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“And I think he’s got a point. If we can eventually work out who the killer is, then that’s enough. I think we have to acknowledge our failings up to now, and realize that the most important thing at this moment is to make absolutely sure that no more murders are committed.”

“Right.”

“Anyway, I don’t know about the city, but this kind of case never happens out here in the countryside. Even if it’s rare, at least they’re a little more used to weird stuff like this up in Tokyo.”

“But, Chief, this does reflect on our standing. We really shouldn’t give up too easily. We’ll manage to sort it out somehow. Isn’t this admitting that we are powerless?”

“Yes, it is. But have you managed to solve it yet, Ozaki?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Anyway, if Tokyo sends someone to help us, then we’ll still be working the case, but staying in the background. Surely it’s good to get help? It’s all about protecting people’s lives. That takes priority over our reputation.”

“But are there likely to be any more murders?”

“As we haven’t a clue about the motive, I can’t answer that for sure. But I think there will be.”

“You do?”

“And when I said that to Tokyo, they said together we could all work out the best way to deal with it. They said they had an idea about it.”

“What do they have in mind?”

“I’m not sure, but they said they’d get in touch later.”

“And how are they going to do that?”

“By telegram, apparently.”

“Ugh. Now that gives me a very bad feeling. I can’t help picturing some kind of Sherlock Holmes clone turning up with a pipe in his mouth. I can’t stand that type.”

“Ha ha. If there’d been a detective as famous as that in Tokyo, I’d have definitely requested his presence up here. If there was anyone remotely like that…”

ACT THREE

Perhaps it is the very simplicity of the thing which puts you at fault.

C. AUGUSTE DUPIN,
“The Purloined Letter”, by Edgar Allan Poe

SCENE 1

The Salon

“Telegram!”

Hearing the voice in the entrance hall, Eiko got to her feet. Chief Inspector Ushikoshi immediately followed her out. He soon returned, a sheet of paper in his hand, pulled up a chair next to Sergeant Ozaki and showed him the telegram.

“You gonna let me take a look?” said Okuma moodily. Ozaki decided to read it out loud.

“This kind of… er… monstrous crime… requires the right kind of detective… no better in the whole of Japan… already on a flight… His name is Mita… um… how do you read this, Mitarai? What the hell? Shit! They really are sending some jumped-up Sherlock Holmes wannabe!”

“What? Is this Mita-whatsit person from Tokyo HQ?” asked Okuma.

Ozaki knew exactly who Mitarai was.

“He’s a fortune teller.”

Ushikoshi and Okuma sat there blinking in silence for a good few moments. Then Ushikoshi found his voice, albeit one of someone being choked.

“Is this some kind of joke? We’re not so desperate that we need to rely on a fortune teller or a psychic or something.”

Okuma began to laugh.

“Chief Inspector, that’s not much of a friend you have there in Tokyo! He’s taking the piss out of us. But if you think about it, this so-called fortune teller with his bunch of divining sticks might guess who the murderer is and earn quite a bit out of it. Our honour will be saved, and the Tokyo lot will seem as if they tried to help. It’s a good move for everybody. The best possible way. But they’d have been better off sending us a dog than some fortune teller. A police dog with a good nose would be better any day than a wizened old codger.”

“But Superintendent Nakamura isn’t so irresponsible… Ozaki, you know this Mitarai?” said Ushikoshi.

“Have you heard of the Umezawa family massacre?”

“Of course. It was a famous case.”

“That big murder that happened back when we were kids?” Okuma asked Ushikoshi. “The one that was finally solved three or four years back?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“Well, one theory has it that Mitarai was the one who solved it,” said Ozaki.

“Wasn’t it some detective from HQ who solved it? At least that’s what I heard.”

“Yes, well, that’s probably what really happened. But the fortune teller has been going around bragging that he’s the one who did it.”

“There are plenty of old cranks like that,” said Okuma. “You can work your arse off solving a crime and the criminal turns out to be the same one they guessed, and they start thinking that they’re some kind of oracle.”

“No, this Mitarai isn’t an old guy. He’s still quite young. A real arrogant pain in the neck, by all accounts.”

“There must have been some sort of misunderstanding with Nakamura…” sighed Ushikoshi. “I’m not looking forward to this meeting at all.”

*

They would probably have been even more anxious if they had known what the eccentric Kiyoshi Mitarai was planning for that evening. Chief Inspector Saburo Ushikoshi would have done a lot more than sigh.

Kiyoshi and I weren’t going to be arriving at the Ice Floe Mansion until late, so we took dinner at a little local eatery before heading up there. It wasn’t snowing, but the whole landscape was wrapped in a kind of mist.

We were pretty sure that as far as the occupants of the Ice Floe Mansion were concerned (and especially the police detectives), we were uninvited guests, and we were soon given the opportunity to test that theory. Eiko and the three detectives came to answer the door, but no one thanked us for coming all that way to the far north, and we realized we weren’t going to be welcomed with open arms. But the detectives’ preconceived idea of Kiyoshi was nothing like the actual man. His friendly smile always managed to win people over—at first.

The detectives were confused as to how to deal with us so they announced to the eleven residents of the Ice Floe Mansion that we had come all the way from Tokyo to aid the investigation, and proceeded to introduce each of the residents to us. Some of them smiled in welcome, others looked very serious, and under their gaze I felt like a magician who had been hired to entertain the company. I wondered if they were waiting for me to produce a white handkerchief and start performing tricks.

But Kiyoshi wasn’t so self-effacing. The moment Chief Inspector Ushikoshi said, “This is Mr Mitarai”, he immediately began to address the assembled guests as if he were some kind of VIP.

“Good evening, everybody! So sorry to have kept you waiting. I’m Kiyoshi Mitarai. Consider the power of the human race… When human power fails it falls to the dolls, and then the dolls rise up instead. That is the theory of a lever or a seesaw. Jumping Jack, a one-act marionette. What a painful vision! I came all the way to this northern land to kneel and pay my respects before he is laid to rest.”

As Kiyoshi gave his cryptic speech, the affable expressions on the faces of the three detectives began to cloud over, and the meagre amount of goodwill they had harboured for him immediately melted away.

“The new year is almost upon us, ladies and gentlemen. Right now in the capital it is the season of the bargain sale. As we speak, ladies clutching paper carrier bags are fighting tooth and nail. But up here it is another world. Quiet. But how unfortunate! By the time the 4th of January rolls around, everyone will have to head back to the front line. But at least you’ll all be taking a great tale back home with you; the story of how I solved the case of the last few days will be quite an unusual one, I believe.