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- Herausgeber: Pushkin Vertigo
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Sprache: Englisch
The sequel to the acclaimed Tokyo Zodiac Murders - a fiendish locked room mystery from the Japanese master of the genre The Crooked House sits on a snowbound cliff at the remote northern tip of Japan. A curious place to build a house, but even more curious is the house itself - a maze of sloping floors and strange staircases, full of bloodcurdling masks and uncanny dolls. When a guest is found murdered in seemingly impossible circumstances, the police are called. But they are unable to solve the puzzle, and more bizarre deaths follow. Enter Kiyoshi Mitarai, the renowned sleuth. Surely if anyone can crack these cryptic murders it is him. But you have all the clues too - can you solve the mystery of the murders in The Crooked House first? Born in 1948 in Hiroshima prefecture, Soji Shimada has been dubbed the 'God of Mystery' by international audiences. A novelist, essayist and short-story writer, he made his literary debut in 1981 with The Tokyo Zodiac Murders, which was shortlisted for the Edogawa Rampo Prize. Blending classical detective fiction with grisly violence and elements of the occult, he has gone on to publish several highly acclaimed series of mystery fiction. He is the author of 100+ works in total. In 2009 Shimada received the prestigious Japan Mystery Literature Award in recognition of his life's work.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
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CONTENTS
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
The Residents of the Ice Floe Mansion
The Guests
The Investigators
PROLOGUE
I am like the king of a rainy land Wealthy but powerless, young and yet very old Who condemns the fawning manners of his tutors And is bored with his dogs and other animals. Nothing can cheer him, neither the chase nor falcons Nor his people dying before his balcony.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE,Spleen
In the village of Hauterives in the south of France, there’s a curious building known as Cheval’s Palais Idéal. For thirty-three years, a humble postman by the name of Ferdinand Cheval laboured completely alone to create his dream palace, finally completing his task in 1912.
The structure is part Arabian palace, part Hindu temple; its entrance is like the gateway to a medieval European castle, with a Swiss-style shepherd’s hut sitting next to it. The whole effect lacks unity, but there is no doubt that this is a perfect rendition of a child’s fantasy castle. Here in Tokyo people worry too much about style, economy, or how they will be judged by others, and that is how they end up with characterless rows of rabbit hutches crammed in together.
Cheval was barely literate. The notes he left behind were full of spelling mistakes. But they were also alight with his burning belief that it was his life’s mission to build this unique place of worship.
According to these notes, he embarked on his project while delivering the mail. He began by picking up any interesting or unusually shaped rocks or pebbles he found while out on his rounds, and putting them in his pockets. He was already forty-three years old at this point. After a while, along with his postbag he began to carry a large basket over his shoulder for the rocks. And then it wasn’t long before he was taking a wheelbarrow out on his rounds.
One can only imagine how this eccentric postman was treated in his dull country village. Every day he took his collection of rocks and worked on building the foundation for his palace.
Twenty-six metres long, fourteen metres wide and twelve metres high—the construction of the palace building itself took three years. And then, slowly and steadily, all kinds of cement statues were added to its walls: cranes, leopards, ostriches, elephants, crocodiles. They would eventually cover all the surfaces of the building. Next, Cheval made a waterfall and three giant statues for the front wall.
He was seventy-six when he finally completed his great oeuvre. He enshrined his number one assistant—his trusty wheelbarrow—in the place of honour inside the palace, and built himself a modest house by the front entrance. After retiring from his job at the post office, he took up residence in the house with its excellent view of his palace. Apparently he had never intended the palace to be lived in.
In photos of Cheval’s palace, the materials used to construct it seem to have the soft texture of rubber. The ornamental statues that adorn its whole surface are more intricate than those of Angkor Wat, but the overall form and appearance of the walls are not fixed or uniform. There seems to be no order or balance—everything seems to be in a kind of warped confusion. If you weren’t interested in this kind of thing, you might just see the work of art to which Cheval dedicated the latter half of his life as a worthless antique or maybe even the equivalent of a pile of scrap metal.
It was easy for his fellow villagers to call Cheval a madman, but there was a clear commonality between the concept behind his palace and the work of the celebrated Spanish architect Antonio Gaudí. Cheval’s Palais Idéal is to this day the only tourist attraction in the otherwise unremarkable village of Hauterives.
If we’re talking oddballs with a mania for architecture, then there is one character who cannot be ignored: King Ludwig II of Bavaria. He is also famous for being the patron of the composer Richard Wagner. His two lifelong passions seem to have been the reverence he had for Wagner, and the construction of his castles.
