The Case of the Sharaku Murders (31 page)

“In those days, for the most part publishers used albumen printing to save money,” went on Minegishi. “Of course, even in a place like Akita, fancier methods would have been available at, say, any local portrait studio.”

“I see,” said Yosuke. “It was just something that had been bothering me, but I guess that pretty much explains it.”

“But more to the point,” puzzled Minegishi, “are you sure the plates weren't printed onto the pages in halftone or collotype?”

“No. They were definitely photographs pasted directly into the book.”

“Hmm… that's interesting,” said Minegishi, looking surprised. “Having only seen slides and photocopies of the catalogue, that hadn't occurred to me.”

“Don't forget we're talking about photographs of
paintings
,
” said Yosuke. “The publisher must have thought that using photographic plates would ensure the highest quality reproduction.”

“Hmm… amazing…” murmured Minegishi, shaking his head.

“Is something wrong?” inquired Yosuke.

“No, not wrong. I was just thinking the whole thing must have cost a lot of money. I wonder how many copies were printed?”

“Good question. At least fifty I'd guess.”

“Sounds about right; certainly no more than that. In those days photography wasn't something affordable to the masses like it is today. That catalogue must have cost a small fortune to produce. How many plates were there again? About seventy, wasn't it? In today's money that would probably come to over a hundred thousand yen a copy.”

“That much? You're kidding!” exclaimed Yosuke in disbelief.

“That is, unless Sato owned his own camera or had a relative who ran a portrait studio. But if he had to hire a professional photographer that's about what it would have cost.” Minegishi chuckled. “In those days it cost about one yen to hire a professional photographer to take a photograph. One yen might not seem like much, but consider that back then a cup of coffee cost three sen. One sen was a hundredth of a yen, and a movie ticket about twenty sen. One yen was a lot of money—the equivalent of about ten thousand yen today. And let's say it cost twenty sen to develop a photograph. Assuming fifty copies of the catalogue were published, that puts the cost at eleven yen per painting: one yen for actually taking the photograph plus ten yen for developing. With seventy paintings in the catalogue, that puts the cost for all the plates at nearly eight hundred yen.”

“Eight hundred yen… that's about eight million yen in today's money!” exclaimed Yosuke.

“Don't forget the cost of printing and binding. Put it all together and that comes to about a thousand yen. That's twenty yen per copy—nearly two hundred thousand yen today—a good chunk of change in those days. Back then for a thousand yen you could have built a pretty nice house. I'd say Sato must have been a very rich man indeed,” murmured Minegishi enviously.

On the way home Yosuke caught the Chuo Line from Yotsuya.

Things are starting to come together
.

Holding onto a strap as he stood in the crowded train, Yosuke mulled over his conversation with Minegishi.

Even if I don't figure it out, Ryohei or Minegishi will
.

But Yosuke had no intention of turning the riddle over to someone else to solve. This was his problem. He had to find the solution himself.

This calls for drastic action
.

Yosuke thoughts turned to the man whose name was on the business card the stamp dealer had shown him.

8

The Encaustic Lion

Elusive Sharaku Brought to Light
Sotheby's Auction Yields Groundbreaking Discovery!!

FEBRUARY 3—Two days ago, a heretofore unknown painting by the artist Sharaku (a.k.a. Chikamatsu Shoei)—the longstanding mystery of whose identity has only recently been solved—was discovered by a Japanese man at Sotheby's auction house in London. The painting was part of a collection of “Oriental Art” put up for public auction. The auctioneers were apparently entirely unaware of its true significance until it was pointed out to them. The instigator of the groundbreaking discovery is an art dealer from Morioka city in Iwate Prefecture by the name of Kato Tetsuo. Mr. Kato had arrived in London a few days earlier with a group of fellow art dealers from Morioka for the express purpose of attending the auction.

At first, said Mr. Kato, he did not realize the painting was by Sharaku. But upon second inspection he remembered having seen a reproduction of the very same painting in a catalogue of works by Shoei shown to him by a friend. Though the signature on the painting was that of the Akita School painter Satake Yoshifumi (eldest son of Satake Yoshiatsu), Mr. Kato could clearly identify where the original signature (presumably Shoei's) had been cut away. Mr. Kato's excitement at the discovery drew the attention of other art dealers and collectors attending the viewing, and the painting became the principal subject of discussion the following day when the collection came up for auction. Ultimately, the painting was acquired by a private American art museum for eighty-two million yen—the highest sum ever paid for a work by Sharaku—sending shockwaves through the art world.

Mr. Kato, together with his companions, remained in the bidding until the very end. “I very much wish I could have taken it back to Japan with me,” he said, unable to conceal his disappointment upon finally losing out to the Americans.

