Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 150, Nos. 5 & 6. Whole Nos. 914 & 915, November/December 2017

Translated from the Japanese by Ho-Ling Wong and John Pugmire

Famous in Japan for originating ‘Shinhonkaku,’ the neoclassical movement in Japanese mystery writing, Shimada Söji has, in recent years, been collaborating with a renowned illustrator on a graphic-novel series. Some of his earlier Detective Takeshi Yoshiki novels have been adapted for television. This is his third story to be translated for EQMM.

1

It happened on a stormy night in the early summer of 1980.

Every other Saturday Genji Itoi, the owner of the jazz bar Zig-Zag, had jazz players and aficionados over to his apartment. This was the first time Puff and I, drummer and saxophonist respectively of the band The Seven Rings, had been invited. The other members hadn’t been able to make it. In addition to the usual musicians and fans, there was a salesman and also a mysterious astrologist. People were chatting in the living room and out on the balcony.

As I drifted from the balcony to the living room I noticed salesman Namura trying to get the attention of Asami, a young woman who worked at Zig-Zag. He was trying a novel approach.

“I’m going to show you a very special feat of magic,” he said.

“Really?” replied Asami.

“Yes. Interested?”

“Of course!” she said. Girls are like that.

“Mrs. Itoi, do you happen to have a large sheet of white paper for me? Wrapping paper will do.”

Shizuko Itoi nodded and disappeared, while the other guests gathered excitedly around the living-room table.

The host’s wife returned with wrapping paper from a department store, which the salesman spread across the table, straightening out the folds with the palm of his hand.

“And now I’d like to borrow a ringlike object from each of you, something you carry on your person. The more valuable, the better. Spiritual energy finds its host most easily in valuable objects,” the salesman explained with a smile, playing the role of magician perfectly.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to make them vanish. I’ll just place them here and return them to you right away. A necklace, a ring, or a gentleman’s watch. Asami, can you put something in as well, like that ring you’re wearing?”

“This? But it isn’t worth much!”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Everyone started to remove their watches and rings. I thought about it, but decided against it: I was wearing a Disney watch I’d bought for four thousand yen at a pawnshop.

The objects were placed on top of the paper one after another. Most of them were watches. The critic Önuki’s watch was a Cartier.

“Oh, you all have such wonderful stuff. How splendid! And here’s a pearl necklace. Is it yours, Mrs. Itoi? Perfect. Now my magic will become even more spectacular, I’m sure of it. Let me guess: It was given to you by your husband for your wedding anniversary? Just like Glenn Miller. Am I right?”

“Yes,” answered Genji Itoi right away.

“Just as I suspected. You have a very thoughtful husband,” said Namura, whose manner changed when he noticed something: “Our astrologist has not been kind enough to lend me his watch.”

The salesman apparently did not think much of the astrologist, Mitarai, and you could sense the animosity in his cold words.

“So you noticed?” replied the astrologist mockingly.

“You don’t appear to have a watch on you,” continued the salesman with a sly grin on his face.

“That’s correct. I don’t wear one,” declared the astrologist.

“Left it at the pawnshop?” enquired Namura with a sneer.

“I make it a habit not to wear a watch. There’s nothing sillier than allowing a machine that only tells the time to take over one’s left wrist in this day and age.” Mitarai paced about while he was talking, as if he were giving a lecture.

“Bah, let’s just ignore the poor fellow,” Namura whispered to Asami. He placed all the objects he had gathered on the sheet of paper. There were seven of them. Most were wrist watches, but Asami’s ring and Mrs. Itoi’s pearl necklace were also included.

The salesman laid them out in a circle, took a Montblanc fountain pen out of his suit pocket, and drew lines from the center of the circle to each object. “Now, let’s assign numbers to them.” He wrote a number, from one to seven, next to each object. Number 1 was the critic’s watch and number 7 was the pearl necklace.

“So that’s that,” said Namura, taking a notebook out of his pocket. He opened it at random and tore out a page.

He wasn’t satisfied, however. The page wasn’t a perfect rectangle because the lower left corner hadn’t been torn cleanly. Namura carefully made the page into a ball and threw it away. He tore another page out, this time more carefully, and handed it to Asami.

“And now, Asami, please take this fountain pen and write down the number of one of these seven items, whichever you like best, on this piece of paper. Then write down why you like it. And also write down your biggest worry, and I’ll solve it for you.”

“Really!?”

“Of course. Write it down and you’ll see what I can do for you. I won’t let you down. Trust me.”

The man was certainly a smooth talker, probably because of his work.

“Do I have to use this fountain pen?”

“No, it really doesn’t matter. Go over there to write. I’ll be looking the other way.”

Asami turned her back to us and started writing. Finally, she announced: “I’m done!”

“Now fold the paper in two carefully,” said Namura. Her back was still turned towards him. “Done? Fold it again, just to be sure. And once more. And to finish it off, one final time...”

“Done.”

“Okay, bring it over here,” said the salesman. “And stand with your chin right above the central point where the seven lines meet.”

“Like this?”

“Yes. Now concentrate with everything you have, and drop the piece of paper right in the center.”

“Just drop it?”

“Yes. Keep looking at the circle from above, and drop the piece of paper. Again and again. And I guarantee you, it will roll over in one particular direction more often than the others. It will roll most often in the direction of the number you wrote down on the paper.”

“Really?”

“Try it out and see for yourself.”

Asami leant over the large sheet of paper, concentrated hard, and dropped the folded paper ball. She watched it roll out of the circle, picked it up, and dropped it again. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on her as she repeated the operation several times more. Only Mitarai was standing in the corner, yawning.

The ball of paper rolled out of the circle once again and fell on the floor. Namura quickly picked it up and returned it to Asami. “You’ll roll it onto the floor again if you don’t concentrate completely,” he said.

