“How did he get along with his colleagues?”
“Perhaps he was inclined to be a little introverted, but this isn’t at all unusual among scholars. He didn’t make friends easily, but I don’t think he had any special problems of communication either.”
“Can you think of anyone who might have had hostile feelings toward him? Forgive me for saying this, but I understand the academic world is by no means free of the usual complexities of human relationships.”
“Scholars are human beings, like anyone else,” Kuwajima said, forcing a smile. “But perhaps it’s true to say that because of their comparative isolation and continuing quest for knowledge, some scholars retain certain childish characteristics—especially petty jealousy—more so than adults in the outside world would. I couldn’t say with authority that there was absolutely no ill feeling toward Tsukamoto. But if it did exist, it certainly wasn’t ever brought to the surface, and I don’t believe it could’ve possibly had any bearing on his murder. On the other hand, it isn’t unthinkable that some of his tardier colleagues secretly sighed with relief when they heard of his death. But that’s all I can say.”
“I understand,” Kirishima said. “Then may I ask you something else? Would you have any knowledge of the victim’s financial standing, by any chance?”
“When he came here, I asked him about it as a formality. He told me he owned no real estate and had only about 300,000 yen in savings, but that wasn’t anything unusual. Scholars are measured by their talent and capacity for sustained effort, not by their wealth. If he had been ashamed of his modest means, his qualifications as a scholar would’ve been immediately suspect.”
“But we’ve discovered he had 4,000,000 yen in savings last autumn.”
Professor Kuwajima tilted his head in surprise. “This is news to me. I was under the impression Tsukamoto had no talent for making money . . . I wonder if he might have won something on the lottery?”
Professor Araki, head of the business management section, appeared to be a fastidious man. And there was a certain hauteur in his attitude toward Kirishima. He said as little as possible, and his manner was cool and disinterested.
“I know nothing about his private life, so I can’t really help you,” he said, making it clear from the start he wasn’t going to put himself out to assist the investigation.
Kirishima repeated his previous question to the dean by asking Araki what he had thought of Tsukamoto’s performance as a scholar.
Araki raised his eyebrows. “Let me see . . . He was certainly very enthusiastic about research, and had plenty of drive—almost to the extent of being carried away by ambition. This, of course, is fairly typical of all young scholars.”
There was quite a difference between his assessment and the dean’s, Kirishima thought. “Could you give me an example?”
“Well, for one thing, he rushed into print with the results of a rather immature research project of his before it was quite completed. He did that against my advice.”
“By the way, can you offer any suggestion regarding his death?”
“None at all, except that the incident has nothing to do with the university.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The idea of murder in a university is unthinkable. Furthermore, Tsukamoto appeared to have something to hide. I heard a rumor—though I can’t remember where, or from whom—that he had been associated with some person of questionable character in making illegal money. I laughed at the suggestion at the time, saying it was most unlikely. I certainly didn’t take it seriously—that’s why I can’t remember the source of the rumor. But now I wonder if the answer lies in that direction? Perhaps you should follow it up.”
“I will,” Kirishima said pleasantly. “But supposing there was some truth in that rumor, and it had been brought to light before Tsukamoto’s death, what would’ve happened then?”
“It would’ve been raised at the departmental board meeting. Tsukamoto’s problem at Kyoraku University had sprung from something in which he hadn’t been personally involved. But any illegal act for which he himself was partly responsible would’ve automatically meant his dismissal from this university. And then his future as a scholar would’ve been in jeopardy. Now, I have a lecture to deliver, so please excuse me, will you?”
Araki picked up a book and some notes from his desk and promptly marched out of the room, leaving Kirishima sitting there.
No matter what Araki had said, he seemed to know quite a bit about the mystery surrounding the victim, Kirishima thought. But at this stage there was no way of cornering him.
The next stop was the research room which had lost its master. A short, bespectacled youth stood up and introduced himself in an apprehensive voice.
“I’m Kunio Iwauchi,” he said. “I’ve been working under Mr. Tsukamoto since the end of last year . . . A police officer has already examined this room. I was about to collect the deceased’s personal effects and take them to Mrs. Tsukamoto. Then I was going to move out of here. Is there something else you want to look at?”
“No, there’s no problem concerning the room itself,” Kirishima said, glancing around. It was a drab place. Apart from a couple of desks with chairs, a bookcase and a big filing cabinet, there was nothing in it. “I’d like to ask you a few questions if you wouldn’t mind.”
“What would you like to know, sir? I’m completely bewildered by Mr. Tsukamoto’s death . . . Apart from everything else, I’ve lost my first real opportunity to work under an excellent teacher . . .”
“Have you any idea at all about his murder?”
“I can’t imagine why anyone would’ve wanted to kill him.”
“Did you notice any recent change in Mr. Tsukamoto’s behavior?”
“If there was any change, it was all for the better. After he got engaged he became much more cheerful. His previous moodiness was completely gone.”
