Inspector Imanishi Investigates

by Seichō Matsumoto

  The old gentleman’s long account ended. Imanishi couldn’t help but be disappointed. The more he heard, the more upright Miki seemed. Imanishi felt a secret professional pride that there had been such a policeman in this hinterland. But along with gratification, he felt a sense of futility. He had come convinced that something in Miki’s days as a policeman must have been the cause of his death, but Kirihara’s discourse yielded not even a glimpse of a reason. Imanishi thanked Kirihara, but his expression was sad.

  “I’d like to ask you one last question,” Imanishi said. “Is there anyone from Kamedake who lives in Tokyo now?”

  “Let me see,” the old man cocked his head. “This is such a small village, quite a few have left for the city. Their relatives get letters, so I would naturally hear if someone were in Tokyo. I can’t recall hearing about anyone moving to Tokyo.”

  “A young man about thirty years old? Is there someone that age who has moved to Tokyo?”

  “I haven’t heard of anyone. I’m one of the old ones here and I run this shop, so I hear most things.”

  “Is that so? Well, you must excuse me.” Imanishi started to stand up.

  “Since you’ve come such a long way, please stay a little longer. I don’t have anything more to add about Miki-san, but I’d like to show you the box for the haiku themes. Do you compose haiku?”

  “I’m very interested in haiku.”

  “In that case, you must stay. I’ll have the box brought out to show you. There’s no one now who can even pretend to do similar work. Since you’ve come all this way, you have to take a look.”

  Kirihara clapped his hands together to call for a servant.

  Imanishi spent some two hours at the old gentleman’s house. Before he left, he had been shown the poetry theme box and the poems written on stiff-backed paper left by the haiku poets of old. The poems, too, were stored as family treasures.

  Imanishi enjoyed seeing them and would normally have lost track of time, but he was troubled. The victim had been too fine a man.

  He was driven back in the same jeep. When they reached the outskirts of the village, he saw the police substation. Imanishi asked to stop. Looking into the substation, he saw a young policeman at a desk, writing. In the adjoining living area, a blue rattan blind swung in the breeze. This was the substation where Miki had been posted. It looked as if it had remained unchanged from Miki’s day. Imanishi felt as if he were visiting a memorial.

  Imanishi had come back from Kameda in Akita Prefecture with something like a lead. But Kamedake yielded nothing.

  SEVEN Bloodstains

  Imanishi Eitaro returned to Tokyo, his disappointment all the greater because his hopes had been so high. He reported his findings to his section chief and his department head. He criticized himself for having been so convinced about Kameda and the Tohoku dialect. His superiors tried to reassure him.

  In order to shift his thoughts away from this case, Imanishi put his energies into new cases. Still, he couldn’t get rid of his obsession. He felt guilty for having spent money from the limited investigation budget on two trips, one to the Tohoku area and the other to Kamedake.

  Three months had now passed since the case was opened. A hint of autumn could be felt in the morning and evening air, but the summer days were still horrendously hot. One torrid day, Imanishi bought a weekly magazine on his way home from headquarters and opened it on the streetcar. An essay in the magazine happened to catch his attention. He read,

  When one travels, one comes across various intriguing situations. This past May, I was traveling home from some business I had in the Shinshu region. I boarded a night train. At Kofu Station, a young woman boarded and sat across from me. She was quite a beauty.

  That was not all. She opened the train window and started to scatter something.

  Wondering what it was, I watched her and saw that she was scattering tiny bits of paper out the window. She did this not once, but over and over again, even after the train left Otsuki Station. This young girl reached into her bag to grab a handful of these scraps and tossed them bit by bit out the window. The pieces scattered in the wind like a paper blizzard.

  I smiled in spite of myself. I didn’t think that today’s young girls, who are considered to be extremely pragmatic, would engage in such childish and romantic behavior. I was reminded of the short story “Tangerine” by Akutagawa Ryunosuke.

