The Tokyo Zodiac Murders (23 page)

Kiyoshi didn’t reveal any more of his thoughts about Taeko’s suicide. Apparently, he believed it was not motivated by the exposure of her crime but by something else. Whenever I tried to find out what was on his mind, he became evasive.

“Think about the dice she gave me, and then you’ll know,” was all he would say, with a grin.

Speaking of dice, it struck me that investigating the Zodiac Murders had been like playing a game of Monopoly. I’d roll the dice and stop at “The Mystery of Heikichi’s Bed” or “Longitude 138° 48’ E” or “Numbers 4, 6 and 3”, and so on. Kiyoshi and I playing the game had resembled those comic nineteenth-century characters Yajirobei and Kitahachi in Jippensha Ikku’s chronicle of adventures and mishaps titled
Tokaidochu Hizakurige
. But as things were winding up, my game had ended when I lost all my capital in Meiji-Mura. Pretty foolish, really!

I did have some good memories from the adventure, though. The people I’d met had all been interesting and kind, except for Takegoshi Jr. It’s odd to say this, perhaps, but the person I had the most pleasant impression of was the culprit, Taeko Sudo.

The news that the Zodiac Murders had been solved provided huge excitement. Newspapers and magazines went crazy with the story for a week or so. There were television programmes galore, each network trying to outdo the others. Takegoshi Jr
and his quiet brother-in-law Iida were interviewed, although the media were not too keen on the gorilla’s appearance or attitude.

There was also a new boom in books on the case. The same writers who had put forward their theories on cannibalism or abduction by aliens now re-emerged from the woodwork with new books on the subject.

Iida got a promotion because of his contribution to solving the case, but Kiyoshi didn’t get anything, except a brief thank-you note from Mrs Iida. His name wasn’t mentioned anywhere. My dear friend, the man who had actually solved the case, was completely overlooked. I felt it was really unfair. But at least it was good for one person: the late Bunjiro Takegoshi. His note was never exposed to the public, and that made me feel good; it was a feeling that Kiyoshi shared. Still, I was not fully satisfied.

“Aren’t you frustrated at all?” I asked Kiyoshi.

“With what?”

“Getting no credit for solving the mystery. You did it all, and you’ve been totally ignored. You could have appeared on TV; you could be famous now. You could have made some money. I know you’re not that kind of person, but fame can make a business operate better. I don’t think yours is an exception. You could have moved to a better place, bought a nicer sofa, made your life more comfortable…”

“Yes, maybe. But then I’d be plagued every day by a bunch of curious, stupid people,” Kiyoshi replied. “My office would be so full, I’d have to yell your name to find you in the crowd in my waiting room. You might not be aware of this, but I like my present lifestyle. I don’t want people to bother me. Look what I’m doing now. I can sleep as late as I like. I can relax in
my pyjamas any time I choose. I can spend my time studying whatever I want. I only accept clients I like; I don’t have to compromise. All of these things I treasure. I don’t want to change anything. And I can overcome any loneliness I may feel because you are here!”

Kiyoshi’s warm words were unexpected, and they made me so happy. Now was the time to reveal my plan to him. I tried to say it with all seriousness, but I couldn’t help smiling. “What would you say if I told you I wanted to write a novel based on this case?” Kiyoshi stiffened as if he’d been caught with his hand in the biscuit jar. “Bad joke, Mr Ishioka!”

“I don’t know if any publisher will like it, but I think it’d be worthwhile trying.”

“I would endure almost anything, my friend,” Kiyoshi said quietly, “but please, keep this quiet. No book!”

“But why?”

“I just explained it to you. I have other reasons, too.”

“Oh, do you? Please tell me what they are.”

“I don’t want to.”

Considering his response, Emoto would be the first reader of this book, and Kiyoshi would be the last. But from my work as an illustrator, I had some good contacts with publishing houses. I had every intention of going through with the idea.

“You could never imagine how nervous I get when people ask me my name,” Kiyoshi muttered weakly, sinking into the sofa. “Would I be in your book?”

“Of course! You would be central to the story—a man with a strong and unusual character.”

“Well, could you give me a better name? Something that sounds like a movie star.”

“Sure I will,” I replied, laughing, “of course you should be allowed to appear incognito.”

“The magic… of an astrologer…”

But the case was still not really finished for the two of us.

One sunny afternoon in October, six months after all the excitement, we heard a very tentative knock on the door.

“Yes,” Kiyoshi said, but the visitor didn’t presume to open the door. It was probably a hesitant woman, I thought. There was another knock.

