by Soji Shimada
And then there was the sound of a man screaming. What was that? Golem was found in pieces in the snow near Room 10, so had he been taken to pieces after being used to frighten Kumi?
The detectives spent the whole morning on a sofa in the corner of the salon, looking utterly perplexed. Okuma lowered his voice so that the guests at the dinner table couldn’t hear.
“I’ve said it many times, but I’ve had enough of this bizarre case. I want to step down from the investigating team, get out of here as fast as I can. It feels like they’re taking the piss.”
Ushikoshi dropped his voice too.
“Same here. Some kind of madman killed Ueda, then hoisted up a doll to terrify the living daylights out of Kumi Aikura, then pulled it apart and tossed it in the snow. I don’t want anything to do with the kind of psycho who would do something like that.”
“Kumi Aikura’s room, number 1, is right above Room 3, the room where the doll was kept,” Sergeant Ozaki pointed out.
“True, but there’s no window below hers on that side. The south wall of the Tengu Room has no window.”
“The sequence of events that you gave just now, Chief Inspector, does it make any sense?”
“How could it? Personally, I’ve given up on making any sense out of it.”
“There is one way to bring together all of the unknown parts of this riddle and make something of it,” said Okuma.
“And what’s that?”
“It was the doll. It did everything—killed Ueda and Kikuoka too. And then that night after doing Ueda in, it flew up into the air and on a whim decided to peep in through Kumi’s window. But it got a bit carried away, and its body fell to bits, causing it to roar in pain.”
Okuma’s comment was met with complete silence. Although everyone knew it was inappropriate and childish, no one felt like telling him off. On the contrary, they felt that somewhere in the fairy tale there was a grain of truth.
Okuma, for his part, thought better of it, and decided to suggest a more reasonable theory.
“Let’s forget about the wild version for now and get back to the problem of Kikuoka’s locked room. The knife was stuck into his body, like this, right?”
“That’s right,” said Ozaki. “The knife entered from diagonally above, on a downward trajectory. So we can assume the killer held it high in the air and then brought it down with force on the victim like this. The knife entered his body at a slight diagonal angle.”
“We’re thinking the killer stood behind him and stabbed him?”
“Yes, that’s what I think. Alternatively, that the victim was bending forward slightly. That could have made it easier for the suspect to stab him.”
“What you’re saying, Ozaki, is that you think that it’s likely the victim wasn’t sleeping when he was stabbed, but that he was up and about in his room?”
“Well, I don’t have enough evidence to reach a conclusion about that, but yes, I think he was hunched over. If he’d been stabbed while sleeping, he would have to have been lying on his front. And besides, if he had been lying down, it would have been more likely the knife was stuck in at a lower angle.”
“If you’re standing over someone sleeping like that on their front, you might bring down the arm with the knife from straight above and then it would end up perpendicular to the body.”
“Well, I suppose so.”
“And if Kikuoka was awake and moving around, there’s something I don’t understand,” said Ushikoshi. “At around 10.30, or maybe more like 10.25, Kozaburo Hamamoto knocked on the door of Room 14. I know he did because I was right there with him. It was a relatively gentle knock, but there was no response from Kikuoka. If he’d still been awake he would have answered. His time of death was about thirty minutes after that, so he couldn’t already have been dead at that point. He must have been asleep.
“But then, if what you say is right, thirty minutes later the victim woke up again and let his murderer into the room. So how did the killer manage to wake Kikuoka? Was there any different way of waking him from the one that Kozaburo Hamamoto tried? All he could have done was to knock on the door. There’s really no other way. That night, Inspector Okuma was sleeping in the room above, and Haruo Kajiwara next door. The killer couldn’t have shouted or made any other kind of noise. So how did he manage to wake Kikuoka? Or perhaps Kikuoka was just pretending to be asleep when Hamamoto knocked.”
“Okay, then, so d’you still think the killer stuck a stick though that air vent?” said Okuma.
Perhaps it was the snide tone, but Ushikoshi pulled a face. He was fed up with all the puzzles.
“Hey, if Ozaki’s right with his theory that the victim was stabbed when he was standing upright, can’t we work out the suspect’s height from the angle of the knife?” said Okuma.
“That kind of thing is surprisingly difficult. It doesn’t work like it does in mystery novels. Like we said before, the victim might have been bending down. Still, it could be said that the knife is in a fairly high position. I think we could probably rule out a very short person. That’s about as much as we can say at this point. In which case, we can probably eliminate the women—except for Eiko who’s over 170 centimetres tall.”
“There goes the dwarf theory.”
“What the hell?” snapped Ushikoshi.
In an instant, the atmosphere between the guardians of the peace turned threatening.
“Well, anyway,” said Ozaki hurriedly, in an attempt to break the tension, “the bigger problem is that the knife was stuck in the right side of his back.”
“Because the heart isn’t on the right,” continued Ushikoshi. “Maybe the killer was in a hurry?”
“Maybe he didn’t feel like stabbing him in the heart,” said Okuma. “You never know with folks.”
“Actually, I was talking about whether he was right- or left-handed.”
