Inspector Imanishi Investigates

SEVEN Bloodstains

Imanishi Eitaro returned to Tokyo, his disappointment all the greater because his hopes had been so high. He reported his findings to his section chief and his department head. He criticized himself for having been so convinced about Kameda and the Tohoku dialect. His superiors tried to reassure him.

In order to shift his thoughts away from this case, Imanishi put his energies into new cases. Still, he couldn’t get rid of his obsession. He felt guilty for having spent money from the limited investigation budget on two trips, one to the Tohoku area and the other to Kamedake.

Three months had now passed since the case was opened. A hint of autumn could be felt in the morning and evening air, but the summer days were still horrendously hot. One torrid day, Imanishi bought a weekly magazine on his way home from headquarters and opened it on the streetcar. An essay in the magazine happened to catch his attention. He read,

When one travels, one comes across various intriguing situations. This past May, I was traveling home from some business I had in the Shinshu region. I boarded a night train. At Kofu Station, a young woman boarded and sat across from me. She was quite a beauty.

That was not all. She opened the train window and started to scatter something.

Wondering what it was, I watched her and saw that she was scattering tiny bits of paper out the window. She did this not once, but over and over again, even after the train left Otsuki Station. This young girl reached into her bag to grab a handful of these scraps and tossed them bit by bit out the window. The pieces scattered in the wind like a paper blizzard.

I smiled in spite of myself. I didn’t think that today’s young girls, who are considered to be extremely pragmatic, would engage in such childish and romantic behavior. I was reminded of the short story “Tangerine” by Akutagawa Ryunosuke.

Imanishi returned to his house. As soon as he arrived, he took his son, Taro, to the public bath. It was still early and the bath was not yet crowded. Seeing some neighborhood friends, Taro happily started to play with them.

Soaking in the large bath, Imanishi recalled the essay he had read on his way home. He thought it interesting. From the way the piece had been written, the girl seemed to be traveling alone from Kofu to Tokyo. Loneliness might have motivated her. Imanishi had not read the short story by Akutagawa Ryunosuke to which the author referred, but he felt that he could understand such a young girl’s feelings. He could see the bits of paper dancing in the darkness and falling onto the tracks.

Imanishi splashed his face with water. Then he got out of the tub to scrub his body. He caught hold of Taro and washed him. He felt relaxed. His mind was still riveted by the image of the girl scattering a paper blizzard.

He sat outside the tub for about ten minutes. Then he went back in to soak. He sat up with a start when the water reached his shoulders. His expression changed, his relaxed face was now tense.

He was unaware of toweling off. Forcing his son, who was playing with his friends, to hurry, he rushed home.

“Where did you put the magazine I brought home today?” he said to his wife.

Yoshiko answered from the kitchen. “I’m reading it right now.”

Imanishi grabbed the magazine out of her hands. He opened the magazine to the essay. The title was “The Girl of the Paper Blizzard.” The author was someone named Kawano Hidezo, a university professor who often wrote for magazines.

Imanishi looked at the clock. It was after seven. There should still be someone at the magazine’s office. He rushed out of the house to the nearest pay phone and dialed the magazine’s number. In response to his questions, he was told that Professor Kawano lived in Gotokuji, Setagaya Ward.

The next morning, Imanishi paid a visit to Professor Kawano. The professor was slightly surprised to receive a visit from a police detective.

“I read your essay in a weekly magazine, Professor; it was entitled ‘The Girl of the Paper Blizzard,’ ” Imanishi began.

The professor laughed with some embarrassment.

“As a matter of fact, I’ve come to ask you about the young woman you saw on the train.”

“Do you mean the person I wrote about in that essay?”

“Yes. I’m concerned about something related to a certain case, so I’d like to ask you about that woman’s appearance and clothing.”

“I’m a bit embarrassed.” The professor gave a confused laugh. “Actually, I’m not the one who saw that girl.”

It was Imanishi’s turn to be surprised. “Then what about your piece in the magazine?”

