“Wait a minute. While you were waiting, were you standing in front of the gate?”
“That’s right.”
“And during the time you were waiting, between ten-thirty and eleven, you didn’t see anyone coming or going through this gate?”
“Not a soul.”
“Okay, let’s hear the rest,” Daiyu said, stone faced.
“I found the front door locked, of course, but according to plan Kinue had left one of the storm windows at the back of the house unlocked. I opened that and called out, ‘Miss Kinue,” but there was no reply. I thought she might have fallen asleep, so I crept into the house. But when I went into her sleeping room, there was no one there, and the futon wasn’t even spread out. About that time I started to think I might have been tricked, and I was filled with rage. Then I heard a noise from the end of the hall, the sound of running water, and I felt so relieved. Oh good, I thought, she’s taking a bath. She’s soaking in the tub with the water running, getting ready for our night together, and that’s why she didn’t hear me when I called. While I was jumping to all these conclusions, I made my way to the bathroom door and called out Kinue’s name Again. There was no reply, and aside from the sound of the running water there was no sign that anyone was inside. I turned the doorknob, but the door didn’t open. That seemed odd, and then I looked down and noticed that my socks were strangely sticky. That was when I realized that I had been walking through puddles of blood.”
22
After a policeman had fetched him a glass of water, a visibly distraught Inazawa continued his narrative. He was breathing heavily and his eyes were wide, as if he were reliving that horrific moment.
“When I saw the blood I was so startled that I just wanted to run away, but then I started to worry about what might be in the bathroom. There was a tiny crack in the bottom of the door, and I could see a little light shining through, so I took a deep breath and peeked through the crack. What I saw was too horrible for words; it looked like the cut end of an amputated human arm, all bloody and awful. I must have passed out then, and when I regained my senses my only thought was to get out of that house as fast as possible. I don’t even know what roads I took, but somehow I got back to my house in Omon around three A.M., after walking all the way. Even after I got home my head was in a muddle, and I didn’t know which way was up. Every waking minute, the vision of that bloody, gleaming arm kept dancing in front of my eyes.
“I lay awake till dawn, and then I realized something truly alarming. The previous day I had bought a handbag in Shibuya as a present for Kinue, and it was wrapped in a furoshiki cloth. In my haste and confusion, I had left it behind when I fled. And to make matters worse, my name was printed on the furoshiki!”
Inazawa took out a white handkerchief and wiped the oily sweat from his brow. “I had no idea what I ought to do, but I realized that I had left something at the scene that might be misinterpreted as evidence of my involvement in the crime. I racked my brains for another solution, and finally decided that the only thing to do was retrieve the bundle. So without even eating breakfast, I rushed out and came back to this house. It was already after eight o’clock, but fortunately there wasn’t anyone on the streets. Thinking that things were going my way so far, I went in the house. The night before everything had been in order, aside from the blood, but now it looked as if the place had been ransacked. The furoshiki bundle was still in front of the bathroom door at the end of the hall, where I had dropped it. Thanking my lucky stars, I grabbed the bundle and hightailed it out of there, through the garden. When I peeked through the gate, there still wasn’t anyone on the street, so I headed for the train station with a great feeling of relief. I went to Nakano by way of Shinjuku, and I’ve been at the office until now.” Inazawa took a deep breath, signaling that his lengthy confession had finally come to an end.
Daiyu Matsushita had been listening quietly, but now he asked a question. “So the light in the bathroom was on when you discovered the body?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you remember turning it off?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Kenzo, come here a minute.” The chief inspector stood up and called Kenzo out into the hall. “Listen,” Daiyu said in a solemn tone, “when you and the professor first discovered the body, was the light in the bathroom on or off?”
“I didn’t notice.”
“But you didn’t switch it on?”
“I didn’t touch the switch at all.”
“What about the professor?”
“I don’t know.”
“When you went off to call the police, where was the professor?’
“Standing in front of the bathroom door.”
“You can’t see the bathroom from the place where the phone is, can you?”
“No, you can’t.”
“In that case, you really have no way of knowing what the professor might have been doing while you were off making that call.”
“That’s true.”
“But when we came in, the light switch for the bathroom had been turned off from the outside,” Daiyu Matsushita muttered, looking meaningfully at his younger brother.
“Does that have some significance’” Kenzo asked.
“Yes, it really bothers me. How shall I say this? I’ve spent so many years learning to do this job that I’ve developed a sort of sixth sense. Okay, we know that the criminal somehow managed to hide the remains in the locked room. Of course those remains are evidence of the crime, so the later they were discovered the better it would be for him, in terms of making a getaway. So naturally, he would have turned off the water and the lights. Yet they were left on. Is Inazawa telling the truth, and did the professor purposely switch the light off? These are the points we need to get straightened out.”
After returning to the impromptu interrogation room, Daiyu shifted the focus of his questions to the relationship between Kinue and her wealthy patron.
“So what’s the story on your boss, Mr. Mogami?”
