“Why don’t you get married?”
“Mr. Prosecutor, as you may well imagine, my late father and youngest brother cast a shadow not only on Yoshihiro, but also on me. Every time a suitable marriage proposal cropped up, it came to nothing. On the other hand, the type of women who didn’t care about such things proved either unfaithful or impossible to stomach for long. It was always one way or the other. Until now, I’ve never met anyone like Etsuko . . .”
If he hadn’t set his sights so high, surely he could’ve come to terms with some woman by now, Kirishima thought. But of course, people isolated by misfortune or prejudice often developed a defense mechanism of excessive self-respect. It was common for such people to want to marry someone beyond their reach . . .
Would Nobumasa be thinking of marrying Etsuko sometime in the future? She was now one of those women often described by small-minded people as ‘ruined for life.’ She was certainly more attainable now than she had been as the maiden daughter of a prominent lawyer, and Nobumasa seemed to have a special affection for her. It was quite common for a widow to marry her dead husband’s younger brother. So why not the elder brother, for a change?
“Perhaps you intend to take care of her permanently from now on?”
“Well, if she returns to her parents’ home, I wouldn’t be able to do that without offending the Ogata family . . . But I certainly don’t want to lose her, if I can help it.”
This made his intentions toward Etsuko pretty clear, Kirishima thought. But it was unthinkable he would’ve murdered his own brother just to get her. Not even an idiot could have hoped with any confidence that the widow would automatically marry him.
“I see,” Kirishima said cheerfully, deciding to change the direction of the interview toward the heart of the matter. “Incidentally, I’m still rather surprised by your brother’s financial position at the time of his death. Are you sure you’ve no idea of the source of that 3,000,000 yen he bought his apartment with? In my opinion, it would’ve been impossible for him to save that much out of his lecturer’s salary.”
Nobumasa frowned for just a moment, but he must have been prepared for the question because he answered it smoothly. “I’ve already told the police everything I could think of.”
“Unfortunately, your suggestion of share or commodity transactions can’t be accepted, simply because there’s no trace of such transactions.”
“Then he might have won some money on the lottery. If my memory serves me correctly, there’s a 3,000,000-yen special prize.”
“If he had such rare luck, surely he would’ve told you about it? Wouldn’t it have been natural for him to give you a portion of his win, since you were his closest living relative? Or was there some ill will between you?”
“No, we were very close—much closer than most brothers. So you’re probably right in what you say.”
“Anyway, winners of the larger lottery prizes can easily be checked out, and we’ll do that just to make sure, but I don’t think your brother will be among them.” Kirishima looked at Nobumasa earnestly. “Mr. Tsukamoto, this is a very important point. If we can find the source of that money, we may be able to establish the motive for your brother’s murder. You said just a little while ago that you hoped the police would catch the killer soon. Well, you can help them by telling me everything you can think of—not only things you know for certain. In other words, I’d like you to speak out without restraint.”
Nobumasa closed his eyes for a while, as if in concentration, then said, “I can only think of the obvious things, I’m afraid . . . Isn’t it possible he worked for some company as a management consultant in his spare time?”
“Yes, that’s possible, but wouldn’t a fee of 3,000,000 yen be far too high for this type of service?”
“Not necessarily. If his advice on improved administrative and production methods saved the company 30,000,000 yen a year, he could’ve easily received ten percent of that in fees. And for a company with an annual turnover of, say, 10,000,000,000 yen to effect a saving of 30,000,000 yen through better management seems quite reasonable to me.”
“With that I agree,” Kirishima said. “The only thing is—I had a quick look at the subject over the past couple of days, and it seems to me it’d be impossible for one person alone to prepare a comprehensive efficiency plan. Usually the preparation of such plan involves the assessment of existing management conditions from various angles, and this requires the combined effort of a number of people with different specialities—engineering, accounting, marketing, psychology and so on. Therefore, even if the fee paid by the company is quite large, the share of each expert on the team would be only small.”
“I see,” Nobumasa said. “You’re probably right. I know nothing about management—it’s right outside my field.”
“Furthermore, if your brother did provide such a service, wouldn’t the company concerned have sent an executive—or at least a wreath—to the funeral? There was nobody like that present, was there?”
“No, there wasn’t . . . It looks as if I’m barking up the wrong tree . . .” He cupped his chin with one hand and fumbled at his walking stick with the other. “Well, how about this then? I know for a fact my brother often got involved in short management courses for businessmen, so there must have been some executives who would’ve become friendly with him. Now, as you know, in order to raise capital, companies usually make a new share issue or borrow from a bank. But when money is as tight as at present, sometimes they’re forced into back-door deals at high interest rates, calculated daily, or have to borrow secretly from some other company with large undeclared reserves. And in such cases there’s plenty of scope for the middle man who provides the discreet link between lender and borrower.”
Kirishima nodded. “You mean your brother might have acted as a finance broker, utilizing his personal connections with executives of various companies?”