“Well,” the professor said, waving his hands, “I’m afraid I’ve been found out. I heard that story from a friend of mine, but to make it more interesting I wrote it as if it were my own eyewitness account. I didn’t dream that I’d be ambushed like this. I’ve really made a mess of it.” Professor Kawano put his hand to his forehead.

“But Professor, your friend’s story, it’s not a fabrication, is it?”

“No, it’s a true story. He’s not the type to make things up, so I’m sure it really happened.”

“Professor, could you please introduce me to your friend?”

The professor agreed.

That afternoon, Imanishi telephoned Murayama, the editor. Over the telephone, Murayama offered to meet Imanishi at a coffee shop near the newspaper.

Murayama laughed when he heard Imanishi’s question. “It happened just the way I told Professor Kawano. He wrote it up for the weekly right away. He promised to treat me when he receives his fee, but I didn’t think it would become a police matter.”

“That’s not it. Sometimes cases that seem to be at a dead end are solved unexpectedly. If you hadn’t told your story to Professor Kawano, he wouldn’t have written that essay, and I wouldn’t have thought of a clue. I’d like to thank you for telling your story to Professor Kawano.”

“You’re certainly welcome, then.” Murayama rubbed his head sheepishly.

“What did the girl look like?” Imanishi asked.

“Let me see. She was in her mid-twenties and was a petite girl with a pretty face. She didn’t wear heavy makeup. And her clothes were stylish.”

“What was she wearing?”

“I don’t know much about women’s clothing, but she was wearing an ordinary black suit and a white blouse.”

“I see.”

“The suit didn’t seem to be of high quality, but she knew how to wear it, so that it looked good on her. Besides her black handbag, she also had a blue canvas bag.”

“That’s quite helpful. And quite detailed.” Imanishi was satisfied. “Could you tell me something more about her face?”

Murayama closed his eyes halfway and said, “Her eyes were rather large and her mouth was demure. It’s hard for me to describe the girl’s face, but if I think of an actress she resembles, I’d say she looks like Okada Mariko.”

Imanishi was not familiar with this actress’s face, but he made a note to look at a photograph of her later.

“Was the location where you saw the paper fragments the same as the place Professor Kawano described in his essay?”

“Yes. There’s no mistake. I watched her, thinking that she was doing something strange.”

“When did this happen?”

“It was on my way back from the Shinshu region, so it must have been May 19.”

Imanishi got on a train on the Chuo Line. His destination was Enzan. On his way there, he opened a window on the right side of the train and stuck his neck out like a child. After the train had passed Lake Sagami, he started to look intently along the tracks. The hillsides were overgrown with summer grass and in the fields the rice plants were green. Imanishi watched carefully, but there was no way he could see what he was searching for as the train sped past.

Over three months had gone by since the girl had scattered the paper blizzard. It was doubtful if the bits of paper would still be there. But there was a possibility that some fragments might remain in the tall grass.

Imanishi alighted from the train at Enzan Station and sought out the stationmaster to ask permission to walk along the tracks. Then he started walking slowly toward Katsunuma along the narrow path beside the railroad tracks with his eyes on the ground. It was a hot day. He had to look carefully among the small stones wedged in between the railroad ties as well as among the blades of grass on the cutting alongside the tracks.

Imanishi had realized his task would be difficult. But once he had actually begun it, he discovered how truly hopeless it was. If he wanted to do a complete search for the paper fragments, he would have to hire some laborers to mow the grass along the tracks. Even so, since the area was so large, it was like searching for a diamond in a desert. His only hope was that the pieces might still be white so that they would stand out from the green of the grass.

He became disgusted at all the garbage discarded along the tracks. Yet he had come all this way; it would be a shame to give up and go home. He was determined to discover just one piece no matter what it took. A lizard, flashing its blue back, darted in front of Imanishi.

He walked in the direct heat of the sun, staring at the brightly lit ground. Soon it made him dizzy. The steel tracks were scorching.

