Inspector Imanishi Investigates

late.”

Sekigawa nodded, squeezing sideways between people.

Waga stood smiling in the center of the throng. Beside him stood Tadokoro Sachiko in a pure white satin cocktail dress. Encircling her slender white neck was a necklace of three strands of pearls. She looked gorgeous enough to take the stage herself.

Pushing his way through the crowd, Sekigawa went up to Waga. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Waga responded.

“Sachiko-san, congratulations.”

“Thank you very much. Sekigawa-san, how did you like the concert?” Sachiko looked up at Sekigawa with smiling eyes.

“You’d better not ask the opinion of the critic tonight,” Waga interjected. “At least he congratulated me.”

“Sekigawa-sensei, it’s because the music is so fascinating that there was such a large audience.” The singer Murakami Junko spoke up from directly behind Sekigawa. As usual, she wore a red suit. She had strong features, the kind that showed to advantage when she was on stage. Secure in her looks, she smiled boldly.

“I suppose you could say that,” Sekigawa agreed, with a laugh.

“Sensei, please let me pour you a glass.”

Sekigawa allowed the singer to pour him some beer. With an exaggerated gesture, he raised his glass and looked from Waga to Sachiko. “Congratulations on your success.”

Many well-wishers circled around Waga. The door was left open to accommodate the crowd.

“It’s an incredible number of people,” Yodogawa whispered to Sekigawa. “I’m envious of musicians. No matter how many houses I design, no one throws such a party for me.”

The architect’s envy was understandable. Not only music lovers, but also those who had nothing to do with the arts, surrounded Waga. And many of them were older men.

Yodogawa spoke in an undertone. “They’re all Sachiko’s father’s connections.”

“Don’t be so envious.” Sekigawa turned his back on Waga and moved away. “It’s probably annoying to him as well.”

“No, look at Waga’s face. He doesn’t look annoyed at all,” Yodogawa continued.

“No, that expression means he’s pleased that his art has been recognized.”

“How many people in tonight’s audience understood Waga’s ‘musique concrete’? I couldn’t understand it very well myself.”

“You, an avant-garde architect?”

“I don’t have to cover up my ignorance in front of you.”

“The masses,” Sekigawa said, “are always dumbfounded by the unintelligibility of pioneering efforts. But after a while, they get used to it. This accommodation leads them into understanding.”

“Are you saying this describes Waga’s case?”

“Let’s not get into individual cases,” Sekigawa answered. “Here it is necessary to act politely. If you want to know what I have to say, take a look at the newspaper tomorrow.”

“To get your honest opinion?”

“Right. We say all kinds of things about each other, but Waga is impressive. He’s doing just what he wants to do the way he wants to do it.”

“Isn’t it just that he’s lucky? He’s made such quick progress. Even if he didn’t create anything, the media would pay attention to him because he’s the future son-in-law of former Cabinet Minister Tadokoro.”

Imanishi managed to read one-third of the newspaper review of Waga Eiryo’s recital. He did not have the patience to read the rest. To him, the piece was totally incomprehensible. The reason he had read that far at breakfast was because he recognized the photo of Sekigawa Shigeo, the critic who had written the piece.

Imanishi got off the streetcar at Kichijoji-machi. The apartment building where Miyata had lived was quite old. The wife of the building owner answered the door. When he said he was from police headquarters, she looked worried.

“I’d like to ask you a bit about Miyata-san,” Imanishi said.

“I appreciate your concern. Was there something Miyata-san had done?”

Imanishi had refused to go inside so they stood talking in the doorway. “No, it’s not that Miyata- san did anything,” Imanishi said, putting the woman at ease. “I was a fan of his. I’m disappointed that he died so young. How long did he live here?”

“Let me see. It’s been about three years.”

“Actors tend to have a life-style different from what we imagine when they’re off the stage. What was he like?”

“He was a very nice person. He was quiet and neat.”

“Did he ever bring over friends and have rowdy parties?”

“No. Apparently he had a weak heart, so he didn’t drink much, and he was very careful about his health. For an actor, he seemed to be a very quiet person.”

“By the way, did Miyata-san go on a trip to the Tohoku region about mid-May?”

“Yes, he did,” the housewife answered immediately.

Imanishi’s eyes lit up. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure I’m not mistaken. He brought me back some presents from Akita, some sweets and a wooden kokeshi doll.”

Imanishi concealed the joy he felt.

“About how long was Miyata-san’s trip to the Tohoku region?”

“Let me see. I think it was about four days.”

“Did Miyata-san say anything to you at that time?”

“He said he had a break from the theater’s performances, so he thought he’d go on a little trip. I only found out after he returned that he had gone to Akita.”

Leaving the apartment house, Imanishi went to a telephone booth and called detective Yoshimura. The two men met at Shibuya Station. It was just noon, so they went into a noodle shop.

“You look as if you’ve come up with a big find,” Yoshimura said, looking at Imanishi’s face.

“Is it that obvious?” Imanishi grinned. “Actually, I finally figured out the reason for our trip to the Tohoku region.”

“Really?” Yoshimura opened his eyes wide. “Did you find out who that man was?”

“I did.”

“I’m amazed. Give me all the details.”

The cold noodles they had ordered were served.

“A few days ago an actor died of a heart attack.”

“Yes, I read about it in the newspaper. It was Miyata Kunio, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right. Did you know him?”

“I knew his name. I don’t go to see many contemporary dramas. But I remember reading the article about his death. It said that he was a new actor for whom they had had high hopes in the future.”

“He was that guy.”

“What?” Yoshimura nearly dropped his chopsticks.

“Miyata was the strange man in Kameda.”

“How did you find that out?”

“I’ll tell you, give me time.”

For a while, there was only the sound of the two men slurping soba noodles.

“As a matter of fact,” Imanishi said, after taking a sip of tea, “in this morning’s paper there was a piece by one of those people we saw at Kameda station. That Nou…”

“The Nouveau group, you mean?”

“That’s it. One of them was in the paper. One’s train of thought is a strange thing. I had been keeping my eye on this fellow Miyata. I’ll tell you the reason later. Anyway, I was checking on him when he died. There’s no reason to be suspicious about his death because it was a heart attack. But I remembered that he was an actor when I read the piece in the paper this morning. And you know how much I’ve been thinking about the Kamata case. I realized