Chapter 61

52TWO The First Day on the Mainland 1 My daughter Chiori was murdered by all of you. Kawaminami Taka’aki frowned as he lay sprawled on the bed in the middle of his small room. It was eleven o’clock in the morning. He had found the letter in his mailbox just now on his return home. He had stayed out all night playing mah-jong at a friend’s place and come home with a drowsy mind, the noise of the tiles still echoing in his ears as usual, but the letter had awoken him immediately. “Wha-what’s this?” Rubbing his eyes, he picked up the envelope that held the letter and took another good look at it. It was an ordinary brown envelope, postmarked yesterday—25th March. It had been posted from within O— City. The only thing peculiar about it was that everything on it had been written with a word processor. There was no address for the sender. The back of the envelope only said “Nakamura Seiji”. “Nakamura Seiji.” He muttered the name. Never heard of him. No, wait, he had heard it somewhere. He sat up, legs crossed, and looked again at the letter. It had also been written with a word processor. The paper was a high-grade B5.53 “My daughter Chiori was murdered by all of you.” He remembered the name Chiori. The letter probably referred to Nakamura Chiori. And this Nakamura Seiji would be her father. It had happened over a year ago, at the New Year’s party of the K— University Mystery Club, of which Kawaminami had been a member at the time. Nakamura Chiori had been his junior, one year below him, so she was a first-year student. Kawaminami was a third-year now. He would become a fourth-year starting in April, but he had quit the Mystery Club in spring last year. Because at the New Year’s after-party, Nakamura Chiori had died. Kawaminami had left the party early because of an appointment. The “accident” had happened after his departure. Acute alcohol poisoning, coupled with a chronic disease, had led to a heart attack. It had been too late by the time the ambulance had brought her to the hospital. Kawaminami had also attended the funeral. Chiori had been living in O— City with her grandfather on her mother’s side. The ceremony was held there. But the name of the chief mourner wasn’t Seiji. It was a much more old-fashioned name. It wasn’t her father, but her grandfather. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen anybody that could have been Chiori’s father there. But why had someone calling himself Chiori’s father sent him this letter—someone he had never seen or spoken to? “Seiji” claimed in his letter that Chiori had been murdered. His daughter had died because of the alcohol she had been made to drink at the party. Kawaminami could understand that, in his eyes, his daughter had been killed. But what was he thinking, writing this letter over a year after it happened?54 Kawaminami straightened up suddenly. Nakamura Seiji… Aha! He had found the correct thread among his memories. He jumped up, went over to the steel rack leaning against the wall and pulled some folders out. They were full of interesting newspaper clippings he had collected. I think it was around September last year… After searching for a while he found the article. the blue mansion on tsunojima in flames. a mysterious quadruple murder? Kawaminami sat down on the floor and opened the folder. He tapped his fingers on the big characters of the headline. “An accusation made by a dead man?” “Excuse me, is this the Higashi residence? My name is Kawaminami of K— University. Is Hajime there?” “Kawaminami, you say?” The woman on the other end of the phone was probably Hajime’s mother. “Hajime left on a trip this morning. With some friends in his club.” “The Mystery Club?” “Yes. He said he was going to an uninhabited island.” “An uninhabited island? Do you happen to know the name?” “Err, I think it was Tsunojima. Somewhere near S—Town.” “Tsunojima…” Kawaminami felt his breathing cease and he grasped the receiver tightly. “Did Hajime get a letter, by any chance?”55 “A letter?” “A letter from someone called Nakamura Seiji.” “I don’t…” She hesitated for a moment, but she seemed to sense the urgency in Kawaminami’s voice. She asked him to wait a minute and left the phone. The sound of organ music reached his ears. After a while she returned and said, somewhat anxiously: “Yes, a letter from a Nakamura Seiji has been delivered. Is there something wrong?” “It’s there? It’s really there?” “Yes.” He suddenly felt his strength draining out of him. His shoulders sagged and he was not sure what to do. “Oh, yes, thank you—it’s nothing. Sorry for bothering you.” Kawaminami replaced the receiver and leant against the wall. It was an old building and the walls would creak if you put too much weight on them. Through the badly made window he could hear the droning of an almost-broken washing machine. A letter from Nakamura Seiji was also delivered to Higashi’s place. He blinked his bloodshot eyes several times. Could it be just a prank? He looked up the club’s address list, made a note of all the members who had been at the after-party and made several