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- Herausgeber: Pushkin Vertigo
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Sprache: Englisch
The Japanese cult classic mystery 'Ayatsuji's brilliant and richly atmospheric puzzle will appeal to fans of golden age whodunits... Every word counts, leading up to a jaw-dropping but logical reveal' Publishers Weekly The lonely, rockbound island of Tsunojima is notorious as the site of a series of bloody unsolved murders. Some even say it's haunted. One thing's for sure: it's the perfect destination for the K-University Mystery Club's annual trip. But when the first club member turns up dead, the remaining amateur sleuths realise they will need all of their murder-mystery expertise to get off the island alive. As the party are picked off one by one, the survivors grow desperate and paranoid, turning on each other. Will anyone be able to untangle the murderer's fiendish plan before it's too late?
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020
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Dedicated to all of my esteemed predecessors
CONTENTS
8910
All names in the text of this work are given in Japanese order, family name preceding given name.
PROLOGUE
The sea at night. A time of peace.
The muffled sound of the waves welled up from the endless shadows, only to disappear again.
He sat down on the cold concrete of the breakwater and faced the deep darkness, his body veiled by the white vapour of his breath.
He had been suffering for months. He had been brooding for weeks. He had been thinking about just one thing for days. And now his mind was focusing on one single, clearly defined goal.
Everything had been planned.
Preparations were almost complete.
All he needed to do now was to wait for them to walk into the trap.
He knew his plan was far from perfect, but he’d never intended to plan everything in perfect detail in the first place.
No matter how hard he tries, no matter what he might think, Man will always be mere man, and never a god.
And how could anyone who was not a god predict the future, shaped as it was by human psychology, human behaviour and pure chance?
Even if the world were viewed as a chessboard, and every person on it a chess piece, there would still be a limit as to how far future moves could be predicted. The most meticulous plan, plotted to the last detail, could still go wrong sometime, 12somewhere, somehow. Reality is full of too many coincidences and decisions taken on a whim for even the craftiest scheme to succeed exactly as planned.
The best plan was not one that limited your own moves, but a flexible one that could adapt to circumstances: that was the conclusion he had come to.
He could not allow himself to be constrained.
It was not the plot that was vital, but the framework. A framework in which it was always possible to make the best choice, depending on the circumstances at the time.
Whether he could pull it off depended on his own intellect, quick thinking and, most of all, luck.
I know Man will never become a god.
But, in a way, he was undoubtedly about to take on that role.
Judgement. Yes, judgement.
In the name of revenge, he was going to pronounce judgement on them—on all of them.
Judgement outside the court of law.
He was not a god and so could never be forgiven for what he was about to do—he was completely conscious of that fact. The act would be called a “crime” by his fellow men and, if found out, he himself would be judged according to the law.
Nevertheless, the conventional approach would never have satisfied his emotions. Emotions? No, nothing as shallow as that. Absolutely not. This was not just some powerful feeling within him. It was the cry of his soul, his last tie to life, his reason for living.
The sea at night. A time of peace.
No flickering of the stars, no light of the ships offshore could disturb the darkness into which he gazed. He contemplated his plan once again. 13
Preparations were almost finished. Soon they, his sinful prey, would walk into his trap. A trap consisting of ten equal sides and interior angles.
They would arrive there suspecting nothing. Without any hesitation or fear they would walk into the decagonal trap, where they would be sentenced.
What would await them there was, of course, death. It was the obvious punishment for all of them.
And no simple death. Blowing them all up in one go would have been infinitely easier and more certain, but he would not choose that route.
He had to kill them in order, one by one. Precisely like that story written by the famous British writer—slowly, one after the other. He would show them. The suffering, the sadness, the pain and terror of death.
Perhaps he had become mentally unstable. He himself would have been the first to admit to that.
I know—no matter how I try to justify it, what I am planning to do is not sane.
He slowly shook his head at the pitch-black, roiling sea.
His hand, thrust into his coat pocket, touched something hard. He grabbed the object and took it out, holding it in front of his eyes.
It was a small, transparent bottle of green glass.