A PAINTING by Shoei! Discovered by Kato, no less!

Holding the newspaper, Ryohei's hands trembled.

Could it be a coincidence?
His head reeled.

If Sotheby's hadn't realized the painting was by Sharaku, Ryohei reasoned, it must not be one of the ones featured in the recent spate of newspaper and magazine articles. In which case only someone familiar with Shoei's work from having seen either Sato's catalogue or a copy of it could have recognized the painting. To the best of Ryohei's knowledge, apart from his colleagues, that included only a handful of people. What were the chances of one of them happening to go to Sotheby's and making the discovery? And on Kato's very first visit! Feeling there was more to this than met the eye, Ryohei turned his attention back to the newspaper.

I wonder why Kato made such a fuss about his discovery?

Ryohei could understand the art dealer's excitement at coming across an unknown Sharaku. But he was a professional; undoubtedly it wasn't the first time he had made such a discovery. If he had kept his cool and said nothing he could have bid on the painting, and he very likely would have won. It was very unprofessional of him to have gotten excited and driven up the price like that. That wasn't the Kato whom Ryohei knew.

It was Kato who suggested somebody might have forged the inscription in Kiyochika's sketchbook after Minegishi noticed the discrepancy with the dates
.

The more Ryohei thought about it, the more suspicious Kato's behavior began to seem.

But if the sketchbook is genuine, that means the preface to Sato's catalogue is a fake. And if the preface is a fake, then maybe Shoei
…

Ryohei blanched.

Maybe Shoei—is a fabrication!

Then again, nowhere in Sato's catalogue did it actually
say
Shoei and Sharaku were one and the same. It was Ryohei who had made the connection. Based on what? On just
one
inconspicuous reference to Sharaku in
one
inscription on
one
painting of a lion. If someone
had
forged that signature, why not make the connection a bit more obvious? It had taken a trained art historian to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Shoei was Sharaku, and even then only after extensive research. What if Ryohei
hadn't
happened to stumble upon the album? And what were the chances of him, or
any
art historian for that matter, noticing one tiny signature? One in a million perhaps. If that were true, the forger had taken quite a gamble! If someone with a trained eye hadn't noticed the inscription, all his efforts would have been in vain.

No, it was simply too farfetched. The paintings must be real—it was Kiyochika's preface that was forged
.

Ryohei's head was beginning to ache.

But why forge the preface? It made no sense. If Sato had been alive at the time the catalogue was published, then one could imagine he forged the preface in order to associate himself with a famous artist like Kiyochika. But he'd died in the flood before it was ever published. Would his widow really have lied on his behalf? It seemed highly unlikely.

No, if the catalogue really
was
published in 1907, Kiyochika's preface must be genuine
.

Ryohei had reached a conclusion.

On the other hand, this meant the converse was also true: assuming the dates given in the preface were
not
simply a misprint and that the preface itself had been forged, then the catalogue couldn't have been published in 1907.

If so, when might it have been made? Sometime before 1937—that much is clear. The photo album belonging to the art dealer in Yokote proved that the two paintings from the catalogue had been sold as works by Tashiro Unmu around that time. Obviously, the photographs in the catalogue must have been taken before Shoei's signature was removed and Unmu's added.

But in those days no one questioned the conventional wisdom that Sharaku had been a Noh actor from Awa. Alternate theories of his identity had yet to be proposed. In which case, even if the catalogue was
not
published in 1907, then
at least
the pictures must be genuine. Before 1937 there would have been no reason to forge Sharaku's signature on a painting by Shoei since no one would have believed for a second that Shoei was Sharaku. According to popular belief Sharaku was from Awa, not Akita. Any forger would have understood that.

Therefore, as Ryohei had said to Yosuke before, if the catalogue
was
a fake then it must have been made in order to bring Shoei to the attention of the art world. Ryohei knew there were plenty of art collectors out there who published deluxe catalogues of their collections in an attempt to inflate their market value.

In the end, it seemed to Ryohei this was the only possible explanation.

And yet if the forger's plan in creating the preface had been to make people think that Kiyochika had been an admirer of Shoei's work, it had failed spectacularly. Today, even in Akita, Shoei was all but unknown. The art world, it seemed, was not so gullible after all.

At last Ryohei was satisfied.

I bet it was Kato who found that work by Shoei
.
He probably planned the whole thing—got one of his companions to put it up for auction and then made a fuss about it
.

