by Ben Stevens
‘My father was always so healthy, so absorbed in his work – which he truly loved – that I never even gave thought to what would happen when…’
The young man’s voice faltered, and my master nodded sympathetically.
‘Was it usual for your father to work late at night, in that small workshop of his that is behind the actual shop…?’
The young man nodded, as the elderly woman placed another cup of green tea in front of him. The magistrate, my master and me had not been offered anything to drink, I realized.
‘He slept little, and he was always so consumed in his work,’ replied the young man, dabbing at his eyes with a small handkerchief. ‘He was widely-known as being an expert craftsman, so that people sent their damaged toys – that is, their children’s damaged toys, or just those which held precious childhood memories – from some distance away, so that they might be fixed.
‘Of course, people living closer might visit the shop in person, bringing the item they wanted mending with them. It was one of my jobs to book in such repairs, if my father did not do so himself.’
‘This happened often?’
‘On an almost daily basis, so that some customers have… had… to wait several months for the repair to be made, especially if it was a difficult one, which would require a certain amount of time to do…’
‘How were the customers’ names recorded?’
‘In a book that is behind the shop counter,’ returned the son, now looking slightly perplexed at this line of questioning from my master. ‘I entered all the relevant information – the customer’s name, often an address, a description of the toy and the repair required, an estimate of the cost if possible…
‘My father was, however, I have to say a little slapdash in recording such information… Often he just scribbled the customer’s name in almost indecipherable Chinese characters… It led to minor arguments between us, on several occasions…
‘How I regret such arguments, now…’
The young man shook his head, and looked as though he might start to cry.
‘Thank you, Kotaki-san, and my condolences again on your father’s death,’ said my master. ‘I have nothing else to ask you.’
He gave the magistrate a meaningful glance, and the magistrate quickly shook his head.
‘I’ll see you out,’ said the elderly woman tartly.
3
‘Well, Ennin-sensei?’ said the magistrate, once we were outside in the street. It was an affluent neighborhood, with low bamboo fences and well-cut trees in the front gardens.
‘By which I take it you mean – Do I suspect that that young man had something to do with his father’s death?’ returned my master.
The magistrate gave a ghost of a smile.
‘Yes, that is indeed what I mean.’
‘I don’t think so, no. A not-particularly bright or ambitious young man, content to hold down rather a soft job in his father’s business… Unless there was a secret grudge, resentment or something of the sort, held against his father, then I can see no reason at all why that boy should have desired his death.
‘And you – what are your thoughts on this matter?’
The magistrate appeared a little surprised (but also somewhat gratified) to be asked for his opinion by the famous Ennin-sensei. He evidently gave the matter some thought for a few moments, before replying –
‘I also think that the young man had nothing to do with his father’s death. But, Ennin-sensei, the manner in which Kotaki-san was killed – the poisoned dart, perhaps delivered by blowpipe… What manner of assassin does this suggest to you? A ninja…?’
At this mention of Japan’s most feared and infamous killer, I felt a shudder, and for some reason suddenly visualized the staring eyes of those dolls and various other toys in the small workshop…
‘Let us return to the shop, and there investigate the only possible clue there is… Although, really, it’s so slight a ‘clue’ that it’s hardly worth mentioning...’ said my master in a musing tone.
‘Well, what is it?’ demanded the magistrate.
‘That book of which the young man spoke – the one in which are written the names of customers who wish for their toys to be repaired.’
‘You think – you think the killer could have been – what, exactly? A dissatisfied customer…?’
The magistrate’s expression and tone of voice displayed perfectly his incredulity at such a notion. I, too, reflected that this was rather far-fetched a theory.
‘I’m merely keeping an open-mind,’ said my master, a little sharply. ‘Of course, if anyone else has a better idea of how we might proceed…’
The magistrate coughed, and appeared slightly shame-faced. Then he, and also I, followed my master back towards the dead toymaker’s shop.
It was as the murdered man’s son had said. The entries he’d obviously made in the book we found behind the counter were in a neat and perfectly legible hand, each with the customer’s family name, address, a brief description of the repair necessary, and perhaps another few items of information recorded.
How different were the father’s entries, all of them written in an almost unreadable hand! Here, I can do no better than to give just one example –
Honda / missing eye / next week
From which my master, the magistrate and I could only deduce that ‘Honda’ was the customer’s family name (and an extremely common one at that – as the magistrate noted, supposing another customer with the same name came in shortly afterwards, also wanting a repair done?), the ‘missing eye’ the nature of the desired repair, and ‘next week’ when the toymaker estimated that he’d have this repair completed.
‘This is surely the same doll Kotaki-san was working on when he was killed,’ said my master quietly, pointing at one of the toymaker’s brief and badly-written entries –
Yamamoto / damaged hand / next month
‘Again!’ noted my master almost irritably. ‘A family name that is extremely common, so that this customer has not a hope of ever being traced, unless he or she comes forward to claim this toy of theirs.’
