Togakushi Legend Murders (Tuttle Classics)

by Yasuo Uchida

  "Oh, I don't know about that. I hear you've got a reputation for being a filial son."

  "I try. But my parents didn't do all that much for me. I mean, the parents of these kids aren't likely to get much in return. That's what they don't understand, the fools!" Kinoshita was really angry, and not just because he was tired of waiting.

  He was a good man, thought Takemura, with a pleased smile. Twenty-four years old and dressed in a windbreaker over a long-sleeved sport shirt, Kinoshita quite resembled the other, more modern youths in the place, but hearing him talk about old-time filial piety made Takemura decide that the closed society of the police must do something good for a young man.

  Takemura himself was even more of an anachronism. Having no formulated ethics, no religion, and no concept of ideology, he had not chosen a police career out of any strong desire to guard the Establishment or for any lofty ideal of protecting the public peace and welfare. He had done so out of a need to eat.

  He had graduated near the top of his high school class, but family circumstances had forced him to give up the idea of going on to college. Together with his teachers' regrets, however, had come the suggestion that his excellent high school record would open up the path to success with the police. Influenced as well by the same TV detective dramas that influence most boys who eventually join the police, he had taken the suggestion, and found in a year or two that he had undergone an undeniable and remarkable change, and been given a purpose in life.

  The police organization has incalculable effects in the molding of individuals. After the superficial mold is removed, though, personal ability, effort, and more than anything else, special aptitudes count most. In particular, a good detective needs deductive powers and imagination. Iwao Takemura, a man blessed with just those talents, was meant for the job. When he found himself on a challenging case, his excitement was like that of a hyena licking his chops before some delicious prey. He would forget everything else, not satisfied until he had seen it through to the bitter end. It was not infrequently that enthusiasm led him to ignore his position as inspector. That job was supposed to be mainly managerial, but he continued to operate the way he had always done, behaving like a staff detective— sometimes an eccentric one.

  A raise and a very nice place to live had come with his double promotion, but this had not made him conceited. He did not own a car, nor would he even buy a new raincoat. At the height of summer, of course, he didn't carry his raincoat, but he did refuse to give up his rumpled white shirt and tie. He had taken just one look at the sport shirt and string tie his wife Yoko had bought him—"just for midsummer," she had said—and stuffed them into a drawer. "You really ought to try wearing something different once in a while," pleaded Yoko, who had been pleased with her purchase. But Takemura had evaded the issue with, "Don't be ridiculous. A man can't go around wearing any old thing just because his wife tells him to."

  * * *

  It wasn't so very hot, but when the hotel manager finally showed up, his face was covered with perspiration.

  "I'm terribly sorry to have kept you waiting so long," he said, bowing and scraping. "I'm Takano, the manager."

  "Well, you must have had quite a time preparing for this meeting," replied Takemura, unable to resist the sarcasm. "I'm sure you were very worried about Mr. Takeda."

  "Er, uh... oh yes, yes, you're right, of course," mumbled Takano, flabbergasted. He was a short man of about fifty with a pleasant, round face, which expressed clearly his total loyalty to his job.

  "We need to ask some questions concerning Kisuke Takeda's death. I wonder if you'd mind calling the desk clerk who was the last person to see him?"

  Takano hurried out and came back with a young man named Aibara, a tall, slim, handsome fellow. He sat down quite properly, facing Takemura.

  "According to your statement, it was a little before 7 P.M. that you saw Kisuke Takeda going out. Is that correct?"

  "Yes, that's correct."

  "Was there anyone else at the desk with you at that time?"

  "No. There was somebody in the office behind the desk, but as a rule, unless we're serving guests, we usually keep only one person on the desk at a time."

  "All right then, since you were the only one to see him go out, I want you to consider your answer very carefully: are you absolutely sure that it was Kisuke Takeda you saw?"

  "Yes, absolutely."

  "Did you know Mr. Takeda on sight?"

  "Oh yes. He had stayed here several times since this spring, and besides, I had heard that he was a big stockholder in the hotel."