It was sealed off securely with a stopper, and bottled inside was all he had managed to gather from inside his heart: what people like to call “conscience”. A few folded sheets of paper, sealed. On it he had printed in small letters the plan he was about to execute. It had no addressee. It was a letter of confession.
I know Man will never become a god.
And precisely because he understood that, he did not want to leave the final judgement to a human to make. It didn’t matter 14where the bottle ended up. He just wanted to pose the question to the sea—the source of all life—whether, ultimately, he was right or not.
The wind blew harder.
A sharp coldness shot down his spine and his whole body shivered.
He threw the bottle into the darkness.
ONE
The First Day on the Island
1
“I’m afraid this will turn into the same old stale discussion,” said Ellery.
He was a handsome young man, tall and lean.
“In my opinion, mystery fiction is, at its core, a kind of intellectual puzzle. An exciting game of reasoning in the form of a novel. A game between the reader and the great detective, or the reader and the author. Nothing more or less than that.
“So enough gritty social realism please. A female office worker is murdered in a one-bedroom apartment and, after wearing out the soles of his shoes through a painstaking investigation, the police detective finally arrests the victim’s boss, who turns out to be her illicit lover. No more of that! No more of the corruption and secret dealings of the political world, no more tragedies brought forth by the stress of modern society and suchlike. What mystery novels need are—some might call me old-fashioned—a great detective, a mansion, a shady cast of residents, bloody murders, impossible crimes and never-before-seen tricks played by the murderer. Call it my castle in the sky, but I’m happy as long as I can enjoy such a world. But always in an intellectual manner.”
They were on a fishing boat reeking of oil, surrounded by the peaceful waves of the sea. The engine was making worrying sounds, as if it were trying too hard. 16
“Well, personally, I think that stinks.”
Carr, leaning against the boat rail, scowled, and stuck out his long, freshly shaven chin.
“Honestly, you and your ‘in an intellectual manner’, Ellery. Fair enough if you consider mystery fiction a game, but I can’t stand you emphasizing that ‘intellectual’ every single time.”
“That’s surprising coming from you.”
“It’s just elitism. Not every reader is as oh-so-smart as you.”
“That’s so true,” said Ellery with a poker face, “and it’s very regrettable. I realize it all too well simply by walking around the campus. Not even all the members of our club are what you might call intelligent. There are one or two of them who might even be intellectually challenged.”
“Are you trying to pick a fight?”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
Ellery shrugged, and went on.
“Nobody said you were one of them. What I mean by ‘intelligent’ is having a certain attitude towards the game. It’s not just about being smart or stupid. On that measure, there’s no one on the face of the earth who doesn’t possess at least a modicum of intelligence. Similarly, there’s no one on the face of the earth who doesn’t enjoy games. What I’m talking about is an ability to play while maintaining an intellectual approach.”
Carr snorted and turned his head away. A faintly mocking smile appeared on Ellery’s face as he turned towards the boy with the youthful features and round glasses standing next to him.
“And furthermore, Leroux, detective fiction evolved based on its own set of rules, and if we consider it to be its own unique universe, in the form of an intellectual game, then we must admit that in these modern times, the foundations of that universe have been severely weakened.” 17
Leroux looked doubtful. Ellery continued:
“It’s a great problem for modern crime writers. Diligent police officers performing their jobs slowly but surely; solid, efficiently run organizations; the latest techniques in forensic investigation: the police can no longer be regarded as incompetent. They are almost too competent. Realistically, there’s no place any more for the exploits of the great detectives of yore, with their little grey cells as their only weapon. Mr Holmes would be a laughing stock if he turned up in one of our modern cities.”
“I think that might be an exaggeration. A modern Holmes, fit for our modern times, will surely appear.”
“You’re right, of course. He’ll make his entrance as a master of the latest techniques in forensic pathology and science. And he’ll explain it all to poor dear Watson, using complex specialist jargon and formulas that no reader will ever even begin to comprehend. Elementary, my dear Watson, were you not even aware of that?”
With his hands inside the pockets of his beige raincoat, Ellery shrugged again.
“I’m just taking the argument to the extreme, you understand. But it illustrates my point perfectly. I don’t feel at all like applauding the victory of the unromantic police techniques over the magnificent logic of the great detectives of the Golden Age. Still, any author who wishes to write a detective story these days is bound to come up against this problem.
