“Look at it carefully. There are parts where no monetary amounts are filled in. See, under 1953,1954, and 1955. From 1949 on none of the years have figures, while there are two lines between 1953 and 1954. Even if the years before 1952 were omitted, why are there two lines between 1953 and 1954?”
“I can’t figure it out.”
“I thought initially that there was some statistical reason for this. But when I thought carefully about it, it seemed odd. There’s no reason to leave blank spaces like this.”
“Do you think there’s a particular meaning to the blank spaces, as well?” Yoshimura asked.
“I think so. The blanks between 1953 and 1954 make it look as though there were no further disbursements during that time, that there wasn’t a second, or a third, payment during that year. But just the opposite occurred. These lines were placed without any meaning when you look at this as a statistical table.”
“I don’t think I’m following you,” Yoshimura said, resting his chin in his hand.
“The amounts of unemployment insurance disbursed are noted as 25,404 and 35,522. If you read these numbers in the normal way, you would read them as twenty-five thousand four hundred four and thirty-five thousand five hundred twenty-two. I just told you what I heard about acoustics, right?”
“Yes.”
“In simple terms, the human ear can’t hear sounds that are too low or too high. In ordinary cases, sounds over twenty thousand cycles can’t be taken in as sounds by people…”
“Oh, I get it. These numbers of 25,000, 30,000, 24,000, 27,000, and 28,000 could signify high-frequency cycles,” Yoshi-mura said.
“Exactly. They’re ultrasonic waves. This table of insurance distribution is also a table of suggested distribution of ultrasonic frequencies.”
“Then do the blank spaces signify rests, the kind they often have in music? I think they call them pauses.”
Imanishi was totally ignorant about music. “I think that must be it.”
“So the high-frequency sounds were not to be emitted continuously, but there were to be pauses in between. If you followed the table that’s what would happen,” Yoshimura said.
“That’s how I interpret it. The high-frequency sound wasn’t continuously transmitted. By putting the pauses in, the frequency would change as noted in the table.”
Yoshimura’s expression showed his admiration for Imanishi’s deductions.
“It would probably have a greater effect on someone to have slight frequency changes rather than a continuous emission of the same frequency sound wave.” This was not Imanishi’s own opinion, but based on information that he had heard from Hamanaka. “I think that these pauses weren’t complete rests and that there was some kind of sound during these pauses as well.”
“So it wasn’t a complete blank during the pause?”
“No, it wasn’t. The sound continued, but it became a pleasant sound.”
“Pleasant sound? You mean music?”
“Yes, exactly. Between the different ultrasonic waves, music was played.”
Imanishi went on, “Assume that Miyata and Emiko were murdered using these ultrasonic waves. This is a new method of committing murder, one that we haven’t seen before. But we have to consider something here. Just suppose… this is just a supposition… if the person who killed Miyata and Emiko is the same as the one who killed Miki at the Kamata railroad yard, you notice a big difference in the style of the murders.”
Yoshimura nodded. “There’s a huge difference. That murder was by strangulation, and then the victim’s face was battered with a stone. You can’t get much more violent.”
“That’s right. That method of murder was simple and brutal. We could also say that it was spontaneous. In other words, it was not planned. If Miyata’s and Emiko’s deaths were murders, however, the murderer used his cunning and killed them after intricate planning. Isn’t there a contradiction in this? If these crimes were committed by the same murderer, how do we explain this?”
“Let me see.” After some thought, Yoshimura said, “Could it be because Miki arrived in Tokyo unexpectedly?”
“That’s exactly what I think. Miki arrived in Tokyo early on the morning of May eleventh,” Imanishi said. “He was killed between midnight and one a.m. the night of the very same day he arrived in Tokyo.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“Miki had a reason for coming to Tokyo. And his movements from the morning until the night of the eleventh are what caused him to be killed.”
The two men were silent for a while, each thinking his own thoughts.