“Come in!” Kiyoshi repeated loudly.

The door slowly opened to reveal the figure of a large, tall man. Guess who it was… the gorilla!

“Oh, my goodness! Is that you, Mr Takegoshi?” said Kiyoshi, jumping up from his stool with a smile. “Mr Ishioka, please make some tea.”

“Oh, no thank you. Please don’t bother. I won’t be staying long,” Takegoshi Jr said, taking a large envelope from his briefcase and handing it to Kiyoshi. “I just came by to give you this,” he continued tentatively. “I apologize that it took such a long time… And please excuse us for not giving you the original… but it was an important piece of evidence, you see… and it took some time to figure out who the letter was meant for…”

I had no idea what he was talking about.

“It was for you, Mr Mitarai,” he said, and turned to leave.

“Thank you. But are you going? We have so many things to talk about. It’s been such a long time,” Kiyoshi said, unable to contain his sarcasm.

Takegoshi Jr did not respond. He was already through the door and closing it. But then he stopped and slowly opened the door again.

“As a man, I must say this,” he mumbled, looking down at our feet. “Thank you very much for your help. I’d like to say thank you on my father’s behalf also. He must be happy in heaven… And I apologize for being so rude to you the last time we met. Well… goodbye… and thank you.”

He closed the door quickly, but politely. He hadn’t looked into our eyes once.

“Hmm, maybe he’s not such a bad person after all!” Kiyoshi said with a grin.

“No. I think he learnt something from you.”

“Hmm, you may be right. At least he’s learnt how to knock on a door!”

Just as I had hoped, the envelope contained a letter from Taeko to Kiyoshi. I would like to finish the story by printing the whole thing, because it completes the explanation of the extraordinary Tokyo Zodiac Murders.

Friday, 13th April 1979

To the gentleman I met in Arashiyama,

I have been waiting for you for a long time. That may sound odd, but it is true. I have been suffering from very strong anxiety, which may be only natural, considering what I have done. Every night since I came to live in Kyoto, my mother’s favourite place, I have had the same nightmare, in which the story goes on nonstop: a terrifying man approaches me, scolds me in a loud voice, grabs me by my arm, and drags me to jail. It really scares me and leaves me shivering. But, strange as it may seem, I have always wanted to meet that man.

Finally, he came out into the real world, and stood in front of me. It was you. You were young and gentle, and you never asked me to tell you the terrible details of my crime. I appreciated your thoughtfulness. I want to thank you, so I’m writing you this letter.

I have never done anything good in my life. Thanks to your discretion, the truth of my crime could remain unknown for ever. But I would now like to explain the details of what I did, and confess my sins.

My days with the Umezawas, all those years ago, were very
difficult. Masako, my stepmother, and her daughters were very cruel to me. Even though I murdered the girls and trapped Masako, I have never regretted what I did. When I lived with them, it seemed like nothing could be worse. That is maybe why I have been able to live until today.

My father, Heikichi Umezawa, dumped my mother, Tae, when I was only a year old. Tae wanted to have custody of me and implored Heikichi to let me live with her. But he wouldn’t allow it, insisting that she was too weak physically. If that was true, how could he have dared to let that poor woman live alone?

Soon after Tae left the Umezawa house, Heikichi married Masako. She was a devil. It may not be fair to speak ill of the dead, but Masako treated me with great malice. She never bought me anything and never gave me any pocket money. All my clothes, toys, and books were hand-me-downs from Tomoko or Akiko. Yukiko and I went to the same primary school. I was one year ahead of her, but being in the same school with her made me feel second-rate. I had to wear moth-eaten sweaters and stained blouses and skirts, while she was always dressed neatly with new clothes. In order to forget my misery, I studied fiercely. I began to get higher scores than Yukiko. So Masako and Yukiko employed every trick they could think of to interrupt me when I was studying.

If Masako didn’t like me, why did she keep me in her house? Perhaps she was afraid of looking bad in front of the neighbours, or perhaps she enjoyed using me as a maid. All the household chores were mine from the time I was small. I asked if I could go and live with my mother, but Masako wouldn’t allow it. Neither our neighbours nor my classmates knew what was happening inside the Umezawa household; they concealed the facts so well.

Every time I was getting ready to visit my mother, Masako and her daughters would do nasty things to thwart me. But it never stopped me from going out. The real reason was not so much that I wanted to see my mother, but that I had found a job secretly. I had to help support my mother and myself. She could not make ends meet from just selling cigarettes.

