There wasn’t a single painting on the walls, as might have been expected in a Western-style house. Every inch of wall space was covered with framed human skins patterned with complex, brilliantly-colored tattoos. In the corners of the room, instead of marble statues, were tattooed torso-skins draped over wooden armatures. As Kenzo stared at this strange collection, which was every bit as impressive as the renowned display at Tokyo University, a vision of Kinue’s decorated body flashed before his eyes.
“Kyosuke,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual, “what do you suppose has become of the Orochimaru tattoo? Assuming the murderer cut off the trunk and took it with him, if the skin wasn’t removed and treated right away it would soon go bad. For all we know that magnificent tattoo is already ruined.”
Kyosuke shook his head. “Personally, I don’t think that’s the case,” he said.
Just then a door opened and Professor Hayakawa appeared. He was dressed in an expensive brown wool kimono, and when he saw his visitors his face broke into a welcoming smile. “Why, if it isn’t Kyosuke Kamizu, back from the dead!”
“Sensei, please forgive me for not staying in touch during the war. Now that I’ve finally made it home in one piece, I just wanted to stop by and say hello.”
“I’m delighted to see that you managed to keep yourself alive. If that stupid war had killed a promising young man like you, it would have been a great loss for the entire country.” Professor Hayakawa glanced in Kenzo’s direction and his tone and demeanor changed radically. “Ah, Matsushita, how very lovely to see you again,” he said, his voice dripping with insincerity. “Your brother really gave me a hard time the other day, you know, just because you happened to remember something that was none of your business in the first place.”
Kenzo knew right away that the professor was talking about the photographic plate. “I’m really sorry about that,” he said. “It’s just that everyone was so excited that day, and I was about half in shock myself, and I thought it might be important evidence. I didn’t realize you had walked off with it.”
“Well, don’t worry about it. I made a fairly big gaffe myself, taking the plate in the first place. Please, please, have a seat.” The room was furnished entirely in rather stiff Western style, and the three men sat down on large wing-backed chairs upholstered in green and gold tapestry in a fleur-de-lis pattern.
“Sensei,” Kyosuke said, looking around, “this is the second time I’ve been in this room, but I’m struck anew by what a superb collection you’ve assembled. It’s amazing that all these skins survived the war intact. You must have suffered a great deal, worrying about them while you were away.”
“I certainly did I figured it couldn’t be helped if the house got hit by a firebomb, but I was so worried about my collection, I could hardly bear it. When we were evacuated from this house, my skins were scattered all over the country for safekeeping. I had the devil’s own time putting the collection back together. It was a complete nightmare.”
“It sounds dreadful,” said Kyosuke sympathetically. “Even with my untutored eye I can see that these specimens should be designated as national treasures. I’m sure that future generations will be grateful to you for going to so much trouble to preserve this unique art form.”
The professor nodded. “I’d be happy if everyone understood as well as you do,” he said, “but unfortunately society chooses to label me ‘eccentric’ and treat me like some sort of pervert.”
“That can’t be helped, I suppose. Maybe they’ll come to appreciate you in a hundred years or so. That seems to be the way these things work, historically.”
Professor Hayakawa laughed appreciatively. Just then the maid brought in three cups of fragrant Earl Grey tea on a silver tray, and Kyosuke took advantage of this interruption to change the subject. “Sensei,” he said casually, “I couldn’t help noticing that you don’t seem to have any examples of Horiyasu’s work here.” As if to defuse the somewhat personal question, he picked up his flowered porcelain teacup and took a deep breath of bergamot-scented steam.
“Yes, alas.…” Professor Hayakawa’s face stiffened, as if the question had caught him off guard. “I regret that I’ve never been able to add a Horiyasu to my collection. Horiuno, Honkane, Horikin, Horigoro, I’ve managed to obtain a sample of the work of all the famous tattoo artists. Only Horiyasu has eluded me. To tell you the truth, I wanted that tattoo of Kinue’s badly, but that murdering bastard beat me to it. Whoever he is, he must really have a fearsome obsession with tattoos. I mean, I know I’m extreme. Yet, no matter how much I wanted a particular tattoo, I would never have the courage to kill someone and steal the skin.”
