As yet there was no way of telling whether the killer in the two cases was the same person. But if it was, then Segawa would automatically become the strongest suspect. The police investigation had shown he was the only person apart from Mrs. Ogino who had been directly connected with both Ogino and Yamaguchi.
“Well,” Ishida said, “if we’ve been treating Segawa too gently up to now, this is the time to put things right.” He was once more the efficient police investigator who had no time for sentiment. “Death presumably occurred between half past eight and half past nine—not such a long time ago. I immediately sent a detective to Segawa’s flat, and the Ogino house is also being watched. As I thought there might be a chance of Segawa trying to run away, I’ve made the necessary arrangements at all principal railway stations—Tokyo, Ueno and so on.”
Ishida was already in full control of the situation. Utilising the enormous resources of the Tokyo police force, he had a huge net thrown out over the city in a matter of minutes after learning about Kazumi’s death.
As they walked to the superintendant’s office, Kirishima asked, “How was the body discovered?”
“Perhaps you should hear it from the woman herself. She’s a Mrs. Yoshimura, the victim’s next door neighbour.” Ishida ordered a detective to get her.
A woman of about twenty-six appeared in a couple of minutes. Her face was pale, and she looked still upset. As soon as Ishida had introduced her to Kirishima, she rushed into her story like fire into a sheet of oil-paper.
“I’ve been quite friendly with Miss Yamaguchi. When you live in an apartment house, there are always people you prefer not to bother with, but Miss Yamaguchi was such a nice person, and we could get along with each other so well. At the moment, my husband is on a business trip to the United States, and I’ve been rather lonely, and often killed time talking to Miss Yamaguchi. My husband is an engineer with Toa Heavy Industries, and this time he was chosen specially to go on a trip with one of the executives to inspect various factories over there . . .”
Kirishima suppressed a sigh, wondering how long it’d take her.
“. . . I’m sure it was just after nine o’clock. As I went past her front door, I thought I heard a noise like a scream in her flat, but I didn’t think it was anything serious, and I went straight into my flat.”
“Do you think the scream came from Miss Yamaguchi?”
“Well, I can’t be sure. Men and women sound similar when they scream, don’t they? Besides, at the time I didn’t pay much attention because I thought the man she likes might be visiting her and they might’ve been . . . you know . . . it seems so awful to say such a thing now . . .”
“Please go on,” Kirishima said.
“Well, a minute or two after I’d heard that scream, there was a noise as if somebody was rushing out of her flat—quite a rough noise it was. This time I began to wonder. I thought perhaps the man had tried to do something queer and Kazumi had chucked him out. I became curious and poked my head out the door, and then I saw a man’s back for a moment as he was running down the steps.”
“Can you remember his clothes, or what he looked like—his height and build?”
“I’d say he was about medium height and average weight . . . His clothes? The colour of his suit was a pale bluish grey, I think.”
“Mr. Prosecutor,” Ishida said, “whenever he came to the police station, he wore a suit of that colour.”
Kirishima nodded and asked Mrs. Yoshimura to continue.
“I hesitated for a while—I didn’t know what to do, but then I made up my mind to have a look. I thought Miss Yamaguchi might’ve been hurt, or she might be upset, and perhaps she’d like me to comfort her. And then I found her there—oh, it was terrible!” She covered her face with her hands and began to tremble.
“Wasn’t her door locked?” Kirishima asked.
“No, it was slightly ajar. And the paper door between the kitchen dinette and the bed-sitter was wide open. I only had to step inside her flat to see everything.”
“Would you have any idea what time Miss Yamaguchi got home tonight?”
“Well, I myself was out tonight, and as I told you, I came back just after nine o’clock and heard the scream passing by her flat.”
Kirishima thought the woman’s story was sound enough. If the scream had been a cry of agony by Yamaguchi before her death, the murderer must be the man who had rushed out of her flat just after that.
He thanked Mrs. Yoshimura and was then shown by Ishida into the victim’s flat. Examination of the body had been completed, but it was left there in the original position for Kirishima’s inspection.
There was no suggestion of fear on the dead face. Rather there was an expression of surprise frozen on it.
A white-coated doctor from the forensic laboratory gave his observations in an even tone: “First the killer seized her by the throat and rendered her unconscious with his hands. Then he strangled her with a piece of cord. She was attacked from the rear. It seems she didn’t become suspicious when he moved behind her. This would indicate the killer was no stranger to her.”
The fingerprint experts were methodically going over the flat, but it looked as if this time their efforts would be wasted. Almost certainly they’d find nothing but Segawa’s prints besides the victim’s. If they did find some strange prints, that would make a big difference, but this was most unlikely, Kirishima thought.
“Is there anything else we should look at?”
“Nothing at this stage,” Ishida said. “There were two glasses in the kitchen sink with some soft drink in them. This suggests somebody had paid her a visit, but I don’t think this helps very much. I’ve ordered my men to check with people in every flat in the building. We might find another witness besides Mrs. Yoshimura.”
Just then a policeman came panting into the room. “Chief, there’s a message from headquarters—they caught Segawa at Ueno Station.”