My mother, who understood my situation very well, helped me keep my job a secret. Sometimes the Umezawa women asked her if I was really visiting her in Hoya. She always evaded their questions. Back then, women couldn’t get a job, even at nightclubs, without references. I was lucky; I met a kind gentleman. With his help, I started to work once a week at a university hospital. I can’t mention his name or the name of the hospital, because I don’t want any harm to come to him or his family.

I learnt a lot from that job, but at the same time I became nihilistic. It was at the hospital that I had a chance to see autopsies performed. My ideas towards life changed drastically. Death became very close to me. It struck me that people in the medical profession have a lot of control over people’s lives. Eventually, I was attracted by the idea of committing suicide. I don’t know if young girls feel the same way these days, but back then many girls were fascinated with the idea of killing themselves before they lost their virginity.

One day, I had the opportunity to visit the pharmaceutical department. A colleague showed me a bottle of arsenic, and it was then that I made up my mind to commit suicide. Later on, I sneaked into the pharmacy, stole a spoonful of poison and put it into an empty cosmetic bottle. I went to see my mother to say my last goodbye. When I looked into her shop from the street, she was sitting beside the coal brazier as usual. She
smiled and held up a paper bag. She was expecting me, so she had bought some waffles. While we were eating them together, I looked into her eyes, questioning the meaning of life. I could find nothing good about mine, but I realized my mother’s situation was even worse. I knew that I would have to do something good for her before I died.

My mother always looked so sad and lonely; she was like an empty can that someone has crushed and thrown into a vacant lot. Every time I saw her, she was sitting in the same position in the same place. The knowledge that her life would never change was very painful to me. The Umezawa women enjoyed a life surrounded by luxury. Every time I heard them chatting, laughing or playing music, my resentment and hatred towards them grew. I could feel my blood boiling; my heart was filled with rage.

One day, Kazue came to visit the Umezawas. She was the queen of complaints: she would pick on anything she disliked and grumble about it all day. On that occasion, she complained that the chair she was sitting on was uneven. Masako said, “Here, put this bit of rag under the leg to make it even.” She tossed to Kazue a sachet that had belonged to my mother. It had been part of her collection. I had no idea how Masako had got hold of it—maybe it had dropped from my mother’s suitcase when she was moving out of the house. Anyway, the incident made me furious—my patience was exhausted. Then and there I decided that I would take revenge on them for my mother’s sake, even if it meant killing them all. I began to put all my energy into planning my act of vengeance—yes, I started planning the Azoth murders.

I sneaked into the pharmaceutical department at the hospital every so often, stealing a little bit of arsenic each time.
Then, at the end of 1935, I quit my job without giving notice. There was no way they could have contacted me because I had given them a fake name and address when I applied for the job.

I had always thought my face was rather nice, but I had never been very satisfied with my breasts, hips and legs. That’s why the idea of Azoth came to me, I think. You may laugh at me, but that’s a woman’s nature.

I knew that I would have to find someone who could dispose of the girls’ bodies once I had killed them. I kept thinking and thinking, looking for a suitable person who would do it. And then, I noticed Mr Takegoshi, the detective, who regularly passed Kazue’s house. I really feel sorry about what I did to him. I wish I could have explained the whole situation and apologized to him. But I couldn’t do it at the time because I would rather have killed myself than be arrested.

My father was not the real target; he was just selfish and childish. I killed him with a box made from very hard wood, which I brought home from work. I filled it with a mixture of cement and straw, which I had heard was the way carpenters made walls solid. I nailed a handle onto it, but it was a bit too heavy. When I hit my father on the head with it, it broke. That was the worst moment I have ever experienced. Although he was a selfish man, my father had never been cruel to me. A week before his murder, I told him that I was willing to be a nude model for him and I wouldn’t tell anyone. He looked so happy and excited to share the secret with me. Emotionally he was like a child.

On the day of his murder, I posed for him as usual, waiting for the chance to kill him. Then it suddenly started to snow, and the snow accumulated in a very short time. I realized that
my plan might no longer be effective. I thought God might be telling me to stop. I couldn’t make up my mind what to do. “Tonight isn’t good; better to do it tomorrow,” I kept telling myself as my father took his sleeping pills. However, the situation wouldn’t allow me to postpone the murder. His painting was almost finished, and he would be adding my face to the canvas the next day. Then anyone who saw it would know the identity of his model.

I struck him on the head with the box. The police determined that he died instantly, but that wasn’t quite true. I couldn’t kill him with a single blow. He fell and suffered terribly. I finally had to smother him. I covered his nose and mouth with several sheets of wet
washi
handmade paper. Later, I couldn’t understand why the police hadn’t discovered the real cause of his death.

