“Well, then tell me this. How many massaging machines did Segawa sell during the week prior to Shoichi Ogino’s death?”
For just a fleeting moment Sakai looked uncertain, but his self-confidence returned almost instantly. “I couldn’t give you a figure—not off the cuff.”
“That’s fair enough,” Kirishima said understandingly. “It’d be difficult to memorise sales figures of that nature. But no doubt you have a record of them kept in your office. You’d also have a list of people who had bought those machines?”
Sakai took a handkerchief from his pocket and began to wipe his forehead. “Those particular machines didn’t sell as well as we’d hoped. Mr. Segawa was having a tough time with them, but he did his best.”
“Even so, he must’ve sold some machines during that week? You’re not suggesting he couldn’t sell a single machine in six days, do you?”
“Well . . .”
“Isn’t this rather strange, though? Only a little while ago you said you were satisfied with Segawa’s performance. This would suggest to me he has a superior selling ability. But shouldn’t he be at least as good as your other salesmen on these hard-to-sell lines?”
Sakai bit his lip and remained silent.
Kirishima’s voice became menacingly quiet. “Mr. Sakai, I’d like you to tell me the truth now. Wasn’t the selling of massaging machines just a cover for some other activity?”
“What specific activity are you referring to?”
“I think it’s popularly described as industrial spying.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Sakai laughed noisily, demonstrating his composure. He searched his pocket and produced a cigarette case and a lighter, but Kirishima didn’t give him time to light a cigarette.
“Didn’t you order Segawa to obtain information on a new product being developed by the Shichiyo Chemical Company?”
“I’ve no knowledge of that.”
“Didn’t you assign that job to him because he happened to be a friend of Shoichi Ogino?”
“Come now, Mr. Prosecutor—this is quite absurd.”
“Did you know that Segawa and Eiko Ogino had been lovers years ago, and that their relationship had been recently revived?”
“A private matter like that wouldn’t be any of my business.”
“Are you aware that Segawa has been friendly with a girl called Setsuko Kondo, who is an assistant in the Shichiyo Chemical Company’s research section?”
“I recall Segawa saying something about her one evening while we were having a drink together after work.”
“Didn’t you instruct Segawa to try to seduce that girl in order to get at the company secret with her assistance?”
“I did no such thing.”
“Did you know in advance Segawa was going to visit Shoichi Ogino on that day?”
“Yes, I did, but as far as I knew, it was just a social call on a friend.”
“Didn’t you tell him to keep his eyes open for any opportunity to steal the secret of the new product while he was in Ogino’s house?”
“I can’t recall telling him anything like that.”
“Well, perhaps you didn’t put it so bluntly, but didn’t you make some suggestion to this effect? Or are you saying that Segawa’s unsuccessful spying attempt that night was entirely his own idea?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sakai said defiantly. “I wouldn’t have a clue about Segawa’s state of mind that night, but he certainly didn’t say anything to me about the Shichiyo Chemical Company before he went to visit Ogino.”
“And did Segawa subsequently give you an account of his movements on the night of Ogino’s death?”
“Yes, we discussed it on one occasion. He insisted that after he’d left Ogino’s house, somebody else must’ve turned up and committed the murder. I can’t recall his exact words now, but he sounded most convincing at the time. I still don’t think he’s the murderer.”
“Why don’t you?”
“The only way I can answer this is that I trust him.”
“Did Segawa hand over to you anything after the night of the murder?”
“No, not that I know of.”
Kirishima drew a long breath. He was about to launch another series of questions when Sakai suddenly took the initiative.
“Mr. Prosecutor,” he said. “I didn’t want to tell you this when I came here, but I don’t like being labelled an industrial spy. So I’m going to explain to you how I could pay Segawa 50,000 yen a month and still make a profit out of him, even if he couldn’t sell a single massaging machine.”
“I’m listening.”
“I used Segawa in my stock dealings.”
“Aaah? I understand the shock market is going through the worst slump in its history, but you reckon there’s still money to be made there by an amateur like you?”
“That’s right,” Sakai said firmly. “The money is always there for the picking—if one knows where to look for it. This was my sole reason for engaging a former clerk of a securities corporation and giving him the job of selling electric massaging machines.” He straightened up, looking obviously proud of his idea. “There’s a saying that one should never risk his money on a man who isn’t a bit of a villain. Well, I told Segawa to take the massaging machines and call on executives of the big companies. The financial position of a company can often be gauged by the physical condition of its executives. Most of these men are no longer young, and when business is bad and they worry over it, their health suffers. They may not feel fit enough to play golf any more, so they fall back on the massaging machine which doesn’t require any spare energy . . .”
Sakai’s thin lips spread in a grin, and Kirishima couldn’t help smiling with him. The man certainly had imagination, he thought, if nothing else.