It was at that moment that Kubo, one of the jazz fans, said: “Uurgh, I think I drank too much. I’m feeling sick.” He stood up and went to the toilet.

“I think we’ve done it enough,” said Namura. “You’ve all noticed which direction it rolled in most often, right?”

“Wait, I didn’t notice anything!” said Asami.

“Seven. Number seven.”

“Really?” She suddenly looked very serious.

“Yes, now let me guess. You wrote down number seven. You don’t really like pearls, but you think a necklace would look nice on you.”

Asami froze to the spot.

“How did you...?”

“So my guess is right?”

“Yes.”

“And now let me guess what your worry is. Hmm, wait a second...”

The salesman closed his eyes and put his index finger between his eyebrows.

“I have it. You’re in love with someone!”

Asami was absolutely flabber-ghasted by his guess.

“And his name is...”

“No, don’t tell them!” She turned as red as a beetroot and tried to cover the salesman’s mouth.

“Did you write his name on the paper?”

“No!”

“Then I can’t know it. My mental eye only allows me to read what you wrote on that paper. I can’t read your mind.”

“Really? That’s a relief!”

Kubo came back into the room. Namura looked surprised to see him.

“What’s wrong? Feeling better now?”

“Yeah,” Kubo answered, with a strange look on his pale face.

“You were amazing!” said Asami to Namura. I too was impressed.

2

Puff and I were standing on the south side of the balcony watching a raging storm.

“How old are you?” said a voice from behind me. I turned around to see Kubo standing there, wearing a brown woollen hat, framed by the light from the living room behind him.

“I’m thirty-one,” I answered. Kubo pointed his chin at Puff. “And you?”

Puff didn’t answer. I’m sure he’s twenty-five and will turn twenty-six later this year.

“How old are you?” Kubo asked once again.

“Why should I tell you?” Puff said. He often got into fights.

Kubo smiled unpleasantly.

“I was just wondering whether you’re having an easy life. Can you really make a living out of making a lot of noise with instruments?”

“None of your business,” said Puff.

Kubo looked sideways at him, still smiling. “It must be easy, living off your parents, eh?”

Kubo came closer and I could smell alcohol.

“I thought you were a fan of jazz? Do you actually listen? Or do you just like criticizing it?” asked Puff. He shouldn’t have said that.

“Hey, I can’t let that slide!” said a voice from inside the darkness. It was the critic Önuki.

“Easy, easy,” said Aka, a trumpet player.

Puff was on his own now. “Bah, I’ve had enough,” he groused.

I understood how he felt.

The double glass doors between the balcony and the living room were wide open. The wind was blowing from the east, so the rain didn’t fall inside the apartment.

Puff went back into the living room and sat down behind his drum set. The word TOILET had been written on the bass drum. He took up the drum sticks and started to play a soft rhythm.

Itoi went over to him and said: “It’s okay, you can play whatever you want.”

“At this hour?” asked Puff in surprise.

“It’s okay. There’s a big storm going on anyway.”

I could see a broad smile on Puff’s face.

“Well then, I’d love to play facing the river, so I can see the storm.”

“Great idea.” Itoi nodded.

“Let’s do it,” said Puff, turning the base the drum set was standing on to face south. He started with a spectacular roll and played a beat on the bass drum. Then he played an incredibly fast eight beat. He always did that when he was angry. He’s by far the most talented member of The Seven Rings band.

“Wow,” said Aka, shouting to be heard above the storm. “He’s amazing!”

Suddenly Mitarai appeared from the back of the room. He walked over to Puff and said something. He picked up a Les Paul guitar and together they started to play Chick Corea’s “Beyond the Seventh Galaxy.” Puff was good, but Mitarai was truly amazing.

By the time the song was over I’d been completely overwhelmed by their playing. I wasn’t the only one. Ishioka, a writer and Mitarai’s friend, walked over to him and wanted to shake hands. Everyone had gathered on the south side of the balcony. Nobody had gone out to the east side because of the rain.

“Let’s get back in. It’s starting to get late.”

It was Namura who spoke. We all stepped back inside. The guitar and drums were turned back to face into the room and the two glass balcony doors were closed. Itoi and Aka joined the other two to begin another session. I joined them on the alto sax.

But this time the performance was not so good, and by the end only Ishioka, Mrs. Itoi, and the critic Önuki remained, Namura and Kubo having stepped out onto the balcony again, carefully closing the doors behind them.

While I was playing, my eye fell on the table. I saw that all seven ringlike objects were still lying there, on top of the sheet of white paper. Life’s strange, I thought.

3

What happened next was a total surprise. The lights suddenly went out. A power failure?

“Blackout!” somebody cried out, but we kept on playing. I assumed that Mrs. Itoi would bring out candles or something.

I could barely make out the noise of the wall clock striking. At that very moment, I heard Namura shout: “Hey, Mr. Kubo!” It came from behind us. I could hear the glass doors of the balcony open, and somebody suddenly jumped inside the room. Our eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness yet and we couldn’t quite make out who it was.

Somebody, probably Mrs. Itoi, then turned on a flashlight. The light moved around following the figure of a man running away.

The man rushed across the room and opened the apartment door. In the dim light I could see the man’s back and a woollen hat. It was Kubo. The door shut behind him.

What had happened? While everyone was trying to work it out we resumed playing.

“It’s gone!”

Mrs. Itoi let out a scream which we could just about hear and we stopped playing. The flashlight was illuminating the table. It was indeed Mrs. Itoi who was holding it.

Six ringlike objects were caught in the beam of light: five wrist watches and one ring. The pearl necklace had disappeared. Kubo must have taken it with him.

“What happened?” asked Namura as he came into the room from the balcony. It was dark, but I recognized his voice.

“My necklace has been stolen,” said Mrs. Itoi.

“That’s horrible,” said the salesman. “Let’s chase after him!” He rushed to the door of the apartment. Aka and Puff started to follow him.