calls. They had all gone away and, since most of them had been boarding students, he was unable to find out whether they had received letters too. Now they were all on a trip together. To Tsunojima of all places, the site of that horrific incident. Was it just a coincidence? After a moment of reflection, he picked up the address list again and looked up the phone number of the deceased Nakamura Chiori.56 2 O— City was a thirty-minute bus ride and another forty-minute train journey away from S— Town, from where the Mystery Club members had left for Tsunojima. The distance between the towns was less than forty kilometres as the crow flies. Kawaminami got out of the train at Kamegawa, four stations after O— City, and walked briskly up the road leading to the mountains. He had called the home of Nakamura Chiori’s grandfather. A friendly middle-aged woman, probably the housekeeper, had answered the phone and Kawaminami had introduced himself as a friend of Chiori from university. It would have been awkward for him to call out of the blue and immediately start to grill the woman, but, with tact and patience, he had managed to get confirmation that Chiori’s father was indeed the Nakamura Seiji of the Tsunojima incident, and had also managed to obtain the address of Nakamura Kōjirō, Seiji’s younger brother. He’d learnt of the existence of Kōjirō while going through newspaper articles about the incident. Kōjirō was living in the Kannawa district in Beppu. He was a teacher at a high school there and, because it was the spring holiday, he would probably be at home. Kawaminami’s family home also used to be in Beppu. He could easily find his way there, he thought, as his curiosity grew. He didn’t even consider making a phone call first, but decided to head for Kōjirō’s house immediately. Kannawa is home to several of Beppu’s famous hot springs, known as “Hells”. In the wide clear sky he could see white plumes of steam rising from the rows of houses and the gutters of the sloping roads. To the left he could see the black foothills of Mount Tsurumi. 57 Past a small shopping area, the streets quickly became silent. The neighbourhood was full of inns, hostels and rental villas for both short- and long-term visitors, who came to the hot springs for medical purposes. As he had been given the exact address on the phone, he managed to find his destination without any trouble. It was a nice one-storey house. On the other side of a low hedge, flowers like yellow broom, white meadowsweet and pink quince were already showing the colours of spring. Kawaminami went through the lattice-windowed gate and followed the stone steps through the front garden. He took a deep breath and pushed the doorbell. Moments later, a round baritone voice came from the other side of the door. “Who is it?” The man who appeared did not fit this traditional Japanese house at all. He wore a white open-necked shirt under a brown cardigan and charcoal-grey trousers. His hair had been brushed back casually and was streaked with grey. “Excuse me, are you Nakamura Kōjirō?” “Yes.” “Er… My name is Kawaminami. I was in the same college club as Nakamura Chiori. I’m sorry for coming here like this out of the blue.” Behind his horn-rimmed glasses, Kōjirō’s clean-cut face softened. “A member of K— University’s Mystery Club? And you’re here because?…” “I received this curious letter today.” Kōjirō took the letter. After scanning the orderly row of characters that spelt the sender’s name, his eyebrows shot up and he took another look at Kawaminami.58 “By all means come inside. A friend is here, but don’t mind him. I’m afraid, since I live here alone, I can’t offer you very much in the way of food.” Kawaminami was led to a traditional tatami mat room towards the rear of the house. The room was L-shaped, consisting of two six-tatami rooms joined together. The paper wall panels that had originally separated the rooms had been removed to form a twelve-tatami room. The part in front was used as a living room and reception area. On a dark-green carpet stood a sofa set of the same colour. The part in the back overlooked a garden to the right and was being used as a study. Kawaminami could see several bookcases reaching to the ceiling and a big desk. The rooms were so tidy it was hard to believe a single man lived there. “Shimada, we have a guest.” The friend Kōjirō addressed was sitting on a rattan rocking chair in the front room, facing out towards the garden. “This is Kawaminami from K— U.’s detective-fiction club. And this is my friend Shimada Kiyoshi.” “Detective fiction?” Shimada asked and he jumped up from his seat. In the process the rocking chair struck his legs and, groaning softly, he fell back into it. “Er, I actually quit the club last year.” “Hmm.” Shimada rubbed his legs with a grimace and said: “So what brings you here to dear old Kō?” “This,” said Kōjirō, and he passed Kawaminami’s letter to Shimada, who stopped rubbing his legs when he saw the name of the sender and took a hard look at Kawaminami. “Mind if I read it?” “Not at all.”59 “To tell you the