‘Where from, may I ask?’
‘From outside – through the window.’
Her eyes opening wide as she remembered the fear of the moment, Shizuko haltingly recounted what had happened.
‘I went to bed around twelve o’clock last night, but I was very worried because my husband hadn’t come home. All alone in that high-ceilinged Western style room I became afraid and it seemed to me I was being watched from every corner. One of the window blinds had not been fully lowered, and the foot or so left open revealed the pitch blackness outside. Even though I was afraid, for some reason my eyes seemed terribly drawn in that direction, when all of a sudden a person’s face loomed vaguely into view.’
‘Are you sure it wasn’t a figment of your imagination?’
‘It soon disappeared, but even now I am sure that I was not seeing things. The dishevelled hair was pressed up against the glass and I can still see those eyes staring up at me from the down turned face.’
‘Was it Hirata?’
‘I don’t know... but there couldn’t possibly be anyone else who would do such a thing.’
After this exchange, we decided that Oyamada’s killer must be Hirata Ichirō (Ōe Shundei) and we agreed to go to the police together and tell them that he was plotting to murder Shizuko next and ask for their protection.
The detective in charge of this case was a law graduate named Itosaki, and fortunately he was a member of Crime Hounds, a group composed of murder-mystery writers, doctors, and legal professionals. Accordingly, when Shizuko and I went to the investigation headquarters at Kisagata, rather than treating us stiffly – as a detective ordinarily would with the family of the victim – he listened to us kindly as a friend.
It seems that he was very alarmed by the case and that he also felt a considerable interest in it. He said that he would do his best to find Ōe Shundei and promised to protect Shizuko fully by assigning a detective to guard the Oyamada home and increasing the number of patrols. When I told the detective that the photos of Ōe Shundei now in circulation were not good likenesses, he contacted Honda to obtain an expert description of the suspect.
For about the following month, the constabulary exerted their all in the search for Ōe Shundei and I too did my utmost to establish his whereabouts, asking everyone I met, including Honda and other newspaper journalists and magazine writers, if they had any clue. But it was as if Shundei had woven some kind of spell – there was no trace of him.
It was not as if he were alone; there was his wife to slow him down, so where could the two of them be hiding? Could he, as Inspector Itosaki conjectured, have concocted a plan to smuggle them both on board a vessel and slip off to a distant land?
But the strange thing was that after the bizarre death of Rokurō, the threatening letters suddenly ceased. Perhaps frightened by the police search, Shundei had put off the next step in his scheme – the murder of Shizuko – and was intent only on staying out of sight. Yet, surely a man like him would have expected something like this. If so, then he might be lying low somewhere in Tokyo quietly waiting for a chance to kill Shizuko.
The head of the Kisagata police station ordered his men to search the area near 32 Sakuragi-chō in Ueno, which was Shundei’s last known residence. Although I had attempted the same, the experts were able after great effort to discover the transport company that had moved Shundei’s belongings (this was a small firm from around Kuromon, far from Ueno), and they then tracked down his next address.
The outcome of the inquiry was that after decamping from Sakuragi-chō, Shundei had gradually relocated to seedier addresses, including Yanagishima-chō in Honjo-ku and Mukōjima Suzaki-chō. The final residence was a squalid rental house in Sugisaki-chō that looked just like a barracks and was squeezed between two factories. He had paid several months rent in advance and when the detective went to investigate the landlord thought that Shundei was still living there. However, when they looked inside there were no belongings and the dust-covered interior was in such a state there was no telling when he had left. Nothing much could be gained from asking the neighbours because there were no observant housewives around – only the factories on either side.
As a specialist who in his heart enjoyed such things, Honda grew very enthusiastic as he became more aware of the situation. Since he had met Shundei once in Asakusa Park, in between his work gathering articles he began to sedulously emulate the activities of a private eye.
First, given that Shundei had been handing out fliers, Honda visited one or two advertising agencies in the Asakusa area to see if they had employed a man looking like Shundei, but to his chagrin in busy times these firms would hire vagrants from Asakusa Park on a temporary basis, fitting them up with costumes and paying them by the day, and so a description of Shundei did not prompt any recollection of him and the suggestion was that surely he had been one of the vagrants.
Honda next took to wandering around Asakusa Park late at night peering in at each of the benches hidden in the dark shadows under the trees or staying at cheap lodging houses that vagrants might use in the Honjo area, striking up friendly chats with the guests and asking whether they had laid eyes on a man who looked like Shundei. He certainly went to great pains but he was unable to obtain even the smallest clue.
Honda came to my lodgings about once a week to recount his tales of hardship. Then, one time he assumed the knowing countenance of the beaming god Daikoku and told me the following.
‘Samukawa, just recently I learned about this freak show and I came up with a wonderful idea. I expect you know that lately popular attractions at these shows include “the spider woman” and “the woman with only a neck and no body.” Well, there’s a similar spectacle where conversely the person has only a body and no neck. There’s a long box with three compartments, two sections of which generally contain the torso and legs of a sleeping woman. The section above the torso is empty; although you should be able to see the body from the neck up, it isn’t visible at all. What you have then is the neckless corpse of a woman laid out, but every so often the legs and hands twitch to prove that it is alive. It’s an eerie and erotic spectacle. The trick is that a mirror is placed at an angle so that the part at the back looks empty. Though it’s a bit childish, of course.
