“You’re right.”
“Are you going to do that?”
“Will do. It’s the spring holiday, so I have nothing to do anyway. Can’t do worse than playing detective.”
“That’s just like you. What if you take a look into the Tsunojima case, too, while you’re at it?”
“A look into what, precisely?”
“For example, what about paying a visit to the family of Yoshikawa, the gardener who disappeared?”
“But—”
“Conan,” Shimada chimed in, “that’s actually a good idea. I told you Yoshikawa Sei’ichi lived in Ajimu, right? I believe his wife still lives there, and she used to work for the Nakamura family on Tsunojima. So she’s the only living person who knows about the private lives of the Nakamuras. It’s worth a try.”
“Do you know her address?”
“It won’t take me long to find it.”
Shimada laughed joyfully as he patted his shallow cheeks.
“What about this, Conan? Tomorrow morning you check who else got the letters, and then we’ll go to Ajimu in my car in the afternoon.”
“All right. And you, Morisu, are you coming along too?”
“I’d like to, but I’ve got work to do. I told you I was doing this painting, didn’t I?”
Morisu indicated the canvas on the easel.
“The Buddha statues of Kunisaki? You did tell me you liked them. Are you going to compete in an art contest?”
“No, nothing like that. I just wanted to paint that sight before the flowers bloom. I’ve been going up there the last few days now.”
“Wow.”
“And I’ve never been the active type like you. I don’t even like talking to people I don’t know. But will you come back tomorrow night? It doesn’t matter how late you come. I’m interested in how the case turns out as well.”
Morisu leant wearily against his bed and lit a cigarette he knew he wouldn’t enjoy.
“For now, you’ll have to allow me to take on the role of armchair detective.”
THREE
The Second Day on the Island
1
She had barely slept by the time she woke up.
They had retreated to their rooms at two in the morning. She had gone to bed immediately, but she hadn’t been able to get to sleep right away and instead had lain staring into the dark void. She just hadn’t felt at ease. The events of the day had brought up bad memories which had coiled themselves around her mind and wouldn’t let go.
Ellery, Van, Poe, Agatha, Leroux and Carr. It wasn’t as if she didn’t like these six. In fact, for the most part, she felt something akin to affection for all of them, even Carr. The only member of the party she felt no affection for was herself.
Usually, when she experienced something depressing she could find salvation simply by going back to her boarding house, to her own room. She needed only to flee to her own little world. She could imagine everything she wanted there and steep herself in it. There she would have her best friends, her ideal lover and even people who worshipped her no matter what.
But…
But this was the first time in her life that she had set foot on this island, in this building, in this room. Even though she was finally all alone now, her mind still felt uneasy.
She had regrets. She had known this would happen. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come here.
But, for her, this trip had held a special meaning.
The Decagon House on Tsunojima—had the others noticed it?
She knew. She knew that this was the home of the girl who had died because of their irresponsibility.
Nakamura Chiori was the only friend she had ever had, and the only person to whom she felt she could have opened her heart. They were in the same faculty, had entered the same year and were the same age… She’d felt that they were alike the moment they’d first met in the classroom. She was convinced Chiori had felt the same way. And they got along very well. They had also visited each other’s room several times.
“My father is strange and lives far away on an island called Tsunojima,” Chiori had told her once. She had also told her it was something she didn’t wish to be known.
Chiori had died. And now they had come here to this island, where she was born and where her parents died.
It’s not an intrusion—I am paying my respects.
This she kept telling herself.
She had no intention of telling the others. It would be OK if it were just her, she thought. If she could just mourn Chiori’s death alone; if she could just provide some comfort to Chiori’s spirit.
But should she really be the one to do that? Wasn’t that conceitedness? Wasn’t it disrespectful to the dead to be coming to the island like this?
All the worrying eventually brought her a fitful sleep. She felt like she were having one dream after another, where reality and fantasy collided. The settings in her dreams were all images from the island she had seen today.
That’s why she had barely slept by the time she woke up.
With only the weak light showing through the gap between the shutters as her aid, she looked around the room, but she couldn’t judge whether she were still dreaming or had really woken up.
A blue carpet on the floor. The bed was fixed to the left of the window. On the wall to the right of the window stood a desk, a chest of drawers and a full-length mirror.
Orczy slowly raised herself up, got out of bed and opened the window.
The outside air felt chilly to the skin.
The sky was white with a few clouds. She could hear the peaceful sound of waves.
She looked at her wristwatch, which she had placed near her pillow. Eight o’clock.
She finally realized it was really morning.
She closed the window and got dressed.
A black skirt, a white blouse and, on top of that, a Bordeaux-red sweater with an Argyle pattern. As always, she only glanced briefly at the mirror. She did not like facing her own image.
