When facing Kirishima, Koike made a new attempt to deny his guilt, and when that didn’t work, he tried the right of silence. But as Kirishima relentlessly went on exposing the cracks, Koike gradually lost confidence and began to cave in.
In the end he broke into an eerie chuckle and told Kirishima to save his breath. He made a full confession, then began to boast about the subtlety of his plot, displaying arrogance and vanity typical of intelligent criminals.
By the end of the week, Kirishima had more than enough evidence to commit Koike for trial on all three charges.
Koike’s own pride had ensured for him speedy progress into the hangman’s noose.
Kyoko knew from experience that the only way to change the prosecutor back into a husband was to let him tell her all about the case, even if secretly she would have preferred him to go to bed with her and say nothing. Furthermore, she knew that for this ceremonial occasion it was essential he should have close at hand a liberal supply of best-quality imported brandy.
Toying with his glass in his absent-minded way, Kirishima said, “The two people who’ve done the greatest job in this case are Kawaji and you . . . You managed to persuade Kawaji to act as a decoy for us, and he did his part with amazing skill and courage. Without that scene on the mountain road I don’t know how this case would’ve ended up. I had no concrete evidence against Koike.”
“You’re wrong again,” Kyoko said teasingly. “The one who’s done the greatest job is, of course, you—the inimitably brilliant State Prosecutor Saburo Kirishima. Hurray.”
Kirishima made no attempt at false modesty. He slowly emptied his glass, and said, “The two most baffling aspects of this case were related to Yoshihiro’s murder. The first one was: what excuse did the killer use to lure Yoshihiro out of the hotel? And the second: why did he have to commit the crime on that most unsuitable night?”
“What was the excuse?” Kyoko asked with simulated enthusiasm.
“To make it safe, the killer had to use an excuse that would’ve been most inconvenient for Yoshihiro to disclose to Etsuko. So it had to be connected with something Yoshihiro had kept hidden from Etsuko. In the early stages of the investigation I couldn’t work out what that secret might be.”
“Was it Tadaaki’s change of identity?”
“That’s right. Yoshihiro didn’t tell Etsuko about the patent either, but he intended to explain this to her during their honeymoon. In any case, the patent could hardly have created a situation urgent enough for him to rush out of the hotel in the middle of his wedding night . . . I’ll come back to this patent business a little later.” Kirishima held out his empty glass to Kyoko. “Now, if the excuse concerned Tadaaki, then the natural thing to assume was that Tadaaki himself was the killer. This is what I thought at one stage, but then I realized it didn’t make sense.”
“Why?”
“Well, the only possible excuse Tadaaki could’ve used was that the date of his departure for Hong Kong was very close and he was short of money again. But would this have been enough to get Yoshihiro out of the hotel to some lonely place nominated by Tadaaki? Of course not. Yoshihiro had the upper hand because he was the one to hand out the money. He could’ve easily told Tadaaki to come to the hotel lobby, or some nearby coffee shop, if he wanted the cash.”
“And then Yoshihiro would’ve only had to be away for ten or fifteen minutes—hardly long enough to make Etsuko suspicious. He wouldn’t have needed an elaborate lie, like the missing exam papers.”
“Correct. So I came to the conclusion it wasn’t Tadaaki who had lured Yoshihiro out of the hotel. If it was somebody else, then Yoshihiro’s panicky act didn’t look quite so strange. For example, the killer might have told him on the phone that Tadaaki was causing a disturbance somewhere or making a nuisance of himself.”
“But what was the excuse he used?”
“Koike confessed he had told Yoshihiro a yarn that went something like this: ‘Some time after you left for the hotel, there was a phone call for you at the wedding reception. I took the call, and it was Tadaaki. He said he had to see you urgently, and if you were no longer at the reception, he’d just have to force his way into your hotel suite. I thought this would be terrible, so I rushed to where he said he was. He claims he’s been unlucky in gambling and urgently needs 100,000 yen. I’d be prepared to give it to him on your behalf, but I hardly have anything on me, and I can’t get hold of any money till the banks open in the morning. So the only thing I can suggest is that you slip out to see him.’”