“And the simplest way round it—or rather let’s say the most effective—is the ‘chalet in the snowstorm’ method of establishing a sealed environment.”
“I see.” Leroux nodded and tried to look serious. “So what you mean is that of all the methods used in classic detective fiction, the ‘chalet in the snowstorm’ is the one best suited for modern times.” 18
It was late March, almost spring, but the wind blowing across the sea was still cold.
On the S— Peninsula on the east coast of the Ōita Prefecture in Kyūshū lay J— Cape. The boat had left the rustic S— Town harbour nearby, and was moving out to sea, leaving behind only its wake and the sight of the cape disappearing below the horizon. Its destination was a small island about five kilometres off the cape.
It was a clear day, but because of the dust storms so typical of spring in the region, the sky was more white than blue. The sunlight shining down turned the rippling waves to silver. The island lay ahead of them, wrapped in a misty veil of dust carried on the wind from the mainland.
“I don’t see any other boats here.”
The large man, who had been smoking silently while leaning on the boat rail opposite Ellery and the others, suddenly spoke. He had long, unkempt hair and a rough beard covered the lower half of his face. It was Poe.
“The tide on the other side of the island’s too dangerous, so everyone avoids it,” replied the elderly but energetic fisherman. “The fishing spots round here are more to the south, ya see, so ya won’ see any boats goin’ in the direction of the island, even those that’ve just left the ’arbour. By the way, y’all are really strange college students, aren’t ya?”
“Do we really seem that strange?”
“Well, for one thing, y’all have strange names. I just heard ya use odd names like Lulu and Elroy and such.”
“Yes, well, they’re sort of nicknames.”
“Do kids at universities all’ve these kinds of nicknames nowadays?”
“No, it’s not like that.”
“So ya really are an odd bunch, eh?” 19
The two young women, in front of the fisherman and Poe, were sitting on a long wooden box set in the centre of the boat, which served as a makeshift bench. Including the fisherman’s son, who was steering the rudder in the back, the boat held eight people.
The six passengers besides the fisherman and his son were all students of K— University of O— City in the Ōita Prefecture and also members of the university’s Mystery Club. “Ellery”, “Carr” and “Leroux” were—as “Poe” had said—something like nicknames.
Needless to say, the names were derived from the American, British and French mystery writers they all respected so much: Ellery Queen, John Dickson Carr, Gaston Leroux and Edgar Allan Poe. The two women were called “Agatha” and “Orczy”, the full original names being, of course, Agatha Christie, the Queen of Crime, and Baroness Orczy, known for The Old Man in the Corner.
“Look o’er there. Ya can see the building on Tsunojima now,” the fisherman yelled out loudly. The six youngsters all turned to look at the island that was coming closer and closer.
Sheer cliffs rose from the sea, covered at the top by a dark fringe of vegetation. The island had three capes, or “horns”, which had earned it the name of Tsunojima, or “Horn Island”.
Because there were cliffs on all sides of the island, the boat could only make land via a small inlet, which was why the island was only occasionally visited by curious amateur fishermen. About twenty years ago, someone had moved there and constructed a strange building called the Blue Mansion, but now it was completely uninhabited.
“What’s that on top of the cliff?” asked Agatha, getting up from the bench. She squinted her eyes in delight as she held one hand on her long, wavy hair dancing in the wind. 20
“That’s the annex building that survived the fire. Heard the main mansion burned down to the ground completely,” the fisherman shouted over the noise of the motor.
“So that’s the ‘Decagon House’, eh, grandpa?” Ellery asked the fisherman. “Have you ever been on the island?”
“I’ve gone into the inlet a few times, to avoid the wind, but I’ve never set foot on the island itself. Haven’t even come anywhere close to it since the incident. Y’all better be careful, too.”
“Careful about what?” asked Agatha, turning round.
The fisherman lowered his voice.
“They say it appears on the island.”
Agatha and Ellery gave each other a quick look, both puzzled by the answer.
“A ghost. Ya know, the ghost of the man who got murdered. Nakamura something.”
The fisherman’s dark, wrinkled face creased into a frown, then he grinned devilishly.