“You’d better pick up your watches first!” cried Namura as he went out of the room on his own.

Aka and Puff hesitated for a moment. Someone went past them and ran out of the door. I put my sax down and followed the figure.

In the faint light I could see it was Mitarai and he was running down the corridor, which was wet from the rain. The building had open-air corridors. I looked beyond him and could see Namura running as well, in the corridor that went to the right. Mitarai, who was following Namura, turned right too. I finally reached them at the end of that same corridor. The corridors of the building were shaped like the letter T, and we were all now at the end of the long vertical bar of the T, facing north. Aka and Puff caught up with us.

“What's the matter?” Mitarai asked Namura, as Itoi and Asami also joined us.

“But...” The salesman was breathing heavily as he leant over the railing at the end of the corridor and looked down at the street below. His back was completely wet because of the rain. “There are no emergency stairs here...” he exclaimed in surprise. Mitarai and I looked down, following his gaze.

Because of the power failure everything was in darkness, making the street below almost impossible to see. I could just vaguely make out the roof of a white car parked down there.

“But I’m sure I saw Mr. Kubo run down here and climb over this railing...” said the salesman. “I think I saw him jump over, so I assumed there must be emergency stairs here. But there aren’t, so where did he go?” His face was pale.

Despite the power failure in the building, the far-off mercury-vapor streetlights were still on, and I could just make out the expression on Namura’s face.

“There aren’t any emergency stairs in this corridor,” said Itoi. The storm made it hard to understand what he was saying. “There aren’t any in front of my apartment either. There’s only one emergency stairwell, and it’s in the west corridor. You have to go back along this corridor and turn right. Maybe Mr. Kubo thought there was one here too when he jumped...”

“Which would suggest...?” prompted Mitarai.

“That he might’ve jumped to his death!”

We ran quickly back to the elevator at the intersection of the three corridors. I pushed the button to call the elevator, but it wouldn’t come up. Then we remembered there had been a power failure, so we ran down the stairs adjacent to the elevator.

It was a long way from the eleventh floor down to the first floor. When we finally got to the bottom, we ran out into the rain, not caring about getting soaked. We headed for the area we had looked down on from the eleventh floor several minutes earlier.

We turned the corner and looked anxiously about. Nothing except a white car.

Somewhere in the distance the streets lights were on, so we weren’t in complete darkness. There definitely wasn’t a body there or any sign of blood.

“This is weird...” Namura, shouting because of the storm, was white as a sheet. “What’s going on here!?” He wasn’t putting on a performance. He really was in a panic.

Mitarai was standing in the rain, looking up at the railing on the eleventh floor. I followed his example, but I couldn’t see any dead bodies hanging from anywhere. The rain was coming down furiously.

“Let’s get back to dry shelter.”

All of us except Namura followed Mitarai back to the side of the building, where we could shelter under the corridor above. But the salesman had stopped worrying about getting wet, and was crawling around on the asphalt, despite being lashed by the rain.

It was a mystifying sight. He peered under the white sedan that was parked there, then stood up to peer inside at the driver’s seat through the window.

“Is that your car?” yelled Mitarai.

“Yes!” shouted Namura.

Just at that moment we heard the sound of a train slamming on its brakes. It was on the elevated railway across the road. Namura got to his feet and looked up towards the noise.

Mitarai went out into the rain again and I did the same. The railway was very high above street level, so we could only see its roof. For some reason, the train had stopped away from the station with its lights on. A motionless target for the rain.

Mitarai went back to dry shelter and I followed. Namura, who had apparently also given up, joined us.

“Well anyway, it appears there are no dead bodies lying around here,” observed Mitarai.

“You’re right about that,” replied Namura.

“Let’s go back upstairs.”

“Yes. We’ll all catch cold like this!” cried Asami.

“There’s one thing I want to clear up first,” said Mitarai. Turning to Namura, he asked: “When we were up in the apartment, you shouted Mr. Kubo’s name from the balcony and he then ran into the room. What happened between the two of you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Why should I talk to you? You’re not the police,” replied the salesman coldly.

“Suit yourself. Let’s go back in then, before we catch cold.”

We ran back to the stairwell and slowly climbed the stairs back up to the eleventh floor. Initially, Namura wasn’t able to let things go and stayed out in the rain for a while. But he soon came running after us.

We went back into the living room, which was now full of candles, and dried ourselves in front of the heater.

“So...?” asked Mitarai’s friend Ishioka. Mitarai explained what had happened.

“Anyway, we need to call the police first,” Mr. Itoi interrupted, and his wife nodded. “Because, whatever else happened, Kubo did steal the pearl necklace.”

He picked up the receiver and called the police. I picked up the sheet of paper which had been used for the magic trick.

The watches and the ring had all been returned to their rightful owners. I put the flame of the candle close to the sheet of paper and saw that the surface was wet.

“That’s really strange,” said Ishioka after Mitarai had finished his story.

I put the paper back on the table and looked at my watch. It was twenty past ten.

Suddenly, the phone rang. I was still a bit dazed and was surprised that the telephone was working during the power failure. Mrs. Itoi quickly hurried to answer it.

“Hello. Itoi speaking.”

I saw, despite the dim light of the candles, that everyone was listening intently to Mrs. Itoi.

“Yes... yes... That’s right. He was here until a few minutes ago. What? Whaaat!? Yes... yes...”

The tone of Mrs. Itoi’s voice had changed completely. There was obviously something very wrong. Everyone grew tense and leant forward to hear better.

“Yes, I understand. We’ll do that. Yes. Until then.”

Itoi couldn’t wait for his wife to put down the receiver before he asked loudly: “What’s the matter?”

His wife put the receiver down slowly before answering: “Mr. Kubo... has committed suicide.”

“What!?” everyone cried out. “Where!?”

“On the railway. He jumped in front of a train.”