Kyoko frowned and pursed her lips. “But why didn’t Yoshihiro tell Koike to come to the hotel and get the money from him?”
“He did tell him that, as a matter of fact, but Koike managed to persuade him to go by saying that Tadaaki was blind drunk, and it was impossible to tell what he might do next. And to make sure, Koike added that the fellows in the gambling den were very annoyed with Tadaaki and wouldn’t let him go till he cleared his debt—they even threatened to put a few more knife scars into his face. So it’d be dangerous to leave him there on his own . . . This is what Koike told Yoshihiro on the phone, and you must remember Yoshihiro had absolute confidence in him.”
“I see.”
“Now, Yoshihiro had sufficient money on him to give Tadaaki 100,000 yen. He probably thought he’d ask Nobumasa to send him some money by telegraphic transfer to Kyoto. So he told Etsuko the lie about the missing exam papers and then rushed out of the hotel, intending to return straight after meeting his brother. Of course, Koike was waiting for him, ready to kill him. That’s the story in a nutshell.”
“Yes, this makes sense,” Kyoko said, inching a little closer to Kirishima. “Yoshihiro must have thought that by giving Tadaaki the money there and then, his brother wouldn’t pester them on their honeymoon but would be safely out of the way in a ship bound for Hong Kong.”
Kirishima nodded and took another sip at his brandy. “Well, once I got this far, identifying Koike as the killer was easy. Who could’ve known that Watanabe was in fact Tadaaki, and who would’ve been in a position to lure Yoshihiro out of the hotel with an excuse about Tadaaki? Any schoolboy could’ve worked this out without much trouble. But recognizing the killer and proving him guilty are two entirely different things.”
“And why did Koike choose the wedding night?”
“You should’ve asked this in conjunction with the question: why did he make sure the marriage certificate was registered—and thereby Etsuko became legal successor to Yoshihiro’s property—before committing the murder? The answer, of course, is that Koike wanted to ensure, first, that Etsuko would inherit Yoshihiro’s assets, and second, that Yoshihiro would die before disclosing the patent business to Etsuko, so that Koike could defraud her with the aid of the power of attorney.”
“I suppose it was a reasonable assumption on Koike’s part that Yoshihiro wouldn’t start talking about the patent business straight after their arrival at the wedding suite?”
“That’s right. Of course, it would’ve been different in the case of an impotent bridegroom, who might have wanted to delay the humiliating moment as long as possible.”
“I don’t think Yoshihiro would’ve come into that category—not if he was anything like you,” Kyoko said, smirking. “But didn’t you at one stage think Koike was innocent despite your earlier theory about his guilt?”
“Yes, I did. I thought, since he had volunteered the information about the patent immediately after Nobumasa’s death, he couldn’t have aimed at milking Etsuko. So he had no motive for either murder . . . At that time I felt I’d reached a dead end. But then somehow I hit on the idea there might be a second patent registered in Yoshihiro’s name.”
“Oh, I see!”
“This immediately explained why Nobumasa had stayed on at Toho Kasei, even after the first patent had started to produce a large income. He was obviously working on a second an
d third research project and needed the continued use of the company’s laboratory facilities . . . I felt such a fool for not recognizing this.”
“You’re being too severe on yourself,” Kyoko said, running a caressing finger down Kirishima’s back. “The patent you knew about was itself producing an annual income of some 20,000,000 yen—which is no chicken feed. And by disclosing this, Koike cleverly threw you off the scent.”
“And just to make things a little more difficult for me, he left untouched all the money already in Nobumasa’s savings accounts . . . Yes, Koike was clever all right. He disclosed one patent so he could hide two others behind it . . . Anyhow, by sending Kitahara to the Patent Office I managed to find out that the patent of another new synthetic resin was already registered in Yoshihiro’s name. And according to an expert I consulted, this second patent has an even greater potential than the first.”
