Murder in the Crooked House

by Soji Shimada

  “Ever since I was a university student, I’ve loved the copper-plate prints of the Italian artist, Giovanni Battista Piranesi. Piranesi left many sombre prints of prisons. He was a portrayer of imaginary prisons. Floor upon floor of high ceilings and dark metal staircases, and also towers and aerial walkways. And of course metal drawbridges. His prints were full of those kinds of things. I wanted to build this house in that image. I even thought about calling it ‘Piranesi Mansion’.”

  “I see. That’s fine,” said Ushikoshi, but Kozaburo didn’t notice. He was passionately caught up in his story.

  Next Hamamoto’s members of staff were called. Haruo Kajiwara turned out to have no other interests besides cooking and watching TV in his own room. He’d never spoken to Ueda, nor seen anything unusual the night before.

  Chikako Hayakawa was the same, but her husband, Kohei, left a different impression. He was around fifty but came across as a rather timid character who looked much older than he was. Kohei Hayakawa’s replies were exactly like those of a politician denying a scandal. It sounded as if everything he said was a lie. The detectives had a hunch he was hiding something.

  Sergeant Ozaki raised his voice. Up to now, everyone’s answers had been so pedestrian and conventional, his irritation had been building.

  “So you didn’t even exchange a single word with the victim, Ueda; you went to your room around 10.30 and never came out again, and therefore you have no alibi; and finally you saw nothing suspicious. Is that what you’re claiming?”

  Hayakawa looked startled, then stared down at his feet. The veteran detectives recognized that this was a person who, given one more push, would spill the beans. Outside, the wind was getting louder, the prelude to a heavy blizzard.

  Chief Inspector Ushikoshi and Sergeant Ozaki began to wonder which of the three questions Kohei Hayakawa had answered untruthfully. If they could discover that, the extra push would be much more effective. If they guessed wrong, then the suspect might clam up for good. Ushikoshi took a gamble.

  “We won’t repeat anything you tell us in this room,” said Ushikoshi, making his choice. “Are you sure you didn’t see anything at all suspicious?”

  And just as Hayakawa seemed about to crumble, he lifted his head and said, “Absolutely nothing.”

  From that point on, no matter what the detectives asked him, he gave no concrete response. Ushikoshi realized he’d gambled and lost, and quickly changed the line of questioning.

  “So tell us, Mr Hayakawa, do you believe that somehow last night a stranger managed to break into this mansion?”

  “Reckon that’d be impossible. Kaji’s always right by the service entrance to the kitchen, and everyone else was near the glass doors in the salon. I go around and lock all the doors in the house before everyone goes to bed.”

  “The ground-floor toilet window too?”

  “That toilet window’s always locked. Got iron bars on it too.”

  “Hmm. And you’re in charge of the windows in all the guest rooms?”

  “If there’s a guest staying, I’ve been told not to go into their room unless they ask me. But of course Ms Hamamoto is always telling the guests to call me if they need anything.”

  “Hmm, I see,” said Ushikoshi but the question itself was a little off-point. Asking whether a stranger could have broken into the Ice Floe Mansion with the intention of murdering Kazuya Ueda was irrelevant really. Room 10 was in the perfect location for someone to enter directly from the outside. There was no need whatsoever to sneak into the main building.

  So what was the business with the Golem doll all about? Ushikoshi decided that he had better confirm one more time with Kozaburo Hamamoto that it had really been in Room 3 in the daytime yesterday.

  “Thank you.”

  And with that, Ushikoshi set Kohei Hayakawa free.

  “What a pain in the arse,” said Ozaki, staring out at the whirling snow. “It’s going to be a real storm. I don’t think we can get back tonight.”

  “The Snow Queen says she’s not letting you go home.”

  Another unfunny joke from Inspector Okuma.

  “Yes, that’s what I’m hearing,” said Ushikoshi. He was distracted, thinking back over the completely fruitless investigation.

