Kosuke let out a low whistle.
“So he’s hiding the fact he was in the neighbourhood at the time of the murders.”
“That’s right. He doesn’t know that I saw him on the train, but I am sure that from the night of the 25th to the morning of the 26th he was right here. What I don’t know is why he’s lying about it. For starters, if he was here in the neighbourhood on the evening of the 25th, why didn’t he attend his brother’s wedding? I can’t fathom it.”
Ginzo glared angrily in the direction of the sitting room.
“But it’s not only that Ryuji!” he spat out. “Everyone in this house is weird. I can’t help feeling they’re deliberately hiding something. I think they’re protecting each other. Or they all suspect each other. There’s a suspicious smell in the air and it’s getting right up my nose.”
Kosuke listened attentively to every word, noting that his friend’s tone was unusually vitriolic.
“By the way, Uncle,” he said, as if it had only just occurred to him, “on my way here, I overheard people saying that the three-fingered man had appeared again last night. Is that true? Did something else strange happen?”
“Yes. And it was really bizarre. Suzuko is the one who saw him.”
“What happened?”
“Well, it’s Suzuko’s story, and she’s not all that reliable… My theory—it doesn’t explain everything, but I believe she might be a sleepwalker.”
“A sleepwalker?…”
Kosuke’s interest was piqued.
“Yes. There’s no reason for her to have got up in the middle of the night and gone to visit her cat’s grave.”
“Cat’s grave?…”
Kosuke was even more fascinated. He laughed in delight.
“Uncle, this is some tale. Sleepwalkers and cat graves. It’s quickly turning into a ghost story. Tell me more.”
“No, no. I’m sorry, I’m not explaining myself properly. Here’s what actually happened…”
Ginzo explained to Kosuke how the previous night—or rather in the early hours of the morning—they had all been awakened by yet another terrifying scream on the Ichiyanagi property. After the events of the previous night, Ginzo was swift to leap out of bed and open his room shutters. From the direction of the annexe house, a figure came stumbling towards him.
Ginzo ran straight out into the garden barefoot just in time to catch Suzuko, who collapsed into his arms. She was wearing a flannel nightgown, and was pale and trembling. She too was barefoot.
“Suzuko-chan, what is it? What are you doing out here like this?”
“Uncle, I saw it. I saw it. A ghost. I saw a three-fingered ghost.”
“A three-fingered ghost?”
“Yes, I did. I saw it. Uncle, I’m frightened. I’m frightened. It’s over there. Over by Tama’s grave.”
That was when Ryuji and Ryosuke came running. Saburo turned up a moment later.
“Suzuko, what are you doing wandering around out here at this time?” asked Ryuji sharply.
“But, but… I… I went to visit Tama’s grave. And then… then suddenly a three-fingered ghost came—”
At that moment, the dowager Itoko appeared from the same direction that Suzuko had come, looking worried and calling Suzuko’s name. Suzuko burst into tears and ran to her. The four men looked at each other, then Ginzo spoke.
“Shall we go and take a look?”
Without waiting for a reply, he walked off.
“I’ll… I’ll go get a lantern.”
Saburo ran off but soon caught the others up, a lantern in his hand.
In the far north-eastern corner of the grounds, stretching from the fence that separated the annexe house from the main house to the boundary of the property, there was a thick grove of tall Japanese elm and oak trees. Scattered all around were piles of fallen leaves. In the midst of these leaves was the gently rounded mound of a home-made grave; on the marker written in childish handwriting, “Tama’s Grave”. Stuck in the ground by this marker were three or four white chrysanthemums.
The four men searched the grove of trees, but there was no mysterious figure. They also used the light of Saburo’s lantern to examine the ground closely, but the layer of fallen leaves was so thick it was impossible to make out anything that resembled a footprint. Finally, they split up and searched everywhere throughout the grounds, but there was no intruder anywhere.
“At that point, we all went back to the sitting room and started questioning Suzuko. We tried to get her to answer specific questions but the poor girl wouldn’t stop babbling. She claimed she was out there paying her respects at the cat’s grave, but it’s just too bizarre to be visiting a grave in the middle of the night. That’s what leads me to believe that the girl might be a sleepwalker. I think she may have been traumatized by the unpleasant and unexpected death of her pet kitten, and that led her to wander outside in her sleep to visit the grave. When she came across a suspicious-looking man out there, the shock caused her to wake up. I think she was in a state somewhere between dream and reality when she says she saw a strange-looking man crouching by the cat’s grave. This man had most of his face completely concealed by a mask but it looked to her as if there was a gash by his mouth. Suzuko screamed and tried to run away. The man stuck out his right hand as if he were trying to grab her, and there were only three fingers on it… At least that’s what Suzuko claims. I may have told you before that the girl is a bit strange in the head. She’s rather slow for her age. You could say that her whole story is unreliable, but out of everybody in this family, Suzuko is the one I trust the most. At the very least, she never tells a deliberate lie. So if she says she saw a man then she really saw him. And on top of that there is evidence that the three-fingered man was around here last night.”
“Evidence? May I ask what evidence?”
