“Thank you—much obliged.”
“Of course, you might already have all the facts contained in this report . . .” Higuchi stared at the file for a moment, then despondently shook his head. “No, I’m still convinced he wasn’t the sort of man who could’ve made a woman happy for long, even if he was a man of property on a small scale.”
“A man of property?” To Kirishima this was an entirely unexpected piece of information. “According to the police he had no property apart from his personal effects, a small insurance policy, and a modest amount in a savings bank account.”
“Well, I don’t know about his savings account—even the private detective was unable to ascertain what he had in it. But he did find out that Tsukamoto had bought his apartment as a home unit for 3,000,000 yen.”
“I thought he was renting it?”
“At first he was. He had paid the usual key money, and for some months continued as a tenant on a monthly rental basis. Then last October he paid the balance of the purchase price and obtained a strata title on the apartment. Where he got the money from I wouldn’t know, but details of the actual transaction are all there in that report.”
Kirishima flipped through the report and found the figures. He recalled being mildly surprised at Tsukamoto’s ability to save up 1,000,000 yen by the age of thirty. Still, a very thrifty young man who had been prepared to earn some extra money in his spare time could have done it. But another 3,000,000 yen? That was just too much. How on earth had he got hold of that kind of money?
Kirishima was fascinated by the question, but Higuchi didn’t let him ponder over it for long.
Taking the initiative, he said, “Mr. Prosecutor, I’m not so naive as to think that what I’ve told you so far has cleared me of all suspicion. Do you mind if I say some more in my defense?”
“Go ahead.”
“Let’s assume for the moment that I am the killer. My obvious purpose in committing this crime was to win back Etsuko. Whether my act would actually achieve this purpose is beside the point. The essential thing is that I was hoping to achieve it by killing Tsukamoto. Do you agree so far?”
“Yes, provided you had no other motive.”
“But of course I didn’t. How could I? As I said before, I only met the man once . . . Now, by killing Tsukamoto I did in fact completely defeat my purpose instead of achieving it. Had I killed him before they were married, at least I would’ve spared Etsuko some of the pain she’s suffering now.”
“That may be so, but if you had killed him before the wedding, the suspicion against you would’ve been much stronger. That might have persuaded you to leave the murder till after the wedding.”
“Yes, this is a valid point,” Higuchi said, “but it doesn’t alter the fact that once Tsukamoto was dead—whether before or after—I automatically came under suspicion. Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“Now, can you imagine I’d have any chance at all to win back Etsuko and thereby achieve my purpose while I’m suspected of the murder of her husband? Of course not. That’s why any suggestion that I am the killer is absurd . . . The actual position is that at least until the killer is caught she won’t have anything to do with me. Even if I have the perfect alibi, and this is accepted by the police, I’m sure she still won’t be satisfied. And even when the killer is caught, she may still retain her doubts, thinking I might have hired him or otherwise pulled some strings behind the scenes . . . In other words, in any further attempt I might make to win Etsuko’s favors, this murder will be a definite hindrance to me, not an advantage.”
Kirishima was genuinely impressed with Higuchi’s reasoning. The man had considerable talent, he thought. He’d be a tough opponent in a court of law.
“Yes, this is a very logical argument,” he said. “The only thing is, if all rivals in love based their actions on logic, no lover would ever get killed. But in fact a lot of them do.”
“Being a lawyer I’m well aware of that, but I also know the saying, ‘make your doctrine suit the case.’” Higuchi forced a cold smile. “Mr. Prosecutor, can you imagine me losing my reason in a jealous rage?”
“I wouldn’t attempt to form an opinion at this stage . . . And now, since you’re already here, perhaps we could deal with some of the routine questions. Just for the record, could you recall your movements on the evening of February 15?”
“Yes, of course . . . As might be expected, I was rather ill at ease that evening. When I thought of Etsuko entering the bridal suite, I couldn’t help feeling a little depressed. So I decided to go to see a show to divert my mind.”
“And where did you go?”
“I went to see the Russian film version of Hamlet at the Miyukiza. I’m fairly certain it was the final day of screening.”
“You didn’t have anyone with you?”
“No.”
“About what time did you leave the theatre?”
“Oh, it would’ve been shortly before ten o’clock.”
“And what did you do then?”
“Well, since Hamlet hadn’t done anything to improve my mood, I decided to try a drink. I drove to the Black Rose Bar on the outskirts of Roppongi.”
“In your own car?”
“Yes.”
“This bar—do you drink there regularly?”
“Yes, though I go there more for the sake of the atmosphere than the liquor. I don’t drink very much, but I do enjoy the quiet milieu of that place. I don’t like noisy bars.”
“What time did you get there?”
“It wasn’t quite half past ten.”
“Mm-hm. And how long did you stay?”
For the first time Higuchi looked slightly disconcerted. He smiled awkwardly, and said, “This is something I don’t feel like talking about, but I don’t suppose I’ve any choice now . . . When I got there, the proprietress was about to close because there was no other customer, and both the barman and the barmaid were off with the flu. She told me she herself didn’t feel too good.”
