The Informer

by Akimitsu Takagi

  “I see. And did you meet Mr. Ogino after the meeting?”

  “Yes. As we were leaving the boardroom, we looked at each other and smiled and said that both of us had said too much. We shook hands, and that was the last time I saw him alive. He went out to the factory that afternoon.”

  “Mm-hm . . . By the way, I understand you hinted to Inspec­tor Ishida about Mr. Ogino’s marriage. Have you any definite information on this?”

  Kurosaka knitted his heavy eyebrows. “I don’t like to touch other people’s old scars. If I hadn’t heard that the man visiting Ogino at his home shortly before his death was a Shigeo Segawa, I would’ve never recalled such a thing. But when I heard that name, I was beginning to wonder. I remembered some people—I’m not sure who they were—saying at Ogino’s wedding that he was a bit of a fool who was quite happy to marry the lover of his old friend. Furthermore, I subsequently found out that after the wedding Segawa didn’t go near them for several years. Then recently their friendship suddenly blos­somed again for some reason, and the next thing Segawa was going on an inspection of the factory, and then started to date a young girl who works in the research section. And apart from this, I heard a rumour that some people had seen Segawa and Mrs. Ogino walking along Shinjuku, holding hands in broad daylight. Now, isn’t it only natural for an old man like me to frown upon such a thing?”

  Kirishima was shocked into full alertness. Kurosaka’s accusa­tions had been dished up as casual remarks, but there might be concrete evidence behind each of them.

  “Who is the young girl working at the research section?”

  “Her name is Setsuko Kondo.”

  “And who saw Mrs. Ogino walking with Segawa hand in hand?”

  “Ogino’s sister, Sadako Nishiwaki.” Kurosaka looked at Kiri­shima with glowing eyes. “Mr. Prosecutor, it’s not my duty to investigate the truth of these allegations. Personally I couldn’t care less what might happen to this Segawa because I don’t know him, but so far as Mrs. Ogino is concerned, I’d like to see her being left alone in peace, unless of course she’s directly in­volved in her husband’s murder in some way. What I’ve told you will, I’m sure, prove helpful to you in your investigations. But would you please do me the favour not to reveal the source of your information to anyone? I’d prefer not to get personally involved in this unfortunate business.”

  This was typical of the cunning old badger, Kirishima thought. But he had to admit the information volunteered by Kurosaka was very important.

  He continued his questioning for a while, trying a number of different angles, but without much success. As he was about to leave, Kurosaka spoke up once more in a sharp voice, as if to put the knife in for the last time.

  “Mr. Prosecutor,” he said, “I’ve no rational basis for asking this, but isn’t there any doubt about Segawa’s alibi? My sixth sense tells me that if I were a prosecutor, I wouldn’t have much trouble destroying it.”

  Kirishima felt as if he’d been slapped in the face. “What makes you say that?”

  “I told you it was only my sixth sense.” Kurosaka smiled coldly and saw Kirishima and his clerk to the door.

  After that Kirishima went on to interview the president. Yusaku Ogino was that old fashioned gentleman type—a man of fine presence and style, but without a hint of any ambition, and with no apparent ability to think positively. He looked more like an honourable figurehead than an active company president.

  His statement was like a worthless object in beautiful wrap­ping. Compared with his story, Kurosaka’s had far more weight and was much more to the point.

  Of course, in his position as president he mightn’t be able to say nearly as much as even an outsider could about the inti­mate business of the company, Kirishima thought. He might be much more concerned with the reputation of the company than with his nephew’s murder. Only somehow he felt Yusaku Ogino’s chief concern was to protect himself—that was why he didn’t want to get involved.

  He might be one of those executives noted for overrating their own ability and clinging to their position without consid­ering the interests of the company. These people spent most of their energy getting rid of potential rivals, with the result that after a time the company was starved of administrative talent and the standard of management declined.

