Inspector Imanishi Investigates

NINE Groping

Yoshimura had asked Imanishi to guide him to the spot where Miyata had died.

“This is the place,” Imanishi said.

“I see.” Yoshimura looked where Imanishi pointed. “The bus stop is right over there, isn’t it?” Yoshimura asked. In fact, passengers were getting off a bus that had stopped not three feet from where they stood. “The theory that Miyata was waiting for the bus is a possibility.”

“That’s true. Oh, yes, Yoshimura,” Imanishi said, thinking of something, “would you ask the conductor the exact times buses stop here around eight o’clock at night?”

Yoshimura ran for the bus and asked the conductor. He came back as the bus pulled away.

“There’s a bus to Seijo at seven-forty,” Yoshimura said. “At eight o’clock the bus for Kichijoji goes by, and ten minutes later another bus for Seijo. Then nothing for about twenty minutes until the bus from Chitose Karasuyama passes through on the way to Seijo. After that buses in both directions come by at twenty-minute intervals. So a bus comes by here every ten minutes or so.”

Imanishi listened to this and muttered, “They come quite often, don’t they?” He continued, “Miyata died at about eight o’clock. If we assume that he was waiting near the bus stop, his heart attack must have occurred during the ten-minute span between buses. It’s not certain that the buses in both directions pass by at exactly those intervals, so there is some leeway. But in any case, he couldn’t have been waiting long. If Miyata had his heart attack during the ten-minute wait, he was really unlucky.” Imanishi was thinking out loud.

Yoshimura could not hear him. He was walking across the field near the road.

“Imanishi-san,” Yoshimura called out, bending over. “Look at this.” Yoshimura pointed to the ground. In the grass there was a piece of paper some four inches square, torn, with ragged edges.

“What could it be?” Imanishi picked it up.

“It looks like a list of figures,” Yoshimura said, peering over Imanishi’s shoulder.

The sheet of paper listed the following:

Total Amounts of Unemployment Insurance Disbursed

1949 --

1950 --

1951 --

1952 --

1953 25,404

– -

– -

1954 35,522

– -

– -

– -

1955 30,834

– -

– -

1956 24,362

– -

– -

1957 27,435

1958 28,431

– -

– -

1959 28,438

– -

It appeared that this sheet of paper was one section of a larger report that had been torn apart.

“I wonder if there’s someone in this area interested in these figures?”

“Maybe someone from the Labor Ministry lives around here,” Imanishi responded.

The statistics were of little interest to the two men, but the piece of paper had been dropped about ten yards from where Miyata had collapsed.

“I wonder how long this paper has been here?” Yoshimura said.

“It’s not very dirty, Yoshimura. When did it rain last?”

“I’m quite sure it rained four or five days ago.”

“Then this paper was dropped after that. It hasn’t been rained on.”

“Miyata died three days ago. Could it be from about that time?”

“I wonder,” Imanishi thought. “I can’t imagine why Miyata would be carrying around something like this.”

“Should we ask at the Avant-Garde Theater just to be sure? It might be a prop for a play or a part of a script.”

In response to Yoshimura’s suggestion, Imanishi said, “It could also be a piece of paper blown here by the wind.”

“Yes, sir. I think we should take that possibility into account.”

“You suspect that someone other than Miyata dropped this?”

“Yes,” Yoshimura answered. “I’m speculating that someone Miyata knew might have written these statistics down, someone who was interested in labor relations.”

“Then you think that person might have been here with Miyata?”

“Maybe. Or Miyata may have been given that piece of paper and had it in his pocket. When he collapsed, it may have fallen out. Then later the wind blew it over here. That’s another possibility.”

Imanishi laughed. “It’s probably unrelated. Miyata wouldn’t have been given something like this. It would have been of no interest to him. But your idea that there might have been someone with Miyata is interesting.”

Imanishi looked the piece of paper over again.

“I wonder what this is?” he asked, pointing to a figure. “See, this chart starts at 1949. But for 1949,1950,1951, and 1952, there are no numbers.”

“That must be because those numbers were unnecessary, or unclear, one or the other.”

“I can see that. But look at this. Between 1953 and 1954, here, there are two lines drawn. And between 1954 and 1955 there are three lines. There are no notations of the year before these lines. What do these blanks mean?”

“I wonder.” Yoshimura was craning his neck to look at the piece of paper. “I can’t figure it out. I wonder if a different number is supposed to fit there. For example, maybe they intended to put in the number of insured people or the number of people receiving insurance?”

“If that’s the case, you’d think those categories would be filled in, but they’re not. It may be that this is a reminder to the person who wrote down these figures.”