“I heard ya can see a white figure on the cliff o’er there if ya pass by here on a rainy day. ’Tis the ghost of that Nakamura guy, trying to lure ya there by wavin’ his hands at ya. There’re other stories too, like people havin’ seen a light at the abandoned annex, or will-o’-the-wisps floatin’ near the burnt-down mansion, or even one ’bout a boat with fishermen being sunk by the ghost.”
“It’s no good, grandpa.” Ellery chuckled. “No use trying to scare us with those stories. We’ll just get even more excited.”
The only person among the six students who seemed to have been scared, even a little, was Orczy, who was still sitting on the wooden box. Agatha didn’t seem at all perturbed—quite the contrary. “That’s so awesome,” she muttered to herself in delight. She turned towards the back of the boat.21
“Hey, are those stories really true?” she excitedly asked the fisherman’s son—still a boy—who was holding the rudder.
“All lies.” He shot a glance at Agatha’s face, then, looking quickly away as if dazzled, said gruffly: “I heard the rumours, but I’ve never seen a ghost myself.”
“Not even once?” said Agatha, disappointed. But then she smiled mischievously. “Still, it wouldn’t be all that strange if there were a ghost,” she said. “Not after what happened there.”
It was 11 o’clock in the morning of Wednesday, 26th March 1986.
2
The inlet was located on the west coast of the island.
It was flanked on both sides by steep cliffs. To the right, facing the inlet, was a dangerous-looking bare rock surface and this cliff wall, almost twenty metres high, continued towards the southern coast of the island. On the east side of the island, where the currents were very strong, the cliff wall even reached fifty metres in height. Directly in front of them was a steep incline, almost another cliff wall, with narrow stone steps crawling up it in a zigzag pattern. Dark green shrubs clung to the face here and there. (See Figure 1.)
The boat slowly entered the inlet.
The waves inside were not as fierce as those out at sea. The colour of the water was also different: an intense, dark green.
To their left inside the inlet there was a wooden pier; further back, a decrepit, shabby boathouse came into view.
“So I really don’t have to check up on ya even once?” the fisherman asked the six as they set foot on the dangerously creaking pier. “Don’ think phones work here.” 22
Figure 1 Map of Tsunojima
“It’s all right, grandpa,” Ellery answered. “We even have a doctor-in-training here,” he added, placing his hand on the shoulder of Poe, who was smoking a cigarette while seated on a big knapsack.
The bearded Poe was a fourth-year student in the medical faculty. 23
“Yes, Ellery’s right,” Agatha pitched in. “It’s not often we have a chance to visit an uninhabited island, and it would ruin the mood if someone kept coming to check up on us.”
“You have a brave lil’ miss there too, I see.”
The fisherman exposed his strong white teeth as he laughed and undid the rope that was tied to a post of the pier.
“I’ll come pick ya up Tuesday next week at ten in the morning, then. Be careful.”
“Thanks, we’ll be careful. Especially of ghosts.”
At the top of the steep stone steps, the view suddenly widened. An overgrown grass lawn appeared to be the front garden of a small building with white walls and a blue roof, which stood there invitingly as if it had been waiting for the students.
The blue double doors right in front of them were probably the front entrance. A few steps led up to the doorway.
“So this is the Decagon House.”
Ellery was the first to speak, but, having climbed the long stone staircase, he was out of breath. He dropped his camel-beige travelling bag on the ground and stood gazing up at the sky.
“Agatha, your thoughts?”
“Surprisingly lovely place,” said Agatha, putting her handkerchief to her light-skinned forehead, which was gleaming with perspiration.
Leroux came up next, also out of breath. His arms were full of luggage, including Agatha’s.
“Well… I was expecting… how to put it?… something more sinister.”
“Can’t always have what you want,” replied Ellery. “Let’s go inside. Van should have arrived here before us, but I don’t see him.” 24
No sooner had Ellery spoken than the blue window shutters immediately to the left of the front entrance opened, and a man looked out.
“Hey, everyone.”
And so Van Dine made his appearance, the seventh member of the group of students who were to sleep and eat on this island, and in this building, for one week. His name was, of course, taken from S.S. Van Dine, the literary father of the great detective Philo Vance.