The only railway in the neighborhood was the elevated railway, so jumping in front of a train was not as easy as it sounded.

“Was it from Asakusabashi Station? From the platform?” asked her husband.

“No, they said it was on the rails closer to us here. Very close. Right across from us, in fact.”

“Was Kubo walking along the tracks?” asked Itoi, cocking his head.

“How did they know to call here?” asked Namura.

“He had a note in his pocket with our telephone number on it.”

Everyone seemed satisfied by that explanation.

“They want someone to identify the body. They say that anyone who can should come to Asakusabashi Station immediately,” said Mrs. Itoi. She turned pale at the thought of having to identify a body that had been run over by a train.

At that moment, the memory of a train slamming on the brakes in the rain came back to me. A train had stopped in the rain, all the way up above us on an elevated railway. Could it possibly have been...?!

4

Not all of us went to Asakusabashi Station. The women stayed behind, as did Puff, Ishioka, the critic Önuki, and I, just in case.

After a long wait, I heard the turn of the lock and the front door opened. The door had been locked from the inside. It appeared that Itoi had left the apartment with his key. Because of the storm, we had hardly noticed him putting the key in the lock. Those who had gone to see the body barged in, illuminated by the candlelight. Itoi and Namura didn’t look very well.

“It was like a nightmare,” said Itoi to his wife in a somber voice. “A body that’s been run over is a horrible thing to see.”

“Was it in bad shape? I suppose there were wounds everywhere,” said Önuki.

“It was falling apart, and completely drenched in mud. It was really terrible,” answered Itoi, and he looked at everyone who had stayed behind.

“And you’re sure it was Mr. Kubo?” queried Önuki, accompanied by nods from the others.

“It was definitely Mr. Kubo,” replied Mitarai. He seemed to be the only one unshaken. Was he used to seeing dead bodies? What a mysterious man.

“And the necklace?” asked Mrs. Itoi immediately.

“It was in his pocket. They say they’ll return it tomorrow. It was completely intact,” said Itoi, and his wife looked relieved.

Aka turned to me and whispered: “Mr. Kubo was bald. That’s why he was always wearing that woollen hat.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but he wasn’t wearing it just now. His body looked really awful, though. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen someone who’s been run over. It really makes you feel sick to your stomach.”

“Uuurgh.” I was glad I hadn’t seen it.

“Did Mr. Kubo jump in front of the train of his own free will?” asked Puff.

“It seems as though it didn’t quite happen like that. It happened at a spot where the water had built up, and he was lying there. So they didn’t see him in time. The engineer himself thought it was just a puddle of water, so he was going straight at it and, by the time he put on the brakes, it was already too late. It happened at thirteen minutes past ten.”

The critic started to talk loudly then, so we kept silent.

“Well then, I assume that’s the end of it? It’s a damn shame what happened to Kubo, but he was a thief. There’s no need for us to be sad for him. And the necklace is also safe. So everything is okay now.”

“Actually, it’s not,” said Mitarai suddenly He was sitting on a sofa. “A very peculiar problem has now arisen.”

“A peculiar problem? What kind of problem?” asked Aka, turning to Mitarai. Itoi and the salesman followed suit. Soon everyone was looking at Mitarai.

It was Mitarai’s turn to look surprised: “What? Doesn’t anyone think it’s odd?”

Nobody said anything. What was supposed to be odd?

“Kubo jumped into the room here, grabbed the necklace and went out of the door at the same time that the wall clock over there struck ten o’clock,” said Mitarai.

I remembered it in detail now he mentioned it. Just as the clock started to strike, I’d heard Namura shout, “Hey, Mr. Kubo!” from the balcony at our backs. And, before the clock had finished striking ten times, the glass balcony doors had opened fully and Kubo had entered the room.

“It was during our performance and I was the only one playing an electric instrument, so I went silent the moment the power failure occurred. That’s why I remembered the time. The power failure happened at exactly three minutes to ten.

“And at thirteen minutes past ten, Kubo was run over by the train, according to the engineer. He’s confident about the time because he testified that the train left Asakusabashi Station at eleven minutes past the hour.

“Besides which, we were all outside at ten thirteen and we heard the sudden braking ourselves. The body was run over high above us, on the elevated railway. There’s no way to climb up to there from the road. Which means that after Kubo stormed out of this room, he must have gone to Asakusabashi Station, past the ticket gates, and onto the platform. From there, he must have jumped down onto the rails and walked back along the tracks all the way to where he was run over.”

Everyone nodded. That’s what must have happened.

“Kubo was here with us until ten o’clock. He was run over at thirteen minutes past. That means he must have covered the route I explained just now in thirteen minutes. But a moment ago it took us ten minutes just to get to Asakusabashi Station from here.”

Everyone opened their mouths in surprise.

“All kinds of things are flying around now in the storm, so he wouldn’t have gone by car,” added Mitarai.

He was right. I remembered it had taken me about fifteen minutes to get to the Itois’ apartment. It had seemed quite far at the time.

“Couldn’t he have used a car anyway?” asked Aka.

“No. Kubo came here by train and I once heard him say at Zig-Zag that he didn’t have a license.”

“By taxi, perhaps?” suggested Asami.

“They don’t go out in storms like this,” replied Ishioka.

“What if he ran as fast as he could? Couldn’t he have reached the station in half the time, say six minutes and thirty seconds?” suggested Itoi.

“Impossible,” said Aka. “Maybe an Olympic champion might do it, but Mr. Kubo was over forty. He’d need to get through the ticket gates and run up the stairs to the platform. No way he could have done that.”

“So it’s impossible?”

“I actually did once run from here all the way to the station. I was trying to catch a train which was due to leave in seven minutes. I ran as hard as I could from the elevator downstairs to the station,” explained Aka.

“And did you make it?”

“I barely managed to get on the train.”

“Well then!”

