Текст книги "1q84"

Автор книги: Haruki Murakami

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Текущая страница: 52 (всего у книги 81 страниц)

“Something unpleasant,” he repeated, and looked up.

Buzzcut’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Above all we have to keep Leader’s death a secret. And we’re not concerned about the means we use to accomplish this.”

“I will keep your secret. Rest assured,” Ushikawa said. “So far, we’ve worked together perfectly well. I’ve done a number of things behind the scenes that would have been hard for you to do openly. The work hasn’t always been easy, but the compensation is more than adequate. So okay—double zippers on my mouth. I have no religious beliefs, but Leader helped me personally, so I am doing all I possibly can to locate Miss Aomame. I will do my utmost to uncover what is behind this. And I’m starting to see some progress. So please, be patient for just a while longer. Before too long, I should have some good news.”

Buzzcut shifted ever so slightly in his chair. Standing by the door, Ponytail shifted in tandem, moving his weight to his other leg.

“Is this all the information you’re able to share?” Buzzcut asked.

Ushikawa mulled this over. “As I said, Miss Aomame called the Traffic Bureau of the Shinjuku Metropolitan Police Precinct twice, and the other party called her a number of times. I don’t know the other party’s name yet. It’s the police. I can’t just ask them. But an idea did flash through this inept brain of mine. There was something I remembered about the Traffic Bureau in the Shinjuku Precinct. I thought about it a lot, wondering what it was that was clinging to the edges of my pathetic memory. It took quite some time before it came to me. It’s no fun growing old, no fun at all. The drawers where you store memories get harder to open. I used to be able to just yank them open with no problem, but this time it took me a good week before it finally dawned on me.”

Ushikawa stopped talking, and a theatrical smile rose to his lips. He gazed at Buzzcut, who waited patiently for him to go on.

“In August of this year, a young female police officer with the Traffic Bureau in the Shinjuku Precinct was found strangled to death in a love hotel in Maruyama Ward, in Shibuya. Stark naked, handcuffed with her own police-issue handcuffs. Naturally this caused a scandal. The phone conversations between Miss Aomame and the Shinjuku Precinct were in the several months before this incident. There were no calls at all after the murder. What do you think? Too much to see this as mere coincidence?”

Buzzcut was silent for a while, then finally spoke. “So you’re saying that the person Aomame contacted was this female police officer who was murdered?”

“The officer’s name was Ayumi Nakano. Age twenty-six. A very charming-looking young woman. She came from a police family. Her father and older brother were both in the force. She was a fairly top-ranked officer. Needless to say, the police have tried very hard to locate the murderer, but with no luck so far. I apologize for being so forward with this question, but is there any chance that you might know something about this incident?”

Buzzcut’s eyes, staring at Ushikawa, were cold, as if only minutes ago he had been extracted from a glacier. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he said. “Are you thinking that we may in some way be involved in this incident? That one of us took this female police officer to a disreputable hotel, handcuffed her, and strangled her to death?”

Ushikawa pursed his lips and shook his head. “Don’t be absurd! The thought never crossed my mind. All I’m asking is whether you have any ideas about this case. Anything at all. I would welcome even the smallest clue. No matter how hard I try to squeeze out whatever I can from this brain of mine, I can’t find a connection between these two murders.”

Buzzcut gazed at Ushikawa for a time, as if measuring something. Then he slowly let out his breath. “I understand. I will let my superiors know,” he said. He took out a pocket notebook and made some notes. “Ayumi Nakano. Twenty-six. Traffic Bureau, Shinjuku Precinct. Possibly connected with Aomame.”

“Exactly.”

“Anything else?”

“There’s one more thing. Someone within your religion must have brought up Miss Aomame’s name. Someone who knew of a fitness trainer in Tokyo who was very good at stretching exercises. As you pointed out, I was hired to investigate the woman’s background. I’m not trying to excuse myself, but I did my absolute best. Yet I didn’t find anything out of the ordinary, nothing at all suspicious. She’s as clean as they come. And you all asked her to come to the suite at the Hotel Okura. So who was it who recommended her in the first place?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Ushikawa exclaimed. He looked like a child who has just heard a word he doesn’t understand. “You mean that while someone within your religion must have first raised Miss Aomame’s name, no one can recall who it was? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Correct,” Buzzcut replied, his expression unchanged.

“That’s pretty weird,” Ushikawa said, in a tone that reflected just how odd he found it.