The Linderhof Palace was one of his architectural masterpieces. Many complained that it was a blatant rip-off of the style of the French House of Bourbon, but after pushing open the revolving stone door in the hill behind the castle and entering the high-roofed tunnel, you realize that the space you find yourself in is one of a kind.
The tunnel leads into a magnificent man-made cave with a wide, dark lake. In the middle of the lake sits a boat fashioned in the shape of a pearl oyster. The multicoloured lighting flickers, and at the water’s edge there is a table made from branches of imitation coral. The cave walls are painted with fantastic scenes of angels and cherubs. There is no human being who wouldn’t look at this scene and find their imagination piqued.
It is said that when his beloved Wagner passed away, King Ludwig II buried himself away in this gloomy underground burrow, and took all his meals at that fake coral table while reminiscing about his dear friend.
In the West, there are all kinds of buildings with surprises built in: sliding walls, secret tunnels, hidden passageways. By comparison, Japan has relatively few.
There are a few ninja houses with their secret entrances and exits, but everything in those is designed with a practical purpose.
But there is one, the Nijotei, a strange residence built in Fukagawa in Tokyo after the Great Kanto Earthquake. It seems to have been fairly well known. There were ladders that went right up to the ceiling, glass peepholes in the doors, a pentagon-shaped window in the entrance way.
Maybe the equivalent of Cheval’s Palais Idéal exists somewhere in Japan, but I’ve never heard of one. There is, however, one place I ought to tell you about—the Crooked House in Hokkaido.
At the top of Japan’s northernmost island, Hokkaido, on the very tip of Cape Soya, there’s a high plain that overlooks the Okhotsk Sea. On this plain stands a peculiar-looking structure known by the locals as “The Crooked House”.
It looks somewhat Elizabethan with its three-storey main building complete with pillars and white-painted walls. To the east of this is a cylindrical tower the spitting image of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
The major difference between this tower and the one in Pisa is that all its surfaces are made from glass. And on this glass is a thin layer of aluminium, deposited by vacuum, or what is known as aluminium mirror-coating. Consequently, when the sun shines, everything that surrounds this tower is reflected in this glass cylinder.
On the edge of the high plain is a hill. Viewed from the summit of this hill, the giant cylindrical glass… or perhaps I should say mirror… anyway, this glass tower and Western-style house look like some kind of fairy-tale castle.
There’s not another house in any direction as far as the eye can see. Nothing but a vast plain of grass the colour of dead leaves, stirred up by the wind. The nearest settlement is a small village situated way past the mansion and down the slope from the plain, at least ten minutes by foot.
When the sun goes down, the north wind roars across the plain, and the glass tower turns golden in the sunset. Behind it stretches the northern sea.
Here, the cold north sea is a deep shade of indigo blue. If you were to run down the hill and dip your hand into its water, you’d expect to see your fingers emerge blue with dye. In front of this sea, the gold-tinted glass tower looks as solemn and imposing as any place of religious worship.
Just in front of the main, Western-style house is a large stone patio, dotted with sculptures, a small pond and a flight of stone steps. At the base of the tower is what appears to be a flower bed in the shape of a fan. I say “what appears to be” because it is quite overgrown, and clearly hasn’t been tended for a long while.
Neither the main house nor the tower is currently occupied. It’s been for sale for many years, but it will probably stay that way. It’s less the fault of the remote location; it’s far more likely the murder that keeps buyers away.
This particular murder case was a very mysterious one. It caused quite a stir among the crime buffs and murder enthusiasts of the day. So for all of you who have not yet heard it, I am going to tell you the tale of “Murder in the Crooked House”. I believe I’ve done all that’s necessary to set the scene for this strange mystery. The setting is of course a bleak, wintry plain, and that crooked house.
*
The history of the main building and tower that make up the Crooked House is rather less like that of Cheval’s palace, and a lot closer to Ludwig’s castle, in the sense that the man who built them was a kind of modern-day king—a millionaire with both fortune and influence. His name was Kozaburo Hamamoto, and he was the president of Hama Diesel Corporation. But unlike either Cheval or Ludwig, he didn’t have any crazy tendencies. He was simply a man of very particular tastes, and having money, he was able to indulge those tastes.
The boredom or the depression that plagued such a man who had reached the peak of his career might have been what turned him into something of a recluse. In a familiar story that we might hear from any corner of the world, it seemed that all the gold he had amassed weighed heavily on his mind.
There was nothing really unusual about the structure of the house and the tower. The interior resembled a maze in some ways, but it was nothing too complicated, and once you got your bearings it wasn’t likely that you would get lost more than a couple of times at most. There were no revolving wall panels, underground caves or descending ceilings. The feature that caught the attention was exactly what gave it its local nickname: that from the very beginning it had been built crooked, or rather, leaning at an angle. Thus the glass tower was literally a “Leaning Tower”.