  Yusaku Ogino could offer no idea what might have been be­hind his nephew’s murder. This was the substance of his state­ment, and Kirishima didn’t conceal his disappointment as he was leaving the president’s room.

  He would have liked to interview technical director Oka­mura and the chief accountant as well, but they were absent from head office. Okamura was on a business trip to the Kansai district, and Kobayashi was away on sick leave. Perhaps his ill­ness was only an excuse—he might have lost the will to go to the office.

  Kirishima walked out into the street with Kitahara and looked back at the five-storey building. He wished he could see right through it to get the full story on the Shichiyo Chemical Company.

  “Mr. Prosecutor,” Kitahara said.

  “Yes?”

  “This castle is about to change masters, don’t you think?”

  “D’you think so?”

  “Mr. Kurosaka is very busy ridding the company of the Ogino family’s influence.”

  “Hmm. You may be right. Otherwise he wouldn’t dare say a word to us about Shigeo Segawa. He knows that if Segawa is ar­rested and tried for murder, his relationship with Mrs. Ogino will become public property, and this certainly won’t help the Ogino power group within the company.”

  “That’s what I think, too,” Kitahara said. “Mr. Kurosaka is a very resourceful man—regardless of whether he wrote the plot himself from start to finish, or just turned the unexpected inci­dent to his own advantage.”

  “Okay, that’s enough of that while we’re in the street,” Kirishima snapped.

  Just before getting into the car, he looked up at the building once more. Perhaps it was only his imagination, or the news of the Niigata earthquake might’ve had something to do with it, but it seemed to be definitely leaning to one side.

  It was after six o’clock in the evening when Segawa met Toshiko in the Mayflower restaurant at Shinjuku.

  He had just spent a completely wasted day, drifting about like a lifeless dummy. He hadn’t even given Sakai a ring in the afternoon as he had promised. He had thought if Sakai himself took the call again it’d be all right, but if Miss Naka­shima or someone else did, he’d be plainly told the police had been there looking for him. And if he didn’t contact the police after that, it’d only give them more grounds for suspicion. He had reached the stage now when he was desperately clinging to every remaining hour before he’d be subjected to another interrogation.

  He had walked around Asakusa and Ueno all day long. Whenever he was in a crowd he wanted to avoid people’s eyes, but as soon as he was alone he became lonely and frightened. Obsessed with his predicament, he kept thinking mechanically of the strategy to be followed without achieving anything. Going over the same ground again and again only made him more confused. At times he imagined himself going mad and being taken to a mental hospital.

  The second floor of the restaurant wasn’t crowded. Toshiko looked around stealthily as she approached Segawa’s table.

  “What’s the matter with you?” she asked, frowning. “You look like a ghost.”

  “Really?” He knew his voice quavered. He just had a mug of beer in a nearby beer hall, but apparently his face was still as ghastly as before. He realised he was completely beaten.

  “We met only yesterday, and now this. I had to go to a lot of trouble getting here. What happened?”

  When he thought of it, there was nothing to tell her. He just wanted to sit beside somebody who understood his present state of mind and would be prepared to comfort him, but he couldn’t tell her that.

  “Well,” he said
, trying to sound calm and purposeful, “just before we parted yesterday you said I should be careful with the police until the killer is caught—remember? That’s what I wanted to see you about. I believe the detectives have been looking for me at my flat and also at the office today, but I want to stay out of their reach until I know the latest developments in the case. That’s why I kept wandering around all day. Do you know anything new?”

  “No, nothing new, but I’m even more worried about you now.”

  “Why?”

  Toshiko threw a furtive glance around before she spoke. “How could you’ve made up such a poor alibi? Even I can pick holes in it. How long do you think it’ll take for the police to tear it to pieces?”

  “What’s wrong with my alibi?”

  “You told them that immediately after leaving the house you’d rung Miss Yamaguchi from the nearest phone box, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Well, that public phone near the wine merchant was out of order that day. I don’t know if it was fixed the same day or not. But supposing it wasn’t till the following day? How could you explain that to the police?”

