The Ginza Ghost Page 5

  ‘I understand your concerns. I will help you out. But like that fellow Hachisuka said, the Akimori twins are not the murderers. Who are, then? You’ll have to wait until tomorrow night for that.’

  5

  It goes without saying how long the following day felt for Yūtarō. Time went by excruciatingly slowly. As soon it became dark, the impatient Yūtarō finished his supper and flew out of his apartment building.

  Kyōsuke Aoyama had been waiting for Yūtarō in his armchair. ‘I met with your Constable Hachisuka today. He is a very intelligent young man,’ said Kyōsuke. ‘I’ve no doubt he’ll get promoted for his work on this case.’

  ‘So you know the identity of the real murderers?’

  ‘Of course. I’d already grasped most of the case while you were telling me the story last night. You shouldn’t be surprised. Don’t you realise it’s a very simple case? You and the postman were on that road and chased after those two men. The house manager came from the other side. But there was no sign of the murderers. You looked at the only way out of that path: the back entrance of the Akimori residence. There you discovered the footprints of the murderers. However, those footprints were made long after the crime happened. So what does it mean…?’

  ‘…It means the murderers didn’t go inside through the back entrance at that time?’

  ‘Precisely. And at that time, the three of you were the only people outside the stone wall. Now you understand, don’t you?’

  ‘I think I get it… No, actually I don’t think I do.’

  ‘How vexing. The murderer was standing outside the stone wall at the time. The murderer was one of the three of you!’

  Yūtarō was about to cry out that it couldn’t be true. But Kyōsuke calmed him down.

  ‘Among the three of you, there was one man who went through the back entrance inside the grounds between the time the chindon’ya musicians passed by and left that flyer, and the time that Constable Hachisuka arrived after being called by those same musicians. That person is the murderer.’

  ‘So you mean house manager Togawa is the murderer?’

  ‘Yes. By the way, how much time did Togawa spend inside?’

  ‘About five minutes? But he only went in to leave his bag and inform the people of the household….’

  ‘Ah, yes, that bag. That was what Constable Hachisuka and I examined today. Inside the bag was one white yukata set and a black waist band! Here’s what happened. While everyone was having an afternoon nap, Togawa made a phone call to his wife and called her outside. And in front of you witnesses, wearing the yukata, he stabbed his wife with the murder weapon, on which he had previously left the fingerprints of one of the twins. He then went around the corner where you couldn’t see him, took the yukata off—revealing the suit he was wearing beneath it—and put the yukata in his bag. Later on, he’d leave his bag back inside the house, quickly do the trick with the garden geta sandals footprints and then go and wake the maid.

  ‘It’s really simple. The police said the twins had a motive for a crime passionnel because the woman and the twins had a liaison, but I did the reverse and realised that her husband Yaichi Togawa also had a motive.’

  ‘But who was his accomplice, then?’

  ‘Accomplice? There was never such a person.’

  ‘Wait. Are you just going to ignore my powers of sight? I clearly saw two murderers….’

  ‘I guess you’re justified in getting angry at me. The accomplice you’re talking about has a very intimate connection with the miracle which occurred at the stone wall. The murderer had figured out the truth behind the so-called miracle. Committing the murder in front of you as witnesses, especially in front of the postman who always arrives in the neighbourhood at the same time every day, was part of his crafty plan. Oh, what’s the matter? Does your head hurt? No, that’s only normal. The miracle of the stone wall is indeed a mystifying problem. I have my own thoughts about it, but I don’t think you’d believe me if I’d simply explain it briefly to you. Please be patient for another few days. Anyway, I have to go to the police now.’

  It was three days later when Kyōsuke Aoyama finally expelled the source of Yūtarō’s headache.

