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and a check-in time of two o’clock in the afternoon when making the reservation, and though he waited at the office until one-forty-five, no one called from the hotel. Nor had they asked for ID. His normal handwriting was so generic that it shouldn’t be a problem - provided he didn’t make some idiotic mistake like leaving behind his driver’s licence or business card or address book, or an envelope or sheet of paper with his company’s letterhead.
    A small but important detail: should he let the bellboy help with whatever luggage he might have? The bellboy would offer to carry any type of bag, even a briefcase. Today he’d observed that Japanese guests seemed to enjoy having the boy take their bags, while most of the foreigners, perhaps because they’re accustomed to having to tip everyone, tended to decline help if they could manage the luggage themselves. Well, the bellboy question was one he could resolve later. Kawashima wrote Bellboy issue pending and turned to a new page. He’d already filled several with crabbed, dense writing.
    What sort of luggage should he carry, though? One smallish travel bag ought to do. He could leave the Prince carrying a paper shopping bag stuffed with everything he’d need and buy a travel bag on the way to the second hotel, where the actual ritual would be performed. He’d stop at one of the major train stations, or Haneda Airport for that matter, and purchase the most ubiquitous sort of bag possible at one of the little shops or stands. Preferably something cheap and mass-produced, but even a popular designer bag - a Louis Vuitton, say - would work well enough.
    All things considered, one of the larger hotels would probably be best. And when it came to interacting with the front desk, a simple disguise might be in order. But the operative word was ‘simple’ - it mustn’t be anything that served to make him stand out in any way. Sunglasses, for example, might be effective, but he’d noticed here at the Prince that people who wore shades while checking in only drew attention to themselves. You got the impression they were trying to conceal their identities. Once the woman’s body was discovered, the police would probably have nothing more than a rough composite sketch of the killer to go by. That shouldn’t be too much of a threat, unless while at the hotel he were to bump into or be seen by someone who knew him. How best to minimise any danger of that happening? First of all, one ironclad rule: if while checking in he were to meet up with or even catch sight of a colleague from work, say, or one of Yoko’s students - anyone whom it would be impossible to fool with a simple disguise - then the whole operation was off.
    But what, specifically, would the simple disguise consist of? Parting his hair differently and wearing eyeglasses with thick lenses ought to be sufficient for the neck up. But he also had to think about clothing. After meeting someone a few times you can often recognise them even from behind, just by their body language and style of clothes. Best to buy a navy-blue or grey salaryman-style suit, of the type he never wore. And maybe a cheap overcoat. He’d have to hurry on the suit - it would take some time just to have the trousers hemmed. Shoes with insoles might be a good idea, too, to add a few centimetres to his height.
    Of course, we’ll need a change of clothes as well, he wrote, since there’s bound to be a good deal of blood. Taking off all our own clothes is a possibility, but it would be risky in the event of some form of active resistance on the woman’s part. Besides, getting naked as the ritual was reaching a climax might be interpreted as having some sort of sexual meaning. We don’t want the woman to think we’re slicing through her Achilles’ tendons just to satisfy a perverted sexual need. She must remain uncertain as to what significance her own bloodshed and agony hold. It’s vital that those on the receiving end of violence ponder