by Soji Shimada
“And then there is one more huge problem with this case: the matter of the footprints. Normally, this isn’t the kind of thing that police officers talk about with the average person, but on this occasion I think it’s called for. I’m referring to the fact that Kazuya Ueda’s time of death has been established: last night between midnight and half past. Sometime between 12 and 12.30, the killer stuck a knife in Ueda’s heart. In other words, he or she must have been in Ueda’s room somewhere in those thirty minutes. Unfortunately for this killer, the snow stopped around 11.30 last night. So it was no longer snowing when the murder was committed. And yet, there are no footprints in the snow belonging to the killer; neither arriving nor leaving the scene of the crime.
“I believe you already know that room can only be accessed from the outside of the mansion. If the killer had been there in that room—Room 10, is it?—at the time of Mr Ueda’s death, then at the very least there should have been footprints leaving the room. If not, then Mr Ueda must have somehow stabbed himself in the heart, but there is nothing to suggest that this was a suicide. But it still remains that there were no footprints. And that’s a huge problem.
“Allow me to amend that slightly. Don’t imagine that we, the investigators, are stumped by the lack of footprints or the locked room. Footprints can be swept away by a broom, for example. There are many ways this trick could be pulled off. The locked room even more so. Crime fiction has already shown us a myriad of solutions.
“And yet, if there was an intruder from the outside, he would have had to continue erasing his footprints from the door of Room 10 all the way down the hill as far as the village. That’s no simple task. And no matter how scrupulously he erased them, there would be some trace somewhere in the snow. Our expert went through the area with a fine-tooth comb, but came up with absolutely nothing. Since 11.30 last night, it hasn’t snowed at all. And whether between Room 10 and the village at the foot of the hill or any other corner of the grounds, there is absolutely no sign of footprints, or a clever attempt to cover some up.
“I think you understand what I’m trying to say. I hate to put it so bluntly, but with the exception of the windows for now, access to Room 10 can only have been gained from the three doors on the ground floor of this building: the front entrance, the French windows from the salon or the service entrance from the kitchen.”
Everyone in the room took this as a declaration of war.
“But on the other hand…”
It was Sasaki who had made himself spokesman to try to disprove the police’s theory.
“Did you find any evidence of footprints being erased between any of those three entrances and Room 10?”
It was a good question.
“Well, for a start, between the salon door and Room 10, there was a whole jumble of footprints, so it was impossible to tell. I can say that the chances that footprints had been erased from either of the other two entrances, or from under any of the windows is very slim. We investigated, and the snow appears to be undisturbed.”
“So what you’re saying is, there’s just as little evidence it was one of us as it was an outside intruder?”
Sasaki’s rebuttal was logical.
“But as I already told you,” Ushikoshi went on, “the footprints are not the only aspect. There’s everything else that I explained to you just now.”
“But there’s no broom of any kind here in the main building,” said Eiko.
“You’re quite right about that. I already asked Mr Hayakawa here about it.”
“So then, how is it there are no footprints?”
“If the wind had been strong last night, the powdery snow would have blown over the footprints,” said Sasaki. “But there wasn’t that much wind.”
“I don’t believe it was blowing at all around midnight,” said Eiko.
“And what about the other mysterious aspects of this crime?” continued Sasaki.
“Right, right. The string attached to the knife. And that weird dancing pose that Mr Ueda was in,” said Togai.
“The position of the body was hardly something unusual as far as we are concerned,” said Ushikoshi. “It’s obviously agony to have a knife stuck into you. Kazuya Ueda was in terrible pain. I’ve heard of cases where the victims died in all kinds of convoluted poses. As for the string, I’ve heard of cases where someone was lightly dressed for summer and had no pockets to hide a knife in, so tied it to his body instead.”
Everyone had the same immediate thought: But it’s winter!
“What about the cord tying his right hand to the bed?”
“Yes, that is one of the unique aspects of this case.”
“So you don’t have a precedent for that one, then?”
“Hey, hey, calm down, everybody!”
Okuma, the local cop, looking as if he rather regretted the frank exchange between the laymen and the professionals, placed himself between the two camps.
“That’s our job to investigate. You can trust us to get it done properly. We’d appreciate your total cooperation.”
Cooperation? As suspects in a murder investigation? thought Sasaki privately. But of course all he could do was nod.
“So here’s a simple diagram of the murder scene,” said Ushikoshi, unfolding what looked like a sheet of writing paper. “Is this the state of the room when you found it?”
All the guests and staff stood up and leant forward to study the paper.
“Right here there should be a circular dot that looked like it was drawn in blood,” said Togai.
“Yes, yes, the blood mark,” replied Ushikoshi, as if it were a childish prank that he didn’t particularly care about.
“Looks about right to me,” said Kikuoka in his gravelly voice.
“Is this chair usually in this position, Mr Hamamoto?”
“Yes, it is. The top shelf is just too high to reach, so it’s there to stand on.”
“I see. And then there are the windows. The one on the west side has bars on the outside, but the south side doesn’t. It’s made of clear glass, and unlike in all the other rooms, it isn’t a double window.”