“He really is a scary killer, isn’t he?” Kyosuke said mildly. “But then there’s the matter of your refusal to give an alibi for the night of the murder, Sensei. I probably shouldn’t say this in front of Kenzo, but the thing I’ve noticed about policemen in general is that once they decide you’re a prime suspect, they’ll harass you mercilessly. You took a big risk by refusing to divulge your whereabouts.”
“That’s all very well for you to say, Kamizu, but there’s a point after which it becomes ridiculous. I mean, what evidence is there to tie me to that crime? All right, so I was the one who found the body. Matsushita, here, was with me the entire time. And what possible motive would I have had for doing such a dreadful thing to poor Kinue, whom I had known since she was a child? Admittedly, when Takezo died I did come into some money, close to a million yen to be exact. It can’t be said that I would have had absolutely no motive for killing Takezo, but killing Kinue wouldn’t have increased my inheritance from Takezo by a single yen. The money that would have gone to Kinue, had she survived Takezo, went directly to Hisashi. I had no vested interests of any sort in Kinue’s death. Would I kill her just to get my hands on her tattoo? I’m simply not that stupid.”
“I don’t know, Sensei,” Kyosuke said boldly. “I get the feeling that’s an evasive answer.”
Professor Hayakawa replied in a calm, dignified tone. “If my activities on that night had no connection whatsoever with the murder, then those activities should be my business and no one else’s. Look, it’s very rare for an ordinary person, however innocent, to be able to produce a flawless alibi for every waking moment of his life.”
“Yes, you’re absolutely right. A criminal who allowed himself to be captured just because his alibi didn’t check out wouldn’t be much of a crook, would he?”
“Precisely. That’s the problem with the Japanese police force; they need to take a slightly more scientific approach. Their methods are downright barbaric. From what I’ve heard, if the police get it into their heads that you are guilty of some crime, they toss you into a squalid cell for two or three months. Every day they subject you to hours of grilling, liberally seasoned with kicks and punches, until you finally end up confessing just to make them stop. I mean, after several months of solitary confinement and brutal torture, they could probably get you to confess to murder.”
“I don’t doubt that at all,” Kyosuke said. He lifted his teacup and held it in midair for a few moments, evidently lost in thought. “Still, Sensei, you have to admit that there was something a bit unsavory about the way you made off with those photographic-plate fragments, when they were so obviously evidence from a crime scene.”
“Ah, yes. Well, that simply couldn’t be helped. I mean, when I saw what was on the slide, my old collector’s mania came to the fore. Before I knew it, I had slipped the fragments into my pocket. But if I really were the murderer, once I had drawn attention to the fragments, I would hardly have been so foolish as to make off with them, now would I?”
“No, I don’t suppose you would.” Kyosuke took a sip of his tea and flashed Kenzo a significant glance.
Deftly, Professor Hayakawa steered the topic of conversation away from the murder case. “The world really does seem to have gone mad. Tell me, Kamizu, what do you make of the state of things today?”
“I’ve only just
returned home, so.…”
The professor’s voice rose with emotion. “I’ve been back from the war for quite a while now. This country’s in the grips of total pandemonium. All over Japan, it’s as if eighty million people had simultaneously gone out of their minds. Staple foods are either rationed or else completely unavailable, and the distribution always seems to be running behind schedule. On top of that, the authorities have cracked down on hoarding, and anyone caught laying in supplies is ruthlessly punished. They ignore the theoretical policy of low prices, while indiscriminately raising the prices of cigarettes and railway tickets. In these crazy times stones float and leaves sink, and the larger the fish is, the more easily it slips through the net. I swear, the government today is beyond the powers of comprehension of an honest person like me. If I were a bit younger, I’d be sorely tempted to turn to swindling, or robbery.”
Kyosuke smiled. “I remember before the war you were very cynical about the military authorities, and you haven’t changed a bit.”