“The handwriting isn’t good, is it?”

“Right, it’s not. It looks like a junior high school student wrote it. But these days even college graduates have terrible handwriting.”

“What shall we do with it?”

“Well, it might be of some use later. I’ll keep it.”

Imanishi placed the piece of paper in his pocket.

“Sorry to have had to drag you all the way out to a place like this,” Imanishi said to Yoshimura. Apologizing for inconveniencing even a younger colleague was natural to Imanishi.

“I don’t mind. It’s better for me to have seen it. I’m glad I came along,” Yoshimura was equally polite.

The two men walked back to the bus stop.

Imanishi returned to police headquarters and sat, staring absent-mindedly for a while. Then he went to the Public Information Department.

“Are you wrapped up in another complicated investigation?” the section chief asked Imanishi.

“I’d like to find out something about ‘musique concrete,’ ” Imanishi said seriously.

“What on earth is that?” The section chief looked at Imanishi, baffled.

“Apparently, it’s some kind of music. Do you have something that I could look it up in?”

“Last time it was dialects, and now music.” Shaking his head, the section chief stood up and brought out a reference book. “There must be something in this.”

Imanishi opened the thick volume. He read the small print of the encyclopedia and soon closed it. The article was full of difficult terminology, and it was hard for him to take it in. He could tell that it must be a very complicated form of music and that it was different in style from traditional music. However, none of the intricate points was comprehensible to him.

“Thank you very much.” Imanishi returned the heavy volume.

“Did you get the meaning?” the section chief asked.

“No, not very well. It’s a bit over my head.” Imanishi smiled ruefully.

“I’m not surprised. What on earth brought you to this topic?”

“Well, there was something I was thinking about.” Imanishi kept his answer vague and left the room.

He had become curious about all of the members of the Nouveau group. He could not imagine the connection between this group and Miyata Kunio. Yet he was impelled to find out about this “musique concrete.”

That evening Yoshimura called Imanishi who was still at work. “Remember we were wondering why Miyata had gone to Kameda? I’ve got an idea.”

“Really? I’d like to hear it.”

“I thumbed through the newspapers from around the time of the Kamata murder. About three or four days after the murder, articles appeared saying that the police were pursuing a lead, that the murderer and victim had been talking in Tohoku dialect, and that the name Kameda had come up.”

“I see. And?” Imanishi swallowed hard.

“I think these newspaper articles led to Miyata’s going to Kameda. You see, I think that since investigation headquarters was concerned with Kameda and the Tohoku dialect, the murderer thought that Kameda in the Tohoku region would attract the attention of the police. The killer figured out that sooner or later the police would discover a location named Kameda and investigate it. Couldn’t it be that the killer’s aim was to focus attention on that area?”

“Yes, that could be it,” Imanishi shouted into the telephone. “You’ve really hit upon something.”

Yoshimura’s excitement was heightened by Imanishi’s praise. “To keep the attention of the police on Kameda, there had to be something strange happening there. I think that’s what the killer calculated. I think the killer performed a sleight-of-hand trick. He’s not from the Tohoku region. He’s from somewhere else.”

“Then what about Miyata?”

“He was sent by the killer of course. He could have played his role without knowing the reason behind it.”

“Then the killer must have been acquainted with Miyata.”

“He may even have been on close terms with Miyata since he asked him to go there.”

“Thank you,” Imanishi said to Yoshimura. “You’ve come up with a very good point. I’m impressed that you thought of it.”

Yoshimura’s voice sounded a bit embarrassed. “I just happened to think of it. I might be wrong.”

“No, no. You’ve been very helpful.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Let’s get together some time and talk it over.” Yoshimura hung up.

Imanishi pulled out half a cigarette from his desk, stuck it into a battered old bamboo cigarette holder, and lit a match. While he smoked he thought over what Yoshimura had said on the telephone.

It was no doubt as Yoshimura had suggested. He had found out why Miyata had gone to Kameda. This brought the murderer into clearer focus. The murderer knew Miyata; he was not from the Tohoku region, but was from somewhere else.

Miyata had wanted to tell Imanishi about something important. Imanishi had asked Miyata about Rieko’s suicide. But in addition, Miyata might have wanted to talk of another important matter. As he thought, Imanishi made notes on a piece of paper. With his hands on his forehead, he stared at his notes.

Miyata’s death had created a problem. If he had been murdered, there would be clues pointing to his killer. But he died of a heart attack. Those around Miyata had known that his heart was weak, and this fact had been substantiated by the medical examiner. Yet Imanishi’s suspicion of foul play wouldn’t subside. The actor’s death seemed too well timed. But it could be a coincidence. As the coroner had said, heart attacks don’t choose their time and place.

