to the pass three days in a row after that, hoping to catch another glimpse of his daughter. But that first day was the only time Yoshino appeared and called out to him. After that, no matter how much he waited, he neither saw her nor heard her voice. On the third day he visited, he was surprised to find one of Yoshino’s co-workers there, a girl named Mako Adachi.

Mako said she’d come a number of times to lay flowers there for Yoshino. She took the local bus up to the pass and then walked along the back road to the site.

Yoshio gave Mako a ride back to Kurume station. In the car they hardly spoke, but she did tell him that she was quitting at the end of the year and moving back to her parents’ home in Kumamoto. Yoshio asked her what she planned to do there.

“I don’t know yet,” she said. “I just don’t feel comfortable in the city anymore.” She told him how she once spotted Keigo Masuo in Tenjin after he was released. She didn’t talk with him, of course, but just seeing him made her feel bitter. “That might be the reason I decided to go back home,” she said. Yoshio asked her for Keigo’s address and at first she said she didn’t know it, but after a moment’s hesitation, she told him the name of a well-known building right next to his condo, a place everyone knew.

The call from the police came just as Yoshio and Satoko were finishing their bentos. He was expecting to hear that they’d captured the suspect, but all he learned from the detective-the same one who’d visited him the other day-was that although they’d been sure the suspect had already fled Kyushu, his abandoned car had been found near Arita, in Saga.

Yoshio hung up and told his wife what he’d heard. Strangely enough, he felt nothing at the news. Satoko was silent and placed the lid back on her half-eaten bento.

Yoshio figured that that was the end of it, but Satoko suddenly murmured, “So the police are working even during the New Year’s holidays.” For a moment she sounded like the old Satoko, before Yoshino had died. She wasn’t exactly smiling, but perhaps trying desperately to do so. “The police never give up, do they? They do their best even during New Year’s,” she murmured, her lips drawn back tightly, as if they were numb.

“Yeah, even during New Year’s, so I’m sure they’ll arrest the guy soon,” Yoshio said.

“Arresting him won’t bring back Yoshino,” Satoko said, her expression gloomy again.

“The day after tomorrow I’m going to reopen the shop,” Yoshio said, trying to change the subject.

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” Satoko smiled.

It was the first time she’d smiled since the murder. The smile was halfhearted, but he was proud of her for trying.

“Satoko, there’s something I wanted to tell you…”

He was going to tell her about what took place at Mitsuse Pass, how Yoshino had apologized to him. He wanted to tell her about it, but somehow the words wouldn’t come.

Satoko put the leftovers in the plastic bag they came in, and tied the ends tight, then tied them again. She did it so many times there finally wasn’t enough slack left to tie it anymore. Yoshio took the bag from her and dumped it heavily in the kitchen wastebasket.

Satoko stared at the wastebasket and said, “Honey?… I just don’t get it. Why did that college student leave Yoshino up there at the pass?” She paused. “That’s what I want to know,” she went on. “When she called us and said she was going to Universal Studios, she mentioned his name…” Her gaze was still fixed on the wastebasket.

“Did she say she was going with him?” Yoshio asked.

“I don’t know yet was all she said, but she seemed happy. I hope we can, she said.”

Yoshio didn’t know what to say. Out there was a man who had murdered his daughter. And another who had stepped on her heart. His hatred should be aimed at the one who killed her, but all he could picture was Yoshino being literally kicked out of that car.

The next morning Yoshio drove to Hakata.

Holding her breath, Mitsuyo listened to the voices and footfalls of the young men outside. Yuichi was crouched down beside her, his arm around her shoulder.

The men had just arrived here by car a few minutes before. The moment Yuichi heard the sound of their engine coming up the narrow logging road, he grabbed Mitsuyo’s hand and yanked her into the shack next to the lighthouse.

The lot where the men had parked was a little bit away and they heard the footsteps of three or four people getting closer. “This place gives me the creeps,” they heard one say. “The last time I was here, the road was blocked off.”

The door in the shack where Mitsuyo and Yuichi were hiding was made of frosted glass, and the lines of iron in the reinforced glass were sharply defined in the moonlight.

Before they knew it, the young men’s voices and footsteps were right outside the door. The door suddenly banged as they roughly tried to pull it open.

“Is it open?”

“Nah, it’s locked.”

“Want to use a rock and break the glass?”

Shadows moved beyond the frosted glass. Mitsuyo inched closer to Yuichi and they clasped each other’s numb hands.

“Don’t do it. There’s nothing inside anyway.”

As he said this a large rock clunked down on the ground. Apparently one of them had actually picked up a rock.

Yuichi was crouching next to a large plastic bottle of water. It was almost ready to fall over.

“The road back that way’s really dark, so you better watch out!”

One of the men-who’d apparently started to walk toward the lighthouse-was shouting, and then the shadows outside the door grew distant, kicking pebbles as they went.

Mitsuyo reached out and grabbed the bottle. Yuichi, thinking she was trying to hug him, pulled her closer to him, the bottle now in her hand.

The men were apparently heading toward the cliffs.

“It’d be cool to come here to see the first sunrise of the year,” one of them said.

“But that’s west, isn’t it?”

“I wonder when was the last time they used this lighthouse.”

“It isn’t much fun here if it’s just four guys.”

Mitsuyo and Yuichi held their breath and listened.

Because of the cold, the men stood there only about a minute and then headed back to the shack.

Please, Mitsuyo prayed, please just go away.

Beyond the frosted glass they saw one shadow pass by, then a second, and a third. Right when they were waiting for the last one to pass, a fist pounded on the glass. Mitsuyo nearly cried out, burying her face in Yuichi’s shoulder just in time.

The men stood there for a while, discussing where they should go next. An engine roared to life in the parking lot.

Mitsuyo tapped Yuichi’s shoulder twice and, relieved, she nodded. The sound of the engine faded in the distance.