  Imanishi returned to his house. As soon as he arrived, he took his son, Taro, to the public bath. It was still early and the bath was not yet crowded. Seeing some neighborhood friends, Taro happily started to play with them.

  Soaking in the large bath, Imanishi recalled the essay he had read on his way home. He thought it interesting. From the way the piece had been written, the girl seemed to be traveling alone from Kofu to Tokyo. Loneliness might have motivated her. Imanishi had not read the short story by Akutagawa Ryunosuke to which the author referred, but he felt that he could understand such a young girl’s feelings. He could see the bits of paper dancing in the darkness and falling onto the tracks.

  Imanishi splashed his face with water. Then he got out of the tub to scrub his body. He caught hold of Taro and washed him. He felt relaxed. His mind was still riveted by the image of the girl scattering a paper blizzard.

  He sat outside the tub for about ten minutes. Then he went back in to soak. He sat up with a start when the water reached his shoulders. His expression changed, his relaxed face was now tense.

  He was unaware of toweling off. Forcing his son, who was playing with his friends, to hurry, he rushed home.

  “Where did you put the magazine I brought home today?” he said to his wife.

  Yoshiko answered from the kitchen. “I’m reading it right now.”

  Imanishi grabbed the magazine out of her hands. He opened the magazine to the essay. The title was “The Girl of the Paper Blizzard.” The author was someone named Kawano Hidezo, a university professor who often wrote for magazines.

  Imanishi looked at the clock. It was after seven. There should still be someone at the magazine’s office. He rushed out of the house to the nearest pay phone and dialed the magazine’s number. In response to his questions, he was told that Professor Kawano lived in Gotokuji, Setagaya Ward.

  The next morning, Imanishi paid a visit to Professor Kawano. The professor was slightly surprised to receive a visit from a police detective.

  “I read your essay in a weekly magazine, Professor; it was entitled ‘The Girl of the Paper Blizzard,’ ” Imanishi began.

  The professor laughed with some embarrassment.

  “As a matter of fact, I’ve come to ask you about the young woman you saw on the train.”

  “Do you mean the person I wrote about in that essay?”

  “Yes. I’m concerned about something related to a certain case, so I’d like to ask you about that woman’s appearance and clothing.”

  “I’m a bit embarrassed.” The professor gave a confused laugh. “Actually, I’m not the one who saw that girl.”

  It was Imanishi’s turn to be surprised. “Then what about your piece in the magazine?”

  “Well,” the professor said, waving his hands, “I’m afraid I’ve been found out. I heard that story from a friend of mine, but to make it more interesting I wrote it as if it were my own eyewitness account. I didn’t dream that I’d be ambushed like this. I’ve really made a mess of it.” Professor Kawano put his hand to his forehead.

  “But Professor, your friend’s story, it’s not a fabrication, is it?”

  “No, it’s a true story. He’s not the type to make things up, so I’m sure it really happened.”

  “Professor, could you please introduce me to your friend?”

  The professor agreed.

  That afternoon, Imanishi telephoned Murayama, the editor. Over the telephone, Murayama offered to meet Imanishi at a coffee shop near the newspaper.

  Murayama laughed when he heard Imanishi’s question. “It happened just the way I told Professor Kawano.
He wrote it up for the weekly right away. He promised to treat me when he receives his fee, but I didn’t think it would become a police matter.”

  “That’s not it. Sometimes cases that seem to be at a dead end are solved unexpectedly. If you hadn’t told your story to Professor Kawano, he wouldn’t have written that essay, and I wouldn’t have thought of a clue. I’d like to thank you for telling your story to Professor Kawano.”

  “You’re certainly welcome, then.” Murayama rubbed his head sheepishly.

  “What did the girl look like?” Imanishi asked.

  “Let me see. She was in her mid-twenties and was a petite girl with a pretty face. She didn’t wear heavy makeup. And her clothes were stylish.”

  “What was she wearing?”

  “I don’t know much about women’s clothing, but she was wearing an ordinary black suit and a white blouse.”

