“When was that?”
“The tenancy agreement was signed on May I last year.”
“Wasn’t that soon after Tsukamoto himself had moved from Kyoto to Tokyo?”
“Yes . . . It certainly looks fishy to me.”
“Have you dug up anything on Watanabe’s occupation or last place of work?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t. The caretaker says when he moved in there, he just said he’d be looking for a suitable job or something like that. But of course, once a university lecturer signed his papers for him, nobody worried about his job anymore.”
“Hmm. And did he pay his rent properly?”
“Yes. Sometimes he was a few days behind, but generally there was no trouble with him. And he paid up when he moved out.”
“Didn’t he associate with anyone in that apartment house?”
“No. My man checked this out thoroughly in the hope of getting a clue on him, but apparently Watanabe didn’t speak even to his next-door neighbor. Well, this is nothing unusual in Tokyo these days . . .” Yoshioka made a sour face. “Anyway, all we know about him is that he lived a very irregular life and was always full of sake when he got home. Hardly anybody ever visited him. When he moved in, he had very little luggage, but later bought a few pieces of furniture and some household utensils. Then just before moving out, he sold the lot to a second-hand dealer. He left there with a single suitcase.”
Kirishima shook his head. “I’m sure he could tell us an interesting story, if only we could get hold of him.”
“Yes . . . I’ve a feeling he has a criminal record. Of course, the name doesn’t mean a thing. Unfortunately, a new tenant has already moved into the apartment, so it’d be virtually impossible to collect fingerprints. Anyway, when Watanabe left, the caretaker did a big clean-up job, even to the extent of changing all the tatamis . . . I think the only thing we can do now is ask the Identification Section to make an identikit picture of him.”
“Wouldn’t the victim’s elder brother, or his lawyer, or someone else know something about this man? Surely there must be somebody?” Kirishima no longer could conceal his irritation.
“Well,” Yoshioka said sheepishly, “I only received this report a few minutes ago. My men couldn’t do much yesterday, with everybody attending the funeral . . . And I feel that even if this Watanabe turns out to be a bad one, it’ll be difficult to connect him with the murder. He was supposed to be sponging off Tsukamoto—almost living off him. Why would he want to kill the goose that lays the golden egg? Furthermore, I don’t think he had a strong enough hold on Tsukamoto to get him out of that hotel on his wedding night. And suppose it was Tsukamoto who had a hold on Watanabe through knowing something about him, and Watanabe wanted to shut him up? In that case, how on earth could Watanabe have extorted money from the victim?”
“You’re right. Besides, even if he wanted to kill Tsukamoto, there was no need for him to do it on the wedding night.”
Yoshioka nodded. “We’ve checked on a number of other people apart from Higuchi and Watanabe. I’m afraid none of them would’ve had a reason to commit this crime . . . And how about your inquiries at the university, Mr. Prosecutor?”
Kirishima gave an account of the various interviews. The longer he went on, the more disappointed the inspector looked.
“I see,” Yoshioka said in the end. “Professor Araki and his wife each would’ve had some sort of a motive. But so far as Mrs. Araki is concerned, I doubt whether she would’ve been able to lure the victim out of the hotel on that particular night. Moreover, it seems quite impossible for a woman to commit a murder like this all by herself.”
“I think so, too. Even if there was something between her and the victim, it’s most unlikely he would’ve been prepared to leave his bride that night just to go to make love to her. Another point is that Mrs. Tsukamoto knew about Mrs. Araki, so even if she did phone that night, there was no need for Tsukamoto to go to great lengths to conceal her existence from his wife. Besides, if Mrs. Araki had been so desperate to hang on to her lover, she would’ve tried something well before the wedding, wouldn’t she? . . . Finally, the person who made the phone call had a male voice.”
“Well, that eliminates Mrs. Araki,” Yoshioka said. “As for Professor Araki, he was Tsukamoto’s immediate superior, and as such was certainly in a position to lure him out of the hotel with the excuse of the exam papers. But why would he have done that? As a jealous husband he should’ve felt greatly relieved that his wife’s real or imagined lover was at last settling down with another woman, much younger than Mrs. Araki. There was no point in killing him . . .”
Kirishima gave a couple of short nods. “And even if Araki believed Tsukamoto had his eyes on his job, that still wouldn’t amount to an acceptable motive for murder. After all, the victim was a young lecturer who had only been there a short while and hardly wielded enough influence for Araki to worry about . . .”
Yoshioka gave a deep sigh. “It’s confusing all right. On the basis of what we’ve got to date, there isn’t anyone to derive monetary gain from Tsukamoto’s death except his wife. And we have no real suspect for the grudge motive either. So what the hell is the motive?”
“Well,” Kirishima said, “murder is often the end result of some extraordinary psychological process in the killer’s mind, which is beyond the understanding of the observer. In such cases it’s useless trying to solve the crime by sound reasoning . . . But whatever we are facing here, we must guard against hasty conclusions.”
“I understand,” Yoshioka said. “I’ll try to follow up every clue, however small, as thoroughly as I can.”
“I’ve full confidence in you and your men, Inspector.”
