Honeymoon to Nowhere

by Akimitsu Takagi

  Making a vow to a dead person wasn’t anything unusual, Kyoko thought, but there seemed to be an echo to Etsuko’s voice, and for the first time in days she smiled, rather strangely. Somehow, it was frightening.

  “Yes, I discussed a lot of things with him last night,” Etsuko said. “I’m not lonely anymore. He never leaves my side—not like other husbands who have to go to work every day . . .”

  Now Kyoko was really worried. She was going to tell Etsuko to stop thinking about her husband and to turn her eyes to the future, but decided to hold her tongue. She realized her advice would have no effect on Etsuko while she was in this mental condition. If anything, it might make her worse.

  The doorbell started to ring. Kyoko told Etsuko to continue her meal and went to open the front door.

  It was Koike, Yoshihiro’s lawyer. He looked a little surprised to find Kyoko there, but immediately bowed and said, “I appreciate your kindness. It’s reassuring to know you’re keeping an eye on her. How is she?”

  “Well, to be quite frank, I’m a bit worried about her,” Kyoko said softly. “I may be wrong, of course, but I think she should be looked at by a specialist.”

  “D’you mean a psychiatrist?” Koike kept his voice down to make sure Etsuko wouldn’t overhear the conversation.

  “Yes,” Kyoko whispered. “Would you know anyone suitable? Somebody who’d be prepared to make a home call? I thought he could say he came to offer his sympathy as one of her husband’s friends or something like that.”

  “Hmm. Let me see. I have a cousin who’s a psychiat­rist—a very competent man, too. His only trouble is he loves gambling. Especially when it comes to horse racing, he gets completely carried away. That’s why his relatives say behind his back it’s he who needs his head examined . . . Well, perhaps we could talk about this again when we’ve observed Mrs. Tsukamoto’s behavior for a while.” Koike took off his overcoat, then anxiously added, “D’you think she might be too confused at the moment? I have some practical matters to discuss with her.”

  “No, I don’t think she’s that bad,” Kyoko said. “She should be able to follow you all right. I only suggested the examination because I’m afraid her condition might deteriorate further if she’s allowed to brood over her dead husband without any check.”

  “This is where your companionship may prove very helpful to her . . . Well, then I’ll try to talk to her in your presence, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  Koike went into the Japanese room and once more ex­pressed his sympathy to Etsuko. Then he squatted down in front of Yoshihiro’s photograph, lit an incense stick, and prayed for a while with hands joined. Finally he turned to Etsuko again.

  “It’s too late to do anything about this now,” he said, “but I must apologize to you, just the same. I share the re­sponsibility with Mr. Kawaji for making you a widow. If we hadn’t told your husband to get the marriage certificate registered at the ward office the same afternoon, you’d still be Miss Ogata today.”

  “Mr. Koike!” Etsuko’s previous absent-mindedness was gone in an instant. Her pale face was alive with feeling. “Please don’t say another word about this. I’ve no regrets at all. On the contrary, I’m glad I could be with him as his legal wife, even if only for a few hours . . .”

  Kyoko felt like crying. She thought Etsuko’s words had expressed a fusion of joy and sorrow in a delicately crys­tallized form.

  Koike wiped his nose with his handkerchief, then said, in a tremulous voice, “I perfectly understand how you feel—and would like to help you all I can . . . As a lawyer, I can’t give you much moral support. Being so busy at the office I couldn’t come to see you often, much as I’d like to comfort you every day. But I’m determined to do my bit somehow, so I consulted your brother-in-law yesterday. And he asked me if I’d help you in the matter of your hus­band’s estate . . .”

  Kyoko thought it might be too soon to talk about in­heritance. But Etsuko’s face was expressionless like a No mask. No trace of emotion was showing on it now.

  “. . . This seemed to me a good idea at first, but after considering it last night I decided against it. I thought it’d be different if you had no one else to help you, but you have a lawyer father, so it’d be natural for him to take care of this for you. There was no need for me to poke my nose into it . . . I rang Mr. Ogata not so long ago and mentioned to him Nobumasa Tsukamoto’s request and my conclusion. But he said he had no desire to deal with any estate his daughter might inherit—it would only remind him of the tragedy and make him more de­pressed. All he wanted was to see his daughter return home as soon as possible. His answer was very touching . . . I then suggested he might leave the matter to his junior partner or some other young lawyer he could trust. But he said, ‘You’ve been a close friend of the deceased as well as his legal adviser, so I don’t see why you shouldn’t do it, especially since his brother has asked you.’”

