Honeymoon to Nowhere

by Akimitsu Takagi

  17

  It looked as if the Tsukamoto murder case had taken a sudden turn and was heading for a solution. Tadaaki Ya­suda, alias Hiroshi Watanabe, was officially despatched by the police to the State Prosecutor’s Office on the evening of February 27. The warrant was based on three charges of murder.

  There was no problem at all about the first one because Tadaaki readily admitted it. The man he had stabbed to death was a gangster by the name of Morita. It had happened about two years ago, and Tadaaki had been on the wanted-for-murder list ever since. The evidence against him on this particular charge was almost com­plete.

  As for the murders of Yoshihiro and Nobumasa Tsukamoto, Tadaaki flatly denied he had anything to do with them. And since there was no direct evidence avail­able, Inspector Yoshioka was having a hard time, though he had managed to collect a heap of circumstantial evidence.

  The fact that Tadaaki was partially addicted to heroin had made things look bad for him from the start. Groups of dark blue needle marks had been found on both his arms, and a packet of dope and several needles turned up among his belongings.

  Drug addicts were known to be great liars, and they often did absurd things when crazed with yearning. According to Yoshioka, it wasn’t at all unthinkable Tadaaki had murdered his two brothers simply to obtain money to buy heroin.

  Secondly, one of Tadaaki’s criminal associates lived near the National Railway workshops at Shinagawa, the assumed scene of Yoshihiro’s murder. The Black Cat Bar in that vicinity was a rendezvous for the gang this associate belonged to. In fact, Tadaaki had negotiated the illegal passage to Hong Kong in that bar. In other words, he was well acquainted with that rather out-of-the-way part of Tokyo.

  Also, many leading questions by the police had established that Tadaaki had a good knowledge of at least the appearance of Nobumasa’s house. But when he was pressed on that, he didn’t get flustered. He even managed to put on his impudent smile when he said, “I’ve never been inside his house, and that’s the truth. But I did get as far as his front gate a number of times—only to turn back each time. I felt like having a talk with Nobumasa about Yoshihiro’s death, and I wanted to get some dough out of him, too, even if I had to crawl up him. But then I thought of his temper and the danger of him squealing on me to the police, and I changed my mind—right in front of his gate.”

  Another thing indicating a motive was that Tadaaki seemed to have some knowledge of the patent. Of course, if he had somehow become suspicious, he could have easily learned the truth simply by checking at the Patent Office.

  As for alibis, the police could find nothing to substan­tiate Tadaaki’s statement. Playing pachinko in various parlours on the night of February 20 amounted to nothing. Unless he collected all the bonuses, no one in those parlours would remember his face.

  In relation to the night of February 15, there was a bar with little rooms above it in the former blue-light district. But the owner insisted the rooms were strictly for the use of his staff, and not for any illegal purpose, and he had never set eyes on Tadaaki or the woman. Though his statement wasn’t reliable, it certainly didn’t help Tadaaki, who later claimed the woman had paid for the room.

  In his official report on evidence and motive, Inspector Yoshioka offered the following theory:

  Tadaaki lost the money he needed for the secret pass­age to Hong Kong by gambling at the cycle races and elsewhere. It was essential for him to obtain more money from Yoshihiro before the latter left on his honeymoon trip. With some excuse he lured Yoshihiro to the National Railway workshops at Shinagawa on the night of Febru­ary 15. By this time Yoshihiro was utterly disgusted with Tadaaki’s gutlessness and selfishness and refused to help him. Under the influence of heroin Tadaaki was seized by a murderous impulse. Unexpectedly he hit his brother in the stomach, strangled him, and took all his money. Because he had associations in that area and was afraid of being traced, he moved the body by car to the bank of the irrigation canal at Kitamicho, and dumped it . . . The money taken from Yoshihiro wasn’t enough for the passage. After hanging around Tokyo for a few days, Tadaaki decided to ask Nobumasa for help, calling at his house on the night of February 20. Nobumasa not only refused to give him any money, but abused him and possibly assaulted him, revealing also that he suspected him of Yoshihiro’s murder. Fright and anger made up Tadaaki’s mind to murder Nobumasa as well . . . Tadaaki realized he would inherit his brothers’ property, including the patent, and even if he had to spend a few years in jail for killing Morita, he would be able to live in luxury for the rest of his life. He thought this was a better proposition than escaping to Hong Kong . . . Tadaaki pretended to be a weakling to arouse sympathy, but during the interrogation he unintentionally revealed him­self as a confident and arrogant person with strong nerves. He didn’t appear to be insane or feeble-minded.