“But that was a one-way trip. I was all out of breath when I got on the train. Mr. Kubo would’ve needed to run the same distance back in this direction, right? I wouldn’t have been able to do that. I only managed to reach the train because I knew the station was my final destination.”

“You’re twenty-three, so I guess there’s no way that Mr. Kubo, who’s over forty, could have done it in time.”

“But Mr. Kubo was planning to commit suicide anyway, so he might have pushed himself beyond what was good for his heart.” It was Önuki who had come up with that crazy idea.

“But why did he bother to run all the way back along the railway in this direction?” muttered Mrs. Itoi.

“You’re absolutely right!” said her husband. “He could’ve just jumped in front of any train from the platform.”

“Yes, why would he have needed to get back here?” added Asami.

“But the fact is he did die like that, so that has to be what actually happened. You can’t ignore the facts,” said the critic. “In his last moments, Kubo desperately ran to the place he wished to die and was hit by the train. That’s just something we need to accept.”

“It’s nonsense trying to dream up anything else. I’ve no idea why we even need to discuss it further. The facts are the facts. That’s all there is to it.”

Mitarai looked as though he’d had enough. “You all seem to be forgetting one thing,” he said in exasperation. “The elevator. There was a power failure, so the elevator wasn’t working.”

Everyone opened their mouths in surprise again.

“Oh! You’re right!” said Itoi. “How could we have forgotten? We went down the stairs ourselves. We’re on the eleventh floor here, so by the time we reached the bottom we were already out of breath.”

“It took us about ten minutes to get down those stairs, so it would have taken Kubo at least five minutes. No matter how fast he was, the stairs alone would have taken five minutes,” said Aka.

“So subtract that and he had eight minutes left,” added Ishioka.

“Four minutes to go one way,” observed Mitarai coolly.

“Then it’s utterly impossible,” declared Itoi. “Even if Kubo had been an Olympic athlete, he wouldn’t have been able to run to the place where he died in time. That’s the only possible conclusion.”

“But what does that mean?” muttered Ishioka. Önuki remained silent.

“There’s another impossibility,” continued Mitarai. “Mr. Namura here says he saw Mr. Kubo run towards the northern corridor of the building. And he said that he saw him climb over the railing at the end of that corridor, and disappear. Am I right?”

“Yes, I’m fairly sure that’s what I saw.”

“So we thought that Mr. Kubo had mistakenly assumed there were emergency stairs there. But when we went down to look, there was no body there.”

“So Kubo jumped from the corridor on the eleventh floor and disappeared in midair,” said Ishioka.

“Precisely. It’s shaping up to be an excellent mystery, my dear Ishioka.”

So saying, Mitarai rubbed his hands in glee.

We discussed for a while whether it was possible to climb up to the elevated railway from the road. But we concluded that it was impossible. The elevated railway was high, probably three stories. And it wasn’t just a high wall; it had been built especially so people wouldn’t be able to climb it. Even a veteran mountain climber wouldn’t have been able to scale it.

Around midnight, the police called again, saying they would be there the next day and nobody was to leave. We were all forced to stay in the Itois’ apartment. Luckily, the next day was Sunday and the Itois had enough rooms to accommodate us.

“Why aren’t we allowed to go home? The case is over, isn’t it? We had nothing to do with Kubo’s suicide,” Namura said to Mr. Itoi, who had answered the call from the police. Itoi had been very pensive following the phone call. Now he chose his words carefully as he answered Namura’s nagging questions.

“Hmm, it appears it wasn’t exactly as you say. Up until now, I’d assumed Kubo had jumped in front of the train of his own free will...”

“You mean he didn’t!?” asked his wife.

“No, they told me it wasn’t like that.”

“What do you mean?” queried Önuki.

“There were strangulation marks around Kubo’s neck.”

“What!?” exclaimed Asami. “So you mean, he was...?”

“Yes, the police say he appears to have been murdered.”

“So Mr. Kubo ran desperately all the way to that place after he died?”

Aka’s strange joke made me shudder. But Mitarai, who was standing in a corner of the room, appeared to be trembling in sheer joy.

“Bah, that’s impossible!” retorted the critic, ever pragmatic. “There’s no way a dead man can run and jump in front of a train. He might have strangulation marks around his neck, but that doesn’t mean he was strangled to death. Someone attempted to strangle him, but Kubo wasn’t killed then. That’s all there is to it.”

“Do you really think so?”

Everyone fell silent.

“Anyway, there’s a possibility of murder, so I guess that makes all of us suspects. That’s why we can’t leave here.”

5

I spent the night rolled up on the carpet in Itoi’s study. The following morning, I awoke earlier than the others, and went into the living room. Mitarai was sleeping peacefully on the sofa. I peered at his unshaven face. It didn’t look as though he would be up soon.

After a while, everyone else was up. From the kitchen, I could hear Asami say the power was back on.

We sipped from the coffee she had made and it became breakfast time. Everyone was silent. I was sure the death of Kubo was on everybody’s mind.

We sat waiting expectantly for the police to arrive and then it became lunchtime. Again the Itois fed us. And after lunch we waited again, supplied with cups of coffee, all except Mitarai and Ishioka who preferred tea.

I went outside onto the balcony and saw it had started raining again. The wind was not as strong as during yesterday’s storm, so this time the rain did reach the balcony.

At three o’clock we were treated to tea and Japanese snacks. Eat and wait, eat and wait. When were these cops going to come? When would we be released? The guests were all starting to get jittery.

“How long are we supposed to stay like this?” squawked Önuki hysterically. “I have an article I need to work on back home. Who cares about those stupid cops? Can’t one of us be the great detective and solve the case? I guess nobody here is smart enough for that, eh?”

“Mr. Namura, can’t you use your supernatural powers?” asked Asami. Namura blinked and got up from the sofa.