10
“At last we’re getting somewhere,” Yoshioka told Kirishima on the phone just before lunch the next day. “We’ve got the taxi driver who picked up the victim in front of the New Tokyo Hotel. He’s employed by the Toyo Taxi Company and has been away from work for the past three days because of his son’s illness. He said he was too worried about his son to read the papers.”
“Uh-huh. And where did he take the victim?”
“To a lonely spot near the National Railway workshops at Shinagawa.”
“Shinagawa?”
“Yes. Apparently, Tsukamoto didn’t head for the entrance to the workshops, but stood there looking around, as if waiting for someone to turn up. The taxi driver left immediately, so he can’t say what the victim did next . . . A little while ago two of my detectives inspected the exact spot with the driver.”
“Can you describe the locality?”
“The railway workshops and stores and a number of marshalling yards take up a large area. It’s a place never seen by the general public. At night it becomes almost a no man’s land—completely quiet and deserted. There’s a big pharmaceutical plant and a number of other factories in the vicinity. All are quiet at night.”
“Yes, I think I know the place—I’ve been through there once,” Kirishima said.
“According to the driver, there wasn’t a soul around where Tsukamoto got out of the taxi.”
“It was the ideal place for murder.”
“We’ll make a thorough search of the area, though I doubt if we’ll find any physical evidence after four days. Apart from everything else, we’ve had a few showers since . . . I reckon the victim was killed somewhere there, and then the body was taken by car to Kitamicho to be dumped. The obvious intention of the killer was to slow down the investigation.”
“Or he might have been disturbed at the workshops, so he knocked out the victim with a karate blow and drove him to the other place to finish him off . . . Anyway, even if the chances of finding some clue near the railway workshops are very slim, please have the vicinity thoroughly searched.”
“I’ll certainly do that,” Yoshioka said. “By the way, those railway workshops ar
e in an entirely different direction from Chiyoda University in relation to the New Tokyo Hotel. And at this stage we can’t find anyone connected with the National Railway, or living in that area, who was known to the victim. What do you think, Mr. Prosecutor?”
Kirishima put his elbows on the desk and cradled the receiver in his hands. “Well, now we have it confirmed it was the victim who told his bride a lie. It would’ve been absolutely impossible to lure him out to that lonely spot with the excuse of the missing exam papers. But that still leaves us with the question—what was the excuse the killer used? To be honest, I’ve no idea at all at the moment.”
“Same here . . . The only thing I can add is that the victim must have trusted the killer, or at least wasn’t afraid of him. This is indicated by his willingness to meet the killer in that lonely place, and also by the frontal attack on him.”
“I agree. And this means we can just about eliminate any theory based on a threat . . . Well, we can’t go on forever discussing this on the phone. But just to make sure we’re on the right track—how can you be certain it was Tsukamoto who was picked up by that taxi driver? Couldn’t it have been somebody who looked like him?”
Yoshioka replied without the slightest hesitation. “We mixed the victim’s photograph with nine others depicting men of similar features and age. The taxi driver picked out Tsukamoto at once. So he must have taken a pretty good look at him.”
“Right. This it what I had in mind. Is there anything else for now?”
“Yes. Concerning Watanabe and how the victim managed to purchase his own apartment, I sent senior detectives to both lawyer Koike and the elder brother.”
“I see.”
“I’ll deal with Koike first. He said he knew from the victim there was a distant relative called Watanabe who gave a lot of trouble. He had caught sight of the man a couple of times but never actually spoken to him. And he didn’t know what Watanabe’s exact relationship to the Tsukamotos was.”
“And what did he say about the money?”
“Nothing much. He claimed he had no detailed knowledge of the victim’s financial affairs. He spoke cautiously and tactfully, as might be expected of a lawyer. My man wasn’t satisfied and pressed on, but finally got the impression Koike was quite genuine. Koike suggested the modest assets left by Tsukamoto Senior to his widow would’ve been eaten up completely in the education of the three children, so it was unthinkable the victim’s money would’ve come from that direction.”
“Mm-hm. And what did the elder brother have to say?”
“Surprisingly, he didn’t know much about Watanabe either.”
“That’s strange . . .” Kirishima leaned back in his tilting swivel chair until the phone cord was almost taut and rested his head against his raised left arm. “He must be related to Watanabe in the same way as his brother. Besides, Watanabe is supposed to have saved his brother’s life. If that’s true, then isn’t it rather odd he doesn’t know much about the man?”
“The detective questioned him persistently on that, but didn’t get very far with him. Tsukamoto said he was aware of the existence of a man called Watanabe who had lived near the Tsukamoto home during the war and had been one of Yoshihiro’s playmates. But he himself had lived in the barracks of a munition factory, doing labor service under the Students’ Mobilization Act at the time. He couldn’t remember much of life in and around the Tsukamoto home during that period. It was well after the war that he first heard about Watanabe saving Yoshihiro’s life.”
“Hm. Did he say what the exact family tie was between Watanabe and the Tsukamotos?”
“He claimed he had no idea. He said he vaguely remembered his mother saying something about it, but links between distant relatives were often very complicated, and he had never personally associated with Watanabe, so over the years he had completely forgotten about him.”
