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  "There is another problem that looks more difficult. What about the passenger list on the ferry? That's not personal evidence, it's written proof."

  That was true, of course. When he had found Yasuda's signature in the passenger register at Hakodate, Mihara had sensed defeat. But now, strangely enough, he was not disheartened. True, the wall was still standing, but he no longer had a feeling of helplessness.

  "I'll get past that one, too."

  For the first time the chief laughed. "You seem in good spirits. Very different from the way you looked when you returned from Hokkaido. All right, do what you can."

  Mihara was about to leave when Kasai put out his hand and stopped him. "You know, by trying to cover Yasuda, Ishida let the cat out of the bag, didn't he?"

  Mihara was certain he had uncovered Yasuda's plan to use the Marimo as an alibi. But he still had to prove it. He put his thoughts down on paper: From Japan Airlines get name of person who made reservation on flight leaving Fukuoka 8 A.M. January 21 and reservation on connecting flight Tokyo to Sapporo 3:00 P.M. same day.

  But wait! Yasuda said he had left Tokyo by the Towada Express from Ueno Station at 7:15 on the twentieth. Therefore he must still have been in Tokyo the afternoon of the twentieth. Knowing that he might be checked later, he wouldn't be so careless as to be away from Tokyo that whole day. He would put in an appearance at his office, or show up elsewhere, just to be noticed. Had he left for Hakata by train the afternoon of the twentieth he wouldn't arrive at Kashii Beach in time. So here also he must have used a plane.

  Mihara again checked the airline schedule. There was a plane leaving Tokyo at 3:00, arriving at Fukuoka at 7:20. To reach the Tokyo airport by car takes thirty minutes. It would not look strange if he left the office about two in the afternoon, explaining that he had errands to do before catching the train at Ueno Station.

  Next, Mihara listed the planes and trains which Yasuda might have used:

  Jan. 20: 3:00 P.M. left Haneda (Tokyo) 7:20 P.M. arrived Itazuke (Fukuoka) (Probably he went to Kashü then spent the night at Fukuoka)

  Jan. 21: 8:00 A.M. left Itazuke (Fukuoka) 12:00 P.M. arrived Haneda (Tokyo)

  1:00 P.M. left Haneda (Tokyo) 4:00 P.M. arrived Chitose (Sapporo)

  5:40 P.M. left Sapporo (local train) 6:44 P.M. arrived Otaru

  7:57 P.M. left Otaru (Marimo Express) 8:34 P.M. arrived Sapporo (Met Kawanishi in the Sapporo Station waiting room)

  21st, 22nd, 23rd: stayed at the Marusō Inn. Returned to Tokyo 25th.

  That's it, he concluded, looking at the memo. But one doubtful point came to his mind. Why did Yasuda wire Kawanishi to meet him in the Sapporo Station waiting room? Since Yasuda got aboard the Marimo at Otaru, wouldn't it have been more convincing if they had met on the platform instead of the waiting room and Kawanishi had seen him actually getting off the train? Was there some deliberate purpose in designating the waiting room? There must be, for Yasuda was exceptionally cautious. What was it? Mihara could find no ready answer.

  Well, I'll think about that later, he decided. First, let me try to account for his movements:

  1. Check the Japan Airlines' passenger lists for that day. Also, the taxi that took Yasuda to Haneda Airport, the taxi or bus he used from Itazuke Airport into Fukuoka, and from Chitose Airport into Sapporo. Since all this took place some time ago it might be difficult to get the information.

  2. Check the inn at Fukuoka where Yasuda stayed.

  3. Look for someone who remembers seeing Yasuda on the local train from Sapporo to Otaru. At Otaru, where he had an hour to spare before the Marimo arrived, find out if anyone saw him at the station.

  This was the evidence he needed. He didn't expect much from item three. The first two were important.

  Mihara left the Metropolitan Police Board. It was a bright day. The Ginza was crowded. The sun was so strong the faces of people he passed looked strangely pale, as if bleached.