The main house leans at an angle of about five or six degrees off the vertical, not really enough to be obvious from the outside. On the other hand, the inside is quite bewildering.
The building leans towards the south. The windows on the north and south sides are the perfectly normal kind that you’d find in any house, but the ones on the east and west sides are problematic. On these walls, the windows and their frames have been constructed to run parallel with the ground outside. Once your vision adjusts to the strange appearance of the rooms, you feel like a hard-boiled egg that has been dropped on the floor and is trying to roll uphill. It’s a feeling that’s difficult to imagine without having stayed at the mansion. The longer you stay, the more confused your mind becomes.
The lord of the manor, Kozaburo Hamamoto, was reputed to have had a lot of fun at his guests’ expense, watching them try to navigate his twisted home. Quite an expensive way to get some childish laughs.
I think that should be enough information for you to get an idea of the man behind the mansion and to set the scene for this tale.
My story begins when Kozaburo Hamamoto was almost seventy years old. His wife had already passed away, and he had left fame and reputation behind, retiring up here in the far north of Japan.
He would listen to his favourite classical music and loved reading mystery novels. His hobby was studying and collecting mechanical toys and dolls, particularly Western automata, or clockwork dolls. He had amassed a lot of capital through acquiring the stock of various small-and medium-sized companies, and he used the money to build up his collection. He stored his precious dolls and other toys in a room in the mansion known as the “Tengu Room”, so named because its walls were entirely covered with masks of that famous long-nosed demon of Japanese folklore.
This same room was also home to a certain life-sized doll known as either Golem or Jack. According to ancient European folklore, on a stormy night, this doll had the power to get up and walk around by itself. It ended up playing a leading role in the inexplicable events that unfolded that winter.
Despite having such eclectic tastes and hobbies, Kozaburo Hamamoto was not really eccentric at all. In order to offer a glimpse of the natural beauty of the different seasons of northern Hokkaido, he would invite guests to stay at his home – and he loved to talk. Probably he was searching for a kindred spirit; sadly, he never seemed to find one. The reason for this will be revealed as soon as the curtain rises on our story.
The incident took place at Christmas in 1983. Back then, the Crooked House—or to give it its proper name, the Ice Floe Mansion—was scrupulously cared for by its live-in staff, Kohei and Chikako Hayakawa. The garden and stone patio were carefully tended, and at that time of year covered by a thick layer of snow.
On that particular day, it was hard to imagine that a raging blizzard had left behind such a gentle coating of snow, with the dry brown grass sleeping peacefully beneath. The snow-dusted crooked house stood majestic on its carpet of pure white.
Night fell, and the Okhotsk Sea was full of drift ice, ice floes that jostled each other daily, as if trying to take over the whole surface. The sky turned a gloomy shade of grey, and the high and low moans of the northerly wind were a permanent soundtrack.
Presently, lights came on in the mansion, and soft flakes of snow began to fall. The scene was set, the mood slightly bittersweet.
Fig. 1
Room Allocation on December 25th—Key to Fig. 1
Room 1: Kumi Aikura
Room 2: Eiko Hamamoto
Room 3: Display / Tengu Room
Room 4: Library
Room 5: Salon
Room 6: Haruo Kajiwara
Room 7: Kohei and Chikako Hayakawa
Room 8: Yoshihiko Hamamoto
Room 9: Michio and Hatsue Kanai
Room 10: Kazuya Ueda (sports equipment storeroom)
Room 11: Table tennis room
Room 12: Masaki Togai
Room 13: Shun Sasaki
Room 14: Eikichi Kikuoka (study)
Room 15: Unoccupied
Room 16: Kitchen
The Tower: Kozaburo Hamamoto
ACT ONE
If any dance could distract us from the boredom of living, it would be the dance of the dead.
SCENE 1
The Entrance of the Ice Floe Mansion
The cheerful notes of “White Christmas” and the sounds of merrymaking spilt out from the salon behind them.
From down the hill came the grinding of tyre chains, and a black Mercedes-Benz appeared out of the swirling snow—more party guests arriving.
Kozaburo Hamamoto stood in front of the open double doors, smoking a pipe, a brightly coloured ascot tied at his neck. Although his hair had turned completely silver, he was in excellent shape with no hint of excess flab, making his age difficult to estimate from his appearance. He lowered his pipe to exhale a plume of white smoke, then turned to smile at the woman by his side.
His daughter, Eiko, was wearing an elegantly expensive cocktail dress. Her hair was up, exposing her shoulders to the evening chill. She’d inherited her father’s aquiline nose and rather prominent chin, but was nevertheless something of a beauty. She was tall; in heels she stood slightly taller than her father. Her make-up was carefully done, but on the heavy side, as you would expect for an occasion like this evening. Her tight-lipped expression was that of a company president listening wordlessly to the demands of her union members.
