The Informer

by Akimitsu Takagi

  “If I may say so,” Ishida said, “I don’t think we have any problem there. If this informer does exist at all, the theory that he’s the killer can’t be substantiated. To begin with, what would’ve been the sense in giving information to somebody who was going to be murdered anyway? If he had informed the police, that’d be an entirely different story.” He opened his hands for emphasis. “If it had been Segawa who was going to be murdered, then there would’ve been some purpose in giving Ogino the information. It might’ve had the effect of shifting suspicion onto Ogino. But as it is, Segawa’s argument doesn’t hold water at all.”

  Kirishima raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. “I agree Segawa’s story sounds very doubtful. But this is a double murder case, and we don’t have any direct evidence, and this is our weak­ness. If he is found guilty by the court, he’ll hang for sure. That’s why I want to examine every detail with the utmost care.”

  “I appreciate how you feel—it’s a big responsibility.” Ishida nodded a couple of times. “Well, then all I have to do is find out whether or not this informer exists. Am I right?”

  “Yes, that’s it, I know it’s going to be an awkward job—there isn’t much to go on.”

  “Never mind, Mr. Prosecutor. I’ll get the men to do a second round of inquiries among the people who used to be around Ogino. Somebody close to him might’ve heard something.”

  Segawa’s interrogation hadn’t taken as long as Kirishima had expected. It was still well before nine o’clock, so he asked his clerk to have a drink with him.

  A clerk to a prosecutor was a bit like a wife to a husband, Kirishima thought. Both must be rewarded at times for their care and loyalty. And since Kitahara was such an old soak, of­fering him a drink—even if only once a month—was the thing he liked most.

  As usual, after the first two bottles of sake Kitahara began to call himself Garappachi and was itching for a good argument with the boss. “Well, Mr. Prosecutor, what d’you think of tonight’s session?”

  “Too much thinking isn’t good for you,” Kirishima said with­out moving a muscle in his face. “A long time ago one of my se­niors told me a prosecutor working on a suspect should keep his mind as bright and clean as a mirror. I’m always trying to follow this advice.”

  “That seems a very fine principle. D’you mind if I get an­other bottle?” He ordered without waiting for an answer, then turned back to Kirishima. “Mr. Prosecutor, could I say some­thing, very briefly?”

  “Go ahead—say it.”

  “I hope I don’t sound too insolent. I might be an old badger, but I know my place. I know I’m supposed to carry out your or­ders without comment—without poking my beak into your business.”

  “All right, all right. I know you’re a vicious old drunk, but what is it you want to say?”

  “It seems to me that Segawa’s story about the informer is very close to the truth.”

  Kirishima sucked in his breath. He had a healthy respect for Kitahara’s instinct. His clerk had a rather silly face and often acted as if he’d had a touch of the sun, but every now and then he produced an unexpected piece of wisdom that made one look up and listen. His sudden revelations were always the products of intuition rather than logic, and yet, he often managed to hit the nail right on the head.

  “Then who d’you think the informer is?” he asked flatly.

  “That I don’t know yet,” Kitahara said pompously, obviously pleased the boss was biting. “But usually an informer is an un­scrupulous person, staying in the dark, out to hurt somebody without accepting the consequences. Isn’t that right? It’s quite likely he was only guessing when he accused Segawa of spying, but somehow he hit the target by accident. I’m sure he hates Segawa—and is trying to destroy him.”

  “Okay, but let’s be sensible about this. Has Segawa got any­thing other people might envy? I know there are some people even worse off than him, but I think we can forget about them.”

  “Mr. Prosecutor, a person’s assets aren’t necessarily restricted to money or property. From all the questioning to date, I’ve got the impression Segawa might possess a very special talent.”

  “Talent for what?”

  “For women, of course!” Kitahara flashed a toothy smile. “Now, suppose there’s a man somewhere who’s secretly in love with Mrs. Ogino. And suppose he knew Mrs. Ogino was in love with Segawa and was having a clandestine affair with him? What could he—the man waiting in the wings—do about it? Murdering both husband and lover—that might’ve been just a bit too much for his stomach. But how about killing one, and putting all the blame for it on the other? That would place our man immediately in top position for Mrs. Ogino’s favours, wouldn’t it? And he’d have the additional attraction of hundreds of millions of yen to be inherited by her. If I had an opportunity like this, I’m not sure I wouldn’t try it myself.”

