Inspector Imanishi Investigates Page 6

  The two dozen investigators assigned to the Kamata case were all gathered in the gym room of the local precinct station. The chief of detectives of the Metropolitan Police, who was nominally in charge, did not appear at this meeting. The deputy chief, who was head of the Homicide Division, and the local precinct chief were there in his stead.

  At each place was a cup filled with sake. Plates of snacks were scattered about the table. The detectives sat around looking depressed. When a case was solved, the final party to disband the investigation team was a happy occasion. But when the case was closed unsolved, the party became a wake.

  The head of Homicide stood up.

  “I want to thank each of you for all you’ve done during this long investigation,” he began in a discouraged voice. “A month has passed since this investigation headquarters was established. Your efforts during that time have been extraordinary. Unfortunately, with no strong leads to follow, we must now close this headquarters. This is truly regrettable.” He looked around at the assembled men who listened with downcast eyes. “However, this does not mean that all investigation into this case must cease. We will continue to investigate on a voluntary basis. When I look back on this case, I think that we may have been too optimistic at the beginning. Because there was so much evidence at the scene of the crime, we felt sure of an early solution. Although the identity of the victim was unknown, I think we were too sure that, with so much evidence available, we would soon learn who he was. We found the murder weapon as well as witnesses who had seen the victim and the probable murderer. But despite your unstinting efforts, we have had no further results. Now it seems necessary to reevaluate our initial assessment.”

  Imanishi Eitaro listened to the speech with his eyes on the floor. The division head was speaking forcefully, as if he were trying to encourage them. But after all, it was a speech about failure.

  Imanishi felt more responsible than the other investigators. Now he even wondered if, as first suspected, “Kameda” was a person’s name after all. After going all the way to Kameda in Akita Prefecture, it seemed that “the strange man” had nothing to do with the case. When an investigation folded, every uncertainty hounded the detectives. But there was no use going all over it again.

  The main speech ended and the local police station chief said a few words. After that the detectives drank the sake in their teacups and broke into conversation. The talk was unenthusiastic. The dismal gathering soon broke up.

  Imanishi started for home alone. He would no longer be coming to this station every day. As of tomorrow, he would return to headquarters. Imanishi walked toward Kamata Station. The street lights were on. Clear blue twilight lingered in the sky as the evening turned to night.

  “Imanishi-san.”

  He heard a voice calling him. He turned around and saw Yoshimura.

  “Hey, it’s you, is it?” Imanishi stopped.

  “Since we’re going in the same direction, I wondered if we could go together.”

  “Sure.”

  Side by side, they walked toward the station. The platform was crowded, as was the train. It was the middle of rush hour, and they couldn’t stand together inside the train. Still, Yoshimura managed to grab a hand strap not far from Imanishi. From the window they could see the city of Tokyo below them. Neon lights were starting to shine across the stark cityscape.

  “Yoshimura,” Imanishi yelled across the crowded car when they reached Shibuya Station. “Let’s get off here.”

  Imanishi had pushed his way off the train and to the top of the stairs by the time Yoshimura caught up with him.

  “What happened to you all of a sudden?” Yoshimura asked.

  “I just wanted to talk to you some more. Let’s have a drink somewhere nearby,” Imanishi said as they struggled down the crowded stairs. “I hope that’s all right.”

  “It’s fine with me,” Yoshimura said and smiled. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you some more, too.”

  “That’s perfect. I just can’t go straight home the way I feel now. It was like a funeral at headquarters. Let’s go drown this bitter aftertaste in some beer.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  The two men crossed the square in front of the station and turned down a narrow side street. This area was full of small bars with red lanterns hanging from their eaves.

  They entered a narrow bar that served steaming hot oden, vegetables and dumplings simmered in a flavorful broth. It was early in the evening and there were few customers. They took two seats in the corner.

  “Could we have some beer?”

  The owner of the bar, who was tending the simmering pot with a pair of long chopsticks, nodded her head and said, “Coming right up.”

  The two men toasted each other with glasses nearly overflowing with foam.

  “That’s better,” Imanishi said, drinking half the glass in one gulp. “I’m glad I ran into you.”

  “I was thinking the same. We won’t be working together anymore, so this is good-bye, Imanishi-san.”

  “Thanks for all you’ve done.”

  “No, no, I’m the one who should thank you.”

  “Why don’t we order something?”

  “I’d like some skewered maruten, please.”

  “You like maruten, too?” Imanishi smiled. “It’s one of my favorites.”

  Imanishi finished his beer and let out a big sigh; Yoshimura looked over at him. They weren’t supposed to discuss their cases in public, but inevitably their conversation drifted back to it.

  “You’ll be at central headquarters starting tomorrow, won’t you?” Yoshimura asked, tossing off his beer.

  “Yes, I’ll be going back to my home base,” Imanishi said, as he nibbled at the skewered maruten.

  “You’ll probably be assigned to another case right away, no?”

