Inspector Imanishi Investigates

EIGHT A Mishap

Imanishi entered the Ginza tearoom the next evening promptly at eight o’clock. It was crowded with customers, but he did not see the actor. He took a seat along the wall, ordered a cup of coffee, and took a weekly magazine out of his pocket. Each time the door opened he looked up. He sipped his coffee as slowly as he could, but the actor hadn’t shown up by the time he had finished.

Imanishi grew impatient but realized the actor might have been delayed. He would give it another twenty minutes.

Imanishi continued to skim the magazine. The tearoom became more and more crowded; newcomers left when they saw that the shop was full. Imanishi could tell from the look on her face that the waitress wanted him to leave. Reluctantly, he ordered again, this time a cup of tea. He took his time sipping this as well. At eight-forty Imanishi became concerned. The telephone rang, and a customer was paged, but it was not for Imanishi. His teacup was empty. Next, Imanishi ordered a fruit punch. He couldn’t even finish half of it.

An hour passed. Imanishi waited, determined to hear Miyata’s story about the girl who had cooperated with the murderer, the girl who had cut up and scattered the bloodstained shirt.

Imanishi became annoyed. Finally, he left the tearoom and went on waiting outside, sure that as soon as he left for home Miyata would arrive. Imanishi called the theater, but there was no answer. He had to give up.

Imanishi woke up at six o’clock the next morning. For some reason, no matter how late he had gotten to sleep, or how occupied he had been on a case, he woke up at six o’clock. Yoshiko and Taro were still asleep.

He smoked a cigarette and crawled out of the futon to go to the front door. The morning newspaper had been slipped between the lattice work of the door. He returned to his bed, taking the newspaper with him.

One of the pleasures in his life was to lie in bed and read the newspaper as he smoked. He turned first to the city page out of professional interest. Articles on unimportant cases filled the page. Imanishi stopped suddenly at a small headline: “Modern Drama Actor Dies at Roadside-Heart Attack on Way Home from Rehearsal.”

Imanishi looked at the photograph next to the headline. It was Miyata Kunio. He read:

At approximately eleven p.m. on August 31, Sugimura Isaku, 42, a company executive, discovered a dead body as he drove to his home near Number xx, Kasuya-cho, Setagaya-ku. He reported his discovery immediately to the Seijo police station. As a result of an inspection of the man’s belongings, the deceased was identified as Miyata Kunio, 30, an actor with the Avant-Garde Theater. The cause of death was tentatively given as a heart attack. Today there will be an autopsy at the Tokyo police medical center.

Miyata had finished rehearsals at the Avant-Garde Theater at approximately 6:30 p.m., and had left the building at that time. According to Sugiura Akiko of the Avant-Garde Theater, Miyata was an actor with a bright future. Recently, he had become quite popular.

Imanishi was shocked. Kicking off his bedding, he got up again. He hurried Yoshiko to prepare breakfast and ate quickly.

“Is something the matter?” Yoshiko wondered.

“Nothing, nothing.”

Imanishi dressed in a rush, like a firefighter called to a fire. He left the house at 8:30.

Miyata’s body would no longer be at the Seijo police station. The Tokyo police medical center in Otsuka started its workday at nine a.m. It would be quicker to go there.

It was slightly after nine when he reached the medical center located only a ten-minute walk from Otsuka Station. In front of the medical center was an attractive garden, but inside the building it was dingy and dark. Two men, someone’s next of kin, sat uncertainly in the waiting room. Imanishi went directly to the medical center chief’s office.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you,” the medical center chief greeted him.

“Doctor, I’ll get right to the point. Has the body from Seijo station been delivered here yet?”

“Yes, it came in late last night.”

“When do you plan to open it up?”

“We’re in a bit of a crunch, so I expect it will be this afternoon.”

“Doctor, could you manage to do it earlier?”

“That’s a death from illness, isn’t it? We’re just doing a routine autopsy. Is there something suspicious?”

“I have a strange feeling about it.”

“You mean, the death may not have been natural?”

The medical examiner knew Imanishi’s skill as a detective. He agreed to do this autopsy first.