Once he was dead, I started cutting his beard with a pair of scissors. After that, I was going to use a razor to make his face clean-shaven, which I thought would confuse the investigators. But blood started running out of his nose and mouth. I became frightened, and had to stop. I tried to be careful not to drop any of his whiskers on the floor, but I failed.

Then I went outside. After putting my handbag under the eaves, where there was no snow, I threw a rope I’d prepared to the sliding bar from the window and managed to hook it and then pull it to lock the door. Then I walked to the street, carrying Heikichi’s shoes with me. My shoe prints were in plain sight in the snow; I intended to create a second set of prints on top of them using his shoes. Stepping carefully on my toes into the set of prints I’d just made, I walked back to the studio. But when I looked closely, I could see indentations in the centre of my original shoe prints. I had to disguise them somehow.
I put my father’s shoes on and tried my best to walk over my first set of prints normally. When I got back to the street, I changed shoes again and put my father’s shoes in a bag. If it hadn’t snowed so much, and again in the morning, the whole trick might not have worked.

I hid in the woods in Komazawa that night. There was a place I knew well near the creek; it was a low spot covered with thorny vines. The thorns pricked me painfully, but it was the perfect place to hide. If my plan failed, I decided I would kill myself there. I had already dug a hole ready and covered it with old branches and grass. That’s where I buried the box, the scissors and the whiskers from Heikichi’s beard. I waited for morning to come, sitting in the middle of the bushes. If I walked around, someone might see me, which would be the worst possible thing that could happen. A few cars passed during the night, but I was lucky not to be seen by anyone.

It was so cold that I thought I would die. While sitting there, I was seized with regret and uncertainty. Should I go home while it was snowing? I decided I shouldn’t—I had to avoid being seen by anyone. I had told Masako I would be spending the night in Hoya. If I went home then, it would seem suspicious if anyone heard about it. If I didn’t go home and if Masako asked Tae if I was with her, I knew my mother would lie for me. So I stayed where I was, shivering.

Heikichi’s note was my invention. I left it in his studio after I killed him, but I was not sure if it would work. I became very anxious, and started thinking I shouldn’t have done it. I could have kept the whole thing simple and just used poison to kill everybody. I didn’t mind if I was caught, but I didn’t want Tae to suffer because of me—she would be known as the mother
of a serial killer. I needed to commit my crime secretly so that she would be protected. And I liked the idea of letting Masako suffer for the rest of her life.

I tried to get rid of my negative thoughts. I felt sure that nobody would think Heikichi’s handwritten note was a fake, because he hadn’t written any letters or postcards to anybody since he was twenty years old. I had seen Heikichi’s handwriting in his drawing book from his time in Europe. It looked very much like mine. I thought it was funny that the handwriting of a father and his daughter should look so alike. To disguise my handwriting further, I used a drawing pencil so that the characters were a bit blurred.

While I was writing the note, I thought about Heikichi. It was strange, but I could only remember the good things about him. He had been so nice to me… I thought I would go crazy from my feelings of guilt. Heikichi talked about himself a lot to me, because he trusted me. He had very few friends—probably Miss Tomita and I were his only friends. That’s how I could put such feeling into that note. And then, of all the things I could do… I killed him!

Nights are long in winter. While I was hiding, I felt the morning would never come. When the eastern sky started growing light, I became scared that one of the Umezawa women would find Heikichi’s body before I returned. I needed to return the pair of shoes; Masako and her daughters may well have been aware that he kept two pairs in his studio. I wanted to go back right away. But if I went there very early, Masako would grow suspicious, since I was supposed to be staying in Hoya. And if I went straight to the studio to return the shoes, my shoe prints would be left in the snow.

Having to carry Heikichi’s shoes back with me was not part of my original plan. It was an unexpected complication that made me very anxious. Wouldn’t it be better if I buried them or threw them away? They were wet from the snow. If the police compared the shoes with the shoe prints, they would figure out the trick. I was at a loss for a while, but I finally decided to return them to the studio. Again I was very lucky; the police never considered the possibility that the man’s shoe prints had been made by Heikichi’s own shoes. It’s likely that they never even tried to compare Heikichi’s shoes with the shoe prints. And it snowed again in the morning, making it difficult to see the shoe prints well anyway.

The police interrogation, however, was quite brutal. I was well prepared, of course, but all the other girls were hysterical, which made me feel good. I had caught a cold from staying in the woods, and I was shivering. But the investigators must have thought that it was a natural response for a young woman who had just discovered her father’s dead body.