Now Kirishima felt fairly certain Segawa was their man.
“It looks as if we’ll have this case wrapped up in no time,” Ishida said. He lit a cigarette and his face relaxed for the first time in a week.
•
The darkness was already growing paler, but for Segawa the night had just begun. Numbly he wondered if a new morning could ever please him again. He looked at the steel bars of the cell with the vague expression of a man worn out by long illness. He couldn’t think any more. The events of the last few hours kept flashing through his mind like a newsreel gone mad.
Kazumi was dead. This was the only clear fact—the rest of it was all confused. He couldn’t even remember if he’d uttered a scream at that moment. But he did recall his crazy urge to get away. There was no particular place to go, and he was in no condition to weigh up the pros and cons of running away. He just rushed out of the apartment house in a state of white panic.
By the time he’d recovered some of his reason, he was in a train on the Yamate line. For the first time the seriousness of his predicament came home to him. He was gripped by fear and despair and a new urge to run.
Somehow he got off the train at Ueno Station and unsteadily made his way to the main entrance. He had no plan to escape or do anything else. As he walked past a wall poster depicting the Iizaka hot spring resort, he had the queer idea it might be nice to relax there for a few days before something terrible happened to him.
He had enough money on him for the train ticket. He wasn’t sure if he had sufficient for the inn, but was going to buy a ticket anyway. The possibility of being on the run for any length of time had never occurred to him.
He must have acted strangely enough to attract the attention of the two detectives who were looking around the station. “Excuse me,” one of them said, tapping him on the shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.
Without waiting for another word, he started running mind�
�lessly towards the exit but was tackled and brought down heavily on the concrete floor before he could cover ten metres.
Thinking of this now in the cell he realised what a stupid thing he had done. His futile attempt to escape looked like an admission of guilt.
Strangely enough, what had happened after that he could remember in detail. He had been taken to a room inside the railway station, and a detective went through his pockets and took his wallet. He heard another policeman say, “Shigeo Segawa, I arrest you under Section 210 of the Criminal Procedure Code on suspicion of the murder of Kazumi Yamaguchi.” He heard a click and felt the cold metal cut into his wrists. He felt dizzy and began to tremble. The steel handcuffs seemed to send an electric current through his body.
He was shoved into the patrol car and remained lightheaded all the way to the police station where he heard some more mechanical words spoken in compliance with the law.
“Shigeo Segawa, you’ve been arrested on suspicion of the murder of Shoichi Ogino and Kazumi Yamaguchi. You’re free to choose your own counsel and may contact him when you wish. You needn’t answer any questions or make any statement as anything you say may be used in evidence.”
He didn’t grasp the meaning of the words. Only the mention of Ogino’s name had made any impression on his mind. He was preoccupied with a strange image of the gallows—something he had never seen. The image took a concrete shape and was rushing towards him and he couldn’t get out of its path. Suddenly he was seized by a terrible fear that made him yell out.
“No, you’re wrong!” he shouted. “I’m not the one! I haven’t killed anybody!” He tried to get up but was pushed roughly back onto the seat.
Questions hit him from all directions: “What were you doing tonight between eight-thirty and nine-thirty? Why did you go to Miss Yamaguchi’s flat? What business did you have at Ueno Station? Where were you trying to go from there? Did you want to leave Tokyo?”
How could he answer so many questions at once? First he even tried to deny he’d been anywhere near Kazumi’s flat, but this time he couldn’t think of a sensible alibi and his story got torn to shreds in minutes. After that he was like a lamb surrounded by wolves.
The interrogation was shorter than he’d expected. Perhaps they’d have another go at him in the morning. He was taken out of the room and thrown into the cell straight away—so exhausted he didn’t even have the strength to lick his lips.
Now he watched the narrow strips of sky growing lighter in the window and thought of Eiko for the first time.
What was she doing? he wondered. She mightn’t know yet he’d been arrested, but it was only a matter of time. What would be her reaction?
His eyes were full of tears. Suddenly he felt such a painful longing for her he thought he’d lose his mind. Crying like a child he slowly drifted into sleep.
At nine o’clock in the morning Segawa was brought back into the interrogation room. Inspector Ishida was already waiting for him.
Those few hours of sleep had helped him to regain some of his composure. He knew if he gave up now, everything would be finished. This stirred whatever there remained of his gambler’s nature. He was determined to defend himself tooth and nail.
But Ishida’s very first question caught him completely unprepared.
“When did you start your secret affair with Eiko Ogino?”
“What’s your reason for asking such a thing?” This was the best he could do, trying to avoid an answer.
Ishida twisted his lips in a cold smile. “Come now,” he said, “you’re not going to tell us you didn’t have a secret affair with her, are you? After all, she was a married woman with a husband and she did go with you to that inn, didn’t she? We’re not saying she’s committed adultery with you—oh, no, we wouldn’t say that. But can’t you remember taking her to the Seizanso Inn at Sendagaya four days before her husband’s murder?”