  Kitahara’s words made Kirishima feel sober despite all the sake he’d had. His trained mind automatically began to analyse the proposition, and he had to admit it made some sense.

  If there was an informer, he thought, and if this was what he was aiming at, then it was essential for him to destroy Segawa’s image in Mrs. Ogino’s mind. Lack of money or position mightn’t be an obstacle to real love. But once a man was branded as a low-down cheat and a murderer, even the strongest affection for him might die a sudden death in a woman’s heart. For break­ing up the Oginos’ marriage—for this there might’ve been a less dangerous alternative to murder, but to utterly discredit Segawa in Mrs. Ogino’s eyes, and to dispose of him at the same time? The proposition certainly had its attractions, however far-fetched it might seem.

  Pulling up in front of his home that night, Kirishima could see light inside the house. It must be his fiancée, he thought. He had forgotten to ring her at the usual time in the afternoon. She must’ve been worried about him. He felt a little guilty, but couldn’t help relishing the prospect of finding Kyoko in his house at this time of the night.

  As he stepped inside he found Kyoko standing in the middle of the hallway, looking at him with eyes that were accusing and showing relief at the same time.

  “Hello. You didn’t give me a ring today.”

  “I’m sorry—I’ve been really busy all day. I did ring, you know, but the line was engaged and I thought I’d call you again when I got home tonight. Are you angry? Is that why you came over?”

  “No, that’s not the reason. You’ve been to the Ogino house again, haven’t you?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Miss Murozaki rang me—she sounded really worried.” She brushed some cigarette ash from his lapel. “Have you charged Mr. Segawa yet? Or are you going to do it tomorrow?”

  “That’s a hard one to answer.” Kirishima changed his tone at once. “I’ve promised you never to keep any secrets from you. But that referred to my private life. When it comes to my job, there are times when I can’t even take my finacée into my con­fidence. I’d like you to remember this from now on.”

  “Since I happen to be a barrister’s daughter, I can understand that much.” She spoke with some spleen. “But when I listened to Miss Murozaki, I couldn’t help thinking Mr. Segawa might be prosecuted on a false charge. Of course, if you’ve already fin­ished the whole investigation and you’re convinced he’s the murderer, I won’t say another word—I’ve full confidence in you. Only I thought, if by any chance he is convicted on a false charge, and you realise this later, you’d regret it for the rest of your life—not only as a prosecutor but also as a fellow human being. That’s why I came over tonight. This is hardly some­thing we could’ve discussed on the phone.”

  “Hmmm.” Kirishima folded his arms. “The circumstantial evidence against him is very strong—I can tell you that much. Another prosecutor would almost certainly charge him tomor­row at the latest. But I still haven’t quite made up my mind—I’m still checking some points to mak
e sure . . . But what gave you the impression he’s innocent?”

  “Well, for one thing, Toshiko suggested somebody had set an elaborate trap for Mr. Segawa so that he’d be blamed for the crime. I realise, of course, that Toshiko is thinking of her sister rather than Mr. Segawa—she kept repeating she’d do anything to help her sister. But then I thought, how could a man with a university degree commit such a stupid murder?”

  “I’ve thought of that myself, but there’s nothing really un­usual about it. When a crime is committed in the heat of pas­sion, or accidentally—in other words, when it hasn’t been planned—intelligence makes very little difference. It comes into play only after the crime—in the offender’s attempts to cover up his tracks. There are millions of examples.”

  “But didn’t you tell me once that each crime appeared in a million varieties—that no crime has ever been committed twice in exactly the same way? If this is true, then isn’t it possi­ble you’re faced with a special case on this occasion?”

  Woman’s logic, Kirishima thought. And she was getting really obstinate, too. That Murozaki girl must’ve been chewing her ear for a long time.