Various theories contended within Imanishi’s head. He thought of Kamedake, an area located in the opposite direction from Tohoku. And yet what had he found there? Nothing. He had not discovered a shred of a motive for the crime.

He considered facts about Naruse Rieko. It had been Rieko who had scattered the bits of the murderer’s bloodstained shirt. She and the murderer must have had a special relationship, and Miyata must have known about it.

When Imanishi returned home, he found that his younger sister was visiting. She and Yoshiko were chatting gaily.

“Good evening, Brother,” she greeted him.

Imanishi changed from his office clothes into a kimono.

“What have you been up to today?” Imanishi said, sitting down in front of his sister, sipping a cup of tea.

“I got some passes to the Nichigeki theater, so I stopped by on my way home.”

“No wonder you look happy. At least you haven’t had a fight with your husband.”

“We haven’t been fighting,” his sister assured him. “You look very tired.”

“I do?”

“Are you busy at work?”

“That’s right.”

“Isn’t this early for you to be home?” Yoshiko asked.

“I must be getting old, I’m exhausted.”

“You should be more careful,” his sister said.

Imanishi felt depressed. He wasn’t able to join his wife and sister’s cheerful chatter. He went into the next room and sat at a small desk. The plain bookcase housed books related to police work. He was not the kind to read novels. Imanishi took out his notebook. Turning the pages, he read over what he had written about his trip to Kamedake. He had written down what he had heard in Kamedake about Miki Ken’ichi’s days as a policeman. There were no dark shadows in Miki’s life, not even a speck of dust that would have caused him to be hated.

Imanishi lay back on the tatami. He folded his arms under his head to form a pillow and looked up at the sooty ceiling. From the next room he could hear Yoshiko and his sister still chatting. The sound of a bus passing by rumbled in his ears. He thought of something and got up and went into the next room.

“Why don’t you sit down and join us?” his sister urged.

“No, I have something I need to do.”

Imanishi took a piece of paper out of the pocket of his suit jacket, which was hanging from a hook.

He returned to the other room with the piece of paper Yoshimura had picked up in the field near where Miyata had died. According to the figures on the scrap of paper, Japan’s unemployment insurance disbursements were steadily rising, indicating that the economic situation was worsening. Nineteen fifty-two was the year after the end of the fighting in the Korean War. The boom in special procurements had ended, forcing the closing of many smaller factories. The rise in unemployment must have been due to that. The figures reflected this. But they had nothing to do with the case.

Yoshimura had suggested that the person who’d made the chart might have been with Miyata. That was possible. At any rate, he would save this piece of paper for the time being. Whether it would end up being useful or not was another matter. Folding it carefully he put it in his notebook.

Yoshiko came to call him to supper. Taro had gone to bed early, so Imanishi ate with his wife and sister.

“I hate to eat and run, but it’s getting late, so I must go home. I’ve been out since morning,” his sister said.

“Then I’ll see you off and go for a walk,” Imanishi said.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“No, I need the walk.”

In fact, he felt wretched. He wanted to walk the evening streets to shake off his bad mood. Yoshiko said she would go as well, so the three of them set off toward the station. When they came to the nearby apartment building, Yoshiko told Imanishi’s sister about the recent suicide.

“That’s a real problem for a landlord,” she said, speaking from her own perspective. “We have a young woman renting from us. I hope she’s all right.”

“Oh, you mean the one who recently moved in?” Yoshiko asked. “Didn’t you say she was a bar hostess?”

“That’s right. She comes home late every night, but she seems to be quite respectable.”

“Do her customers ever see her home?”

“I don’t really know. At least when she comes into the building she’s always alone. Even if she might be a little tipsy, she seems to pull herself together.”

“Even so…”

“Yes, but it’s her job, you know. I hope there’s no trouble. I worry when I hear about things like this suicide.”

They passed under a streetlight.

“You know, though, that hostess is quite admirable,” the sister said. “She reads difficult books.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some sort of theoretical books. Just a couple of days ago I went to her room on an errand and she was clipping something from the paper. I peeked at the article, and it was a music review.”

“Is she musical?”

“No, she said she wasn’t interested in music at all.”

“Then why was she clipping the review?”

“It caught her interest. She let me read it, but I couldn’t make heads or tails of it.”

Imanishi overheard them.

“Was that the review about ‘musique concrete’?” he asked his sister.

“Yes, yes, I think it was. Do you know about it?” His sister was surprised.

“Just a little. But she was reading it even though she said she wasn’t interested in music?”

