Inspector Imanishi Investigates

by Seichō Matsumoto

  “This love always demands sacrifices of me,” she had written. And she had actually sacrificed for her love. She had stolen a costume from the theater for her lover and had taken it to him. It was also she who had cut up her lover’s shirt into tiny fragments. She had had no regrets about these acts that were against the law. “I must feel the joy of a martyr as I make sacrifices.”

  Imanishi had been wrong. Not only had he mistaken the identity of her lover; he had also made a great error in his surmise that her apartment had been used as a hideout. No wonder no hideout could be discovered even after so much investigation around Kamata Station.

  Imanishi ruminated, putting his thoughts in order.

  A certain man decided to commit a murder. He realized that his clothes would become bloodstained. He could not hail a taxi in such a state. Before committing his crime, he called the Avant-Garde Theater at Toyoko Hall from a public phone booth. It was late at night, but Rieko was still there. He ordered her to bring him something to wear over his clothes. He also told her where to meet him. On the spur of the moment, she stole the raincoat, which was a stage costume worn by Miyata Kunio. Perhaps she had asked Miyata to sneak the raincoat out. That’s it, that must have been it. Otherwise, even if it were just one raincoat, her conscience would have prevented her from stealing something from the theater troupe. By taxi, it was a short ride from Shibuya to the scene of the crime. If she had taken the train, she could easily have changed at Gotanda or Meguro to reach the site. She met her lover, who was standing in the shadows, and handed him the raincoat.

  Imanishi felt that what had puzzled him for so long had finally been made clear. There were still many things he did not know, but he told Yoshimura what he had concluded.

  “I agree with you completely,” Yoshimura said in response. “I’m impressed, Imanishi-san.”

  “Don’t flatter me,” Imanishi said, embarrassed. “If I had figured this out right off, I might be able to accept your praise, but this is the result of having gone around in so many circles.”

  Three people related to the Nouveau group in some way had died since the Kamata murder was committed. Miyata, Miura, and Rieko. Imanishi now believed the Kamata railroad yard murder case was linked with these three deaths.

  At about three o’clock the next day, Imanishi realized he was hungry. Finding a break point in his work, he headed for the fifth-floor coffee shop. Many others were already there. He ordered coffee and a piece of cake and took a seat.

  At the table next to him were some men from the crime prevention section. He knew them by face, but not well enough to strike up a conversation. Among them were two men who were not in the police department, members of a crime prevention association. They were engaged in a lively discussion.

  “These days many houses are equipped with burglar alarms,” one of the men from the crime prevention association was saying. “I think public relations by the police have had quite an effect in that area.”

  Imanishi alternately ate a bite of cake and drank a sip of coffee.

  “Alarms might be enough to dissuade burglars, but what hasn’t declined is the number of door-to-door peddlers,” a detective in the crime prevention section put in. “This is a real problem for us. You may avoid trouble by buying something for a hundred yen, but it is ridiculous to buy something knowing that it’s worthless.”

  “Some housewives become frightened and hand over money to the peddler right away. Then the peddler becomes more obnoxious and pushes more items onto the poor victims. If they were to go ask for help from a neighbor, the peddler might steal something while they’re gone, and if the neighbors hear that it’s a gangster-peddler, they’re not likely to come to help out. It’s really a serious problem.”

  “These days, though,” one of the crime prevention association members said with a chuckle, “there’s a miracle cure to get rid of pushy peddlers.”

  “Really? What is that?”

  “You have to install a special device.”

  Imanishi overheard this comment and turned to look at the speaker. His ears had perked up when he had heard the word “peddler” in their conversation. Now that the talk was about equipment to repel peddlers, his attention was drawn even more.

  “It’s like this…” the man from the association explained. “First I’ll tell you the effect. The peddler starts to feel sick and scurries away.”

  “Really? Is that true?”

  “It’s true,” the speaker nodded.

  “Well, that really is a miracle cure. It’s funny to think that those pushy gangster-peddlers would run away feeling sick. What sort of equipment is it?”