But no matter how much Ozaki tried to revive the discussion, the other two had completely clammed up.
Abruptly, Ushikoshi got up from the sofa.
“I’ve had enough! I give up! I just don’t get it. There’ll probably be another crime committed by the time we finish talking about it. I’m going back to the station and I’m going to ask Tokyo for help. You okay with that? Any objections? At this point we’re just going to have to swallow our pride.”
Everyone fell silent as Ushikoshi briskly marched out of the salon.
“I s’pose it always was too much for us to handle alone, this confounded case,” said Okuma.
Ozaki was the only one who looked disappointed.
The three detectives hadn’t exactly been incompetent, but their years of experience were proving useless in solving this particular case.
Outside, not a single snowflake fluttered by the window. It was a gloomy, heavy morning. The rest of the residents of the mansion sat at a distance from the three police officers in the corner, holding their own private discussion. Sasaki muttered something.
“However you look at it, the detectives are the criminals here.”
It was the afternoon when Ushikoshi returned to the Ice Floe Mansion.
“How did it go? Ozaki asked.
“They were quite disapproving, to tell the truth.”
“What?”
“I mean they really want us to forget about saving face and agree to accept help in doing everything we can to solve this. Superintendent Nakamura, who I met when I was in Tokyo for the Yuzo Akawata case, is someone I can get along with. I explained our case in great detail and he agreed it was a very strange one, and if the killer really was one of the people here in the house, then there was no need to be in too much of a hurry.
“And I think he’s got a point. If we can eventually work out who the killer is, then that’s enough. I think we have to acknowledge our failings up to now, and realize that the most important thing at this moment is to make absolutely sure that no more murders are committed.”
“Right.”
“Anyway, I don’t know about the city, bu
t this kind of case never happens out here in the countryside. Even if it’s rare, at least they’re a little more used to weird stuff like this up in Tokyo.”
“But, Chief, this does reflect on our standing. We really shouldn’t give up too easily. We’ll manage to sort it out somehow. Isn’t this admitting that we are powerless?”
“Yes, it is. But have you managed to solve it yet, Ozaki?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Anyway, if Tokyo sends someone to help us, then we’ll still be working the case, but staying in the background. Surely it’s good to get help? It’s all about protecting people’s lives. That takes priority over our reputation.”
“But are there likely to be any more murders?”
“As we haven’t a clue about the motive, I can’t answer that for sure. But I think there will be.”
“You do?”
“And when I said that to Tokyo, they said together we could all work out the best way to deal with it. They said they had an idea about it.”
“What do they have in mind?”
“I’m not sure, but they said they’d get in touch later.”
“And how are they going to do that?”
“By telegram, apparently.”
“Ugh. Now that gives me a very bad feeling. I can’t help picturing some kind of Sherlock Holmes clone turning up with a pipe in his mouth. I can’t stand that type.”
“Ha ha. If there’d been a detective as famous as that in Tokyo, I’d have definitely requested his presence up here. If there was anyone remotely like that…”
ACT THREE
Perhaps it is the very simplicity of the thing which puts you at fault.
C. AUGUSTE DUPIN,
“The Purloined Letter”, by Edgar Allan Poe
SCENE 1
The Salon
“Telegram!”
Hearing the voice in the entrance hall, Eiko got to her feet. Chief Inspector Ushikoshi immediately followed her out. He soon returned, a sheet of paper in his hand, pulled up a chair next to Sergeant Ozaki and showed him the telegram.
“You gonna let me take a look?” said Okuma moodily. Ozaki decided to read it out loud.
“This kind of… er… monstrous crime… requires the right kind of detective… no better in the whole of Japan… already on a flight… His name is Mita… um… how do you read this, Mitarai? What the hell? Shit! They really are sending some jumped-up Sherlock Holmes wannabe!”
“What? Is this Mita-whatsit person from Tokyo HQ?” asked Okuma.
Ozaki knew exactly who Mitarai was.
“He’s a fortune teller.”
Ushikoshi and Okuma sat there blinking in silence for a good few moments. Then Ushikoshi found his voice, albeit one of someone being choked.
“Is this some kind of joke? We’re not so desperate that we need to rely on a fortune teller or a psychic or something.”
Okuma began to laugh.
“Chief Inspector, that’s not much of a friend you have there in Tokyo! He’s taking the piss out of us. But if you think about it, this so-called fortune teller with his bunch of divining sticks might guess who the murderer is and earn quite a bit out of it. Our honour will be saved, and the Tokyo lot will seem as if they tried to help. It’s a good move for everybody. The best possible way. But they’d have been better off sending us a dog than some fortune teller. A police dog with a good nose would be better any day than a wizened old codger.”
“But Superintendent Nakamura isn’t so irresponsible… Ozaki, you know this Mitarai?” said Ushikoshi.
“Have you heard of the Umezawa family massacre?”
“Of course. It was a famous case.”
“That big murder that happened back when we were kids?” Okuma asked Ushikoshi. “The one that was finally solved three or four years back?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Well, one theory has it that Mitarai was the one who solved it,” said Ozaki.
“Wasn’t it some detective from HQ who solved it? At least that’s what I heard.”