  It was incredibly stuffy and hot that day, just as on the day of the murder. Kyōsuke, Yūtarō and police constable Hachisuka, were walking down the path to the western side of Akimori residence, while being roasted by the scorching heat of the two-thirty afternoon sun. When they arrived at the famous corner, Kyōsuke announced: ‘Our experiment will start now. I think it will succeed. We’ll be walking back alongside this stone wall in the direction of the front gate of the Akimori residence, to the spot where the victim was lying. If we can see the letter-box in front of us—the letter-box we shouldn’t be able to see—then I’ll have solved the truth behind this miracle. Okay? Let’s go.’

  Yūtarō and police constable Hachisuka felt as if they were being bewitched by something as they walked on. Five ken. Ten ken. Fifteen ken. It was only another five ken until they reached the front gate of the Akimori residence, but still nothing. Four ken. Three ken. And, there, the miracle finally occurred!

  There were still about three ken away from where the victim had been lying, but there the bright figure of the red letter-box appeared from behind the stone wall, the same red letter-box that was standing thirty ken down the road in front of the apartment building. As they proceeded, the image became clearer and clearer, and eventually, the image of the letter-box separated itself from the stone wall. But how curious! They could make out another letter-box—the exact same letter-box—overlapping with the first one. Once they stood right in front of the front porch, they saw two red letter-boxes standing next to each other thirty ken in front of them. Yūtarō felt slightly dizzy in his head and had to close his eyes. But then Kyōsuke said: ‘Look, there’s the twin brother of the postman!’ And yes, there was the grotesque sight of twin postmen, both wearing black-and-white uniforms and carrying large, black sacks as they walked down the pavement this way from the letter-box. But as the twin brothers approached the three men, the figures of the twins started to overlap and eventually merged into one single person. And moments later, that honest-looking postman opened his eyes wide in surprise, and stood still looking at us.

  ‘Ah! It was a mirage!’ Yūtarō exclaimed suddenly.

  ‘Hm, you’re not completely wrong, but also not completely right,’ said Kyōsuke. ‘Basically, it’s a form of air reflection. When there’s a local change in air density through a difference in temperature, it’s possible to see projections of things from very extraordinary angles because of the way the light bends. And we do indeed call that a mirage. What just happened is scale-down version of a mirage. Today is an extremely hot day, just like the day of the murder. This recently repaired, large stone wall facing south has been bathing in the heat reflected from the empty lot on the other side of the road and the heat that results from other smaller conditions like the length and height of this wall, resulting in a local change in the density of the air, precisely along this wall. So from where we are standing now, the light that passes by the letter-box over there is reflected off the air and bent in an incredible manner: thus the miracle of the stone wall was born.’

  Kyōsuke pointed to the postman with his chin and laughed. ‘Haha. Look. The postman, too, has approached us closer than we had agreed, and has now ceased being a twin. He must have seen us appear in a similar way, that’s why he standing there in surprise. In another thirty minutes the temperature of the stone wall will drop, and once any of the complex conditions necessary to bring forth this miracle are gone, we won’t be able to see that letter-box over there. Well, well, it appears your headache is over now.’

  First published in Shinseinen, July Issue, Shōwa 10 (1935).

  THE MOURNING LOCOMOTIVE

  Why yes, you´re absolutely right. When the weather clears up like this, travelling by train is really comfortable. By the way, where are you headed? Oh, Tōkyō? So your university is
in Tōkyō? Yes, I see. Splendid… Oh, you mean me? Ah, I’ll get off right before that, at H City. Yes, there. Where they have that locomotive depot.

  Perhaps you can’t tell from the way I look, but I actually used to work there until two years ago. I worked there for an eternity, but something happened and I quit the job.

  But every year on this day—on the eighteenth of March—I go back to H City, for a tragic task I have to perform for a poor woman. Eh? Why did I quit my job at the railway? Hmm, the world is a curious place. You see, exactly one year ago, on the eighteenth of March, I was travelling by train to H City, and I was accompanied by a fine-looking university student, just as I am now. Like you, he was kind enough to ask me about what had happened. It must be the Buddha’s will…. Ah, but I will gladly tell you about it. You students are really so open-hearted….