“At any rate,” Yoshimura said, breaking the silence first, “the murderer wasn’t yet prepared to kill Miki ultrasonically.”
“That’s what I think. That’s why we need to find out if the murderer procured the needed equipment between May 11 and August 31, when Miyata was killed. I think that will be one of the conclusive pieces of evidence.”
“But wouldn’t the procurement of equipment have been carried out in strict secrecy?”
“That may be so, but he seems to be convinced that no one can figure it out, that he is too clever to be caught. Even if he made his preparations in secret, I think there must be some place he was careless. That’s why we must look.”
Yoshimura’s gaze fastened on Imanishi’s face.
“Imanishi-san, those words Emiko uttered just as she was about to die – ‘Stop it, please. Oh, no, no. I’m afraid something will happen to me. Stop it, please, stop, stop’-were they about these ultrasonic waves?”
“She wouldn’t have been able to hear the ultrasonic waves.”
SEVENTEEN The Loud Speaker Announcement
For two days, Yoshimura had interviewed people connected with the Broadcast Technology Research Center. He asked a lot of questions and received many answers. He had also gone to a number of stores dealing in wireless equipment.
Although the investigation into the case had been for all practical purposes closed months earlier, the station chief now placed great hope in the “voluntary investigation” based on the new evidence Yoshimura had obtained from talking to Imanishi and from his own inquiries.
Imanishi went to the Avant-Garde Theater. The usual clerk came out to meet him.
“Sorry to have bothered you the last time I was here,” Imanishi smiled. “I’ve come to ask you for a little more help.”
“What is it this time?”
“I’d like to meet once again with the wardrobe mistress.”
“That’s no problem at all. She’s here right now.” The clerk called in the wardrobe mistress.
“Thanks for the other day,” Imanishi said. “What you told me that day was very helpful.”
Imanishi was taken to an empty sitting room by the wardrobe mistress, who had perceived that Imanishi’s business needed privacy.
“You said that a costume had disappeared. I suppose it hasn’t been returned since then?”
“No, it hasn’t. Since you asked me about it, I thought I would reconfirm, so I checked through the numbers again. It hasn’t been returned.”
“I have a favor to ask of you,” Imanishi said, bowing his head. “Could you please let me borrow the replacement costume, that raincoat, for a few days?”
“You mean lend it to you?” The woman’s expression indicated a problem.
“I’ll take complete responsibility for it. Of course, I’ll write an official receipt for the loan.”
“Our policy is not to allow theater belongings off the premises.” But this was a request from the police. “I guess it’s all right. If you’ll take responsibility for it.”
Imanishi and Yoshimura met that evening at a diner in Shibuya. They both ordered curry and rice and began to eat.
Imanishi heard Yoshimura’s report on his inquiries at the Broadcast Technology Research Center and the shops specializing in wireless materials. Yoshimura explained that a parabola was shaped like a bowl. In transmitting a certain sound wave, if a parabola is used, the waves become condensed and
stronger. Imanishi wrote in his notebook the word “parabola.”
Yoshimura continued, “You know, those big saucers stuck on towers on top of tall buildings? That’s what it is. That’s a parabola. Those are very large. When I checked, just as you thought, he had been secretly buying equipment like that from July on. Of course, it’s not just a parabola that he bought. The device used against the peddlers combines a parabola and a tweeter, one of those small speakers for high sounds. I’ve written down the details…”
“Miki was killed in May, and Miyata’s death was August thirty-first, so July is just at the midpoint between the two,” Imanishi noted.
“Yes, it is, just as you surmised, Imanishi-san; so there was plenty of time for preparations.”
“It seems so.” Imanishi nodded, but he did not look pleased. “We’ve got the main outline. The problem is how do we get evidence? Otherwise, it just remains our inference.”
“You’re right about that.”
“It’s a real problem. There must be some way we can get the evidence,” Imanishi said.
“The closer it is to a perfect crime, the less clues there are.”