Imanishi looked through the file sent over from Seijo while he waited for the coroner to get ready. A young examiner came out to guide Imanishi to the autopsy room. They went down a narrow hallway and a flight of stairs. At the entrance to the autopsy room, they put slippers over their shoes. The autopsy room could be seen from the waiting room through a set of glass doors. Five medical examiners wearing white laboratory coats were already gathered inside.

In the center of the concrete-floored room stood the dissecting table on which a man’s naked body was laid out. The body was pasty white; long, tangled hair lay spread out on the table. The eyes were open, the mouth was slightly ajar. There was a look of pain on the face. Imanishi pressed his palms together in prayer as he faced the body.

The medical examiners took their respective places around the table. The coroner began with his observations on the exterior condition of the body. An assistant took down the information. When this dictation was over, the coroner inserted a scalpel into the chest cavity and cut downward in a Y-shaped line through the center of the body. He sliced the body open in one swift movement. Blood ran out.

Imanishi watched without flinching. The stench filled his nostrils, but he was used to it. An assistant had cut open the stomach to inspect its contents. Another assistant was slicing the brownish-tinted liver. Finally the scalp was opened. Miyata’s long hair flopped onto his face.

Imanishi left the autopsy room. His brow was beaded in perspiration. He could see the green leaves swaying in the breeze outside the corridor window. The sunlight was bright, the air fresh and full of life.

As he was looking out the window, he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was the coroner.

“Thank you very much for your efforts, Doctor,” Imanishi said.

“You’re welcome. Could you come this way, please.”

The coroner escorted Imanishi to a room.

“Imanishi-san, I’m sorry to say,” the coroner said, smiling, “the cause of death is unmistakably a heart attack.”

“Is that so, after all?” Imanishi looked at the doctor.

“We examined everything with particular care, but there were no external wounds, and no traces of any assault. We also examined the stomach, but there was no indication of a reaction to poisonous substances, no abnormalities in the abdominal organs. There was some enlargement of the heart, leading me to think that this person may have suffered from a mild case of valvular disease. We came to the conclusion that it was a heart attack. In each organ there was coagulated blood, which backs up this finding.”

“So you would say that it was death from natural causes?” Imanishi became lost in thought. He seemed to be terribly disappointed.

The doctor asked, “Imanishi-san, what were you suspicious of?”

When asked point-blank, Imanishi had no suitable answer. He could not say that he was suspicious because the man had died before he could hear his evidence.

“The man didn’t die at home. His dead body was discovered on the roadside, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, is there something strange in that?”

“If he had become ill and died at home, I wouldn’t be so suspicious. I’m concerned because he died at the side of the road.”

“But Imanishi-san, there are occasionally such cases. You can’t choose where you’re going to have a sudden heart attack.”

Imanishi had no reply. “I’m afraid I’ve got a bad habit of suspecting that every death is related to police work,” Imanishi said.

He continued to ponder. At eight p.m., Miyata was to have met him at the tearoom in Ginza. Why had he been walking around in the Setagaya district? Imanishi was still convinced that Miyata had intended to meet him. Could he have been lured to Setagaya against his will? Had he visited someone in the Setagaya area and lost track of the time?

Imanishi decided to view the place where Miyata’s body was found. By bus, it was not far from the Seijo police station. There were very few houses. The area still retained a rural feeling. He walked over to where the actor’s body had been discovered, following the diagram drawn for him by one of the men at the Seijo station. It was in a field, one yard away from the main bus route. Plumes of the pampas grass near the wooded area had already turned to autumn white.

As he stood there, Imanishi noted that there were many cars but few pedestrians passing by. At night it would be a lonely place. Had Miyata been walking here? If he had meant to keep his appointment with Imanishi, he would have taken a taxi. Suppose he had visited someone nearby and had waited here to hail a taxi. Who would Miyata have come to visit out here?

Imanishi stopped by the Avant-Garde Theater. When he made it clear that he wanted to ask about Miyata Kunio, a member of the office staff escorted him to Sugiura Akiko’s room. Her name was familiar to Imanishi; he’d seen her photograph in newspapers and magazines. She greeted him pleasantly. The famous actress – the leader of this theater group -smoked a cigarette while she answered.