  "Oh really?" Takemura looked at the manager for confirmation.

  "Yes," confirmed Takano, "Mr. Takeda owned a lot of stock in our parent company, the Kawanakashima Tourism Development Corporation."

  "Then I don't guess you could have mistaken him for anyone else. Okay. Now, did you notice anything at all peculiar about him as he went out?"

  "No, nothing in particular. I bowed to him as usual, but I didn't notice anything strange."

  "Did you see what he did when he got outside?"

  "No, I'm afraid not. But I did hear afterwards that the driver of the vehicle we use to pick people up and take them to the station had seen a gentleman walking west along the road in front of the hotel. He saw him from a distance, but he was reasonably sure it was Mr. Takeda."

  "But not certain?"

  "No. It was a dark cloudy night, and the driver only caught a glimpse of him from a distance while taking a break. He said he wasn't certain."

  "But the time checks, is that correct?"

  "Yes, just about."

  "You say the man was walking west. Could you be more specific?"

  "Well, as you know, our hotel is more or less at a dead end, and the main road going away from here heads southwest toward the Middle Shrine. But there's another little road, an unpaved forest road running due west from in front of the hotel. About three hundred meters from here, it crosses an old road called the Echigo Road, and another three hundred meters beyond that, it comes out on the new road, right at the entrance to the Inner Shrine, where there's a parking lot and a restaurant. But this forest road is covered with loose gravel and not many people use it even during the day, so the driver remembers thinking how strange it was someone should be using it at night."

  "If it was Mr. Takeda he saw, do you have any idea where he could have been going?"

  "Well, er..." The desk clerk looked at the manager in embarrassment. The manager blinked his eyes rapidly, signaling him to be careful how he answered.

  Disgusted, Takemura hurried the young clerk for an answer. "Come on, now. It can't be that big a problem! Just tell me what comes to mind."

  "Well, I guess he must have been going out for a stroll."

  "Oh, sure. But when he didn't come back, didn't it occur to you that he was gone too long for a stroll?"

  "Yes."

  "And what did you think of then?"

  "What did I think of? Well, I don't really..."

  "Just tell me whatever occurred to you at the time. For instance, did you think he might have been going out to meet someone, or something like that?"

  "Yes, that's what I thought."

  "Then, had he done the same sort of thing when he was staying here before? Going out alone like that?"

  "Yes, I believe he had."

  "About how many times?"

  "Maybe two or three, I think."

  "Could it have been more than that?"

  "I guess so."

  "Had he ever stayed away all night before?"

  "No, never. He always came back the same evening."

  "You seem awfully sure of that, but I've been told that Mr. Takeda was in the habit of leaving his key in the room. If that was the case, how could the desk clerk be sure he had returned?"

  "Because he had to pass the front desk on his way in, and we would most likely see him."

  "Most likely? You mean you could have missed him?"

  "Well, that's possible, if t
he clerk had to leave the desk for some reason. But in the morning, there are always two people on the desk to handle check-outs, so if he had come in from outside then, he could hardly have passed by without being seen."

  "In other words, if he tried to come in the next morning, his evil deeds would come out, eh?" said Takemura with a conspiratorial grin.

  "Yes, they would that," said the young clerk, finally relaxing.

  "Thank you," said Takemura. "Well, I hope you'll forgive me for pressing you so hard with questions, but that's my job, I'm afraid."

  "Oh, don't apologize! I happen to be a mystery fan. I love mystery novels and TV mysteries, and I've always wanted to see a real detective at work!"

  "Oh really? How nice! My wife likes mysteries, too. When that TV program, 'The Mystery,' comes on, she doesn't even know I'm there."

  '"The Mystery?' Why, I never miss one of those!"

  "You don't? Then did you see last week's story, 'The Tragedy of the Red and Black?"'

  "Oh yes, of course! That was a good one, wasn't it? It had quite a twist to it. My friend and I were trying to guess who the murderer was, but we never did figure it out. But I'll bet you did, didn't you, Inspector?"

