Inspector Imanishi Investigates

TWELVE Bewilderment

Imanishi had established several circumstantial facts involving Sekigawa Shigeo.

The prime suspect, the man who was seen with Miki Ken’ichi before his murder, had a slight northeastern accent. Sekigawa was born in Yokote, Akita Prefecture, in northeastern Japan.

The murderer probably lived not too far from Kamata. Perhaps he murdered Miki in the railroad yard because he was familiar with that area. Sekigawa lived at Number 2103, Nakameguro,Meguro Ward. From Meguro, he could easily take the Mekama Line to Kamata.

The murderer must have been covered with blood after he killed Miki. If so, he probably did not take a train afterward. The murderer might have taken a taxi without attracting the attention of the driver, particularly since it was dark. It was also possible that he could have used a private car. Sekigawa did not own a car, but he had a driver’s license.

The murderer had to dispose of his bloodstained clothes. Naruse Rieko had cut a bloodstained shirt into bits and scattered the squares out the window of a night train. She must have had some connection with the murderer. So far nothing tied Rieko to Sekigawa. Yet since she was a quiet person who wasn’t gossiped about, one couldn’t be certain there was nothing between them. It was conceivable that Sekigawa and Rieko had met because the Nouveau group was a supporter of the Avant-Garde Theater. They could have been seeing each other without anyone knowing about it. Could her suicide have been caused by guilt over her cooperation with the murderer, and not by grief over a love affair?

Sekigawa had been involved with Miura Emiko, who had been four months’ pregnant when she died. Perhaps Rieko’s despair began when she found out about Emiko.

Miyata seemed to have been attracted to Rieko. He may have suspected that there was something between Rieko and Sekigawa. Miyata had wanted to tell Imanishi something, and it seemed to be so important that he had asked for twenty-four hours to think it over. Then he had died suddenly in a lonely place in Kasuya-cho, Setagaya Ward. It was only twenty minutes by taxi from Sekigawa’s house to the place where Miyata had collapsed.

There was no way to corroborate Sekigawa’s alibi for the night Miki was murdered in the Kamata railroad yard. Five months had passed, and everyone’s memory was hazy. But according to the statement from Sekigawa’s housekeeper, he was not at home when Emiko died.

The next problem was Emiko herself. She left her apartment in Imanishi’s sister’s building in Kawaguchi late in the afternoon and arrived at her new place in Soshigaya at about eight o’clock. But her landlord had just assumed that Emiko had arrived when they heard her belongings being delivered. They hadn’t actually seen Emiko in person.

It was about eleven o’clock the following night when a mysterious telephone call from a man summoned the doctor. By then, Emiko was already dying. It was conceivable that only her belongings had arrived at eight o’clock and not Emiko herself. If this were the case, where had she gone after she left the Kawaguchi apartment and stopped by the bar to inform the madam that she was quitting?

The coroner’s examination revealed that Emiko died from loss of blood after a miscarriage, and that she had suffered a fall. Where had she fallen? The coroner told Imanishi that she had fallen against something like a round boulder. But he had seen nothing like that at the Kubota cottage.

The more Imanishi thought, the more confused the situation seemed. As he tapped his chin with his pencil, he realized with a shock that he was obsessively reconstructing a death that wasn’t even a murder. His mood changed. He grabbed the telephone on his desk and dialed a number.

“Is this Yoshimura?” he asked.

“Yes, it is. Oh, Imanishi-san? How have you been? I’m sorry that I’ve neglected to call you.” Yoshimura’s voice was friendly.

“How about getting together on the way home from work tonight?”

“I’d be glad to. At the usual place?”

“Good.” Imanishi put the receiver down.

When his shift at headquarters was over, Imanishi headed straight for the small oden bar in Shibuya. At six-thirty the area around the station was full of people, but the oden shop was not crowded.

“Welcome.” The woman who owned the shop smiled at Imanishi. She recognized the faces of these two who always dropped by as a pair. “He’s waiting for you.”

“Over here,” Yoshimura smiled, waving from the corner.

Imanishi took the seat next to him.

“It’s been a long time,” Yoshimura began.

“It certainly has. Could you warm some sake for us, ma’am?”

Imanishi turned toward Yoshimura and said, “How’s it going?” Then in a much lower voice, “Anything new on the railroad yard case?”

Imanishi didn’t like to talk about their work in this kind of environment, but when he saw Yoshimura’s face, he couldn’t help asking. He had been thinking about the case incessantly.