“It can’t be helped; if we can’t get evidence, we’ll have to resort to tricks.”
“Tricks?”
Imanishi handed Yoshimura a bundle wrapped in newspaper that he had been holding under his arm. “This is a costume I borrowed from the Avant-Garde Theater. It’s the raincoat they bought to replace the one that disappeared. The color and shape are exactly like the one that was stolen, and it was lengthened to fit Miyata.”
“What am I supposed to do with this?” Yoshimura was bewildered.
“You’re going to wear this raincoat.”
“Where to?”
“To that house, of course. You and I won’t be the only ones going there. We’ll be accompanying the officials in charge of prosecuting violations of broadcast laws.”
“When do you plan to do this?”
“Tomorrow morning about eight o’clock. Your station chief should have been notified, so when you return to your office, you will get instructions.”
“Imanishi-san, will we make it in time?”
“We’ll have to manage somehow.” But Imanishi’s uneasiness showed. “While the scientists and doctors are doing their experiments, you and I have something else to do,” Imanishi said.
“What is that?” Yoshimura asked.
“Let’s think about the circumstances of Miura Emiko’s death. She had a fall, and died after a miscarriage because of the shock from the fall. We thought that she might have miscarried as the result of this fall, but what if we place it earlier?”
“You mean, the miscarriage was preceded by the killing of the fetus by ultrasonic waves?”
“She was subjected to a type of ‘surgery.’ ”
“Why didn’t she go to a legitimate physician?”
“I think the reason she had such an unusual ‘operation’ was because she didn’t want to go to a regular doctor. In other words, Emiko wanted to have the child.”
“Then she was tricked into it?”
“Probably. Sekigawa must have asked for this favor.”
“And she died from it?”
“Yes, she did. I don’t think they intended to kill her. She died because the ‘operation’ failed.”
“Does that mean Sekigawa knew of this device?”
“I think he did. I can’t say when he first found out about it. He may have figured it out because he had doubts about Miyata’s death. If there hadn’t been the problem of Emiko’s pregnancy, his knowledge about this would have given him a permanent advantage over his good friend. You must have noticed that Sekigawa’s reviews of Waga’s music suddenly turned favorable. Sekigawa’s position of advantage was reversed when he asked Waga to ‘operate’ on Emiko.”
At eight o’clock the following morning, five men visited the home of composer Waga Eiryo. It was quiet in the residential area. On the streets, only the commuters walked with quick steps. It was a cold morning, so several of the men wore overcoats. One had on a dirty gray raincoat. A middle-aged woman opened the door as she wiped her hands on her apron.
“Good morning,” a tall, young man said to her. “Is the master of the house in?”
“Could I ask who you are?” The woman seemed to be the housekeeper.
“This is who I am.” He gave her his name card. “We would like to see him.”
“The master doesn’t seem to be awake yet…”
“Please excuse me, but could you let him know that we are here to see him?”
Facing five men at once, the housekeeper seemed overwhelmed. She retreated into the house.
Imanishi stood in the entryway and looked around. Directly above the raised step into the house was fixed a small golf ball-sized metallic sphere, a tweeter. Some of the others in the group saw this and nodded to each other.
The housekeeper returned. “Please come in. The master was resting, but he will be able to see you shortly.”
“Excuse us.”
The five men were shown to the Western-style living room. The furnishings were simple but elegant. Sheets of musical scores were piled on the mantelpiece. Some photographs of Westerners were displayed. They did not recognize them.
The others took their coats off, but Yoshimura kept his raincoat on. The five men sat, smoking silently. They heard the distant sound of a door close. Perhaps the master of the house had gone to wash his face after rising. It was so quiet a neighbor’s radio could be heard. They were kept waiting for a full twenty minutes. The sound of slippers was heard, and the door opened. Waga Eiryo appeared wearing a kimono. He had just combed his hair.
“Welcome.” He held the name card the housekeeper had given him.
The five men stood up from their chairs.