truth,” Kōjirō said, “I’ve received a similar letter.” “What?!” Kōjirō walked to the study desk in the back, picked up a letter lying on top of a red-brown desk mat and passed it to Kawaminami. Kawaminami studied the front and back of the envelope. The same envelope, the same postmark, the same typed letters as appeared on the one he had received. And the sender was “Nakamura Seiji” as well. “May I look inside?” Kōjirō nodded in silence. Chiori was murdered. That was all. Although the text was different, it had also been typed using a word processor on the same high-grade B5-sized paper. Kawaminami, his eyes fixed on the letter, was at a loss for words. A mysterious letter from the dead. He had guessed that every member who had been present at last year’s after-party had been sent the same letter, but even this man, Nakamura Kōjirō, had received one. “What could it mean?” “I’ve no idea,” Kōjirō replied. “I’m as shocked as you are. I was just saying to Shimada that it must be a practical joke in very bad taste, and how some people have too much time on their hands. And then you turn up.” “It’s not just me. Other club members also got the letter.” “Well, well.” “Is it possible that this Nakamura Seiji—excuse me, your brother—is still alive?”60 “Impossible.” Kōjirō shook his head decisively. “As you know, my brother died last autumn. I was the one who had to identify the body. It was horrible—sorry, but I don’t want to talk about it.” “So does that mean that this letter is really just a prank?” “I can’t think of any other explanation. My brother died six months ago. That’s the honest truth. And I’m afraid I don’t believe in ghosts.” “What do you think about the contents of the letter?” “Well, I…” A worried look came over Kōjirō’s face. “I know what happened to Chiori, but as far as I’m concerned it was just an unfortunate accident. She was my little niece, so of course it feels as though she was taken from us unfairly, but I don’t hate you for what happened. What I really can’t forgive, though, is that someone is using the name of my brother and sending these letters around as some sort of sick joke.” “Is it really just a joke?” muttered Kawaminami. He wasn’t convinced of that. He nodded half-heartedly and stole a glance at Shimada, who was sitting in the rattan chair with one elbow on his crossed legs and, for some reason, looking at him with amusement. “By the way,” Kawaminami said as he returned the letter to Kōjirō, “did you know that some members of the Mystery Club are on Tsunojima right now?” “No,” replied Kōjirō, uninterested. “I inherited the island and the mansion after my brother’s death, but I sold it to an estate agent in S— Town last month. He beat down the price a lot, but I had no intention of ever going to that place again anyway. Don’t know what they did with it after that.”61 3 Kōjirō still had work to do that day, so Kawaminami felt obliged to leave. Just before he left the room, Kawaminami asked about the full bookcases in the back that had caught his attention. Kōjirō explained that, beside his work as social studies teacher at a nearby high school, he was also doing research on Buddhism. With a shy smile, he explained he was researching the “emptiness of the heart” in early Mahayana Buddhism. “‘Emptiness of the heart’?” asked Kawaminami, puzzled. Shimada got up from the rocking chair to explain. “You’ve heard of the Heart Sutra, no doubt? The one that goes ‘Form is Emptiness and Emptiness is Form’? Kō here is researching the meaning of that ‘emptiness’.” He approached Kawaminami with a bouncy step and handed back the letter he had been scrutinizing. “How do you write your family name with kanji, Kawaminami?” he asked. “The character for ‘river’, as when you write ‘the Yellow River’, combined with the character for ‘south’.” “Aha, so kawa and minami—that’s a wonderful name. Kō, I’m going to leave you alone, too. Let’s leave together, Kawaminami.” The two left Kōjirō’s house and walked down the empty street. Shimada clasped his fingers together and stretched his arms. He wore a black sweater and jeans, which made his lean body look even taller and slimmer. “Conan. Yes, that is really a wonderful name,” Shimada said as he raised his arms behind his head. He was using the alternative 62readings for the characters kawa and minami to read the name Kawaminami as Conan. “Why did you quit the Mystery Club? At a guess, I’d say the culture didn’t suit you.” “You’re right. Good guess.” “I could read it in your face.” Shimada grinned. “So it wasn’t because you lost interest in mystery fiction, then?” “No, I still enjoy reading detective novels.” “That’s good. I like a good mystery too, more than I do Buddhist texts. Nothing as clear-cut as a detective story. Well, Conan, what about having have a coffee with me somewhere?” “All right,” replied Kawaminami, and laughed. The road sloped gently downwards. The light breeze blowing from the seafront was filled with the spirit of spring. “You’re an interesting man, Conan.” “I am?” “You came all the way here just because of a letter that might well have