The Decagon House Murders

by Yukito Ayatsuji

  “For now, you’ll have to allow me to take on the role of armchair detective,” he’d said.

  That was the perfect role for Morisu, Kawaminami thought. He wasn’t one for false modesty, but he knew that the role of Watson fitted him better. Morisu would be the one playing Holmes.

  Kawaminami took another look at Shimada Kiyoshi sitting next to him.

  But this man wouldn’t settle for the role of a Watson, or a Lestrade either.

  The view from the window was stunning: slopes covered with long grass stretched to highlands in the far distance.

  “The mountain on our left is Mount Tsurumi, right?” asked Kawaminami.

  “Yes. It’s been a popular spot for hang-gliders lately.”

  “How far is it to Ajimu?”

  “We’ll reach the Usa district at the bottom of this slope. Then we’ll have to climb another one to reach Ajimu Plateau. It’s half-past one now, so we should arrive there before three.”

  Kawaminami put both hands on his waist and stretched his back, yawning.

  “Tired, Conan?”

  “I’m a night person, so I had trouble getting up early today.”

  “You can sleep now. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

  “Ah, sorry, if you don’t mind.”

  Kawaminami reclined his seat and Shimada put his foot down on the accelerator.

  2

  The woman at the front door was not at all like the person Kawaminami had vaguely imagined. Yoshikawa Masako appeared to be a reserved but friendly woman, dressed in a komon kimono. Believing he was going to meet the wife of a man who had killed four people because of some sort of twisted love, Kawaminami had expected someone much more withdrawn.

  She was in her early forties at the most, but worry had aged her features and left her looking worn out.

  “My name is Shimada—I called you this morning. I apologize for contacting you out of the blue,” said Shimada.

  The gardener’s wife bowed her head.

  “You said you were a friend of Kōjirō. You must have come a long way.”

  “You seem to know Kō, I mean, Nakamura Kōjirō.”

  “Yes. I’m in much debt to him. As you probably know, I was working in the mansion on Tsunojima before I married my husband. I had been there ever since Nakamura Seiji moved to the island. It was Kōjirō who recommended me for that position.”

  “Ah, now I understand. So that’s where you first met your husband?”

  “Yes. My husband was also working at the mansion at the time.”

  “Is this his family home?”

  “Yes. We lived in O— City for a while after our marriage, but we moved here because of his parents’ health.”

  “So he had to travel quite a distance to work?”

  “When we moved here, he quit all his jobs except for the ones at the mansion on Tsunojima and Kōjirō’s home in Beppu.”

  “Oh, so your husband was also responsible for Kōjirō’s garden?”

  “Yes.”

  “The reason we came here today is this letter—it was sent to my friend Kawaminami here,” said Shimada, showing her the letter Kawaminami had given him earlier.

  “What is this?”

  “It’s a letter from someone using the name of the deceased Nakamura Seiji. A similar letter was sent to Kōjirō.”

  “How awful.”

  “We thought the letter might have something to do with what happened on Tsunojima. And we hoped you might tell us something that could help us.”

  Masako seemed perplexed, but eventually looked up at the two men.

  “Come inside. And would you be so kind as to burn some incense for my husband…”

  Shimada and Kawaminami were led to a badly lit tatami room. Through the open sliding paper door they could see a small family altar behind Masako, who had sat down opposite them in a traditional seiza position.

  The new memorial tablet appeared to float in the dark.

  “As you know, my husband went missing and was never found. Last month, with the new year, I finally gave up on him and we held a ceremony in private.”

  She fought back tears as she spoke.

  “But isn’t there a possibility your husband is still alive?”

  “If he were still alive, he would have contacted me.”

  “But—”

  “I will tell you this: my husband was absolutely incapable of doing something that atrocious. I know the rumours, but I don’t believe any of it. Everybody who knew him says the same.”

  Masako’s tone was defiant. Shimada nodded quietly:

  “I heard that your husband left for the island three days before the mansion burned down. When exactly was that?”

  “He left here in the early morning of 17th of September.”

  “And he didn’t happen to make any calls to you between then and the morning of the 20th, when the fire broke out?”

  “He did once, in the afternoon of the day he left.”

  “By phone?”

  “Yes. He told me he’d arrived safely.”

  “Did he act any differently from usual?”

  “He was the same as ever. But he did say that the mistress had been ill.”

  “Kazue?”

  “My husband didn’t see her around, so when he asked Seiji, he said the lady had been taken ill and was in bed.”

  “Aha.”

  Shimada pouted his lips slightly and scratched the bridge of his nose.

  “I ask you this, knowing it to be very rude, but is there anything to the rumours of your husband having feelings for Kazue?…”

  Masako went pale. “Both my husband and I were very devoted to the mistress,” she replied, “but as I said before, my husband would never do the evil things some people suggest. The accusation that my husband was in love with the mistress is just nonsense. And what’s more…”

  “Yes?”