Yoshimura shook his head slightly. “Nothing has turned up. I’m trying to follow up leads in my spare time.”

Imanishi touched his sake glass to Yoshimura’s. The two lapsed into silence for a while.

“How’s it going from your side?” Yoshimura asked.

“I’m doing a bit here and there. But like you, I’m not making much progress.”

He intended to confide in Yoshimura eventually. It felt good to be drinking with this young colleague with whom he was on familiar terms. The brooding feelings he had were lightened during their time together.

“It’s been five months since we took that trip to the northeast, hasn’t it?” Yoshimura broke the silence.

“That’s right. It was almost June…”

“I remember it being quite warm. I thought the northeast would be cooler, so I wore winter underwear.”

“Time goes by quickly.” Imanishi sipped his sake.

Just then a young man tapped Yoshimura on the shoulder.

Yoshimura turned around and smiled at him. “Hi. I haven’t seen you for a while.”

Imanishi looked at the man, but he didn’t know him. He seemed to be about Yoshimura’s age.

“How’ve you been?” Yoshimura asked.

“All right.”

“What are you up to now?”

“I’m in insurance sales, but I’m not doing that great.”

Yoshimura whispered to Imanishi, “He’s a friend of mine from grade school. Would you excuse me for five minutes or so while I talk to him?”

“Sure, I don’t mind. Take your time,” Imanishi said.

Yoshimura went off to talk to his friend. Imanishi sat alone. He must have looked slightly forlorn, because the shop owner reached over and handed him a newspaper.

“Thanks.”

It was the evening paper. Imanishi opened it up. There weren’t any major stories, but he glanced at the headlines to pass the time. The arts and culture section had columns on music and art events.

As Imanishi was looking at these columns, his eyes rested on a familiar name: Sekigawa Shigeo. Imanishi put down his sake and squinted at the article. The title of the piece was “The Work of Waga Eiryo.”

Imanishi could no longer read small print without reading glasses. He hurriedly drew a pair of glasses out of his pocket and put them on.

In the world of avant-garde music, Waga Eiryo can no longer be called an up-and-coming composer. Those critics who glanced curiously at “musique concrete” and electronic music a few years ago saw Waga Eiryo’s efforts as merely a direct translation of foreign trends.

Now, however, Waga has graduated from direct translation and has become a creator of original compositions. Naturally, individual pieces have certain shortcomings, which critics have pointed out. In fact, I, too, have criticized his works quite sharply.

When an art form is a direct import from abroad, the first examples of it will naturally be a translation of the foreign technique. This limitation does not discredit Waga Eiryo. Most of the paintings of the early twentieth century were merely copies of Cezanne’s style. The paintings of the seventh-century mid-Asuka period in Japan were nothing more than imitations of China’s Sui and Tang Dynasty works. Even music cannot avoid the fate of imitation. The issue is how to internalize new, foreign techniques, and how individual creativity can emerge from this process.

Gradually, yet in a definitive way, Waga has gone beyond the influence of the West and is in the process of giving form to his own inherent creativity.

Many are struck by his new art form and rush to follow in his wake. But they have no hope of reaching the level of this composer who has based his work on a solid foundation. I am impressed at what he has achieved in such a short time. I anticipate further great rewards from Waga Eiryo’s rich talent and his ceaseless efforts.

Imanishi was perplexed. He didn’t understand a thing about music. Still, it seemed to him that this piece was written in quite a different tone from Sekigawa’s previous criticisms of Waga’s work.

Imanishi had just started to go over the column from the beginning to reconfirm his impression when Yoshimura rejoined him.

“Forgive me,” he said as he sat down beside Imanishi.

“Look.” Imanishi showed the newspaper to Yoshimura.

“Hm, it’s Sekigawa Shigeo, is it?” As Yoshimura finished the piece he said, “I see,” and rested his elbow on the counter.

“What do you think? I can’t follow the arguments too well, but wouldn’t you say he’s praising Waga Eiryo?”

“Of course he is,” Yoshimura stated unequivocally. “He’s showering him with praise.”

“Hm.” Imanishi thought for a moment. Then he muttered, “I wonder why critics change their opinions so quickly. I read something before that Sekigawa had written about Waga Eiryo’s music. He didn’t praise him like this.”

“Really?”

“I can’t remember the wording, but he didn’t sound that impressed. This is completely different from that other piece.”