been nothing more than a prank.” “It wasn’t that far.” “Hm. Actually, I would have done the same if I’d been in your shoes. I have a lot of spare time, you see.” Shimada put both hands in the pockets of his black jeans and grinned. “And you? Do you think it’s all just an elaborate joke?” “Kōjirō seems to think it is, but it doesn’t add up,” Kawaminami replied. “Of course, I’m not saying that a ghost wrote those letters. Someone is using the name of the dead man. But there’s been just too much effort put into all of this for it to be a simple hoax.” “Like what, for example?” “For example, all the letters were typed on a word processor. Getting hold of a word processor just for a joke seems a bit—” 63 “But the writer might simply have their own word processor. They have become popular in the last couple of years. Kō also has one at his place. He only bought the machine this year, but he’s become quite skilled at it.” “It’s true they’ve become popular. Quite a few of my friends have them too. And there’s one in every office room at the university for students to use freely. But I still don’t think it’s all that common to use a word processor to write letters.” “That’s true.” “A word processor avoids leaving handwriting samples, but why would you need to avoid handwriting if it was just a prank? And the text. It was just that one line. Don’t you think it’s too short? If you were out to scare people, you’d come up with more alarming things to say. Kōjirō’s letter was like that too. So I can’t help but feel there’s a deeper meaning behind it all.” “A deeper meaning, eh?” Reaching the end of the slope, they arrived at a promenade. Boats of all sizes were making their way across the sea, which glistened in the sunlight. “Over there,” Shimada pointed. “Let’s go there. It’s a nice place.” Across the road was a red roof with a weathervane. “Mother Goose” was written on the cafe’s signboard in fancy lettering. Kawaminami couldn’t help smiling at the sight. 4 After they sat down opposite each other at a table near the window, Kawaminami took another good look at the man he had just met. He looked over thirty—quite a bit more than that, probably. 64 His cheeks appeared even hollower than they actually were because of his soft, shoulder-length hair. Kawaminami was tall and thin himself, but Shimada towered over him. A hooked nose decorated his swarthy face and his eyes drooped a little. He was the sort of man who seemed strange on first meeting. He looked dark and bad-tempered, but the peculiar mismatch between his appearance and his way of talking was something Kawaminami found quite agreeable. He even thought it felt familiar in some way. It was already past four in the afternoon. Kawaminami remembered he had not eaten anything since the morning, so he ordered pizza toast with coffee. He took a look through the large window at the blue sea, which formed a giant arc on the other side of National Route 10. It was Beppu Bay. The shop was the kind of cosy little place you’d expect to find on the outskirts of a town filled with students. The Mother Goose-inspired paintings and dolls spread around the shop were probably a hobby of the owner. “So, Conan, let’s continue our conversation,” Shimada said casually as he poured a cup of Earl Grey from the pot that had just arrived. “You mean about the letters?” “Of course.” “But I’ve already told you all my thoughts—mind if I smoke?” “Not at all.” “Thanks.” He lit a cigarette and the smoke stung his eyes. “As I just said, I don’t think it’s all just a prank. But if you ask me what it’s about, I don’t have any answers. To be honest, I can’t think of any reason why anyone would do it. But…” “But?” 65 “I might take a guess.” “Pray do.” “Well, if I look at the letter sent to me, for example, and try to read the sender’s intention from it, I think can detect about three different messages. “First, the letter is above all an accusation: ‘Chiori was murdered.’ The second message follows from the first: I hate you, I’ll take revenge on you because you killed Chiori. So therefore a threat. The name ‘Nakamura Seiji’ was used to sign the accusation-cum-threat because he would have the best reason for doing so.” “I see. And the third message?” “For the third message, we have to look at the letter from a different angle: the hidden meaning behind sending the letters, so to speak.” “The hidden meaning?” “Yes. Why is the sender using the name of Nakamura Seiji, a deceased man, now? It might seem terrifying at first, but nobody in this day and age would really believe it. Can you imagine a ghost using a word processor? So I think it might be telling us in a roundabout way to take a good look at the incident that happened a year ago on Tsunojima. Or could I be overthinking this?” “No, it’s very interesting.” Shimada’s eyes shone in amusement and he reached for his cup. “Truly interesting. Another look at the Tsunojima incident. I do think that case needs more consideration. What do you know about it, Conan?” “Only what I read in the newspapers.” “So I’d better tell you what I know first.” “Please