“Wait a sec, I’ll come out,” Van said in his strange, husky voice, and closed the shutters. A few moments later he came scurrying out of the front entrance.
“Sorry I didn’t meet you at the pier. I seem to be coming down with something. I’ve got a bit of a fever so I was resting for a while. I was listening for your boat coming, though.”
Van had arrived earlier on the island to prepare everything.
“Coming down with something? Nothing serious, I hope,” Leroux asked with a worried look, pushing up his glasses, which had slipped down his sweaty nose.
“No, nothing serious… At least I hope not. Just a cold, I think.”
A shudder went through Van’s slim body, as he laughed uneasily.
Led by Van, the group entered the Decagon House.
Going through the blue double doors, they entered a large entrance hall—although they soon realized that it was smaller than it first appeared, its irregular shape creating an optical illusion on first sight. Looking closely, they realized the wall facing them was shorter than the one behind. The entrance hall was shaped like a trapezoid, becoming smaller as they went forward, 25with another set of double doors on the far wall leading further into the building.
Everyone except Van was puzzled by the strange layout of the room, which played with their sense of perspective, but once they had passed through the second set of doors and arrived in the main hall of the building, they began to understand. They were standing in a decagonal room, surrounded by ten walls, all of the same width.
To grasp the structure of the so-called Decagon House, it is probably best to look at a simple floor plan. (See Figure 2.)
Figure 2 Floor plan of the Decagon House
26The distinctive feature of the Decagon House is, as the name implies, that the outer walls form an equilateral decagon. Inside this outer decagon, ten separate blocks are set next to each other, surrounding the inner decagon that makes up the main hall. In other words, an equilateral inner decagon (the main hall) is surrounded by ten equal-sized trapezoidal rooms. The entrance hall they had just passed through was one such room.
“Well? Bizarre, right?”
Van, who had been leading the way, turned to the others.
“Those double doors over there, opposite the entrance, lead to the kitchen. To the left of that are the toilet and bathroom. The remaining seven rooms are the guest rooms.”
“A decagonal building and a decagonal hall.”
As he looked around the interior, Ellery walked towards a big table in the centre of the room. He tapped on it with his fingers.
“This is decagonal too. What a surprise. Could the murdered Nakamura Seiji have been suffering from monomania?”
“Perhaps,” Leroux replied. “The burnt-down main mansion was called the Blue Mansion, and they say everything in there was painted blue: the floors, the ceilings and all the furniture.”
The name of the individual who had moved to the island and built the Blue Mansion about twenty years ago was Nakamura Seiji. And the Decagon House, which was the annex of the main building was, of course, built by him too.
“All the same,” said Agatha to no one in particular, “I wonder whether I’ll be able to tell all these rooms apart.”
The entrance and the portal to the kitchen opposite both had double doors, and both were decorated with figured glass set in a frame of plain wood. When the doors were closed there was no way to tell them apart. The four walls to each side of each set of double doors had doors leading to the other rooms. These 27plain wooden doors were also difficult to tell apart. There were no furnishings in the main hall that could serve as a guide, so Agatha’s worries were quite natural. “You’re right there. I myself got confused about the rooms several times this morning.”
Van cast a wry smile. His eyelids looked puffy, perhaps because of the fever he had mentioned.
“How about making some nameplates and hanging them on the doors? Orczy, did you bring your sketchbook?”
Orczy looked up anxiously as her name was called.
She was a small woman. Mindful of her rather plump figure, she was always wearing dark clothes, but that only made her look out of fashion. She was the complete opposite of the brilliant Agatha and was always looking away with timid eyes. But she was very skilful at her hobby: traditional painting.
“Yes. I have it with me. Shall I take it out now?”
“No, later is OK. Take a look at your rooms for now. They’re all the same, so you don’t have to fight over them. I’m already using this room though.” Van pointed to one of the doors. “I was given the keys, so I’ve left them in the keyholes.”
“OK, gotcha,” Ellery answered brightly.
“Great, you get settled in then we’ll go and explore the island.”
3
The rooms were quickly divvied up.
Counting from the front entrance, Van, Orczy and Poe occupied the rooms on the left and Ellery, Agatha, Carr and Leroux those on the right.