“So,” Sakai said, “if a number of executives from a certain company showed interest in the massaging machine, I gathered the company must be slipping. You just try and ask any businessman how his company’s doing. Invariably he’ll start moaning that things aren’t so good, and you won’t be any the wiser. But by using this indirect technique of the massaging machine, I’ve been able to obtain fairly reliable information on a number of stocks. Then I put this information to work in a series of ‘short selling’ transactions. In the stock market game ‘short selling’ is the reverse of the normal operation of buying shares and selling them at a profit. Working through a broker, first you sell a number of shares you don’t actually hold, then buy back a similar number of the same shares at a lower price and complete the first transaction by supplying the cheaper shares obtained from the second transaction. The time element is vital in this gamble. It’s a very risky operation, but I managed to make 600,000 yen out of it last month. I think it’s quite obvious then that I could well afford to pay Segawa a salary of 50,000 yen for the month. Does this satisfy you, Mr. Prosecutor?”
Kirishima thought Sakai had produced a most ingenious explanation which certainly had the mark of sophistication. It was logical right through, but it wasn’t a story that would make the grade in the State Prosecutor’s office.
“I’m most impressed,” Kirishima said. “And now, will you give me the name of the broker you use for your short selling operations? Also the name of the clerk you’ve been dealing with, the name and number of the shares, and the price at which you sold and bought? If you can’t remember all this, then just give me the name of the broker—we can easily check out the rest of it ourselves.”
Sakai became silent again. He wiped his face with his handkerchief.
“Well,” Kirishima said, “perhaps you’re ready to tell the truth at last? Whatever clever excuses you may think up, you’re wasting your time, I can assure you. Segawa has already confessed he’d been spying on the Shichiyo Chemical Company on your orders.”
A muscle twitched in Saka
i’s face, and his eyes flared up in violent anger. “If what you say is true, then I’ve been wrong about Segawa—he’s not a man to be trusted.” The words came from him as if he were spitting poison. “And now let me tell you something, Mr. Prosecutor. It’s you who’s wasting his time. I refuse to answer any further questions. As you’re well aware, this is one of my fundamental rights under the constitution.”
“I see,” Inspector Ishida said, hardly able to contain his anger. He had been listening to Kirishima’s summary of Sakai’s questioning. “Refusal to answer questions means admission of guilt to my mind, but what’s the legal position? I can’t see that Sakai would’ve incited Segawa to commit murder, but he must bear some indirect responsibility, surely? Can’t we arrest him on some charge?”
“No, we’ve nothing on him. As things are at present, there’s no law saying that industrial spying as such is a punishable offence. It all depends on the spy’s modus operandi. To put him away he must be proved guilty of some associated offence, like robbery, receiving stolen goods, bribery, blackmail, unlawful assault, or threatening with violence. But none of these applies in Sakai’s case. Instigating robbery may be the nearest thing—but that’s a very hard charge to prove.”
“All I know, he’s the type of bastard I hate to see at large. I’ll order a couple of good men from the fraud squad to make a study of his background and movements. I’m pretty sure Segawa’s spying bit isn’t the only thing Sakai is mixed up in.”
“You’re probably right,” Kirishima said. “By the way, how did you do with Fujita?”
Ishida took a sheet of paper from his briefcase. “This is the list of documents he’d collected from Ogino’s study. He said there might be a couple more he couldn’t recall, but they certainly wouldn’t refer to an important matter like the new product.”
Kirishima studied the list but couldn’t see anything interesting in it. “They haven’t discovered anything missing, have they?”
“No. I questioned Fujita thoroughly on this, but he insisted there was nothing missing. He said there were very few reports on the new product, and they were all accounted for.”
“Hm.”
“Furthermore, he thought Ogino wouldn’t have taken home any document of real importance because he’d been conscious of the danger of it getting lost or stolen. This wouldn’t apply, of course, to a copy of anything.”
Kirishima shot him a glance. “Then it wouldn’t be easy to ascertain whether a copy of anything has been lost or not?”
“That’s right, and this is confirmed by what Dr. Nishiwaki told me. I’ve had a long talk with him, too.”
“What did he have to say?”
“He said there were six research workers under him altogether, including Setsuko Kondo. Each was concerned with only a section of the project. Getting at only one of them wouldn’t have helped an industrial spy at all. A spy would’ve had to bribe all six to secure the secret—unless, of course, he managed to open the safe which contained the progressive research data.”
“Did he say anything special about Setsuko Kondo?”
“He said that generally he wasn’t very good at analysing other people’s feelings, but he did think she might be in love. He didn’t believe in poking his nose into her personal life.”
“And what about his progress reports on the new product?”
“He always prepared those personally in his own handwriting, using two carbons. He kept the original in the safe and handed one copy to technical director Okamura, and the other to the late Mr. Ogino. He doesn’t accept any responsibility for the carbon copies.”
“Hmm. Then it’s quite possible it was one of those carbon copies Segawa was trying to photograph in Ogino’s study.” He decided he’d again interrogate him during the evening. This time he’d keep the pressure up until Segawa came clean on the spying business.
Just after six o’clock that evening Kirishima drove out to Suginami police station where Segawa was being detained. Under normal circumstances night interrogation was limited to 9 p.m. by regulation, and he thought the time at his disposal would be more than enough. In his experience, once a suspect had been driven into a corner during the evening, he usually despaired overnight and confessed the following morning.