  “I don’t know,” he muttered, his heart belting away in a cold vapour. Now it began to dawn on him that the more elaborately an alibi was made up, the weaker it was because there were more parts in it that could be destroyed, causing the rest of it to collapse automatically.

  “I won’t breathe a word about this to anybody,” Toshiko whispered, “but why did you have to fabricate a false alibi in the first place? I meant to ask you this before, but never got around to it.”

  “I can’t tell you that now,” Segawa groaned, pulling at his hair without realising it. “All I can do is ask you to trust me.”

  “Just like that?” She searched his eyes suspiciously. “All right, I promise I won’t betray you, no matter what. But you’re certainly trying my patience. Sadako has been making all sorts of caustic comments about you lately. Her sarcasm seems to suggest I might be your accomplice in some way. Can you think of any reason for her to act like this?”

  The meeting with Sadako and Fujita in the café flashed through Segawa’s mind again, but he kept quiet about it. “Well,” he said, “there wouldn’t be any problem there once the killer is caught, but wouldn’t you have any idea who that monster might be? You’re one of the Ogino family—haven’t you noticed anything unusual that might give us a lead?”

  “That’s hard to say. I haven’t noticed anything definite, but I do think there’s something funny about the secretary, Mr. Fujita. I can’t put my finger on it, but sometimes I wonder if there’s something between him and Sadako. My feminine in­stinct tells me they know more about each other than they’d want us to believe.”

  “Yes, I too have the feeling there’s something fishy about them. Supposing they did have a love affair and Ogino found out about it? He might’ve called them to his house and con­fronted them with the evidence. It’s not too far-fetched to imagine that in a situation like that Fujita lost his nerve and hit Ogino on the head.”

  Toshiko shivered, and for a fleeting second her eyes seemed to dilate with fear. “I’d like to go home if you’ve nothing else to tell me.”

  “Please stay with me a little longer,” Segawa pleaded. “I’m not ready to go mad yet, you know.”

  “I’m not afraid of you, if that’s what you think . . . By the way, where did you stay last night?”

  He took a sip at his coffee and decided not to tell her. “With a woman,” he said. “I stayed at the place of a prostitute. I felt guilty about it when I thought of Eiko, but with my nerves all cut up, and being so alone, I just couldn’t help myself. I know it was a stupid thing to do.”

  “All men seem to fall this way sometimes—you’re not any worse than the rest of them . . . But the woman you stayed with wasn’t Miss Yamaguchi, I hope?”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Segawa said without looking at her.

  “Well, that’s not so bad then. If it had been Miss Yamaguchi, my sister would’ve never forgiven you, and I myself might’ve found it a bit hard to stomach.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “How long is it since you last saw Miss Yamaguchi?”

  “A couple of days after Ogino’s death—to go over details of the alibi with her.”

  “With the police looking for you everywhere, it might be a good idea to discuss it with her once more, just to make sure. I’d do that straight away if I were you.”

  “As a matter of fact, I rang her at work today and asked her to meet me as soon as possible. She said she had an engagement this evening and wouldn’t be home before nine o’clock. She suggested I should call at her place just after nine.”

  “Did she?” Toshiko stared at Segawa, frowning. “But wouldn’t it be better to meet her some other place rather than in her own flat? This may sound crazy to you, but I’m frightened of Miss Yamaguchi. This is surely the last thing to expect, but how can you be sure she didn’t murder my brother-in-law?”

  Segawa was so astounded he nearly dropped the cup into his lap. “B-but that’s impossible—quite impossible,” he stammered.

  “Why?” Toshiko’s voice suddenly became sharp as if it be­longed to someone else. “Isn’t the same alibi protecting both of you? If by any chance it was her, not you, who thought up this alibi, she could’ve easily pretended she was trying to protect you, while in fact she only wanted to escape into the safety zone herself. Doesn’t that make sense to you? I can’t believe you’re in love with her and my sister at the same time. And if you’re not, and she knows it, then why would she be prepared to risk her neck by helping you with a false alibi in a murder case—unless she had a special purpose? Can you answer that?”