‘Well, once when I was at Edogawa-bashi in Ushigome, I saw one of these “headless human” freak shows in an empty lot at the corner as I crossed the bridge toward Gokokuji. However, this time the all-body human wasn’t a woman, but a very fat man in a clown’s costume covered with gleaming black grime.’
At this point, Honda assumed a somewhat tense expression and teasingly fell silent for a while, but after confirming that he had sufficiently piqued my curiosity he resumed his story.
‘You know what I thought, don’t you? It struck me that to be hired as the “headless man” in such a freak show would be a brilliant way for someone to completely cover their tracks while at the same time being exposed to the gaze of all and sundry. By hiding the tell-tale section from the neck up, he would be able to sleep all day. Isn’t this just the sort of fantastical method Ōe Shundei would dream up? What’s more, Shundei has written a lot of freak show stories and he delights in this type of thing.’
‘What happened?’
I encouraged Honda to go on, though his calmness made me think that he had not actually found Shundei.
‘I immediately went to Edogawa-bashi to have a look, and fortunately the show was still there. After paying the entrance fee, I went inside and stood in front of that fat “headless man,” and tried to think of a way to see his face. Then it occurred to me that the man would have to go to the toilet a few times every day. So I waited patiently for him to go to relieve himself. After a while, the few customers drifted out and I was left alone. But I stood there waiting steadfastly. Then the “headless man” clapped his hands together twice.
‘That’s odd, I thought. Just then one
of the barkers came over to tell me there would be a small break and asked me to step outside. Realising this was it, I went out, sneaked round behind the tent and peeped in through a rent in the fabric. Aided by the barker, the “headless man” was getting out of the box and of course he had a head. Running to a corner of the earth floor beyond the spectator seats, he began to relieve himself. So the clap I’d heard earlier was a signal that he needed to pee. Very funny, don’t you think? Ha, ha, ha.’
‘What is this, a comedy routine? Come on, be serious now.’
Seeing that I was a little angry, Honda’s face became serious and he explained,
‘Well I was mistaken. It was a completely different person… but it shows you the lengths I went to. It’s just one example of the great pains I’ve taken in the search for Shundei.’
Just as in this humorous digression, no matter how long we searched for Shundei, we were unable to perceive any glimmer of hope.
However, I must note here one unusual fact that came to light that I thought could be a key to solving the case. When I saw the wig worn by Oyamada’s corpse, it occurred to me that perhaps it could have come from the Asakusa area. After investigating all the wigmakers in the vicinity, I found an establishment called Matsui in Sensoku-machi that seemed to match. However, although the shop’s hair-pieces were exactly like that on the dead man’s body, I was surprised – no, completely dumbfounded – when the wigmaker told me that the person who had ordered the wig was not Ōe Shundei but Oyamada Rokurō himself.
The person’s description closely resembled Oyamada, and the man gave his name as Oyamada when placing the order, and when the wig was ready (this was near the end of last year) he himself came to collect it. At the time, Oyamada explained that he wished to hide his bald pate, but then why was it that not even his wife had seen him wearing the wig while he was alive? No matter how much I thought about it, I couldn’t unravel this odd mystery.
Meanwhile, after Rokurō’s bizarre murder, the relationship between Shizuko (now a widow) and myself rapidly became more intimate. Under the circumstances, I stood as both an advisor and a guardian to her. Once the relatives on Oyamada’s side had learned of my consideration in searching the attic, they could not turn a cold shoulder to me, while Inspector Itosaki said that it was truly fortunate if it came to that and encouraged me to visit the Oyamada home when I could to comfort the widow with my presence. Accordingly, it became possible for me to come and go in the house without reserve.
I have written above that from the first meeting Shizuko had shown me no little affection as an avid fan of my novels, but a more complex relationship had now developed between us and it seemed entirely natural that she should depend on me more than anyone.
We were meeting frequently now. When it was borne in upon me that she had become a widow, the pale passion – the attraction of a body that looked so delicate it might disappear at any moment, and that yet had a strange strength – no longer seemed something distant, but suddenly pressed in upon me swathed in living colour. In particular, after I happened to find a small foreign-made riding whip in her bedroom, troubling appetites flamed up in me with a frightening force, as if oil had been poured on fire.
Thoughtless though it was, I pointed at the whip and asked: ‘Was your husband a horseman?’
She seemed to gasp and blanched immediately. Then her face gradually reddened as if burning. She answered very quietly: ‘No.’
It was then that I managed to solve the odd riddle of her livid scar. I recalled that each time I saw the wound its position and shape seemed to differ slightly. I had thought it strange at the time, but it didn’t occur to me that her good-natured bald husband might be an awful sex fiend.