The porch was illuminated in a yellow glow as the car pulled in. The instant it stopped in front of the Hamamotos, the door was flung open with great force and a tall, rather heavily built man with thinning hair leapt out into the snow.
“Well, what have we here? My own personal welcoming committee!” he bellowed, rather louder than necessary, his words forming white clouds in the air around him. Eikichi Kikuoka was the kind of man who had probably never spoken softly in his life; the extroverted company president was forever out and about attending social events. Perhaps that was why his voice always sounded a little raspy.
The lord of the manor nodded graciously, and his daughter formally welcomed the guest to their home.
A petite woman emerged from the car behind Kikuoka. She wore a black dress with a leopard-skin coat thrown over her shoulders and her movements were graceful and catlike. Her presence seemed to make the two inhabitants of the manor—or at least the younger—uneasy. Neither of the Hamamotos had set eyes on her before this evening. Her face was kittenish too—tiny, cute.
“Allow me to introduce you to my new secretary, Kumi Aikura. Kumi, this is Mr Hamamoto.”
It was clear that Kikuoka was doing his best to suppress it, but a hint of pride had crept into his voice.
Kumi Aikura smiled sweetly.
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” she said. Her voice was astonishingly high-pitched.
Unable to stand the sound of that voice, Eiko quickly stepped up to the driver’s window and gave the chauffeur parking directions.
As soon as the butler, Kohei Hayakawa, who’d been waiting politely in the entrance way, showed the two new guests into the salon, a grin of amusement appeared on Kozaburo Hamamoto’s face. How many secretaries had Kikuoka gone through now? It was getting difficult to keep count. This Kumi Aikura would be doing her utmost to perform those all-important duties of sitting on her boss’s lap and walking arm and arm with him through the streets of Ginza, no doubt earning a small fortune in the process.
“Daddy?”
“What is it?” Hamamoto replied without taking his pipe from his mouth.
“Why don’t you go inside now? There’s only Togai and the Kanais still to come. There’s no need for you to welcome them personally. Kohei and I will be fine by ourselves. Go and keep Mr Kikuoka company.”
“Hmm. I suppose you’re right… But aren’t you going to catch cold dressed like that?”
“Could you ask Auntie to fetch me a mink? Any of them will do. See if she can get Sasaki to bring it out to me. It’d be nice if he could be out here too to greet Togai when he arrives.”
“Will do. Kohei, where’s Chikako right now?”
“She was in the kitchen last time I saw her…” replied the butler from his post inside the doorway.
The two men disappeared into the house.
Left alone, Eiko hugged her exposed arms as she listened to the music of Cole Porter drifting out from the salon. And then suddenly she felt the soft brush of fur around her shoulders. She turned her head to see Shun Sasaki.
“Thanks,” she said curtly.
“Togai’s late,” Sasaki remarked. He was a young man, fair-skinned and handsome.
“He’ll be stuck in the snow somewhere. You know what a terrible driver he is.”
“You’re probably right.”
“I want you to stay until he gets here.”
“Sure.”
They stood there quietly for a while, until Eiko abruptly broke the silence.
“Did you see Kikuoka’s secretary?”
“Yes, er… Well… Yes, I saw her.”
“What taste!”
Sasaki looked confused.
“Vulgar and ill-bred.”
Eiko frowned. Normally when she spoke, she took the greatest care to conceal her true emotions. It made her something of an enigma to all the young men who moved in her circle.
A Japanese-made mid-size saloon came struggling up the hill.
“Looks like he made it.”
The car pulled up in front of them and the window was wound down. The driver’s plump face with its silver-framed glasses appeared. Despite the wintry weather, Togai was covered in sweat. He opened the door slightly, but stayed in his seat.
“Thank you for inviting me, Eiko.”
“You’re late!”
“The roads were thick with snow. It was terrible. Whoa! You’re more beautiful than ever tonight. Here, I’ve got a Christmas present for you.”
He handed her a wrapped gift.
“Thanks.”
“Hey, Sasaki. What are you doing out here?”
“Been waiting for you. Just about to freeze to death, too. Hurry up and come inside.”
“Right. Will do.”
The two men knew each other and would sometimes get together in Tokyo for a drink.
“Go and park. You know where, right? The usual place.”
“Yeah, I know.”
The saloon puttered off through the snow and disappeared around the back of the mansion. Sasaki hurried after it.