  “The rumours my husband wanted to steal Seiji’s fortune are also nothing but baseless accusations. There wasn’t anything left.”

  “Nothing left? There was nothing to steal there any more?”

  “I shouldn’t have spoken.”

  “No, please. I understand that you are upset.”

  Shimada’s deep-sunk eyes gleamed.

  “So there was nothing left of Seiji’s fortune?” he muttered. Then, as if he’d just remembered something, he added:

  “I heard that Seiji and Kōjirō didn’t get along as brothers. What are your views on that?”

  “Hmm,” Masako murmured vaguely. “Seiji could be a bit peculiar.”

  “Did Kōjirō ever visit the island?”

  “He occasionally visited when I was still working there, but I heard he hardly went there after I left the job.”

  “During the time you were working there… I see.”

  “Excuse me.”

  Kawaminami, who had been listening in silence up to that point, interrupted.

  “Do you know what happened to Nakamura Chiori? I knew her from university. That’s why I got the letter Mr Shimada showed you.”

  “Miss Chiori?”

  Masako looked down at the dark tatami mats.

  “I still remember her from when she was a little girl. My husband occasionally told me about her after I’d left the island—the poor girl. She was still so young when it happened.”

  “Up to what age did Chiori live on the island?” queried Shimada.

  “I think she moved to her grandfather’s place when she started kindergarten. My husband said that she only returned sporadically to the island and it was her mother who usually went out to O— City to meet her. The mistress really loved her daughter.”

  “And Seiji?”

  Shimada
leant slightly forward.

  “How did Seiji treat his daughter?”

  “He…”

  Masako had trouble voicing her thoughts.

  “I think he was probably not very fond of children.”

  3

  All in all, they talked for almost two hours.

  They left the Yoshikawa residence in Ajimu after five. On the way back they stopped for dinner, so by the time they got back to Beppu it was already past nine.

  Shimada was naturally tired because of the long journey. From time to time he would click his tongue at the lights of the oncoming traffic.

  “Is it all right if we make a detour via Kō’s place?” he asked suddenly.

  “I don’t mind,” answered Kawaminami, although he didn’t really feel like it. He’d felt dispirited ever since they’d left Ajimu.

  This was mostly because of lack of sleep and physical fatigue. But he was also feeling disappointed and he felt mentally exhausted, too.

  Even though they’d gone all that way, they hadn’t managed to discover anything significant, he thought. He hadn’t expected to find a clear-cut answer, but he’d hoped for at least some new information.

  For example…

  And he hated himself for hoping so.

  I would have been satisfied if Yoshikawa Masako had also received a letter signed by Nakamura Seiji.

  He knew he was quick to get fired up, and quick to lose interest. In a way, he was still just a child. Like a child who always wanted new toys, he too was always on the search for some new stimulus. And when the initial excitement wore off, he would get bored and give up.

  They finally arrived at Kōjirō’s home in Kannawa.

  It was a quiet night. The sky was filled with thin clouds. The moon shone as pale as bone in the darkness.

  Shimada rang the bell. They could faintly hear it ringing inside, but even after a long wait, there was no reply.

  “That’s strange. The lights are still on.”

  Shimada coughed and rang the bell again a couple of times and also knocked on the door once or twice.

  “Maybe he’s already gone to bed?”

  Shimada started to go round to the back entrance, but, seeing Kawaminami leaning with his back to the gatepost and his head hanging down, he changed his mind.

  “Oh, forget it. We’ll come back another day. Sorry, Conan, for bringing you all this way for nothing. You look very tired. Come on, let’s go.”

  † † †

  They got back on the National Route heading for O— City.

  Shimada opened the window a little. The evening wind blew into the car, carrying with it the smell of the sea.

  “Cold, Conan?”

  “No, not really.”

  He was still feeling dispirited and upset with himself.

  “Sorry, I’ve had you going up and down since this morning.”

  “No, I’m the one who should be sorry… Slumped here like this.”

  “That’s OK. You’re just tired.”

  Shimada didn’t seem to mind at all. He took his left hand off the steering wheel and massaged his temple.

  “I think that, on the one hand, it didn’t turn out quite as we’d hoped, but on the other, we did manage to get hold of some significant information.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Of course we’d hoped to learn more about the whereabouts of Yoshikawa Sei’ichi. If he were still alive somehow, he might well have been in contact with his wife. But that didn’t seem to be the case.”

  “But Mr Shimada, don’t you think that there’s something strange about the fact that they’ve already held a funeral ceremony, even though only six months have passed since his disappearance?”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think that Masako is the type who would lie. She appeared to be a nice, honest woman.”

  “Oh.”

  Shimada grinned.

  “I’ve a good eye for people, you know. Call it a priest’s instinct. Anyway, that didn’t turn out as we wanted, but… Conan, could you pass me a cigarette?”

  “A cigarette?” Kawaminami reacted in surprise. He hadn’t seen Shimada smoke even once before now.