  "No, no, I didn't figure it out either," laughed Takemura, while Kinoshita stood by wondering what was so funny to everyone.

  Having finished with the desk clerk, Takemura asked the manager, Takano, to show him Takeda's room. As he started to follow Takano up the stairs, however, Takemura suddenly stopped. "Doesn't the hotel have an elevator?" he asked.

  "No, I'm terribly sorry, I'm afraid it doesn't," said Takano, a man too easily embarrassed. He came back down the two or three steps he had ascended, bobbing his head in apology. "This area is designated as a scenic zone, and regulations prohibit buildings that stand more than ten meters high. If we installed an elevator, we'd have to have a room for the mechanism above the third floor, and that would put us over the limit."

  "I see. Well, it's better for the health, anyway."

  Takemura went up the stairs carefully, step by step, looking down at his feet. The staircase was wooden, the plain woodwork exposed in keeping with the North European style of the place. As soon as they reached the third floor, he turned back and went down the stairs again, leaving Kinoshita and Takano standing at the top looking puzzled. When Takemura came back, Takano told him Kisuke Takeda had always stayed in the same third-floor suite. Apparently it was hardly ever given to ordinary guests.

  "The hotel was completed the year the great alpine events were held at the ski slope here, and the very first guest in this suite was the Imperial Prince," boasted Takano, as he opened the door.

  The suite consisted of two adjoining Western-style rooms, the outer a parlor and the inner a bedroom. For a big hotel in Tokyo, that would not be rare, but it was quite something for these parts. There was plush carpeting, thick cloth wall covering, a rather tawdry chandelier, and a parlor suite that was probably Danish. Takemura walked around the room making sighing sounds, putting his face close to everything, as if trying to taste and smell it.

  There were two three-quarter-width double beds in the bedroom, which Takemura found considerably more tasteful than the living room. He opened the door just to the right of the entrance to the bedroom and found a spacious vanity with washbasin, and adjacent to it a toilet and a bathroom. Just add a kitchen and it would make a considerably finer place to live than his own.

  "I wonder if I could see the person who cleaned this room the next day?" asked Takemura, turning to the manager.

  "Just a moment, please," replied Takano, picking up the phone. In hardly any time at all, a man in his forties appeared, and Takano introduced him as a Mr. Ohta, the person in charge of cleaning.

  Ohta, a man of even smaller build than Takano, looked the strictly honest and steadfast type.

  "Did you check this room the morning after Mr. Takeda was here?" asked Takemura.

  "Yes. This is a special room, so I always clean it myself."

  "Oh good. That will make this faster. Now then, may I assume that Mr. Takeda had not used the bed or bathroom?"

  "Oh no. He had used them."

  "He had?" Takemura's expression stiffened, as did Kinoshita's. "Then you mean he had taken a bath and laid down?"

  "Yes, I think so. The bathtub and a towel were wet, and the bar of soap had been used. And the sheets and pillow looked like they had been lain on, and the robe had been worn."

  "Which would mean that Mr. Takeda had taken a bath, then put on the robe and taken a rest on the bed, right?"

  "Yes, that's what it looked like."

  "But we were told that he returned to his room a little after six and went out again a little before seven. That's only thirty or forty minutes. An awfully short time to have gotten undressed, put on a bathrobe, taken a nap, and even a bath, don't you think?"

  "Yes, you're right, of course, but since that is what he actually did..." Ohta looked a little upset. Short time or not, a fact was a fact, and he obviously couldn't see the point in questioning it.

  "By the way, has anyone used these rooms since Mr. Takeda was here?"

  "No, nobody."

  "Okay. Mr. Takano, I'm sorry about this, but could I ask you to see that the rooms are not used for a little while? We'll have some men from CID here in the next day or two."

  Pulling a pair of gloves out of his pocket and putting them on, Takemura opened the drawer of the desk against the living room wall. It contained stationery with the hotel letterhead, picture postcards, a brochure, a hotel information folder, and so on. Holding the blank letter paper up to the light, he could see faint impressions of writing.