Kyoko shook her head in wonder. “What a beautiful dream of riches it must have been for Koike. Isn’t it a shame you had to spoil it for him? With the power of attorney in his hands, he could’ve done what he liked with Etsuko’s inheritance, or the income from it. He could’ve been milking her with impunity for the rest of her life.”
“He told me he intended to take out a third patent in his own name, after the excitement over the two murders had died down. For this the documentation was already in his hands. It would’ve given him a large legitimate income, eliminating the need to run even the slightest risk. Meanwhile, Etsuko and everyone else would’ve been convinced he was a fine, honest lawyer, and a good friend . . . Of course, if Yoshihiro had revealed the secret of the patents to Etsuko before their marriage, Koike’s plan would’ve immediately collapsed, and the Tsukamoto brothers could well be alive today. But as Yoshihiro’s legal adviser, Koike had no difficulty in convincing him it’d be safer to keep the patent business to himself till after the wedding. And that’s why Koike had to murder Yoshihiro so soon after the wedding—before the couple left on their honeymoon and were in a position to have long, intimate discussions about their personal affairs and their common future.”
Kyoko was now so close to Kirishima—it was only a matter of time before she could make the final move onto his lap. To conceal her artful progress till the very last moment, she maintained a nonchalant expression, and said, “But why did you have to be so secretive about this latest discovery of yours? You acted as if disclosing it to me could’ve precipitated a third world war.”
“Oh, come now. Isn’t this obvious to you?” Kirishima indignantly emptied his glass for emphasis. “If Koike had somehow got wind of my discovery, everything would’ve fallen through. He would’ve had time to produce the plausible excuse that he hadn’t bothered to mention the second patent because it hadn’t reached the income-producing stage . . . In any case, even when I was finally convinced he was the killer, I had no way of pinning him down because he had been so careful not to make up an unwise alibi for either night. That’s why I eventually came up with the desperate idea of setting a trap for him. I wanted to draw him out—make him feel he was in danger—so he’d do something rash. Now you can understand, I hope, why I thought of Higuchi in the first place, knowing how keen he was to prove himself to Etsuko.”
“You silly,” Kyoko said, sliding halfway onto Kirishima’s lap, “Mr. Higuchi wouldn’t have had the guts to take on a dangerous role like this! That’s why I suggested Mr. Kawaji, with his athletic physique and fierce looks . . . It was very decent of him to accept this challenge to avenge his best friend. But he must have been really scared when that critical moment arrived.” Kyoko shuddered, as if to demonstrate Kawaji’s state of terror, and at the same time firmly established herself on Kirishima’s lap. “When you think of it, he had to provoke Koike sufficiently to bring a murderous attack upon himself. The thought of us following in a car would’ve been small comfort to him when he got out of Koike’s vehicle.”
“Yes, I was worrying about him all the way, as a matter of fact. When I got his phone call from Ooiso, I felt better, but not for long. After we passed through Ito City, cold sweat was starting to break out all over me . . . Koike confessed he had no intention of killing Kawaji when they set out on the trip. Even when Kawaji told him he wanted to marry Etsuko and go into private practice, Koike was still merely annoyed. Then Kawaji suggested he should tear up the power of attorney obtained from Etsuko, and this made Koike scared and furious at the same time. He was wondering if Kawaji had seen through his deception. But when Kawaji came out with the question about the second patent, Koike was no longer in doubt. He knew the only way to eliminate this new danger to his plan was to eliminate Kawaji . . .”
“He must have thought Yoshihiro had disclosed the secret of the patents to Mr. Kawaji, his best friend.”
“That’s exactly what he thought. And although he managed to answer Kawaji’s awkward question by saying that the second patent certificate hadn’t been delivered to him yet, he felt he had to get rid of Kawaji while the opportunity was there . . . He thought nobody knew they were on a country trip together and considered it a godsend Higuchi happened to be in the same area, trying to locate Etsuko. He figured that with a little luck he might be able to divert police suspicion onto Higuchi, especially if the latter was deprived of an alibi for the evening. At worst, he could make Kawaji’s death look like an accident . . . Koike told me he had worked this out between Ito City and the turn-off to the mountain road.”