“He was supposed to be leaving last night for a business trip to Shizuoka. Yesterday, around two P.M., I heard him get a phone call from someone. After he hung up, he came into my office and said, rather grimly I thought, ‘I have to stop somewhere before I leave on my trip. I may end up taking a later train, so there’s no need to come and see me off at the station.’ He left the office, alone, and that’s the last I saw of him. Around five o’clock, I called his house, but they said he hadn’t been there at all. I thought he might have gone straight to the station, but the person who was on duty at the office last night had some business with the boss, and when he called the inn in Shizuoka, where he was supposed to be staying, they said he hadn’t arrived yet.”
“And he hasn’t been back to his house this morning?”
“Yes, we know that for sure.” Inazawa’s voice was trembling.
“How large is Mr. Mogami’s fortune?”
“Somewhere around seven or eight million yen, at current prices. And then there’s all his hidden wealth. I couldn’t begin to guess at that.”
“What about his family?”
“The boss has kind of a strange philosophy about that sort of thing. He often says jokingly that he doesn’t exactly dislike women, and I myself have been involved in financial negotiations with a number of his mistresses. But he has never gotten married, or entered any woman’s name in his family register. ‘I’m inclined to get bored with women after a while,’ he always used to say. ‘And once you make someone your legal wife, you can’t throw her out when she ceases to interest you.’”
“Would we be correct in assuming that Kinue Nomura was just another of those temporary distractions?”
“No, I think she was different.”
“In what way?”
“Well, we call our boss Mr. Broom behind his back, because of his behavior toward women. You know, sweep them off their feet, then sweep them into the gutter? But Miss Nomura was something special. I mean there simply ar
en’t that many beautiful, charming young women with magnificent tattoos all over their bodies. At the beginning, I think he was drawn to her just out of curiosity, but soon he was totally smitten. He used to tell me sometimes in a happy voice, as if he wasn’t really complaining, ‘It’s that snake tattoo, you know. I feel as if I’m bound up in the coils of that giant snake, and I can’t escape.’”
“I see. Can a tattoo really cast such a spell? I just find them grotesque,” the chief inspector whispered, as if to himself, but Kenzo felt his own cheeks grow red with embarrassment.
“What about Mogami’s family?” Daiyu Matsushita resumed the questioning.
“There’s a younger brother, Hisashi. They’re related by blood.”
“And what is Mogami’s relationship with Professor Hayakawa?”
“The professor is the younger brother of the boss’s mother.”
“So they’re nephew and uncle, eh. And if something unfortunate were to happen to Mogami, who would inherit his fortune?”
“His younger brother, I assume. I really don’t know the details. Mr. Sayama is the company’s legal adviser, and he counseled the boss about his personal and financial affairs. You should probably ask him.”
“What sort of man is Mogami?”
“It’s difficult to answer that. He’s a very good and generous person, very kind to his subordinates. But if you ever betray his trust, you’ll be in really major trouble. I mean, when he gets finished with you, you won’t even be able to blow your nose.”
“If that’s true, then you were putting yourself in serious jeopardy just to seduce a woman.”
“Yeah, I guess I was.…”
A completed expression flitted across Daiyu Matsushita’s face, a curious blend of pity, bewilderment, and sympathy. As far as Inazawa’s statement went, it was too early to tell whether it was genuine or not, or to reach any conclusions about his guilt or innocence. But this fortyish man’s tale of disappointed love had touched Daiyu’s tough policeman’s heart.
“And what about this woman Kinue, did she have other men?”
“As far as I know, she hasn’t been seeing anyone else since she became involved with the boss. She once said to me, ‘A tattoo is like an animal’s warning colors, it tends to scare men off. They assume that I’m not an ordinary woman, or even that I’m some sort of female outlaw, and they don’t want to get involved with me. The sort of men who are attracted to me usually have only one thing on their minds. That’s why a tattooed woman can never lead a truly normal life.’ Aside from that, she was also well aware of the boss’s jealous nature.”
“Do you know anything about her former lovers?”
“I don’t know the whole story by any means, but I gather that she got tattooed to please a man. In the beginning, when I first learned that she was tattooed, I was shocked. I mean, the majority of men can’t endure the tattooing process, so I was doubly impressed that a woman would be able to stand so much pain. When I said that to Miss Nomura, she laughed out loud and said, ‘In Osaka slang, a tattoo is called gaman— you know, “patience” or “perseverance.” There are two things about getting tattooed that seem to impress people, the money it costs, and the pain it causes. In my case, I didn’t have to spend a fortune to get tattooed; my father was a tattoo artist, so it didn’t cost me a cent. Once the process was begun, short of running away from home, there would have been no way to avoid seeing it through.’ That’s what Miss Nomura told me, and then she laughed again, throwing her head back the way she does.… I mean, the way she used to do.” Gifu Inazawa’s narrow face suddenly contorted into a mask of grief, and his small eyes brimmed with tears.
“Hmm.” Chief Matsushita nodded.
“Did you find the photographs?” Inazawa asked, recovering his composure. “There was a picture of Miss Nomura with no clothes on, standing next to a naked man.”
“I haven’t seen it.”
