The Decagon House Murders (18 page)

‘I can’t take any more of this.’

Agatha’s shoulders sagged and she stared into space with dead eyes. Her trembling body slumped down on the table.

‘I beg of you, I want to go home. I’m tired. I—I want to go back home.’

‘Agatha.’

‘I’m going. I’m going home. I’ll swim back.…’

‘Agatha, stay calm. Take a deep breath.’ Poe put his large hand on Agatha’s back and tried to calm her.

‘Agatha, nobody is accusing you of murder. Nobody is going to kill you.’

Like an unwilling child, Agatha was still resting her head on the table. Gradually her mumbling of ‘I’m going home, I’m going home’ died away and turned into sobbing.

After a long while, she suddenly raised her head. And, in a monotonous, husky voice, she said: ‘I need to prepare dinner.’

‘That’s okay. Somebody else will do it. You go and rest.’

‘No.’ Agatha pushed Poe’s hand away. ‘I’m not the murderer.’

5

Nobody spoke during the meal.

If anybody had opened their mouth, they would inevitably have talked about the case. The silence was an escape from the threatening reality. Perhaps the silence was also born out of fear of provoking Agatha, who was still in a state of shock.

‘We’ll clean up, so go and rest, Agatha,’ said Poe softly. Agatha usually avoided smoking in front of other people, but now she was staring at the movements of the smoke that came from her cigarette. She turned to Poe with an expressionless face.

‘I’ve some tablets if you can’t fall asleep. I’ll give you some, so take them and go to bed.’

Caution flashed through Agatha’s eyes.

‘Tablets? No!’

‘It’s okay, it’s just sleeping medicine.’

‘No, I won’t take them.’

‘Okay then, look carefully, Agatha.’

Poe opened his leather bag which was hanging from the back of his chair, and took out a little medicine bottle. He dropped two white tablets from the bottle into the open palm of his hand, broke them in half, then gave half of each tablet to Agatha.

‘Now I’ll take these two halves right in front of your eyes. Then will you trust me?’

Agatha stared silently at the tablets in her hand and finally nodded slowly.

‘Okay, good kid.’

A clumsy smile appeared on Poe’s bearded face and he swallowed the tablets in his hand.

‘See, nothing wrong with me. Now you too, Agatha.’

‘—I just can’t sleep. I just can’t.’

‘It’s natural, it’s because you’re all worked up now.’

‘This morning I could still hear Carr’s cry in my mind. I had finally started to doze off, when I heard something strange from the room beside mine, from Carr’s room.’

‘I know. Just take those tablets, you’ll have a good rest tonight.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. You’ll fall asleep in no time.’

Agatha finally put the tablets in her mouth, closed her eyes and swallowed them.

‘Thanks.’

Her lifeless eyes looked at Poe.

‘Good night, Agatha. Don’t forget to lock your door and window.’

‘Yes. Thanks, Poe.’

After Agatha had disappeared into her room, the remaining four collectively uttered something resembling a sigh.

‘Impressive bedside manner, Poe. You’ll make a great doctor.’

Ellery smiled, waving the hand which held a cigarette between his thin fingers.

‘How surprising to see someone like our Dame Agatha act that way. Maybe one of us will become one of your patients, too, tomorrow.’

‘Shut up, Ellery. You’re taking this too lightly.’

‘I need to take this lightly.’ Ellery shrugged. ‘If I take it too seriously, I might be the next to lose it. I was nearly killed today,   remember?’

‘What if that was just all a one-man performance?’

‘Wha— ah, I guess I shouldn’t get all worked up over that. But of course, Agatha could be acting too.’

‘If the murderer is amongst us, then we all have an equal chance of being him,’ said Van, biting his nails.

‘The only one who knows for sure you’re not the murderer is yourself. So you need to look out for yourself.’

‘Yes…Why did all this happen anyway?’ Leroux threw his glasses on the table and held his head.

‘Hey, you’re not going to get all hysterical on us as well, I hope?’

‘I don’t have the energy for that, Ellery. But why did the murderer start this insanity? Whether the murderer is one of us or Nakamura Seiji, what in heaven’s name could the motive be?’

Leroux’s face, with its small round eyes, was full of despair.

‘The motive, eh?’ Ellery muttered. ‘There has to be something.’