  “I see.”

  “The suit didn’t seem to be of high quality, but she knew how to wear it, so that it looked good on her. Besides her black handbag, she also had a blue canvas bag.”

  “That’s quite helpful. And quite detailed.” Imanishi was satisfied. “Could you tell me something more about her face?”

  Murayama closed his eyes halfway and said, “Her eyes were rather large and her mouth was demure. It’s hard for me to describe the girl’s face, but if I think of an actress she resembles, I’d say she looks like Okada Mariko.”

  Imanishi was not familiar with this actress’s face, but he made a note to look at a photograph of her later.

  “Was the location where you saw the paper fragments the same as the place Professor Kawano described in his essay?”

  “Yes. There’s no mistake. I watched her, thinking that she was doing something strange.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “It was on my way back from the Shinshu region, so it must have been May 19.”

  Imanishi got on a train on the Chuo Line. His destination was Enzan. On his way there, he opened a window on the right side of the train and stuck his neck out like a child. After the train had passed Lake Sagami, he started to look intently along the tracks. The hillsides were overgrown with summer grass and in the fields the rice plants were green. Imanishi watched carefully, but there was no way he could see what he was searching for as the train sped past.

  Over three months had gone by since the girl had scattered the paper blizzard. It was doubtful if the bits of paper would still be there. But there was a possibility that some fragments might remain in the tall grass.

  Imanishi alighted from the train at Enzan Station and sought out the stationmaster to ask permission to walk along the tracks. Then he started walking slowly toward Katsunuma along the narrow path beside the railroad tracks with his eyes on the ground. It was a hot day. He had to look carefully among the small stones wedged in between the railroad ties as well as among the blades of grass on the cutting alongside the tracks.

  Imanishi had realized his task would be difficult. But once he had actually begun it, he discovered how truly hopeless it was. If he wanted to do a complete search for the paper fragments, he would have to hire some laborers to mow the grass along the tracks. Even so, since the area was so large, it was like searching for a diamond in a desert. His only hope was that the pieces might still be white so that they would stand out from the green of the grass.

  He became disgusted at all the garbage discarded along the tracks. Yet he had come all this way; it would be a shame to give up and go home. He was determined to discover just one piece no matter what it took. A lizard, flashing its blue back, darted in front of Imanishi.

  He walked in the direct heat of the sun, staring at the brightly lit ground. Soon it made him dizzy. The steel tracks were scorching.

  From Enzan to Katsunuma his effort was wasted.

  At Katsunuma Station, Imanishi drank some water. After resting a while, he started out again. The distance from Katsunuma to Hajikano was also long. Eventually he passed Hajikano. As Imanishi walked he wiped the perspiration out of his eyes. Unless he continued to look carefully at the ground, he was afraid he might miss something. After all, he was searching for only a tiny fragment.

  During his trek, several trains passed him in both directions. There was a breeze immediately after they passed, but then the sweltering heat returned. His body was tired, but it was his eyes that gave out first. Imanishi plodded along, but he didn’t find what he was looking for. He started to give up. So much time had passed that finding something now would take a miracle. The tracks began to slope upward toward the mountain. He could see the entrance to the Sasago Tunnel in the distance. The steep mountainside dropped off toward the tracks from either side. The bright white of the concrete restraining wall hurt his eyes. He couldn’t search inside the tunnel; he hadn’t brought along a flashlight.

  Imanishi was now close to the tunnel and was about to turn back. Then he saw something in the grass beside the tracks, two or three small, dirty brownish fragments, stuck on the ground as if caught on something. Imanishi crouched down. Carefully he picked up one fragment by the edge and examined it closely.

  It was a piece of cloth about one inch square. The color had changed, but the material had obviously come from a cotton shirt. The rain and sun had changed the color to a dirty gray, but he could see some spots, as if brown paint had splattered it. Imanishi picked up another piece. On this, the brownish area was larger and covered about half of the fragment. Imanishi picked up more. In all there were six pieces. In each case the size of the brownish spots varied and the cloth had turned dark gray.