“I wouldn’t describe it that way because it sounds too professional, and my brother could’ve only interested himself in such deals in his spare time, if at all. But precisely because he wasn’t a professional, the parties concerned could’ve preferred him, knowing he was trustworthy, and it was in his own interest to keep his mouth shut. Now, suppose he had succeeded in arranging a loan of 3,000,000,000 yen for some major company? A commission of 3,000,000 yen on that would’ve been only .1 percent—well below the normal figure. I don’t think he would’ve been too shy to accept such a reward if it happened to come his way.”
“I see.”
“Besides, if he did take part in this kind of deal, it wouldn’t be at all strange if he said nothing about it, even to me. People involved in a secret deal must keep it secret—it’s as simple as that, especially where the company’s credit rating is at stake. And what if the lender or the borrower happened to be a rival of Toho Kasei, the company I work for? In that case Yoshihiro would’ve made doubly sure I knew nothing of it.”
Yes, this theory was plausible enough, Kirishima thought. He had heard stories about the difficulties of raising capital and the involvement of mediators who seemingly had nothing to do with the financial world. So it wasn’t unthinkable a lecturer in business management studies would have been doing something similar as a sideline.
Only, as Nobumasa himself had suggested, in investigating such matters the prospect of discovering the truth would be very slim. So, to put it bluntly, the very raising of this subject amounted to an exercise in subtle evasion on his part.
“I follow you,” Kirishima said innocently. “I’ll certainly look into this. And I hope it won’t sound offensive to you if I suggest that, for a person engaged in scientific research, you seem to have a pretty good inside knowledge of company affairs.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. My information is based on bits and pieces I picked up from Yoshihiro from time to time on business practices generally. But until now it never
occurred to me he might have been personally involved in any deal.”
“Would you have any other thoughts on the origin of that 3,000,000 yen?”
“Only that I don’t think my brother would’ve made the money by illegal means. Even if he did act as a mediator in the manner I mentioned, this kind of thing’s quite acceptable these days.”
“I see,” Kirishima said evenly. “Then let’s move on to the next problem—the one concerning the man called Watanabe.” Before Nobumasa could say anything, Kirishima raised his hand and added, “I’ve been told about your explanation to the police, but frankly, I just can’t believe your brother didn’t tell you a single thing about this man.”
“Well, he certainly didn’t say anything recently.” Nobumasa’s expression grew indignant. “Are you suggesting I lied to the detective?”
Kirishima didn’t answer the question. Instead, he said, “Some of the investigating police officers think the man’s name may not be Hiroshi Watanabe at all. In other words, they think your brother told his wife a lie.”
For the first time since the start of the interview Nobumasa’s feverish face turned noticably paler, and he looked as if he was trying hard to appear unconcerned.
“I can’t see how my brother could’ve told a lie,” he said. “I had no personal contact with Watanabe, nor did I have any interest in him, so I’m not surprised my brother didn’t bother to talk to me about him.”
“Is it true that he’s distantly related to you and your brother?”
“Yes, that’s true. But I wouldn’t know what the exact link is.”
Now Kirishima was ready to play his last card. He said, “A minute ago you asked me if I suggested you were telling a lie. To my regret, I now must answer yes to your question. What’s more, I’ve proof you’re lying.”
Nobumasa gripped his walking stick and nearly rose from the chair. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The police have interviewed all your relatives who attended your brother’s wedding or funeral. Not one of them knows anything about Hiroshi Watanabe. Even if he’s only a very distant relation, isn’t it strange nobody in the family except you has ever heard of him?” When Nobumasa didn’t reply, Kirishima added, “So I can’t help reaching the conclusion there’s no Hiroshi Watanabe among your relatives. It then follows that you’ve conspired with your brother in devising an elaborate falsehood about this man.”
Nobumasa stared at the floor, biting his lip.
Kirishima’s voice grew harsher. “Hiroshi Watanabe—whether the name is real or false, it doesn’t really matter. What I want to know is, who is this man? What’s his connection with you and your brother?”
Nobumasa gave a deep sigh but still didn’t answer.
“We’ve reason to believe this man could be your brother’s killer. So I can’t understand at all why you’re trying to protect him.”
Nobumasa looked up, wiping his forehead at the same time. Finally he said, “Mr. Prosecutor, would you give me a couple of days to answer this? I’d need at least till tomorrow afternoon.”
“But why can’t you answer it now?”
“It concerns a delicate and rather complicated matter, and I’m getting feverish again, and it’s interfering with my ability to concentrate . . . But I can assure you Watanabe had absolutely nothing to do with my brother’s death.”
“That’s for me to decide.”
“Yes, of course . . . But I’ve got a splitting headache now, and my mind is becoming confused. I really don’t think I can continue this conversation right now . . . But please accept my word I’ve no intention of absconding. My conscience is perfectly clear. I’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”
“If you’ve nothing to be ashamed of, then why did you have to tell a lie?”