  While Tadaaki was in custody under prosecutor’s war­rant, he was continually questioned by Kirishima, but steadfastly denied killing his brothers.

  Many drug addicts confessed after they had been deprived of heroin for some time. But Tadaaki stuck to his story of innocence, even though he was showing obvious drug withdrawal symptoms. By the end of the third day he was in bad shape. The color of his face turned to a dirty grey, his eyes had a vacant stare, and he suffered occasional light fits, with greasy sweat oozing out of him.

  The sight and smell of him was nauseating, even to Kirishima who was used to this sort of thing. “Are you in pain?” he asked, unconsciously holding his breath.

  “You must be kidding,” Tadaaki groaned, still man­aging a pathetic smile. “I knew the stuff was dragging me down, but I couldn’t give it up, though I tried a couple of times . . . Now I have to kiss goodbye to it, like it or not . . . And I won’t be going back on it when I come out of jail, that’s for sure . . . I’ll be a respectable person for a change, with a company of my own, carrying out my dead brother’s will . . .”

  This man had fantastic nerves, Kirishima thought. Just dreaming about the money he was going to get hold of after leaving jail seemed to enable him to bear all the agony of drug withdrawal. No wonder it was hard to get anywhere with him. And Yoshioka wasn’t coming up with any new evidence either. What he had produced so far wasn’t nearly enough to justify an indictment.

  On March 3, Kirishima again spent the whole morning with Tadaaki without getting an inch further. This was the fourth day of Tadaaki’s detention under a prosecutor’s war­rant, which was limited by law to ten days. An extension of a further ten days could be obtained from the court, but a more convenient course of action was to proceed against him on the charge of killing Morita and prosecute him later for the murder of his two brothers. But Kirishima would have naturally preferred to dispose of all three charges in the one hearing.

  After returning Tadaaki to his cell, Kirishima wasted an hour re-reading Yoshioka’s lengthy report. There were too many things in it that didn’t satisfy him. Yoshioka seemed to interpret everything to suit his own purpose.

  For example, he offered a plausible theory on Tadaaki’s reason for luring Yoshihiro out of the hotel on the very night of the wedding. But to substantiate it, he would have had to prove—and he couldn’t—that Tadaaki had lost the last of his money between the evening of the fourteenth and the evening of the fifteenth. Had he run out of money before then, obviously he wouldn’t have left it till the wed­ding night to see Yoshihiro.

  Also, Yoshioka didn’t explain how Tadaaki knew about the patent. It was most unlikely that either Nobumasa or Yoshihiro would have disclosed such a secret to a trouble­some brother. And it was out of the question that Koike would have told him about it, since the two knew each other only by sight. During questioning Tadaaki himself mentioned that Yoshihiro seemed to have had plenty of money in recent months, and he wondered where it all came from.

  If Tadaaki had in fact known the secret of the patent for some time, then perhaps it would make sense that he had murd
ered Yoshihiro—and subsequently Nobumasa—in order to succeed to it. But if that was so, surely he would have planned Yoshihiro’s murder well in advance, and wouldn’t have picked the worst night—the wedding night—for it.

  In his frustration Kirishima decided to re-think the whole case from the very beginning. After returning from lunch he flopped down into his chair, and for the next cou­ple of hours the world around him just didn’t exist. And then suddenly he hit on an idea. It was so fantastic, he de­cided not to mention it even to Yoshioka. Instead, he or­dered Kitahara to go to the Patent Office and make a routine check of all documents on file carrying Yoshihiro’s name.