“Critics sometimes change their minds,” Yoshimura said. “I have a friend who is a journalist who told me that there is a lot of behind-the-scenes politics. Critics are human, too.”

“I wonder.” Imanishi’s face looked as if he couldn’t quite understand.

Imanishi had finally reached the point where he was about to tell Yoshimura that Sekigawa might be a likely suspect, but he changed his mind after reading the newspaper piece. He decided to wait.

“Imanishi-san, shall we call it a day?”

They had drunk four or five orders of sake.

“Sure. I’ve had enough. Shall we go?” Imanishi was still thinking about Sekigawa’s review. “Could we have our bill?”

When Imanishi said this, Yoshimura hurriedly offered, “No, no, I’ll get it this time. You’re always treating me.”

Imanishi stopped him. “You’re supposed to let your elders take care of these things.”

The shop owner pulled an unwieldy large abacus toward her and began figuring their bill. Watching her, Imanishi remembered the Kamedake abacus in his coat pocket.

“Yoshimura, let me show you something interesting.”

“What is it?”

Imanishi pulled his coat toward him. “This.”

“So, it’s a Kamedake abacus,” Yoshimura said reading the label on the box.

“Your total comes to 750 yen. Thank you very much.” The owner presented the bill.

“Hey, Ma’am, look at this.” Imanishi pointed his chin at the abacus Yoshimura was holding.

The glossy back beads reflected the light. Yoshimura was flicking the beads in a comfortable way.

“They slide very smoothly.”

“They told me they make the best abacuses in Japan. That’s the advertising slogan of the local manufacturer. When you see the real thing, it doesn’t seem to be empty boasting.”

“Where are they made?” The shop owner leaned over to look.

“In the mountains near Izumo in Shimane Prefecture.”

“May I see it, too?” The shop owner flicked the beads as if to test them, just as Yoshimura had done.

“This is a wonderful abacus,” she said, looking at Imanishi.

“This summer I went to the part of the country where they make these. Someone I met there sent it to me,” Imanishi explained.

“Is that so.”

“Oh, did it come recently?” Yoshimura asked.

“Yes. It came today. The old man I met, Kirihara, sent this to me as a present. He said it was made in his son’s factory.”

“I remember hearing you talk about him,” Yoshimura nodded. “People in the countryside are sincere, aren’t they?”

“They really are. It surprised me to receive this; I had only met him briefly.”

Imanishi paid the bill.

“Thank you very much.” The owner bowed her head.

Sticking the abacus back into his coat pocket, Imanishi left the oden shop with Yoshimura.

“It’s funny,” Imanishi said as he walked along with Yoshimura “this abacus came just when I had forgotten all about Kamedake.”

“You went there full of anticipation, didn’t you?”

“I went thinking ‘this time for sure.’ It was during the peak of the heat. I’ll probably never go to that mountain area again.”

They walked along the raised tracks.

“Oh, yes, Kirihara-san enclosed a haiku he had written. ‘The palm of the hand holding the abacus feels the autumn village cold.’ ”

“I see. I can’t tell whether a haiku is good or bad, but this one makes you feel the scene. Speaking of haiku, you haven’t shown me any of yours recently.”

“I’ve been too busy to write any.”

What Imanishi said was true. These days the pages of his haiku notebook remained blank.

“I’m glad I could see you tonight,” Imanishi confided.

“Really? You didn’t say much.”

“Just seeing you has made me feel a little better.”

“You’re still working on that case, aren’t you? And I suppose you’ve come up against a stumbling block.”

“That’s about it.” Imanishi rubbed his face with his hands. “I’d like to talk to you, but, to be honest, right now I’m confused.”

“I understand,” Yoshimura smiled. “Knowing you, I’m sure things will start falling into place soon. I’ll look forward to hearing about it then.”

It was ten o’clock when Imanishi returned home.

“I’d like some rice with green tea poured over it,” he told Yoshiko. “I stopped off to have a drink with young Yoshimura.”

“How is he?” she asked as she helped Imanishi off with his jacket.

“Fine.”

“He should come visit us some time.”

“Look what I was given.” He took the abacus out of his coat pocket.

“Oh, my.” She took it out of the box. “It’s a beautiful abacus. Who gave it to you?”

“An old gentleman that I met last summer who owns an abacus factory in Shimane.”

“Oh, from that trip?”

“I’d like to give it to you,” Imanishi said. “Use it to keep the family accounts so that we won’t waste any money.”