do.”66 “You remember the outline of the case, I assume? It happened in September of last year. Location: the house known as the Blue Mansion on Tsunojima. The four victims were Nakamura Seiji, his wife Kazue and the servant couple. The gardener disappeared. The fire that broke out after the murders destroyed the mansion. The murderer has not been caught.” “I believe the police had the gardener as their prime suspect?” “Yes, but there was no conclusive evidence. I think he was considered suspicious simply because he’d disappeared. And now for the details of the case…” Shimada spoke in a low voice. “First, I have to tell you more about the master of the mansion, Nakamura Seiji. He was three years older than Kō, so he was forty-six at the time. He’d retired by then, but before that he was a genius architect, highly regarded by those in the know. “Nakamura Seiji was the first child of the Nakamuras, a family of considerable means living in Usa in the Ōita Prefecture. After graduating from high school, Seiji moved on his own to Tokyo. He won a prize at a national-level contest while he was studying architecture at T— University and drew the attention of everyone in his field. After he graduated, his supervising professor strongly advised him to enter graduate school, but the sudden death of his father forced him to return home. “His father had left the Nakamura family a great fortune. Having inherited the money together with his brother Kōjirō, Seiji proceeded to build a mansion of his own design on Tsunojima and basically retired there. “His wife Kazue—her maiden name was Hanabusa—had been his childhood friend during his time in Usa. They say their parents had arranged for the two to be married early on. They married around the time Seiji left for Tsunojima.”67 “Did he do any architectural work after that?” “A little, but Kō said Seiji mostly did it for his own entertainment. He only took on requests that interested him, and then only when he felt like it. He had a peculiar love for designing the most bizarre buildings. But those buildings were loved in turn by other people with unusual tastes. Many clients came from afar to the island. But Seiji had been refusing nearly all requests for the last ten years and he seldom left his island.” “Quite a character.” “Kō himself is a bit strange too, studying Buddhism as a hobby, but even he agrees his brother was odd. Then again, I got the impression the two didn’t get along very well. “Anyway, the Kitamura couple—the servants—also lived in the mansion on Tsunojima. The husband did odd jobs around the house and piloted the motorboat that connected the island to the mainland. His wife did all the housekeeping. And then we have that gardener. His name was Yoshikawa Sei’ichi and he lived in Ajimu. He would come over once a month and stay several days. He happened to have arrived on the island three days before the fire. And that’s it for my introduction to the cast of characters. “Now for the circumstances of the case. Four bodies were discovered in total. They had been burnt black because of the fire, so forensics had quite some trouble with them. They eventually discovered the following facts: “The Kitamura couple had died in their bedroom with their heads bashed in. The murder weapon was very likely the axe found in the same room. Both bodies showed signs of having been tied with rope. The estimated time of death for both of them was the afternoon of 19th September—the day before the fire. “Nakamura Kazue had been strangled to death, on the bed in her bedroom, with a rope-like object. The left hand of the 68body was missing from the wrist down, and had been cut off after death. The whereabouts of the hand are still unknown. Her estimated time of death is sometime between 17th and 18th of September. “Nakamura Seiji had been completely doused in kerosene and burnt to death in the same room as Kazue. Large quantities of a sleeping drug were found inside his body, and this was also the case for the other three victims. Estimated time of death was the early morning of 20th September, when the fire broke out. “The fire is thought to have started in the kitchen. The murderer had splashed kerosene all over the mansion and then set fire to it in the kitchen. “As you know, the police have set their minds on the theory that the missing gardener is the murderer. But there are still points that remain unclear. “For example, the problem of Kazue’s left hand. What reason could Yoshikawa have had for cutting off the lady’s hand and taking it with him? And there’s the problem of his escape route. The only motorboat on the island was still in the inlet. He could have hardly killed four people and then gone swimming across the sea to the mainland in late September. The police, of course, also looked into the possibility of the murderer being someone from the outside, but that theory seemed to fit less and less the further they pursued it. The rough outline of the case as proposed by the police based on the ‘Yoshikawa equals murderer’ theory is… Don’t mind me—please eat your