  “Probably. One case after another, the work keeps coming. But even though you’re assigned to something else, this kind of case stays on your mind. I’ve been a detective now for a long time, and I’ve been involved with three or four cases that were never solved. They’re old cases, but they’re always in a corner of my mind. Every now and then they pop up. It’s strange. I don’t remember anything about the cases that were solved, but I can recall clearly the faces of each of the victims of the unsolved cases. Well, now there’s one more to give me bad dreams.”

  “Imanishi-san,” Yoshimura put his hand on Imanishi’s arm. “Let’s not talk about it anymore. Today is our farewell to working together. Let’s drink to that.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “You know, I have fonder memories of the time we went out of town together than of all those times we trudged around this city. It was the first time I’d ever seen the Tohoku area. I really liked the color of the sea.”

  Imanishi smiled. “It would be a good place to visit again just for pleasure after I retire.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  “What are you talking about? You’re still young.”

  “I’d like to walk around Kameda alone, without a care, with no worries.” Yoshimura’s expression turned nostalgic, as if he were seeing the scenery again in his mind. “That’s right, Imanishi-san, you showed me three haiku that you wrote then. Have you come up with any more since that time?”

  “Hmm, well, I did write a few more, about ten, maybe…”

  “I’d like to hear them.”

  “No.” Imanishi shook his head. “Listening to lousy poetry would ruin the taste of this beer. I’ll recite them for you another time. Well, shall we order one more beer before we go?”

  By this time the bar was full and noisy. This made it easier for the two men to talk privately.

  “Imanishi-san,” Yoshimura turned and leaned toward Imanishi. “About the Kamata case…”

  “Hm,” Imanishi glanced quickly right and left. No one seemed to be paying attention to them.

  “Your theory that the suspect’s hideout is not too far away… I think that must b
e right.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, I do. The murderer had to have been covered with blood. So he couldn’t have gone far. I think his hideout has to be somewhere nearby.”

  “I’ve looked around with that in mind,” Imanishi muttered.

  “The murderer couldn’t take a taxi looking like that,” Yoshimura continued. “The witnesses said he wasn’t dressed well. In fact, you can tell he wasn’t well off by the fact that he was drinking cheap whiskey in an out of the way place like Kamata. He wouldn’t have the money to own a car.”

  “Probably not.”

  “Then, if he couldn’t take a cab, he must have walked home. The streets would have been dark, so he could have walked without being noticed. If he could walk home, he had to live within a certain distance of Kamata.”

  “That’s true. Even if he walked till dawn, he still couldn’t have gone very far. At most maybe five or six miles.”

  “Here’s what I think: If he went home looking like that, he would have to be living alone.”

  “I see.” Imanishi poured Yoshimura some more beer and filled his own glass as well. “That’s a new idea.”

  “Imanishi-san, you thought that the man lived somewhere else, and used a hideout after committing the crime, right?”

  “I’m not confident about my deductions anymore.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. If there was a hideout, it would most likely be his mistress’s or a close friend’s place. Since he isn’t well off, I could go along with the friend theory; I can’t see that he could afford a mistress.”

  Imanishi said good-bye to Yoshimura and went home alone. His house was on a bus route in Takinogawa, and it shook every time a bus went by. His wife was tired of the noise and wanted to move, but they couldn’t find anything they could afford. In the ten years they had lived there, the area had changed completely. Large new buildings had been built where old houses had been destroyed, and apartment houses now filled the empty lots. One of these apartment buildings had been built nearby, and because of it Imanishi’s house had not gotten any sunlight for the last three years. When he turned down the narrow street to his house, he could see a moving van in front of the apartment building.

  Imanishi tugged open his sliding front door, which tended to stick.

  “I’m home,” he announced as he took off his shoes.

  “Welcome home. You’re very early today.” Yoshiko came to the entryway with a welcoming smile.

  Silent, Imanishi walked to the back of the small house. In the tiny garden were miniature bonsai trees he had bought at outdoor markets.

  “Hey,” Imanishi said to his wife as she folded his clothes to put away, “I don’t have to go to Kamata tomorrow. I’m back at police headquarters.”

  “Oh, is that so?”

  “I’ll probably be home early from now on.”

  Noticing his flushed face, Yoshiko asked, “Did you stop off somewhere for a drink?”

  “I stopped off at Shibuya with Yoshimura and had some beer.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Where’s the boy?”

  “My mother came by and took him home with her. Tomorrow is a holiday, so she’ll bring him back before bedtime.”

  Tying his obi around the kimono he wore at home, Imanishi went to sit on the veranda. He could hear the neighborhood children playing outdoors.

  Imanishi asked, suddenly remembering, “Did someone new move into that apartment building?”

  “Yes, did you see something?”

  “A truck was parked out front.”

  His wife came and stood next to him. “I heard the neighbors saying that the person who moved in is an actress.”

  “That’s an unusual type for this place.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know who heard about it, but it’s quite the talk around here.”

  “If she’s moving into that apartment, she can’t be much of an actress,” Imanishi said, pounding his shoulder to get the kinks out.

  “They say she’s not a movie actress. She acts in plays. That’s why she doesn’t earn much.”

  When they had finished supper, Imanishi suddenly asked his wife, “What’s the date today?”

  “June fourteenth.”