Orczy got her toilet bag and went out of her room.
It didn’t seem as though any of the others were awake yet. Silence reigned over the decagonal hall, as if last night’s excitement had all just been a dream.
But then…
Orczy noticed that something she had not seen before had been placed on the table in the middle of the hall.
It reflected the light coming in from the skylight directly above, and blinded her for a moment.
Perplexed, Orczy walked slowly towards the table. As soon as she realized what had been placed there, she gasped and remained frozen to the spot.
…What is this?
She reached out to the table, but quickly pulled her arm back.
After a few moments of shock, she forgot about washing her face and ran to Agatha’s room.
2
Seven milky-white plastic plates, fifteen centimetres wide, five centimetres high. Red characters had been printed on each of them.
“What kind of joke is this?”
Ellery blinked in surprise, but then a smile formed on his lips.
Only the women were already dressed. The five men had merely put something light on over their pyjamas. They had all just been woken up by Agatha.
“Very funny. Who’s behind this?”
Ellery addressed the question to everyone.
“Wasn’t it you, Ellery?”
“Not me, Leroux. Probably Carr or Agatha, right?”
“It wasn’t me.”
“Nor me.” Agatha tensed, then continued: “What about you, Van?”
“I know nothing about this,” said Van, rubbing his puffy eyelids.
“Was it you who found the plates, Agatha?”
“No, Or
czy. But I can’t believe she’s the one behind it.”
“It wasn’t me.”
Orczy looked away as if she wanted to flee. Everyone’s eyes went to the one person remaining. But a frown appeared on Poe’s bearded face.
“I’m telling you, I don’t know anything about this either,” he said.
“Well then, who is it?”
Ellery shrugged, and went on.
“A joke’s fine and all that, but this has lasted long enough.”
Nobody said anything.
The seven looked at each other in an uncomfortable silence.
“Ellery,” said Poe, “if you ask me, the one of us most likely to spring this kind of prank is either you or Agatha.”
“I told you, it wasn’t me,” protested Ellery.
“And I’ll have you know it wasn’t me either,” said Agatha.
The hall turned silent once again in the morning light.
The silence became oppressive. Each was watching for a sign from one of the others, waiting for someone to break into laughter and admit to the deed.
A painfully long time passed, during which they could hear the distant sound of the waves.
“I swear I didn’t do anything.” Ellery finally spoke with a serious look on his face. “Is there really nobody who will admit to this? I’ll ask once again. Van?”
“I don’t know anything about it.”
“Agatha?”
“I already said it wasn’t me.”
“Carr?”
“Nothing to do with it.”
“Poe?”
“Nope.”
“And Leroux?”
“You must be joking.”
“Orczy?”
Orczy shook her head with a scared look.
Again the sound of waves reached the ears of the group. It resonated with and fomented the wave of anxiety that had taken hold of the motionless seven.
“All right then,” said Ellery as he brushed the forelock from his brow. “The criminal—I can use the word, can’t I?—has to be one of us here. Considering that nobody has admitted to the deed, we’ll have to assume that someone is among us with devious intent—or perhaps multiple persons.”
“What do you mean by devious intent?” asked Agatha.
“How should I know? Someone’s plotting something,” replied Ellery bluntly.
“Don’t beat about the bush, Ellery.” Carr spoke with a sneer. “Just come out with it. This is a murder warning.”
“Don’t jump the gun, Carr!”
To everyone’s surprise, Ellery raised his voice, and glared at Carr.
“I’ll ask once again. Is there really nobody who’ll admit to having done this?”
They all shook their heads as they watched each other.
“Very well, then,” said Ellery and he gathered the seven plates from the table and sat down on one of the chairs. “Let’s all take a seat.” He conjured up his usual smile as he watched everybody slowly sitting down. “Sorry, Agatha, could you make us some coffee?”
“Of course,” said Agatha and went to the kitchen alone.
Ellery looked alternately at the faces of the other five around the table and the plates in his hands. Nobody seemed to have even an inkling of what to say.
After a short time, Agatha appeared with a tray with coffee for everyone.
Ellery selected one of the steamy decagon-shaped cups and took a sip.
“Well now…”
He put both hands into the pockets of the dark-green cardigan he was wearing over his pyjamas and turned to the group.
“The seven of us are the only people on the island. Therefore, the person who placed these plates here has to be one of us. Has to be. But we all claim to know nothing about them. That means one of us is intentionally hiding the fact that he or she has placed them here.
“As you can all see, these plates are made of plastic. The characters are printed in a Gothic typeface. The words appear to have been sprayed on with red paint, but none of that helps us to identify the culprit.”