“This elegant abacus would cry if we used it for our meager household finances,” Yoshiko said as she put it carefully away in a drawer.

Imanishi had taken out his stationery and was thinking about how to word his thank-you letter to Kirihara Kojuro when Yoshiko called him saying, “Your food is ready.”

On the dining table were plates of simmered radish and some dried fish.

“It’s getting to be the season for radishes,” Yoshiko said as she poured hot tea over Imanishi’s rice.

“Mm.”

Imanishi put his lips to the bowl and slurped the rice into his mouth.

“So it’s Kamata…” Imanishi muttered.

“What’s that?” Yoshiko looked over at him and asked.

“No, it’s nothing.”

Imanishi chewed the dried fish and ate the radishes. He hadn’t meant to say Kamata out loud. He had a habit of concentrating on what was on his mind while he ate his meal. As he put his food into his mouth he would meditate on one thought. The meal would give a certain rhythm to his thoughts. At these times he would mutter things out of context. This helped to clarify his thinking process. He had muttered “Kamata” because he was ruminating about the case.

The late meal ended. Imanishi moved to his desk and started writing his thank-you letter.

I am sorry I have taken so long to write to you. Thank you very much for an unexpected gift of such superb quality. In looking at the abacus, I can tell, even though I am unfamiliar with such pieces, that it is of exquisite make. I hope to preserve it for a long time. I only regret that I have no use that will do justice to such a piece.

I will, however, inform people whenever the opportunity arises that these precious abacuses are made in your district.

When I look at the Kamedake abacus, memories of my visit there come back to me. Thank you so much for all you did for me at that time. I also read with fond memories the wonderful haiku you wrote for the abacus.

I recall the mountains surrounding your town, which must now be beautiful in their autumn colors…

Having written this much, Imanishi paused to read the letter over. How should he continue? He could close here, but it was too short for a proper thank-you letter.

He wondered if he should take the old gentleman’s lead and enclose a haiku of his own. But no good ideas came to mind. Since he hadn’t written any poems recently, his brain seemed to have grown dull. As he was going over these thoughts, Yoshiko brought in some tea.

“A thank-you letter?” She peered at his desk.

Imanishi lit a cigarette.

“Shouldn’t we send him something in return?” Yoshiko asked.

“I guess so. What would be good?”

“There isn’t anything very special we can send from Tokyo. Asakusa seaweed is probably a safe gift.”

“Could you go to the department store and have them send some tomorrow? Won’t it be expensive?”

“Even if it is, for a thousand yen we should be able to get something appropriate.”

“Then go ahead and do it.”

Imanishi thought he would write at the end of the letter, “I have taken the liberty of sending something to you by separate post. I would be happy if you would accept this token of my gratitude.”

Although his cigarette ash grew long, no poem came to him. The memory of Kirihara Kojuro’s expression as he spoke was the only image in his thoughts.

It was at that instant Imanishi felt as if he had been hit by an electric current, jolting his brain into awareness. He sat still while the ashes from his cigarette fell on his knees. He didn’t move for some ten minutes. Then, suddenly, as if he had awakened from a dream, he continued his letter in a flurry. The ending was completely different from the one he had intended to write.

Waking early the next morning, Imanishi realized there was another person he should write to as well.

Miki Ken’ichi had come to Tokyo immediately after making a pilgrimage to Ise Shrine. This was what his adopted son, Shokichi, had stated when he had come to Tokyo police headquarters. At that time Imanishi had thought that Miki had simply decided to come to Tokyo to see the sights before returning home. But perhaps there had been something that had made Miki change his plans. There may have been a pressing reason that couldn’t be explained as a mere change of heart. It could be that Miki’s change of plans, his coming to Tokyo after Ise, had been connected to his murder.

Stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray, Imanishi got out of bed, washed his face, and sat at his desk. The letter he had written the night before to Kirihara Kojuro had been left there inside its envelope. He began to write a letter to Miki Shokichi.

I hope you have been well.

You may not remember me, but I am the detective you spoke to when you came to Tokyo to inquire about your father’s whereabouts.

As you know, we have been unable to locate the person who killed your father. I feel a deep sympathy for the memory of your father. Even though the investigation team has been disbanded, that does not mean we have stopped searching for the criminal. We are determined to find this despicable killer to appease your father’s soul. We intend to pursue every lead, to take any measure to arrest the murderer. We will not allow this case to remain unsolved.