“Because the matter concerns another person’s reputation, though I must admit it may have some influence on my own future, too, depending on the circumstances.” Nobumasa spoke firmly, and held Kirishima’s gaze with steady eyes. He looked as if he wouldn’t budge another inch.
Kirishima thought it would be useless trying to push him any further—it would only stiffen his resistance. It might even make him exercise his constitutional right of silence. Softening his voice somewhat, he said, “I still can’t see the difference between telling me today and telling me tomorrow whatever you’re going to say . . . Or are you hoping to find a clever excuse during the night?”
“I can assure you, Mr. Prosecutor, I wouldn’t underestimate you or the police to that extent. My own experience has taught me how hard it is to maintain a lie for any length of time . . . But suppose your own job as a prosecutor depended on whether or not you disclosed a certain fact? Suppose you knew you’d have to put in your resignation immediately you made that disclosure? In such a situation, would you like to make up your mind on the spot? Or would you prefer an extra day to think about it?”
Kirishima felt these were not the desperate words of a cornered man, but the words of someone who stood firmly on his rights. And in any case, detaining Tsukamoto at this stage was out of the question. He had no choice, really, but to go along with him. And with the assistance of the police he might even have a new card up his sleeve by tomorrow afternoon . . .
“All right, you win,” Kirishima said tonelessly. “I’ll wait till tomorrow afternoon, much as I dislike the idea. But that’s as far as I’m prepared to go, and I hope you won’t attempt anything like moving into a hospital on the pretext of a relapse. I’d follow you even there if I had to.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Nobumasa said stiffly. “I’ll be here tomorrow afternoon, without fail . . . But right now I feel completely exhausted, so will you excuse me?” Without waiting for an answer he got up and began to limp toward the door.
The clerk followed him out into the corridor to show him to the lift.
When Kitahara returned to the office, he said, “Mr. Prosecutor, is it all right to leave him to his own devices, d’you think?”
“There’s nothing else I can do at the moment. There wouldn’t be any point in having him watched. A clever man like him knows that any attempt to abscond at this late stage would only make matters worse for him. Moreover, I feel he was genuine about needing an extra day to sort things out before giving me the facts on Watanabe. Had his mind been made up not to tell the truth when he came in here, he could’ve produced a number of convincing lies about Watanabe without any trouble. For example, he could’ve said the man was an illegitimate son of their late father, and they were covering this up by calling him a distant relative . . . And I simply don’t believe he would’ve murdered his own brother, especially since they were much closer than brothers brought up in a normal happy home. The way he said he had nobody left in the whole world now—I don’t think that was an act.”
“Well, you’d know best, Mr. Prosecutor,” Kitahara said with deliberate scepticism.
Kirishima shot his clerk a glance. “Why? D’you think he might be the killer?”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t go that far . . . But I will say there are a lot of fishy things about him.”
“What a shrewd observer you are,” Kirishima said, laughing. “How about making a cup of tea? You could unburden all your suspicions while we’re having it. Or can’t you speak your mind unless you’ve got a skinful of sake in you?”
“You can laugh all you like, Mr. Prosecutor, but I still say Nobumasa is the only one who could’ve lured Yoshihiro out of that hotel with some excuse.”
“I don’t know about being the only one, but he certainly would’ve been in a position to do so.”
“Secondly,” Kitahara said self-importantly, “the big problem of why that most unsuitable night was chosen for the murder will solve itself straight away if Nobumasa is the killer.”
“How?”
“He thought that by pretending he was too ill to attend h
is own brother’s wedding, he’d divert all suspicion from himself. And as a practical consideration, he could’ve been too weak to commit the crime before that night. His injuries were quite genuine.”
“That’s one way of looking at it.”
Kitahara was undaunted. “Thirdly, Nobumasa is far too interested in Etsuko’s welfare. If she had been married to his brother for a long time, I could understand this, but at this stage she’s almost a complete stranger to him. Then why is he so generous toward her?”
“You think it’s just a camouflage, do you?”
“Well, it’s not impossible, is it?”
“Perhaps not,” Kirishima said, drawing on his cigarette and maintaining a straight face. “By the way, if he’s the murderer, what’s his motive? And where does Watanabe come into the picture?”
Kitahara knitted his eyebrows in concentration. “This is only guesswork, you understand, but what if the Tsukamoto brothers and Watanabe were involved in some mysterious money-making scheme? Alternatively, what if only the brothers were involved, but Watanabe discovered their secret and used it for blackmailing them?”
“Could you cut out the rhetorical questions and get on with it? We haven’t got all day, you know.”
Ignoring this, Kitahara said, “If Watanabe was a blackmailer, the Tsukamoto brothers would’ve considered him not only a nuisance and a financial drain, but also a constant danger because of his drunkenness. Despite paying him all the time, how could they be sure he wouldn’t shoot off his mouth when he was rotten with sake?”
Honeymoon to Nowhere Page 17