The Red Locked Room Page 7

  ‘You know how ezōshi artists needed to be able to know to recall the stage name of any kabuki actor just by seeing his face? It’s the same for us. Doesn’t matter whether their style is Western or Japanese, or they’re in paintings or sculptures. We know all artists. Even with first-time customers, we know they’re this-or-that from Nika or the Seiryū Group. And we’re not only talking about the Grand maîtres here. So I am absolutely sure that the person who bought those frames from us was Mr. Okabe.’

  The exceptionally tall elderly owner had emphasised the word “absolutely” as he spoke.

  The female detective also paid a visit to the buildings near the crime scene, a shop selling decorative tiles, a publisher specialising in transcripts of high school lectures and a trading company on the verge of shutting down, but unfortunately she learned nothing of interest because they all shut at dusk and everyone had already gone home. Kiriyama wouldn’t give up however, so she went to the Kōryō Building itself to speak with the concierges. There were two, one of them an elderly man with a beard, and the other a slow, androgynous individual.

  ‘So they still haven’t caught him? He’s probably laying low somewhere.’

  ‘I was really shocked when I first heard the news. Never in my dreams could I imagine something like that would happen. The two of us had carried something down to the other storage room, you see,’ said the elderly man.

  ‘Little did we know there was a headless body lying in the room next door.’

  ‘Haven’t set foot in the cellar since. It’s lucky we seldom need to go down there, but I wouldn’t dare go alone now.’

  ‘Haha, it’s kind of pathetic, but I wouldn’t go alone either.’

  One of them was smoking a traditional kiseru pipe, the other a Bat cigarette, but both were speaking freely as they eyed the attractive detective. She, however, had learnt nothing interesting and looked very depressed as she left their office. Despite her meticulous investigation over the last few days, she had obtained zero results.

  Weeks passed. Okabe’s whereabouts were still unknown. Occasionally there were reports of people claiming to have seen him in Hokkaidō, but they were either cases of mistaken identity or impossible to confirm. And so it went on, until June.

  If one rides the bus from Ōme City in the direction of Hannō, Saitama for about twenty minutes one arrives at a place called Iwakura. It is there that the Musashino Terrace starts, south of the mountains of Okutama. It is a very peaceful place, with several traditional inns clustered around the mineral springs there. If one were to head west from the bus road and climb the slope, one would find fields to one’s left and, to one’s right, a cliff six or seven metres high. About halfway up the slope is a large hole sealed by shimenawa, hemp ropes used for ritual purification.

  In ancient times, Yamato Takeru-no-Mikoto passed by there after conquering Ezo (modern-day Hokkaidō) and placed his weapons in the hole. Because of that, the place was given the name of Musashi, written with the characters for “weapon” and “storage.”

  On one bright morning in June, a local farmer climbed the slope to dig up and replant his sweet potatoes. Rover, his crossbreed dog, for which he didn’t even have a license, had been walking in front of him, but the dog had suddenly stopped and started to howl horribly. The farmer thought Rover had found a toad and yelled back at him, but the dog would not stop, and only seemed to howl even louder in an attempt to attract its master’s attention. The farmer finally walked over to his dog to see what was wrong.

  About a hundred metres from the hole used as a weapon storage, there had been a miniature landslide due to the extremely heavy rainfall a few days earlier. Black earth covered the area, but something odd was sticking out from the dirt. The farmer’s suspicions were aroused, so he dug around until he made an unexpected discovery, at which he cried out and fell on his backside. Rover wagged his tail as he looked at the pathetic sight of his master trying to get up, and at the skull of a human which he had dug up.

  The skull still had flesh, so the officers at the Ōme Police Station immediately thought of the case of the decapitated corpse. They reported the incident to the Metropolitan Police Department and forensic investigators were sent to Ōme. The conclusion of their investigation was that the skull belonged to a male around forty-five, the same age as the headless body found in the cellar. Furthermore, the lower left first molar had a relatively new crown, so if they could find the dental surgeon who put it on, they could identify the victim. Two days later, the skull’s dental characteristics were shared with dentists in the Greater Tōkyō Area.

