“Don’t talk like that, darling. Pull yourself together! Maybe they’ve broken your alibi. That doesn’t prove anything by itself. If you just insist that you were off somewhere gambling, it should be all right. As long as your alibi from nine o’clock on holds up, there should be no problem. I mean, I don’t think there’s any way the police could have figured out about the car, do you? It isn’t registered in your name or anything. As long as they don’t arrest me, I think you’ll be fine.” The woman’s tone was brave and resolute, and she spoke with absolute confidence.
“You have such a strong spirit, same as always.” Hisashi sounded envious.
“Of course I do,” the woman said. “I’m really surprised at you, though, falling apart like this. You’re supposed to be a man, but you’re sniveling like some spineless little coward. You’re really useless at a time like this, you know.” The words were harsh, but the tone was not devoid of affection.
Hisashi Mogami didn’t attempt to defend himself; he just stood in silence. After a moment he tottered over to the sideboard on rubbery legs, and took out a square bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He filled the glasses with the dark amber liquid, then stumbled over to the woman and handed her one glass. Closing his eyes, he downed the contents of his own glass in one desperate gulp.
“Won’t you have a drink with me?” he said softly, but the woman just sat staring into the depths of her untouched glass, her back to the eavesdroppers.
“Don’t tell me you put poison in it,” she said slowly.
“Don’t be ridiculous! Didn’t I just taste it for poison, right before your eyes?”
The woman raised the glass to her lips as if to drink, then lowered it again. She held it out to Hisashi. “I don’t want this,” she said. “You drink it. Go ahead, show me it isn’t poisoned.”
In one quick move, Hisashi brushed the woman’s hand away. The glass went flying out of her hand and skidded across the table, breaking several chemical beakers that lay in its path. The whiskey glass finally landed on the floor, where it shattered into a hundred sparkling pieces.
“What do you think you’re doing!” the woman shouted, jumping up from her chair. “I knew you were going to try to poison me tonight.”
Hisashi Mogami made no reply. His eyes looked as if they were about to burst out of his head, and he was shaking from head to foot like someone in the advanced stages of malaria. All his cockiness had been replaced by fear and despair.
“Two can play at that game, you know,” the woman said in an angry voice. “I’m still the only one who knows all the secrets. If I died now you probably think your evil deeds would be forever hidden in darkness, which I’m sure would suit you just fine. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Criminal Mastermind, but you’re not getting rid of me that easily. I’m not some gullible little conquest that you can slip a mickey when she ceases to be usefuli Don’t you forget that for a minute! I’m just as tough as you are; maybe more so, judging by the pathetic way you’ve been behaving tonight.” The woman stopped and took a deep, racking breath, then continued her tirade.
“Do you really think I could have been your partner in crime, and crossed all these dangerous bridges with you, if I didn’t have a very realistic idea of what kind of person you are? I may love you, but I don’t trust you as far as the door. That’s why I’ve taken some precautions. If you kill me, a letter that I left with someone—never mind who—will be on its way to the police within a day or two. Along with the photographs, that should be enough to convince them of all your wicked deeds. The truth is, I’d be happy if you’d kill me right now, knowing that before long you’d be swinging by the neck from a high place and following me into the next world. We’ve often talked about committing suicide together if worst came to worst, so let’s do it right now. I think it would be incredibly romantic to make love one last time and then have you kill me and dissolve my body in sulfuric acid. Come on, if you’re going to murder me, do it now!”
It was an astonishing speech, and the men lurking in the shadows were shocked.
“Aaah,” Hisashi said in a tone of anguish. “Why did you have to fall in love with a rotten scoundrel like me?”
The woman stood up and ran her long fingers through Hisashi’s already tousled hair. Gently, she began to shower him with kisses as soft as rain. She kissed his hands, his forehead, his cheeks, and finally his lips.
“Shh,” she whispered. “Don’t waste time worrying about futile things like that. As long as we have money, life is a party. Don’t you remember the vow we made to each other to live fast, die young, and go to hell together?”
“Yeah, well, the time for our honeymoon in hell is fast approaching.”