“Yes, well, that’s probably what really happened. But the fortune teller has been going around bragging that he’s the one who did it.”
“There are plenty of old cranks like that,” said Okuma. “You can work your arse off solving a crime and the criminal turns out to be the same one they guessed, and they start thinking that they’re some kind of oracle.”
“No, this Mitarai isn’t an old guy. He’s still quite young. A real arrogant pain in the neck, by all accounts.”
“There must have been some sort of misunderstanding with Nakamura…” sighed Ushikoshi. “I’m not looking forward to this meeting at all.”
*
They would probably have been even more anxious if they had known what the eccentric Kiyoshi Mitarai was planning for that evening. Chief Inspector Saburo Ushikoshi would have done a lot more than sigh.
Kiyoshi and I weren’t going to be arriving at the Ice Floe Mansion until late, so we took dinner at a little local eatery before heading up there. It wasn’t snowing, but the whole landscape was wrapped in a kind of mist.
We were pretty sure that as far as the occupants of the Ice Floe Mansion were concerned (and especially the police detectives), we were uninvited guests, and we were soon given the opportunity to test that theory. Eiko and the three detectives came to answer the door, but no one thanked us for coming all that way to the far north, and we realized we weren’t going to be welcomed with open arms. But the detectives’ preconceived idea of Kiyoshi was nothing like the actual man. His friendly smile always managed to win people over—at first.
The detectives were confused as to how to deal with us so they announced to the eleven residents of the Ice Floe Mansion that we had come all the way from Tokyo to aid the investigation, and proceeded to introduce each of the residents to us. Some of them smiled in welcome, others looked very serious, and under their gaze I felt like a magician who had been hired to entertain the company. I wondered if they were waiting for me to produce a white handkerchief and start performing tricks.
But Kiyoshi wasn’t so self-effacing. The moment Chief Inspector Ushikoshi said, “This is Mr Mitarai”, he immediately began to address the assembled guests as if he were some kind of VIP.
“Good evening, everybody! So sorry to have kept you waiting. I’m Kiyoshi Mitarai. Consider the power of the human race… When human power fails it falls to the dolls, and then the dolls rise up instead. That is the theory of a lever or a seesaw. Jumping Jack, a one-act marionette. What a painful vision! I came all the way to this northern land to kneel and pay my respects before he is laid to rest.”
As Kiyoshi gave his cryptic speech, the affable expressions on the faces of the three detectives began to cloud over, and the meagre amount of goodwill they had harboured for him immediately melted away.
“The new year is almost upon us, ladies and gentlemen. Right now in the capital it is the season of the bargain sale. As we speak, ladies clutching paper carrier bags are fighting tooth and nail. But up here it is another world. Quiet. But how unfortunate! By the time the 4th of January rolls around, everyone will have to head back to the front line. But at least you’ll all be taking a great tale back home with you; the story of how I solved the case of the last few days will be quite an unusual one, I believe.
“But two dead bodies are surely enough. Fear not. Now that I have arrived, not a single one of you here will be joining the ranks of cold corpses. And why, you ask? Because I have already worked out who the murderer is!”
There was quite a commotion in the room. Even I, standing up there with Kiyoshi, was taken by surprise. Needless to say, the detectives too. But they kept silent.
“Who is it, then?” called Sasaki from the audience.
“Well, it goes without saying, doesn’t it?”
Everyone present held their breath.
“The one known as Golem!”
There were snorts and snickers around the audience as they realized it was a j
oke, but no one looked quite as relieved as the three detectives.
“After partaking of a cup of hot tea to warm myself up after trudging here through the snow, I hope to climb the stairs and make his acquaintance.”
At this point the police officers frowned.
“But there’s no need to hurry. I don’t imagine he’s going to try to escape.”
Well, that’s true, I overheard Togai saying to Eiko. Other people were murmuring things like, What the hell’s this? A comedy duo?
“Everyone here is connected to this fascinating case. I think you’ve already been grilled for any knowledge or information. But if any of you believes that the doll just sits there all year round in Room 3 like a wooden dummy, then I think you’d better get yourself a new pair of glasses. That’s no mere lump of wood. He’s a two-hundred-year-old European. He’s passed through two hundred years of history and is now resident in this very house. You should all feel very honoured and privileged. A two-hundred-year-old Czech. He’s a miracle. He braves blizzards to dance in the sky, peers in through glass windows, drives knives into people’s hearts, right under our very noses as easily as we reach for our teacups now. By the Jewish mystical tradition of Kabbalah, he has awoken from a thousand years of slumber and has been gifted with life in order to perform in this one act. This play in which he has been cast in the leading role.
“The brilliance of the dancing doll. Only on a stormy night does he arise from his dark throne, his puppet strings gleaming white against the jet-black sky, and dance the dance of a thousand years ago. The dance of the dead. What a vivid moment! That first dead body, he was bewitched too, dancing on a string like a marionette.
“History repeats itself. Things are the same as they were a thousand years ago. Time is stuck like a broken-down bus. Without doubt, that moment he was waiting for was over in the blink of an eye.