meal.” “Wha… oh, yes.” Kawaminami’s pizza toast and coffee had been brought during Shimada’s explanation. It was not politeness that had prevented him from touching it. He had been so intrigued by Shimada’s story he had forgotten to eat. 69 “Motives. They came up with two. The first was that he wanted Seiji’s fortune, so: robbery. The other is that he had an obsession with Kazue, or that they had secretly had a relationship. It was probably a combination of the two. “Yoshikawa first knocked everybody out with sleeping pills before he started his crime spree. He tied Kazue up, did the same to Seiji and locked him up somewhere else. He then took Kazue to the bedroom and satisfied himself with her. Kazue was the first to be killed, and her estimated time of death was one or two days earlier than that of the other three victims. While there is no definite proof, it appears that he raped Kazue after her death. The Kitamuras were murdered next. They were probably still asleep because of the drug. And Seiji was last. Yoshikawa doused Seiji with kerosene in his sleep and then went to the kitchen to start the fire.” “But, Mr Shimada,” Kawaminami asked, pausing with his cold coffee in mid-air, “why did the murderer keep Seiji alive until then? The same for the Kitamura couple. If he was going to kill them anyway, wouldn’t it have been safer to do it right away?” “He might not have planned to kill them right from the start. He might have panicked after he killed Kazue. The fact he saved Seiji for last does support the idea that the motive was robbery.” “Why?” “Because of Nakamura Seiji’s characteristics as an architect.” “How so?” “Yes. I told you just now that Seiji was a bit peculiar. There is a certain monomania, a childish touch, a playfulness to all the buildings Nakamura Seiji designed, including the Blue Mansion and its annex, the Decagon House. They are all a showcase for his peculiar tastes. One of them being what you might call a love of gimmicks.”70 “Gimmicks?” “Yes. I can only take a guess at the number, but the burnt-down Blue Mansion was full of gimmicks like hidden rooms, cabinets and vaults. Only Nakamura Seiji knew the location of all of them.” “So if someone were looking for his money, he’d need to get that information out of Seiji.” “Yes. Therefore the gardener wouldn’t have killed Seiji right away.” Shimada paused for a moment and placed one elbow on the table. “And that’s all that’s known about the case and the investigation. The police are still looking for the missing gardener, Yoshikawa. It doesn’t seem likely they will find him, though. Got any questions, my dear Conan?” “Let me think.” Kawaminami drank the last few drops of his coffee in one gulp and became lost in thought. Based on what Shimada had told him, the line of investigation the police were following did seem the best. But it was all just circumstantial conjecture. In other words, it was nothing more than an attempt to make sense out of the confused situation. The biggest hurdle in the case was the fact that the Blue Mansion had burnt down completely. Because of that, the crime scene had even fewer hints to offer than usual. And there was nobody left alive to tell them what had happened during the incident, or the time leading up to it. “You’re looking very serious, Conan,” said Shimada, licking his lips. “Now it’s my turn to ask you a question. It’s not directly connected to the case on Tsunojima, though.” “Yes?”71 “I want to ask you about that girl, Chiori. I knew Kō had a niece and that she was staying at Kazue’s parents’ place because of school. I’ve also heard she died in an unfortunate accident last year, but I don’t know any of the details. What kind of girl was Nakamura Chiori?” Immediately, a look of sadness crossed Kawaminami’s face. “She was a quiet girl. She wasn’t one to stand out and always had a sad aura about her. I hardly talked to her. But she was always very pleasant. She would happily help out with odd jobs during parties and suchlike.” “And how did she die?” “It happened in January last year, at the Mystery Club’s New Year’s party. She died of acute alcohol poisoning.” As he recounted the events, Kawaminami’s eyes unconsciously wandered to the window. “Usually when we had parties, she would leave after the first session, but that night we had an after-party, and we nagged her to come along. We really were an awful lot. She always had a low tolerance for alcohol. But everyone got caught up in it and they made her drink too much…” “They made her drink?” “Yes. I went to the after-party myself, but I had some other business and I left early with a friend of mine, Morisu. The accident happened after that. No…” Kawaminami silently put his hand on the letter in his jacket pocket. “No, it wasn’t an accident. We might really be the ones who killed her.” Thinking about Chiori’s death, Kawaminami really did feel some responsibility. If he hadn’t left early, he might have prevented the others from making Chiori drink too much. 72 “Are you free this evening?” As if he had perceived the dark feelings in Kawaminami’s