He started on Segawa with questions directed at the heart of the intelligence operation. About fifteen minutes later Segawa suddenly became sheet-white and began swallowing as if he were going to choke.
“Mr. Prosecutor,” he muttered, “I’ve had enough. I’m going to tell you everything from start to finish. I used to be a gambler—made a living by speculation. I know when it’s time to throw in the towel.”
“Okay.” Kirishima suppressed a sigh of relief and lit a cigarette. “Go ahead—I’m listening.”
In a hoarse voice Segawa told the full story from the day of his chance meeting with Kazumi Yamaguchi at Shinjuku Station to the night he had found her dead in her flat.
“Is that all you want to tell me?” Kirishima asked when Segawa had stopped talking.
“There’s nothing more to tell—I’ve told you all I know.”
“You admit you’re an industrial spy but deny you’ve killed Shoichi Ogino and Kazumi Yamaguchi. Is that it?”
“Yes, that’s the truth.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you,” Kirishima said coldly. “Well, never mind—you’re no different from all the others. Most offenders prefer to confess their crime bit by bit. Sleep on it once more, but think about it very seriously in the morning. I’ll see you again sometime tomorrow, but that’ll be the last time. If you don’t change your tune by then, I’ll prosecute you on a plea of not guilty. This’ll be a lot harder on you and your associates, and you won’t get any sympathy from the judge either.”
Kirishima zipped up his briefcase and pushed back his chair, ready to get up.
Segawa placed two trembling hands on the table. “Please wait,” he said quickly. “Let me tell you one more thing—I’ve an idea who the killer might be.”
“Well, tell us then. That’ll make it so much easier for all of us.”
“The informer—the person who told Ogino I was a spy so he could set up a trap for me—that’s the killer.”
Kirishima put his briefcase on the table again. “Look,” he said, “we don’t know who that person is—the police don’t know, I don’t know. But whoever he is, he has done the right thing—the lawful thing—by warning Ogino about your insidious attempt to deceive your best friend. You hate that person only because you know he’s an honest man, and a scoundrel like you hates nothing more than being beaten by honesty.”
“No, no, you’ve got me wrong. I blame only myself for what I’ve done. But believe me, this informer wasn’t just putting Ogino wise about my spying. Oh, no. He also managed to get me blamed for his crime. And maybe Kazumi’s murder was also his doing—that’s what I think, anyway.” Segawa’s white face was shiny with perspiration. “Mr. Prosecutor, if you only believe half of what I’ve said, please investigate this case once more. Somewhere—somewhere in Tokyo, somebody’s laughing at you, the police and me.”
“Well, then do you have any idea who that informer might be?”
“No, I’ve no idea at all.”
“D’you know of anybody who might hate you for something?”
“The killer didn’t have to hate me to do this to me. I don’t think he had any feeling for me one way or the other. He just built me up as a suspect to divert attention from himself. He just wants me to be the sacrificial offering—that’s all.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Kirishima snapped. “If your speculation is correct, then why did this informer murder Kazumi Yamaguchi as well? You were already the strongest suspect after the first killing. There was no need for him to commit a second murder to protect himself. Why should he cross this dangerous bridge for nothing?”
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Segawa swallowed with difficulty. “Yes, but perhaps he didn’t feel safe till I was prosecuted. So he killed Kazumi Yamaguchi to get rid of my alibi.”
“But you told me this evening your alibi was false, didn’t you? This being so, wouldn’t it have been much more convenient for the killer to keep Yamaguchi alive? There was every likelihood she would’ve broken down under questioning and admitted the truth, thereby strengthening the case against you.”
“The killer might’ve thought I had a real alibi.”
“Don’t be silly. If there is such a demonic person—a man plotting to saddle you with a false murder charge—d’you think he wouldn’t have been able to find out long ago whether you did, in fact, have an alibi? I don’t believe that at all. If there is a killer other than you, he would’ve set up a most carefully prepared trap for you, using every available trick at his disposal. That’s why I asked you if you knew of somebody who might have a strong reason to hate you.”
Segawa dropped his head and said nothing. He looked as if the last of his resistance had left him for good.
Kirishima said, “Well, that’ll be all for now. Think it over during the night, will you? If you start telling the judge tall stories about this so-called informer, you’ll only make things worse for yourself. You’d be well advised to put it out of your mind once and for all.”
Segawa was handcuffed again and taken out of the room by two policemen. Kirishima looked at his back and took a deep breath, and then lit a cigarette. He hadn’t quite finished the smoke when Inspector Ishida bustled in.
“How did it go?” he asked eagerly.
“He freely admitted the spying business but steadfastly denied the murders.”
“Well, he’s obviously making his last stand. My sixth sense tells me we’ll have his full confession by about this time tomorrow, if not before then.”
“He also told me something new.”
“Yes?”
Kirishima made his clerk read out Segawa’s comments on the informer.
The Informer Page 19