  The reason I quit my job and why I head out to H City every year is rather peculiar and some might call it fateful. My story might not be quite to your taste if you study the latest sciences, but it will help pass the time until you reach your destination.

  My story goes back several years, to that fan-shaped locomotive depot at H Station where I worked. You might call it a roundhouse…. There was a large old locomotive there, all covered in soot which the workers had dubbed The Mourning Locomotive. It was once a splendid-looking freight train tender locomotive, model number D50-444. Above the four powerful coupled driving wheels, each as hard as a millstone, stood the steam dome—round and clean like the forehead of old Fukusuke[vii]—as well as a big boiler—round as the belly of a pregnant woman—and on top of that was a pipe, shaped like a tea kettle.

  For some strange reason it was also the most accident-prone of all the locomotives in the depot, having been involved in the most run-over incidents. It had been constructed at Kawasaki in the year of Taishō 12 (1923) and had immediately been put into operation pulling freight trains on the Tōkaidō Line, but subsequently became a very troublesome machine. From the time of its introduction until it was taken out of service, it was involved in over twenty run-over incidents, a record for H Depot.

  Furthermore—and I don’t know whether it was just sheer bad luck that clung to this ill-fated tender locomotive, or whether it was fate—but over that long period, almost a decade, it was always the same two unfortunate men operating the locomotive whenever an accident occurred.

  One of them was the locomotive operator, whose name was Senzō Osada. He was one of the older graduates of the N Railway Training Centre. He was a large man, thirty-seven at the time of the first incident. If he’d shaved off that fake-looking short moustache, he’d have looked much younger, like that actor Kikugorō[viii]. He was usually called “Osa-Sen” by most of the people at the depot, which sounded like an actor’s stage name. The other was the assistant-operator, Fukutarō Sugimoto. He was a small man, not yet thirty, with a fair complexion and a lean build. He always had a smudge of soot smeared under his nose, almost like Osa-Sen’s moustache.

  Both of them were easygoing and friendly and liked to chase women when they’d had a few drinks, but each started to become uneasy as the horrible accidents involving D50-444 started to pile up. Initially, they didn’t mention the fact to each other, but it was taking a toll on their minds. Things came to a head one autumn night, three years before the incident I’m going to tell you about. A cold rain shower so typical of the season had fallen and the cursed locomotive had run over a forty-year old mad-woman beneath a bridge near H Station. At Osa-Sen’s suggestion, they decided to perform a novel ritual to comfort their minds. As a sort of memorial service to the spirit of the victim, they hung a cheap wreath of flowers from the ceiling of the cab during the forty-nine days of the mourning period.

  It didn’t take long for their little ritual to gain the widespread approval of their colleagues. People came to respect and admire the thoughtfulness of the two men. From that moment on, Osa-Sen and his assistant Sugimoto realised that their little act had been in fact a very meaningful one, so each time they had an accident they would hang a fresh wreath in their cab for forty-nine days. Over time, D50-444 became known as “The Mourning Locomotive.”

  Now pay close attention, Mr. Student. In the winter of two years ago, D50-444 got involved in not one, but a whole series of bizarre incidents.

  It started early in February, on a morning with severe frost. At the time, D50-444 was working day and night between Y and N as a freight train. It was puffing exhaust smoke whiter than the frost when it arrived at the freight platform of H Station, exactly on time at five-thirty in the morning.

  Under the supervision of the conductor and the freight manager, they started loading the cargo off the train, and the assistant stationmaster went around checking the train with a lamp in his hand. Meanwhile, assistant-operator Sugimoto lit a Golden Bat cigarette with the fire from the boiler, stuck it between his lips and hummed a tune as he went down the iron ladder with an oil-can in one hand.

  But Sugimoto quickly returned to the cab with a changed expression on his face. Without uttering a word, he sat next to Osa-Sen, who was staring at the pressure gauge. In a strangely calm manner, Sugimoto removed his hat and gloves, breathed on the palms of his lean hands, and rubbed the soot away from beneath his nose. This was a sort of tic of Sugimoto’s whenever he discovered parts of a victim clinging to the wheels of the locomotive. By the way, D50-444 was such a gigantic locomotive, it was not unusual for the operators not to notice if they ran over one or two persons in the night.