From Enzan to Katsunuma his effort was wasted.

At Katsunuma Station, Imanishi drank some water. After resting a while, he started out again. The distance from Katsunuma to Hajikano was also long. Eventually he passed Hajikano. As Imanishi walked he wiped the perspiration out of his eyes. Unless he continued to look carefully at the ground, he was afraid he might miss something. After all, he was searching for only a tiny fragment.

During his trek, several trains passed him in both directions. There was a breeze immediately after they passed, but then the sweltering heat returned. His body was tired, but it was his eyes that gave out first. Imanishi plodded along, but he didn’t find what he was looking for. He started to give up. So much time had passed that finding something now would take a miracle. The tracks began to slope upward toward the mountain. He could see the entrance to the Sasago Tunnel in the distance. The steep mountainside dropped off toward the tracks from either side. The bright white of the concrete restraining wall hurt his eyes. He couldn’t search inside the tunnel; he hadn’t brought along a flashlight.

Imanishi was now close to the tunnel and was about to turn back. Then he saw something in the grass beside the tracks, two or three small, dirty brownish fragments, stuck on the ground as if caught on something. Imanishi crouched down. Carefully he picked up one fragment by the edge and examined it closely.

It was a piece of cloth about one inch square. The color had changed, but the material had obviously come from a cotton shirt. The rain and sun had changed the color to a dirty gray, but he could see some spots, as if brown paint had splattered it. Imanishi picked up another piece. On this, the brownish area was larger and covered about half of the fragment. Imanishi picked up more. In all there were six pieces. In each case the size of the brownish spots varied and the cloth had turned dark gray.

Imanishi put his collection carefully into the empty cigarette pack that he was carrying and closed the flap.

The cloth fragments looked like they had been cut with scissors. Imanishi could tell that the material was of good quality. He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed to be a cotton-synthetic blend. Imanishi thought back. The man who had appeared in the bar in Kamata had been wearing a light gray sports shirt. The cloth fragments were dirty, but it seemed that the original color could have been a light gray.

Encouraged, Imanishi walked back to Hajikano Station to catch the next train. He rode the train through the tunnel and got off at Sasago Station. Here, too, he walked along the tracks.

The pieces he had recovered had given him something definite to look for. Judging from the way the fragments he had discovered had fallen, he figured that there would be a greater chance of finding them in the grassy areas.

Imanishi walked five hundred yards and stopped to rest, then he walked three hundred yards and stopped again. Otherwise, he got dizzy. When he had walked about a thousand yards, resting off and on, he saw another bunch of fragments lying next to a lunch box discarded on the grass. Imanishi slid down the slope and carefully picked up the pieces. This time the fragments were mostly whitish, but they were unmistakably the same as those he had already placed in his cigarette case. Imanishi spent about an hour searching this area, but he was unable to discover any more pieces.

Imanishi walked all the way to Otsuki Station. The bustle of the town became louder, and the railroad tracks were intersected by crossings. Imanishi entered a restaurant in front of the station and poured some water over his head. If he had continued plodding in the sun, he would have fainted from sunstroke.

Next was the section between Saruhashi and Torizawa. It would be quicker for him to walk than wait for the next train. Crossing the railroad bridge, he looked to his left and saw Saruhashi bridge, which the woodblock print master Hiroshige had drawn. He again followed the tracks and was struck by the sickening aroma of the grass. The burning sun was finally moving toward the west, but the heat had not diminished. The heat waves rising from the ground nearly overpowered Imanishi’s eyes and nose. He continued to walk. The railroad tracks curved ahead of him and glinted in the sunlight. Imanishi felt that his investigation had finally gotten on track.

He returned to Tokyo police headquarters. He had been able to gather thirteen fragments of cloth along the tracks between Enzan Station and Lake Sagami Station. He established that they were all of the same cloth and had been cut into bits.

Imanishi went to the Identification Division. He turned over the cloth fragments to the technician Yoshida, who said, “In view of the efforts you’ve made to find these, I’ll try to get the results as soon as possible.”