  Imanishi became even more curious. Drinking his coffee, Imanishi concentrated on listening.

  “The machine is called an ultrasonic peddler repellent,” the man said.

  “Ultrasonic…? Oh, yes, it must be a piece of electrical equipment.”

  “No, it’s not electricity that causes this effect. A high sound can make the person feel sick.”

  “If it’s a high sound, then wouldn’t the neighbors hear it?”

  “No, it’s not that kind of high sound. I don’t understand the theory myself, but instead of causing a noise, it echoes in your body directly, making you feel strange.”

  Imanishi remembered the fragment of a boring newspaper article. He had put it aside. The word “ultrasonic” had appeared in it. It was a strong force. It could drill metal, he recalled. He was intrigued. He waited until the group stood up, then he grabbed one of the detectives he knew by sight and whispered to him, “Who is that person who was talking about the peddler repellent machine just now?”

  The detective told him, “That’s Yasuhiro-san of the crime prevention association. He runs a bicycle shop.”

  “Could you introduce me to him? I’d like to ask him something.”

  “Sure, glad to.”

  “This is my name.” Imanishi gave Yasuhiro his card. “Thank you so much for your cooperation.” He bowed.

  “Please don’t mention it.” The man named Yasuhiro also gave Imanishi his card, and the information he sought.

  Imanishi left headquarters just after four o’clock. He had not felt so impatient about reaching a destination for a long time. Normally, he would have taken trains and buses, but today he made the extravagant choice of taking a taxi.

  The communications research center was located in an empty lot surrounded by a flimsy wire fence. On the roof of the white, two-story, Western-style building were a parabola antenna shaped like a bowl and some steel towers for wireless transmission.

  Hamanaka, the researcher Imanishi had come to see, had given instructions for a security guard to escort him to the sitting room. Soon the door opened and a man of about thirty-five with thinning hair above a broad forehead appeared.

  “My name is Hamanaka.”

  They exchanged name cards. On Hamanaka’s card was the designation “Post and Telecommunications Specialist.”

  “I’m with the government, on temporary loan to this research center,” Hamanaka explained.

  “As I mentioned to you over the telephone, I heard about the electronic peddler repellent device from a member of the crime prevention association. I hear that you invented it?”

  “No, it’s not really my invention.” Specialist Hamanaka squinted his large eyes and chuckled. “The theory is very simple. But I may have been the first one to assemble it into something for practical use.”

  “Could you please explain that theory to me in a way that a layman can understand?” Imanishi asked.

  Hamanaka continued to smile. “It’s actually a sound.”

  “A sound?”

  “Yes. If I can explain a bit. We live every day among many sounds.” Hamanaka spoke, searching for simple words. “These sounds can be like notes of music, or they can be just noise. Among those sounds, there are some that are very unpleasant. For example, the sound of a saw screeching as it goes through wood, or the kind that makes you grind your teeth, like fingernail
s on a glass window. Those are unpleasant sounds, aren’t they?”

  “They certainly are.”

  “The difference in tone causes them to sound unpleasant. These tones come to us as waves through the air, so we call them sound waves. If these sound waves are sent in cycles at certain frequencies they can be very unpleasant for human beings. The peddler repellent device utilizes this acoustic effect.”

  “I see.” Realizing that the theoretical discussion would become complicated from here on, Imanishi waited for the next words.

  “If I can give you an example,” Hamanaka continued, smiling, “let’s say that you were made to listen to a low-frequency sound of ten cycles for several minutes. In this case, the sound is not what we normally call sound, but might be better described as vibrations. So it might be considered that you are not listening to the sound but are feeling the sound.”

  Imanishi looked confused, so Hamanaka’s explanation became even more basic.

  “You would feel uncomfortable after hearing that vibration for a while. Your head would start aching, and your body might start shaking. It’s a strange phenomenon.”

  “Does one really react that way?” Imanishi asked, leaning forward.