“The man had a tattoo of Kintaro holding a carp, or something like that. He was Miss Nomura’s first love. I heard that he was a photographer turned yakuza. Apparently she met him while he was passing through Horiyasu’s house—that was where he got his tattoo—and for some reason they hit it off. He gave her such a hard time about not having a tattoo that she finally got one.”
“What was this guy’s name?”
“I don’t know. I also heard that during her time in Yokohama—what she used to call her ‘gambling-geisha days’—she was involved with some other yakuza. Whoever it was, I imagine he’s probably in jail by now.”
“Any other men in her life?”
“I heard that she was pretty wild when she first left home, but, no, I don’t know of anyone else since the war ended.”
“I see. So recently there was Professor Hayakawa, and Takezo Mogami, and that photographer, and the possible yakuza paramour, and you? Five men who were all infatuated with the same tattoo, you might say.”
Kenzo realized that his own name wasn’t going to be added to that list, and he heaved a huge sigh of relief. He also noticed that when his brother reeled off the names of the men who were infatuated with Kinue, he placed special emphasis on the name of Professor Hayakawa.
23
That bastard, where the hell is he going, and why? Officer Ishikawa had been assigned to follow Professor Hayakawa, and he was trudging along under the blazing summer sun in (quite literally) hot pursuit, swiping at his brow and muttering to himself.
There were two train stations near the crime scene, but the professor did not go to either of them. Instead, he crossed the Odakyu Line tracks, turned near some Quonset huts belonging to the Army of Occupation, climbed a narrow hill through a neighborhood of walled estates, and emerged into a deserted shopping area. He walked straight through Ikino-Ue Station without boarding a train. Then he wound around and around on narrow streets. He passed through the basin between the former Aviation Research Institute and the train tracks, emerging next to the Japanese Folk Art Museum. Finally, at Komaba Station, he got onto a train for Shibuya.
That bastard! He’s known all along that I’ve been following him! Officer Ishikawa thought unhappily. He scrambled onto the train as the doors whooshed closed.
Professoi Hayakawa got off the train at the next-to-last stop, Shinsen Station. The neighborhood had once been a red-light district filled with attractive geisha houses, but it had been reduced to rubble by the Bombing. Threading his way among the ruins, the professor finally stopped in a partially rebuilt shopping district halfway to Dogenzaka. After scrutinizing the plastic-food displays in the windows of a couple of shabby-looking noodle shops, he went into a Chinese restaurant called the Golden Duck.
Hey, I’ll bet he’s going to go out the back way, and then I’ll have him cornered. Officer Ishikawa approached the building. Professor Hayakawa was sitting at a window table on the second floor, staring down at him. The policeman turned around and went into a shop at the end of the street, borrowed the telephone, and called Detective Chief Inspector Matsushita at the crime scene. Panting slightly from his long hike, Ishikawa reported the situation.
“Since we left you the blasted professor has led me on a merry chase, all over Tokyo. I’m totally drenched with sweat. At the moment we’re in the Shibuya area, and the professor is in a Chinese restaurant called the Golden Duck having a leisurely lunch, cool as you please.”
“Chinese food, eh? I wouldn’t mind some dim sum, myself. Seriously, thanks for all your hard work, Ishikawa. And don’t worry, your efforts won’t be wasted. It turns out that the professor took what may be an important piece of evidence from the crime scene here. It’s several fragments of a photographic plate. Do you think he might have disposed of it along the way?”
“No, he wouldn’t dare try any funny business like that while I’m following him.” Officer Ishikawa sounded a bit huffy.
“Take the professor to the nearest police station. See whether he has the plate fragments in his possession. I’ll get your report later on.”
Officer Is
hikawa sprinted across the street, burst into the Chinese restaurant, climbed up the stairs to the second floor, and approached the window table The professor was eating cold wheat noodles garnished with a colorful array of vegetables and bits of red-tinged char siu pork.
“Ah, it’s you,” he said in a friendly way. “It gets hot when you’re walking, doesn’t it? How about joining me for a bowl of noodles or something?”
Qfficer Ishikawa flinched as if someone had just blown poisonous gas in his face. “Professor,” he said sternly, “why did you come all this way.…”
“I felt like taking a walk.”
“More like a hike. I’m amazed you can eat after witnessing such a terrible murder scene.”
“It’s because of the line of work I’m in. If I lost my appetite every time I saw a dead body, I’d soon die of starvation. Let’s face it, tragedy and gore are an unavoidable part of both our jobs.” Professor Hayakawa spoke quietly.
Officer Ishikawa threw his massive shoulders back and said in his most officious voice, “Professor, please accompany me to a nearby police station.”
“Police station? Whatever for?” The professor paused, chopsticks in midair.
“You’re under suspicion of having removed several potentially important pieces of evidence from the scene of a murder. My orders are to search you until those items are found. This is rather a public place. Being frisked here might be embarrassing for you.”
“Fine, let’s go.” Professor Hayakawa threw his chopsticks down on top of his half-eaten meal and stood up.
***
When they entered the nearby police box, the professor immediately took off his white linen jacket. “Go ahead,” he said. “Search me all you like.”
Tattoo Murder Case Page 11