The case has reached a very difficult crossroads. In order for any progress to be made toward a solution, we feel we need your cooperation.

Toward this end, would you please inform me of the places your father visited from the time he left on his pilgrimage to the Ise Shrine until the time his body was discovered at the Kamata railroad yard?

It would be most helpful if, for example, you knew which days he spent at which inns. When I asked you about this matter, you mentioned that you had received a few picture postcards from his trip. If you have any further information, I would greatly appreciate hearing any details.”

Five days passed. During those five days, Imanishi was involved in a few new cases, which were easily solved. On the fifth he found an envelope on his desk. Turning it over, he read the carefully written return address “Miki Shokichi, xx Street, Emi-machi, Okayama Prefecture.”

Imanishi had been waiting for this reply. He opened it at once.

Thank you very much for your letter. I am sorry to cause you so much trouble on account of my late father.

I was deeply grateful to learn from your letter that you and others are working incessantly to apprehend my late father’s killer. As a member of the family of the deceased, I would like to help in the investigation as much as possible, but regret that my incompetence does not allow me to be of much assistance.

It may be presumptuous for me to say this, but my late father was a person who had great compassion for others, and never incurred the hate of anyone. As I said before, he was a virtuous man. There is no reason that his killer should not be found, and I believe that Heaven will not let this case go unsolved. Each morning and evening we burn incense at the family altar and pray for the arrest of his killer.

In reply to your questions, here are my answers.

My father sent us a total of eight postcards during his trip.

• April 10: Omiya Inn, in front of Okayama Station

• April 12: Sanuki Inn, Kotohira-cho, Shikoku Island

• April 18: Gosho Inn, in front of Kyoto Station

• April 25: at Mt. Hiei, outside Kyoto

• April 27: Yamada Inn, Aburakoji, Nara City

• May 1: at the Yoshino mountains

• May 4: Matsumura Inn, in front of Nagoya Station

• May 9: Futami Inn, Ise City

These are all of the postcards we received. He wrote about how he was enjoying his trip.

My father had planned to return home as soon as he finished his Ise Shrine pilgrimage. In fact, in his postcard from Nagoya, he wrote that he would be able to come home in four or five days. There was no word about going to Tokyo.

Imanishi received another letter the following day.

It was from Kirihara Kojuro. This was written with a brush in bold strokes on stationery of elegant handmade Japanese paper that made the black characters stand out in contrast. Imanishi read the contents of the five-page letter that was the response to his questions about Miki Ken’ichi.

Imanishi read the letter over several times. It was a detailed account of former policeman Miki’s good deeds. Kirihara’s letter gave more concrete information about the deeds Imanishi had heard about on his visit to Kamedake.

Imanishi spent the whole day deep in thought. Even while at work, his thoughts of the Kamata murder stayed with him. He sent off another letter of inquiry. In the evening, he went to see his supervisor to ask for two days off.

“That’s unusual.” The supervisor looked at Imanishi’s face and smiled. “I don’t think you’ve ever asked for a two-day leave.”

“No.” Imanishi rubbed his head. “I’m feeling a bit tired.”

“Take care of yourself. You can take three or four days if you like.”

“No, two days will be enough.”

“Are you going somewhere?”

“I was thinking of going to soak in some hot springs on the Izu peninsula.”

“That’s a good idea. You’ve been working straight through. Unless one gets some rest, one can get really sick from overwork. Go soak in the baths and ask for a massage and get some sleep.”

The supervisor put his seal on Imanishi’s leave request and submitted it to the section chief.

Imanishi left police headquarters early and rushed home.

“I’m off on a short trip and I’m leaving right away. Would you help me get my things ready?”

“Is it a business trip?” Yoshiko asked, seeing that Imanishi was impatient.

“No, it’s not for work. I’m taking a short break. I feel a sudden urge to get on a train and go somewhere.”

“Are you leaving on tonight’s train?”

“Yes. I want to leave as soon as possible.”

“Are you going alone?”

“Yes, alone.”

“It sounds strange. Are you sure you don’t have some work there?”

“No, I’m not going on work. I’m just going to pay my respects at Ise Shrine.”

Yoshiko laughed in amazement. “I wonder what brought this on?”