  Imanishi put his collection carefully into the empty cigarette pack that he was carrying and closed the flap.

  The cloth fragments looked like they had been cut with scissors. Imanishi could tell that the material was of good quality. He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed to be a cotton-synthetic blend. Imanishi thought back. The man who had appeared in the bar in Kamata had been wearing a light gray sports shirt. The cloth fragments were dirty, but it seemed that the original color could have been a light gray.

  Encouraged, Imanishi walked back to Hajikano Station to catch the next train. He rode the train through the tunnel and got off at Sasago Station. Here, too, he walked along the tracks.

  The pieces he had recovered had given him something definite to look for. Judging from the way the fragments he had discovered had fallen, he figured that there would be a greater chance of finding them in the grassy areas.

  Imanishi walked five hundred yards and stopped to rest, then he walked three hundred yards and stopped again. Otherwise, he got dizzy. When he had walked about a thousand yards, resting off and on, he saw another bunch of fragments lying next to a lunch box discarded on the grass. Imanishi slid down the slope and carefully picked up the pieces. This time the fragments were mostly whitish, but they were unmistakably the same as those he had already placed in his cigarette case. Imanishi spent about an hour searching this area, but he was unable to discover any more pieces.

  Imanishi walked all the way to Otsuki Station. The bustle of the town became louder, and the railroad tracks were intersected by crossings. Imanishi entered a restaurant in front of the station and poured some water over his head. If he had continued plodding in the sun, he would have fainted from sunstroke.

  Next was the section between Saruhashi and Torizawa. It would be quicker for him to walk than wait for the next train. Crossing the railroad bridge, he looked to his left and saw Saruhashi bridge, which the woodblock print master Hiroshige had drawn. He again followed the tracks and was struck by the sickening aroma of the grass. The burning sun was finally moving toward the west, but the heat had not diminished. The heat waves rising from the ground nearly overpowered Imanishi’s eyes and nose. He continued to walk. The railroad tracks curved ahead of him and glinted in the sunlight. Imanishi felt that his investigation had finally gotten on track.

  He returned to Tokyo police headquarters. He had been able to gather thirteen fragments of c
loth along the tracks between Enzan Station and Lake Sagami Station. He established that they were all of the same cloth and had been cut into bits.

  Imanishi went to the Identification Division. He turned over the cloth fragments to the technician Yoshida, who said, “In view of the efforts you’ve made to find these, I’ll try to get the results as soon as possible.”

  The testing procedure involved ascertaining whether the stains were blood; if they were bloodstains, whether they were human blood; and if they were human bloodstains, isolating the blood type.

  “Imanishi-san,” Yoshida reported, “the bloodstains on these cloth fragments are type O.”

  Imanishi had noted Miki’s blood type in his notebook. Miki had type O blood.

  Imanishi reported this finding to his superiors. They were generous with their encouragement. Imanishi gave a little jump for joy. The next step was to find the girl who looked like the actress Okada Mariko. Imanishi promised himself that he would find the girl, just as he had found the cloth fragments along the railroad tracks.

  Imanishi had no clue other than that the girl had taken a night train to Tokyo on the Chuo Line over three months ago. There were hundreds of thousands of young women in Tokyo who fit her description. But Imanishi was sure she had helped Miki’s murderer. The murder had been committed in the middle of the night of May 11, and the fragments had been scattered from the train window on May 19, so there was a gap of about one week. During that time, the girl had hidden the murderer’s bloodstained clothes.

  Armed with a general description of the woman, detectives targeted rental rooms and apartments along the Mekama and Ikegami lines, but no clues surfaced from their inquiries. Suspecting that this girl might be a hostess at a bar or nightclub, the investigation was extended to the entertainment districts.

  One morning, as Imanishi was drinking his tea after his breakfast before he had to leave for work, Yoshiko came running back from the tobacco stand where she had gone to buy her husband some cigarettes.