  The authorities had planned to wait for five days if necessary, and then ask dentists from the whole Kantō region, but fortunately there was no need for that, for Doctor Minai from Hanayama Dentists, located in the ground floor of the Hōrai Building in Shinbashi Tamurachō, called the police, confirming that the skull belonged to one of his patients.

  The more talented a dentist is, the more creative their medical treatment becomes, almost like art. They will look at the crowns placed by colleague dentists and admire or criticise the results. And it was normal that someone would recognize a crown he himself had set. Fortunately, Hanayama Dentists still had an impression of the teeth of the victim. Minai examined the skull meticulously and confirmed his conclusions with Onitsura. He presented his notebook, where he had copied the name and address of the victim copied from his medical files.

  Kanichi Karasuda - Age 47.

  Chigasaki City - Nango 19983

  7

  The police soon learned about Kanichi Karasuda. Like Okabe, Karasuda was a painter and member of the Independent Artists Association. He detested the company of other people, however, and had of late hardly interacted with other people, nor presented any new work. When it came to the art world, he had already become a person from the past. But why was he murdered? All those who knew him were puzzled. The fact that he was murdered at such an odd location, the cellar of a burnt-out building in Kanda, was curious enough on its own, but then the corpse was mutilated, and the head buried near some farms at the border of the Saitama Prefecture. Why had Okabe gone so far? It was impossible to even guess. Furthermore, Okabe had been the only artist to remain in contact with Karasuda, and although nobody could guess what lay beneath the surface, to the outside world they seemed to get along perfectly well. Everyone had thought the two were sworn friends, which was why the whole art world was in shock.

  It was necessary to search the home of the victim, so Onitsura drove down the Tōkaidō road to Chigasaki, together with his detectives and forensic investigators. A trip on a bright afternoon late in spring should have been pleasant, but nobody said a word during the ride, as they all had the case on their mind. At the Chigasaki Police Station an officer was assigned to them as their local guide and they eventually arrived in a peaceful town with cramped roads. Turning left, they used the railway crossing over the Tōkaidō road.

  Onitsura was reminded of Katai Tayama’s essay The Death of Doppo. In the early spring of the year of Meiji 42 (1909), the famed author Doppo Kunikida stayed at the Nankoin Sanatorium located in this region to recuperate, and Katai would often visit him there.

  “I got off at the station and passed through a block still reminiscent of its old post town history. On the other side of the railroad crossing stood an elementary school surrounded by poplars.”

  Half a century had since passed, and the elementary school was still standing on the right side of the road. Back then, it was still possible to see Mt. Fuji through the pines covering the area, but now it was covered with houses and stores, and those memories had been expunged. As a young woman wearing fancy shorts sped by on her bicycle, Onitsura thought how difficult it was to imagine Katai walking down that very street with heavy steps, while worrying about his friend’s condition.

  The car continued out of the shopping area and through the residential area, to reach the coast, where children were already playing in the water. They made their way west along t
he promenade, past the Nankoin Sanatorium where Doppo had stayed, and eventually stopped at a spot where the dunes were covered by pines. Far beyond stood the magnificent Mt. Fuji.

  ‘Nango 19983 should be around here somewhere,’ said the local officer, shading his eyes and scanning the surroundings. Chigasaki was the only place in Japan with a postal code of five digits. After a while, he noticed a small cottage beneath the pine-covered cliffs and told the driver to go there. It was the perfect home for someone who didn’t like people, hidden as it was within a pine grove. The whole building had been painted the colour of pine leaves, as if to mimic the camouflage of insects. A little sand path lay on the other side of the white wooden fence, leading to the green front door. An officer turned the knob, but the door was locked. He tried knocking and calling, but there was no answer. The eccentric artist had never been married, nor even hired a maid, and had spent his life cooped up in his own shell.