  Kyoko could appreciate why Koike was so hesitant. Succession to property was often a troublesome business, with ugly disputes developing even among the closest relatives. On the other hand, from a lawyer’s point of view this type of work was much more rewarding fi­nancially than, for example, defending somebody in a criminal action. Therefore Koike would run the risk of somebody unfairly accusing him behind his back of trying to exploit the widow of his close friend, even if the money involved was only small.

  “I don’t want any money,” Etsuko muttered. “I’m only interested in Yoshihiro’s memory . . .”

  “But if you’re going to live in this apartment, you’ll have to support yourself, and you can’t do that without money . . . As his widow, it’s the most natural thing for you to inherit his property. This is your right, and you needn’t be shy about it or feel obliged to anyone . . . Frankly, I’m personally against the idea of you living here on your own, but this is what you want to do, isn’t it? I understand you don’t want to go back to your parents’ home for the time being?”

  Etsuko nodded and sat up straight. “Mr. Koike, I agree with everything you said. Indeed, why should I be hesitant about having the things my husband left behind? . . . I’m going to take advantage of your kind offer and ask you to look after my interests. I’m prepared to leave everything in your hands.”

  “Thank you for your confidence—I’ll do my best to deserve it,” Koike said in a businesslike manner. “I’ll prepare the necessary documents straight away and bring them over tomorrow for you to sign. And I think you should meet your brother-in-law in my presence within the next two or three days.”

  “Yes, I will.”

  “Mr. Tsukamoto is extremely sympathetic toward you. He sounds as if he wants to relinquish his succession rights in your favor. And so far as the insurance money is con­cerned, to avoid gift duty he wants to collect it and pay the tax on it and then quietly transfer the balance into your ac­count.”

  “Such details are really beyond me—I’ll leave them to you. But I do feel my brother-in-law is doing far more for me than normally would be expected of him.”

  “Well, in my opinion you shouldn’t reject his generos­ity. I’m sure the comparatively small amount of money involved won’t make any difference to his financial posi­tion . . . But apart from that, there are quite a few other problems to be sorted out, so I think you should meet him as soon as possible.”

  Etsuko nodded. “Actually, I myself thought of meeting him sometime. At the funeral we had no opportunity to talk—we could only exchange a few words.”

  “Mr. Tsukamoto said the same thing, as a matter of fact . . . Now, coming back to the question of the inheri­tance, your husband’s estate includes some copyrights, but I’ll consult Mr. Kawaji on that.” Koike ran his fingers across his forehead, collecting his thoughts. “Oh, yes. I only learned this the other day—your husband bought this apartment as a home unit and has a clear title to it. I’ll try to transfer it to your name as quickly as I can . . . Well, there a
re a few more minor problems, but we can talk about these some other time. Right now I’m running late for an appointment, so I’d better get going, I suppose.” He got up and hurriedly fastened his briefcase. “Will you excuse me now?”

  Men and women were certainly different, Kyoko thought philosophically as she let Koike out. The loss of his close friend must have been quite a shock to him, but his reaction to it was positive and logical. He wanted to ease his own sorrow by doing all he could for his friend’s widow.

  About an hour later, when Kyoko was about to leave, the doorbell rang again. It was Kawaji with a big parcel under his arm.

  He spent a long time in prayer in front of Yoshihiro’s photograph then offered Etsuko his sympathy in an elaborate, flowery style. The essence of it was that her dead husband was sure to be pleased she had come over to his apartment to stay and pray for his soul.

  Some color returned to Etsuko’s face. She must have been grateful there was somebody who understood how she felt.

  But Kyoko wasn’t pleased. Kawaji’s words had been most considerate, but they might do Etsuko more harm than good by encouraging her in her melodramatic mood. She thought Koike’s practical kindness was far more helpful.