‘I don’t believe the “Seiji equals Murderer” theory,’ said Van irritably. ‘Nakamura Seiji is only alive inside Ellery’s imagination. Even if it were true, it’s like Leroux says, what motive could he have for killing us? This isn’t a game.’

‘Seiji.…’

Every time Leroux heard or spoke the name, he could feel a strange sense of uneasiness taking over. He had had the feeling ever since Ellery told him yesterday that Seiji might still be alive.

The reflection of the lamp flame danced in his glasses, lying on the table. Staring at them, he tried to retrieve
something
from this feeling of uneasiness.

A memory
.

But he couldn’t remember. And before long, another, more recent memory of something mingled in, which perturbed him even more.

What was it?
Leroux kept asking himself in his mind.

The newer memory had to be about something occurring after they had arrived on the island. He had seen something somewhere subconsciously, something extremely important....

‘Poe.’

The headache he had endured since waking up was still throbbing.

Let’s give up for today and go to sleep
, Leroux thought.

‘Could I have a sleeping tablet too?’

‘Sure. It’s just seven, already going to bed?’

‘Yes, my head hurts.’

‘I should go too.’

Poe gave the whole bottle of tablets to Leroux and casually stood up with a cigarette in his mouth.

‘I’m starting to feel the tablets I took just now, too.’

‘Poe, could I have one as well?’ asked Van, slowly getting up from his chair.

‘Sure. One’s enough. They’re quite strong. And you, Ellery?’

‘Don’t need them. I can fall asleep by myself.’

And after a little while the lamp on the table went out, and darkness descended upon the hall of the Decagon House.

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE FOURTH DAY ON THE MAINLAND

1

‘Is it really all right for me to come along?’ asked Kawaminami once again.

They were sitting in the car heading from O—City to Kamegawa. Shimada, who was holding the steering wheel, kept his eyes front as he nodded several times.

‘Really. You knew Chiori and you’re also one of the “victims” of those threat letters. And having come this far, you wouldn’t want to be left out of the investigation, would you?’

‘That’s true.’

He couldn’t forget about the warning Morisu Kyōichi had given them two nights earlier.

Was it all right for them to invade other people’s privacy just to satisfy their own curiosity?

Shimada said that he and Kōjirō were much closer than Kawaminami and Morisu appeared to think. He added that Morisu’s ideas and attitude might be a bit too stuffy.

He knew what Shimada thought. To be honest, Kawaminami didn’t like Morisu’s sudden change of attitude either, despite the help he’d happily provided at the start of their deduction game. Nevertheless, Kawaminami felt reluctant and even guilty about making such an informal visit to Kōjirō once again, a mere three days after his first.

‘If you’re really so against this, Conan, then just pretend we became best of friends these last three days. And now I’m dragging my friend along against his will. Is that better?’ said Shimada with a straight face. “He’s really a strange person,” thought Kawaminami.

It wasn’t just that he was brimming with curiosity. Kawaminami was certain that this man had powers of observation and insight that far surpassed his own. When Morisu had advanced the theory that Nakamura Seiji was still alive, it appeared that Shimada had already thoroughly considered the possibility.

The decisive difference between Morisu and Shimada was that while Morisu was, in a way, a strangely conservative realist, Shimada was like a dream-gazing child, a sort of romanticist. He would let his imagination run wild on any real case that interested him and if he found a possibility he thought interesting, he would sublimate that into something like a “dream.” That was how the man appeared in Kawaminami’s eyes.

And that was perhaps the reason why, to Shimada, the question of whether his “dream” corresponded to reality was of secondary, even tertiary importance.

The car left the National Route and they drove through familiar city streets.

The characteristic smell of hot springs mingled with the wind flowing in through the half-open window of the passenger side. It was often described as “the smell of rotten eggs,” but Kawaminami didn’t dislike the smell of hydrogen sulphide.

They arrived at Kōjirō’s house just after three o’clock in the afternoon.

‘He should be here today,’ Shimada muttered, standing in front of the gate.

‘The high school he works at is already on spring holiday and even if today were a school day, it’s Saturday, so he should be home by now. And he’s not the kind of person who’d go out even if he had the time.’

‘Didn’t you call him to say we’re coming?’ asked Kawaminami, to which Shimada shook his head.

‘Kō, you know, he likes surprise visits.’

‘Oh.’

‘Odd, right? Depends on who’s coming, of course. But as I’m a close friend.’ Shimada winked and laughed.

