Содзи Симада - Murder in the Crooked House

Chief Inspector Ushikoshi and Sergeant Ozaki began to wonder which of the three questions Kohei Hayakawa had answered untruthfully. If they could discover that, the extra push would be much more effective. If they guessed wrong, then the suspect might clam up for good. Ushikoshi took a gamble.

“We won’t repeat anything you tell us in this room,” said Ushikoshi, making his choice. “Are you sure you didn’t see anything at all suspicious?”

And just as Hayakawa seemed about to crumble, he lifted his head and said, “Absolutely nothing.”

From that point on, no matter what the detectives asked him, he gave no concrete response. Ushikoshi realized he’d gambled and lost, and quickly changed the line of questioning.

“So tell us, Mr Hayakawa, do you believe that somehow last night a stranger managed to break into this mansion?”

“Reckon that’d be impossible. Kaji’s always right by the service entrance to the kitchen, and everyone else was near the glass doors in the salon. I go around and lock all the doors in the house before everyone goes to bed.”

“The ground-floor toilet window too?”

“That toilet window’s always locked. Got iron bars on it too.”

“Hmm. And you’re in charge of the windows in all the guest rooms?”

“If there’s a guest staying, I’ve been told not to go into their room unless they ask me. But of course Ms Hamamoto is always telling the guests to call me if they need anything.”

“Hmm, I see,” said Ushikoshi but the question itself was a little off-point. Asking whether a stranger could have broken into the Ice Floe Mansion with the intention of murdering Kazuya Ueda was irrelevant really. Room 10 was in the perfect location for someone to enter directly from the outside. There was no need whatsoever to sneak into the main building.

So what was the business with the Golem doll all about? Ushikoshi decided that he had better confirm one more time with Kozaburo Hamamoto that it had really been in Room 3 in the daytime yesterday.

“Thank you.”

And with that, Ushikoshi set Kohei Hayakawa free.

“What a pain in the arse,” said Ozaki, staring out at the whirling snow. “It’s going to be a real storm. I don’t think we can get back tonight.”

“The Snow Queen says she’s not letting you go home.”

Another unfunny joke from Inspector Okuma.

“Yes, that’s what I’m hearing,” said Ushikoshi. He was distracted, thinking back over the completely fruitless investigation.

What they had learnt was this: Ueda was not the kind of man who someone would want to kill; when Eiko Hamamoto had gone to close the door to the bridge around 12.30 or 12.40, she hadn’t seen anyone or anything—in other words, there was nobody hanging around Room 1 or 2 at that time of night; at 1.15 a.m. and again at 1.50 a.m. when Michio Kanai had been taking the circuitous route between Room 9 and Room 1, he hadn’t noticed anything suspicious. So probably by that time the killer had completed his task and had already returned to his room. Or had the killer heard the sound of footsteps and hidden himself away somewhere? Well, that was if the murderer was even one of the guests staying at the mansion.

“Chief Inspector, you never know what might happen. I reckon I’d better call up at least one of our young toughs. If we stay the night we may end up making an arrest.”

No objections to that, thought Ushikoshi to himself.

“We’ve got one real bruiser I can think of. I’ll put him on night duty, okay?”

“Yes, please, Inspector Okuma. If you’ve got someone right for the job, let’s do it.”

“Yes, better safe than sorry.”

The detectives left the library and came down to the salon. Eiko was the first to spot them. She addressed the room in her distinctive, perfectly enunciated tones.

“Attention, everyone! Here they are! Our guests from the police have joined us, dinner’s ready so let’s sit down. Tonight we’re going to be treated to the wonderful flavours of the north.”

The meal was as delicious as Eiko had promised. Snow crab, scallops au gratin, salmon sautéed in butter, something called kenchin -style steamed squid—all specialities of the Hokkaido region. Inspector Okuma and Chief Inspector Ushikoshi were both Hokkaido born and raised, but were seeing most of these dishes for the first time. They had a sense that this was traditional Hokkaido fare, but hadn’t the faintest idea where in Hokkaido people might eat food like this every day.

When dinner was over, Eiko got briskly to her feet and strode over to the grand piano in the corner of the salon. The next moment, Chopin’s “Revolutionary Étude” reverberated through the room, almost like a challenge to the blizzard outside. The guests exchanged looks as if to say, What’s going on? And then as one they turned to look in the direction of the piano.

Out of all of Chopin’s works, this intense piece was Eiko’s favourite. If she were to choose something to listen to, there were other pieces that she liked just as well (except for “Chanson de l’adieu”, which for some reason she couldn’t stand), but when she wanted to play, it was his “Revolutionary Étude” or his “Héroïque” that she preferred.

Her fingers struck the keys fiercely, and when this tour de force was over, the enthusiasm of the applause that followed must have rivalled that for Chopin’s own performance of his piece. An encore was begged for. Caught up in the moment, having enjoyed such a delicious meal, the detectives felt they ought to add their polite applause to the crowd.

Eiko turned to her audience and smiled, then began softly to play one of the nocturnes. As she played, she lifted her head and looked outside. The blizzard had grown stronger, the wind had begun to howl and was rattling the large window with the flakes of snow brushing the glass as they fell.

Eiko felt as if everything were a prop especially prepared for her. This snowstorm, these gracious and cultivated guests, even the murder—she felt as if the gods had furnished her with all of these as a tribute to her own beauty. Beautiful people should enjoy the privilege of seeing others grovel in their presence. She felt that even the chairs and the doors should yield to her.

At the end of her second piece, she stood without closing the lid, and after waiting for the applause to die down, she addressed the room.

“It’s a little early to be closing the lid on this keyboard. Who’d like to be next?”

Kumi Aikura felt as if someone had just stabbed her in the stomach. Eiko’s intentions had just become clear to her.

“It shouldn’t be difficult to follow such an amateur performance,” Eiko continued.

Of course, the truth was that Eiko had purposely chosen her best piece, and her performance had been flawless. She pretended to be trying to persuade Sasaki, Togai and others to volunteer to play, but in fact she was steadily stalking a different prey.

It was a terrifying scene. The wolf was casually circling the flock of sheep, waiting to pounce on the petrified lamb. This performance was as impressive as the one that had just finished,

“Oh, here’s someone who surely must be an accomplished pianist!” she cried, as if the thought had just occurred to her. “I’ve always wanted to chance to sit in this salon and listen to someone else play my piano. How about it, Ms Aikura?”

With the howling blizzard as a backdrop, the audience was on tenterhooks to see how this scene would play out.

From the way Kumi Aikura had turned pale and was looking back and forth between Eiko and her sugar daddy, it was clear to everyone that she wasn’t a pianist. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely audible.