  He entered the offices of Japan Airlines and went to the domestic lines counter.

  "Do you still have the passenger lists for the month of January?" he asked the clerk.

  "If you mean January of this year, we do. We keep the files for one year."

  "I'd like the name of the passenger who made a reservation on flight No. 305 to Fukuoka on January 20, on flight No. 302 to Tokyo on the twenty-first, and from Tokyo to Sapporo on flight No. 503 the same day."

  "Would these reservations be for the same person?"

  "Yes."

  "He must be a busy man. It's rather unusual so it shouldn't be hard to find."

  The clerk brought out the passenger records and referred to the lists for January 20. Flight No. 305 made a stop at Osaka: forty-three passengers had continued on to Fukuoka. On the following day, there were forty-one passengers on the plane from Fukuoka to Tokyo and fifty-nine on the flight to Sapporo. Tatsuo Yasuda's name was not in the lists, nor did any one name appear on all three.

  Mihara was not surprised. He would expect Yasuda to travel under an assumed name, but he had hoped to find at least one name repeated in the lists. In the total of 143 passengers, each name was different. How was this possible?

  "Can one get a seat without making a reservation?" he inquired.

  "Unless you reserve three or four days in advance you are not likely to get on the flight you ask for," the clerk explained.

  To Yasuda, it would be of paramount importance to have a seat on each of these three planes. For if any one had failed him, he would not have been able to connect with the Marimo in Hokkaido on January 21. He must have made the reservations personally, and some days ahead. And even if he had used a false name, it should appear on the three lists. Yet however carefully Mihara checked, it was not there.

  "I'm sorry to have troubled you. Please let me keep these for a few days." Mihara gave the clerk his card on which he wrote a receipt for the passenger lists.

  He was depressed. The excitement with which he had started out the day had vanished. He walked as far as Yūraku-chō and stopped in at his coffee shop. He sat for a long while over his coffee, immersed in his thoughts. He couldn't understand! It wasn't possible, it couldn't be, he kept saying to himself.

  Leaving the coffee shop, he started walking back to his office. At the Hibiya intersection, the red light held him up at the curb for a long moment. A stream of cars passed in front of him. They were of many different makes, he noted, without particular interest. Yet the spectacle, commonplace though it was, suddenly gave him a new thought.

  How stupid he had been! Yasuda didn't have to use just one name. He could have made the plane reservations under different names. And he probably didn't appear at the airline office himself: he must have sent a different person each time to make the reservation for him. He could fly to Fukuoka as Mr. A, return to Tokyo the following morning as Mr. B and as Mr. C change to the plane for Sapporo. He had an hour to wait at Haneda Airport during which this could easily be done. How foolish to believe that because Yasuda traveled on all three planes he had used the same name each time. Why hadn't he thought of this before?

  Had Mihara been in a less public place he would have struck his head with both fists. He had been very stupid and was ashamed.

  The traffic light turned green and he started across. This means that there are at least three false names in the lists, he decided, and all three belong to Yasuda. Good, I'll have all the names checked. We're bound to find that three of them are assumed names, with false addresses.

  Mihara started walking briskly. He was smiling to himself. For the first time he could see a clear road ahead.

  Mihara reported to the chief upon his return to the office. Kasai agreed to his plan.

  "A total of 143, you say?" He was looking at the lists. "Over one-half live in Tokyo; the rest are in the country. We can have our men check the ones in the city. For the others, we'll ask the local police to investigate."

  He gave the orders at once. The detectives took from the lists the names and addresses of those assigned to th
em. "If they have a telephone, either at home or at the office, call them up. Make sure that your man was on that plane."

  After giving the orders, he said to Mihara, "Even if this investigation succeeds, there is still a major obstacle."

  "You're referring to the passenger list of the ferry, aren't you?" This part of the wall stood firm as a rock. It still blocked his path.