“I can’t refuse you anything. Let me explain my ideas about the events. I’ve already demonstrated that I have some affinity with the supernatural. My powers allow me to tell you at least one thing with certainty. The number seven has a strange link with this case.”

Everyone was impressed. But as I listened to him, I started to get a bad feeling about it.

“Asami chose the number seven last night during our supernatural game. The necklace Kubo stole was given the number seven. And the song our guitarist played last night so stupidly loud was ‘Beyond the Seventh Galaxy.’ Sevens appearing everywhere.

“The supernatural often points to the answer through these repeated coincidences. The necklace Kubo had in his pocket was the seventh ringlike object. Don’t you agree this all appears to be pointing to someone involved in the crime, like in a dying message? So that means that...”

“Shut up!” shouted Puff. “There’s only so far you can stretch things. We were here playing our instruments, remember?”

Namura had been hinting at our band, The Seven Rings.

“Really? Near the end, I don’t think I could hear your drums anymore.”

I remembered the little fight on the balcony between Puff and Kubo. Could it be...?!

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Mrs. Itoi got up to answer it. She opened the door and I heard brief talk, after which a man in a raincoat entered, followed by two others in police uniform.

The man in the raincoat was obviously the detective, but he didn’t look the part. He wore a beret and black-rimmed glasses. He was short, with a middle-age spread. He looked like an artist.

He stood in front of us, with the two uniformed men beside him. We looked at him apprehensively.

“Sorry for making you wait. I’m Kato of the First Division,” said the detective, pulling the inevitable black police notebook from his pocket and showing us his identification. He didn’t take his hat off.

“I’ll have to ask each of you about the details of the case. There are some things that we don’t yet understand. We’re going to sit over there by the heater, so I’ll have to ask you to move somewhere else. It’d be a great help if you could tell me what we need to know one by one.”

He took off his coat as he spoke. He had a peculiar way of speaking for someone from Tokyo. Almost like a storyteller. We followed his instructions and the individual questionings took an hour in total.

“Hmmm.” The detective muttered after he’d taken down all the depositions. “So Kubo stepped into the room from the balcony and stole the necklace at precisely ten o’clock. You’re sure about that?”

We all nodded confidently. Kato bit his lip, put a large hand to his forehead, and started to think deeply. I could read from his lips: “This can’t be.” He’d discovered the same problem we’d discussed last night: the problem of the running corpse.

In any case, we’d had nothing to do with it. At least, that was the way I looked at it. If the man had been strangled, there was no way the murderer was one of us. Kubo had left the apartment alive. If he’d been strangled, then it must have happened outside, which meant someone outside our group must have done it.

But it was still a strange story. The elevator hadn’t been working at the time, so it was impossible for Kubo to have made it to the place where he died in time, even if he’d run as hard as he could. Where would he have found the time to get strangled as well?

“Well, anyway, it doesn’t seem as though I can just let you all go,” said the detective, getting to his feet.

“But you can’t do that!” Namura was the first to speak up. “I have to go to work early tomorrow.”

“I object as well! I have unfinished manuscripts piling up. I need to go home fast and start working on them,” protested Önuki.

I looked at Mitarai, who was standing close by. It didn’t appear he needed to be anywhere fast. He had his eyes closed and seemed about to doze off.

“Damn,” I whispered to Puff, who standing next to me.

“What’s the matter?” Puff looked angry as he asked me. He was still holding a grudge over Namura’s accusation.

“They’re showing a Chick Corea concert live today on NHK at six. At this rate, I’ll miss it.”

I looked around, but couldn’t find a TV in our birdcage. Hearing about the concert, Puff clicked his tongue.

“You. Are you sure about that?” We turned around to see who’d spoken. It was Mitarai. He was finally awake.

“Err, yes,” I answered.

“At six?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the time now?”

“Four.”

The expression on Mitarai’s face suddenly turned grave, graver than when he’d been talking about the dead body.

“That means we only have two hours left. I guess I’ll have to do this, given that it’s an emergency.”

He called out to the detective, who was heading for the door.

“Excuse me! Mr. Detective! Errr, do you need to know who the murderer is?”

He stopped in his tracks and turned round. He looked surprised, as if he didn’t know how to react to such a question. He smiled wryly.

“Is this some sort ofjoke?” he asked.

“I have some business to attend to, so I’ll tell you who the murderer is. Do you have your handcuffs with you?”

The detective seemed to be quite willing to play along. Without saying a word, he pulled a metallic object out of his pocket and held it up high.

“As you can see, I carry these essentials of police work everywhere I go. Let’s hear what you have to say. Who am I supposed to arrest?”

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Mrs. Itoi started to get up, but there was no need for it. The door opened and another young detective wearing a coat entered. He looked at Kato and then took a vinyl bag with a brown envelope inside from his pocket.

“Mrs. Itoi, this is the stolen property we found on the victim. Your necklace. Could you please check?”

Mrs. Itoi got up quickly and took the envelope out of the bag. She held it upside down and caught the contents in her other hand.

“Oh!” she cried out.

The detectives looked at her in surprise.

“This isn’t the necklace!” she screamed.

“It isn’t?” Kato said.

“I mean, it’s my necklace, but it’s my jade necklace. It’s worth much more than the necklace which was stolen. It was in the chest of drawers in my bedroom, but that man stole it as well... I can’t believe it.”

“A jade necklace?” cried Namura in surprise.

“So you thought that he’d stolen a different necklace?” asked the detective.

“Yes, I thought he’d stolen my pearl necklace. Was there a pearl necklace in Mr. Kubo’s pocket?”

“No,” replied the detective.

Mitarai was trembling in his seat with glee. As Kato’s gaze fell on him, he stuck out his right hand and declared theatrically: “And there you have it.”

6

Mitarai got up from his seat and leaned against the back of it.

“I’m in a hurry, so I’ll explain everything quickly. It’s obvious who the murderer is, so I’ll only explain how it was done.”