  "Mind if I borrow this?" he asked, handing the paper to Kinoshita. "By the way, was the room next to this one occupied that evening?"

  "Yes, it must have been. We were full up with people connected with the golf course. Those from Nagano City went home that evening, but most of those from farther away spent the night in Togakushi. There were so many that we couldn't put all of them up ourselves, and we had to find rooms at other hotels in the vicinity, so I hardly think we could have had any vacancies."

  "In that case, I'll ask you to give me the name and address of the occupant of that room when we go downstairs." Takemura kept his hands busy as he spoke, opening the big thick cover of the information folder. It began with the usual stipulations about conditions of stay, followed by information about hotel facilities, a diagram of emergency escape routes, a description of the restaurant and coffee shop, ski information, and so on—the usual content.

  "Wow, this looks delicious!" he exclaimed gluttonously, his mouth really watering as he looked at the picture of a meal on the restaurant menu. "Is the meal on this cart for one person?"

  "No, I believe it's for two."

  "I should hope so! It doesn't look like one person could eat all that, does it? Still, even for two, that's quite a meal! I suppose this is a picture of one of these stews over here?"

  "Well, I don't know if we could really call it a stew or not. Actually, it's a fondue. There's melted cheese in that pot, and the meat and vegetables and shrimp and everything on these skewers are dipped in it to cook. I don't know whether you'd call it boiling or deep-frying, but anyway, that's how it's eaten."

  "Oh, so this is what they call fondue! I'd heard of it, but I never saw it before. Then, it's served on a cart, like this? Hey, that's great! I'll have to bring my wife here one day to try it. But I'll bet it's expensive, isn't it?"

  "Well, yes, I'd say a meal the size of the one in this picture would be quite expensive, but of course, this is only a sample. I'm sure we could prepare something to fit your budget."

  "Really? A sample? I suppose it would have to be. It really looks terrific! There's shrimp and scallops, and good beef, and I guess the wine is imported?"

  "Yes, it is," replied the manager, his smile wearing somewhat thin. This detective was certainly taking his time. Even Kinoshita was looking a little tired.

  "Wait a mi
nute, though," said Takemura, inclining his head. "If you use this cart for room service, how do you get it up here? You'd have an awful time getting it up the stairs, like a portable shrine, wouldn't you?"

  "Oh, there's no problem there. We have a dumbwaiter to bring the cart up, meal and all, from the kitchen."

  "Oh, you do? Well, that's a relief. That means you can bring it up still aboil. Well, it sure does look delicious."

  "It's just about dinnertime. Would you like to try some? We'd be happy to prepare it for you."

  "No, no, don't worry about us. We were planning to stop at the Middle Shrine for some homemade buckwheat noodles on the way back. But I would appreciate it if you could show me that dumbwaiter."

  Takemura's interest had jumped to something else. Kinoshita, always with him, should have been used to it, but he still sometimes wondered how some of the things the Inspector chose to stick his head into were possibly going to be of any use to him.

  When they left the room, Takemura's attention fixed on the emergency door at the end of the corridor. "I suppose that door can be opened at a touch even at night?"

  "Yes, from inside."

  "Then anyone who wanted to could just slip out in the middle of the night?"

  "No, not so easily. When the door is opened, a buzzer sounds in the office behind the front desk."

  "Oh really? You think of everything, don't you? Then nobody can get out without paying his bill." Takemura sounded quite like he was planning to try it himself.

  They went back along the corridor toward the stairs. In a recess to the right just past the stairwell were drink machines. Beyond them was a small area marked off with a sign that read "Employees Only Beyond This Point," where there was an opening in the wall for the dumbwaiter, which looked about half the size of an elevator in width and height, with a door that opened and closed vertically.

  "Could you show me how this works?" asked Takemura, excited.

  "Well then, why don't we try it with that?" said Takano, pointing to a big laundry cart. He looked rather like a showman as he pushed the button to summon the dumbwaiter. "When it's in use, this lamp lights up and the dumbwaiter won't respond to the button elsewhere."