The testing procedure involved ascertaining whether the stains were blood; if they were bloodstains, whether they were human blood; and if they were human bloodstains, isolating the blood type.

“Imanishi-san,” Yoshida reported, “the bloodstains on these cloth fragments are type O.”

Imanishi had noted Miki’s blood type in his notebook. Miki had type O blood.

Imanishi reported this finding to his superiors. They were generous with their encouragement. Imanishi gave a little jump for joy. The next step was to find the girl who looked like the actress Okada Mariko. Imanishi promised himself that he would find the girl, just as he had found the cloth fragments along the railroad tracks.

Imanishi had no clue other than that the girl had taken a night train to Tokyo on the Chuo Line over three months ago. There were hundreds of thousands of young women in Tokyo who fit her description. But Imanishi was sure she had helped Miki’s murderer. The murder had been committed in the middle of the night of May 11, and the fragments had been scattered from the train window on May 19, so there was a gap of about one week. During that time, the girl had hidden the murderer’s bloodstained clothes.

Armed with a general description of the woman, detectives targeted rental rooms and apartments along the Mekama and Ikegami lines, but no clues surfaced from their inquiries. Suspecting that this girl might be a hostess at a bar or nightclub, the investigation was extended to the entertainment districts.

One morning, as Imanishi was drinking his tea after his breakfast before he had to leave for work, Yoshiko came running back from the tobacco stand where she had gone to buy her husband some cigarettes.

Imanishi lowered his teacup. “What is it?”

“Someone’s committed suicide in that apartment house.”

Imanishi wasn’t much interested in suicides. But Yoshiko continued, her eyes bright with excitement. “It’s the girl we saw once who works for the theater group, remember?”

“Eh?” Imanishi was surprised. “That girl?” Imanishi remembered the slim girl they had passed on the street. “That’s surprising.”

“Isn’t it? I was shocked when I heard. To think that she would commit suicide. You really can’t tell.”

“When did she die?”

“The apartment owner discovered her at seven this morning. Apparently she had taken two hundred sleeping pills. There’s a crowd of people gathered in front of the apartment house now.”

“Hm.” Imanishi recalled the face he had seen under the dim streetlight. “Why did she commit suicide?”

“I don’t really know; but since she was young, it may have been a love affair.”

“I wonder. It’s a shame; she had her whole life ahead of her.”

Imanishi took off his kimono and changed to his street clothes. As he was buttoning his shirt, something occurred to him.

“Hey,” he called to his wife. “Did you see that girl very often?”

“Yes, I did.”

“What did she look like?”

“Well, she had a pretty, slender face with big eyes.”

“Did she look like Okada Mariko?”

“Let me think.” His wife stared off into space. “Now that you mention it, she did look a bit like Okada Mariko. Yes, that was the general impression she made.”

Imanishi suddenly frowned and hurriedly put on his jacket.

“I’m off.”

“Have a good day.” His wife saw him to the door.

Imanishi walked quickly to the apartment house. Some neighbors were standing outside, looking at the apartment. A patrol car from the local police station was parked at the entrance. Imanishi walked up the stairs. The suicide had occurred in Number 5 on the second floor. A policeman from the local station was standing outside the apartment. He recognized Imanishi and nodded a greeting.

“Thanks for your efforts,” Imanishi said and stepped into the room.

Policemen stood around as the medical examiner squatted to examine the body.

Imanishi recognized all of the men there. “Could I take a look at the body?”

Imanishi peered at the body from above. Her hair was nicely styled and she had on makeup. She had known that she would be seen by others after she died. She seemed to be wearing her best clothes. The room was tidy and clean.

Imanishi stared at the dead girl’s face. It was a pretty face. There was no doubt that she was the girl he had passed on the street. Her face was slender and her shapely lips were slightly open. Her eyes were closed, but judging from the shape of the sockets, they would have been large if opened. The medical examiner was dictating information to his assistant. Imanishi waited until he was finished.