“Wa-wait, what do you mean? I’ve no idea who the murderer is,” said the detective.

“The salesman over there, of course.”

Namura opened his eyes wide in surprise and jumped up.

“Wa-wait a minute! Me? Why? Are you crazy? I’ve been here in this room the whole time!”

“Sorry, but I don’t have time to listen to your stories. These policemen will be kind enough to listen to you later. Anyway, I’ll explain my thought process. Last night, salesman Namura did his fake supernatural act, and collected seven objects that could fetch a good price...”

“What? That was fake!?” asked Asami.

Mitarai looked as though he was getting really irritated.

“Could you stop interrupting me with these obvious questions? I just don’t have the time now. Ishioka, can you explain that kindergarten magic trick?”

“That was fake?” asked Ishioka.

Mitarai rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

“We won’t make it back in time like this! There’s no need for any explanation. She writes something on that page torn out of a notebook. Our mentalist here had a piece of paper rolled in exactly the same way hidden on his body from the start. When the paper ball fell on the floor, he picked it up for her and switched them. As he was pretending to get divine messages, he was actually spreading out the piece of paper on his knee to see what she had written.”

Ah! Now I understood why he’d thrown the first page away. If you’d folded it over several times, the size of the ball would be slightly different because of the missing corner.

“Anyway, the reason why he performed that little game and gathered those objects together was because he’d been planning to steal the most valuable ones from the start.

“So how was he going to steal them? Considering all that’s happened, there’s only one way in which he could’ve done that. He’d cause a power failure and use that time to steal what he wanted. Right from under our noses.

“And this, of course, would have to be a team effort. I suspect the plan was that his partner Kubo would wait for the perfect time to go to the toilet and then cause a power failure by shutting down the circuit breaker. That was the plan at least.

“But you won’t get away with it if you hide the stolen goods in your pocket, because you might get searched. So our team needed to transport the spoils to a safe place as swiftly as possible. I thought about how this might be done.

“I noticed something interesting. This building is shaped like a T, and while the corridors have railings, they are open-air corridors. This room is located on the left side of the T. And our salesman had parked his car down at the end of the vertical bar of the T. And furthermore, when he entered the living room from the balcony in pursuit of Kubo, his body was wet all over. That’s when I realized...”

Everyone was waiting in silence to hear what he’d realized.

“I realized he must have tied a rope in advance between the railing at the end of the corridor of the vertical bar of the T, and the eastern side of the balcony of this very apartment. He had to prepare that during the storm, which is why he was late to arrive yesterday. It’s simpler if I draw it.”

Mitarai drew a diagram on the sheet of paper Namura had used for his supernatural performance.

“Let’s call the balcony of this room A, and the end of the vertical bar of the T-corridor B. He looped the rope around the railing at point B and dragged the two ends along with him to just outside the Itois’ apartment. The corridors of the building are exposed, which helped quite a bit.

“I imagine he then tied a weight to the two ends and threw it over to balcony A while standing in front of the Itois’ door. It might have made a noise, but there was a storm going on anyway. He could get rid of the weight at any time by throwing it in the river.

“His plan was, once he’d laid his hands on the loot, to think of some excuse — something he’s very good at — to get out on the balcony. Once he was out there, he’d attach the necklace to the rope and let everything fly from the balcony. The weighted rope would swing like a pendulum at first, but the loot on the end would finish up close to his car, which he had conveniently parked beneath point B. I suspect that, if the apartment had been in another part of the building, he would simply have hung a rope down from the balcony with the necklace at the end and collected them later. But because there was a river right beneath the balcony instead of hard ground, he had to think of something else. That’s why he decided to have it fly to a point below B and set up that looped rope.

“If he’d had a chance to put the idea into action, he’d be safe no matter how thoroughly the police searched him or the apartment. He could simply think of an excuse to go down to his car. Once he was below point B, he could hide the necklace in his car. By pulling on one end of the rope, he could retrieve that as well and, once he’d hidden that, the job would’ve been finished.

“And that is why I was quite interested in admiring his supernatural experiment. I was very curious as to his talents. But, contrary to my expectations, the experiment ended peacefully and neither the necklace nor the Cartier watch had been stolen. There had been no power failure, and Kubo had come back into to the living room without having done anything, like a politician visiting a disaster area.

“I thought things over, considering the possibility that I’d just imagined things, but then I saw the surprised look on the face of our psychic here, and I knew he was very angry. Kubo had betrayed him. He hadn’t shut down the circuit breaker.

“I hoped that Kubo had betrayed Namura because he believed that justice should always prevail. But it was nothing that admirable. Kubo had got his hands on something that was worth much more than the pearl necklace, and he wanted to keep it for himself. To be honest, I hadn’t thought of that possibility. It was at that point that we started our little music performance.

“But the salesman wasn’t about to let his partner get away with it. On the balcony he asked Kubo why he hadn’t done his part as agreed, and they started arguing. The fight between the two thieves must have been even more violent than a Parent-Teacher Association meeting. In an uncontrollable rage, the salesman strangled his partner.

“When he came to his senses, he realised he was in a bad situation. Naturally, he couldn’t simply leave the body lying on the balcony. Should he throw it down into the river? But everyone knew the two of them had gone out onto the balcony, so he’d obviously be the prime suspect. What to do?

“At that moment he was struck by divine inspiration. There was the rope he’d prepared to transport the stolen goods. He could tie Kubo’s body to one of the rope ends and tether the other to the balcony at A. Then he would launch the body off the balcony. After a few swings, the body would be hanging down from point B. By pulling on the rope from where he was at A, he could haul the body up to the eleventh floor and then give the rope a good shake. The rope would loosen and Kubo’s body would fall all the way down to the ground. He could retrieve the rope by pulling it back past B to A, and then throw it away in the river. It would appear as though Kubo had jumped from the eleventh floor of his own accord and there would be no evidence to contradict that assumption.