Anybody could sell a painting through Sotheby's. The auction house only made a cursory appraisal to make sure the work was reasonably respectable before putting it up for auction. Then they collected a certain percentage of the selling price as their fee. Of course, as in this case, Sotheby's occasionally mounted auctions on a particular theme—such as “Oriental Art”—using works they had acquired themselves. But presumably they accepted outside works provided they would fit the general theme of the auction. Kato had seized this opportunity. The dealers and collectors at the auction were all devotees of Asian art. If anyone was going to pay a record-breaking price for a Sharaku it was one of them. Sotheby's was an art dealer's dream.

I wonder if he found it in Yokote?

It was quite possible. Kato had been on his way to Yokote the time Ryohei had run into him in Kakunodate. Kato had probably tracked it down after talking to Ryohei.

Of all the sneaky
…

The least Kato could have done was to show it to Ryohei before putting it up for auction. After all, Ryohei was the one who had given the art dealer a copy of Sato's catalogue in the first place. He felt miffed.

Toward evening Ryohei received a telephone call.

“It's me—Onodera.”

Ryohei was taken aback.

“I'm in Morioka,” the detective went on. “Do you mind if I stop by for a minute?”

Ryohei asked Onodera what he wanted to talk about.

“I can't… not over the phone…”

After asking the detective where he was, Ryohei said he would come to meet him. He didn't want to worry his mother by having a detective dropping by the house.

“Any idea where Yosuke might be?” Onodera asked as soon as he saw Ryohei.

“Has something happened?”

“He's vanished.”

“Huh?”

“He didn't show up at his office yesterday morning. It seems he went out somewhere the night before. He's not at his apartment either.”

“How do you know?” asked Ryohei.

“I got a message from the officer assigned to the case.”

So, they've been trailing Yosuke all this time!

Ryohei was dumbfounded.

“Did you check to see if he was at his parents' house in Okayama, or his sister Saeko's apartment in Sendai?” asked Ryohei.

“Yeah, neither. I've tried everywhere I could think of. You were my last hope,” replied the detective with a worried look on his face.

“Are you afraid he's gone on the run?” Ryohei asked sarcastically.

“No, that's the least of my worries…”

“But you
do
think he set fire to the professor's house.”

“No, no. We've ruled that out. Now I'm just following a hunch.”

“A hunch?”

“I can't say anything for sure. I've just got a feeling something bad is going to happen. Did you know Yosuke's been going around asking questions about some old postcard?”

“Yes. I asked him to.”

“What!” Onodera's face lighted up. He pressed Ryohei to explain. Ryohei decided he might as well tell the detective the whole story.

Upon hearing it was Ryohei who had discovered Sato's catalogue and not Professor Nishijima, Onodera grunted but said nothing. Ryohei calmly related what the professor had done after learning about the catalogue. When he came to the part about the postcard which he had found inside, Onodera finally spoke:

“Hmm… Presumably somebody put it there as a bookmark. In other words, whoever owned the postcard also owned the catalogue,” the detective said ponderously.

Ryohei nodded. That was why he had asked Yosuke to check out the address on the postcard.

“Well, your friend Yosuke tracked him down.”

“What?” This time it was Ryohei's turn to be surprised. “Who was it?”

“Fujimura Genzo,” replied Onodera.

“Fujimura… Should I know him?” asked Ryohei.

“He owns a rare book shop in Sendai. Saga Atsushi was about to mail a book to him just before he died.
That
Fujimura…”

Ryohei said nothing.

“What do you suppose it means?” mused Onodera. “Is there a connection between Yosuke's disappearance and Fujimura's owning the catalogue? All this time I've been thinking Saga's suicide was unrelated—that it was just a random coincidence.”

“Perhaps…” Ryohei muttered to himself. “Perhaps it
is
connected to Mr. Saga.”

“You mean the catalogue?” asked Onodera.

“Yes. You see, it was given me by his brother-in-law, Mr. Mizuno.”

“But then—” the detective paused mid-sentence, his mouth still open. “Then there's a good chance Mizuno knows Fujimura,” he said thoughtfully. “Funny he didn't say so when I talked to him at the funeral. I showed him the envelope with Fujimura's name and address on it to confirm it was in Saga's handwriting.”

“Perhaps he was too upset at the time to notice?”

“Impossible. I asked him more than once if he had ever heard of Fujimura's bookshop. He said no.”

“So that means—”

“Mizuno was lying,” said Onodera, finishing Ryohei's sentence.

“Now listen to this: the day before yesterday when I got a call from Tokyo and Fujimura's name came up, I was sure Yosuke had uncovered something to do with Saga's death. So I immediately made a call to Sendai and had them make some enquiries about Fujimura's movements.”

“What did you find out?”

“On October ninth—the day of Saga died—Fujimura was attending a rare book exhibition at a Sendai department store. From lunchtime onward he didn't step foot outside the store. A number of other book dealers have confirmed this.”