  What they had learnt was this: Ueda was not the kind of man who someone would want to kill; when Eiko Hamamoto had gone to close the door to the bridge around 12.30 or 12.40, she hadn’t seen anyone or anything—in other words, there was nobody hanging around Room 1 or 2 at that time of night; at 1.15 a.m. and again at 1.50 a.m. when Michio Kanai had been taking the circuitous route between Room 9 and Room 1, he hadn’t noticed anything suspicious. So probably by that time the killer had completed his task and had already returned to his room. Or had the killer heard the sound of footsteps and hidden himself away somewhere? Well, that was if the murderer was even one of the guests staying at the mansion.

  “Chief Inspector, you never know what might happen. I reckon I’d better call up at least one of our young toughs. If we stay the night we may end up making an arrest.”

  No objections to that, thought Ushikoshi to himself.

  “We’ve got one real bruiser I can think of. I’ll put him on night duty, okay?”

  “Yes, please, Inspector Okuma. If you’ve got someone right for the job, let’s do it.”

  “Yes, better safe than sorry.”

  ACT TWO

  Why no! It’s but a mask, a lying ornament

  CHARLES BAUDELAIRE,

  The Mask

  SCENE 1

  The Salon

  The detectives left the library and came down to the salon. Eiko was the first to spot them. She addressed the room in her distinctive, perfectly enunciated tones.

  “Attention, everyone! Here they are! Our guests from the police have joined us, dinner’s ready so let’s sit down. Tonight we’re going to be treated to the wonderful flavours of the north.”

  The meal was as delicious as Eiko had promised. Snow crab, scallops au gratin, salmon sautéed in butter, something called kenchin-style steamed squid—all specialities of the Hokkaido region. Inspector Okuma and Chief Inspector Ushikoshi were both Hokkaido born and raised, but were seeing most of these dishes for the first time. They had a sense that this was traditional Hokkaido fare, but hadn’t the faintest idea where in Hokkaido people might eat food like this every day.

  When dinner was over, Eiko got briskly to her feet and strode over to the grand piano in the corner of the salon. The next moment, Chopin’s “Revolutionary Étude” reverberated through the room, almost like a challenge to the blizzard outside. The guests exchanged looks as if to say, What’s going on? And then as one they turned to look in the direction of the piano.

  Out of all of Chopin’s works, this intense piece was Eiko’s favourite. If she were to choose something to listen to, there were other pieces that she liked just as well (except for “Chanson de l’adieu”, which for some reason she couldn’t stand), but when she wanted to play, it was his “Revolutionary Étude” or his “Héroïque” that she preferred.

  Her fingers struck the keys fiercely, and when this tour de force was over, the enthusiasm of the applause that followed must have rivalled that for Chopin’s own performance of his piece. An encore was begged for. Caught up in the moment, having enjoyed such a delicious meal, the detectives felt they ought to add their polite applause to the crowd.

  Eiko turned to her audience and smiled, then began softly to play one of the nocturnes. As she played, she lifted her head and looked outside. The blizzard had grown stronger, the wind had begun to howl and was rattling the large window with the flakes of snow brushing the glass as they fell.

  Eiko felt as if everything were a prop especially prepared for her. This snowstorm, these gracious and cultivated guests, even the murder—she felt as if the gods had furnished her with all of these as a tribute to her own beauty. Beautiful people should enjoy the privilege of seeing others grovel in their presence. She felt that even the chairs an
d the doors should yield to her.

  At the end of her second piece, she stood without closing the lid, and after waiting for the applause to die down, she addressed the room.

  “It’s a little early to be closing the lid on this keyboard. Who’d like to be next?”

  Kumi Aikura felt as if someone had just stabbed her in the stomach. Eiko’s intentions had just become clear to her.

  “It shouldn’t be difficult to follow such an amateur performance,” Eiko continued.

  Of course, the truth was that Eiko had purposely chosen her best piece, and her performance had been flawless. She pretended to be trying to persuade Sasaki, Togai and others to volunteer to play, but in fact she was steadily stalking a different prey.