After the six had disappeared into their rooms with their luggage, Van leant back against the door of his own room, took 28out a Seven Stars cigarette from his ivory down jacket, put it in his mouth and stared keenly into the dimly lit decagonal hall.
The walls were made of white plaster. The floor was covered with oversized blue tiles and, unlike most Japanese homes, you could walk inside with your shoes on. The ceiling rose diagonally upwards from the ten walls and in the centre was a decagonal skylight, from which light kissed the exposed rafters before falling on the white decagonal table. Ten chairs with blue cloth covering their whitewood framework surrounded the table. Those were the only decorations in the room, save for the round lamp hanging from the rafters like a pendulum.
There was no electricity. Natural light from the skylight was the only source of illumination, which is why, even during the day, a mysterious atmosphere permeated the hall.
After a while Poe, dressed in faded jeans and a light-blue shirt, stepped languidly out of his room.
“Oh, you’re fast. Wait, I’ll make some coffee now.”
Holding his half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, Van walked to the kitchen. He was currently a third-year student in the science faculty, which meant he was one year younger than Poe, who was a fourth-year medical student.
“Thanks. Must have been a hassle bringing the big stuff like the blankets.”
“Not at all. I had some people help me.”
Agatha also appeared from her door, busy tying her long hair back with a scarf.
“These are pretty good rooms, Van. I’d expected something much worse… Coffee? I’ll make it.”
Cheerfully Agatha walked into the kitchen, where she saw a glass jar with a black label on the counter.
“Instant coffee?” 29
She picked the jar up with a look of displeasure and shook it.
“Don’t be picky,” replied Van. “You’re not at a resort hotel, you’re on an uninhabited island.”
Agatha pouted her rose-coloured lips.
“And the food?”
“In the fridge. But it isn’t working, as the electricity and phone lines all went down in the fire. Hope that’s OK.”
“Oh, well, it’ll probably keep. There’s water, I hope?”
“Yes, I’ve already connected the water line. I also hooked up the propane-gas tank I brought, so you can also use the gas heater and the boiler. I don’t recommend it, but you could even use the bath.”
“Good job. Hmm, there are still some pans and tableware left, I see. Or did you bring those with you too?”
“No, they were here already. Three kitchen knives, too. There’s a lot of mould on this cutting board, though.”
Timidly, Orczy joined them.
“Orczy, you come and help too,” Agatha said briskly. “Luckily there’s a lot here, but we’ll need to clean everything first.”
Agatha shrugged and took off her black leather jacket. She turned to Van and Poe, who were stood behind Orczy, peeking into the kitchen.
“If you aren’t going to help us, then please leave. Go and explore the island or something. You won’t get any coffee before we’re finished.”
Putting her hands to her hips, she glared at the two of them. Van grinned sheepishly and retreated, together with Poe.
“And don’t forget the nameplates,” Agatha called after them. “I won’t have you coming into our rooms when we’re undressing!”
By now, Ellery and Leroux had also emerged from their rooms into the hall. 30
“Thrown out by the Queen, I see,” said Ellery with a laugh.
“Indeed,” replied Van.
“So now I suggest we follow Her Majesty’s orders and take a look at the island!”
“That’s probably the best… Wait, where’s Carr? Still in his room?”
“He’s gone out. On his own,” said Leroux, and he glanced towards the entrance.
“Already?” asked Poe.
“He likes to play hard to get,” Ellery said archly.
A row of high pine trees grew to the north of the Decagon House. There was a break in the line and the branches of the black pines on either side had connected to form an arch, which the four passed through to reach the ruins of the Blue Mansion.
All that remained on the site were the foundations, together with a few dirty stone blocks. The desolate front garden had been covered by a thick layer of black ash, and the sight of the surrounding trees, scorched in the fire and rotting where they stood, was striking.
“Completely burnt down. Must have been a tremendous fire,” said Ellery, letting out a sigh as he surveyed the dismal scene.
“There’s really nothing left,” added Van.
“So, Van, is this your first visit too?” Ellery asked.
Van nodded.