  “This parcel contains his personal belongings from the research room,” Kawaji said. “There may be some more, but since Iwauchi had this lot wrapped up, and I was coming over anyway, I brought it with me.”

  “Thank you for your kindness,” Etsuko whispered.

  “Don’t mention it . . . And if you feel you can’t bear looking at them, I’m quite prepared to take them back . . .”

  “No, that won’t be necessary,” Etsuko said firmly.

  Kawaji nodded and then proceeded to unwrap the parcel. Among all the pens, notebooks and half-finished manuscripts there was a snapshot of Etsuko in a small frame. “According to Iwauchi, he kept this in a locked drawer.”

  Etsuko looked at her picture for a little while, then said in a calm voice, “When I get a bit more settled, I’d like to distribute these things as mementoes among his friends . . . So far as his books are concerned, they’ll be of no use to me, so I’d like to give them to the university. Could you look after that for me?”

  “Yes, of course,” Kawaji said. “I’ll consult Iwauchi about it, as the subject matter is outside my field . . . And if you’ve any other problems, please don’t hesitate to ask me—I’ll be only too happy to assist in any way I can . . .”

  For the next twenty minutes or so Kawaji talked about his dead friend, stopping every now and then to comfort Etsuko and to re-state his sympathy for her. Then he got up to leave.

  Kyoko decided this was a good opportunity for her to go, too. Etsuko’s reference to the traditional distribution of the deceased’s belongings as mementoes suggested she was much calmer now than she had been a few hours ago.

  “Which way are you heading?” Kyoko asked Kawaji as they reached the street.

  “I’m going to Komaba.”

  “Then I’ll give you a lift. I’m going home by taxi, anyway.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  She hailed a passing cab, and soon they were on their way. “My husband suggested I should learn to drive before getting tied down with children,” Kyoko said. “So I’m taking some lessons at the moment, but I find the rules and regulations much more complicated than ex­pected. Learning them all is almost a task for a legal expert like you.”

  Kyoko brought up the subject of driving just to say something, but Kawaji responded with unexpected fervor.

  “Those driving instructors can be very annoying,” he said. “When I went for my driving test some years ago and did rather poorly in the theoretical part, they asked me with a straight face if I was really a lecturer in law at a university. Well, in my opinion, the questions had been put so badly that anyone trained to think logically would’ve come up with the wrong answers . . .” He didn’t seem to be very pleased with the subject, and changed it suddenly. “Incidentally, you wouldn’t be the wife of State Prosecutor Kirishima by any chance, would you? As master of ceremonies at the wedding I had to call on you to speak, and I wondered. Kirishima isn’t a common family name.”

  For Kyoko this wasn’t a welcome question, but she couldn’t avoid answering it now. “Yes, I am,” she said, “but Etsuko happens to be my closest friend from way back. My visit to her has absolutely nothing to do with my husband.”

  A sardonic smile crossed Kawaji’s face. “Yes, I’m well aware of that. If I were the killer, I’m sure I wouldn’t have to worry about sitting with you in the same taxi, since State Prosecutor Kirishima’s business is none of your concern . . .”

  If he meant this to be funny, he certainly had a strange sense of humor, Kyoko thought. There must be a weird kink in his character. Suddenly she was a little scared.

  Kawaji produced a cigarette and slowly put it between his lips. “I’ve made a little discovery today,” he said, then struck a match and lit the cigarette with elaborate care. “Yesterday I gave your husband various reasons for Professor Araki’s possible hostility toward Tsuka­moto . . .”

  Kyoko recalled Araki’s sour face at the crematorium.

  “. . . Well, now I’ve got one more. Araki’s father was a professor of economics, too, I’ve learned. He did a lot of study on Marxism before and during the war. His interest was purely academic, of course . . .”

  Kyoko sucked in her breath. “Are you suggesting Mr. Tsukamoto’s father would’ve . . .”

  Kawaji nodded gravely. “His father, whose followers were nicknamed ‘Private Political Police,’ put a special interpretation on Araki’s interest. Because of the lunatic atmosphere of those days, the old professor was not only removed from his university post, but was subsequently arrested by intelligence agents of the military. He was supposed to have died of a heart attack while being interrogated, but knowing how those agents operated during the war, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he was tortured to death. His son, the present Professor Araki, was given a rough time, too.”