‘Forgive me, Ennin-sensei,’ remarked the magistrate quietly, ‘but I really don’t see the point of any of this – or why it matters. Unless you do have reason to suspect that Kotaki-san was slain by a discontented customer, of course…’
For a moment, my master appeared almost crestfallen.
‘No,’ he said, ‘I do not. Forgive me – I am grasping at straws. There is no obvious motive, far less anyone to suspect.
‘I fear, Kukai,’ continued my master, looking at me with a wry smile, ‘that this case, at least, won’t be one of those you have this strange compulsion to write up…’
‘Hello?’ said a voice from the doorway. We all looked over in surprise, and there was stood a largish man, a look of concern upon his face. He seemed to recognize the town’s magistrate, and at once gave a slight bow.
‘Forgive my intrusion,’ he said then, ‘but I just heard the news about poor Kotaki-san, and came straight here…’
‘And you are?’ asked the magistrate officiously.
‘Yamaguchi,’ returned the man, again with a slight bow.
‘And how did you know the deceased?’
‘Well…’ began the man slowly, ‘for a time, I also ran a toyshop and toy-repair business, no great distance from here. That was a few years ago now, but once Kotaki-san and his wife settled down here and opened this shop, I realized that I had to do something else, start some another business – for he was, quite simply, far more skilled than me.’
These words of Yamaguchi’s might sound bitter, baldly written down like this – but they actually seemed full only of admiration for this man he freely confessed was the better craftsman.
‘You were… friends?’ queried the magistrate.
‘Not particularly,’ shrugged Yamaguchi. ‘But we’d exchange a greeting, and perhaps a few words, if we happened to pass each other. I’m just sorry to learn that he wa
s – well, murdered.’
Now the large, almost bearlike man looked directly at my master.
‘You are the famous Ennin-sensei, I believe… So poor Kotaki-san has a real expert to help try and find his killer, at least…’
Yamaguchi continued to stare at my master for several moments, something I didn’t much care for showing in his eyes. Secretive and sly, almost giving some strange sort of challenge…
‘I will give the magistrate of this town whatever assistance I am capable of, certainly,’ returned my master shortly, returning Yamaguchi’s stare.
The large man gave an easy smile, and with another bow walked back out into the street.
‘So,’ noted the magistrate then, ‘a man comes in here and informs me that the deceased was at one time responsible for the loss of his business! That could very well lead me to view him as being a suspect, if he’d not spoken of Kotaki-san with such evident respect, while seeming remarkably nonchalant about the whole affair…’
‘Nonchalant now…’ observed my master quietly. ‘Or apparently so, anyway…’
The magistrate glanced quizzically at my master, and opening his mouth was about to speak when my master said curtly –
‘If you’re about to ask me whether I suspect that Yamaguchi is the killer, please do not. Rather try to use this piece of information which has at once fallen into our hands to determine what our next move, or course of action, should be…’
The magistrate briefly showed a flicker of irritation at such chastisement, but then obviously considered my master’s words.
‘To… investigate what the relationship between these two men – Yamaguchi and the deceased – might have been, regardless of what Yamaguchi said just now…’
‘Quite so,’ agreed my master. ‘And for that, it would perhaps be best to speak with the son again.’
‘But, Ennin-sensei,’ said the magistrate, ‘if Yamaguchi was responsible for the murder – just as an idea, you understand – then why come here and deliberately make himself almost a suspect?’
‘I don’t know,’ returned my master quietly, the pupils of his eyes like pinpricks. ‘Maybe he thought that we’d hear what he just told us from someone else anyway – about Kotaki forcing him out of business, to put it bluntly – and so decided that it would be better if it came from him first…
‘But still, but still…’
My master’s voice fell into silence, and I knew that he’d been struck by some train of thought. The magistrate again opened his mouth to speak, and catching his eye I shook my head firmly. We would leave this shop only when my master was good and ready – not a moment before.
4
‘That man is a liar,’ declared Kotaki’s son quietly, a short time later. ‘I was still only a small child when my father moved to this area and, together with my mother, established his business; but afterwards I learned exactly what occurred between him and Yamaguchi.’
‘And this was?’ prompted my master quietly, as the elderly owner of this small house hovered at the edge of the room, all the while glowering at us. I wondered what her problem was; we were, after all, attempting to solve a murder…
‘As I heard it, right from the start, it was obvious that my father was by far the superior toymaker, so that soon customers were abandoning Yamaguchi’s business for his.
‘Maybe you think I’m simply saying this because it was my father, but I have heard from a number of people that he tried to make this up to Yamaguchi, through such means as passing on the simpler repair work to him. Yamaguchi, however, was beside himself with anger and jealousy, unable to bear it as he was forced to close down his business, instead having to make ends meet by opening up an inn.
‘My father visited this inn, wanting to make peace, still with a number of ideas concerning how Yamaguchi might continue the profession he loved – if now only on a part-time basis. Yamaguchi consented to talk with him, but then proceeded to get drunk during dinner, ultimately flying at my father with his fists.