  Then a strange idea crossed his mind. Supposing his clerk’s hunch was right? Supposing there was an informer, and he was in love with Mrs. Ogino? Supposing he was trying to kill two birds with the one stone? To detect his identity, wouldn’t it be best to work on the inside through Toshiko Murozaki who knew all her sister’s friends and acquaintances? This indirect approach could be much more effective than a clumsy attempt by a pair of detectives. And who could do this better than Kyoko herself—Toshiko’s school-mate?

  He realised a prosecutor wasn’t supposed to employ this kind of technique. But he had only to think of Eiko Ogino’s shat­tered figure to shudder at the idea of ordering policemen to delve into her private feelings once more.

  As if she had read his thoughts, Kyoko put her hands on his shoulders and grinned at him mischievously. “Much as I’d like to help Toshiko, I know you’re not allowed to discuss your job, even with your fiancee. But there’s nothing to stop you from talking to yourself, is there? You can always ask yourself some questions you’d like answered, can’t you?”

  Kirishima couldn’t help bursting into laughter. “All right then,” he said. “In any case, I often think aloud when I’ve had too many drinks, like tonight. Most bachelors do. Well, ques­tion one—did anyone warn Ogino about Segawa’s attempts to steal the secret of a new product being developed by Ogino’s company? Question two—is there any man secretly in love with Eiko Ogino, regardless of whether she cares for him or not?”

  “I’ve got it,” Kyoko said. “I’ll see what I can do tomorrow. And if I learn something, next time it’ll be my turn to talk to myself.”

  13

  Long after his fiancée had left him that night, Kirishima was still awake in bed, his mind unable to relax.

  He thought that if his clerk was right—if there was a third man waiting in the wings—he’d have to be somebody fairly well known to Eiko Ogino. Also, he’d have to be able to visit her regularly without attracting attention. And almost cer­tainly he’d have to be a single man . . .

  Wait a minute! Kirishima turned over quickly and propped himself up on an elbow. His lawyer friend, Kurahashi, was over thirty years old and still single, and he was the Ogino family’s legal adviser.

  Some time ago Kirishima had heard a yarn about Kurahashi at a Judicial Training Institute old boys’ reunion. Apparently, many years ago Kurahashi had been infatuated with a young actress but couldn’t marry her because of his father’s objection, and the next thing she died from an overdose of sleeping pills. There was no suggestion of foul play. The coroner couldn’t even establish a suicide. Most young actresses were over-tired these days because of the demands of television. If by any chance she’d had a bad heart or some other weakness, even a normal dose of pills could’ve quite easily killed her in conjunc­tion with extreme exhaustion.

  According to the story, Kurahashi had taken it very badly, blaming himself for the woman’s death, and since then he had obstinately ignored all opportunities to marry, no matter how attractive they were.

  Well, Kirishima thought, from now on Kurahashi would have ample opportunity to meet Eiko Ogino on matters con­cerning the inheritance. She didn’t seem to have any personal interest in him, or if she did, she might’ve thought it improper to show it so soon after her husband’s death. It was quite pos­sible they had met a few times previously and she didn’t find him unattractive. And since Kurahashi was the family lawyer and his father had been a personal friend of Ogino’s father, it was not unlikely he would’ve had an occasional drink with Ogino—perhaps in Ogino’s own home.

  Kirishima didn’t dare take this line of reasoning any further. The mere thought of casting suspicion on an old friend—a fel­low lawyer and a product of the same institute—made his fore­head break out in sweat.

  Shozo Ogushi—what about him? He didn’t know if Ogushi had a wife and children, but this was very easy to find out . . . He had been an old school-mate of Ogino, just like Segawa—a regular visitor to the victim’s home. They would’ve had many quiet drinks together, and Ogushi would’ve often met Mrs. Ogino over the years . . . He had also known Kazumi Yama­guchi, and it wasn’t unlikely she would’ve been more than a casual acquaintance to him. Furthermore, it was Ogushi who had arranged the first meeting between Segawa and Sakai. If in fact Sakai was employed by the Sanei Group as an industrial espionage agent, Ogushi might know this, since he was an em­ployee of the same combine. The whole business of securing Segawa’s services might’ve been arranged between him and Sakai . . . If that was the case, Ogushi would’ve had all the in­formation needed to tip off Ogino about Segawa. And he had a thorough knowledge of the past relationships of people in­volved in this whole unfortunate affair . . . Yes, Ogushi fitted into the picture much better than Kurahashi, who wouldn’t have known of Segawa’s intelligence assignment and probably didn’t know Kazumi Yamaguchi at all.