heart, Shimada suddenly put the question in a cheerful tone. “What about it? Let’s have a bite and a drink somewhere.” “But—” “My treat. But in return, I want to talk to you about mystery fiction. I don’t have any friends to talk about that, sadly enough. Do me this favour.” “All right, gladly.” “OK. Let’s go to O— City then.” “But Mr Shimada…” “Yes?” “I haven’t asked you yet, but how did you and Kōjirō come to know each other?” “Ah, that’s right. Kō was my senior at university.” “University? You also studied Buddhism?” “Well, in a way.” With an embarrassed look, Shimada scratched his nose. “Actually, my family runs a Buddhist temple just outside O— City.” “Oh, so you’re a Buddhist priest?” “No, I’m the youngest of three brothers and even at this age I’m still just loafing around, so I can hardly go calling other people weird. My father is over sixty, but still full of energy, so the only time I can recite a sutra for the dead is when someone dies in a detective novel I’m reading,” said Shimada, and he solemnly put his hands together. 73 5 My daughter Chiori was murdered by all of you. Morisu Kyōichi took up the letter from the low glass table once more and let out another sigh. He was leaning against the side of his bed and his two tired legs were stretched out on the thick grey carpet. “My daughter Chiori was murdered by all of you.” He read the neatly aligned letters written with a word processor. His thoughts were indescribable. The after-party of the New Year’s celebrations of the Mystery Club, January last year. Morisu and his classmate Kawaminami Taka’aki had left the party early. The death had happened after their departure. The name of the sender on the back of the envelope said “Nakamura Seiji”. The man who was murdered six months ago on Tsunojima. Someone Morisu had never even seen or spoken to. Morisu’s room was on the fifth floor of Tatsumi Heights, a single-room-apartment building just across the main street in front of O— City Station, near the harbour. He put the letter back in the envelope and reached out for the Seven Stars on the table, as he shook his head lightly. Lately, he had not been enjoying his cigarettes as much as he used to. But the craving for nicotine had not stopped. What could the gang on Tsunojima be doing at that very moment? As the thought crossed his mind, Morisu looked across his neat room. Near the wall stood an easel with an oil painting in 74progress. Several stone Buddha statues staring into time, surrounded by trees with fading colours. He had discovered this view on the Kunisaki Peninsula, somewhere on a mountain that nobody visited. He had only just begun to add a little colour to the charcoal sketch. The smoke irritated his throat. He almost choked and threw the cigarette he had only inhaled once or twice into the ashtray filled with water. He had a bad feeling. As if something unexpected were about to happen. At that moment, his phone rang. He looked at the clock. It was almost midnight. There’s only one person who would call me at this hour… After waiting several seconds, Morisu picked up the receiver. “Hey, are you there, Morisu?” It was the familiar voice of Kawaminami Taka’aki, as he had expected. Morisu felt relieved. “Hey, Doyle.” “I told you to stop calling me that. I tried to call you this afternoon.” “I went for a ride on my motorbike to Kunisaki.” “Kunisaki?” “Yes, I told you I was doing a painting there, didn’t I?” “Oh. By the way, Morisu, did you receive a strange letter today?” “Sent by Nakamura Seiji? Yes. I rang your place about twenty minutes ago to ask you the same question.” “So you got one, too.” “Yep. Where are you now? Can you come over?” “That’s why I called. I’m in the neighbourhood. We need to talk about this letter. I need to pick your brains.”75 “I don’t have enough brains to pick.” “Two heads are better than one, and three are even better. I mean, is it OK if I bring someone along?” “Sure. I’ll be waiting.” “I thought the letter was just a joke in very bad taste, though I didn’t really get the meaning of it,” Morisu said as he compared the two letters placed next to each other on the table. “But it did say ‘all of you’, so I had a suspicion I wasn’t the only person to get one.” “Yours appears to be a copy. I think the one that came to my place is the original.” Kawaminami took up his own letter. “A similar letter was delivered to Higashi’s house. I’ve already checked that on the phone. And while the message was worded slightly differently, another letter signed by Nakamura Seiji was delivered to Nakamura Kōjirō.” “Nakamura Kōjirō?” Morisu frowned. “You mean Nakamura Seiji’s younger brother?” “Yes. His letter said ‘Chiori was murdered.’ I went to Beppu today to visit him. That was where I met Mr Shimada.” Morisu made another small bow to the man he had just become acquainted with. Kawaminami and Shimada had been drinking before they came and the latter’s thin, swarthy face had turned quite red. Kawaminami also seemed to have drunk a lot, as his breathing was uneven and his eyes were crimson. “Explain everything to me from the beginning,” said Morisu. Kawaminami leant forward and quickly recounted what had happened that day. His breath reeked of alcohol. “As always, you’re like curiosity on wheels,” said Morisu when 76Kawaminami had finished, staring in amazement at him. “So you haven’t slept at all since yesterday?” “Now you mention it, no. Anyway, it’s mysterious, right? Who wrote all these letters and for what purpose? Any ideas?” Morisu put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. “An accusation, a threat and a call to reconsider the Tsunojima case. Yes, I think you’re on to something. Especially the part about the Tsunojima case. It feels a bit forced, but it certainly is interesting. I also think there’s something more to be discovered there. Ex-excuse me, Mr Shimada.” Shimada had been dozing off, his body leaning against the wall. Woken by Morisu, he stood up and rubbed his face like a cat. “Mr Shimada, there’s one thing I want to ask you.” “Ah, yes. Pray ask.” “Where was Nakamura Kōjirō when the incident happened on Tsunojima?” “You’re asking for his alibi?” A grin appeared on Shimada’s sleepy face. “Straight to the point, I see. Who would benefit most by the death of Seiji and his wife Kazue? Kō, of course.” “Yes. I’m sorry to have to say this, but I think that this Kōjirō is the first person we should suspect.” “But my dear Morisu, the police aren’t stupid. It goes without saying that Kō’s whereabouts were checked. But sadly for them, he was able to provide a perfect alibi.” “Namely?” “From the night of 19th September until the following morning, Kō was in the company of yours truly. He had called and invited me for drinks, which was quite unusual for him. We drank through the night in Beppu and I stayed at his home. I was also there in the morning when he received the news about what had happened.” 77 “A perfect alibi, as you say.” Shimada nodded. “I would like to hear more of your ideas, Morisu.” “OK. This isn’t something that occurred to me just now. It’s something I’ve thought ever since I first read about the case in the newspapers.” “Yes?” “I can’t explain why, it’s just something I felt instinctively.” Having warned the two in advance, Morisu continued: “I think that the most important issue in this case is the left hand of Kazue, which went missing from the crime scene. I have the feeling we’ll have solved everything when we find that hand.” “The hand, indeed.” Both Morisu and Shimada looked at their hands and kept silent. “By the way, Morisu, did you know that many of the Mystery Club members have gone to Tsunojima?” asked Kawaminami. “Yes.” Morisu smiled drily. “I was also invited, but I said no. I’m not interested in such a gruesome place.” “When will they be back?” “They said one week from today.” “A whole week. In tents?” “They pulled a few strings. They’re staying in the Decagon House.” “Kōjirō did say he had got rid of the island. But something doesn’t feel right about all this: them heading for an island of the dead, just as a letter from the dead arrives.” “It would be a very bizarre coincidence.” “Do you believe it’s a coincidence?” “Probably not.” Morisu closed his eyes once more. “But if we want to investigate this, we’ll first need to check whether, besides 78Higashi, the other people who were at the after-party have also received a letter.” “You’re right.” “Are you going to do that?” “Will do. It’s the spring holiday, so I have nothing to do anyway. Can’t do worse than playing detective.” “That’s just like you. What if you take a look into the Tsunojima case, too, while you’re at it?” “A look into what, precisely?” “For example, what about paying a visit to the family of Yoshikawa, the gardener who disappeared?” “But—” “Conan,” Shimada chimed in, “that’s actually a good idea. I told you Yoshikawa Sei’ichi lived in Ajimu, right? I believe his wife still lives there, and she used to work for the Nakamura family on Tsunojima. So she’s the only living person who knows about the private lives of the Nakamuras. It’s worth a try.” “Do you know her address?” “It won’t take me long to find it.” Shimada laughed joyfully as he patted his shallow cheeks. “What about this, Conan? Tomorrow morning you check who else got the letters, and then we’ll go to Ajimu in my car in the afternoon.” “All right. And you, Morisu, are you coming along too?” “I’d like to, but I’ve got work to do. I told you I was doing this painting, didn’t I?” Morisu indicated the canvas on the easel. “The Buddha statues of Kunisaki? You did tell me you liked them. Are you going to compete in an art contest?” “No, nothing like that. I just wanted to paint that sight before the flowers bloom. I’ve been going up there the last few days now.” 79 “Wow.” “And I’ve never been the active type like you. I don’t even like talking to people I don’t know. But will you come back tomorrow night? It doesn’t matter how late you come. I’m interested in how the case turns out as well.” Morisu leant wearily against his bed and lit a cigarette he knew he wouldn’t enjoy. “For now, you’ll have to allow me to take on the role of armchair detective.”