“Oh, come on, Kamizu, it’s not just me. Anyone who would buy into that load of moronic propaganda they call the Pronouncement from Imperial Headquarters would have to be soft in the head, don’t you think? Let’s just say that participating in the war wasn’t exactly my idea of a delightful experience. Day after day we would sink innumerable enemy aircraft earners and battleships. I remember counting sixty ships destroyed, each one full of men who probably didn’t want to be fighting any more than we did. We didn’t have nearly as much success in downing the crucial B-29s, though. Next time we go to war, we should practice with the catapult and the crossbow. Then we might have a better chance of bringing down a few B-29s.” Professor Hayakawa paused to take a sip of tea.
Before the professor could launch into another polemic, Kyosuke seized the opening. “Oh, by the way, are you still playing go? Just before I left for the front you gave me a couple of lessons, and I remember that you were an awesome opponent.”
“Checkers, eh? Yes, that’s still one of my passions. But since you’re young, you must have improved by leaps and bounds since we last played.”
“No, unfortunately I haven’t had a chance to sit down and play a relaxed game of Japanese checkers since I put on my soldier’s uniform.”
“In that case, what do you say to a quick game? You don’t mind, do you, Kenzo?”
“Please, please, go ahead,” Kenzo said. “Chess is my game, so I’ve always been more of an interested onlooker when it comes to go.”
Professor Hayakawa rang the brass bell on a sideboard behind his chair. When the maid appeared, he asked her to bring the checkerboard and the black and white stones for playing go. Kyosuke chose the black stones, and made a courtly little bow to his opponent. Kenzo, meanwhile, was trying to figure out why on earth Kyosuke would suggest playing checkers. The idea of wasting precious investigative time on something so frivolous made Kenzo’s stomach churn.
50
After an hour of spirited play, the professor threw in his chips with the score at two games to one. “Kamizu, you win again,” he said. “You’ve turned into quite a player.”
Kyosuke bowed his head deferentially. “I had a good teacher.”
Professor Hayakawa paused and lit a cigarette, and Kyosuke casually asked, “Sensei, would you like to see something interesting?” He reached into his briefcase, took out the envelope containing the photographs Kenzo had lent him, and passed it across the table to Professor Hayakawa. The professor looked at the photographs, and a strange expression flickered across his face.
“I see,” he murmured, as if to himself. “This is Jiraiya, and this is Kinue’s Orochimaru, and this is the Tsunedahime that I picked up in the garden.” He stared for a long time at the photograph of the Tsunedahime tattoo, and Kenzo noticed that the hand that held the photo was trembling slightly.
“How on earth did you get your hands on these photographs, Kamizu?” the professor demanded. “Do you know who took them, and when?”
“Actually, Kinue Nomura gave these photographs to Kenzo at the meeting of the Tattoo Society in August. She told him there was some secret behind the three tattoos, hers and her brother’s and sister’s, and she said she was afraid that she was going to be killed and have her skin stripped off. She didn’t think there was any way for her to escape this horrible death. She promised to explain in detail the following morning, and she said she also wanted to ask for Kenzo’s advice. He was on his way to keep that appointment when he ran into you at the front entrance of Kinue’s house. I don’t have to tell you what happened next.”
Kenzo’s face flushed with guilt at hearing the lies he had told to Kyosuke repeated out loud. His story really did sound rather unlikely, but the truth was even stranger, and much less socially acceptable.
Kyosuke went on. “The secret, whatever it was, ended up being buried in obscurity. According to Hisashi Mogami, these photos were originally pasted onto the first page of Kinue’s album. That page has been ripped out. There’s no way of knowing whether there was some explanation on the back. However, the intriguing thing is that Kinue’s brother, Tsunetaro, was apparently able to see through the secrets of this baffling case after one glance at these photographs. After that, he telephoned Kenzo and said he would explain all the mysteries in three days’ time. Before he could do so, he ended up being murdered himself.” Kyosuke took a deep breath.