“But Ellery,” said Leroux, “is such ornate lettering really so simple that anyone can do it? You have to have some experience, surely?”
“So that would mean that Orczy is the prime suspect.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“The only one among us with any experience in illustrating and lettering is Orczy. Anything to say, Orczy?”
“…It wasn’t me.”
“Sorry, but that’s really not good enough.”
Orczy put her hands to her red face and looked up.
“You can buy books anywhere nowadays with stencils for lettering. Anyone could have used one of those and some spray paint.”
“Exactly,” agreed Ellery. “Anyone with just a little feeling for the arts could have done this: me, or Poe, or even Van.”
Ellery, still smiling, drank the rest of his steaming coffee.
“What about the plates themselves?” asked Leroux, reaching out and taking one of them. “The edges aren’t really smooth.”
“They didn’t come off-the-shelf. They were probably cut to size with a jigsaw or similar kind of tool.”
“Could they have been used for underlay or something?”
“The culprit probably paid a visit to the DIY corner in the local supermarket, Leroux. They have plastic boards of all sizes and colours.”
Ellery took the plate back from Leroux and arranged it with the others, like a hand of playing cards.
“Let’s put these away for now,” he said, as he stood up and went over to the kitchen. The eyes of the six others followed as if tied to him by string.
Through the open double doors they could see Ellery standing in front of the cupboard. He found an open drawer and dumped all of the plates inside. He came back into the hall and yawned in the refined manner of a Siamese cat.
“My goodness, we all look really stupid.”
He spread his arms and looked down at his body.
“We’re all up, so let’s get dressed.”
So saying, Ellery disappeared into his room and, with that, the tension hanging in the air also dissipated.
With a few sighs, the other six stood up one by one. The four men went separately back to their rooms, while Agatha and Orczy withdrew together to Agatha’s room.
They walked with anxious steps and there was not one of them who did not steal a look at the kitchen drawer containing the seven plates before leaving the hall.
Thursday, 27th March. Their second day on the island had begun.
3
It was past noon.
Nobody at the lunch table mentioned the events of that morning.
It had been too sinister to joke or talk lightly about. But it was also too bizarre to discuss seriously. Each of them still had the contents of the kitchen drawer in mind and none of them stopped trying to read the others’ thoughts, but they all acted as if the whole event hadn’t happened.
After eating the sandwiches Agatha and Orczy had made for lunch, they left the table one by one.
Carr was the first to get up. He went outside on his own, holding a couple of paperbacks and rubbing his long, freshly shaven chin. Poe and Van stood up in turn and went to Poe’s room.
† † †
“And back to business,” said Poe in his deep voice as he sat down on the floor.
The seven guest rooms in the Decagon House all had the same layout. In the centre of the blue carpet in Poe’s room lay the scattered pieces of a jigsaw puzzle he had just started.
“Two thousand pieces? Can you finish it during our stay?”
Avoiding stepping on the puzzle, Van walked to the back of the room and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Just wait and see. I’ll finish it.”
“But you also want to go fishing, don’t you? And there’s the story for the club magazine.”
“There’s more than enough time. But first, I need to find this guy’s nose.”
The outline of the puzzle had already been completed and took up almost one tatami mat, or one by two metres. Beside it lay the lid of the puzzle box with the illustration of the completed puzzle. Poe rummaged among the little pieces while staring at the illustration.
It was a photograph of six foxes playing in a field. A large vixen surrounded by five cute cubs. The nose of one of the five was the problem Poe was currently grappling with.
“Hmm? What’s the matter, Van?” Poe asked anxiously, when he noticed that Van’s head was hanging wearily and his hands were on his knees.
“Still feeling sick?”
“Yes, a little.”
“I’ve got a thermometer in my bag. Take your temperature. You can lie down if you want.”
“Thanks.”
Van put the thermometer under his arm and allowed his slim body to sink into the bed. He ran his hands through his brownish, soft hair as he looked at Poe.
“So. What do you think?”
“Hmm—ah, here it is. Got it,” said Poe, and he grabbed a little piece of the puzzle. “Good, good. What did you say, Van?”
“What happened this morning. What do you think?”
Poe’s hand stopped in mid-air. He sat up straight.
“You mean about that…”
“Was it really just a prank?”
“I think it was.”
“So why didn’t anybody admit to it then?”
“There may be more to follow.”
“More?”
“Yes. The practical joke isn’t over yet.”
Poe’s fingers disappeared into his beard as he stroked his jaw.
“It’s just an idea I had. For example, tonight one of us might find their coffee spiked with salt. And that would be ‘the First Victim’.”
The Decagon House Murders Page 7