  It was a terrifying scene. The wolf was casually circling the flock of sheep, waiting to pounce on the petrified lamb. This performance was as impressive as the one that had just finished,

  “Oh, here’s someone who surely must be an accomplished pianist!” she cried, as if the thought had just occurred to her. “I’ve always wanted to chance to sit in this salon and listen to someone else play my piano. How about it, Ms Aikura?”

  With the howling blizzard as a backdrop, the audience was on tenterhooks to see how this scene would play out.

  From the way Kumi Aikura had turned pale and was looking back and forth between Eiko and her sugar daddy, it was clear to everyone that she wasn’t a pianist. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely audible.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t play.”

  No one had ever heard Kumi sound like this before. Eiko, however, didn’t seem satisfied yet with her victory. She remained standing in front of Kumi.

  “This lass is not the type for all that. Always so busy studying she never had time to learn the piano. Forgive her, Ms Hamamoto.”

  At last, Kikuoka had come to Kumi’s rescue. She sat looking at the floor in misery.

  “Let’s hear some more of your playing, Ms Hamamoto,” called Kikuoka in his raspy walrus voice, and Michio Kanai quickly saw his opportunity to earn himself a few points.

  “Ms Hamamoto, your skill on the piano is superb. I would love to hear some more.”

  Eiko eventually relented, and returned to the piano to play another piece. Again, with the exception of Kumi Aikura, the audience’s reaction was ecstatic.

  When everyone had drunk their tea, the robust-looking policeman that Inspector Okuma had called from the Wakkanai Police Station turned up at the Ice Floe Mansion, a layer of snow adorning his peaked cap. He was introduced to everyone as Constable Anan.

  Eiko suggested that Constable Anan and Inspector Okuma spend the night in Room 12. Togai, the current occupant, looked up in surprise.

  “Togai, you can move to Room 8 and share with Yoshihiko,” said Eiko.

  Togai and Sasaki both wondered why Eiko didn’t put them together in Room 13, which was larger than Room 8. They each privately decided it was because she knew that they were rivals for her affections, and thought it best to keep them apart. She was always so thoughtful! But if that were the case, then surely she should have moved Sasaki to Room 8? Room 13, where he’d spent the previous night, was so much more spacious than Room 12, and would therefore have been much better suited to lodging the two policemen. It must be because Sasaki’s exams were coming up soon. Letting him keep his own room would give him time to study.

  Eiko’s decision was in fact somewhat self-serving. She believed in ensuring her suitors were as successful in their careers as possible. In that way she could have the choice of men who in the future would be a doctor or a lawyer or a Tokyo University professor, or at the very least, some kind of famous person.

  “Chief Inspector Ushikoshi, Sergeant Ozaki, the room next to Mr Kikuoka’s in the basement is currently unoccupied. Please take that tonight. I’ll have it prepared for you right away.”

  “Much obliged.”

  Chief Inspector Ushikoshi expressed thanks on behalf of all four officers.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve brought any sleepwear?”

  “No, we haven’t. But please don’t go to any trouble.”

  “We do have several spare sets of pyjamas, but I don’t think we have enough for all four of you.”

  “Oh, please don’t worry about anything like that. Compared to the pancake-thin futons we get at the police station, it’ll be heaven.”

  “Anyway, we have toothbrushes for everyone.”

  Okuma privately thought that this was about the same as a night in prison. Even criminals got a toothbrush.

  “So sorry to trouble you.”

  “No, not at all. You are keeping us safe, after all.”

  “We’ll do our best.”

  As he brought his second cup of black coffee to his lips, Kozaburo Hamamoto struck up conversation with Eikichi Kikuoka. Kikuoka’s personal terror of developing diabetes meant that he also took his coffee black and sugar free.

  Kikuoka had been staring out of the window as if dumbfounded. The glass was covered in drops of condensation; beyond it snowflakes were whirling like deadly splinters.