  Kitahara got back just before six o’clock. With a sour face he handed the result of his tedious labors to Kirishima. He found this newly developed secretiveness of the boss rather distasteful, if not downright humiliating.

  Kirishima ran his eyes over Kitahara’s notes. And then he knew that the solution to the Tsukamoto murder case was at last in sight.

  That evening Kyoko found Kirishima very uncom­municative, even sullen. They had finished dinner and were drinking their coffee, and he just kept looking through her as if she didn’t exist. But by now, after four months of marriage, she was getting used to his occasional ‘strange periods.’ She knew they had nothing to do with moodiness.

  “Saburo,” she said brightly, “you’re breaking the con­tract.”

  “Hm?”

  At last he was looking at her, not through her, but still wasn’t with her.

  “When we got married you said a prosecutor was so busy, he just had to take work home at times. But you promised always to keep your work in the study.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember,” Kirishima said, still miles away.

  “But you look more like a prosecutor than a husband right now.”

  “Oh—sorry.” Now he knew what she was talking about, and that she wasn’t really complaining. This was her way of trying to cheer him up. But at the moment he had too big a problem on his mind. “Incidentally, how’s Etsuko?”

  “Under normal circumstances she’d probably feel relieved the suspect is safely under lock and key, but that’s not the case this time, I’m afraid. While she thought he was Watanabe, a distant relative she had nothing to do with, it wasn’t so bad. But now she knows the man who’s supposed to have murdered his brothers is her own brother-in-law. This must have been another tremendous shock to her—the third in a row. In less than two weeks she’s fallen from the heights of happiness to the depths of despair. She must feel she’s landed straight in hell . . .”

  “I can well imagine how she feels,” Kirishima said absently.

  “Saburo, I want to ask you something.” Kyoko looked very serious. “Of course, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

  “I probably won’t.”

  “Well, I’m going to ask, just the same . . . Do you really believe Tadaaki murdered his brothers?”

  Kirishima looked at her enigmatically and remained silent. Then slowly he shook his head.

  “Thank you—that’s very generous of you,” Kyoko said a little waspishly. “That’s what I thought, too.”

  Kirishima couldn’t help bursting into laughter. “The marvellous hindsighted wisdom of women.”

  Ignoring this, Kyoko said, “I’m beginning to think Higuchi was right in saying the Tsukamoto family is under a curse. But I wouldn’t again attempt to persuade Etsuko to go back to her parents. I’m sure it would only make things worse . . . And talking about making things worse—Higuchi’s been at her ever since. He came to see her once more, but she promptly sent him on his way without even opening the door. Now he keeps ringing her, but he only makes her despise him all the more.”

  “I thought he would’ve given up by now . . .” Suddenly Kirishima’s sluggish face seemed to come alive, and his eyes began to glow with excitement. “Kyoko, it’s my turn now to ask something.”

  “Yes?”

  “D’you think you could persuade Etsuko to control her dislike for Higuchi for a little while and perhaps behave so he’d think he still had a chance with her?”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Just pretending would be good enough,” Kirishima said eagerly. “She’d be able to act like that for a little while, wouldn’t she?”

  “No, she wouldn’t. In her present mental condition she couldn’t put on an act if her life depended on it.” Kyoko fixed her husband with an icy stare. “Would you please explain what’s on your mind?”

  “I can’t,” Kirishima said defensively. “This is such a delicate matter, I wouldn’t dare talk about it to anyone. It concerns a clue I’ve come across, but that’s all I can tell you . . . I’ve already said too much—enough to wreck my plan if it gets out . . .”

  “Are you suggesting Etsuko should do some kind of detective work for you? That’s out of the question, I assure you. Obviously, you haven’t been married long enough to understand a woman’s mind.”

  Kirishima sighed heavily and fell into silence.

  •

  For the first time in days Kirishima looked at Kitahara with a cheerful expression. It was Saturday morning, March 7.