Buzzcut didn’t say a word.

“So we don’t know when her name came up, or from whom, and things went forward seemingly on their own. Is that what you’re saying?”

“To tell you the truth, the one who most enthusiastically supported the idea was Leader himself,” Buzzcut said, choosing his words carefully. “Within the leadership, some thought it might be dangerous to allow a complete stranger to take care of Leader like that. As bodyguards we felt the same way. But Leader wasn’t worried. In fact, he is the one who insisted that we go forward with it.”

Ushikawa picked up his lighter again, flipped open the top, and flicked it on, as if testing it. Then he quickly snapped the top shut.

“I always heard Leader was a very cautious person,” he said.

“He was. Very careful, very cautious,” Buzzcut said. Silence continued for a time.

“There is one more thing I would like to ask,” Ushikawa said. “About Tengo Kawana. He was seeing an older, married woman named Kyoko Yasuda. She came to his apartment once a week, and they would spend some intimate time together. He’s young, so that’s only to be expected. But suddenly one day her husband calls him, telling him she won’t be paying him any more visits. And he hasn’t heard a peep from her since.”

Buzzcut frowned. “I don’t understand why you’re telling me this. Are you saying that Tengo Kawana was involved in all this?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. It’s just that something has been bothering me. Whatever the circumstances might be, you would expect the woman to at least give him a call. But she hasn’t gotten in touch. She just vanished, without a trace. Loose ends bother me, so that’s why I posed the question, to be on the safe side. Do you know anything about this?”

“Personally, I have no knowledge about this woman,” Buzzcut said in a flat tone. “Kyoko Yasuda. She had a relationship with Tengo Kawana.”

“She was married, and ten years older than him.”

Buzzcut noted down the name in his notebook. “I will let my superiors know.”

“That’s fine,” Ushikawa said. “By the way, have you located the whereabouts of Eriko Fukada?”

Buzzcut raised his head and stared at Ushikawa as if he were examining a crooked picture frame. “And why should we know where Eriko Fukada is?”

“You’re not interested in locating her?”

Buzzcut shook his head. “It is not our concern. She is free to go wherever she wants.”

“And you’re not interested in Tengo Kawana either?”

“He has nothing to do with us.”

“At one time it seemed like you were quite interested in both of them,” Ushikawa said.

Buzzcut narrowed his eyes for a moment, then opened his mouth. “At this point we are focused solely on Aomame.”

“Your focus shifts from day to day?”

Buzzcut’s lips parted a fraction, but he didn’t reply.

“Mr. Buzzcut, have you read the novel Eriko Fukada wrote, Air Chrysalis?”

“No, I have not. In the religion we are strictly forbidden to read anything other than books on Sakigake doctrine. We can’t even touch them.”

“Have you ever heard the term Little People?”

“No,” Buzzcut said, without missing a beat.

“That’s fine,” Ushikawa replied.

Their conversation came to an end. Buzzcut slowly rose from his chair and straightened the collar of his jacket. Ponytail took one step forward from the wall.

“Mr. Ushikawa, as I mentioned before, time is of the essence.” Buzzcut stood and looked down at Ushikawa, who had remained seated. “We have to locate Aomame as soon as possible. We are doing our very best, and we need you to do the same, from a different angle. If Aomame isn’t found, it could be bad for both of us. You are, after all, one of the few who know an important secret.”

“With great knowledge comes great responsibility.”

“Exactly,” Buzzcut replied without a trace of emotion. He turned and swiftly exited the room. Ponytail followed Buzzcut out, noiselessly shutting the door.

After they had left, Ushikawa pulled open a desk drawer and switched off the tape recorder inside. He opened the lid of the recorder, extracted the cassette tape, and wrote the date and time on it with a ballpoint pen. For a man with his sort of odd looks, his handwriting was neat and graceful. He grabbed the pack of Seven Stars cigarettes beside him, extracted one, and lit it with his lighter. He took a long puff, exhaled deeply toward the ceiling, then closed his eyes for a moment. He opened his eyes and looked over at the wall clock. The clock showed 2:30. What a creepy pair indeed, Ushikawa told himself once more.

If Aomame isn’t found, it could be bad for both of us, Buzzcut had said.