“Miyata-san was at the theater rehearsing our new play until six-thirty. He didn’t seem to be in pain. That’s why I couldn’t believe it when I heard that he had died.”

“Do you know if he had some kind of heart condition?”

“Now that you mention it, he wasn’t very strong. Sometimes we rehearse all night before an opening, and he did seem to tire easily.”

“Did he happen to mention where he was going after the rehearsal ended?”

“No, I really wouldn’t know,” she said and pushed a buzzer to call in a young actor, a good friend of Miyata’s. “This is Yamagata-san. Did Miyata-san say where he was going after he left here last night?”

The young actor stood at attention, his hands clasped together in front of him. “Well, yes. He did say that he had to meet someone in Ginza at eight.”

“At eight in Ginza?” Imanishi interrupted. “Is that really what he said?”

“Yes, that’s what he told me,” Yamagata turned toward Imanishi and answered. “I invited him out, and that’s the reason he declined.”

So Miyata Kunio had intended to keep his appointment with Imanishi.

“Where did he live?”

“In an apartment in Komagome.”

“Komagome?” It was in the opposite direction from where his body had been found.

“How did Miyata-san seem when you parced?”

“He seemed to be his normal self. Oh, yes, he did say something-that he wasn’t looking forward to the meeting in Ginza.”

“I’d like to ask you about a different matter,” Imanishi turned toward Sugiura Akiko. “A young woman named Naruse Rieko used to work here, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” Sugiura Akiko nodded. “She was a quiet, gentle girl. She recently committed suicide.”

“Do you have any idea why she committed suicide?”

“No. I didn’t know her well at all, so I asked the office staff, thinking they would have more of an idea about what had gone on. But everyone said they had no idea why she committed suicide.”

“Could she have been heartbroken?”

“Well.” Sugiura Akiko smiled. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. If only she had left a suicide note or something.”

“This may sound strange,” Imanishi said, “but could Naruse Rieko have been on intimate terms with Miyata Kunio?”

“No, I can’t imagine that they were… Have you heard anything like that?” Sugiura Akiko looked around and asked the young actor standing near her.

He smiled faintly. “Actually, there were rumors about that.”

“What?” The actress’s eyes brightened.

“It wasn’t that the two of them were particularly friendly,” the actor said. “Naruse-san didn’t seem to have special feelings for Miyata, but he was quite serious about her. You could tell by watching him.”

“I’m amazed,” Sugiura Akiko said.

This explanation made sense to Imanishi. Rieko had died leaving a journal full of longing. It was clear that the object of her love was not Miyata. Then who was Rieko so in love with that she decided to die for him? Imanishi asked if Rieko had had another boyfriend.

“No, I don’t think there was anyone special. But I really wouldn’t know,” the actor replied. “Naruse-san was very reserved. If her suicide was from a broken heart, it must be over someone we don’t know.”

The boyfriend none of the theater members knew about-was he the killer in the Kamata murder case? Imanishi wanted to find him.

At eight-thirty, Sekigawa Shigeo left the restaurant where he had been attending a meeting sponsored by a literary magazine. A large black car waited for him in the shadows.

“Sekigawa-sensei,” the magazine editor called out, “will you be going straight home?”

“No,” Sekigawa smiled. “I have to visit someone.”

“Then where shall we have the car take you?”

“If you could drive me to Ikebukuro, that would be fine.”

At Ikebukuro Station, he changed to a taxi and ordered the driver to go toward Shimura. Sekigawa smoked a cigarette. After a while, the street started to slope uphill. Sekigawa alighted from the taxi and turned the corner, walking away from the streetcar tracks.

A young woman, standing in the shadows, rushed over to him. It was Emiko.

“Darling? You’ve finally come. I’m so happy.” She pressed herself against Sekigawa’s side.

“Have you been waiting long?”

“Yes, about an hour.”

“The meeting ran late.”

“That’s what I thought. I was worried that you might not come.”

Sekigawa did not answer. Emiko reached out and took his arm.

“Did you skip work at the bar tonight?” Sekigawa asked in a low voice.

