Inspector Imanishi Investigates

something.”

“This may sound strange,” Imanishi said, “but could Naruse Rieko have been on intimate terms with Miyata Kunio?”

“No, I can’t imagine that they were… Have you heard anything like that?” Sugiura Akiko looked around and asked the young actor standing near her.

He smiled faintly. “Actually, there were rumors about that.”

“What?” The actress’s eyes brightened.

“It wasn’t that the two of them were particularly friendly,” the actor said. “Naruse- san didn’t seem to have special feelings for Miyata, but he was quite serious about her. You could tell by watching him.”

“I’m amazed,” Sugiura Akiko said.

This explanation made sense to Imanishi. Rieko had died leaving a journal full of longing. It was clear that the object of her love was not Miyata. Then who was Rieko so in love with that she decided to die for him? Imanishi asked if Rieko had had another boyfriend.

“No, I don’t think there was anyone special. But I really wouldn’t know,” the actor replied. “Naruse- san was very reserved. If her suicide was from a broken heart, it must be over someone we don’t know.”

The boyfriend none of the theater members knew about-was he the killer in the Kamata murder case? Imanishi wanted to find him.

At eight-thirty, Sekigawa Shigeo left the restaurant where he had been attending a meeting sponsored by a literary magazine. A large black car waited for him in the shadows.

“Sekigawa-sensei,” the magazine editor called out, “will you be going straight home?”

“No,” Sekigawa smiled. “I have to visit someone.”

“Then where shall we have the car take you?”

“If you could drive me to Ikebukuro, that would be fine.”

At Ikebukuro Station, he changed to a taxi and ordered the driver to go toward Shimura. Sekigawa smoked a cigarette. After a while, the street started to slope uphill. Sekigawa alighted from the taxi and turned the corner, walking away from the streetcar tracks.

A young woman, standing in the shadows, rushed over to him. It was Emiko.

“Darling? You’ve finally come. I’m so happy.” She pressed herself against Sekigawa’s side.

“Have you been waiting long?”

“Yes, about an hour.”

“The meeting ran late.”

“That’s what I thought. I was worried that you might not come.”

Sekigawa did not answer. Emiko reached out and took his arm.

“Did you skip work at the bar tonight?” Sekigawa asked in a low voice.

“Yes, because I was coming to meet you. It’s awful to have a night job.”

“How is your new apartment?”

“I like it. The woman below is nice to me. It’s much better than the other place.”

“That’s good.”

The two of them walked in silence. The streetlights grew fewer.

“I’m so happy,” she said. “The only time I’m happy is when I’m with you. That’s the only time I feel fulfilled.”

Sekigawa was silent.

“I know you don’t feel the same. Are you seeing someone other than me?” Emiko asked.

“There’s no one else.”

“Are you sure? Sometimes I can’t help thinking that there is someone else.”

“You’re just being jealous.”

“Whenever I start thinking that, I try to stop my thoughts, but I can’t.”

“Is it that hard for you to trust me?”

“No, I trust you, of course. I don’t care if I’m not your only woman. It doesn’t matter to me even if you love someone else. Only, please don’t leave me.”

Emiko walked clinging to Sekigawa’s arm. The road was dark. Beyond the darkness they could hear the lonesome sound of the streetcar.

“The streetcars are still running,” Emiko said, leaning her cheek against Sekigawa’s shoulder.

“It must be the last run.” Sekigawa tossed his cigarette. The small red flame glowed on the ground.

Emiko looked up at the sky. It was full of stars.

“It’s gotten late. Orion is all the way over there,” Sekigawa said.

“Which is Orion?”

“See, it’s that one.” Sekigawa pointed his finger at the sky. “See the three stars lined up sideways as if they were on a ship’s mast? And around them are four stars that box them in.”

“Yes, those?”

“In the winter, that constellation shines brightly in the sky. When I see Orion, I realize that autumn has already come.”

“You know so much about stars, too.”

“Not really. I knew someone when I was a boy who taught me all kinds of things. He’s dead now. He taught me about the stars, too. The place I come from is surrounded by mountains so you can’t see much of the sky,” Sekigawa said. “He would take me up to the top of a nearby peak at night and teach me about the stars. When we reached the mountaintop, the sky would open up.”

“What area do you come from?”

“You wouldn’t know even if I told you.”

“Oh, yes, I remember reading somewhere that it was in Akita Prefecture.”

“Yes, that’s what they say.”

“What do you mean, that’s what they say?”

“It doesn’t really matter.” Sekigawa changed the subject. “Tomorrow night I have to review a concert.”

“You’re so busy. Which concert?”

“Waga’s. A newspaper asked me to review it, so I accepted.”

“Waga-san’s music is very new, isn’t it? What do they call it, avant-garde music?”

“He calls it ‘musique concrete.’ Others pioneered this form, Waga picked it up and started doing it himself. He’s not capable of going much further. He has no originality. He just steals from what others have done.”

A scarlet curtain was the backdrop. The only stage decoration was a weirdly shaped sculpture placed in the center. The sculpture was as white as fallen snow. The contrast between the white and the scarlet was stark. A sculptor from the Nouveau group had decorated the recital stage for his comrade Waga Eiryo.

This concert differed greatly from the usual musical performance. Speakers had been placed at different locations to create a three-dimensional effect. Sound came from beyond the curtain hung behind the sculpture, from above the audience and from beneath it. The hall was full and most of the audience was young. The last work was entitled “Nirvana,” based on the myth of Buddha’s death, when all the animals lamented and heaven and earth wailed in mourning. The piece at times moaned, then quavered, howled, and vibrated. Metallic sounds and voices like loud laughter were combined to create tension, relaxation, pause, and climax. It could not be said that the audience was enraptured. They were trying to make sense of this new music.

The music stopped. A loud round of applause welled up. There was some confusion as to whom the audience was applauding as there was no orchestra on the stage. Eventually, the recipient of the applause, Waga Eiryo, dressed in a black suit, walked on stage from the right wing.

Sekigawa went backstage to Waga’s dressing room, which was jammed with people. In the center of the room were three tables pushed together loaded with beer and plates of hors d’oeuvres. Cigarette smoke and voices filled the room.

“Hey, Sekigawa.” Someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was Yodogawa Ryuta, the architect. “You’re