The garden that Yoshikawa Sei’ichi had so often come from Ajimu to tend was, as always, full of blooming flowers. Beyond the roof, branches with buds of cherry blossom were visible. As they walked along the stone steps, the brittle petals of a
spiraea
sprinkled their shoulders.

This time, the doorbell was answered immediately.

‘Oh, it’s you, Shimada. And you too… Kawaminami, if I remember correctly?’

Kōjirō was dressed sharply today as well. Black slacks, a shirt with black stripes and a light coffee-brown Aran cardigan.

Kōjirō led the two of them to the same sitting space in the back, with no sign of surprise at Kawaminami’s presence.

Shimada dropped down into the rattan chair on the veranda. Kawaminami waited for Kōjirō to offer him a seat, and let his body sink into one of the sofas.

‘So what’s up today?’ Kōjirō asked while he was preparing tea.

‘There was something we wanted to ask you.’

Shimada leaned forward in the rocking chair, his elbows on his knees.

‘But before I ask you about that, where were you two days ago?’

‘Two days ago?’ Kōjirō looked questioningly at Shimada. ‘I’ve been home every day the last few days. School’s on vacation.’

‘Really? We stopped by two days ago, on the night of the 27th, but you didn’t answer the door.’

‘I have to apologise for that. I have a deadline for a thesis and I’ve been pretending not to be at home for visitors and phone callers alike, these past two or three days.’

‘Is that any way to treat a friend?’

‘Sorry, if I had known it was you, I would have let you in.’

Kōjirō handed them the tea cups and sat down in the sofa across from Kawaminami.

‘And what did you have to ask me? Kawaminami is here too, so I assume it’s connected to those prank letters signed with my brother’s name?’

‘Yes. But today we’re here on a slightly different matter.’

Shimada took a breath and continued.

‘Actually, we want to ask something private about the deceased Chiori.’

The hand that held Kōjirō’s cup of tea stopped in mid-air.

‘About Chiori?’

‘I’m going to ask you a very weird question, Kō. You can punch me if you think it’s unforgivable.’

And then Shimada asked straight out.

‘Was Chiori perhaps your daughter?’

‘Nonsense. What kind of question is that?’

Kōjirō replied instantly, but Kawaminami had noticed that for one brief moment his face had turned pale.

‘So I’m wrong.’

‘Of course you are.’

‘Hmm.’

Shimada stood up from the rattan chair and moved to a seat next to Kawaminami. Kōjirō, still angry, crossed his arms. Shimada’s eyes stayed fixed on him, as he continued:

‘I know it’s an insulting question. You’re angry, of course. But Kō, I need to know. Chiori was your and Kazue’s daughter, wasn’t she?’

‘That’s enough of your nonsense. Where’s your evidence?’

‘I don’t have any evidence. But all sort of facts are whispering it to me.’

‘Stop it.’

‘I went to Ajimu with Conan here two days ago. To meet with the wife of the missing Yoshikawa Sei’ichi.’

‘Yoshikawa’s wife? What for?’

‘Those threatening letters urged us to find out more about the incident that happened on Tsunojima last year. And the conclusion we finally arrived at, is that Nakamura Seiji is still alive and the one behind it all.’

‘Impossible. My brother is dead. I saw the body.’

‘A completely burnt body, I think?’

‘Yes.’

‘That was Yoshikawa Sei’ichi’s body. Seiji was the real murderer and, after he had killed Kazue and the Kitamura couple, he burnt Yoshikawa’s body to serve as his own body double. Seiji’s still alive.’

‘You’re as imaginative as always. And I guess it was this imagination of yours that linked me with my sister-in-law?’

‘Yes.’ Shimada continued without reservation:

‘Supposing Seiji was the murderer, what could it have been that drove him into committing those murders? You once told me, Kō, that your brother loved Kazue passionately, but his fixation on her was not normal. You said that the real reason he had withdrawn to the island at such a young age was that he wanted to keep Kazue all for himself, that
he wanted to keep her on the island
. For him to kill the wife he loved so much, there’s only one motive I can think of:
jealousy
.’

‘But why jump to the conclusion that my sister-in-law and I had an affair?’