“Yes, she said the person who wrote the review was a very brilliant, impressive man.”

“Did she mean Sekigawa Shigeo?”

“I’m amazed. How could you know that?”

Imanishi was silent. He wondered if young people in general admired Sekigawa Shigeo that much.

“What difficult books has she?”

“Well, there were two or three books by this Sekigawa.”

“Does this bar hostess read a lot of books?”

“No, not really. She mainly reads popular magazines.”

“What’s her name?”

“It’s Miura Emiko.”

“I think I’ll come visit you some time,” Imanishi said. “And you can casually introduce me to this bar hostess.”

Imanishi went to his sister’s house in Kawaguchi the following day. The apartment building had been built two years before. The two-story building was divided into eight units. His sister and her husband lived on the first floor.

Oyuki was surprised to see him. “My goodness, you came right away.”

“Right. I was nearby in Akabane, so I decided to come over. Is Sho at work?” he asked about his brother-in-law.

“Yes. I’ll pour you some tea.”

“I’ve brought you something.” Imanishi gave her a box of cakes.

“You know, last night you were talking about the bar hostess who lives here. Can you arrange for me to meet her casually?”

“You’re really persistent. Is she connected with a case?”

“No, not really. It’s nothing, I just want to meet her. You haven’t told her your brother is a detective, have you?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t talk about that. If I told my tenants my brother was a detective, they’d all get nervous and move away.”

“I’m decent at heart.”

“That’s true. But for those who don’t know you, it might make them uncomfortable.”

“I guess so. At any rate, can you invite her for tea? Is she still here?”

“Yes, she’s probably doing her laundry about this time. She leaves for Ginza about five.”

“Okay. I’ll watch the kettle.”

Shooed out by her brother, Oyuki left the room. Imanishi felt nervous. He changed seats twice while he waited. After a while, he heard two sets of footsteps in the hallway.

“Brother, I’ve brought her here.”

Behind his sister stood a young woman in a cream-colored sweater.

“Please come in.” Imanishi put on his kindest expression.

“This is my older brother. He hasn’t come by for ages. We were just about to have some tea.”

“Excuse me.” Emiko entered the room. She then greeted Imanishi saying that she would always be grateful to his sister.

“Please, come in. I’m sure that my sister is a bother to you.” Imanishi observed the bar hostess. She had a pretty face. She was about twenty-five, but her rounded face still retained a childish quality. “Are you busy with chores?” he asked.

“No, not really.”

“It must be hard. Are you off to work soon?”

“Yes, in a little while.”

“It must be a problem returning home late at night.”

“Yes, but I’ve gotten used to it.”

“Where were you living before you moved here?”

“Well…”

Emiko hesitated. She started to answer, but suddenly thought it over and said vaguely, “Well… I’ve moved around quite a bit.”

“I see. Was the place you lived in before closer to Ginza?”

“Well… it was in the Azabu area.”

“Oh, yes, Azabu. That’s a nice area. And it’s near Ginza.”

“But the owners of the building decided to sell it. That’s why I moved here. Even from here, it doesn’t take that long on the train, so it’s more convenient than I thought it would be.”

“But,” Imanishi continued, sipping his tea, “aren’t there times when you can’t make the last train?”

“That’s hardly ever a problem. The bar owner knows that I live out here, so she lets me out in time to make the last train.”

“I see. But there must be times when you have problems with a drunken customer who won’t let you leave.”

“Yes, occasionally. But then friends fill in for me.”

“I’ve never been to a bar like that. I don’t have that kind of money, so I really wouldn’t know,” Imanishi said, with a rueful smile. “I hear that at bars and cabarets these days, unless you’re on an expense account, you aren’t really welcome.”

“That’s not so. It’s just that expense account bills are paid without fail, so the managers prefer them. With regular customers, the bills mount up, collecting becomes a problem, and they’re the responsibility of the hostess assigned to a particular customer.”

“I see. You have interesting and witty conversations with customers, but there’s a difficult side to your work, too.” Imanishi changed the topic. “By the way, are you interested in music?”

“Music?” Emiko looked surprised. “Not especially. I don’t understand it very well. Jazz is the kind of music I like.”

“I don’t understand music at all. It seems like there are all kinds of new forms of music these days. Have you heard about ‘musique concrete’?”

“I’ve heard the term,” Emiko answered without thinking. For an instant, her eyes lit up.

“What kind of music is it?”

“I don’t really know,” Emiko said. “I’ve just heard the term.”