  “And he knew that Yoshihiro Tsukamoto was Shinnosuke Tsukamoto’s son?”

  “I’m not sure about that, but I don’t think he did when Tsukamoto moved over to Chiyoda University. The dean of that department disclosed nothing of my friend’s background to anyone, and the family name Tsukamoto is quite common.” Kawaji drew on his cigarette, then added, “Well, even if Professor Araki did subsequently learn of the connection, to me it’s unthinkable he would’ve wanted to revenge his father’s death in this manner after all those years . . .”

  11

  “I see,” Kirishima said, making a sour face as he listened to Inspector Yoshioka on the phone the follow­ing morning. “I think it’s time for me to move in . . . In the meantime, will you check Professor and Mrs. Araki’s alibis, just to make sure? . . . Good. We can discuss that later . . .”

  He put down the receiver and remained motionless for the next minute, then turned to his clerk Kitahara. “I want you to drive to Shimotakaido immediately.”

  “That’s where Nobumasa Tsukamoto lives, isn’t it?”

  Kirishima nodded.

  “Are you issuing a formal request for his appear­ance?”

  “Yes. But before you hand him the summons, take a good look at him, will you? Don’t bring him in here unless you think he can stand up to it. Use your own judgment. It may be a bit too much for him in his present condition, though he managed to attend the funeral, so he can’t be too bad.”

  “I’ll be careful.” Kitahara put on his overcoat and left without further comment.Kirishima gazed unseeingly at the Tsukamoto file in front of him. A prosecutor’s direct summons usually had the desired psychological effect, especially on an intelli­gent person. “Well, we’ll soon see,” he muttered to him­self.

  About two and a half hours later Nobumasa Tsukamoto limped into Kirishima’s office in Kitahara’s company.
He had a scarf wrapped around his neck, and the upturned collar of his overcoat covered part of his ears. After sitting down in one of the visitors’ chairs, he removed his white flu mask.

  “I’m sorry to drag you here in this condition,” Kiri­shima said, “but to solve your brother’s murder we urgently need your co-operation . . . How’re you feel­ing?”

  “Not too bad, thank you. My injuries are mending well, but this damned flu has hit me pretty hard. I don’t seem to be able to shake off the fever . . . With all these unfortunate things happening at the same time, I’m almost inclined to resort to religious magic, though I’m a confirmed atheist.” He smiled wryly. His voice was so hoarse, it made Kirishima feel like clearing his own throat all the time. “Anyway, I hope the police will catch that bastard soon. When I think of Etsuko living on her own in that apartment, I feel that tearing him to pieces with my own hands wouldn’t be enough for him . . .”

  Recalling some of the things Kyoko had told him last night, Kirishima said, “I myself feel genuinely sorry for Mrs. Tsukamoto . . . By the way, I heard you want to forsake your succession rights in her favor. Is that right?”

  Nobumasa gave a curt nod. “As might be expected of a prominent prosecutor, you know how to use your ears. Well, the property involved is quite small, and I think she should have the lot, by way of compensation. I’m not short of money at the moment.”

  “I admire you for your attitude,” Kirishima said. “Are you going to give her the insurance money as well?”

  “I’m the beneficiary of that policy, so I’m going to collect the money. But what I do with it afterward—that’s my own business, isn’t it?”

  “This is not the Tax Office. You can speak freely.”

  “As I told you before, I want to do as much as I can for her. This should sufficiently answer your question.”

  “You seem to be very well disposed toward her.”

  “Yes, I took a liking to her the first time I set eyes on her when Yoshihiro introduced us. She’s kind-hearted and intelligent. Actually, at the time I thought she was too good for him. Beauty is only skin deep, as you know . . .” Suddenly his face became gloomy. “Besides, now that Yoshihiro’s gone, I’ve nobody left in the whole world. This loneliness can become depressing, you know. Suppose I achieve something outstanding in my work. There’s no one I can share my pleasure with. That’s why I want to take good care of Etsuko, and that’s why I place value on my relationship with her. She’s now my sister-in-law—the only close relative I’ve got.”