“That’s right. That’s because the south-side window is on the middle floor. I believed it was far enough from the ground that it was too difficult for an intruder to enter. On the west side he could climb the stairs and break open the window. But there’s nothing much of value in there, really.”
“There are some shot-puts on the floor here. Are they always there?”
“Hmm. I hadn’t noticed them.”
“Are they usually kept on the shelf?”
“No, they could be anywhere in the room.”
“These shot-puts seem to have string wound around them several times with a wooden tag on the end. What’s that for?”
“Yes, I own two types of shot-put—four-kilogram and seven-kilogram. When I purchased them I attached wooden tags to write their weight on them, so I could tell them apart easily. I’m afraid after I bought them they met the same fate as the discuses I purchased too—I never used them and they just got left sitting around.”
“That’s how it seems, except that the string attached to the tag on the seven-kilo shot-put seems to be rather long…”
“Really? I wonder if it came loose? I never noticed.”
“Actually, it looks to us as if more string was added to make it longer. The length of the string from the shot-put to the tag was a total of 1 metre 48 centimetres.”
“What? Do you think the killer did that?”
“Probably. This wooden tag that reads ‘7kg’ is 3 centimetres by 5 centimetres, and about 1 centimetre thick. Here it has a piece of Sellotape attached that extends about 3 centimetres beyond the tag. It looks like a fresh piece of tape.”
“Wow.”
“Do you have any knowledge of this?”
“No, none at all.”
“Is it some kind of trick?” Sasaki asked. “Do you think the killer stuck it there on purpose?”
“I wonder… And th
en, over here, there’s an approximately twenty-centimetre-square ventilation hole. It faces the open space by this indoor staircase. Is that right?”
“That’s correct. But it’s not at a height that would allow anybody in the main building to stand in the corridor and be able to see into Room 10. If you stand in front of Room 12, you’ll be able to tell—Room 10’s air vent is way up high in the wall on the inside. The other rooms, Room 12 for example, if you stood on a step stool or something, I suppose you might be able to see inside, but not Room 10…” (See Fig. 1.)
“Yes, I’m aware of that. I already checked it for myself.”
“So this isn’t a perfect locked room after all,” said Togai. “As there are no footprints outside, the killer must have performed some sort of trick using this air vent.”
Sasaki was quick to respond.
“A twenty-centimetre-square hole isn’t even big enough for someone to get their head through. And what about the cord tied around the victim’s wrist? And the trick with the shot-put? He had to have been inside the room.”
“So what happened to his footprints?”
“Beats me. But it wouldn’t have been all that difficult to lock the room from the inside.”
“I see,” said Ushikoshi, with interest. “I’d love to hear how.”
“May I?” asked Sasaki. The Detective Chief Inspector nodded.
“This whole thing is very simple. Room 10 is normally used as a storeroom, and has a padlock on the door. Whenever a guest stays there, the padlock is removed and the door then has only a simple latch that can be raised to open and clicked down to lock, like the door of a toilet stall. (See Fig. 4.) It was added so people could stay in that room, and it’s very rudimentary. All the killer needed to do to this simple lever was to prop it up with a snowball as he left the room. After a while, the heat of the room would melt the snow and the lever would drop into place, locking the door from the inside.”
Fig. 4
There were cries of “Amazing! Incredible!” from the Kikuoka Bearings contingent. But Ushikoshi was not so easily impressed.
“We already thought of that,” he said. “But that metal bracket was attached to a wooden support, and it’s completely dry. Not even slightly damp. It’s highly unlikely that they tried that method.”
Sasaki was taken aback.
“That’s not how they did it?”
“I’m afraid not.”
There was a short silence.
“And yet, I feel the locked-room mystery won’t be too much of a challenge to solve. It’s not all that mystifying. No, it’s another matter altogether that has us stumped.”
“What’s that?”
“Yes, well, it looks like this one’s going to take some serious thought. I’d like to ask for everyone’s help to puzzle it out. Well, it can’t be helped—better to just be up front about it, I suppose. The murderer doesn’t seem to be among you.”
There was a slight ripple of laughter.
“I know it contradicts everything I’ve said up to now, but I can’t see any of you as the murderer. And that’s my problem. I’m talking about motive, of course. There are very few of you who were even acquainted with Kazuya Ueda before yesterday. With the exception of the people from Kikuoka Bearings, this was only the second time for most of you to meet him, following his visit here last summer. That would be Mr Kozaburo Hamamoto, Ms Eiko Hamamoto, Mr and Mrs Hayakawa, Mr Kajiwara, Mr Togai, Mr Sasaki and finally, Yoshihiko Hamamoto, is that right? And I’m sure you hardly spent any time with him, given what a taciturn type Mr Ueda was. I can’t imagine any of you having known him well enough to even think about murdering him.”
There was another outbreak of nervous laughter.
“Murder isn’t a profitable business. Someone with a good name and status in society, who lives in such a good house, if they commit murder they lose all that and are thrown in jail just like anyone else. I can’t imagine there being anyone so reckless among you. And Mr Kikuoka, Ms Aikura, Mr and Mrs Kanai are in practically the same situation. To put it bluntly, I don’t see anyone having any reason to kill Kazuya Ueda, a simple chauffeur. That’s my conundrum.”