Ushikawa had twice visited the headquarters of Sakigake, deep in the mountains of Yamanashi Prefecture, and had seen the huge incinerator in the woods behind the compound. It was built to burn garbage and waste, but since it operated at an extremely high temperature, if you threw a human corpse inside there wouldn’t be a single bone left. He knew that in fact several people’s bodies had been disposed of in this way. Leader’s body was probably one of them. Naturally enough, Ushikawa didn’t want to suffer the same fate. Someday he would die, but if possible he would prefer something a bit more peaceful.

But there were some facts that Ushikawa hadn’t revealed. Ushikawa preferred not to show all his cards at once. It was okay to show them a few of the lower-value cards, but the face cards he kept hidden. One needed some insurance—like the secret conversation he had recorded. When it came to this kind of game, Ushikawa was an expert. These young bodyguards had nowhere near the experience he had.

Ushikawa had gotten ahold of Aomame’s private client list. As long as you don’t mind the time and effort, and you know what you’re doing, you can get ahold of almost any kind of information. Ushikawa had made a decent enough investigation of the backgrounds of the twelve private clients. Eight women and four men, all of them of high social standing and fairly well off. Not a single one the type who would lend a hand to an assassin. But one of them, a wealthy woman in her seventies, provided a safe house for women escaping domestic violence. She allowed battered women to live in a two-story apartment building on the extensive grounds of her estate, next door to her house.

This was, in itself, a wonderful thing to do. There was nothing suspicious about it. Yet something bothered Ushikawa, kicking around the edges of his consciousness. And as this vague notion rattled around in his mind, Ushikawa tried to pinpoint what it was. He was equipped with an almost animal-like sense of smell, and he trusted his intuition more than anything. His sense of smell had saved him a few times. Violence was perhaps the keyword here. This elderly woman had a special awareness of the violent, and thus went out of her way to protect those who were its victims.

Ushikawa had actually gone over to see this safe house. The wooden apartment building was on a rise in Azabu, prime real estate. It was a fairly old building, but had character. Through the grille of the front gate, he saw a beautiful flower bed in front of the entrance, and an extensive garden. A large oak cast a shadow onto the ground. A small die-cut plate glass was set into the front door. It was the kind of building that was fast disappearing from Tokyo.

For all its tranquillity, the building was heavily secured. The walls around it were high, and topped with barbed wire. The solid metal gate was securely locked, and a German shepherd patrolled the grounds and barked loudly if anyone approached. There were several cameras set up to scan the vicinity. Hardly any pedestrians walked on the road in front of the apartment building, so one couldn’t loiter there long. It was a quiet residential area, with several embassies nearby. If a strange-looking man like Ushikawa were seen loitering, someone would be sure to question his presence.

The security was a little too tight. For a place meant to shelter battered women, they went a bit overboard. Ushikawa felt he would have to find out all there was to know about this safe house. No matter how tightly it was guarded, he would somehow have to pry it open. No—the more tightly it was guarded, the more he had to pry it open. And to do so, he would have to wrack his brain to come up with a plan.

Ushikawa recalled the part of his conversation with Buzzcut concerning the Little People.

“Have you ever heard the term Little People?”

“No.”

The reply had come a little too fast. If you had never heard that name before, you would normally pause a beat before answering. Little People? You would let the sound roll around in your mind for a second to see if anything clicked. And then you would reply. That’s what most people would do.

Buzzcut had heard the term Little People before. Ushikawa didn’t know if he knew what it meant or what it was, but it was definitely not the first time he’d heard it.

Ushikawa extinguished his now stubby cigarette. He was lost in thought for a while, and then he pulled out a new cigarette and lit it. He had decided years ago not to worry about getting lung cancer. If he wanted to concentrate, he had to get some nicotine into his system. Who knew what his fate was, even two or three days down the road? So what was the point in worrying about how his health would be fifteen years from now?

As he smoked his third Seven Stars, an idea came to him. Ah! he thought. This might actually work.

CHAPTER 2

Aomame

ALONE, BUT NOT LONELY

When it got dark she sat on a chair on the balcony and gazed out at the playground across the street. This was the most important part of her daily schedule, the focal point of her life. On sunny days, cloudy days, even when it rained, she kept a close watch, without missing a day. As October came around, the air grew cooler. On cold nights she wore many layers, kept a blanket for her legs, and sipped hot cocoa. She watched the slide until ten thirty, then took a leisurely bath to warm herself up, and went to bed.