“My uncle told me a lot about the island, but today is the first time I’ve been here. I had to carry all the luggage this morning and then what with my fever I didn’t think it’d be wise to explore the island on my own.”
“That was sensible. But there’s really nothing but ashes and bricks here.” 31
“I guess a corpse would have made you happy, Ellery?” Leroux grinned.
“Lay off. That’s something more up your street, isn’t it?”
A little path opened into a pine grove to the west. It led straight to the cliffs. On the other side of the wide azure sea they could just make out the black shadow that was J— Cape.
“Great weather today. The sea’s almost tranquil, you could say.”
Ellery faced the water and stretched. Wrapping his hands in the hem of his yellow sweatshirt, Leroux also turned his small body towards the sea.
“You’re right, Ellery,” agreed Leroux. “It’s almost unbelievable that only six months ago, at this very place, such a horrific incident occurred…”
“Horrific… That’s the word. A mysterious quadruple murder, right here in Nakamura Seiji’s home, the Blue Mansion.”
“I’m quite used to quintuple, even decuple murders in books, but this one was real and happened relatively close by, too. Somehow the fact that Nakamura is such an ordinary family name made the whole incident seem even stranger. I was really shocked when I saw it on the news,” said Leroux with a shudder.
“I seem to recall it happened in the early morning of the 20th of September? A fire broke out and the building burned down completely. Four bodies were discovered in the ruins: that of Nakamura Seiji, his wife Kazue and the bodies of the servant couple who lived there.”
Ellery went on, his voice calm and detached.
“A significant quantity of a sleeping drug was found in all four bodies, but the police also discovered that they had not all died of the same cause. The two servants had been tied up with rope in their own rooms and their heads had been smashed in with an axe. The head of the household, Seiji, had been doused with 32kerosene and burnt to death. His wife Kazue, who was found in the same room, was found to have been strangled to death with a rope-like object. What’s more, her left hand had been cut off at the wrist using a sharp instrument. The hand was not recovered from the ruins of the fire. I think those were the main points of the case, Leroux?”
“I think there was also a gardener who disappeared.”
“Ah, you’re right. The police couldn’t find the gardener, who was supposed to have arrived on the island some days earlier to work there. He seemed to have disappeared completely.”
“Yes.”
“There are two views on that. One is that the gardener was the murderer and that’s why he disappeared. The other view is that someone else was the murderer, and there’s another explanation for his disappearance. For example, the gardener might have been fleeing from the murderer and accidentally fallen off the cliffs and been swept away by the current.”
“The police seemed to have gone with the ‘gardener equals murderer’ theory. I don’t know what results further investigations uncovered, though. What do you think about the case, Ellery?”
“Well.” Ellery brushed away a lock of hair that had been displaced by the wind blowing from the sea. “Regrettably, we have too little data. All we know is the information we were given in the few days the media were all over the case.”
“Not like you to be so unsure of yourself.”
“Well, so should anyone be. It’s easy to come up with a fairly reasonable hypothesis, but there’s too little data to prove any one theory and declare QED. In this particular case, the police investigation was also rather poorly handled. But then again, this is all that was left of the crime scene. And there were no other 33survivors on the island. It’s quite natural that the police would consider the missing gardener the criminal.”
“True.”
“So the truth is hidden beneath these ashes.”
Ellery turned and walked back to the remaining stone blocks and picked up a piece of wood. Crouching, he looked at what lay beneath it.
“What’s the matter?” asked Leroux, puzzled.
“Wouldn’t it be interesting if I’d just found the wife’s hand here?” Ellery said with a straight face. “Or maybe we’ll find the skeleton of the gardener beneath the floor of the Decagon House.”
“You’re crazy,” cut in Poe, who had been listening to their conversation in silence. He stroked his beard, looking worried. “You have a rather peculiar sense of humour, don’t you, Ellery?”
“I agree,” chimed in Leroux. “It’s as you all said on the boat: if something happened on this island tomorrow, it would be just like the ‘chalet in the snowstorm’ Ellery loves so much. How happy he’d be if there were a series of murders like in And Then There Were None.”
“And he’d be the first to get himself killed.”
Poe spoke very little, but sometimes came out with some harsh words.
Leroux and Van looked at each other and laughed.