“Namura thought this was a brilliant plan. Excited, he removed Kubo’s hat. If he’d known his partner had stolen the jade necklace he could have pocketed that as well. Be that as it may, he removed the hat and started executing his plan. It was lucky he and Kubo had been wearing similar-colored suits. Company employees all dress more or less the same. Their height was also similar. He could pass for Kubo in the dark, if he wore his hat. We were busy playing our instruments, so we weren’t likely to go out on the balcony anytime soon.

“But his brilliant scheme didn’t go according to plan. After he’d thrown the body off the balcony and the rope had started to swing, he suddenly couldn’t feel the weight of Kubo’s body anymore through the rope. He had only tied a very loose knot around the body, so he could untie it just by shaking the rope.

“Just at that moment, a power line somewhere broke, and the whole apartment building was hit by a power failure. Namura couldn’t see for himself where Kubo’s body had gone, but he figured that it must have been lying somewhere below B, near his car. He untied the rope from the balcony and, after it disappeared into the river, he moved on to the next part of his plan.

“Namura put on Kubo’s hat and ran across the living room. He wanted to make it seem as if Kubo were still alive at that point. He planned to make it look as though Kubo had then run along the corridor and jumped off the eleventh floor at point B.

“To complete the deception, he’d shouted out Kubo’s name from the balcony before he ran into the room. He decided to take the pearl necklace with him, which had been the original plan, and ran out of the door.

“We’d been absorbed in our music act, so we hadn’t fully realized what had happened and did not follow him at once.

“After he’d gone out of the door, our salesman here then climbed onto the railing in front of the apartment, and daringly jumped back to the eastern side of the balcony, to point A. He would’ve died if he had failed, but it was the only way. His standing here before us is proof he succeeded.

“After he’d landed safely on the balcony, Namura threw Kubo’s hat into the river and entered the room again, this time as himself. He’d been out on the balcony for a long time now, so he was probably soaked. I suspect he wiped his face with a handkerchief, but his whole body was wet. But the power failure had led to total darkness, and nobody noticed his appearance. I did notice it later after we’d gone out into the corridor.

“Anyway, when he came back into the living room, he pretended as if he didn’t know anything and asked us what had happened. And then he put on a wonderful acting performance. He chased after an imaginary Kubo, and he ran to point B, the corridor, exactly as planned.

“Just to remind you, he was assuming at this point that Kubo’s body was lying right beneath B. That is why he told us that he’d seen Kubo climb over the railing and jump.

“We then hurried downstairs. But there was not a sign of Kubo to be found there.

“Namura, of course, was the one who was the most surprised by that. He was the one who searched hardest for the dead body, with a look on his face as if he’d seen a ghost.

“So where did the body go? Remember it had been loosely tied in order to permit shaking it loose once it had been hauled up to the eleventh floor. The storm was still raging violently and the winds were very strong. It had swung past the point below B and, just as it reached the end of its upward swing, the rope released the body. Instead of swinging back down, it continued on the same trajectory, and flew up to the elevated railway, which was only three floors above the street. That’s the explanation of the miraculous phenomenon of Kubo seeming to have disappeared in midair on his way down from the eleventh-floor corridor.

“Having failed to find any trace of the body near his car, and having heard the train above us suddenly brake, Namura eventually realized what must have happened.

“The train engineer testified that there was a puddle of water exactly where Kubo landed and that he ran over the body because he hadn’t been able to see it. And, because Kubo’s body had been run over by a train, nobody noticed the impact bruises caused by it flying off the rope and landing on the rails. Kubo wasn’t wearing his hat because Namura had needed it in the apartment. It’s now somewhere in Tokyo Bay.

“Namura hid the pearl necklace in his car after we’d gone back up to the apartment. So Mrs. Itoi, don’t be distressed. The pearl necklace is safe and sound in the car.

“That’s about it. Because of a combination of circumstances, a corpse managed to run. I hope you’re satisfied because I have to go home and watch TV.

“Mr. Detective, what are you staring at? Put your handcuffs on this man before he flees. He’s a crafty one.”

Kato went over to Namura and put the cuffs on him. The salesman had apparently given up. He said nothing and didn’t resist.

Mitarai retrieved his coat and prepared to leave. We sat there in silent awe.

“Who are you? Could you tell me your name again?” asked Kato.

“Mitarai. I already explained how to write my name. You can also ask Mr. Itoi. Ishioka, let’s go!”

“Wait. Why didn’t you say anything until now? You’ve known everything since yesterday,” said the inspector.

“Unlike everyone else here, I have a lot of free time. So I was thinking the whole time about whether I couldn’t give this story an interesting ending. And then Namura looked as though he wanted to get away fast. And then I found out Chick Corea would be on at six, so I didn’t have time anymore.”

“I’d like to talk to you again. On a day when you’re not watching television. Where do you live?”

“Ask one of the people here.”

“When can we meet?”

“Whenever you have a case that’s more complex than today’s.”

Mitarai put his coat on. Ishioka quickly followed after him.

“Wait! When did you know it was me? When? What did I do wrong?” Namura cried out. Mitarai turned back at the door, wearing his customary nonchalant expression.

“Excellent. I admire your attitude. Learn from this lesson and next time will go better.”

“Well, you didn’t do anything wrong in particular, but you shouldn’t have told that story about the sevens. It was as if you were pointing to yourself.”

“Why?”

It was Natsuki Namura who asked the question, but we all wanted to know.

“Take the first two letters of your given name and surname.”

I quickly thought of his name. Natsuki Namura. Na. Na. Nana. “Seven” in Japanese! I see!

I looked up, but he wasn’t there anymore. I saw the door slowly closing.

Namura had been correct. The supernatural does often point to the answer through coincidences.

© 2017 by Shimada Söji; translation © 2017 Ho-Ling Wong and John Pugmire