“And then?”
“Well, since I was one of her regular customers, she let me in, and I had a couple of drinks over the next thirty minutes or so . . . There were only the two of us in the bar, and somehow she sensed my mood. It must have matched her own . . .”
“What’s the name of the proprietress?”
“Yasuko Yoshimura. She’s about my own age . . . I gave her a lift home and, well, ended up spending the night with her . . . It’s not the sort of thing I’m very proud of . . .”
Kirishima could hardly keep a straight face. That a single man should make such fuss over a one-night stand. Higuchi was certainly as straight-laced as they came, he thought.
“Where does she live?”
“Oh, about five minutes’ walk from Yotsuya station. I don’t know the address—I’d never been there before—but I can get it for you.”
“And you didn’t leave her apartment till the next morning?”
“That’s correct.”
If this was true, Higuchi had a perfect alibi, Kirishima thought. No wonder he had come forward voluntarily. He wanted to lift the suspicion hanging over him as quickly as possible.
Displaying none of his previous self-confidence now, Higuchi said, “When you establish beyond doubt that I had nothing to do with this crime, will you be prepared to forget what I’ve told you about staying with that woman?”
“That goes without saying. I couldn’t disclose any private matter of this kind unless it was absolutely essential to the case of the prosecution. As a lawyer, you must be well aware of this.”
“Yes, of course,” Higuchi said hesitantly. “My question wasn’t addressed to the prosecutor but to the private citizen.”
“Oh, I see.” Now Kirishima understood what Higuchi was driving at. He was afraid his adventure with the bar proprietress might reach Etsuko’s ear
s through Kyoko. Obviously, he hadn’t yet given up his ambition to make his senior partner’s daughter his wife. “I can assure you the private citizen you’re referring to never enters this office. So you’re quite safe on that score.”
At about the same time, Inspector Yoshioka was facing Sogo Kumagaya in the homicide squad’s interrogation room at police headquarters. The old man was dressed in haori and hakama. A folding fan was held defiantly in his hand.
He glared at Yoshioka, and said, “What do you want from me? I’ve had some dealings with the security police from time to time, but this is the first time I’ve had anything to do with the homicide squad. Now, what is it?”
“Haven’t you heard about the murder yet?”
“Oh, is it Yoshihiro you’re referring to?” The defiant expression disappeared from Kumagaya’s wrinkled face. “Indeed I’m saddened by his death . . . Though I hadn’t been invited to the wedding, I was racking my brains trying to find a suitable marriage gift for him, and then this happened . . . All I can do now is pray for the repose of his soul . . . Frankly, I don’t think I can be of any assistance to you concerning his death, but on this occasion I shall willingly co-operate in whatever way I can.”
“Have you any idea who might have killed him?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised at all if it was the work of some people in the Communist Party. The study of management is a capitalistic discipline, isn’t it?”
Yoshioka heaved a deep sigh without realizing it. “Can you tell us about the connection between you and the deceased?”
“Yoshihiro was the son of a man to whom I’m indebted for life.”
“Indebted? In what way?”
“Shinnosuke Tsukamoto was the master who opened my eyes and mind. During my formative years I read his World of Shintoism so many times I could recite it from memory . . . He wrote We Are His Children for popular consumption, and indeed it’s rather simple in its approach, but Ruinous Thoughts is a fine work, perfectly applicable even today. In it he explains with great clarity how both communism and western democracy can destroy the fundamental character of the nation, and in fact predicts the sickness of today’s Japanese society.”
“I see,” Yoshioka said with drooping lips. “Now, could we leave these ideological problems for the moment and talk about your relationship with the victim’s father? Was it purely one of master and pupil? Or were you also involved in the revolt just before the end of the war, in which Tsukamoto played a major role?”
Kumagaya nodded gravely. “That’s an old story now, so there’s no harm in telling you I did take part in the uprising, but only as one of the mob . . . When we failed, the master directed us to go into hiding and work unceasingly for the cause. This, of course, made good sense. You may recall that during the Munich riots in Germany, when Nazi supporters were fired upon by regular soldiers, Hitler himself was one of the first to run . . . As the master stressed at the time, one had to accept temporary shame for the sake of final victory. Throwing one’s life away without purpose at that crucial juncture would’ve been an unforgivable sin against the cause.”
“I see. That’s why Shinnosuke Tsukamoto turned his back on his followers who were about to throw their lives away by hara-kiri, took to his heels and ran like a rabbit? And you—since you were only one of the mob—I suppose you had no problem fading out from the scene?”
Kumagaya replied with studied dignity. “Yes, this is how it would appear to a superficial observer. He wouldn’t be able to comprehend the exalted motivation behind our actions. You see, we modelled ourselves on Shikanosuke Yamanaka, the sixteenth-century soldier of the civil wars, whose lifelong ambition was to restore the Amako clan to its former glory . . .”
Yoshioka didn’t know what the old man was talking about, and he didn’t care. But he was satisfied Kumagaya wasn’t putting on an act. This was a rare old bird, in whom the fanatical patriotism of the war years somehow survived to this day. “By the way,” he said, “were you on friendly terms with the victim, too?”