The train arrived in Nagoya the next morning. Imanishi changed to the Kintetsu Line for Ise. It took another two hours to reach Ise City. He had come here once, before the war, and the city didn’t seem much changed. He found the Futami Inn right away. It was a five- or six-minute walk from the station. He looked inside, but it seemed very busy as a large group was just leaving. It would be better if he visited the inn a little later. The slowest time for the inn would be around noon. That would be the best time to ask questions.

Imanishi decided to visit Ise Shrine in the meantime. He could not go home without paying his respects to this national Shinto shrine after coming all the way here. The inner shrine did not look different, and there were many worshipers. What was different was the result of the recent typhoon. It had broken branches and destroyed some of the trees in the shrine grounds. Imanishi felt amazed that he could be here at Ise Shrine today when he hadn’t even thought of coming until yesterday.

Normally, on this kind of trip, he would go to the local police and ask for their cooperation. But he had already taken two official trips, to the northeast and to the Japan Sea area, with nothing to show for them. Unsure if he could come up with any useful results, he had felt unable to request permission from his supervisor for another official trip.

When he returned to the Futami Inn, the entranceway was quiet and the cleaning had been completed. Imanishi stood in the entry, which had been sprinkled with water. A young maid, still in her cleaning clothes, came out to the entrance. She greeted him with a bow when she saw him there. “Welcome.”

He was taken to a room in the back of the inn on the second floor. The front of this new wing faced the main road, which led directly to the station, but the back rooms had unimpressive views of the cluttered roofs of the city. In the sky above, an airplane flew by. Another maid brought him some tea.

Imanishi gave her his name card. “Would you tell the proprietor of this inn that I’d like to see him?”

The maid took the card and seemed a bit surprised when she read it. It stated that he was from the First Investigation Section of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police.

“Please wait just a minute.”

Imanishi smoked as he waited for the innkeeper to come up to his room. From his window, all he could see were roofs. The largest one seemed to cover a movie theater. An ink painting of the woods at Ise Shrine hung in the tokonoma alcove. On the other wall was a painting of the “Wedded Rocks” at Futamigaura Bay. Twenty minutes passed while he gazed at the view and the paintings.

“Excuse me.”

He heard a voice from the other side of the sliding doors.

“Come in,” Imanishi answered, still seated.

A bald-headed man of about fifty opened the door and came into the room. “Welcome.” After closing the door, the man bowed formally. “I’m the owner of this inn. I’m sorry that you had to come such a long way.”

“Please sit over here.” Imanishi invited the innkeeper to sit in front of him.

“Thank you very much.”

The proprietor showed by his respectful demeanor his deferential attitude toward the police. It was not the attitude shown a regular guest.

“When did you arrive?” he asked Imanishi.

“I left last night, and got here just this morning.” Imanishi made himself look as amiable as possible.

“Then you must be tired.”

The innkeeper bowed his head each time he spoke. He seemed to be uneasy. All kinds of people spent the night at inns as guests. Burglaries might occur. Wanted criminals might hide out. These things caused all sorts of problems for innkeepers.

“As a matter of fact, I’ve come from Tokyo to ask for some information,” Imanishi began calmly.

“Yes, is that so?” The innkeeper looked at Imanishi.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about. I just want to ask some questions for background information.”

“Yes?”

“I’d like to know about a guest who stayed here on the night of May ninth. I’m sorry to cause you trouble, but could you let me see your guest register?”

“Yes, yes, certainly.”

The innkeeper picked up the telephone receiver on the table and asked that the guest register be brought up.

“My, it must be hard for the police.” Becoming a bit more relaxed, the innkeeper made small talk.

“Well, yes, but it’s part of our work.”

“It’s the first time we’ve had someone from the Tokyo police here. Being in this kind of business, we often have to deal with the local police.”

A maid came in while they were talking. The innkeeper took the guest register from her.

“Let’s see, May ninth, was it?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

The innkeeper leafed through the bound bills.

“What was the name?”

“A man named Miki Ken’ichi,” Imanishi replied.

“Miki? Let’s see, yes, here he is.”

The innkeeper passed the register to Imanishi. Imanishi took it and looked intently at the page:

Present address: xx Street, Emi-machi, Okayama Prefecture. Employment: General Store. Name: Miki Ken’ichi. Age: 51.

The penmanship showed uprightness; the characters were written clearly with no abbreviations. Imanishi stared at the words. This was the writing of the unfortunate Miki Ken’ichi. No matter how he tried, Imanishi could not connect the style of these characters with the man’s brutally beaten body.