That makes sense, thought Togai, Sasaki and also Eiko. Ueda had been the kind of man that nobody had given a second thought to. If he’d been a little more handsome, he might have had women troubles, or perhaps if he’d been outspoken or arrogant, he’d have been a more likely candidate for murder. But he was without money or status, or anything in his personality to cause someone to hold a grudge.
Detective Chief Inspector Saburo Ushikoshi watched the expressions on the faces of the assembled guests and wondered for a moment if there’d been a mix-up. Perhaps the murderer had mistaken Ueda for someone else, for someone he meant to kill? Perhaps Ueda was just an accidental victim?
But then again, Ueda had been given Room 10 from the outset, and everyone staying in the house that night knew it. There had been no switching of rooms at the last minute. Room 10 was a unique room because it could only be accessed from the outside of the building. It would be a mistake to think that someone had intended to enter Room 9, for example, but had accidentally ended up in Room 10.
He couldn’t figure it out. Still, this man, Kazuya Ueda, was the most unlikely victim ever. There was nothing for it but to assume that someone else had been the intended victim.
“If the murderer is indeed one of the people here in this room, then I fully expect you to try to do a runner tonight. So I’m going to speak more quickly.”
Ushikoshi didn’t sound entirely as if he were joking. Then, almost as if talking to himself,
“There is always a reason for everything, especially for murder. No one kills another human being for no reason. It seems that this investigation is going to hinge on discovering the motive. Before I begin to ask each of you uncomfortable questions, there is one more thing I want to put to everybody. Last night, around the time of the murder, did any of you see or hear anything unusual or odd? A cry or scream that might have come from the victim, or… well, anything at all, however small or insignificant? Did you notice something that was a little different from usual? Anything you glimpsed, even for a moment? Often this kind of thing can be vital to an investigation.”
There were a few moments of silence, and then Kumi Aikura spoke up.
“I did.”
She had hesitated because what she had to say did not exactly fit into the parameters suggested by the detective. Her previous night’s experience couldn’t possibly be classified as something she’d “glimpsed just for a moment”, or “small and insignificant”.
“Ms… er… Aikura, isn’t it? What is it?”
“Well, lots of things, actually.”
Kumi was excited to find someone who was ready to take her story seriously.
“Well I’ll be, love, what did you see?”
The local detective, Okuma, seemed mesmerized by Kumi’s adorable face.
“Well, saw and heard.”
“Could we have the details, please?”
Kumi needed no more encouragement. She wasn’t sure where to start though, and went with the less shocking part of her story.
“I heard a scream. In the middle of the night. It was… it could have been the dead man, Mr Ueda. I mean, it sounded like a man’s voice, it was like he was in pain, a kind of strangled roar.”
“I see.”
Ushikoshi nodded, apparently satisfied with Kumi’s story.
“And do you know what time that was?”
“Yes, I looked at my watch. So I know exactly what time it was. It was just after five past one.”
Suddenly everyone felt a little sorry for the detective.
“What do you mean, just after 1.05? Are you sure? You must be mistaken, surely?”
“I’m absolutely certain. Like I just told you, I checked my watch.”
“But…”
The detective turned around and his whole chair tilted sideways, looking as if it were going to fall over backwa
rds. It was one of the optical illusions created by this mansion.
“But that’s absolutely ridiculous! Are you sure your watch isn’t broken?”
Kumi took off her watch. She was left-handed, so wore it on her right wrist.
“Here. I haven’t touched it since.”
Almost reverentially, Ushikoshi took the expensive ladies’ wristwatch from Kumi’s outstretched hand and compared it to his own cheap watch. They showed the exact same time.
“It’s supposed to lose less than a second a month.”
This was Kikuoka’s addition to the conversation. Of course, he was the one who had purchased the watch. Ushikoshi nodded his thanks and returned the expensive timepiece to Kumi.
“That’s fine. However… this creates a fresh problem. I think everyone is aware, so I really don’t need to repeat it, that Kazuya Ueda’s estimated time of death, or in other words, the hour that the crime was committed, is, as I told you earlier, between 12 and 12.30. If the scream that you heard was indeed the victim’s, then it was made more than thirty minutes after that time frame. This new information is about to cause us no end of trouble.
“So how about the rest of you? Did you hear this noise like a man screaming? Would anyone else who heard it mind raising your hand?”
Mr and Mrs Kanai, then Eiko, then Kozaburo, all raised their hands. Kumi glanced at Eiko and felt rather put out. What the hell? Now she was saying she’d heard it?
“Four of you. Hmm. Five, including Ms Aikura. Mr Togai? Didn’t you hear it too? You were sleeping in the room directly beneath Room 10.”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“Mr Sasaki?”
“Me neither.”
“Mr Kanai, you were staying in Room 9 on the top floor, weren’t you? Not necessarily that close to Room 10… Did any of you happen to check the time?”
“I didn’t look at my watch,” said Kozaburo. I heard Ms Aikura screaming and rushed over right away to see what was wrong.”
“Mr Kanai, how about you?”
“Let me think, it was…”