  The party went around to the back door, which was easily opened by putting a nail inside the keyhole and twisting it. A thick layer of blown sand covered the floor of the hallway, confirming that nobody had been inside for a long time.

  The house was very simple, with barely 30 square metres of surface area and cramped rooms: a bed room with a built-in bed, a small Western-style living room and a kitchen-cum-dining room. On the sink stood an empty can of sardines in tomato sauce and in the cupboard were ten more cans.

  ‘I guess he likes Western-style meals,’ said Onitsura as he searched the house, but he did find about 15 kilograms of white rice in the storage, so Karasuda probably ate Japanese style as well.

  The living room contained only one table and one chair. If Karasuda ever had a guest over, one of them would have had to stand. Given his personality, guests were unlikely, and if he’d had uninvited guests, it was likely he would have taken the chair and let the other stand.

  Onitsura and his men started a thorough investigation of the little house in the hopes of finding something that would indicate a motive for the murder. But not only were his diaries for the current and previous year missing, his letters were also gone. It was assumed the murderer had destroyed them, and when they checked the stove in the kitchen, they found ashes which appeared to have come from paper.

  The people from forensics sprayed aluminium powder at suspicious spots and carefully checked them with their magnifying glasses, hoping to find the fingerprints of the culprit. However, only Karasuda’s fingerprints were found, and none of their efforts paid off. In the end, the chief inspector and his party had to leave with no results. The only thing they could do now was to pour more effort into determining Okabe’s whereabouts.

  Another eight days had passed. It was an unpleasant, clammy day, as it had been raining since the morning. It was in the afternoon when a young woman called upon Onitsura. She looked cute with her small face and short physique, and her small red boots only emphasised the impression. She presented her business card, which said Kimiko Kiriyama.

  ‘I believe you have something to tell me about the case of the decapitated body?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been hired to work on it. There is something I want to ask of you,’ she said firmly as she pulled out a silver, cylindrical object wrapped in plastic from her bag and carefully placed it on the desk in front of the chief inspector.

  ‘I want you to check the fingerprints on this. If my suspicions are confirmed, I will tell you what I know about the case.’

  Before replying, Onitsura took a look at the empty can on his desk. The red label on the side said sardines in tomato sauce. Sardines in tomato sauce, sardines in tomato sauce, hadn’t he seen that before? Yes, in Kanichi Karasuda’s kitchen, of course.

  Had the woman sneaked into his house and “borrowed” the can? If so, she was a surprisingly proactive young lady. The policeman took another good look at the woman as he accepted her condition. She left his office with a smile on her face, leaving only the scent of her perfume behind.

  Onitsura could not fathom her intent. The police had already made a thorough examination of the fingerprints in the house when they were there eight days ago, so it was unlikely they would find any on this can. He had accepted her condition because she seemed very sure about it, but it seemed clear to him that she would not get the results she was hoping for.

  It had been raining on and off, but the following day the weather cleared. A cobalt blue sky peeked out from behind the clouds. Dazzling sunlight had begun to cast its glimmer on the streets, the trees and the walls of the buildings, when she appeared again wearing her red boots. Expectation made her eyes twinkle.

  ‘What did you learn?’ she asked with a coaxing voice. She was obviously someone with a natural talent to attract men.

  ‘I am afraid the results won’t be to your liking,’ said Onitsura apologetically. ‘There were a few smeared and indiscernible fingerprints, but the rest were all of Mr. Karasuda himself. There were no clear prints of anyone else.’

  The woman appeared to be struggling not to show any signs of desperation.

  ‘Now it’s my turn to ask questions. I trust you will answer them?’

  Onitsura looked at her in a friendly manner. He had a pleasant and inviting smile.

  ‘Of course, please ask away. But please understand that there are still some things I can’t discuss with you yet.’

  ‘Aha. I hope this question belongs in the other category. Where did you find this empty can?’

  ‘In Mr. Karasuda’s kitchen. I suppose I’m guilty of trespassing.’