Miki had no way of knowing that a tragic fate awaited him when he signed this guest register. He had left the mountains of Okayama Prefecture to make a trip he had always dreamed about; he had fulfilled his goal of a pilgrimage to Ise Shrine and had seen the sights along the way. At the edge of the entry, the name “Sumiko” was noted, identifying the maid who had waited on Miki.

“It seems that Miki spent only the night of the ninth?” Imanishi asked the proprietor.

The innkeeper also looked at the register. “Yes, it does.”

“Do you remember this guest?”

“I’m usually in the back office, so I can’t recall him.”

“It looks like Sumiko was the maid in charge.”

“Yes, she was. I can call her here if you have any more questions.”

“Please.”

The innkeeper picked up the telephone again and told the maid to come to the room.

Sumiko was a young maid who seemed like a hard worker. Her appearance was not very tidy, and she had red cheeks.

“Sumiko, this guest has questions he’d like to ask about a guest you took care of. Tell him all you can remember,” the innkeeper told the maid.

“You’re Sumiko-san?” Imanishi asked, smiling.

“Yes.”

“I wonder if you remember. It says in the guest register that you waited on this guest. Do you remember him?”

Imanishi showed the register to the maid. Sumiko looked at it for a while.

“That was the Bush Clover room,” she said to herself and continued to think. “Oh, I remember. Yes, I’m sure I waited on him,” she said with certainty.

Imanishi asked her to describe his looks and mannerisms. Without a doubt, the maid described Miki Ken’ichi.

“How did he speak?” Imanishi asked.

“Let me think. It was a bit unusual. It sounded like zu-zu dialect, so I thought he was from the northeast.”

Imanishi was absolutely sure new. “Was it that hard to understand?”

“Yes. The sounds weren’t clear. In the guest register it said he was from Okayama Prefecture, so I asked him if he was from the northeast. He laughed and said people often made that mistake. He said the people in the village he lived in for a long time also have this accent.”

From the way the maid spoke, it seemed that Miki had been quite friendly to her.

“Was there anything unusual about his behavior when he stayed here?”

“Well, now that you mention it, he came here after he had worshiped at Ise Shrine during the day, and said he was going home the next day. But the next morning he suddenly told me he would be going to Tokyo.”

“Hmm, so it was the next morning that he said he was going to Tokyo?”

This was the crucial part.

“Yes, it was.”

“What time did he arrive at the inn?”

“It was in the evening. I think it was about six o’clock.”

“Once he arrived, did he go out at all?”

“Yes, he did.”

People from all over Japan came to worship at Ise Shrine. Miki might have bumped into someone he knew on this evening excursion. A chance encounter might have been what caused Miki to decide to go to Tokyo.

“Did he go out just for a stroll?”

“No, he said he was going to see a movie.”

“A movie?”

“He said he was bored, and that he wanted to see a movie. He asked me where the movie theater was, so I told him. Look, you can see it from this window. It’s that tall building.”

“What time did he return from the movie theater?” Imanishi asked the maid.

“Let me see. I think it was about nine-thirty. I’m sure it was about that time.”

“You mean right after the movie ended.”

“Yes.”

Imanishi was a bit disappointed. If Miki had met someone on his way to see the movie, the time that he returned to the inn would have been either earlier or later. Imanishi had to conclude that Miki had not met anyone.

“How did he seem when he came back to the room? Since it was so long ago, you may not remember, but please try to recall.”

“Let me think.” The maid glanced at the innkeeper and tilted her head.

“This is important, so think it over carefully, and don’t make any mistakes,” the innkeeper added.

The maid’s expression became tense.

Imanishi felt a bit disconcerted. “Don’t think about it so intently. Just tell me what you remember.”

The maid finally answered, “I didn’t notice anything different about the guest when he returned. He just asked to have his breakfast served later the next morning.”

“You mean the next day, the day he was to depart?”

“Yes. Earlier, he had said that since he was going home on the nine-twenty train he wanted breakfast at about eight o’clock.”

“How did he change that?”

“He said he wanted his breakfast at ten. And that he might stay until the evening.”

“The evening, huh?” Imanishi sat forward. “Did he say why he changed his plans?”

“No, nothing particular. But he did seem to be deep in thought. Since he didn’t say much to me, I just told him good night and left the room right away.”

“I see. And the next morning, was everything on time as he had asked?”

“Yes. I served him his breakfast at ten.”

“So he spent the rest of the day until evening in his room?”

“No, he didn’t. He went out just after noon to the movie theater.”