  “At last I’ve made up my mind,” Kirishima said. “On Monday I’ll commit Tadaaki for trial on the charge of unlawfully killing Morita . . . Well, that completes the first stage of the job, and I think I’m going to take it easy over the weekend. I feel I need a rest before going into battle again next week . . . But what about tonight? Are you free?”

  Kitahara’s eyes flared up and his white teeth appeared in a broad grin. “Mr. Prosecutor, when it comes to a drink, I’m always available, as you know. Would you like me to make a booking somewhere, just to make sure we get in?”

  “No, don’t bother,” Kirishima said. “Tonight I’d like to do things on a slightly grander scale than usual. I have in mind driving to Izu and staying there overnight. There’s a very good inn in a quiet spot just beyond Ito . . . But don’t look at me like that. I’m not going to claim expenses for this trip, so you can relax.”

  “It’s all right. I’m just a bit awed—not used to these grand affairs. I’ll give my wife a ring straight away . . . Would you mind talking to her, Mr. Prosecutor? She can become a bit of a nuisance when she gets jealous.” Kitahara reached for the phone, but his hand stopped halfway, then slowly returned into his pocket. “Incident­ally, is Mrs. Kirishima coming with us, by any chance?”

  “Yes.”

  Kitahara’s face suddenly looked a little paler. Nervous­ly he began to lick his lips. “Mr. Prosecutor,” he muttered, “there’s something I forgot for a moment . . . I’ve had a gastric problem since early this morning . . . It’s very unfortunate . . .”

  “Every time you want to get out of something, your belly seems to go funny. You must have a permanent psycho-gastric condition. But just relax, will you? Though my wife will be with us, she won’t be doing the driving on this occasion. One of my cousins will be behind the wheel, and he happens to be a racing driver. He’s captain of a university car club, and he came tops in last year’s All Japan Student Rally. His driving skill is beyond question, I’d say . . . How’s your bellyache now? Has it stopped yet?”

  “Well—in fact—yes, it seems to have stopped already.”

  Kirishima smothered a gust of laughter. “I don’t really blame you. I myself still get a bit nervous when my wife’s behind the wheel. She’s improving though, slowly . . . By the way, I’ve also invited Inspector Yoshioka. He’s been working very hard during the past three weeks. I thought he, too, deserved a little consideration . . .”

  Shortly after four o’clock that afternoon Kawaji called at Koike’s home at Yoyogi-Uehara.

  Koike didn’t attempt to conceal his annoyance. “Where did you hide Etsuko, anyway?” he asked testily. “You and I are supposed to be close friends, and I happen to be her l
egal adviser, too. I thought you’d accord me the courtesy of at least advising me before spiriting her away. As it was, I made several futile attempts to contact her yesterday.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Kawaji said contritely. “I wouldn’t have been able to explain it all to you on the phone . . . What happened was that the night before last she rang me and asked me in a half-crazed voice to go to her apartment. I rushed over in a panic, and she told me between crying fits that even Kyoko was deserting her now—telling her some awful things—and she had lost faith in people altogether.”

  “Kyoko? She’s Prosecutor Kirishima’s wife, isn’t she? Did she urge Etsuko again to go back to her parents?”

  “That wouldn’t have been so bad, but apparently, she advised her to make peace with Higuchi.”

  Koike raised his eyebrows. “That’s funny . . . Was that her own idea, d’you think?”

  “I’m not sure,” Kawaji said hesitantly. “I don’t think it would’ve been inspired by her husband—unless he’s getting really desperate . . . Anyway, there’s a tutor in the psychiatric section of our Department of Medicine who lives not far from Etsuko’s apartment. I rang him and asked him to come over and have a look at her. Then yesterday I took her to the university hospital because it happened to be the professor’s visiting day . . . To be quite frank, I just didn’t have time to contact you.”

  “It’s all right—I’m not complaining, but what was the result of the examination?”

  “Fortunately, there’s nothing seriously wrong with her. There’s no question of any mental illness. The professor said she was suffering from a hypersensitiveness caused by the number of shocks she had to absorb in the past fortnight. He estimated that, provided she was placed in quiet surroundings, she’d completely recover in approx­imately twenty days.”