Inspector Imanishi Investigates

Yoshimura said, “Such a place would have to be the suspect’s hideout?”

“Probably,” Imanishi muttered. Looking into the darkness, he seemed to be thinking of something else. He pulled out another half cigarette and started smoking.

“Could this hideout be his lover’s place?”

“I wouldn’t know about that.”

“But if he went there to change his clothes, someone must have been living there. And it would still be impossible unless the suspect had a special relationship with that person.”

“That’s true.”

“If it’s not a lover, then it would have to be someone like a close friend or a brother.”

“Probably.” Imanishi didn’t have much to say. Being a veteran detective, he preferred to think things over on his own.

Yoshimura was assigned to the precinct where the murder had taken place and did not work with Imanishi on a daily basis. They had worked together once before when they were teamed up to investigate a murder. That time Imanishi had been sent out from the central division. Since then Yoshimura had held Imanishi in high regard. Whenever he came across a difficult case, he would ask Imanishi for advice. He had gotten to know Imanishi’s character and interests. He had even met his family.

It was not Detective Imanishi’s style to tell even his colleagues when he came across a good lead. He usually reported things directly to the head of the Homicide Division.

Section One of the Homicide Division was in charge of all murder cases. This section was divided into eight subsections, each with approximately eight detectives assigned to it. When an investigation headquarters was set up, one of these subsections was dispatched. Each of the eight detectives had his own role on the team. They worked under the direction of the chief inspector, but if one came across a good lead, he would follow it up on his own because each of them wanted to get ahead. Detectives did not always reveal everything they had up their sleeves at the investigation meetings.

Imanishi had come this far by being discreet. At a certain point in an investigation, he would become as silent as stone.

“Let’s go to sleep,” Imanishi said, stubbing out his cigarette.

Imanishi awoke. Pale light filtered into the train from around the edges of the window shade. Imanishi opened the shade a little.

Outside, mountains passed by in the milky whiteness, but these mountains looked different. He looked at his watch, it was four-thirty. Yoshimura was still asleep.

Imanishi wondered where they were. After a while, he saw a station go by. He read the name Shibukawa. He was smoking a cigarette when Yoshimura woke up.

The train descended from the mountains and ran along the plain. It became lighter outside. Imanishi opened the shade all the way. Here and there they could see an early rising farmer already out in the fields. The houses outside the window became clustered together as they approached Omiya.

“Yoshimura, could you please go get a newspaper?” Imanishi asked.

Yoshimura stood up and ran down the aisle to the platform. He returned to his seat just as the train was pulling out. Yoshimura had brought back three morning papers.

“Thank you.”

Imanishi immediately opened one of the papers to the city news section. New developments might have occurred in the case while they were gone, but there was nothing about the murder. He opened the other two newspapers and found nothing in either of them, to his relief. Imanishi turned back to the front page and started reading slowly. In thirty minutes they would reach Ueno Station. Most of the other passengers on the train were awake now, some already starting to get their bags together.

“Yoshimura, he’s one, isn’t he?” Imanishi prodded Yoshimura with his elbow and showed him a photograph in the cultural section of the paper.

Yoshimura leaned over and saw the title “Art in the New Age” and the author’s name, Sekigawa Shigeo.

“Yes, he’s one of the four men we saw at Iwaki Station,” Yoshimura said.

Imanishi stared at the picture. “He must be quite something to be writing for a paper like this. I can’t really understand what he’s trying to say in this piece, but I suppose he’s brilliant.”

“He must be.” Yoshimura was carefully reading the column in the paper that Imanishi had passed to him.

“Hey, we’re here.”

The train stopped at Ueno Station. Yoshimura glanced out the window and folded the paper.

“Yoshimura, just in case, let’s get off separately.”

THREE The Nouveau Group

Club Bonheur was located in the back streets of the Ginza on the second floor of a multistory building. Although not very large, it was a popular spot where Tokyo’s business and cultural elite gathered. There were already some customers even though it was early in the evening. After nine o’clock, it was usually so crowded that latecomers had to wait at the door.

An assistant professor of philosophy and a professor of history sat drinking in a corner booth. Two groups of executives were at other booths. It was still rather quiet. Most of the hostesses were sitting with one of these three groups. The executives told risque stories while the professors complained about university life.

Five young men came into the bar. The hostesses turned toward them. “Welcome,” they all said, and many of them drifted over to the newcomers.

A tall woman, the madam of the bar, left the side of one of the executives and greeted the new customers. “Well, it’s been a while since you’ve been in. Why don’t you sit over here?” She gestured to a large, empty booth. As there weren’t enough seats, extra chairs were pulled up. The customers sat facing each other in the booth, and several hostesses sat down next to them.

“You’re all together this evening,” the madam said, full of smiles. “What’s the occasion?”

“We were at an uninteresting gathering. We decided to come by to wash away the bad aftertaste,” Sasamura Ichiro said.

Besides Sasamura, a stage director, the group included Takebe Toyoichiro, Sekigawa Shigeo, Waga Eiryo, and Yodogawa Ryuta, an architect. Katazawa Mutsuo, who had been at the earlier gathering, had gone elsewhere.

“What will you have to drink?” the madam asked, giving them each a charming smile. The five young men ordered.

“Waga-sensei,” the madam said, looking at the composer, “it was wonderful to see you the other evening. How have things been going?”

“Fine, as you can see,” Waga said.

“No, I don’t mean for you. I mean with her.”

“Waga,” Sasamura said, tapping him on the shoulder. “You’ve been caught. Where did the madam spot you?”

“A nice place, wasn’t it?” The madam smiled and winked.

“It was at a nightclub, wasn’t it?” Waga said, looking at the madam.

“I can’t believe it. He’s admitting it,” Sasamura said.

“Yes, that’s where I saw her. She is very lovely,” the madam smiled. “I had seen her photograph in magazines, but she was much prettier in person. You are really lucky, Waga-sensei.”

“Am I?” Waga cocked his head and took a sip from his drink.

“To Waga’s fiancee.” The stage director proposed a toast. Their raised glasses touched and clinked.

“What do you mean, ‘Am I’?” the madam said, frowning at Waga. “Your work is brilliant. You’re a leader of the younger generation. And you’re about to marry a wonderful person. I’m so envious.”

“I’d like to have such good luck,” the bargirls said.

“I wonder,” Waga muttered, looking down.

“You still say that? You’re just embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed. I’m just skeptical -about everything. I look at myself objectively.”