‘Yoshikawa’s wife told us that Seiji didn’t love his daughter all that much. But it’s a fact he loved Kazue very passionately. So why didn’t he love Chiori, his and Kazue’s fruit? It’s a contradiction. Isn’t that evidence that Seiji at least suspected he wasn’t Chiori’s father?’

‘My brother could be a bit strange.’

‘Even if he was strange, he was still a person who loved his wife. There had to be a reason for him not to love the daughter his wife bore him,’ said Shimada decisively and continued:

‘And so, if we assume this hypothesis to be true, then who is Chiori’s real father? Several facts point to you, Kō. A young man who could come in contact with Kazue even though she was confined to the island. And there’s the fact you and your brother had a falling out around the time of Chiori’s birth….’

‘You’re completely wrong. I’ve had enough of you, Shimada. I deny everything. Nothing like that ever happened,’ said Kōjirō angrily, as he removed his horn-rimmed glasses. ‘And I’ll say this again: my brother isn’t alive. He’s dead. And I have nothing to do with that case.’

Kōjirō said this resolutely, but his eyes avoided Shimada’s gaze and the hand on his knee was trembling lightly.

‘Then I have one more thing to ask you, Kō,’ said Shimada.

‘On September 19th of last year, the day before the Blue Mansion went up in flames—do you remember? You called me to have a drink, even though you hardly ever touch alcohol. We went from one bar to another and you became dead drunk. To me, you appeared to be a man trying to drink away his pain.’

‘So? What are you trying to say?’

‘You were completely drunk and finally, you started to cry. You probably don’t remember anymore. I got you back home, and we both fell asleep on these sofas here. Kō, you were muttering as you cried: “Kazue, forgive me, forgive me,” over and over.’

‘No….’

The colour in Kōjirō’s face changed visibly. Shimada didn’t stop.

‘I didn’t think too much of it at the time. I’d had quite a few drinks myself. And even after I learned about what happened on Tsunojima, I didn’t immediately think back to that night because I was involved with something troublesome of my own at the time. But now that I do look back….’

Shimada sighed heavily once again.

‘
Kō, on the night of September 19th, you already knew that something had happened on Tsunojima
.’

‘But how.…’

Kōjirō turned away from Shimada’s gaze.

‘How could I have known something like that?’

‘The murderer himself, Seiji, told you.’

Shimada’s intense gaze remained fixed on Kōjirō.

‘Kazue’s body was missing the left hand. Seiji had cut it off. I think he sent the cut off hand to you, Kō. You probably received her hand on the 19th. You couldn’t call the police because you were afraid of scandal, so you tried to drink everything away.’

‘I, I….’

‘I don’t know the details about how you and Kazue found each other. I don’t need to know. Even if you two were the reason Seiji went mad, I don’t think anyone has the right to blame you. But Kō, if you had called the police on the 19th, the lives of the Kitamura couple and Yoshikawa might have been saved. Your silence that day was a crime.’

‘A crime?’ muttered Kōjirō and he suddenly stood up.

‘Kō.’

‘It’s okay, Shimada, I’ve had enough.’

Kōjirō turned away from Shimada’s gaze and walked to the veranda with dull, lifeless steps.

‘That over there,’ he said and he pointed at the wisteria pavilion in the garden, ‘I planted that the year Chiori was born.’

2

Kawaminami appeared not to have returned home yet. The lights of his room were out.

Morisu Kyōichi looked at his wristwatch. 10:10 p.m. His friend shouldn’t have gone to bed yet though.

He parked his motorbike near the entrance of the apartment building and went into the coffeehouse on the other side of the road.

The shop was open until 2:00 a.m. At this time of night it was usually full of students who lived nearby but, because of the spring holiday, there were only a few customers dotted about the place.

He took a seat near the window overlooking the road.

He sipped his black coffee and considered leaving once it was finished. After all, it wasn’t as if he had to see him. He could always make a call later.

He’s always quick to get all fired up, and then lose interest again. By now he’s probably had enough of playing detective.

Morisu put a cigarette in his mouth and started to reflect.

It had been the “letter from the dead” that had sparked Kawaminami’s interest. The letter was all it had taken to get him started. And, once he had found out that the members of the Mystery Club had gone to the island, he naturally couldn’t just sit still. Kawaminami had gone all the way to Beppu to visit Kōjirō and come to him, Morisu, to ask for advice. Usually, the Kawaminami he knew would start to lose interest around this point. However it was different this time.