  Up here in northern Hokkaido, there was at least one night of extreme weather each winter. It was a blessed relief to be inside with the double windows keeping you warm on such a night as this.

  “How do you like our blizzards up here in the north?” asked Kozaburo.

  “What?… Oh, it’s amazing. I’ve never seen anything like this before, such a powerful storm. It feels as if the whole house is shaking.”

  “Does it remind you of anything?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Never mind. We’re just a single house in the middle of a huge, empty plain. Someone once said that the constructions of man are just molehills to Mother Nature, powerless against her.”

  “Very true, very true.”

  “Doesn’t it remind you of the war?”

  “Where did that come from?”

  “Ah, it just brought back some memories for me, that’s all.”

  “The war… there are no good memories… But this is the first time we’ve had a night like this while I’ve been visiting. There was nothing like this back in the summer. It’s like a typhoon.”

  “Maybe it’s Ueda’s revenge.”

  “What the…? Lay off the jokes, please. Tonight’s going to be hard enough to get to sleep as it is. That noise and all that’s happened… I ought to be tired but all this is stopping me from sleeping.”

  At this point, Kanai opened his mouth and said something that was sure to get him a pay cut.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if Ueda’s ghost turned up by your bedside, saying ‘Sir, should I fetch the car?’”

  Kikuoka’s face turned red with rage.

  “Don’t… Don’t talk such utter crap! You idiot! What are you thinking?”

  “Mr Kikuoka?” interrupted Kozaburo.

  “What?”

  “I’d just like to ask you, do you still have any of those sleeping pills I gave you?”

  “Huh? Yes, I’ve got a couple left.”

  “All right, then. That’s fine. You’ll take some tonight, then?”

  “Yes, I suppose so. You know, I was just thinking it might be a good idea.”

  “Right. I can always go and get some more from Sasaki. And I really think you ought to take two. I don’t think a single pill is going to do it on a night like this.”

  “Yes, you’re right. Anyway, I think I’d better get to bed as soon as possible. This storm is getting heavy.”

  “I think that’s a good idea. For a couple of old men like us. And I think you ought to be very careful to lock up your room—don’t forget your door. After all, they do say there’s a murderer on the loose in the house.”

  “You don’t say!”

  Kikuoka laughed heartily as if he found it amusing, but it was clear that he was actually quite nervous.

  “Hey, you never know. If I were a bloodthirsty killer, I’d be after you, Mr Kikuoka!”

  This time Kikuoka
positively roared. He was trying to seem amused, but there was sweat visible on his forehead.

  At that moment, Chief Inspector Ushikoshi came over to Kozaburo and asked to speak to him for a moment.

  “Yes, of course!” replied Kozaburo, still in high spirits.

  He glanced over to see the other three police officers huddled together at a corner of the dining table, discussing something in hushed tones.

  Seeing Kozaburo turn away to talk to Ushikoshi, Kikuoka decided to talk to Kumi instead.

  “Hey, Kumi, does your bed have an electric blanket?”

  But his secretary appeared to be in an unusually foul mood.

  “Yes.”

  She still had the same wide-eyed expression as always, but tonight her catlike eyes were not turned on her sugar daddy. She was sulking about something.

  “Didn’t you find… Well… that it wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be?”

  “No,” she said curtly. The implication was, And neither are you.

  “You know, it’s the first time in my life I’ve slept under an electric blanket. But it wasn’t quite enough. I can’t criticize the heat it gives off but… Was there a duvet in your room too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where? I mean, where did you find it?”

  “In the wardrobe.”

  “What kind of duvet?”

  “A down one.”

  “In my room there didn’t seem to be anything like that. Guess it’s because it’s not really supposed to be a bedroom. The bed’s so narrow that if you turn over you end up on the floor. The cushions are nothing to complain about though. Have you seen it? Hey? It’s like this chair but with the sitting part pulled way out like this… Well, it’s a sort of couch, I guess, but there’s like a backrest on the end. Odd sort of a thing, really.”