  “No.” Segawa felt all numb in the head.

  “I think she had a motive, you know. I’m pretty sure she was in love with my brother-in-law. She had never admitted this, but I think I can see through her. She’s a very strong-willed woman. I remember her attending the wedding and not show­ing the slightest disappointment. But isn’t it possible she’s been waiting patiently for years for her chance to take her revenge? You can call this a freak of my imagination if you like . . . I’d better not say any more about it.”

  Segawa felt the blood was beginning to congeal in his veins. Toshiko looked quite obsessed, but her theory made sense, just the same. If he had been his normal self, he might have laughed it off as childish, but in his present nervous condition—so close to a breakdown—anything that sounded logical appeared pos­sible to him.

  Could Kazumi be the informer? He was staggered by the thought.

  Until now, whenever he’d tried to identify the informer’s aim, he’d been preoccupied with the spy angle, but what if the informer was simply trying to destroy the Oginos’ marriage? What if Ogino had been told that Eiko wasn’t only guilty of immoral conduct, but also of aiding a spy who was out to dam­age his company?

  Wouldn’t it make sense, he thought, that this rejected, for­gotten woman had been clinging to the one last hope—that one day Ogino would divorce Eiko and she could take her place? And when she’d finally realised this was not to be, had her love for him turned to hatred ten times magnified?

  Toshiko impatiently glanced at her watch again. “I really must go now . . . But before I leave you, please promise me something.”

  “Yes?”

  “Whatever happens, you won’t involve my sister in this, will you? If even you betray her now, I’m sure she won’t be able to go on living.”

  He looked at her obediently, as if in a trance. “I promise you I’ll never say or do anything to harm her, even if I’m sentenced to death on a false charge.”

  It was a quarter to nine when Segawa reached Shimokitazawa station. After Toshiko had left him, he had tried to ease his mind in a whisky bar at Shinjuku, but despite all the drinks he’d had, he didn’t feel d
runk.

  His face was still pale, and his steps were steady, but inside his brain the alcohol had slowly transformed Toshiko’s unsup­ported theory into what now appeared to him the obvious truth.

  Kazumi was the informer all right, he thought with hatred. Sakai’s intelligence agency was working exclusively for the Sanei Group, and she was personal secretary to the president of Sanei Products, one of the subsidiaries. She was the one who had tipped him off about the job in the first place. She’d had every opportunity to learn about his paramizol assignment.

  He felt his head was going to split. Every nerve in his body was ready to snap.

  His mind was boiling with hatred as he entered the apart­ment house where Kazumi lived. He took one big breath and ran up the stairs, and then took another breath in front of her door.

  Calm down . . . calm down . . . He took Kazumi’s key from his pocket, pushed it into the keyhole, and turned it without knocking on the door.

  11

  Shortly after ten o’clock that night Saburo Kirishima was reading The Case Law Review at his Kyodo home when he received a phone call. Inspector Ishida told him that Kazumi Yamaguchi had been found dead in her flat.

  It was only a few minutes by car from Kyodo to Shimokitazawa. Kirishima put on a suit and immediately drove to the scene. Ishida was waiting for him at the entrance to the apartments.

  “I’m sorry,” he said ruefully. “If only I’d made up my mind a day earlier and arrested Segawa, we wouldn’t have this second murder on our plate now.”

  “But you’ve done all you could. He had a firm alibi, and you didn’t have nearly enough to arrest him on.”

  Kirishima couldn’t help feeling he himself was partly to blame for Kazumi Yamaguchi’s death. He had to admit he’d been tardy about interrogating Segawa. Ishida had been push­ing the Segawa line so hard—it had made him want to look at the case from a different angle. Of course, he still couldn’t be sure his own line of reasoning had been entirely wrong. The only certainties at this stage were that the woman had been murdered, and that he’d been far too soft on Segawa.