“Don’t be silly, darling,” the woman said, laying her head on Hisashi’s shoulder. “If the police don’t arrest me, you’ll be fine. I’m sure the police will give up before long, when they see there’s no way out of the labyrinth of this case. And when that happens, we’ll be home free. So stop worrying, and start living. We’re in love, remember?” She put one hand inside his shirt and began to trace circles on his chest.
“You’re right,” Hisashi said. “Everything may work out for us, after all.”
“That’s the spirit,” the woman said. She wrapped her arms around Hisashi’s waist and slipped her hands into his back pockets, while he buried his face in her hair. “Everything will turn out fine, if you just stop fretting so much. There might be a spot of trouble with the police. So what. Nothing you can’t handle, but for the time being I think I’d better stay away. If you need to see me, just give me a call and we can arrange to meet somewhere.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Hisashi’s assent was muffled by the woman’s hair.
“More importantly, darling, I need some money,” she said.
Hisashi disentangled himself and moved away. “I just gave you a wad of cash the other day!” he said in an annoyed tone. “Please try to be more careful about how you spend it. I’m going to have a lot of additional expenses. Besides, you know I can’t go throwing money around now. That would draw suspicion.”
“Oh come on, don’t be such a tightwad. You know you’re rolling in dough. And remember, I’m the one who helped you kill three people. I mean, for your sake I even killed my own flesh and blood. It’s really unbearable not to have enough money to go out drinking or shopping once in a while. Besides, half of all your money belongs to me. That was the agreement.”
Hisashi’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “If you want money, it’s in the main house, in the usual place,” he said numbly.
“Well, I’ll be running along then. Come on, lover, cheer up!” The woman planted a light, playful kiss on Hisashi’s lips, and he pulled her closer, into a passionate embrace. As the lovers grew more demonstrative and began to shed their clothes in the dim lab, the watchers turned away in embarrassment.
“Let them have their moment,” Chief Matsushita muttered under his breath. “A last taste of pleasure before the roof falls in.”
A short while later, Hisashi got up from the couch where the woman still lay like a naked courtesan. As he was putting his clothes back on, the laboratory door burst open. Daiyu Matsushita stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the darkness with his pistol drawn.
“Hisashi Mogami, you’re under arrest for murder!” he thundered. “If you’re smart, you’ll surrender quietly.”
Hisashi froze for a split second and then dashed away, dressed only in white boxer shorts. Bullets flew from Daiyu Matsushita’s gun, shattering the chemical beakers on the laboratory table and sending sprays of rose-colored liquid in all directions. From behind the giant pressure-cooking vat, Hisashi Mogami returned fire.
“Darling!” Wrapped in her long cloak, the woman went running toward her lover. Halfway across the room she gave a little scream and collapsed face-down on the floor clutching her breast, the black cloak billowing around her.
Daiyu Matsushita took careful aim and fired. Hisashi Mogami shrieked in pain and fell to the
floor, a bullet through the back of his right hand. No sooner had the suspect dropped his gun than Officer Ishikawa pounced on him and put him in handcuffs.
Hearing the gunfire, hordes of police officers came rushing in. “Chief, are you all right?” they asked as they crowded anxiously around their leader.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” said Daiyu gruffly. He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked down at Hisashi, who was lying on the floor, groaning. “See to this man’s wounds, then take him down to headquarters and charge him. What about the woman, is she all right?”
“She was shot right through the heart.” Officer Ishikawa was crouched beside the body, trying to find a pulse. “One of Mogami’s bullets went astray, and she died instantly. I don’t see an exit wound. There’s nothing we can do for her.” Ishikawa stared vacantly at his hands, which were dripping with the woman’s bright red blood.
“I see,” said the chief. He looked around the topsy-turvy room and his eyes lit on Kyosuke Kamizu, who was standing off to one side. Politely, Daiyu Matsushita bowed his head. “Mr. Kamizu—Kyosuke,” he said, “I’m so very grateful for your help. Thanks to you, the case is solved, and I didn’t have to disembowel myself in public. I guess the mystery woman was Tamae Nomura, the woman seen in Yurakucho, the prostitute who went by the name Sumiyo Hayashi. Right?”
Kenzo, who was standing nearby, nodded eager assent. “I told you!” he said.