“Was it sleeping pills?” Imanishi asked one of the policemen in a low voice.

“Yes. She was discovered this morning, and we estimate that the time of death was about eleven last night,” the policeman responded.

“Any suicide note?”

“Not really. But there’s a journal that could be taken as such.”

“What was her name?”

“Naruse Rieko, age twenty-five. She’s a staff member at the Avant-Garde Theater,” the policeman answered, consulting his notebook.

Imanishi looked around the room. Everything was put away carefully, as if she had been expecting guests. Imanishi’s gaze fell on a small wardrobe in the corner of the room.

“There’s something I’m concerned about,” Imanishi said to the policeman. “Is it all right if I open the wardrobe?”

“Please, go ahead.” The policeman agreed at once. Since this wasn’t a murder case but an obvious suicide, the regulations were not that strictly observed.

Imanishi stepped quietly to the wardrobe and opened the door. Several pieces of clothing hung on hangers. Imanishi focused on one of them. It was a black suit. He stared at the suit. Then without a word, he closed the door.

He scanned the room, and his eyes alighted on a blue canvas bag set between the desk and a small bookcase. It was the type of bag carried by stewardesses. Taking out his notebook, Imanishi jotted down a description of the bag.

About this time, the medical examination was finally finished. Imanishi knew the examiner from other cases.

“Thank you very much, Doctor,” Imanishi said, bowing.

“Oh, it’s you. What are you doing here?” The doctor looked suspicious. This was not the kind of case to involve a homicide detective from headquarters.

“I live in the neighborhood. So I just stopped by to take a look. I’ve seen her several times, so I feel some sort of connection.”

“That’s kind of you. Please say a prayer for her.”

The doctor stepped aside. Imanishi knelt beside the body and pressed his hands together in prayer. The light from the window shone on Naruse Rieko’s face, giving it a bright and pure look.

“Doctor,” Imanishi said, turning toward the medical examiner, “you’re sure it was suicide?”

“There’s no mistake. She’d taken about two hundred sleeping pills. The empty bottle was by her pillow.”

“So there’s no need for an autopsy?”

“Absolutely none. It’s clearly a suicide.”

Imanishi stood up. Then he walked over to the policeman. “You said that there was no note, but there was a journal. Could I take a look at it?”

“Please, go ahead.” The policeman went over to the desk. The top of the desk was cleared off. He opened the drawer. “This is it.” It was a lecture notebook and had been left open. “She seems to have written her thoughts in it every now and then.”

Imanishi nodded in silence and read the words on the page. They were written in a cultured script.

Must love be a lonely thing?

Our love has lasted for three years. Yet nothing has been built from this love. It will probably continue on in vain. Forever, he says. The futility of this love tastes empty and feels like grains of sand slipping through my fingers. At night, despair haunts my dreams. And yet I must be strong. I must believe in him. I must protect this lonely love. I must persuade myself to be content with this loneliness, to find happiness within it. I must cling to this hopeless thing. This love always demands sacrifices of me. I must feel the joy of a martyr as I make sacrifices. Forever, he says. As long as I live, he will continue to demand that I make sacrifices.

Imanishi flipped through the notebook. All that was described were abstract feelings. It was written so that only the writer herself could understand it.

Again, with permission from the policeman, Imanishi picked up the bag that he had seen. He unzipped it. The contents had been cleaned out, and nothing remained in the bag. Imanishi searched in the corners, but he did not find any cloth fragments.

“So, she committed suicide because she was heartbroken,” the policeman from the local station said to Imanishi. “You can tell from what she wrote in the journal. Young women her age are so susceptible.”

Imanishi nodded. His thoughts were elsewhere. It did appear as if this young woman had been disappointed in love. Could it be that, in addition, she had a sense of guilt and that guilt had driven her to her death? Imanishi envisioned her scattering to the wind the small fragments of a man’s bloodstained shirt. He left the room and descended the stairs.

The woman who managed the apartment house was pale, still tense from the unexpected incident. Imanishi recognized her.