“I see. We’re both the same, then. Actually, I came across the term in yesterday’s newspaper. When you get to be my age, it’s hard to keep up with the new foreign terms that they use. I had a little time, so I read the piece, wondering what this ‘musique concrete’ was. It seemed to be a critique. But I couldn’t understand it at all. The sentences were complicated.”

“Oh, yes, that was written by Sekigawa-sensei,” Emiko said, her voice suddenly more lively. “I read that article as well.”

“Oh, you did?” Imanishi showed surprise. “But I bet you could understand it.”

“No, it was too difficult for me to understand. But I try to read everything that Sekigawa-sensei writes.”

“Hmm. Do you know him?”

Emiko’s eyes held a confused expression. It took a while for her to reply.

“He comes to the bar where I work every now and then. I know him slightly.”

“Is that so? Actually, I know him also.”

“Oh?” Emiko was surprised. “How do you know him?”

“I’ve never talked to him, and he wouldn’t know me. It’s just that I saw him coincidentally at a train station in Akita Prefecture. He was with several other friends. But somehow I feel a special closeness to people I see on a trip like that.

“I’m envious of young people,” Imanishi continued, reminiscing about the trip. “There were four or five of them at the station. Apparently they were on their way home from looking at a rocket research center. They were full of energy.”

“Is that so?” Emiko listened, her eyes shining.

“One of those young men was Sekigawa-san. After that I saw his face in newspaper photos. And each time I felt nostalgic about that trip. That’s why I read that review though I couldn’t understand it.”

Emiko sighed.

“What kind of person is Sekigawa-san? You said he goes to your bar sometimes.”

“He’s very different from other types of customers,” Emiko said, in a lilting voice. “He’s quiet and one learns so much just listening to him.”

“You’re lucky to have such a good customer at your bar,” Imanishi said. “Are you very friendly with him?”

“No, I don’t know him that well.” Emiko looked troubled. “I just know him as one of our customers.”

“I see. I wonder what kind of life an artistic person like that leads. I suppose he’s always reading books, and thinking?”

“Probably. In his type of work it’s important to keep up with everything.”

“I agree. I’m just a layman, so I don’t know, but I suppose a critic has to write about other things than music?”

“Oh, yes, all kinds of things. Particularly in Sekigawa-sensei’s case. He started off with literary criticism. Since his talents are so wide-ranging, he writes about painting, music, and society, too.”

“I see. He’s so young and yet has studied so much,” Imanishi said, sounding impressed.

His sister brought out some early tangerines. “This is nothing special, but please have some.”

“Oh, please don’t bother.” Emiko looked at her watch in a flurry. “I should be getting ready to go.”

“Don’t say that. Please stay.”

Emiko took one of the tangerines offered her. “This is so delicious,” she said, as she ate it.

The conversation continued, but they did not talk further about Sekigawa.

“Thank you so much,” Emiko said politely and stood up to leave.

“See, I told you,” his sister said, sitting next to him. “She’s a quiet young woman. You’d never guess she was a bar hostess.”

“I suppose not. But she’s really fond of that Sekigawa.”

“I guess so. I could tell that, too.”

“She said he just came to her bar every now and then, but I think there’s more to it than that. Didn’t you notice?”

“What?”

“She’s pregnant.”

“Oh?” his sister look at him with surprise.

“That’s what I think. Am I wrong?”

The sister did not answer right away, but looked at him in amazement. “Brother,” she said with a sigh, “you’re a man, how can you tell?”

“So I’m right, aren’t I?”

“She hasn’t said anything, but I’ve been thinking she must be. How did you figure it out?”

“I just felt it somehow. It’s the first time I’ve seen her face, but I imagine that normally she must have a softer expression. Besides, she ate the whole tangerine. It was so sour, I couldn’t eat mine at all.”

“That’s true. The tangerines aren’t sweet yet.”

“You suspected, too?”

“Yes, I did. She seemed to be throwing up the other day. I thought it might have been something she ate, but since then, too, there’ve been some other indications.”

“I see.”

“Whose child do you think it is?”

“I wonder.” Imanishi sat thoughtfully as he smoked a cigarette.

“That Sekigawa-san might be the one,” his sister said.

“How are we to know that?” Imanishi said reprovingly. “You can’t just gossip like that.”

“You’re right. This is just between us.”

A short while later they heard a soft knock on the door. It was Emiko dressed up for work, kneeling in the hallway. “I’ll be going out now. It was nice to meet you,” she said to Imanishi.

“Well, thanks for coming by,” Imanishi said, sitting more formally. “Have a good evening at work.”

After seeing Emiko off at the door, his sister turned around to Imanishi and said, “It may be just because we think she is, but it really does seem like it, doesn’t it?”