Kyosuke shook his head. “You people still don’t get it, do you?” he said wonderingly. “She isn’t Tamae Nomura.” Every eye was on Kyosuke’s impassive face as he repeated, “Don’t you see? This isn’t Tamae at all. It’s her sister, the person you thought was the victim of the first murder. This is Kinue Nomura.” As he spoke, he bent down and lifted the cloak that covered the naked corpse.
Everyone in that crowded room gave a collective gasp. The sisters may have had similar features, but the sight of Horiyasu’s spectacular masterpiece left no doubt that they were looking at Kinue Nomura. Like a rainbow fading from the sky, the gorgeous Orochimaru tattoo was growing less vivid by the minute as the blood drained out of the body. They stood staring at that fascinating work of art. Something uncanny was happening. Though the body of Kinue Nomura lay still and dead, the great sorcerer’s snake on her back still seemed to be wriggling and writhing in agony, as if it were struggling to hold on to its own colorful, one-dimensional life.
59
“Good news,” Detective Chief Inspector Daiyu Matsushita said to his brother Kenzo as they sat in Daiyu’s office at police headquarters on the following afternoon, waiting for Kyosuke to arrive. “We won’t have to listen to your genius-friend’s monologue on an empty stomach this time! Some of our detectives recently caught the gang who burglarized a nearby sushi restaurant, and we managed to recover all the valuable lacquerware and ceramics, so the chef decided to show his gratitude by sending over a feast for the entire station this afternoon. Ah, here comes the man of the moment.”
Kyosuke was right on time, as usual. He was dressed in winter-white flannel trousers, a black turtleneck sweater, and a gray-and-black herringbone tweed jacket. An oyster-colored silk scarf was slung carelessly around his neck. Kenzo, who had thrown on some wrinkled khaki slacks and an old tan sweater, stared admiringly at his friend’s dashing getup.
After greetings and congratulations had been exchanged, Daiyu led the way to a conference room with bare walls of cracked plaster painted institutional green. The three men sat down on threadbare gray zabuton cushions around a low table of cheap varnished wood. “Excuse the prison-camp decor,” said the chief, pulling a gargoyle face, “but at least we can offer you something to eat. Ah, here’s the first course now.”
A very young, shy-looking policeman entered the room carrying a tray laden with several round lacquer boxes filled with artistically arranged sushi. Along with all the familiar varieties of fish, shellfish, and vegetables, there were some expensive delicacies: the adductor muscles of the ark shell clam; jewellike fish roe; and the dark, flavorful foot of the cockle. The young officer’s large ears flushed crimson at being in the presence of both the Big Boss and the now-famous amateur detective. The rookie placed the boxes on the table along with chopsticks, individual plates, translucent pinkish-rose pickled ginger to clear the palate between tastes, soy sauce, tiny pyramids of pungent green wasabi horseradish, doll-size cups, and three small ceramic flasks of warmed saké.
Kenzo reached out eagerly to begin pouring his favorite intoxicant, but his brother barked, “This isn’t a party! We’re working here, so we need to keep our heads clear. Take away the saké and bring us some cider or something. No, on second thought, just bring some strong green tea in big mugs, like they serve at the sushi shop. Make sure it’s good and hot, too.”
The three men unwrapped their disposable chopsticks, said “Itadakimasu,” and began to transfer the pieces of sushi to their individual plates. Kyosuke took a bite of raw-tuna roll, chewed appreciatively for a moment, and then began to speak.
“Last night the final curtain fell. No one could have predicted that Kinue Nomura would end up losing her life in such a way, but perhaps that was part of the destiny of those three ill-fated siblings. Bad karma, as they say. I suppose the biggest mystery of this case are the tattoos. The brother, Tsunetaro Nomura, managed to figure out the secret after just one look at a photograph. Likewise, Professor Hayakawa caught a brief glimpse of a photographic plate, and later he was able to figure out the connection between the two. It was those photographs that led me to the solution of this case.” Kyosuke started to pick out a piece of kappamaki cucumber roll, then changed his mind and settled on an oblong of rice wrapped in seaweed and topped with luminous orange beads of salmon roe.