“After dawn, we went back to the cat’s grave to take another look around. We were hoping perhaps to find some footprints this time. Unfortunately, again because of the fallen leaves, we didn’t find any. However, we did find something else even more useful. Fingerprints. Three fingerprints, to be exact.”
“So where were these fingerprints left?”
“On the grave marker. There were three muddy fingerprints, clear as day.”
Kosuke pursed his lips and let out another low whistle.
“And those fingerprints were definitely those of the three-fingered man?”
“Right. A police officer came first thing this morning and confirmed they matched all the prints found before. So there’s absolutely no doubt whatsoever that last night the three-fingered monster was roaming the Ichiyanagi estate again.”
Ginzo looked at Kosuke defiantly, but somewhere beneath the surface he clearly had misgivings.
“This cat’s grave-marker, how long has it been there?”
“Since yesterday evening, it seems. The cat’s remains were originally buried there the day before yesterday on the morning of the 25th, the day of the wedding, but there wasn’t time to make a marker of any kind. And so yesterday, Suzuko pestered Saburo to make one. It seems that yesterday evening Suzuko and the maid, Kiyo, went out and set up the marker. Kiyo swears that there were no muddy fingerprints on it at that time. And it is just made of plain, unfinished wood, so muddy fingerprints were something they’d have noticed right away.”
“So the three-fingered man was here again last night. But why did he come back? And more to the point, why on earth did he touch the marker on a cat’s grave?”
“Saburo had a theory that the killer had left something behind by mistake, and that he came back to find it. To which Suzuko added that someone had been digging in the grave. She said that the shape of the burial mound was different from yesterday. So the police immediately dug the grave up again—”
“Did they find anything?”
“No, nothing in particular. Just the home-made coffin that held the cat’s remains… Apart from that nothing out of the ordinary.”
“And the body of the cat
was buried the morning of the day before yesterday, right?”
“Correct. And the wedding was that evening. Suzuko’s mother and brother scolded her in the afternoon saying leaving the corpse lying around was bad luck, and Suzuko told them she’d already buried it in the early morning of the 25th. As I’ve said, I believe everything the girl says.”
It seems that shortly after this conversation Kosuke went to check out the area in question behind the annexe house.
It’s hard to believe that in a high-profile murder case such as this one, someone from outside the police force would be permitted to wander about the crime scene in this way, but somehow Kosuke Kindaichi managed it. This was a point that the members of the Ichiyanagi family, not to mention the villagers, found extremely odd. One of the elders who told me this story explained it the following way:
“That young man would whisper something to a police officer, and the officer would immediately look impressed. They’d all fall over themselves to help him. He was such a famous character already by that point.”
This was one of the ways in which the young man achieved an almost mystical status among the people of the village. But according to F—, it was because he carried a letter of introduction from a high-ranking official:
“Before Kosuke Kindaichi came to this village, he’d been to Osaka for some sort of investigation. It was a grandiose affair apparently and he’d been handed some sort of identification papers by an official of the Home Ministry Police Affairs Bureau. He brought those with him, and I reckon having official papers on you is more effective than carrying a talisman from a shrine. The chief inspector and all of the judiciary were thoroughly awestruck.”
However, my personal speculation is that it was not only because of this letter of recommendation from the ministry that the police and the judiciary showed him such extraordinary goodwill. From all the different accounts I’ve heard, people were charmed by the young man’s relaxed manner and unaffected stammer. In addition, he endeared himself by always pitching in and helping when necessary.
The officer in charge of this case, Inspector Isokawa, was one of the many who would fall under Kosuke Kindaichi’s spell. That morning he had been giving orders to the young men in the village, but he returned to the Ichiyanagi residence just after midday and was introduced to Kosuke. He was immediately taken with the personality of this young man, so much so that he went ahead and discussed the case with him, revealing what he had discovered so far. Out of all the elements of the case, those that interested Kosuke the most were the photograph of the three-fingered man from Kenzo’s album and the partially burnt diary pages that had been found in the charcoal heater. As he listened to the inspector’s account he was grinning from ear to ear with delight, burying his hand in his messy thatch of hair to scratch his head, as was his habit whenever he got excited.
“Th-that photo and the burnt pages, where are they now?”
“At S—town police station. If you’d like to take a look, I can have them sent over for you.”
“Th-that would be wonderful. Are all the other photo albums and volumes of the diary still in the study?”
“They are. I’ll show you, if you like.”
“Y-yes. If you could.”
The inspector showed Kosuke into Kenzo’s study, upon which the young detective pulled Kenzo’s albums and volumes of his diary out at random and riffled through the pages. However, he was careful to return each one to its original spot on the bookshelf.
“Think I’ll look at these more carefully later,” he said. “Could you take me to the scene of the crime now?”
The two men were on the way out of the study when Kosuke stopped abruptly right in the doorway.
“Inspector?”
The young man was rooted to the spot and there was a curious expression on his face.
“Inspector, wh-why didn’t you tell me?”
“About what?”
“Look! Th-those books crammed into the bookcase over there… they’re all mystery novels!”