‘He was restrained by a number of other customers – something which naturally did the reputation of his new venture no good at all – and shouted at my father that no matter how long it took, he would have his revenge for (as he saw it) his stolen livelihood.’
The young man paused in his narrative, and smiled sadly. I saw that he was rather a simple soul, but also certainly good-natured. There was no doubting the honesty of his words – nor the fact that Yamaguchi had lied, in what he’d so recently said to us. But why this deception, when he surely knew that we could check the veracity of his words so easily?
As he had before in this room, my master glanced at the magistrate, prompting him to ask any questions he might have. But again, the magistrate shook his head, as clearly perplexed as I was concerning Yamaguchi’s motives for having lied to us a short while before.
‘Thank you, Kotaki-san, and my apologies for having again bothered you at this time,’ said my master softly.
‘You think – you think that threat Yamaguchi made however many years ago… And now my father is…’ stammered the young man, his eyes at once widening.
‘I really couldn’t say. Excuse me,’ returned my master, and with that we again left the room, being brusquely ushered out by that strange old woman.
‘It was Yamaguchi. He is the murderer – or certainly the one who arranged Kotaki’s death. But how possibly to prove this?’
So demanded my master a short while later, the pair of us sat in the room of the inn where we were currently staying.
I knew the question to be rhetorical, and so I did not reply. My master continued, thinking aloud –
‘He learns that I am investigating this case and he makes a point of ‘dropping by’ the shop of his victim, in the process virtually making himself a suspect. He tells a story, concerning the apparently amiable relationship between himself and Kotaki, which he knew could easily and quickly be exposed as being nothing other than a tawdry lie. He finishes by issuing a challenge to me to expose him as the killer, thinly-disguised as ‘praise’ for my so-called abilities. He is certain that I cannot do this, and it seems that he is absolutely correct.
‘Did he sneak into the shop, armed with a blowpipe? Or did he manage to recruit a ninja to do this, in accordance with one of the magistrate’s apparently more fanciful suggestions?
‘Who knows – who will ever know. Yamaguchi has nursed his hatred all these years, for his ruined business and the man he blamed for this; and at last he has had his revenge, as he promised, and now it seems certain he will get away with it.
‘Right now he is laughing, Kukai, laughing in my face. For he has done what so few manage to do – challenge me, and win…’
It was rare for my master – an extremely modest man, for all his undoubted brilliance – to speak like this. It showed just how greatly his pride had been nettled by this man Yamaguchi, and his fiendish action.
‘But why did he wait so long – why…? If it was merely a case of perhaps recruiting some assassin, who could be relied upon never to provide a link back to Yamaguchi himself…’
My master again lapsed into moody silence, which I was careful not to disturb. I knew his mind was turning, simultaneously examining this case from multiple angles – and still finding nothing.
Finally it began to grow dark. This, together with my master’s morose and agitated mood, was a little too oppressive; and so I quietly moved to light a lamp.
As the flame flickered and grew, light spreading all around, my master started. He moved his face slowly towards the lamp, like a man hypnotized.
‘Master?’ I murmured, scared that he might finally have taken leave of his wits.
This fear was only heightened, when my master suddenly emitted a burst of laughter.
‘Oh, but he’s good! So nearly did he beat me… So that’s why he took so long – to practice his craft! And then the doll with the damaged hand, delivered by this mysterious ‘Yamamoto’… Priceless! Doubtless he paid someone to
make this delivery, although we will never find that person…
‘Still, that doesn’t matter at all. What matters now is to first return to the toyshop – and there expose a killer.’
My master jumped up (he’d previously been sat slumped upon a futon), and said to me –
‘Kukai, go and get the magistrate! I will meet you and him at the shop…’
‘But – I don’t know where the magistrate lives, master,’ I protested, at once excited yet also baffled by this sudden, exhilarated mood of his.
‘Then find out – and quickly,’ returned my master, who then immediately departed the room.
5
The third person I asked, out in the street, was able to direct me to the magistrate’s house. I knocked at his door, and upon learning the reason for my visit he left with me immediately. So it was hardly any time before he, my master and I were again stood in that small workshop where the toymaker’s body had been discovered.
My master’s expression was absolutely intent. He crouched in front of the doll with the damaged hand, which the toymaker had been in the middle of repairing when he’d been killed.
‘So…’ breathed my master, holding an oil lamp almost perilously close to the doll. ‘Kotaki-san is working by the light of the lamp, letting it shine near to the area he wishes to fix… Close, so close…’
The magistrate and I stood watching, wondering exactly what point my master was trying to make.
But then, at once, there came a mechanical ‘clicking’ sound, issuing from somewhere inside of the doll! I could scarcely believe my eyes as the mouth began slowly to open…
‘So the toymaker, amazed, leans in ever-closer, and…’
Abruptly, my master jerked his head to one side of the doll. A moment later, something fired out of the doll’s mouth; there was the slightest of sounds as this object impacted into the door.
I looked closer at it; it was a small dart, of the same type I’d seen lodged in the toymaker’s forehead.