  ‘Well, that’s something you really shouldn’t say here. Anyway, why did you break in?’

  ‘Hmm, I suppose I can tell you. I don’t believe Mr. Okabe is the murderer. So I’m trying to prove his innocence. That was my reason.’

  ‘You think he’s innocent? That’s the complete opposite of what we think. Why do you believe that? What grounds do you have?’

  She bit her lip and seemed about to answer, then controlled herself, shook her head, and said she could not explain. Onitsura knew that she was desperately trying not to betray what was going inside her.

  8

  Kimiko Kiriyama was indeed a woman strongly moved by her emotions. She had gone all the way to Chigasaki and sneaked into the abandoned house, and her efforts had borne fruit, because she had gathered data that would prove that Okabe hadn’t killed Kanichi Karasuda. It was almost farcical how slow-witted the chief inspector had been for not recognising the piece of evidence sitting in front of him, but when he asked those questions, she could not help but be overwhelmed by her thoughts of her lover Okabe, and she almost burst into tears. She barely managed to contain the emotions welling up inside her as she left the Metropolitan Police Department.

  She crossed over the railroad and walked along the embankment, looking at the couples chatting and admiring the swans. The sight made her think of Okabe, and tears came into her eyes. Okabe had not been young, but his experience with women allowed him to love her in a way no young man could ever do. They had been due to marry that spring, but it had been three months since his disappearance. Although he had loved her so much, he had not told her anything before he vanished and had not sent her a single letter in the nearly one hundred days that had passed. Her woman’s instinct told her that Okabe was no longer alive. That body left in those vile, horrid conditions in that cellar storage had to be Okabe’s, and so did the head found in Iwakura. Karasuda had to be the murderer! It was pathetic and vexing to see how stupid the police were, still fixated on finding Okabe. She knew the case would never be solved if it were left up to them. She had to do it herself!

  Kimiko turned the corner at Hibiya Park and decided to pay a visit to Hanayama Dentists in the Hōrai Building in Tamurachō. She needed to meet with Dr. Minai, who had identified Okabe’s skull as that of Karasuda. She had to know why he had made such a mistake. There had to be some trick behind all of this. Perhaps the dentist had been bribed to make a false testimony.

  Turning left from the street
in front of the NHK Broadcasting Station, passing by a few smaller streets and taking a right turn brought her to the Hōrai Building. It was small, only five storeys high. It was just after noon, and there was a rush of office workers all trying to get their teeth fixed. It was obvious she’d be turned away for an interview, so she pretended to be a patient and registered for an examination. Her name was called twenty minutes later.

  The dentist Minai was slender and about 1.7 metres tall. He was dark-haired, clean-shaven and wore gold-rimmed glasses, a rare sight in those days. The moment she saw him, any suspicions she had about Karasuda bribing him disappeared.

  ‘Yes, open your mouth please. Hm, hm.’

  When the examination was over, he told Kimiko her teeth were all fine, and it was at this moment that Kimiko fired her question.

  ‘I want to ask you something about the head of Mr. Karasuda.’

  Minai’s eyes widened in surprise. He had not expected such a cute woman to bring up such a horrible topic.

  ‘I have spoken to Chief Inspector Onitsura, but I also have questions for you. Do you mind?’

  She flashed a smile at the dentist, making sure to show her dimples and her buck teeth. She tried to look as charming as possible. Her smile had been very effective on Egi, Ikeda, the owner of Deidosha and the concierges at the Kōryō Building, so she felt it was bound to work on the handsome dentist as well.

  He considered the matter for a while, peered into the waiting room, and said he could give her three minutes.

  ‘Thank you so much. What kind of person was this Mr. Karasuda?’ she asked as she took out her notebook. Kimiko’s occupation had taught her how to hold a pencil and a notebook so she could pretend to be a reporter or writer. She had not introduced herself, but it was clear the dentist had mistaken her for a reporter for some magazine.

  ‘Well, the chief inspector asked me the same question, but I don’t really remember. As you can see, this is a rather busy place.’