“Mystery novels?… Well… yes. Yes, they are. But what do mystery novels have to do with the case?”
But Kosuke didn’t reply. He made straight for the bookcase in question, and stood there breathing heavily, intently scanning the shelves of detective novels.
Kosuke’s amazement was in fact understandable. The collection comprised every book of mystery or detective fiction ever published in Japan, both domestic and foreign. There was the whole collection of Arthur Conan Doyle, Maurice Leblanc’s Lupin series, and every translated work that the publishers Hakubunkan and Heibonsha had ever released. Then there was the Japanese section: it began with nineteenth-century novels by Ruiko Kuroiwa, and also featured Edogawa Ranpo, Fuboku Kozakai, Saburo Koga, Udaru Oshita, Takataro Kigi, Juza Unno, Mushitaro Oguri all crammed in together. And then as well as Japanese translations of Western novels, there were the original, untranslated works of Ellery Queen, Dickson Carr, Freeman Wills Crofts and Agatha Christie, etc. etc. etc. It was a magnificent sight: an entire library of detective novels.
“W-who does th-this collection b-belong to?”
“It’s Saburo’s. He’s an avid reader by all accounts.”
“Saburo?… Saburo?… Ah, Saburo’s the one you were telling me is going to get K-Kenzo’s life insurance payout. And he’s th-the one with the firmest alibi.”
And with that, Kosuke began to scratch madly at his scalp, his hair becoming more tangled by the second.
CHAPTER 10
A Conversation about Detective Novels
After the murder case was solved, Kosuke Kindaichi would often talk about this moment:
“To tell the truth, at first I didn’t have much interest in this case. When I read the newspaper articles, it appeared it all hung on capturing this suspicious three-fingered man. I came to help solve this crime out of duty to my benefactor, but I was hoping to be done with such a mundane case as soon as possible. When I first passed through those gates to the Ichiyanagi residence, to be honest that was what I was thinking. The moment the case really became interesting to me was when I first laid eyes on Saburo’s bookshelves full of Western and Japanese mystery novels. The Honjin Murder Case was essentially what is known as a ‘locked room murder’. Among the books on Saburo’s shelves were detective stories that also revolved around locked room murders. Should I chalk that up to mere coincidence? Not at all. Up until now it seemed that this might have been a crime of opportunity, but wasn’t this in fact a case where the murderer had put a lot of careful thought into his or her plan? And was the blueprint of that plan in one of these very novels? Just to consider that possibility made me happier than I can tell you. The killer had submitted the problem of a locked room murder and dared us to solve it. It was going to be a battle of wits. Perfect. Challenge accepted! If it was brains and logic and wit that were required, I was ready to do battle.”
At the time though, Inspector Isokawa found Kosuke’s excitement childish.
“What’s up with you? They’re just detective novels. Didn’t you say you wanted to see the crime scene? If we linger too long it’ll be dark by the time we get there.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
Kosuke had pulled five or six books from the shelf and was flipping through the pages. Inspector Isokawa’s words seemed to bring him back to reality, and he put the books down with great reluctance. The kindly Isokawa could barely stifle his laughter.
“You’re quite a fan, then?” he asked.
“N-no, not exactly. They’re useful for reference, that’s all. I’m just having a quick look. Anyway, let’s go and see the crime scene.”
That day the detectives and the rest of the police force were occupied with the manhunt up in the hills, so there was no one guarding the crime scene. The inspector had to break the seal on the front door himself before showing Kosuke into the annexe house.
The rain shutters were all closed so the interior was dim; just a pale light filtered in through the tree-trunk tra
nsom at the far end beyond the west-side engawa. November was almost over, and at dusk the unheated building was both physically and psychologically chilling.
“I’ll open the shutters,” said Isokawa.
“No, please leave them closed for now.”
The inspector turned on the light in the larger tatami room.
“Apart from the bodies, everything has been left just as it was. The byobu folding screen was lying in that exact position, and the koto was here like a bridge between the pillar of the tokonoma alcove and the open shoji, and on this side of the screen were the bride and groom fallen on top of each other.”
The inspector proceeded to explain the exact position of the two bodies. Kosuke listened carefully, expressing the odd Hmm and I see.
“And so the bridegroom fell with his head down here around the bride’s legs?” he asked.
“Right. Yes. He fell face upwards, her knees under his head. I can show you the photos later, if you like.”
“Ah yes, please.”
Kosuke examined the three bloody koto-pick traces on the folding screen. Their outline stood out sharply against the brilliant gold leaf, and like overripe strawberries had darkened to a deep brownish hue. From the top end of these marks ran a long scratch, faintly bloody. The murderer must have accidentally grazed the screen with the bloody tip of the katana.
Next, he took a look at the koto with its one broken string. The streak of blood across the remaining strings had also begun to turn a rusty brown.
“And you found the missing bridge buried in a pile of leaves outside?”
“That’s right. That’s how we deduced that the killer definitely escaped through the west-side garden.”
Kosuke looked over the twelve intact koto bridges, and immediately spotted something.
“Inspector, c-c-come and look at th-this.”
The Honjin Murders Page 8