“I see . . . Now, tell me this. Was Mr. Tsukamoto engaged in any special research during the time you were with him?”
“What do you mean by ‘special’?”
“Well, he might have been doing some pioneering work which produced immediate results of a practical nature.”
Iwauchi adjusted the spectacles on his nose. “Business management is a fairly new field of study, therefore research into almost any aspect of it amounts to pioneering, in a sense. But I can’t think of a single facet of our research that could’ve immediately produced profitable results. This may be possible in some technological field, but surely not in business management studies. I really don’t think Mr. Tsukamoto’s research work could’ve had any link with his murder.”
“I thought so, too, though I know very little about management studies.”
“Mr. Tsukamoto did lecture to engineering students, but only on industrial administration . . . The only thing associated with profit that I can think of is his manuscript for a book to be published in the near future. He finished it and handed it to the publisher about ten days before his wedding. It’s to have the title, Understanding I.E., and will be published in soft cover and sold at a retail price of 300 yen. The first print will be 8,000 copies. So after tax, the return in royalties will be no more than 220,000 yen. You could hardly call that a profit, considering the amount of work Mr. Tsukamoto put into it.”
“I see . . . By the way, we’ve gained the impression Mr. Tsukamoto didn’t get on well with Professor Araki. What do you think?”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Iwauchi said, blinking a few times.
“I was told in the registrar’s office a short while ago that another lecturer in the business management section, a Mr. Nitta, has been away since the day before Mr. Tsukamoto’s wedding. I understand his family home is at Tsuchiura?”
“That’s right. His father was over seventy and was suffering from an adv
anced form of asthma . . . I heard he died on the morning of the fifteenth.”
“Would you know if there might have been some antagonism between Mr. Tsukamoto and Mr. Nitta?”
“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Iwauchi said.
When it came to human relationships, this assistant certainly became supercautious, Kirishima thought.
After leaving the research room of the Department of Economics, Kirishima and his clerk went to see Kawaji, who worked in the research section of the Department of Law. This was located in the next building.
Since Kawaji had been one of the victim’s closest friends, and he worked in a different department, he might be prepared to talk more freely, Kirishima thought, realizing at the same time that special care would have to be taken during the questioning. Kawaji was an expert on the Criminal Procedure Code.
But the young lecturer received him eagerly and immediately asked a number of questions which showed his genuine concern.
“How’s it going? Have you any clues to the killer yet?”
“None so far. That’s why I’ve come to seek your cooperation.”
“I’ll certainly do whatever I can to help you. I’ve been advocating the abolishment of capital punishment, but now I’m not so sure anymore. The man who was capable of killing my friend on his wedding night must be a monster, whatever his motive.”
“It’s the motive we’re concerned with at the moment.” Kirishima said. “Have you any suggestion to offer?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea, I’m afraid . . . As far as I know, Tsukamoto never did a thing to arouse anyone’s displeasure or hatred. Certainly he was a rather unsociable man, not very good at getting along with people, but after a while his gentleness and sincerity showed through.”
“But surely we couldn’t say nobody has ever had a grudge against him?”
Kawaji held Kirishima’s gaze for a while, then answered with a question. “You’ve met Professor Araki, haven’t you?”
Kirishima nodded.
“Well, I was going to tell you this anyway . . . But would you mind keeping the source of your information to yourself?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I personally think Professor Araki’s hostility toward Tsukamoto was largely a product of misunderstanding. His wife is notorious in university circles, to the extent of being often referred to as a nymphomaniac. Well, Tsukamoto became one of her targets, but he resolutely ignored her advances. So, in retaliation she began to poison her husband’s mind with all sorts of phony tales about him . . .”
Kawaji lit a cigarette and got rid of a couple of distasteful puffs. “Of course, the professor knows his wife as well as anybody, so he largely ignores her shallow intrigue. But even so, after hearing the same slander over and over again, he’d naturally start wondering if at least a portion of it mightn’t be true.”
“Yes, that’s possible.”
“Now, I wouldn’t know what she was telling him about Tsukamoto. It could’ve been that favorite line of spurned women—they accuse the man they fail to land of having tried to seduce them. Or she could’ve told her husband Tsukamoto had an eye on his chair and was trying to ease him out of it by going over his head to the dean. That’s just speculation, of course.”
“Are you sure there was nothing between Mrs. Araki and the victim?”
“Absolutely. Tsukamoto was ultra-conservative where women were concerned. Even I became impatient with him over that. Before Etsuko’s appearance on the scene he had no girlfriend of any sort. In fact, I was rather stunned by the sudden blossoming of their friendship. I thought the two must have been born under the same star.”
Kirishima shifted in his chair and began to scratch the back of his head. “Do you think Professor Araki still has some affection for his wife?”
“Mmm. That’s a hard one to answer. Perhaps he has—mixed with dislike, and self-reproach. He’s partly responsible for what she is today . . .”