Right away, a taxi pulled up in its place. The back door opened and a tall and extremely skinny man stepped out into the snow. It was one of Kikuoka’s employees, Michio Kanai. He turned and reached back into the taxi, his silhouette like a solitary winter crane in the middle of a snowbound field. It appeared to take all his physical strength to extract his wife, Hatsue, from the narrow back seat. The woman who eventually emerged was his exact physical opposite.
The husband turned to Eiko.
“It’s so lovely to see you, Ms Hamamoto. How kind of you to invite us again.”
It might be a little unkind to say, but Kanai was the master of the ingratiating smile—so much so that the muscles of his face seemed to be permanently fixed in that one expression. You could call it an occupational hazard. With only the slightest flexing of these muscles, he was able to create a smile, even when his real emotion was something quite different. Or maybe it was every other expression besides this smile that required special muscle power. It was hard to say.
It was impossible to recall this man’s regular facial expression, Eiko always thought. In fact, whenever she tried to picture Kanai he was wrinkling up the outer corners of his eyes and showing his teeth. Eiko frequently wondered whether he had been born that way.
“We’ve been looking forward to seeing you. Thanks for making the journey.”
“Not at all. Not at all. Has the boss arrived yet?”
“Yes, he’s here already.”
“Oh, dear. We’re late!”
Hatsue Kanai stood patiently waiting in the snow. At first glance, she appeared pleasant and laid-back, but her eyes were surprisingly sharp, and now her gaze was hastily checking out Eiko, sweeping her over from head to toe. In the next instant, her face broke into a smile.
“What a simply gorgeous outfit!” she announced. Her praise didn’t extend beyond her hostess’s dress.
With the arrival of the Kanais, all the guests were assembled.
The last of them safely inside the mansion, Eiko primly turned on her heel and headed in towards the salon. Cole Porter became louder. She strode like a stage actress passing from her dressing room, through the wings and out to her audience, with just the appropriate mix of apprehension and confidence.
SCENE 2
The Salon of the Ice Floe Mansion
A gorgeous chandelier hung from the ceiling of the salon. Her father had protested that such a grandiose item didn’t suit the style of the house, but Eiko had insisted and won.
In the west corner of this oversized living-dining room, there was a circular fireplace, next to it a pile of branches and logs. Above the fireplace was a giant inverted funnel that served as a chimney. On the brick surround of the fireplace, a single metal coffee cup sat forgotten by the side of Kozaburo Hamamoto’s favourite rocking chair.
All of the guests were seated around a long, narrow table beneath the electric candles of the chandelier. The effect was of a tiny floating forest of lights. The music had changed from Cole Porter to a Christmas medley.
Because the floor of the salon was on a slope, the legs of the table and surrounding chairs had been cut just the right amount to keep the dining arrangements perfectly horizontal.
The eyes of each guest were on the glass of wine and a candle in front of them, as they politely waited for Eiko to begin her speech. Presently, the music faded out and all eyes turned to the mistress of the mansion.
“Thank you, everyone, for making the long journey to be here this evening.”
Her shrill voice carried clearly through the large space.
“We have both young guests, and older. You must be exhausted, but I’m sure it’s going to be worth your while having made the trip as there is something very special about tonight. It’s Christmas Day, and Christmas means snow. And by snow I don’t mean a bit of decorative cotton wool or shredded paper. I’m talking about the real thing. Our Hokkaido home is the best place for the authentic experience. Tonight, for your delight, we have prepared a very special Christmas tree.”
The moment the words were out of her mouth, the lights of the chandelier faded to darkness. Somewhere at the back of the room the chef, Kajiwara, had hit the switch. The music changed to a more solemn, traditional carol.
This part of the programme had been rehearsed what felt like a thousand times over. The military precision of her preparations would have put an army to shame.
“Please take a look through the window.”
There were gasps and exclamations of wonder. A real fir tree had been planted in the back garden and decorated with hundreds of multicoloured light bulbs which suddenly began to twinkle in every colour. The snow that dusted its branches sparkled with the lights.
“Lights!”
At Eiko’s command, the room lighting snapped back on, and the music changed back to upbeat Christmas songs.
“You will all have plenty of chances to enjoy the tree. If you don’t mind the cold, I recommend standing under its branches and listening to the creaking sound of the ice floes rubbing together out in the Okhotsk Sea. Christmas here is the real thing—like nothing you can experience in Tokyo.
“And now, lend an ear to the man who has made this fantastic Christmas experience possible for all of us. My dear father, of whom I am incredibly proud, will now address everyone.”
As she spoke, Eiko began to applaud vigorously. The assembled guests scrambled to follow suit.
Kozaburo Hamamoto got to his feet, his pipe clasped in his left hand as always.
“Eiko, please don’t flatter me so much. You’re embarrassing me in front of our guests.”
There was general laughter.