“Yes, because I was coming to meet you. It’s awful to have a night job.”

“How is your new apartment?”

“I like it. The woman below is nice to me. It’s much better than the other place.”

“That’s good.”

The two of them walked in silence. The streetlights grew fewer.

“I’m so happy,” she said. “The only time I’m happy is when I’m with you. That’s the only time I feel fulfilled.”

Sekigawa was silent.

“I know you don’t feel the same. Are you seeing someone other than me?” Emiko asked.

“There’s no one else.”

“Are you sure? Sometimes I can’t help thinking that there is someone else.”

“You’re just being jealous.”

“Whenever I start thinking that, I try to stop my thoughts, but I can’t.”

“Is it that hard for you to trust me?”

“No, I trust you, of course. I don’t care if I’m not your only woman. It doesn’t matter to me even if you love someone else. Only, please don’t leave me.”

Emiko walked clinging to Sekigawa’s arm. The road was dark. Beyond the darkness they could hear the lonesome sound of the streetcar.

“The streetcars are still running,” Emiko said, leaning her cheek against Sekigawa’s shoulder.

“It must be the last run.” Sekigawa tossed his cigarette. The small red flame glowed on the ground.

Emiko looked up at the sky. It was full of stars.

“It’s gotten late. Orion is all the way over there,” Sekigawa said.

“Which is Orion?”

“See, it’s that one.” Sekigawa pointed his finger at the sky. “See the three stars lined up sideways as if they were on a ship’s mast? And around them are four stars that box them in.”

“Yes, those?”

“In the winter, that constellation shines brightly in the sky. When I see Orion, I realize that autumn has already come.”

“You know so much about stars, too.”

“Not really. I knew someone when I was a boy who taught me all kinds of things. He’s dead now. He taught me about the stars, too. The place I come from is surrounded by mountains so you can’t see much of the sky,” Sekigawa said. “He would take me up to the top of a nearby peak at night and teach me about the stars. When we reached the mountaintop, the sky would open up.”

“What area do you come from?”

“You wouldn’t know even if I told you.”

“Oh, yes, I remember reading somewhere that it was in Akita Prefecture.”

“Yes, that’s what they say.”

“What do you mean, that’s what they say?”

“It doesn’t really matter.” Sekigawa changed the subject. “Tomorrow night I have to review a concert.”

“You’re so busy. Which concert?”

“Waga’s. A newspaper asked me to review it, so I accepted.”

“Waga-san’s music is very new, isn’t it? What do they call it, avant-garde music?”

“He calls it ‘musique concrete.’ Others pioneered this form, Waga picked it up and started doing it himself. He’s not capable of going much further. He has no originality. He just steals from what others have done.”

A scarlet curtain was the backdrop. The only stage decoration was a weirdly shaped sculpture placed in the center. The sculpture was as white as fallen snow. The contrast between the white and the scarlet was stark. A sculptor from the Nouveau group had decorated the recital stage for his comrade Waga Eiryo.

This concert differed greatly from the usual musical performance. Speakers had been placed at different locations to create a three-dimensional effect. Sound came from beyond the curtain hung behind the sculpture, from above the audience and from beneath it. The hall was full and most of the audience was young. The last work was entitled “Nirvana,” based on the myth of Buddha’s death, when all the animals lamented and heaven and earth wailed in mourning. The piece at times moaned, then quavered, howled, and vibrated. Metallic sounds and voices like loud laughter were combined to create tension, relaxation, pause, and climax. It could not be said that the audience was enraptured. They were trying to make sense of this new music.

The music stopped. A loud round of applause welled up. There was some confusion as to whom the audience was applauding as there was no orchestra on the stage. Eventually, the recipient of the applause, Waga Eiryo, dressed in a black suit, walked on stage from the right wing.

Sekigawa went backstage to Waga’s dressing room, which was jammed with people. In the center of the room were three tables pushed together loaded with beer and plates of hors d’oeuvres. Cigarette smoke and voices filled the room.

“Hey, Sekigawa.” Someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was Yodogawa Ryuta, the architect. “You’re late.”