“What d’you mean?”
“This is only hearsay, you understand, but I was told the couple had no children for a long time. Then about ten years ago Mrs. Araki had a boy. They treasured him and raised him with great care. Then one Sunday, soon after the boy’s fourth birthday, she had to go out somewhere and left the child at home in her husband’s care. Araki was absorbed in some newly received literature, and the boy managed to sneak out of the house. By the time his disappearance was discovered, it was too late. He was found floating face down in the nearby Tamagawa canal.”
“I see,” Kirishima said. “And that’s when she began to change?”
Kawaji nodded. “And the same can be said of her husband. Araki’s enthusiasm for his work rapidly declined after the tragedy. His students say behind his back that his lectures are the same year after year, including the jokes he tells . . . He has now reached the stage where his previously established reputation barely supports his position.”
Kirishima recalled Araki’s hard face and curt manner, and was reminded of numerous similar psychological patterns he had perceived in his work. There were far more people than generally imagined who hid their distress and confusion behind a tough front . . . He decided to change the subject.
“Tsukamoto was far better off financially than we had expected,” he said. “Would you have any idea where his extra income came from?”
“Well, public lecture fees and royalties from published work are normal extras for scholars, but none of Tsukamoto’s writings has become a best seller. I’m quite sure he didn’t get much out of his books. And I don’t think he ever worked for any company in an advisory capacity.”
“He purchased the apartment he was living in for 3,000,000 yen.”
“I thought he was renting it.” Kawaji looked genuinely surprised. “Of course, he could’ve bought it with a loan raised somewhere, but Tsukamoto always disliked borrowing money—ever since we were students.”
Kirishima asked a few more questions but didn’t get any further. So far as the actual murder was concerned, Kawaji could do no more than keep repeating that he was baffled.
“Mr. Kawaji, I understand you’ve been a widower for some time?”
A shadow passed over the young lecturer’s face. “Yes,” he said, “my wife died in a car accident the year before last. I’ve never driven a car since.”
On his way back from the university Kirishima called at police headquarters to have a talk with Yoshioka.
“A couple of interesting facts have come to light in the meantime,” Yoshioka said with an air of urgency, as if he had been waiting for the opportunity to report to Kirishima. “Higuchi’s statement to you has been confirmed by the bar proprietress Yoshimura, but it seems the relationship between them goes beyond that of bar keeper and customer.”
“Was there a sexual relationship between them prior to the night mentioned by Higuchi?”
“I’ve no proof of that, but there’s ample evidence of a lawyer-client relationship. About two years ago Yasuko Yoshimura obtained a divorce from her wealthy husband on the grounds of his adultery, and with Higuchi’s able assistance she finished up with a large amount of settlement money. That’s how she could buy the Black Rose Bar.”
“Then she must feel indebted to Higuchi?”
“Yes. It’s not unthinkable she would’ve helped him to establish a false alibi.”
“What type of woman is she?”
“Quite beautiful in a plump sort of way,” Yoshioka said, winking. “This may be an unkind thing to say, but I think she’s far more attractive than Mrs. Tsukamoto. And I’m sure any man who managed to get into bed with her would have a pretty good time . . . But she certainly isn’t the type of woman a man like Higuchi would want to marry.”
“If she’s like that, then isn’t it possible she’d be prepared to assist Higuchi without any jealousy in
his attempts to get himself a suitable wife? The only thing is—Higuchi’s statement is most convincing and logical, and in his case rejected love would seem to be far too weak a motive for murder.”
“That’s true,” Yoshioka said, making a glum face. “Still, at this stage at any rate, I’d like to proceed on the assumption that his alibi isn’t one hundred percent . . . Now, the second fact to come to light is that there’s a rather mysterious man called Hiroshi Watanabe among the victim’s relatives.”
Kirishima nodded without comment. As he had expected, the inspector hadn’t wasted any time digging up Watanabe.
Yoshioka said, “According to Mrs. Tsukamoto, he’s one of those intelligent rascals with a dubious look about them. Apparently, he saved Tsukamoto’s life when they were children and has been sponging off him ever since.”
“Have you got his address?”
“I’ve no idea where he is at the moment. Until February 4, he was living in an apartment located about five minutes’ walking distance from the victim’s apartment.”
“Has he been missing since?”
“Not exactly missing, because he moved out of the apartment in the normal way, but we can’t establish his present whereabouts. He just told the caretaker he was going north to take up a new position.”
“But hasn’t he left a forwarding address?”
“No. He said he’d live in temporary accommodation till he found a suitable flat and asked the caretaker to forward all his mail to Tsukamoto’s address. But so far there’s no letter for him there.”
“He’s a strange bird all right,” Kirishima said.
“Oh, I almost forgot—when Watanabe moved into the apartment, Tsukamoto signed as his referee.”
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