“You’ve got a terrible situation on your hands,” he said sympathetically.

“I never expected…” she responded, her voice faltering.

“I didn’t know her really, but it’s too bad. She seemed like a nice girl. Did she seem sad all the time?”

“She’s only been here a short while, and she didn’t say much, so I don’t know. But she seemed like a well-mannered young woman.”

“I understand she worked as a staff member at a theater?”

“Yes.”

“Then did she have men friends or a lot of young people coming to visit her?”

“No,” the woman shook her head. “There was never anything like that. It’s been about two and a half months since she moved in, but no one came to visit her.”

“I see.” Imanishi thought a bit, and asked, “Even if she didn’t let him in her room, did you see her with a young man near the apartment house?”

“Let me see.” The woman cocked her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Did you ever see her talking to a young man wearing a beret?”

“No, I never saw anyone like that.”

Imanishi remembered the young man wearing a beret who was loitering one night outside the girl’s window. He’d been whistling some tune.

“Was there a man wandering about whistling? Whistling to signal or invite the girl out.”

Her answer was negative as to this as well, “I can’t remember anything like that.”

Then perhaps it had only been that one night. If it had been more frequent, this woman would have heard it and remembered it.

Imanishi went outside. Had the girl he had been searching for been living so close to him? Was the girl of the paper blizzard the theater staff member living in his neighborhood whom he had seen several times? It was hard for him to believe.

In his mind’s eye he saw the tall, young man in a beret who had been hanging around outside her window. He had let it go at the time. He regretted not having made more of an effort to find out who the young man was. Now it was too late.

The woman who managed the apartment said that Rieko was always alone and never had visitors, so the young man in the beret must have been trying to call her out by whistling to her.

All of a sudden, Imanishi remembered the young man who had wandered around acting strange at Kameda. It was just a thought. He decided to go to the Avant-Garde Theater and ask about Rieko.

Imanishi came out of the back street. The sushi shop was getting ready for business. A young man was hanging the shop curtain outside to let customers know that it was open. The man with the beret might have stopped in there to have some sushi. Imanishi walked across the street.

“Good morning.”

The young man turned around and bowed to Imanishi. They knew Imanishi at this shop. He sometimes called to have sushi delivered to his home. “We’re not open yet,” the young man said.

“No, no, I haven’t come to eat. I’d just like to ask a few questions. Is the master in?”

“Yes, he’s inside preparing the fish.”

Excusing himself, Imanishi went inside the shop.

The shop master put down his knife when he saw Imanishi. “Welcome.”

“Good morning.” Imanishi sat on a stool at the counter while the shop was still being cleaned. “Sorry to bother you when you’re so busy. I came in because I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yes, sir, what is it?” The sushi master took off his headband.

“It was quite a while ago, so you may not remember. Did a tall man in a beret come here to eat some sushi toward the end of last month, late at night?”

“A beret, you say.” The sushi master thought a while.

“A tall young man.”

“What did he look like?”

“I don’t know what his face looks like, but he may be an actor.”

“An actor?”

“Not a movie actor, a stage actor. In modern dramas.”

“Ah.” When he heard that, the sushi master nodded energetically, indicating that he understood. “Yes, yes, there was someone like that who came in. I definitely remember an actor who wore a beret. It must have been toward the end of July.”

“Hm. Did he eat some sushi?”

“Yes. It was around eleven. He dropped in alone. There were three other young customers already eating. One of them, a girl, went right up to the fellow with the beret and asked him for his autograph.”

“Did you get his name?”

“It was Miyata Kunio. He’s known as a young leading man in the Avant-Garde Theater.”

“He’s not a leading man,” the young worker put in from the side. “He’s a character actor, he plays any kind of part.”

“I see, Miyata Kunio.” Imanishi noted it down. “Does he come here often?”

“No, that was the only time.”

