"Did you speak to Otoki?" asked the chief.
"We didn't want to intrude; they seemed so happy together. We went away. We are quite sure the gentleman we saw was Mr. Sayama whose picture has been in the papers. Now that I think of it, that must have been the beginning of the events that led to the love suicide. I never imagined it would end this way. The proprietress told me that Otoki had asked for leave the day before so she must have been prepared for it. She was such a nice girl; I feel dreadfully sorry for her. I can't think of any reason why she would want to die. Of course, as I said before, she was not the sort who talks about herself, so I don't know the circumstances, but according to the papers Mr. Sayama was involved in some scandal or other and was desperate. Maybe Otoki felt sorry for him."
These were the statements made by the three people who came to claim the bodies. Detective Torigai was present at the interrogations.
The bodies were turned over to the claimants. They were cremated and the ashes taken back to Tokyo. Thereafter, the case of the double suicide at Kashii Beach was handled in a routine manner, having briefly left its mark on the events of the day.
Torigai had no right to interfere. Yet there were two things that bothered him. One was the dining car receipt "for one person." It posed the problem of love versus appetite. The other was the fact that the girl had not joined Sayama at the inn, which raised the question of her whereabouts during his five lonely days. These doubts, however, were not strong enough to offer as objections. The chief would probably refuse to consider them. Actually, when looked at objectively, he himself had to admit they seemed to lack weight. Therefore, although far from satisfied, Torigai kept them to himself and let the case take its normal course. But to say nothing and to retain his peace of mind were two very different matters. From the moment he decided to keep silent, frustration grew within him. He felt he could not rest until he found the answers to the two questions that troubled him.
It's a simple case of love suicide; why worry any further about it, he would say to himself. No crime was committed; why not leave it alone? There was other work that needed his attention. But until these doubts were resolved, he knew he would never be content. "I think I'll look into it further; I'll do it on my own," he finally decided. "No need to tell anyone." Having come to this decision, he felt a great weight lift from his mind.
The story of the love suicide appeared in the papers for the next few days in connection with the scandal at the ministry, then was dropped. The press seemed to have concluded that it was a commonplace tale, not worth repeating. Reading the accounts, Torigai felt cheated. It was as if the usual leads and clues that help to reach a conclusion were being disregarded. He decided to go to Kashii Beach and look it over once more.
He got off the streetcar at Hakozaki and changed to the Nishitetsu, a private line going to Wajiro. This was more convenient than using the national railway. Moreover, the private line passed closer to the beach.
It is a ten-minute walk to the beach from Nishitetsu Kashii Station. A few houses stand on both sides of the road for a short distance from the station but they soon give way to a pine forest and, a little further along, there is the beach, strewn with rocks. The wind was still sharp but the sea already had the blue glints of spring. The cold, drab colors of winter had disappeared. Shika Island was enveloped in mist.
Jūtarō Torigai stood at the scene of the double suicide. It struck him as being strangely desolate. The rough black rocks covered the beach almost to the water's edge. Had there been a struggle, it was the sort of place where no trace would ever be found.
He wondered why Kenichi Sayama and Otoki had chosen such a place in which to die. There must be more suitable spots, he thought. Couples planning suicide usually chose the site with elaborate care-a hot spring resort, say, or a place of renown. True, the view from here was beautiful but surely they could have selected some place where there was grass instead of only these hard rocks. Of course, it had happened at night. They had left the inn around eight and by ten o'clock they were dead. They had come directly here, as if they had planned it so from the start. The night was dark, he remembered, yet they behaved as if they knew the place well.
It occurred to him that perhaps one of them, Sayama or Otoki, had been here before. Their movements indicated that they were familiar with the area. Torigai turned and retraced his steps, walking fast. He went past Nishitetsu Kashii Station and headed toward the Kashii national railway station. Some five hundred meters separated the two. Houses and shops presently began to appear. At the station he took a worn notebook from his pocket, checked some addresses and sent two telegrams. They were addressed to Sayama's brother and Otoki's mother, asking the same question of each. He worked, tongue in cheek, to phrase the query so that it would not exceed the minimum charge for twenty words.
When this was done, he entered the station and studied the timetable. He found that there would be a train for Hakata in twenty minutes. While waiting for it he stood at the entrance to the station, his hands in his pockets, looking out at the street.
It was a dreary and uninteresting scene that he faced. There was a restaurant of sorts. There was a shop selling sundries. There was a fruit store. In the small square immediately in front of the station a truck was parked and two or three children were playing nearby. The sun was shining.
As Torigai stood absentmindedly observing the scene, a small doubt suddenly crept into his mind. Hitherto, he had taken for granted that Sayama and Otoki had arrived at Kashii on the private line. Could they have arrived by train at the national railway station? Turning to the timetable once again he saw that there was one from Hakata that arrived at 9:24 P.M.
Jūtarō Torigai closed his eyes. After a moment of thought he decided against returning immediately to Hakata. Instead, he walked over to the shop across the square. He had a question to ask. His heart beat a little faster as he tried to anticipate the answer.
4 A Man from Tokyo
Jūtarō Torigai stood in front of the fruit store across the square from the railway station. "May I ask you a question?" The middle-aged storekeeper put down the apple he was polishing and turned to greet him. Shopkeepers are generally surly if addressed in this manner but when Torigai said he was from the police the man became attentive.
"How late do you keep the store open at night?" Torigai asked.
"I stay open until about 11."
"From here would you be able to see the passengers coming out of the station, say at 9:30 at night?"
"Nine-thirty? Oh, yes. There's a train from Hakata that arrives at 9:24 and I watch the people as they come out. The shop is quiet at that hour and I look for a possible customer."
"I see. On the night of the twentieth did you happen to notice a man about thirty years old, dressed in Western clothes, and a woman of about twenty-five, in kimono, coming out of the station at that time?"
"The night of the twentieth? That's some time ago. Hmm."
The storekeeper bent his head as if in thought. Torigai was aware that the question was difficult; the event had occurred four or five days before. The man would probably not remember the date. He thought of a better way of putting the question. "Have you heard of the recent suicides, here on the beach?"
"You mean the two bodies that were found on the beach the other morning? Yes, I heard about them and read about them in the papers."
"That's right. That was the morning of the twenty-first. The twentieth was therefore the night before. Now do you recall anything?"