“Not at all! Everyone here is proud to be a friend of yours, Daddy. Aren’t you?”
This last part was addressed to the assembled guests, and like a flock of sheep they all began nodding as one. The most emphatic of all was Eikichi Kikuoka. It was well known that the fortunes of his company were entirely tied up with the Hama Diesel Company.
“Dear friends, this is the second time most of you have been invited to this old man’s whimsical mansion, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. I hope you have got used to our sloping floors, and that no one will lose their footing and take a tumble. But don’t get too comfortable. I do rather enjoy watching you all stagger around.”
The guests laughed.
“Here in Japan, Christmas is just an excuse for bars and restaurants to make a bit of money. It was very wise of you all to come and spend it here instead.
“And now let’s enjoy our champagne before it gets warm. Well, I don’t suppose it matters if it does. You only need to put it outside for five minutes and it’ll be perfectly chilled again. Anyway, I’d like to lead you all in a toast…”
Kozaburo picked up his glass. Everyone reached immediately for theirs and held them up. As Kozaburo toasted Christmas, everyone else in the room murmured something like “Thank you for everything and all the best for the next year” or other choice phrases that they hoped would help to improve their business relationship with their host.
Kozaburo put down his glass.
“Many of you will be meeting for the first time this evening. Young, silver-haired alike, I’ll make the introductions right now. And lest I forget, there are several people among us who also make this mansion their home and are of the greatest help to my family. I really ought to include them in my introductions. Eiko, I’d like to introduce Kohei and Chikako to everyone.”
Eiko raised her right hand and spoke briskly.
“I’ll take care of that. You don’t need to make the introductions yourself. Sasaki, go and fetch Mr Kajiwara, Kohei and Auntie.”
The mansion’s staff arrived in the salon and followed the mistress’s directions to line up by the side wall.
“Mr Kikuoka and Mr Kanai already visited us back in the summer, and so you’ll both probably remember the faces of our staff, but I think it’s the first time for many of you to meet them, or each other. So let me introduce everyone, beginning with our guest of honour. Please listen carefully and remember everyone’s name. No mistakes later, please.
“First of all, this fine figure of a gentleman. I think you are all familiar with Mr Eikichi Kikuoka, President of Kikuoka Bearings? Some of you may have seen his photo in the magazines, but now you have the opportunity to see the real thing.”
Kikuoka had twice been the subject of a big scandal in the weekly gossip magazines. One time he’d got himself into a mess over payments to a mistress at the end of an affair, and ended up in court. The second time was after he’d been dumped by a famous actress.
His nickname had long been “the Chrysanthemum” (the Japanese characters for “Kikuoka” mean “chrysanthemum hill” and he used to have a rather impressive mop of lightish hair). But now as he bowed to everyone, he revealed a rapidly growing bald spot. He turned to Kozaburo and bowed once again.
“Would you mind giving us a word?”
“Sure. Sorry to go first, folks. So every time I come, wonderful house. Amazing location too. It’s a real honour to be able to sit by Mr Hamamoto and share a glass of wine in a place like this.”
“And next to Mr Kikuoka, in the gorgeous outfit, is his secretary, Ms Aikura. I’m sorry, what was your given name again?”
Of course, Eiko remembered perfectly well that the woman’s name was Kumi, but this way she could imply that she didn’t quite believe it was her real one. However, Kumi Aikura wasn’t fazed by this in the least. In her sugar-sprinkled voice, she replied with perfect dignity,
“I’m Kumi. So nice to meet you all.”
This woman is a tough customer, Eiko decided on the spot. For sure, she must have worked in a hostess bar.
“What a lovely name! Not at all ordinary.” Eiko paused for a moment. “It makes you sound like a TV star or something.”
“I’m always afraid I’ll fail to live up my name.”
The high-pitched, girlish tone didn’t falter for a second.
“I’m so short. If I were taller and more glamorous, I might be able to live up to a name like that. I envy you, Eiko.”
Eiko was five feet eight. For that reason she always wore flat slipper-like shoes. If she wore heels she’d be getting up towards six feet. Right now, she was momentarily at a loss for words. She moved on quickly.
“And next to Kumi, we have the president of Kikuoka Bearings, Mr Michio Kanai.”
She’d been thrown, and the words had just slipped out. But even though she heard Kikuoka tease his employee—Hey, when were you made president?—she still didn’t recognize her mistake right away.
Kanai got to his feet, and with his usual fixed smile, began to shower Kozaburo Hamamoto with praise. He didn’t forget his own boss either. The skilful speech went on for quite a while. This was exactly the kind of performance that had got him to where he was in the world.
“And the voluptuous lady next to him is his wife, Hatsue.”