“I see,” said the professor slowly. He fell into a sullen silence.
Kyosuke had played his last trump card but continued to badger Professor Hayakawa with a tenacity that bordered on impertinence. “Sensei,” he asked, “why did you say that this case had something to do with the non-Euclidean theory of geometry?”
“Don’t you see?” the professor said in an annoyed tone. “The locked room was too perfectly constructed. It would have taken a first-rate genius to have planned and executed such a complex crime so quickly and with such consummate skill. And the thing about crimes committed by geniuses is that ordinary people often find them impossible to solve. Your specialty is mathematics. You should understand. It’s sometimes more difficult to solve a particular problem than to create it in the first place.”
“I hate to say this, Sensei, but that’s a lie. The real reason this case reminded you of the theory of non-Euclidean geometry is something entirely different.”
“Why, you cheeky little. . . !” Professor Hayakawa was seething with rage. The room was suddenly filled with hostility.
“Sensei, let’s stop playing games. Why did you pick up that photographic plate?”
Professor Hayakawa had calmed down a bit and seemed to be enjoying matching wits with Kyosuke. “No matter how I explain about my mania, my obsession with tattoos, an ordinary person simply isn’t capable of understanding how I feel,” he said. “Right now there’s one person inhabiting my mind and body: that is, me. But there’s another person—another me, so to speak—who sometimes takes over and does unexpected things, and I have absolutely no control over the behavior of that other me.”
“Ah,” said Kyosuke. “In that case, let’s say that the ‘other you’ is in love with another woman, a woman who isn’t your wife. And while you hate and despise that other woman, you still can’t forget her no matter how hard you try. Would that be a reasonable explanation for your behavior?”
“That’s ridiculous. That’s totally absurd!” the professor sputtered angrily.
“I’m certain that you know the secret behind this case. There’s a woman lurking in the shadows behind the murderer, and I think you know exactly who she is.”
Professor Hayakawa made no reply. A deathly silence descended upon the room, and after a while Kyosuke stood up and murmured some conventional phrases about the lateness of the hour. The professor saw the two men off in the entryway. As they were slipping into their shoes, Kyosuke fired one last volley. “Sensei,” he said, “I think I understand why you didn’t offer any substantiation for your alibi for the night of Kinue’s murder. If I had a littl
e time, I don’t think it would be too hard to find out where you were. What I do know, at least, is that you were somewhere that you didn’t want the police to know about. That’s why you were willing to take any risk to cover up that fact. Am I right, Sensei?”
All color drained from the professor’s face. He leaned against the wall and whispered in a voice that was almost a moan, “Kyosuke Kamizu, you’re a very frightening person.”
After the two men left, Kyosuke lapsed into small talk about the starry sky and the invigorating chill in the air, paying no attention to Kenzo’s repeated attempts to discuss what had just transpired. Finally, as they were preparing to go their separate ways at the train station, Kyosuke said nonchalantly, “Please tell your brother not to worry. I’ll solve this case for him within the next three days,” He vanished through the brass wicket and ran down the stairs to the platform.
***
When Kenzo got home, he poked his head into his brother’s study and found him reading the funny papers, a half-full bottle of beer at his elbow. From the other side of the house came the sound of Mariko playing Für Elise, practicing for her next recital.
Daiyu greeted his younger brother with an air of urgent anticipation. “Quick, tell me! How did the battle go tonight?”
“According to the official report, one enemy aircraft was shot down in the vicinity of Yotsuya and was last seen plunging to earth in a mass of flames. Our air force is in hot pursuit of the vanquished enemy and a daring showdown is in the works, but you’ll have to wait two or three days for the results of the sea battle.”
“Shall we call the big sea battle Operation Kamizu?” Daiyu joked, and he and Kenzo burst out laughing. Kenzo noted as he looked at his brother’s happy face and sparkling eyes that this was the first time he had seen him so relaxed since the beginning of the case.
“What about the professor?” Daiyu said. “Is he black or white? Guilty or innocent?”
Tattoo Murder Case Page 25