Of course, there was a possibility that Tengo might appear even in the daytime. But most likely he wouldn’t. If he was going to show up at the park, it would be after the mercury-vapor lamp went on and the moon was in the sky. Aomame had a quick supper, dressed so she could run outside, straightened her hair, then sat down on a garden chair and fixed her gaze on the slide. She always had an automatic pistol and a pair of small Nikon binoculars with her. Fearing that Tengo might appear if she went inside to the bathroom, she restricted her drinks to the hot cocoa.

Aomame kept up her watch without missing a day. She didn’t read, didn’t listen to music, just stared at the park, her ears poised to catch any sound outside. She rarely even changed her position in the chair. She would raise her head from time to time and—if it was a cloudless night—look at the sky to make sure there were still two moons. And then she would quickly shift her gaze back to the park. As Aomame kept a close watch on the park, the moons kept a close watch over her.

But Tengo didn’t come.

Not many people visited the playground at night. Occasionally young lovers would appear. They would sit on a bench, hold hands, and, like a pair of tiny birds, exchange a few short, nervous kisses. But the park was too small, and too well lit. Soon they would grow restless and move on. Someone might show up to use the public toilet, find the door locked, and go away disappointed (or perhaps angry). The occasional office worker on his way home from work would sometimes sit alone on the bench, head bowed, undoubtedly hoping to sober up. Or maybe he just didn’t want to go straight home. And there was an old man who took his dog for a walk late at night. Both the dog and the man were taciturn, and looked like they had given up all hope.

Most of the time, though, the playground was empty at night. Not even a cat ran across it. Just the mercury-vapor lamp’s anonymous light illuminating the swings, the slide, the sandbox, the locked public toilet. When Aomame looked at this scene for a long time, she began to feel as if she had been abandoned on a deserted planet. Like that movie that showed the world after a nuclear war. What was the title?

On the Beach.

Still, Aomame sat there, her mind focused as she kept watch over the playground. As if she were a sailor who had climbed a tall mast and was scanning the vast ocean in search of schools of fish, or the ominous shadow of a periscope. Her watchful pair of eyes were on the lookout for one thing only—Tengo Kawana.

Perhaps Tengo lived in some other town, and had just happened to be passing by that night. In that case, the chances of his revisiting this park were close to zero. But Aomame didn’t think so. When he sat on the slide that night, something about his manner, and his clothes, made her feel that he was taking a late-night stroll in the neighborhood, that he had stopped by the park and climbed up the slide. Probably to get a better look at the moons. Which meant he must live within walking distance.

In the Koenji District it wasn’t easy to find a place to see the moon. The area was mostly flat, with hardly any tall buildings from which you could look at the sky. This made the slide in the playground a decent place to do so. It was quiet, and no one would bother you. If he decided he wanted to look at the moon again, he would show up—Aomame was certain of it. But then the next moment a thought struck her: Things might not work out that easily. Maybe he’s already found a better place to view the moon.

Aomame gave a short, decisive shake of her head. She shouldn’t overthink things. The only choice I have is to believe that Tengo will return to this playground, and to wait here patiently until he does. I can’t leave—this is the only point of contact between him and me.

Aomame hadn’t pulled the trigger.

It was the beginning of September. She was standing in a turnout on the Metropolitan Expressway No. 3, in the midst of a traffic jam, bathed in bright morning sunlight as she stuck the black muzzle of a Heckler & Koch in her mouth. Dressed in a Junko Shimada suit and Charles Jourdan high heels.

People were watching her from their cars, as if something was about to occur but they had no idea what. There was a middle-aged woman in a silver Mercedes coupe. There were suntanned men looking down at her from the high cab of a freight truck. Aomame planned to blow her brains out right before their very eyes with a 9mm bullet. Taking her life was the only way she could vanish from this 1Q84 world. That way she would be able to save Tengo’s life. At least Leader had promised that. He had promised that much, and sought his own death.

Aomame didn’t find it particularly disappointing that she had to die. Everything, she felt, had already been decided, ever since she was first pulled into this 1Q84 world. I’m just following the plan that has already been laid out. Continuing to live, alone, in this unreasonable world—where there are two moons in the sky, one large, one small, where something called Little People control the destiny of others—what meaning could it have anyway?

In the end, though, she didn’t pull the trigger. At the last moment she relaxed her right index finger and removed the muzzle from her mouth. Like a person surfacing from deep under water she took a long breath, and exhaled, as if replacing every molecule of air within her.