Imanishi got off the streetcar at Aoyama Yonchome. The Avant-Garde Theater was located less than two minutes from this stop. In front were posters announcing its current production. The front door was the main entrance to the theater. Imanishi asked for directions to the office at the ticket booth.

Inside, the office was cramped, barely room enough for the five desks. The floor was covered with boxes. Colorful posters from the theater’s productions plastered the walls. There were three staff members in the room, one young woman and two young men.

Imanishi went to the counter and said, “I’d like to inquire about something.”

Hearing this, the girl stood up.

“Is Miyata Kunio-san here?” Imanishi asked.

“Is Miyata-san here now?” The girl turned around and asked one of the men.

“Yeah, he showed up a little while ago. He should be in the rehearsal hall.”

“Could I give him your name?” she asked.

“Please tell him it’s Imanishi.”

“Wait a moment, please.”

The girl left the office by going through a glass door that separated the office from the rehearsal area. Imanishi took out a cigarette and began smoking. The two staff members worked on their abacuses and examined the ledgers, ignoring Imanishi. Imanishi waited, gazing at the words “People from the Underground” on one of the posters.

After a while the door at the back of the office opened. The girl reappeared, followed by a tall man.

Imanishi studied him closely as he came nearer. He was about twenty-seven or -eight. His hair was long, and he wore a short-sleeved print shirt and a pair of slacks.

“My name is Miyata,” the actor said and bowed. His attitude was that of someone used to dealing with people he did not know.

“Sorry to bother you when you’re so busy,” Imanishi said. “My name is Imanishi. I came because I want to ask you something. Could you step outside with me for a minute?”

Miyata Kunio looked displeased at first. But when Imanishi discreetly showed him his police identification, his expression turned to surprise.

“I just want to ask you a few questions, and this is probably not the right place,” Imanishi said, looking around the office. “So shall we go to a coffee shop?”

Miyata Kunio nodded submissively and followed Imanishi outside. They went to a nearby coffee shop together. As it was still morning, there were no other customers. An employee was washing the windows. The two men took seats at a table toward the back of the shop. Miyata Kunio’s face, lit by the sunlight streaming in from the window, was apprehensive.

In an attempt to make him relax, Imanishi started off by making small talk. “I know absolutely nothing about contemporary drama,” Imanishi began. “Do you play leading roles?”

“No, I’m only a beginner.”

“I see. It must be hard.”

Imanishi offered him a cigarette. The two drank their coffee.

“Miyata-san, I’m sorry to have disturbed you during your work. Were you in the middle of rehearsing?”

“I’m free right now.”

“Good. Excuse me for being so abrupt, but do you know a young woman named Naruse Rieko, a staff member at the theater?”

It seemed that Miyata’s face twitched when he heard the question. Imanishi had thought when he visited the theater office that the theater members, including Miyata, must not have heard yet about Naruse Rieko’s suicide. But Imanishi thought Miyata flinched for a different reason.

“Miyata-san, Naruse-san has committed suicide.”

“What?” Miyata’s eyes opened wide. After staring at the detective for a while, he stammered, his face changing color, “Is… is that the truth?”

“Yes, last night. I was there this morning. There’s no mistake. Hasn’t the theater been notified yet?”

“I didn’t know anything… Oh, yes, I did hear that the staff director went rushing out for some reason. I wonder if it was because of this?”

“It could be. Were you close to Naruse-san?”

A fly crawled up the window.

Miyata Kunio looked down and took a while to answer.

“Well, were you?” Imanishi repeated.

“I certainly knew her well.”

“I see. What I wanted to ask you, Miyata-san, is whether you might have any idea as to the reason behind Naruse-san‘s suicide.”

With a mournful expression, the actor put his fingers to his chin. Imanishi watched his expression intently.

“This isn’t a murder, so it may not be my place to inquire. Even though it may be impolite to the deceased, we would like to know any hidden reason for Naruse-san’s suicide. I say this because there is some connection with another case. I’m sorry I can’t go into details about that, but I can tell you that is why I’m asking you these questions.”