  Something like a warning flashed through Mihara's mind. It was strange that in the case of both the planes and the ferry, the passenger list should be the stumbling block. Could the parallel again be an illusion? Was he in danger of being led astray by the apparent similarity? Mihara was so absorbed by the thought that the chief asked, "What's up?"

  Instead of answering Mihara changed the subject. "What about the other problem?" he asked.

  "Ah! A man from the Public Prosecutor's Office called on me yesterday." Kasai lowered his voice. "Their investigation of the ministry has run into difficulties. There's no doubt that Sayama's suicide has brought things to a standstill. A man holding the position of assistant section chief is a veteran; he's in full charge of the everyday business of the office. Division chiefs and section chiefs seem to leave all routine matters to these experienced assistants. They don't do this deliberately; what happens is that they themselves simply aren't familiar with the day-to-day affairs of the section. They're too busy climbing the ladder to success. They have no time to learn the office routine. Their assistants, on the other hand, have been handling it for a long time; they know the work thoroughly. They're like experienced craftsmen. But they can't go very far. They have to stand by and watch the younger men, the university graduates with the proper qualifications, get promoted and go past them. Most of them are resigned to this situation. They resent it, of course, but they know that to show their feelings will get them nowhere."

  While he was talking, a detective put a cup of tea on his desk. He took a sip and continued, "For that reason, if a senior official so much as takes notice of one of them, the man is overjoyed. He sees a ray of hope in a world he had almost given up. He feels that recognition might still be possible. That's why he'll do anything to please the boss. As for those senior officers, it's fine if they recognize the man's competence and take the trouble to encourage him, but if they help him merely to take advantage of him and his work, the poor man is trapped. No matter how able these top officials may be, they have to depend on their assistants. They know they can't make them work just by giving orders, so they try to be kind. The assistants know all this, of course, but in order to keep their jobs, or to get promoted, they do what they're told and cooperate. That's human nature, I suppose. And speaking of human nature, you'll find a lot of interesting examples in those government offices."

  He put his elbows on the desk. "In this case, everything seems to center on Sayama. He was an able worker. The investigator who came to see me was dismayed by the double suicide. Sayama's death has made the investigation very difficult, brought it practically to a standstill. Because Sayama held in his hands the invisible strings that lead to the top officials. He was the key man in that section. The Prosecutor's Office is deeply disturbed by his death. In the meantime, I suppose the higher-ups are rejoicing at their lucky escape."

  "No doubt Ishida is one of those who are rejoicing."

  "He must be the happiest of the lot. Generally, the assistant chief is the conscientious type who takes the responsibility for the entire ministry and will give his life for it. Whenever there is a big scandal, it is always the man in the subordinate position who commits suicide to cover up for the others."

  "So you think that Sayama's death…"

  "In the past they usually died alone. In Sayama's case a woman is involved. This makes it a little different, and perhaps gives it a romantic touch."

  The chief fell silent. Mihara knew well what he was thinking but made no comment. He realized that the Public Prosecutor's Office, the chief of the detective section, and his own superior were on his side. He felt greatly encouraged.

  Mihara took the file on Sayama and Otoki and reexamined the reference materials. He read the report of the scene and of the inquest and studied the photographs and the statements of the witnesses. He read every word carefully. The man and the woman had taken cyanide and had died side by side, almost in each other's arms. He had been through all this many times before; he could find nothing new. Yet once again it conjured up the figure of Yasuda, who had gone out of his way to have others witness the departure, together, from Tokyo, of Sayama and Otoki.

  Three days later the investigation of the passengers on the three planes was completed. Not a single false name had been found. They were all authentic and borne by known persons.

  "Yes, I was on that plane; there is no mistake." All 143 had answered in similar terms.

  It was a great shock to Mihara. He held his head in his hands in an agony of doubt.

  12 A Letter from an Old Man

  Mr. Kiichi Mihara

  Assistant Inspector

  2nd Detective Section

  Metropolitan Police Board

  Tokyo

  Dear Mr. Mihara:

  Please forgive my long silence. Three months have gone by since I had the privilege of meeting you in Hakata. It was an unexpected pleasure to receive your long letter the other day. I want to thank you for your kindness and apologize for being such a poor correspondent.