“Good morning,” one of them said. “We’re sorry to have come like this so early in the morning.”
“No matter.”
Waga looked around at all of them, as if to clarify their positions. When his eyes came to Yoshimura, they opened wide for an instant.
His glance had not been directed at Yoshimura’s face. Waga’s gaze was fixed intently on the raincoat. For an instant, his eyes betrayed alarm and doubt. Imanishi, sitting unobtrusively amongst the others, watched Waga’s face. Waga’s expression of alarm lasted for a mere few seconds. Imanishi let out a sigh.
Waga sat down facing the five men. He took a cigarette out of the case on the table, his hands shaking slightly. The young composer struck a match and leaned forward to light his cigarette. Smoke rose from the corner of his mouth. This fraction of a moment gave him the time needed to regain his composure.
“Could I ask what you have come here for?” Waga raised his eyebrows and turned his eyes toward the officer who had greeted him.
The man took out a piece of paper folded in thirds from his pocket, “We are most regretful, but I must ask you please to take a look at this.”
Waga opened it and read it without showing any reaction. Then a faint smile appeared on Waga’s face. “You’re saying I have violated broadcast laws?”
“Yes. Recently there have been many cases of violations regarding VHF transmissions. We’re charged with overseeing these cases. So we’ve been using radar to find the source of these transmissions. We have found that your house seems to be the source of some high-frequency electronic waves… Waga-san, do you have such equipment?”
“Well, yes,” Waga responded, with a tight smile. “You may know that my music is what is called electronic music. So I use electronic equipment for experiment and practice. But I haven’t done anything that would violate the broadcast laws.”
“Is that so? But if you have such equipment we’d like to see it, if you don’t mind.”
“Please, go ahead.” Waga seemed unconcerned. “It’s over here; I’ll show you.”
“Thank you.”
All five men stood up. Once again, Waga glanced at Yoshimura.
They followed
Waga across an outdoor hallway to a separate wing of the house and into an oval room. Its ceiling and walls were completely sound-proofed, like a broadcasting studio. At one side was a glassed-in area like a broadcasting booth. Half of the small studio was taken up by sound mixing equipment.
“This is quite a set up. Waga-san, we’d like to take a careful look at your equipment now,” said one of the officers. “I am afraid it is necessary to ask you to accompany me to headquarters for further questioning about possible violations of Article four, Section one of the Wireless Telegraphy Act, which requires those intending to establish a broadcasting station to be licensed by the Ministry of Posts and Telecommunications.”
Sekigawa Shigeo was also subjected to a long session of detailed questioning by Imanishi and other detectives at his home.
A meeting of the Homicide Division was called. The chief asked Imanishi to summarize. Imanishi stood up to address the team.
“This case has taught us many lessons. The suspect was questioned today with respect to violations of the Wireless Telegraphy Act. We have allowed him to return home this evening, but I remain convinced he is guilty.
“Starting with motive, I cannot help feeling some sympathy for the suspect. Here is a man named Motoura Hideo. His father, Motoura Chiyokichi, contracted leprosy and was divorced by his wife. At this time, he took charge of his only child, Hideo.
“Motoura Chiyokichi led a life of wandering after he became ill, probably trying to find a cure for his disease. In 1938, Motoura, along with his son, Hideo, who was seven years old at the time, arrived in the vicinity of Kamedake, Nita Town, Shimane Prefecture. At that time there was a kindly policeman named Miki Ken’ichi stationed at the Kamedake branch office. Seeing that Motoura was in the terminal stages of his disease, Officer Miki, following the law, arranged for Motoura to enter Jikoen, a sanatorium for leprosy patients. At this time, and according to the regulations, the son, Hideo, was separated from his father, and I assume that Officer Miki arranged for his care at the child-care facility he himself had founded.
“I would like to comment on Officer Miki’s character. He was a very upright policeman. Even now, his good deeds are still talked about.”
Inspector Imanishi Investigates Page 31