“To the movie theater?” Imanishi was surprised. “He must have really liked to see movies.”

“But he went to the same theater. I know, since I had an errand in that direction and went part of the way with him.”

“You mean to say he went to see the same movie he had just seen the night before?”

This time it was Imanishi’s turn to think hard. Why would Miki see the same movie twice while he was on a trip -it wasn’t as if he were a child or a teenager. What about the movie had piqued Miki’s curiosity?

“So after Miki came back from seeing the movie, he checked out that evening?” Imanishi asked the maid.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Do you know which train he took?”

“I know,” the innkeeper said. “I looked up the train schedule for him in the office and gave him the departure time. He called the desk from his room, and I told him that the Kintetsu train connects with an express for Tokyo that leaves Nagoya at ten-twenty p.m.”

“What time does that train arrive at Tokyo Station?”

“It arrives in Tokyo the next morning at five. Many of our guests use this train to go to Tokyo, so I have it memorized.”

“Did Miki say anything special or strange when he left the inn?” Imanishi again turned his gaze to the maid.

“No, I didn’t notice anything. I did ask him why he was going to Tokyo when he had said that he would return home to Okayama the night before…”

“Yes, yes. And…?”

“He said he had suddenly decided to go.”

“Suddenly decided to go. Is that all?”

“Yes. He didn’t say anything more.”

“So that was all.” Imanishi thought for a bit, then asked, “What movie was it that the guest went to see?”

“I don’t remember.”

“That’s all right. I can check that out. Thank you so much for taking time when you’re so busy.”

“Will that be all?” the innkeeper asked.

“Yes. You’ve been very helpful. Could you bring me my bill?”

“Are you leaving already?”

“I think I’ll go back to Tokyo on that same train. There should be enough time for me to catch it.”

Imanishi paid his bill and left the inn. But instead of going directly to the station, he went to the movie theater. It was located in the middle of an avenue of shops. Several garishly painted posters were displayed outside advertising the two historical movies that were playing.

After he showed the woman at the box office his card and asked if he could see the manager, he was led inside. At the back of the theater they came to a closed door. When the door was opened Imanishi saw a worker painting a poster for a coming feature. The manager stood with his hands clasped behind him watching the painter. When he read Imanishi’s card, he welcomed him pleasantly.

Imanishi came directly to the point. “Excuse me for asking this abruptly, but could I find out what movies were playing at this theater last May ninth?”

“The films we showed on May ninth, did you say?” The manager responded with surprise.

“Yes, I’d like to know the names of the films,” Imanishi said.

“Hmm, is it related to a case or something?”

“No, I just need to know for reference. Can you find out immediately?”

“It’s no problem to look it up for you.”

The manager led Imanishi out of the room. They went to the office next to the projection booth. Posters were plastered all over the walls, and the desk was piled high with paper. A young man sat alone figuring, flicking the counters on his abacus.

“Hey, what were the movies we showed on May ninth? Can you look it up?”

The young man pulled the ledger toward him. He flipped through the pages and found it at once.

“One was Windy Clouds of Tone and the other One Man’s Rage.”

“Those were the ones,” the manager said to Imanishi standing beside him. “One was a period piece and the other a modern movie.”

“Which production company were they from?”

“We show Nan’ei films exclusively.”

“I’m sorry to trouble you, but do you have a pamphlet or anything that would list the actors in those movies?”

“It was quite some time ago, so I don’t know if we still have anything. Let me have someone look around.”

The manager ordered the young man to look. He searched the drawers of the desk and the shelves and finally pulled a sheet of paper out from under a pile of posters.

“We’ve found something.” The manager took the sheet and gave it to Imanishi. “This is the cast.”

“Thank you.”

Both Windy Clouds of Tone and One Man’s Rage featured currently popular actors. The sheet listed supporting actors and minor actors as well. It even listed the names of the actors playing maids and children.

Imanishi carefully folded the pamphlet and put it into his pocket. “Are these movies showing anywhere now?”

“Let me think. Since they came out quite a while ago, I don’t think they’re showing even at theaters specializing in second runs.”

“In that case, were the films returned to the film company?”

“Yes. When we’re finished with them, we send them back to the company. These movies are probably in the company warehouse.”

“Thank you very much.” Imanishi bowed.

“Oh, is that all I can do for you? Just a minute, are you on a case related to those movies?”

But by that time Imanishi had turned and left the office.