  When we first met it was early spring and a cold wind was blowing across the Sea of Genkai. Now we have reached the middle of May and it is too hot even to stroll in the sun. Time passes quickly. Our popular Dontaku Festival took place as usual early this month. It was very gay. When this holiday is announced, we say that summer is around the corner. Some day, when you have the time, I hope you will attend our festival.

  I see from your letter that you are busy working on a very difficult case. I feel ashamed at my own idleness and at the same time envy you your activity. If only I were younger! It is frustrating to be old and living in such a remote corner of the country. But these are the querulous words of an old man; please overlook them.

  I remember doing some work on my own, under the disapproving eyes of my superiors here at the police station, on the case of the double suicide at Kashii Beach. I am now deeply moved and very happy to learn that thanks to your efforts, my modest investigations are about to lead to the solution of this important case. I am grateful to you for keeping me informed of the recent developments. From your letter I realize how hard you have been working and what problems you faced. You kindly asked me if I had any suggestions. Unfortunately, this senile brain of mine is unable to advance any bright ideas. All I can do is compliment you on your earnestness and zeal.

  I need not tell you that a detective should never give up a case; he must pursue it all the way. You may be offended by this obvious remark. Please forgive an old man who is inclined at times to talk out of turn.

  I have been attached to this police station for twenty years and assigned to a surprising number of cases. Among them were several that are still unsolved. Now that I look back at them, I see some I wish I had handled differently. And in each case I now believe I simply didn't work hard enough. Had I persevered a little more, some of them would have been solved. Usually, it needs only a little more persistence.

  Let me give you an example which troubles me to this day. It happened some twenty years ago. The decomposed body of an old woman was discovered at Hirao, on the outskirts of Fukuoka City. There were telltale marks around the throat, so the case was set down as death by strangulation. This was in May. According to the police doctor the crime had been committed more than three months before. Corroborating evidence was the thick winter jacket the old woman was wearing. This estimate of the time when the crime was assumed to have been committed did not seem unreasonable since she lived alone in an isolated house in the mountains and had little to do with her neighbors. However, the person I suspected was a man who had arrived from Formosa in early April and who lived not
far from the victim's home. In other words, during the cold months, from January to early March, when heavy jackets are worn, this man was still in Formosa. I felt certain he was guilty but the official assumption that the woman had been murdered some time in February and the fact that my suspect had arrived from Formosa in April prevented me from arresting him. And so the case remained unsolved.

  As I look back on it now I believe the police doctor misjudged the time of death. This is a difficult matter to determine, especially in the case of a decomposed corpse. Some doctors will make it earlier, others later; there will always be these differences of opinion. Our police doctor decided she had been dead a long while. Also, the fact that she was wearing a winter jacket helped to determine the time.

  I still believe there are cold days even in April. When a cold front-the term we now use-approaches, we have an unseasonably cold spell. The day the old woman was killed might have been one of those unexpectedly cold days, and she might have taken the warm jacket out of the closet and worn it. This would be normal in an old person. Just because she was wearing a heavy jacket need not mean that it was winter; it could have been April. For that reason, the crime could have been committed by the man I suspected.

  By the time I had reached this conclusion it was too late. I regret I had not thought of it that day, twenty years ago. If I had persevered a little more I might have come up with the idea; but the police doctor's statement and the winter jacket made me let the decision pass unchallenged.

  This is only one example. I give it to you as it comes to my mind. There are other, similar regrets in my past.

  In short, if one is convinced that a certain person has committed the crime, one should not give up; one should pursue him relentlessly. Sometimes, a preconceived opinion will make us overlook the obvious. This is a frightening thing. We call it common sense but it often leaves us with a blind spot. Even if something appears to be obvious one should investigate, objectively, to make absolutely sure.