Eiko realized this blunder immediately. Voluptuous… Sure enough, Hatsue had a comeback.
“I had to miss my exercise class to come today.”
From the other side of the table, Kumi gave her a quick once-over and looked very obviously self-satisfied.
“I’m hoping a breath of this pure air will be a boost to my diet.”
She seemed to have been quite put out by Eiko’s comment, and didn’t add anything else.
Returning to the male guests, Eiko quickly regained her usual composure.
“This handsome young man is Shun Sasaki, in his sixth year at Jikei University School of Medicine. He’ll soon be taking the National Medical Examination. For now, he’s keeping an eye on my father’s health, and staying with us through the winter holidays.”
How easy it was to introduce the men, Eiko thought, as Sasaki spoke.
“The food is delicious, the air is pure, no noisy telephones ringing; as a medical student I’d really like to meet the person who could fall ill in a place like this.”
Kozaburo Hamamoto was famous for his dislike of telephones. There was not a single one anywhere in the Ice Floe Mansion.
“Next to Sasaki is his friend, Masaki Togai, a Tokyo University student with a promising future. I think you have probably heard of his father, Shunsaku Togai, member of the House of Councillors?”
There was a slight murmur of appreciation among the guests, naïve excitement at being in the presence of political royalty…
“A real thoroughbred, if you will. Please, Mr Thoroughbred…”
Togai stood up, his face pale, and fiddled momentarily with his silver-framed glasses.
“I’m honoured to be here this evening. When I told my father about the invitation, he was delighted.”
And with that, he took his seat again.
“And next we have a boy who seems to have caught the sun out on the ski slopes, my nephew—well, technically Daddy’s older brother’s grandson—Yoshihiko. He’s rather good-looking, don’t you think? Still only nineteen, and a first-year student at Keio University. He’s staying with us for the winter break.”
The suntanned boy in the white sweater got to his feet, shyly said hello and sat straight back down.
“Is that it? Sorry, Yoshihiko, you have to speak properly.”
“But I haven’t got anything to say.”
“Of course you have. You’re too shy. Your hobbies or something about your university, there are plenty of things you could talk about. Come on, speak up!”
But there was no reaction.
“Well, I believe I’ve covered all of our dear guests. Now I’d like to introduce our staff to you. First of all, the gentleman standing over there, Kohei Hayakawa. He’s been with our family ever since we lived in Kamakura—about twenty years. He’s our butler and our chauffeur and general odd-jobs man.
“Next to him is his wife, Chikako. She’s our housekeeper and is an invaluable help to us all. Please feel free to ask her for whatever you need.
“The man standing closest to us is our wonderful chef, Haruo Kajiwara. As you can see, he is still in his twenties, but his skills are world class. We managed to lure him away from the Hotel Okura, which didn’t want to let him go. Very soon, everyone will be able to taste for themselves how skilled he is.”
She turned to the three members of the staff.
“Thank you, everyone. That will do. Please get back to what you need to do.
“So that completes the introductions,” she continued, addressing her guests once more. “I’m confident you are all excellent at remembering names and faces.
“And now, while dinner is being served, and you enjoy the view of our Christmas tree, I’m sure you have much to discuss. So without further ado, Yoshihiko, Sasaki, Togai, would you light the candles for us? As soon as that’s done, we’ll lower the salon lights. I wish you all a very enjoyable evening.”
The middle-aged contingent immediately flocked around Kozaburo Hamamoto and began to chat, but it was noticeable that the loudest laughter was from the president of Kikuoka Bearings. Kozaburo’s pipe remained firmly in place.
Eiko realized that thanks to the business with Kumi Aikawa and Hatsue Kanai, she had been guilty of one more blunder. She had forgotten to introduce Ueda, Kikuoka’s chauffeur, probably because he had been blocked from view by the large-set figure of Togai. But she soon shrugged it off: He’s just a driver, after all.
Dinner was served. The guests were treated to roast turkey with all the trimmings. As Eiko had promised, here at the very northern tip of Japan they were able to enjoy the flavours of a top-class Tokyo hotel.
While the other guests were finishing their after-dinner cup of tea, Sasaki got up and went to the window to take a closer look at the Christmas tree. It continued its lonely blinking from beneath its layer of snow.
Sasaki watched the tree for a while, but then noticed something strange. Near the French windows that led from the salon out into the garden, there was a thin stake or pole of some kind sticking out of the snow, about two metres out from the wall of the house. Somebody must have stuck it there. The section visible above the snow was about a metre. The stake itself resembled a piece of the wood that was piled up by the salon fireplace. Except that whoever had done this had apparently selected a particularly straight piece. Earlier that day, when he had been helping Eiko with the tree decorations, the stake hadn’t been there.