“It must have been an agonizing experience for Mr. Kawaji to walk from that car to the brink of the precipice. Knowing he’d be attacked from behind within the next minute must have been more unnerving than being taken by surprise.” Kyoko shuddered again and put her arms around Kirishima’s neck as if to seek comfort from a frightening thought.
“Yes,” Kirishima said, finding it difficult to finish his brandy with Kyoko in the way, “Koike must have found the situation irresistible . . . Well, my guess is Kawaji will receive his just reward for his courage, sooner or later.”
“I hope so, too,” Kyoko said, snuggling up against Kirishima’s chest.
Now Kirishima gave up all hope of another drink. He put his glass on the coffee table, and said, “There’s not much more I can tell you. The police investigation has revealed that Koike has been in serious financial difficulties for some time. His wife is a spendthrift, and he himself is all for show. No wonder they were rushing headlong into bankruptcy. His unsuccessful attempts to make some quick money on the commodity market only made matters worse . . . And then suddenly he saw two geese laying golden eggs and decided to grab one for himself.”
“The fatter one,” Kyoko said, testing Kirishima’s whiskers with her cheek.
But Kirishima didn’t seem to be aware of his wife’s legitimate advances after weeks of complete neglect. In fact, his expression was changing from serious to outright morose. “The Chief was furious with me,” he muttered.
“But why?”
“He said he didn’t like the unorthodox way I had conducted this case.”
“And what did you say?”
“I told him I agreed the way I’d nailed the killer was perhaps unusual, but I couldn’t see anything wrong with it. I was having a restful weekend in company with Yoshioka and Kitahara. Then quite unexpectedly I was confronted with Koike’s attempt to kill another man. I couldn’t just watch from a distance because it happened to be the weekend and the office wouldn’t open till Monday! That’s what I said and added that if the Chief thought I’d broken the rules, I’d tender my resignation forthwith.”
“You didn’t!”
“Yes I did. And then the Chief said my trouble was I was resignation-happy. I’d do much better if, instead of acting like a touchy maiden, I just observed the rules. Then suddenly he put on that inimitable grin of his, and said, ‘As head of the Criminal Affairs Division, I’ve adequately condemned your rash action. And now, speaking as Renji Sanad
a, your friend, I’d like to thank you for what you did. I do this on behalf of Mr. Ogata, who has helped me so often over the years . . . Incidentally, I notice that Inspector Yoshioka, who was supposed to be enjoying a happy weekend away from his chores, was carrying handcuffs in his pocket. He must have a Samurai complex—never forgetting war in peace.’”
Kirishima burst into laughter, and Kyoko thought with some chagrin that her husband should have been an actor.
“Well, that’s that,” Kirishima said, now ready to succumb to his wife’s charms.
Kyoko was going to say something but changed her mind. She pulled his head down and stretched her neck till their lips could meet. The brandy on his breath didn’t bother her. She was used to it.
It was May 12, and the freshness of an early summer was in the air.
Kirishima had to go to a nearby city on official business. He was expected to be away for several days, and Kyoko thought this would be an excellent opportunity for her to go with Etsuko on a short trip to Hakone. The change of scenery would do Etsuko good. Perhaps it would help her forget those terrible days in February.
Not that there was anything seriously wrong with Etsuko. She seemed to possess fantastic powers of recovery. In fact, Kyoko felt her friend was already on the mend.
This was confirmed as soon as they set out on the trip. While riding in the express train to Yumoto, Etsuko was humming a tune in rhythm with the click-clack of the carriage wheels. When they began their journey in the cable car from Gora, with fresh green mountains on either side and a vivid blue sky above, Etsuko sighed, her eyes shining, “Oh, how beautiful.” There were young couples, including some newlyweds, in the same car, but Etsuko showed no sign of being jealous of their happiness.
They passed through Owakudani and, reaching the shores of Ashinoko, took an excursion boat for Motohakone. Snow-capped Mount Fuji was mirrored in the still water. It was a breathtaking view.
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