  “It’s a day with a four in it, so it’s the day of the temple fair at Togenuki Jizo in Sugamo. Shall we go, for a change?”

  “Yes, let’s.” Yoshiko started to get ready to go out. “I suppose you’re going to buy another bonsai plant?”

  “I don’t know if I will or not.”

  “We don’t have any space to put any more plants in the garden. Please don’t buy any more.”

  “All right, I won’t.”

  Imanishi intended to buy a plant if he saw one that he particularly liked. It might help put the case out of his mind.

  At Sugamo they got off the streetcar, crossed the large square, and walked down a street lined with shops. Outdoor stalls were set up along the narrow street to the temple. Though it was late and many people were heading home, it was still crowded. The glare of bare light bulbs brightened the stalls, shining on people who had gathered to scoop for goldfish, or to buy cotton candy, bags, games, toys, or herbal medicines.

  The Imanishis walked to the Jizo temple to offer a prayer. Then they took their time inspecting the festival activities.

  There were several nurseries displaying a variety of potted plants. Imanishi stood in front of one of the stalls. His wife pulled at his sleeve, but the bonsai lover in him wouldn’t let him leave. He squatted down in front of a row of plants. There were many interesting trees for sale. Remembering his promise to his wife, he chose only one. Yoshiko laughed as he walked over to her, carrying his plant in one hand.

  “The garden is too crowded already,” she said on the way home. “We can’t line them all up unless we move to a house with a larger yard.”

  “Don’t complain so much.”

  They had been out for only an hour, but they had had a pleasant time. When they reached the main street, they saw a group of people milling around staring at something near the edge of the road. It was easy to see that there had been a traffic accident. An automobile had plunged onto the sidewalk. Its rear end was smashed. A taxi was stopped ten to twelve yards behind the car. Half a dozen policemen were already there investigating the accident, shining their flashlights around on the ground. One of them drew several circles on the street with chalk.

  “They’ve done it again,” Imanishi said, as he took in the scene.

  “My, how dangerous.” Yoshiko grimaced as she looked.

  Imanishi peered inside the car on the sidewalk. It was empty. When he looked in the taxi, he saw neither the driver nor his fare.

  “It looks like they were all taken to the hospital,” Imanishi said. “They must really have been hurt.”

  “I hope no one was killed,” Yoshiko said, frowning.

  Imanishi handed his plant to his wife and searched for a familiar face among the policemen. He walked over to one of them. “Hello, you have quite a problem, don’t you?”

  The policeman, recognizing him, bowed respectfully. Imanishi had been involved in solving a case at the Sugamo police station.

  “It’s quite a mess, isn’t it?” Imanishi asked.

  “It’s terrible.” The traffic policeman, who had been jotting down the main points in his notebook, pointed to the battered car. “This one’s a total wreck.”

  “What happened?”

  “The driver was speeding. And the taxi driver behind him was looking off to the side. He didn’t even notice that the car in front of him had stopped and slammed into it without slowing down.”

  “Any injuries?”

  “The taxi driver and his fare were rushed to the hospital. But the people in the rear-ended car had only minor scratches.”

  “And how badly injured were the people in the taxi?”

  “The driver’s head went through the windshield, so his face was badly injured.”

  “And his
fare?”

  “His chest slammed into the back of the front seat when the taxi hit the car. He lost consciousness temporarily but regained it when he arrived at the hospital.”

  “That’s a relief.” Imanishi was glad there had been no worse casualties. “Who was the passenger?”

  “I heard that he was some kind of musician,” the policeman answered.

  When Imanishi awoke the next morning he was grateful that he’d been liberated from the recent disappointing case. He looked at the clock. It was only seven, he would have plenty of time to get to work even if he got up at eight.

  “Could I see the newspaper?” Imanishi called to the kitchen where he could hear noise.

  Wiping her hands, Yoshiko brought him the morning paper.

  The front page was full of political news. The headlines were bold and the articles were interesting. Still a bit drowsy, Imanishi turned the pages of the newspaper. There was a series of opinion pieces accompanied by small photographs of each commentator. Browsing through the pictures, Imanishi stopped at one. It was a photo of Sekigawa Shigeo.

  Imanishi wasn’t interested in Sekigawa’s opinion. What had drawn his attention was his picture. He couldn’t remember if the photograph resembled the face he had seen at Ugo Kameda, but he thought it was the same person. Yoshimura had said that he was a member of the Nouveau group. Seeing his young face among the photos of well-known figures in various fields, Imanishi realized that Sekigawa must be getting a lot of attention. He couldn’t be thirty years old yet, he thought, impressed at such quick success.

  Imanishi turned the page, but the sports news didn’t interest him. On the city page, a large headline caught his eye: “Composer Waga Eiryo Injured Last Night in Taxi Rear-end Collision.”

  There was a photograph of Waga. Imanishi was startled to recognize another of the men he had seen at Ugo Kameda. He hurriedly read the article. It was about the accident he had come across the night before. Staring at yet another young face, Imanishi felt an odd connection.

  Imanishi called to his wife, “Hey, look at this.” He showed her the newspaper article. “There’s something in the paper about last night.”