“It seemed strange that while there were numerous people who had seen Kinue and Tsunetaro’s tattoos, there wasn’t a single person who had ever seen Tamae’s tattoo in person. But Kinue insisted that Tamae had the Tsunedahime tattoo, and there was even photographic evidence to support that claim, so who would doubt it? It’s certainly true that once someone gets a tattoo, it will be with them until they die. If it’s just a small one, it can be partially removed by burning moxa or applying certain topical chemicals to the spot, but some traces will always remain. In the case of a full-body tattoo, those techniques simply wouldn’t work. If you think along these lines, then when you look at the photograph of the three siblings together, you can only conclude that the two women had very different tattoos. The body that was found in Kitazawa consisted only of four partial limbs and a head, and the most essential part, the torso, was missing. So who was the victim? If it had been Tamae, then judging by the extent of the tattoos in the photographs, there should have been tattooing on her forearms and lower legs. Since no such tattoos were found, then there’s no way that the victim could have been Tamae. And therefore, there was no choice but to conclude that the dismembered body belonged to Kinue Nomura. And indeed, that’s what everyone concluded.”
There was a slight clatter as the Matsushita brothers crossed chopsticks in pursuit of a particularly attractive piece of abalone sushi, but Kyosuke continued unperturbed. “It’s an impeccably logical argument, in the abstract. However, the facts as they emerged have proved that this perfectly logical conclusion was, quite simply, wrong. The problem lies in our assumption that Tamae Nomura had the Tsunedahime tattoo, an assumption that is based on the fundamental notion that a tattoo can never be erased.
“To solve this case, we need to assume that a large tattoo can, in fact, be erased. It’s difficult to make this leap of imagination, but we must force ourselves to look at a tattoo as something that is not necessarily permanent. I feel the utmost respect and admiration for the intellect and expertise of Professor Hayakawa, who was able to reach this conclusion after one glimpse at the negatives in question.
“There’s a basic reason why Professor Hayakawa realized that the photographs were not entirely genuine, that is, the pattern of the tattoos. The world of tattoos is a very sup
erstitious one, and generally speaking, it is taboo to tattoo a snake, a slug, and a frog on one person’s body. This is because of the belief that the three creatures will fight among themselves and destroy that person. There are other taboos as well. For example, tattoo artists won’t do a Kagekiyo design because it will supposedly cause the bearer to lose his eyesight. There’s no way a tattoo artist of Horiyasu’s stature wouldn’t have observed such taboos. However much he may have despised their wicked, adulterous mother, he certainly would never have put such ill-omened designs on his own children, even if the designs were divided among the three of them. It is a fact that he carved two of the three controversial designs, Orochimaru and Jiraiya, on two of his three children. Therefore, in order to keep the curse from taking effect, he would have had to put a different design—something other than Tsunedahime, which would have completed the three curses—on the third child. That is, on Tamae.
“But then we have the photographs, which plainly show Tamae with the Tsunedahime tattoo. This was one of the primary mistakes made by the police investigators: assuming that a photograph is the same as reality. Mogami suspected this would happen, and it was just another facet of his brilliantly thought-out plan. A photograph can create a powerful illusion.”
Both Matsushita brothers were hanging on Kyosuke’s every word. Daiyu—the chain-smoking Locomotive—had actually forgotten to light another cigarette, even though the one he was smoking had burned down to his fingers and gone out.
Kyosuke popped a piece of flying-fish sushi into his mouth, took a sip of tea, and continued. “I know you’ve seen actors and actresses in films and on stage who appeared to be tattooed but in actuality were not. For stage plays, a small tattoo can be drawn directly on the skin, while the actors wear patterned tights or body stockings to suggest larger-scale designs. Sometimes the smaller patterns are drawn onto thin silk which is then glued onto the skin, but that doesn’t work for a full-body tattoo. Those effects may look all right on stage, where the aim is to create a general impression, but if you photograph them you can tell immediately that the tattoos aren’t genuine. Therefore, actors in the movies can’t use patterned tights or body stockings to depict tattoos. Since the movies prize realism so highly, film actors have their fake tattoos drawn and painted directly onto their bare skin. I’ve heard that they use varnish to keep the patterns from being washed away by perspiration, but I can’t vouch for the veracity of that. At any rate, when the temporary tattoos are created by that method, they look completely genuine. If you looked at the film without preconceptions, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell the drawn-on tattoos from the real thing. For example, what do you think of this photo?”
Tattoo Murder Case Page 30