She stopped moving toward death because she had heard a distant voice. At that point, she was in a soundless space. From the moment she put pressure on the trigger, all noise around her vanished. She was wrapped in silence, as if at the bottom of a pool. Down there, death was neither dark nor fearful. Like amniotic fluid to a fetus, it was natural, self-evident. This isn’t so bad, Aomame thought, and almost smiled. That was when she heard a voice.

The voice sounded far away, as if coming from a distant time. She didn’t recognize it. It reached her only after many twists and turns, and in the process it lost its original tone and timbre. What was left was a hollow echo, stripped of meaning. Still, within that sound, Aomame could detect a warmth she hadn’t felt for years. The voice seemed to be calling her name.

She relaxed her finger on the trigger, narrowed her eyes, and listened carefully, trying to hear the words the voice was saying. But all she could make out, or thought that she made out, was her name. The rest was wind whistling through a hollow space. In the end the voice grew distant, lost any meaning at all, and was absorbed into the silence. The void enveloping her disappeared, and, as if a cork had been pulled, the noise and clamor around her rushed in. And she no longer wanted to die.

Maybe I can see Tengo one more time at that little playground, she thought. I can die after that. I’ll take a chance on that happening. Living—not dying—means the possibility of seeing Tengo again. I want to live, she decided. It was a strange feeling. Had she ever experienced that feeling before in her life?

She released the hammer of the automatic pistol, set the safety, and put it inside her shoulder bag. She straightened up, put on her sunglasses, and walked in the opposite direction of traffic back to her taxi. People silently watched her, in her high heels, striding down the expressway. She didn’t have to walk for long. Even in the traffic jam, her taxi had managed to inch forward and had come up to where she was now standing.

Aomame knocked on the window and the driver lowered it.

“Can I get in again?”

The driver hesitated. “That thing you put in your mouth over there looked like a pistol.”

“It was.”

“A real one?”

“No way,” Aomame replied, curling her lips.

The driver opened the door, and she climbed in. She took the bag off her shoulder and laid it on the seat and wiped her mouth with her handkerchief. She could still taste the metal and the residue of gun oil.

“So, did you find an emergency stairway?” the driver asked.

Aomame shook her head.

“I’m not surprised. I never heard of an emergency stairway anywhere around here,” the driver said. “Would you still like to get off at the Ikejiri exit?”

“Yes, that would be fine,” Aomame replied.

The driver rolled down his window, stuck his hand out, and pulled over into the right lane in front of a large bus. The meter in the cab was unchanged from when she had gotten out.

Aomame leaned back against the seat, and, breathing slowly, she gazed at the familiar Esso billboard. The huge tiger was looking in her direction, smiling, with a gas hose in his paw. Put a Tiger in Your Tank, the ad read.

“Put a tiger in your tank,” she whispered.

“Excuse me?” the driver said, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.

“Nothing. Just talking to myself.”

I think I’ll stay alive here a bit longer, and see with my own eyes what’s going to happen. I can still die after that—it won’t be too late. Probably.

The day after she gave up on killing herself, Tamaru called her. So Aomame told him that the plan had changed—that she was going to stay put, and not change her name or get plastic surgery.

On the other end of the line Tamaru was silent. Several theories noiselessly aligned themselves in his mind.

“In other words, you’re saying you don’t want to move to another location?”

“Correct,” Aomame replied. “I would like to stay here for the time being.”

“That place is not set up to hide someone for an extended period.”

“If I stay inside and don’t go out, they shouldn’t find me.”

“Don’t underestimate them,” Tamaru said. “They will do everything they can to pinpoint who you are and hunt you down. And you won’t be the only one in danger. It could involve those around you. If that happens, I could be put in a difficult position.”

“I’m very sorry about that. But I need a bit more time.”

“A bit more time? That’s a little vague,” Tamaru said.

“That’s the only way I can put it.”

Tamaru was silent, in thought. He seemed to have sensed how firm her decision was.

“I have to keep my priorities straight,” he said. “Do you understand that?”

“I think so.”

Tamaru was silent again, and then continued.

“All right. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t misunderstanding. Since you insist on staying, you must have your reasons.”

“I do,” Aomame said.

Tamaru briefly cleared his throat. “As I have told you before, we have committed to take you someplace safe, and far away—to erase any trail, change your face and name. Maybe it won’t be a total transformation, but as close to total as we can manage. I thought we were agreed on this.”