Segawa couldn’t find anything to say. Picking out the name of the inn just like that—they must’ve used photographs and investigated all the inns in the area, covering the lot . . . There was nothing he could do—this was the end.
But Ishida had not yet finished. “You needn’t answer,” he said. “You can claim privilege if you like, but we’ve found the matchbox of this inn in your rubbish bin. That’s the advantage of being single—no worries about the wife finding you out, eh? So you took the matchbox home without giving it another thought—and we’ll present it to the court in evidence. You wouldn’t like to see Mrs. Ogino being dragged through the court as a witness, would you? Well, if you tell us everything quietly, we may go easy on her so long as there’s no suggestion she had anything to do with your crime.”
Remembering it was an old police trick to offer this sort of inducement to extract a confession, Segawa steeled himself. “Despite all your suggestions, I’m not the killer you’re looking for,” he said.
“I see. But you’re quite prepared to admit you are a lady-killer?” Ishida visibly enjoyed his pun. “Did you also have an intimate relationship with Setsuko Kondo?”
“No, I didn’t. I only met her four or five times at the most. We had coffee or dinner together, but that was all.”
“Oh? Then this was one affair that died unfulfilled, is that it? Are you going to insist you didn’t achieve fulfilment with Kazumi Yamaguchi either?”
Segawa could feel cold sweat oozing from every pore in his scalp. He thought the way his face must look right now would be enough to convince this veteran police inspector that he was the killer, but he couldn’t do anything about it. If he told a lie in the wrong place he’d stir up a hornet’s nest and make things worse for himself. The only thing to do was to admit he’d spent the night before last with Kazumi and visited her again last night, and then firmly deny the killing charge all the way through. Not that this fiendish inspector was likely to accept this, but there was no other way.
Ishida attacked him from every possible angle, firing penetrating questions at him about his relationship with Kazumi, and cruelly taunting him about his escape attempt at Ueno Station.
Segawa tried his best to explain his state of mind at the time, but in his excitement he couldn’t convey half of what he wanted to say. The questioning lasted all morning, and by midday he was completely worn out once more.
In the afternoon he was put into a police line-up. Two witnesses were brought in. Both picked him out at once as the man who’d visited the apartment house last night. One was Mrs. Yoshimura, and the other a Mr. Yasuhara who lived on the ground floor.
This second witness was later confronted with Segawa in the interrogation room. He said he’d met Segawa face to face as he was running out of the building. “He acted like a madman—his face looked terrible, and his eyes were all bloodshot. I got a hell of a shock, but didn’t think he was a murderer.”
Now Segawa was attacked from yet another angle he hadn’t thought of. When they’d searched him at Ueno Station last night, they’d found Kazumi’s key in his pocket. He insisted Kazumi had asked him yesterday morning to keep the key.
“Uh-huh. And you say you entered her flat using that key?”
“That’s right.”
“But then how could she get into the flat before you?”
“She told me she had another key.”
“Now isn’t that interesting? We searched the flat thoroughly, but we didn’t find any key.”
Segawa had been confused enough already, but this latest piece of information really confounded him.
“That’s impossible,” he muttered.
“Are you saying we’re talking a lot of nonsense?”
“But—”
“But what?” Ishida’s voice slashed out like a whip. “Will you give up your empty lies and start telling the truth for a change? We’re sick and tired of listening to killers telling us the victim was already dead when they got there.
After all these years in the police force, I still have to meet the first murderer who doesn’t trot out the same old story once he’s concerned.”
“But I’m telling the truth.”
“Then show us the note you said she wrote and left there for you.”
“I tore it up and threw it into the rubbish bin. But I didn’t murder her!” He was shouting now, and tears were running down his face. “I’m not a murderer! I didn’t kill anybody!”
His outburst made about as much impression on Inspector Ishida as the cry of an earthworm would.
In the evening he was taken back to the cell once again. A little later a detective brought him a small parcel.
“This is for you,” he said. “It was sent in by a Toshiko Murozaki. Is she another girlfriend of yours?” He dropped the parcel on the bed, laughing.
Segawa undid the wrapping, his heart filled with gratitude. Toshiko had come here as a stand-in for Eiko, he thought. His eyes flooded once more.
A ghost-like mist began to drift in through the window, intensifying the darkness in the cell. Segawa repeated Eiko’s name several times.
On the afternoon of June 19, forty-one hours after his arrest, Segawa was sent to State Prosecutor Kirishima. Justice was taking its course.
With the police investigation practically completed, Inspector Ishida moved from Suginami police station back to headquarters. He was going to do any supplementary work from there. This new arrangement seemed to be a silent acknowledgement by the police that the two murder cases had been solved and the rest was just a matter of waiting for Segawa’s confession.
As it was already after three o’clock, all Kirishima did that afternoon was arrange for an extension of Segawa’s detention. Next morning he was going to settle down to a thorough examination of the suspect.
So far as the second murder was concerned, Kirishima thought there wasn’t much room for doubt. There was no direct proof, but the circumstantial evidence against Segawa was extremely strong. On the first page of the police report Inspector Ishida had given a summary of this evidence.
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