“But, I…” Miyata answered in a low voice, “I don’t know why Naruse-san would commit suicide.”

“We have found a journal that gives some explanation. I don’t know if you’d call it a suicide note. From what she had written, it seem that she was in despair over a love affair. She had written some tragic lines to that effect.”

“Is that so. Did she write the man’s name?” Miyata looked up at Imanishi.

“As a matter of fact, she gave no name. Probably Naruse-san didn’t want to cause any embarrassment after her death.”

“So that was it, after all.”

“What do you mean ‘after all’? Is there something else you know about?” Imanishi watched intently so as not to let any change in Miyata’s expression escape him.

Miyata Kunio did not answer. Looking down again, he bit his lip to keep it from trembling.

“Miyata-san, I think you know the reason behind Naruse-san’s death.”

“What do you mean?” Miyata looked up.

“Do you wear a beret when you go out?” Imanishi asked, looking steadily at the face of the long-haired man across from him.

“Yes, I do.”

“A while ago you went to a sushi shop near Naruse-san’s apartment, didn’t you?”

The actor was startled again.

“At that sushi shop you obliged a fan who wanted your autograph, didn’t you? That’s not all. You tried to call Naruse-san out from her apartment by whistling, didn’t you?”

The actor grew pale. “No, that wasn’t me. I never called her out.”

“But you were whistling beneath her apartment window to try to get her to come out. Miyata-san, I saw you there. I heard you whistling that night as I passed by.”

When Imanishi said he had seen Miyata near the apartment, Miyata’s face lost all color. The actor was silent for a while. His face was full of pain.

“How about it, Miyata-san,” Imanishi pressed. “I’d like you to tell me everything you know. That doesn’t mean that I intend to do anything to you. Naruse Rieko’s death was a suicide. The police don’t act unless it’s a murder. But we are interested in Naruse-san in connection with another case.”

Miyata looked afraid, but he still didn’t answer.

“This is just my personal opinion, but I think the reason for Naruse-san’s death is connected to what we wanted to question her about. How about it, Miyata-san. Can’t you tell me the truth? Why would she commit suicide?”

The actor kept silent.

Imanishi leaned on his elbows across the table. “You must know. You seem to have known her very well. That is neither here nor there. All I want you to do is to tell me frankly what you think caused Naruse-san to commit suicide.”

Imanishi continued to stare at Miyata. Imanishi had a look that seemed to pierce to the depths of one’s soul. Miyata began to fidget.

Imanishi observed this and said, “Miyata-san, how about it? Will you cooperate?”

“Yes.” Miyata took out a handkerchief and wiped the perspiration off his brow. “I’ll tell you what I know. But I can’t talk to you now.”

“Why not?”

“Nothing is clear to me right now. As you say, I know something that might be of help in terms of Naruse-san’s suicide. But that’s not all. I’d like to tell you about something else, but… I can’t do that right now.”

Imanishi nodded, never taking his eyes off Miyata. It seemed clear that Miyata knew a lot about Rieko, that he knew secrets she kept from others, that Miyata felt something more than friendship for her. Now was not the time to insist on answers. He was so upset that it was unlikely he would say anything if pressed. His instinctive reaction to his suffering would be complete silence. Imanishi knew, if he was to learn more, he would have to give Miyata time.

“I understand. Then when can we talk?” Imanishi asked.

“Please give me two or three days,” Miyata said.

“Two or three days? Couldn’t you make it sooner? I need to hear what you have to say about Naruse-san as soon as possible.”

“Inspector,” Miyata asked, “are you sure Naruse-san had something to do with your case?”

“We’re not sure yet, but we hope that there’s some tie-in.” Miyata stared intently at Imanishi. He said, “It’s very likely that I can help your investigation. I’ll tell you everything I know about Naruse-san tomorrow.”

Grateful, Imanishi said, “Where shall we meet?”

“I’ll wait for you at the Company S Tearoom in Ginza at eight o’clock. I’ll have my thoughts straight by then,” Miyata said.