  “Yes, most definitely. What I just explained was a low sound that may just barely be heard or not heard at all. The same can be said about high sounds.”

  “High sounds?”

  “Yes. High sounds over ten thousand cycles in frequency. If one is exposed to twenty-thousand- to thirty-thousand-cycle sounds, rather than hearing them, one starts to feel strange. Both high-frequency and low-frequency sound waves are felt as very unpleasant sensations.”

  He continued, “Please look at this. This diagram plots the average range of auditory senses of a number of people in terms of frequency and volume. The numbers along the bottom are the frequencies, and the numbers on the left side are the levels of volume. On the right side is sound pressure. The range of audible frequencies is usually said to be from ten thousand to twenty thousand cycles. As this diagram shows, the range narrows at lower volumes. We call the curve at the bottom the minimum auditory value, or the auditory limit. This means that we cannot hear sounds below this point. The curve at the top of this diagram is called the maximum auditory value, or the sensory limit. If we hear a sound higher than this, we feel discomfort or pain, or some other sensation.”

  “So,” Imanishi said, “between twenty thousand and thirty thousand cycles, sound can make you sick?”

  Hamanaka nodded.

  “Very, very sick?” Imanishi asked.

  “It would depend on individual susceptibility, of course. Those who are especially vulnerable could even die -if the cycle of sound waves went on and on.”

  “I see,” Imanishi said. And he did.

  SIXTEEN A Certain Family Register

  A letter addressed to Imanishi arrived from the town office, Nita Town, Shimane Prefecture.

  Imanishi Eitaro, Police Inspector

  Tokyo Metropolitan Police

  Your previous request for information about Motoura Chiyokichi has taken some time to investigate. The following is a report of the information we have been able to obtain so far.

  Reviewing our old records, we have found that Motoura Chiyokichi entered Jikoen Sanatorium in xx Village, Kojima County, Okayama Prefecture, on June 22, 1938. As so much time has passed, we have not been able to obtain all the details, but we have finally uncovered the record books from that time, enabling us to report the exact date. However, this record book makes no reference to Motoura’s son, Hideo, who was said to have accompanied him. It is likely that Miki Ken’ichi, the police officer stationed in Kamedake who made the arrangements, dealt with the matter.

  That information would have been in the daily records of the police substation. However, the records for 1938 have already been disposed of.

  It can be surmised from the situation surrounding the event that officer Miki arranged for only the patient Motoura to enter Jikoen Sanatorium, separating him from the apparently healthy boy, Hideo.

  We are most interested in what Hideo decided to do after he was taken into protection, but, regrettably, that is unknown. Judging from officer Miki’s character, we think that he must have arranged for Hideo to stay with a family. Our investigation turned up no information about this. We conclude that Hideo ran away from that family of his own volition. This is a common occurrence when a child has led a life of wandering.

  I submit this as our final report on this matter.

  General Affairs Section Head,

  Town Office, Nita Town

  Imanishi remained deep in thought for a long while. He could see the Kamedake road in early summer. On a hot day, a father and son, wandering beggars, walked along this road. The father’s body was covered with pus-filled infections. Seeing this unfortunate pair, police officer Miki persuaded the father to enter Jikoen Sanatorium and took the seven-year-old son under his wing. But the boy, used to a traveling life with his father, was unable to respond to the care he received. One day he ran away without warning. Covered with dirt, the boy crossed the ridge of the Chugoku Mountain Range to the south. There, he took one of two possible roads. One road led to Hiba County at the northern edge of Hiroshima Prefecture, the other to Okayama. Which road had the boy taken?

  No, he could have retraced his steps alone in the direction from which he and his father had come. That would lead to Shinji and on to Yasugi and Yonago. He might have continued walking to Tottori. These three were the routes that the waif could have taken. Whichever road he had walked, he had finally reached Osaka.

  In Osaka, the waif was taken in by someone and possibly adopted into a family.