“Of course I understand. I’m not saying I don’t like the plan itself. It’s just that something unexpected occurred, and I need to stay put for a while longer.”

“I am not authorized to say yes or no to this,” Tamaru said, making a faint sound in the back of his throat. “It might take a while to get an answer.”

“I’ll be here,” Aomame said.

“Glad to hear it,” Tamaru said, and hung up.

The phone rang the next morning, just before nine. Three rings, then it stopped, and rang again. It had to be Tamaru.

Tamaru launched right in without saying hello. “Madame also is concerned about you staying there for very long. It is just a safe house, and it is not totally secure. Both of us agree that it’s best to move you somewhere far away, somewhere more secure. Do you follow me?”

“I do.”

“But you are a calm, cautious person. You don’t make stupid mistakes, and I know you are committed. We trust you implicitly.”

“I appreciate that.”

“If you insist that you want to stay in that place for a bit longer then you must have your reasons. We don’t know what your rationale is, but I’m sure it’s not just a whim. So she is thinking that she would like to follow your wishes as much as she can.”

Aomame said nothing.

Tamaru continued. “You can stay there until the end of the year. But that’s the limit.”

“After the first of the year, then, I need to move to another place.”

“Please understand we are doing our very best to respect your wishes.”

“I understand,” Aomame said. “I’ll be here until the end of the year, then I will move.”

But this wasn’t her real intention. She didn’t plan to take one step out of this apartment until she saw Tengo again. If she mentioned this now, though, complications would set in. She could delay things for over three months, until the end of the year. After that she would consider what to do next.

“Fine,” Tamaru said. “We’ll deliver food and other necessities once a week. At one p.m. each Tuesday the supply masters will stop by. They have a key, so they can get in on their own. They will only go to the kitchen, nowhere else. While they are at the apartment, I want you to go into the back bedroom and lock the door. Don’t show your face, or speak. When they’re leaving, they will ring the doorbell once. Then you can come out of the bedroom. If there’s anything special you need, let me know right now and I’ll have it included in the next delivery.”

“It would be nice to have equipment so I could do some strength training,” Aomame said. “There’s only so much you can do exercising and stretching without equipment.”

“Full-scale gym equipment is out of the question, but we could supply some home equipment, the kind that doesn’t take up much space.”

“Something very basic would be fine,” Aomame said.

“A stationary bike and some auxiliary equipment for strength training. Would that do it?”

“That would be great. If possible, I’d also like to get a metal softball bat.”

Tamaru was silent for a few seconds.

“A bat has many uses,” Aomame explained. “Just having it next to me makes me calm. It’s like I grew up with a bat in my hand.”

“Okay. I’ll get one for you,” Tamaru said. “If you think of anything else you need, write it on a piece of paper and leave it on the kitchen counter. I’ll make sure you get it the next time we bring supplies.”

“Thank you. But I think I have everything I need.”

“How about books and videos and the like?”

“I can’t think of anything I particularly want.”

“How about Proust’s In Search of Lost Time?” Tamaru asked. “If you’ve never read it this would be a good opportunity to read the whole thing.”

“Have you read it?”

“No, I’ve never been in jail, or had to hide out for a long time. Someone once said unless you have those kinds of opportunities, you can’t read the whole of Proust.”

“Do you know anybody who has read the whole thing?”

“I’ve known some people who have spent a long period in jail, but none were the type to be interested in Proust.”

“I’d like to give it a try,” Aomame said. “If you can get ahold of those books, bring them the next time you bring supplies.”

“Actually, I already got them for you,” Tamaru said.

The so-called supply masters came on Tuesday afternoon at one p.m. on the dot. As instructed, Aomame went into the back bedroom, locked it from the inside, and tried not to make a sound. She heard the front door being unlocked and people opening the door and coming in. Aomame had no idea what kind of people these “supply masters” were. From the sounds they made she got the feeling there were two of them, but she didn’t hear any voices. They carried in several boxes and silently went about putting things away. She heard them at the sink, rinsing off the food they had bought and then stacking it in the fridge. They must have decided beforehand who would be in charge of what. They unwrapped some boxes, and she could hear them folding up the wrapping paper and containers. It sounded like they were wrapping up the kitchen garbage as well. Aomame couldn’t take the bag of garbage downstairs to the collection spot, so she had to have somebody take it for her.