“With Yoshihiro? No, there was nothing like that between us. After the master’s death I took care of the young fellow for a little while, staying in the background, of course. Those were bad times, and I thought it could be embarrassing for the bereaved family to be openly associated with a man like me . . . And once Yoshihiro became a scholar, I was even more careful to keep a respectable distance.”
It was amazing, Yoshioka thought, how fanatical ratbags like this old man managed to pay due attention to appearances, at the same time as they tried their hardest to swim against the current.
“When did you last meet the victim?”
“It was at the end of last year. I ran into him accidentally in a most unlikely place, and we exchanged a few words without even sitting down.”
“And the time before that?”
“If I rightly remember, it was around 1962.”
If this was true, Kumagaya would have no connection with the case. Yoshioka felt disappointed, but went on with his questioning. “Were you associated with Tadaaki Tsukamoto in any way?”
“Who’s he?”
“He was the victim’s younger brother. In his student days he’d been mixed up in various right-wing activities, so I naturally thought he would’ve run into you at one time or another.”
“Aaah, you’re talking about Tadaaki Yasuda, aren’t you? He used his mother’s family name since early childhood . . . That’s why I didn’t understand you for a moment, but if you think I’m the one who dragged him down, you’re completely wrong!” Kumagaya slammed his folding fan on the table. “I had certainly entertained some hopes of transmitting to him his father’s great ideals, but he was an unworthy son. He kept away from me, then went astray, pursuing an evil course. Finally death put an end to his pitiful career . . . I’ve often blamed myself for not trying a little harder to save him, but now that he’s with his father in the other world, he has every opportunity to beg the master’s pardon. There wouldn’t be any point in raking up his sins now, after all this time . . .”
Yoshioka didn’t accept at face value everything the old man had said. There might have been more to his relationship with Tadaaki than he would have the police believe. But so far as the present interview was concerned, there was nothing more to go on.
“One final question then, Mr. Kumagaya,” he said. “Just as a matter of formality, would you tell us where you were on the evening of February 15?”
Kumagaya’s wrinkled face suddenly turned stiff again, and he glared at the inspector, as at the beginning. “Do you think I might have murdered the son of the man to whom I owe so much?” He picked up his fan from the table as if he were going to strike out with it. “I was engaged in debate with my young followers from seven o’clock till after midnight. And if you think I’m not telling the truth, I suggest you go and ask my pupils.”
9
Kirishima decided to take a personal look at some of the academics who had been associated with the victim. He advised Inspector Yoshioka accordingly and next morning drove to Chiyoda University with his clerk Kitahara.
At this stage of the investigation the principal task was to sort out all persons who might have had a motive for the crime. And while these days universities were no longer the ivory towers they used to be, they still had a lot of peculiar characters on their staff. A prosecutor was better equipped to deal with such people than a police officer. That was why Kirishima decided to interrogate them personally, and Yoshioka gratefully accepted his ruling.
First Kirishima called on Professor Kuwajima, dean of the Department of Economics. He only had to wait a couple of minutes before the tall, silver-haired professor appeared in the reception room. He radiated gentleness and dignity, as might be expected of an eminent scholar.
“Thank you for sparing the time, Professor,” Kirishima said politely.
“It’s nothing.” He of
fered Kirishima a chair and a cigarette. “As dean of the department I’m often dragged out to ceremonial functions relating to coming of age, marriage, funerals, ancestral worship and so forth. But frankly, I never thought I’d have to attend the same man’s wedding and funeral with only one day between . . . Well, what would you like to know?”
“To begin with, could you tell me something about the victim’s move to this university? Who brought him here?”
“I did. Are you aware of the reason for his departure from Kyoraku University?”
“As far as I know, it was precipitated by the death of an unworthy younger brother in a fire.”
Kuwajima nodded. “I was told about it by my friend, Professor Suenaga, who was Tsukamoto’s immediate superior at Kyoraku. I decided to bring the young man here because I felt there was no sense in allowing him to ruin his promising career over something which was none of his doing. Kyoraku is rather dominated by tradition, but here we have a more forward-looking attitude. We always need new talent on our research staff, and I thought Tsukamoto might prove useful in his particular field.”
“Were his colleagues aware of his family affairs?”
“No. Only the vice-chancellor knew about his background. All the others were given the impression Tsukamoto hadn’t been able to get on with his professor at Kyoraku, so he came over to us. Of course, he himself could’ve revealed the truth to someone here. That I wouldn’t know.”
“And as his dean, what did you think of Tsukamoto’s performance as a scholar and teacher?”
“I was completely satisfied with him. He was very keen on research, and this gave some of his colleagues a much needed incentive. He was also popular among the students. To be quite honest with you, one of the weaknesses of our university is that we’ve too many people on our staff who wish to settle down to a cosy, effortless existence once they reach a certain level. We aren’t unique in this, but Tsukamoto did introduce a certain dynamism to his section. This was probably due to his training at Kyoraku as much as to his character.”
Honeymoon to Nowhere Page 13