Sekigawa nodded, squeezing sideways between people.

Waga stood smiling in the center of the throng. Beside him stood Tadokoro Sachiko in a pure white satin cocktail dress. Encircling her slender white neck was a necklace of three strands of pearls. She looked gorgeous enough to take the stage herself.

Pushing his way through the crowd, Sekigawa went up to Waga. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Waga responded.

“Sachiko-san, congratulations.”

“Thank you very much. Sekigawa-san, how did you like the concert?” Sachiko looked up at Sekigawa with smiling eyes.

“You’d better not ask the opinion of the critic tonight,” Waga interjected. “At least he congratulated me.”

“Sekigawa-sensei, it’s because the music is so fascinating that there was such a large audience.” The singer Murakami Junko spoke up from directly behind Sekigawa. As usual, she wore a red suit. She had strong features, the kind that showed to advantage when she was on stage. Secure in her looks, she smiled boldly.

“I suppose you could say that,” Sekigawa agreed, with a laugh.

“Sensei, please let me pour you a glass.”

Sekigawa allowed the singer to pour him some beer. With an exaggerated gesture, he raised his glass and looked from Waga to Sachiko. “Congratulations on your success.”

Many well-wishers circled around Waga. The door was left open to accommodate the crowd.

“It’s an incredible number of people,” Yodogawa whispered to Sekigawa. “I’m envious of musicians. No matter how many houses I design, no one throws such a party for me.”

The architect’s envy was understandable. Not only music lovers, but also those who had nothing to do with the arts, surrounded Waga. And many of them were older men.

Yodogawa spoke in an undertone. “They’re all Sachiko’s father’s connections.”

“Don’t be so envious.” Sekigawa turned his back on Waga and moved away. “It’s probably annoying to him as well.”

“No, look at Waga’s face. He doesn’t look annoyed at all,” Yodogawa continued.

“No, that expression means he’s pleased that his art has been recognized.”

“How many people in tonight’s audience understood Waga’s ‘musique concrete’? I couldn’t understand it very well myself.”

“You, an avant-garde architect?”

“I don’t have to cover up my ignorance in front of you.”

“The masses,” Sekigawa said, “are always dumbfounded by the unintelligibility of pioneering efforts. But after a while, they get used to it. This accommodation leads them into understanding.”

“Are you saying this describes Waga’s case?”

“Let’s not get into individual cases,” Sekigawa answered. “Here it is necessary to act politely. If you want to know what I have to say, take a look at the newspaper tomorrow.”

“To get your honest opinion?”

“Right. We say all kinds of things about each other, but Waga is impressive. He’s doing just what he wants to do the way he wants to do it.”

“Isn’t it just that he’s lucky? He’s made such quick progress. Even if he didn’t create anything, the media would pay attention to him because he’s the future son-in-law of former Cabinet Minister Tadokoro.”

Imanishi managed to read one-third of the newspaper review of Waga Eiryo’s recital. He did not have the patience to read the rest. To him, the piece was totally incomprehensible. The reason he had read that far at breakfast was because he recognized the photo of Sekigawa Shigeo, the critic who had written the piece.

Imanishi got off the streetcar at Kichijoji-machi. The apartment building where Miyata had lived was quite old. The wife of the building owner answered the door. When he said he was from police headquarters, she looked worried.

“I’d like to ask you a bit about Miyata-san,” Imanishi said.

“I appreciate your concern. Was there something Miyata-san had done?”

Imanishi had refused to go inside so they stood talking in the doorway. “No, it’s not that Miyata-san did anything,” Imanishi said, putting the woman at ease. “I was a fan of his. I’m disappointed that he died so young. How long did he live here?”

“Let me see. It’s been about three years.”

“Actors tend to have a life-style different from what we imagine when they’re off the stage. What was he like?”

“He was a very nice person. He was quiet and neat.”

“Did he ever bring over friends and have rowdy parties?”

“No. Apparently he had a weak heart, so he didn’t drink much, and he was very careful about his health. For an actor, he seemed to be a very quiet person.”

“By the way, did Miyata-san go on a trip to the Tohoku region about mid-May?”