  Kirishima shifted in bed onto his other side. It was well after midnight, but his agitated mind mercilessly kept him awake.

  Eiko Ogino’s own mind was the next problem to consider. If the murderer had indeed planned to kill two birds with the one stone, he must’ve been fully confident that once husband and lover had been disposed of, she would throw herself into his arms without fail. It was unthinkable the man would’ve been mad enough to bury two people first and then set out to con­quer a woman who had taken absolutely no interest in him up to that point. This seemed too far-fetched, even if one made al­lowances for the fact that no criminal was completely sane.

  Of course, it was quite possible there was a man other than these two, who hadn’t surfaced at all so far. If that was so, then a normal police investigation would be most unlikely to suc­ceed in exposing him over the short period available.

  After considering this, Kirishima was no longer troubled by his conscience about involving Kyoko and trying to use her friendship with Toshiko Murozaki to get at the truth.

  In his office later that morning, Kirishima was attending to some formalities in another case when he received a phone call from a lawyer who gave his name as Reikichi Yumida.

  He had never heard of the man before, but when he was told the matter concerned the Ogino case and was very important, he couldn’t refuse a request for an interview. He asked Inspec­tor Ishida by phone to have a look at Segawa, and also, to get a report on Shozo Ogushi’s background.

  He had a hunch the lawyer might’ve been engaged to rep­resent Segawa. Segawa himself mightn’t have thought of ob­taining legal assistance, but perhaps someone else—possibly Sakai or Toshiko Murozaki—had been worried about him and contacted a lawyer. This seemed quite natural now that the in­vestigation had advanced this far.

  But when Yumida walked into the office just after ten o’clock, Kirishima immediately felt his hunch had
been wrong.

  There were so many lawyers, he thought, and some were un­doubtedly dishonest. Of course, the shady ones didn’t have their character printed on their name cards, but after coming across them in legal work many times, one was often able to pick them by sheer instinct. These dregs of the profession would do just about anything for money. Not only would they go to the very limit of the law, but when the opportunity presented itself, they’d try to make an ass of it. Fortunately, lawyers of this kind couldn’t conceal their attitude all the time—every now and then it showed through. It mightn’t be obvious to a layman, but a fellow lawyer could recognise it without much trouble.

  They had hardly exchanged greetings when Kirishima al­ready had the impression that Yumida might be one of these crooked lawyers.

  He was about fifty, with a Hitler moustache and deep-seated eyes that were glaring from behind thick glasses. There was something cold and cruel about the man that reminded one of a snake.

  “The purpose of my visit, Mr. Prosecutor, is simple and straight-forward. I want to prefer a charge against Eiko Ogino on the grounds of her complicity in her husband’s murder.”

  Kirishima was quite astonished. The iciness of Yumida’s voice and the glare of his eyes almost frightened him. “I see,” he said evenly. “Is it going to be a formal complaint?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could you give me some details of the grounds for the complaint?”

  “I’m aware that Shigeo Segawa has been already arrested and is being interrogated at present as the principal suspect. I’ve no quarrel with that. I do appreciate the efforts of the po­lice, but I feel that by prosecuting him alone this case won’t be completely solved. Bringing charges against a criminal isn’t the direct responsibility of a lawyer, but as a citizen I feel it’s my sa­cred duty to do so once evidence has come into my hands. That’s why I’ve decided to come forward.”

  Listening to Yumida, Kirishima made a quick assessment of the position. Once Segawa made a full confession—possibly today—it’d be a prosecutor’s normal duty to question him thoroughly on any possible involvement on the part of Eiko Ogino. And if there was any definite evidence of complicity, as prosecutor he couldn’t do anything less than proceed against her, even if as a human being he might prefer to spare her. But what this lawyer was doing was like pulling the legs of a person already hanged.