This made sense, at least on the face of it, Kirishima thought. He himself had quite a few relatives he couldn’t sort out. When it came to relationships like his maternal grandfather’s cousin’s son, there was hardly any difference between a relative and a complete stranger, and it was impossible to remember the connecting chain. But he still wasn’t quite satisfied with Nobumasa Tsukamoto’s explanation. Frowning at the receiver, he said, “Nevertheless, if the victim was recently associated with Watanabe, surely this would’ve reached his elder brother’s ear somehow?”
“That’s what I thought, too, but he claims that nothing’s been mentioned to him, nor has he ever met Watanabe in recent years.”
“Did he say when he met him last?”
“He said it was about ten years ago, and if he met him again today he probably wouldn’t recognize his face.”
“Well, I think he’s lying. I simply can’t believe the victim never said a word about Watanabe.”
“Yeah, I feel the same way, but it may be unwise for us to make up our minds too quickly on this. Some members of the Tsukamoto family attended the victim’s wedding, and they’re being interviewed at present. Older people often know a lot about complicated family relationships, and we might pick up something from them, with a bit of luck.”
“And how did Tsukamoto go on the question of his brother’s income?”
“He was pretty vague about that, too. He offered the suggestion that, since his brother had specialized in business management studies, he might have been able to analyze the financial position of various companies and make some extra money with shares.”
“These days it takes a professional to make any money out of shares, I’d say.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Yoshioka said mournfully. “I learned this at my own cost just recently . . . Anyway, my man took him up on this straight away, and Tsukamoto said, well, if it wasn’t shares, his brother might have been involved in commercial transactions—perhaps in the commodity market.”
“But you didn’t find in the victim’s apartment any invoice, receipt, delivery docket or anything else to suggest this, did you?”
“No—nothing.”
“I thought so.”
“Well, my man asked exactly the same question, and then all of a sudden Tsukamoto flew off the handle and said, ‘My brother wasn’t a child anymore—he didn’t have to report to me every time he made some extra money. Furthermore, I didn’t care how he made it. As his elder brother, all I want to say is that I don’t think he ever obtained any money illegally.’ Then he got really nasty and asked how long the detective proposed to pester a sick man like him . . .” Yoshioka’s sigh came through clearly on the phone. “He’s probably concealing something, but what more can we do at this stage? We haven’t got anything on him. And to make matters worse, my man says he’s sharp as a razor and has nerves of steel—altogether too clever a bird to be caught with chaff . . .”
Certainly the most difficult people for the police to deal with were intellectuals who also had courage, Kirishima thought. Nobumasa Tsukamoto must have proved just a bit too much for the poor detective. On the other hand, he might have been simply telling the truth all along . . . “And have you gained the impression the Tsukamoto brothers didn’t get on with each other?”
“No. According to Koike, they were very close, even if they didn’t meet very often because each was busy in his own work. And Koike’s opinion has been confirmed by Mrs. Tsukamoto.”
“I see . . . Is there anything else?”
“Not at this stage,” Yoshioka said. “For the time being I propose to continue on the lines suggested by you the other day.”
“Please do that. And we’ll have to get together again soon.”
Kirishima stretched his fingers after replacing the receiver. He had been on the phone for nearly an hour. Then he folded his arms and drifted into thought without realizing he hadn’t had his lunch.
Around the same time Kyoko Kirishima visited the victim’s apartment at Setagaya.
Etsuko was already living in it. She had moved in immediately after the funeral.
Kyoko had phoned her in the morning and become even more anxious about her. Etsuko’s voice had been gloomy and lifeless, as if coming from somebody half asleep.
So when Kyoko had finished her shopping at Shibuya, she decided to call on Etsuko before returning home.
Opening the door for her, Etsuko looked as if she had lost some more weight during the night. Her eyes were bloodshot and dull. She had probably hardly slept at all, Kyoko thought.
In the Japanese room, Yoshihiro’s photograph in a black frame stood in front of his ashes, and smoke from freshly replaced incense sticks rose wavering into the air.
“Have you had your lunch yet?” Kyoko asked.
“I don’t want any.”
“What about breakfast?”
“I had something light . . .”
Kyoko knew this was a lie—Etsuko’s intonation had been totally unconvincing.
“This is what I was afraid of,” Kyoko said. “Here, have some of this.” She took some sushi out of a packet she had just bought at Shibuya, and then got up again to make the tea.
When Etsuko didn’t show any interest in the rice rolls, Kyoko said, “You’re not on a hunger strike like those Buddhist monks in Vietnam, are you?”
Finally Etsuko picked up a sushi and reluctantly began to eat.
Kyoko kept up the pressure. “If you’re going to carry on like this, I’ll take you back to your parents, even if I have to put a rope around your neck and drag you all the way.”
“I’ll be all right,” Etsuko said, chewing listlessly. “From now on I’ll have regular meals. I just didn’t have an appetite this morning . . . You don’t have to fly into a panic over every little thing.”
“You must keep up your strength, Etsu, otherwise you won’t last the distance.”
“Yes, I realize that,” Etsuko said eagerly. “I know I must last till the trial is over. As a matter of fact, I made my husband a promise only last night.”
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