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at an earlier part of the novel.”
    â€œYes. We’re going to visit the publisher tomorrow to try to find that out.”
    I quickly turned the situation over in my mind. According to Rie, Miyako Fujio had gone home around five o’clock. It was after six when the phone call from Hidaka came. If he’d been writing during the time that we knew he was alive, he could’ve written five or six pages, max. That meant the question was, how many more pages had he actually written?
    â€œI understand you might not be able to disclose this,” I said to Detective Kaga, “but do you have an estimated time of death?”
    â€œYou’re right, I can’t disclose that, or at least, I shouldn’t.” Kaga chuckled. “But I suppose it doesn’t really matter. We’re still waiting on an autopsy for the final results, but we’re pretty sure it happened sometime between five and seven o’clock.”
    â€œExcept, he called me after six.”
    â€œTrue. Which would make the time of death somewhere between six and seven o’clock.”
    Wait.
    That meant that he’d been killed right after he talked to me on the phone.
    â€œHow was he killed?” I said, half to myself. Kaga gave me a wondering look. He must’ve thought that was a strange question for the one who discovered the body. But it was true, I didn’t remember seeing anything that would tell me how he’d died. To be honest, I was frightened. I don’t think I even looked that closely at him.
    I explained myself and Kaga nodded, understanding. “That’s also something we need to wait on the autopsy to be sure, but all indications are that he was strangled.”
    â€œYou mean someone choked him? Like, with their hands, or a rope?”
    â€œA telephone cord. It was still wrapped around his neck.”
    â€œWhat?” I had no recollection of seeing the telephone.
    â€œHe had one other injury, besides. It appears he was struck in the back of the head. We believe the weapon was a brass paperweight. We found it on the floor next to him.”
    â€œSo someone hit him on the back of the head, knocked him out, then strangled him?”
    â€œThat’s the most likely explanation.” Detective Kaga lowered his voice. “I’m sure there will be an announcement soon, but please don’t repeat any of this before that, okay?”
    â€œSure, of course.”
    The car finally arrived at my apartment.
    â€œThanks for the ride. That was much better than having to take the train.”
    â€œNot at all. Thanks for the chat. It was very helpful.”
    As I started getting out of the car, Kaga stopped me. “Tell me the name of the magazine.”
    â€œHis serial is being published in Somei Monthly .”
    Kaga shook his head. “No. I meant the magazine you’re writing for, Mr. Nonoguchi.”
    I grinned sheepishly and blurted out the name. Kaga wrote it down in his notes and we said our good-nights.
    Back in my apartment, I sat vacantly on the sofa for a while. I tried thinking back over the events of the day, but none of it felt real. It was the kind of day you seldom experience, if ever. The thought came to me that, even though it had been tragic, it was almost a shame to have such a day end by merely going to sleep. Not that I would be able to sleep, anyway. Not tonight.
    Then I had an idea. I should record my experience. I should write the story of how my friend was killed.
    That is the story behind these notes. I’ve decided I will keep writing them until the case is solved and the truth is out.
    *   *   *
    Hidaka’s death was in the morning paper. I hadn’t watched TV the night before, but I guessed the story was probably out by the eleven o’clock news.
    The newspaper had a simple headline on the side of the front page, with the article continued on the interior. There was a big picture of Hidaka’s house and, right