“Yes, he did,” the housewife answered immediately.

Imanishi’s eyes lit up. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure I’m not mistaken. He brought me back some presents from Akita, some sweets and a wooden kokeshi doll.”

Imanishi concealed the joy he felt.

“About how long was Miyata-san’s trip to the Tohoku region?”

“Let me see. I think it was about four days.”

“Did Miyata-san say anything to you at that time?”

“He said he had a break from the theater’s performances, so he thought he’d go on a little trip. I only found out after he returned that he had gone to Akita.”

Leaving the apartment house, Imanishi went to a telephone booth and called detective Yoshimura. The two men met at Shibuya Station. It was just noon, so they went into a noodle shop.

“You look as if you’ve come up with a big find,” Yoshimura said, looking at Imanishi’s face.

“Is it that obvious?” Imanishi grinned. “Actually, I finally figured out the reason for our trip to the Tohoku region.”

“Really?” Yoshimura opened his eyes wide. “Did you find out who that man was?”

“I did.”

“I’m amazed. Give me all the details.”

The cold noodles they had ordered were served.

“A few days ago an actor died of a heart attack.”

“Yes, I read about it in the newspaper. It was Miyata Kunio, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right. Did you know him?”

“I knew his name. I don’t go to see many contemporary dramas. But I remember reading the article about his death. It said that he was a new actor for whom they had had high hopes in the future.”

“He was that guy.”

“What?” Yoshimura nearly dropped his chopsticks.

“Miyata was the strange man in Kameda.”

“How did you find that out?”

“I’ll tell you, give me time.”

For a while, there was only the sound of the two men slurping soba noodles.

“As a matter of fact,” Imanishi said, after taking a sip of tea, “in this morning’s paper there was a piece by one of those people we saw at Kameda station. That Nou…”

“The Nouveau group, you mean?”

“That’s it. One of them was in the paper. One’s train of thought is a strange thing. I had been keeping my eye on this fellow Miyata. I’ll tell you the reason later. Anyway, I was checking on him when he died. There’s no reason to be suspicious about his death because it was a heart attack. But I remembered that he was an actor when I read the piece in the paper this morning. And you know how much I’ve been thinking about the Kamata case. I realized that Miyata would be used to disguises, especially since he acts in contemporary dramas. I had a flash that maybe he was the one who had gone to Kameda.”

Yoshimura looked intently at Imanishi. “And was that what had happened?”

“I went over to his apartment building and talked to his landlord’s wife. Miyata went to Akita for four days from about May 18. It was at the end of May that we went to Akita, right? So the dates match up pretty well. The dead can’t talk, so we can’t ask Miyata himself, but I’m sure there’s no mistake.”

Imanishi ate the rest of his noodles.

“I’m impressed.”

“That’s what I mean about train of thought. I remembered when I read that complicated article by the guy in the Nouveau group. And the reason I read that piece was because I remembered seeing him at Kameda Station. Then suddenly the two strands fit together: Miyata, whom I’d been checking on for a while, and Kameda.”

“So your hunch was right on target.”

“That’s fine so far. But the question is, why did Miyata go to Kameda?”

“That’s true.”

“He wandered aimlessly in that town dressed like a laborer. Those weren’t his normal clothes. And all the people there said that he kept his head down and didn’t look directly at anyone, didn’t they?”

“Yes, they did.”

“And yet, in such a small country town he was sure to be noticed. One of the hotel maids described him quite accurately as being ‘dark-skinned but handsome.’ ”

Imanishi and Yoshimura stared intently at each other.

“I can’t figure it out. What brought him to Kameda in disguise?”

“I don’t know. At any rate, he didn’t do anything. All he did was walk around. He hung around near some houses and lay around at the riverside. And that’s all.”

“Wait a minute,” Yoshimura put his hand up to his forehead. “What if that was why he went?”

“That’s it!” Imanishi nodded. “He behaved in such a way as to leave an impression on the local people.”

“Why did he do that?”

Imanishi did not reply directly to Yoshimura’s question. “The rumor about the strange man found its way to the local police. And we found out because we requested information about the Kamata killing. We were taken in.”