  Imanishi could not waste time on a letter of inquiry asking for an investigation. He boarded the night express train to Osaka. Imanishi closed his eyes as he sat on the uncomfortable seats and sipped whiskey from a pocket flask that he had bought for the journey. The sound of the night train followed a simple rhythm. It was not an unpleasant sound. In some ways it was as gentle as a lullaby.

  Sounds. Sounds.

  “Both high-frequency and low-frequency sound waves are felt as very unpleasant sensations.” Hamanaka’s voice echoed in his mind.

  Imanishi arrived at Osaka Station at eight-thirty the next morning. At the police box he asked for directions to Ebisu-cho in Naniwa Ward. The policeman turned around to look at a large map on the wall.

  “That’s west of Tennoji Park, mister,” he said in a thick Osaka accent.

  “Is the ward office near there as well?”

  “It’s about five hundred yards to the north.”

  Imanishi hailed a taxi that drove south through Osaka’s morning air.

  “Driver, where is the Naniwa Ward Office?” Imanishi asked as they started up Tennoji hill.

  “The Naniwa Ward Office is that building you can see over there.” The taxi driver had a thick Osaka accent as well.

  Imanishi looked at his watch. It was ten minutes before nine. The ward office would not be open.

  “Mister, do you want to stop at the ward office?”

  “No, I’ll do that later.”

  Imanishi gave an address to the driver. They turned onto a street lined with shops, none of which had opened yet.

  “The stores in this area look very nice,” Imanishi said.

  “Yes, it was totally rebuilt after the war.”

  “Does that mean that this whole area was burned in an air raid?”

  “Yes, mister, it was totally destroyed.”

  “Which air raid was that?”

  “It was near the end of the war, on March 14, 1945. A large contingent of B-29s rained fire bombs on this area.”

  “I suppose many people died?”

  “Yes, several thousand.”

  The date was the one Imanishi had etched in his mind from Tokyo.

  “Mister, we’re here.”

  Imanishi looked to find that they had stopped in front of a clothing wholesaler. “Is this the
number I gave you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Imanishi paid the fare. In this neighborhood all the houses were new. Not one old, prewar building survived. The clothing wholesaler’s sign read “Tangoya Shop.” Imanishi stood in the doorway of the shop, which was fitted with shelves crammed with bolts of cloth. He was made to wait a while to see the shop owner.

  “Welcome,” an old man over sixty said in the Osaka merchant’s dialect, as he came from a back room wearing a kimono with a navy blue traditional apron. He had been told who Imanishi was. “Thank you for coming. Is there something I can help you with?” The old man kneeled down.

  Imanishi heard what the Tangoya shop owner had to say. The old man, who was as thin as a withered tree, said that his family had lived in this spot for generations. Therefore, he was very familiar with the area’s history.

  After listening to the old man for some thirty minutes, Imanishi left the shop and walked up a gentle slope to the ward office. He assumed there was a school nearby, since he could hear the clamor of children’s voices. Again he was reminded of the nature of sounds. Annoyingly loud noises. Unpleasant sounds.

  Imanishi remembered the words the dying Emiko had uttered. “Stop it, please. Oh, no, no. I’m afraid something will happen to me. Stop it, please, stop, stop…” He continued to think as he walked, his shoulders hunched over. A streetcar passed by. The tracks were curved, and the wheels produced a screeching, metallic sound. Abrasive sounds, unpleasant sounds. A flock of pigeons flew up in the sky. The bright sunlight glanced off their wings.

  Arriving at the ward office, Imanishi showed his police identification to a young woman clerk at the window of the family register section.

  “I’d like to ask some questions.”

  “Yes?”

  “Is this the family registered at Number 120, 2 Ebisu-cho, Naniwa Ward?” He showed her the address in his notebook.

  After peering closely at Imanishi’s handwriting, which was difficult to read, the woman said, “Please wait a moment.” She stood up and took a book from the shelf where the originals of the family registers were stored. Imanishi waited two or three long minutes. The clerk returned to the window.