Not only that. Today – exactly a month after Rokurō’s death – search as I might I could not see that ugly wormlike scar on the nape of Shizuko’s neck. Combining this with what I recalled from the past, I was sure that this was not a figment of my imagination without needing to hear a clear confession from her.
But even knowing this, why was it that I was troubled by such unbearable lust? Terribly shameful though it would be, perhaps I was a sexual deviant just like Oyamada…
As 20 April was the day for commemorating Oyamada’s death, Shizuko went to the temple and then spent the evening at a Buddhist ceremony for the departed accompanied by relatives and friends of the deceased. I was also present. Two new events occurred that evening (even though they were entirely different in nature, as is made clear later, there was a strange and fatalistic link between them) that moved me so much I shall probably remember it all my life.
I was walking beside Shizuko down the dark corridor. I had stayed after all the guests had gone home so that I could talk alone with Shizuko (about the search for Shundei). I thought it would not do to stay too long, what with the servants being there and everything, so I said goodnight at perhaps 11:00 p.m. and returned to my home in a taxi that Shizuko had summoned. She walked alongside me down the corridor toward the hallway to say goodbye. There were a number of glass windows in the corridor that faced on to the garden and as we passed one of them Shizuko suddenly screamed in fear and clung to me.
Surprised, I asked, ‘What is it? Did you see something my dear?’
Still grasping me firmly with one hand, she pointed at the window with the other.
I gasped at first, thinking of Shundei, but I soon realized it was nothing. Looking through the glass into the garden, I saw a white dog among the trees. It scratched at the fallen leaves and disappeared into the darkness.
‘It’s a dog, just a dog. There’s nothing to be afraid of.’
‘It’s a dog, just a dog. There’s nothing to be afraid of.’
I am not sure what it was that possessed me, but I was patting Shizuko on the shoulders as I said this, trying to calm her down. Even when she realized there was nothing out of the ordinary, one of Shizuko’s arms was embracing my back and when I sensed her warmth spreading inside my body I drew her close and stole a kiss from those Mona Lisa lips, which were lifted slightly by her eye teeth.
Whether it was fortunate or unfortunate for me I do not know, but she did not seek to evade me. Indeed, I even detected a diffident pressure in the hand that embraced me.
The feeling we had of doing something wrong was all the more keen given that this was the day of commemoration for the deceased. We spoke not a word from then until I got into the taxi, and I recall that we even avoided each other’s eyes.
We parted and the taxi moved off, but all I could think of was Shizuko. The touch of her mouth lingered on my hot lips and I could still sense the warmth of her body against my pounding chest.
While joy began to soar within me, I also felt a deep sense of remorse. My heart was a tangle of the two, like some complex fabric. I was oblivious of just where the taxi now was, how it was moving, and of the view that lay beyond.
Strangely though, even in that situation I had become intensely aware of a certain small object. Swayed by the vehicle’s motion and thinking only of Shizuko, I was staring straight ahead. I could not help but notice a tiny object moving slightly exactly in the centre of my line of sight. At first, I looked without paying attention, but gradually my interest grew.
‘Why,’ I wondered vaguely, ‘why am I staring so much?’
Then, I became aware of what it was.
The all too coincidental matching of two objects was what puzzled me.
Hunched forward in front of me was the driver, a large man wearing an old navy jacket suitable for spring weather. Beyond the fleshy shoulders, the two hands gripping the steering wheel moved jerkily and they were covered by a pair of refined gloves that seemed at odds with the coarse fingers within.
My eye had also been drawn because these were winter gloves and thus out of season, but more than this it was the ornamental button closure on the gloves… finally, the moment of enlightenmen
t came. The round metallic object I had found in the attic of the Oyamada household was the ornamental button from a glove.
I had mentioned the metallic object to Inspector Itosaki, but as I did not happen to have it on me then, and all the signs pointed clearly to Ōe Shundei being the criminal, neither of us had considered this as a material piece of evidence. It should still be in the pocket of my winter waistcoat.
It had not occurred to me that the object could be the ornamental button of a glove. However, thinking about it now, it seemed all too likely that the criminal had worn gloves in order not to leave any fingerprints and that the button had fallen off without the criminal realizing.
The showy button on the driver’s glove had thus taught me the provenance of the object I had picked up in the attic, but it held a far more alarming significance. Why was it that the button was so similar in shape and size? Not only that, why had the button on the driver’s right hand glove been torn off leaving only the metallic seat of the hook closure? If the metallic object I had picked up in the attic matched this hook closure fitting, what would it mean?
‘I say, you there…’ I called out to the driver suddenly. ‘Would you mind letting me see those gloves please?’
The driver seemed somewhat taken aback by my strange request, but he slowed the taxi, took off both gloves without ado, and passed them to me.
The surface of the button on the complete glove bore the inscription ‘r.k. bros. co.’, the letters I had previously seen, and the dimensions were the same. My alarm grew greater and I began to feel a strange fear.
Having passed me the gloves, the driver focused on the road without looking in any other direction. As I stared at his very stout form from behind, a wild thought came into my head.
The Black Lizard and Beast In the Shadows Page 20