  “I’ve got Seven Stars,” he said and passed Shimada the pack. Keeping his eyes on the road ahead, Shimada skilfully pulled a cigarette out of the case using just one hand.

  “I was a heavy smoker up until a few years back. But my lungs got bad and I practically stopped smoking then. One a day now. I may lead a loose and lazy life, but that’s the one rule I try to stick to.”

  He lit the cigarette and blew some smoke into the air contentedly.

  “As for the fruits of our labour: first of all, the fact that not much of Seiji’s fortune was left. If that’s true, then yes, the ‘Yoshikawa equals murderer’ theory is seriously weakened.”

  “And what about him being in love with Kazue?”

  “I didn’t believe in that theory from the start. It felt forced. I once talked with Kō and he said that Kazue wasn’t the kind of woman who would go around seducing gardeners. He was also of the same opinion as Masako, that the gardener was an honest man who would never even think of falling in love with a married woman.”

  “So you don’t think that Yoshikawa is the murderer.”

  “I don’t think it’s very likely.”

  With some regret, Shimada crushed the cigarette he had consumed in no time into the ashtray.

  “And from what we heard today, I have the feeling that the reason the two brothers didn’t get along was Kazue.”

  “Kazue?”

  “If Kazue was having an affair, maybe she wasn’t having one with the gardener, but with Kō.”

  “Kōjirō and Kazue?”

  “Yes. I remember now: last year, after the incident happened, Kō stayed cooped up in his house for a week or two and was a total wreck. I suspect now that it wasn’t because of the death of Seiji, but because of the death of Kazue.”

  “But Mr Shimada, that would mean that the murderer is—”

  “I have a little idea. I’ll tell you later, but first you’ll have to report today’s progress to Morisu, right?”

  “Now you mention it, yes.”

  Kawaminami took a look at the dashboard clock. 10.40 p.m.

  The coastal National Route in the direction of O— City was less busy now. Among the scattered red tail lights ahead was the black body of a truck. And on the railway running parallel to the road a brightly lit train ran by…

  “He told us to call, but since we’re driving anyway, let’s just go round there.”

  Shimada’s suggestions had perked Kawaminami up a little. As if sensing that, Shimada smiled.

  “Morisu. Yes, he has a wonderful name too.”

  4

  “Knowing you, I expected you’d have had enough of playing detective after one day,” said Morisu mockingly, as he poured hot water from the pot into cups with teabags. “But you don’t appear to have, to my surprise. Maybe it’s because you were accompanied by Mr Shimada?”

  “How did you guess?” Kawaminami laughed in embarrassment.

  “So, please give me the report on your investigations, Mr Detective.”

  Kawaminami briefed Morisu on the facts they had discovered that day.

  “So that’s what you’ve been up to.”

  Morisu poured himself a second cup of tea and, without adding sugar, drank it in a single gulp.

  “And? What are your plans for tomorrow, Watson?”

  “I wonder.”

  Kawaminami stretched out on the floor then sat up wearily with his head resting on his knees.

  “To be honest, I am feeling a bit down right now. The spring holiday is long, you know. And I’ve been spending every night playing mah-jon
g. And then that letter from the dead came. I just couldn’t ignore it. And, as always, I got all fired up, but now…”

  “Spare us your self-analysis. You’re boring Mr Shimada.”

  But Shimada was just smiling as he stroked his pointed chin.

  “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being at a loose end from time to time. It’s much more healthy than allowing your imagination to wither because of the hectic life you lead. I’m like Conan. If I hadn’t had time on my hands, a man of my age would never have become involved in something like this. But then again, I’m an inquisitive guy at heart. By the way, Morisu…”

  “Yes?”

  “I should like to know what our ‘armchair detective’ is thinking.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Morisu wet his dry lips with his tongue and smiled.

  “Actually, I’ve had a little idea ever since you told me everything last night. But this isn’t a deduction, just a hunch, so don’t take it too seriously.”

  “As Conan said, you’re a careful man.”

  “For someone careful, this is a pretty wild idea, though. I even suspect that you, Mr Shimada, might have been thinking the same.”

  “Possibly.”

  “OK, this is it.”

  Morisu looked from Shimada to Kawaminami.

  “I think it’s quite surprising you didn’t think of it. Basically, isn’t the case on Tsunojima the same as what Francis Nevins Jr calls the ‘Birlstone gambit’?”

  Kawaminami yelled out. “You mean that one of the supposed murder victims is still alive?”

  “I don’t claim it’s true. I only point out the possibility. And I believe it could only be Seiji.”

  Morisu continued his explanation slowly, while he poured his third cup of tea.

  “The heads of the bodies identified as the Kitamuras had been smashed in with an axe, but even after the remains had been burnt, I don’t think one of them could have got away with passing off another’s body for their own. There were simply too many identifying marks remaining. The same goes for Kazue’s body. That would have been identifiable too, despite her missing left hand. That only leaves the body thought to be that of Seiji.