What on earth? thought Sasaki, wiping the condensation from the window pane to get a better look. He peered out into the night and as he did so he noticed that over towards the west corner of the house, only vaguely visible through the whirling snowflakes, there was a second stake. Because of the distance it was hard to be certain but it seemed as if this too was another thin branch of firewood, protruding about a metre from the snow. As far as he could tell, there were no other stakes visible – at least from the salon window. Just these two.
Sasaki wanted to call Togai over and ask him what he thought they might be, but he was deep in conversation with Eiko. Yoshihiko was in the circle of older guests including Kozaburo, Kikuoka and Kanai, and Sasaki didn’t want to disturb their conversation, although whether it was business talk or idle chat wasn’t clear. Kajiwara and the Hayakawas were nowhere to be seen—probably back in the kitchen.
Suddenly Kozaburo raised his voice above the chit-chat.
“All you youngsters, haven’t you had enough of listening to old people prattling on? Come on, let’s hear something amusing.”
Sasaki took this cue to sit back down at the table, and with that, the mysterious stakes in the snow were forgotten.
To tell the truth, Kozaburo Hamamoto was fed up with listening to the empty flattery from tonight’s guests. In fact, his mood was turning sour. The very reason he had built this eccentric home up here in the far north was to escape the clutches of suck-ups like this.
And yet, like a herd of wild animals they came stampeding after him across hundreds of kilometres. However weird the sloping floor, however eccentric his collection of antiques, they just blindly praised everything in sight. As long as he still had the scent of money, they would hunt him down to the ends of the earth.
His hopes were with the younger generation, and he addressed them now.
“All right, do you like mysteries? I’m very fond of them myself. I’m going to set you a puzzle to solve. Everyone here is attending, or has attended, a top university, so I’m sure you have some of the smartest minds in the country.
“How about this one? In the gold-panning region of Mexico, right by the US border, there was a young boy who piled up bags of sand on his bicycle and crossed the border from Mexico into the United States every single day. The US customs officials assumed that he was a smuggler and would open and search the suspicious sandbags. However, all they ever found inside was plain old sand, and not a single nugget of gold. So what was the boy up to? Here is your quiz: What was he smuggling, and how was he doing it? How about it, Mr Kikuoka? Can you solve it?”
“Let’s see… No, I can’t.”
Kanai immediately echoed his boss.
“I can’t get it either.”
Neither man looked as if he were giving the problem any thought whatsoever.
“Yoshihiko, how about you?”
The boy silently shook his head.
“Do you all give up? This one wasn’t difficult at all. The boy was smuggling bicycles.”
The loudest laughter came from Kikuoka. Kanai also offered his own fawning reaction,
“It was bicycles! I see. Very good.”
“Now that puzzle was one thought up by Perry Mason’s friend Drake and his secretary, Della. Pretty good, wasn’t it? If you want to smuggle bicycles, the way to do it is to base your operation right in a gold-panning region.
“Okay, let’s think of another one… This time I’m not going to give you the answer. Let’s see… What would be a good one…? All right, here we go. This one is a true story—something that a friend of mine used to boast about long ago. I’ve told it many times in my speech to the new recruits at the company. The story is set in the 1950s.
“These days, all the railway companies in Japan, both public and private, have what look like little burners on the rails to prevent a thick layer of snow from building up on the tracks or the rails freezing. But back in the fifties, Japan was still a poor country, and no railway companies had anything like that.
“One winter, maybe 1955, Tokyo had a very heavy snowfall. Fifty centimetres fell in one night. Of course, all the private and public railway companies were forced to suspend operations. I’m not sure what would happen these days, but in Tokyo where they weren’t used to so much snow, they didn’t have snow ploughs. Back then, all the railway company employees used to be put to work shovelling the snow by hand. It was a terrible task and took hours. It was impossible to get the tracks clear by the morning rush hour.
“However, Hamakyu Railways, whose current president is that good friend I mentioned at the start, managed to get their trains running after only the shortest of delays. And by rush hour, all their trains were running on time. So how do you think they did it?
“My friend used a method; I suppose we could call it a trick. However, I must stress that he wasn’t the president back then, and was in no position to mobilize a whole army of employees to help deal with the snow. Nor did he have access to any specialized equipment. He had to rely on his own brilliance. He rose to fame overnight within the company.”
“That really happened? Sounds like a miracle,” said Kikuoka.
Kanai had to chime in too.
“Yes, you’re right. A true miracle…”
“Yes, I know it was a miracle! But I’d like to hear the answer,” said Kozaburo, a little frustrated.
“Yes, yes, of course. I’m going to say that the first train of the day had a snow plough attached to the front.”