  Osa-Sen’s mood changed when he learnt the news. In a shrill voice he called for the station workers. The assistant stationmaster quickly ordered a temporary change of locomotive, and D50-444 was admitted inside the depot together with the two engineers.

  With the help of several other depot workers, they started cleaning the locomotive. For a depot worker, there are few jobs more horrible than having to clean up after an accident. Some victims are killed in a relatively clean way, as if they’d been cut by some sharp instrument. Their arms would be cut in pieces, for example, or their legs would be sliced clean off, or the head and the body split apart. In such cases, you’d only have a couple pieces of ground flesh sticking to the wheels of locomotive, accompanied by some vague black smears. Any man with strong nerves could work on that without much trouble: it was no different from cleaning the cutting board in a butcher’s shop. But if the victim had been pulled inside all the way to the centre of the chassis, their body parts would get ripped apart by the tremendous force. You’d end up with necks around the axle, or arms and legs caught by the wheel centre or the coupling rod. In cases like these, the lower body of the locomotive would be painted with a black-reddish substance and would reek tremendously of blood. The clothes of the victim—whether those of a man or a woman—would be ripped apart and get stuck here and there below the locomotive. Cleaning a locomotive of such a mess is a really sickening task.

  So D50-444 was turned around on the turntable and brought into the roundhouse and once they took a good look, they could see the mush so typical of when someone had been run over and ground to pulp.

  Sugimoto grimaced as he sprinkled some cheap perfume on a towel, which he put on like a mask and tied to the back of his head. Holding a rubber water hose in front of him, he went inside the three shaku opening inside the gauge right beneath the locomotive.

  There he made a bizarre discovery. Usually, Sugimoto would spray water over the lower part of the locomotive, keeping his eyes open for things caught up there, such as the clothes of a young girl. But this time, he couldn’t spot any signs of the clothes of the victim, not even a trouser leg. What he did discover, however, was a small, hairy lump of flesh instead. He picked the piece up with a pair of tongs—as if he were carefully constructing a jigsaw puzzle—and took it out. It was passed around for everyone to try to determine what it was. Hirata, the vehicle inspector, pointed out that the hairs on the flesh were too thick and hard for a human. This caused quite a stir, and several of the older peo
ple at the depot were called in to re-examine the piece of flesh. And what do you think their conclusion was? To their surprise, they determined it was the skin from the belly of a black pig!

  Confirmation of this surprising find occurred a couple of hours later by a railway track workman who discovered the horrible remains of a large, fully grown black pig ripped to pieces at a curve about six miles to the west of H Station—in B Town, an area housing the prefectural agricultural school, where many local farmers raised pigs as a side-business. It had somehow managed to get over the fence around a pigsty and met its unfortunate fate while walking along the tracks at the curve. Thus was the incident cleared up relatively easily. Osa-Sen, friendly and thoughtful as ever, bought a new wreath of flowers to hang in his cab and returned to work.

  But one morning several days later, fresh lumps of flesh from a black pig were once again discovered under the wheels of D50-444 when it arrived at H Station at five-thirty. Investigation showed that the incident had occurred at the exact same location as the previous one. This was very odd, but nothing you couldn’t ascribe to mere coincidence. They hadn’t finished their first forty-nine days of mourning, but Osa-Sen and his assistant Sugimoto hung a new wreath of flowers in their cab next to the one for the first pig.

  And would you believe it, Mr. Student? A few days later, the wheels of D50-444 were covered by what was probably the soft flesh of a white pig, and assistant Sugimoto was obliged to wipe the soot away from beneath his nose again. It was the third time, at the identical time and place as the previous two occurrences. Mr. Iwase, the head supervisor of the depot, decided to contact the police box in B Town.