“Ah,” Ito said, still in English. “Sonoda. Why have you come at this hour? Mr. Holmes, this is Yasukata Sonoda, chief of Police Services for the Ministry of Home Affairs.”
So this was the man who headed Japan’s police force. Sonoda, however, betrayed no reaction upon hearing Sherlock’s name. He began speaking in a rapid string of Japanese.
Ito looked irritated. “In English please, Mr. Sonoda, so that Mr. Holmes may understand.”
Sonoda bowed to Sherlock in apology, and then began again in English. “Excuse me. Chairman Ito, we’ve had a telegram from the Teshikaga sergeant’s outpost. Sanzo Tsuda has died. Suddenly, while in custody at Kushiro Prison.”
“What?!” Ito shouted.
Sherlock felt a chill run down his back. It was as if his arteries had frozen. The situation had just turned dire. This was no time to let emotion get the better of him—his powers of deduction were desperately needed!
22
Despite it being the middle of the night, a steady slew of visitors came one after the other to Ito’s estate. The chief secretary and department heads from police headquarters all made their appearance. The Japanese they spoke to each other was unintelligible to Sherlock, but he soon recruited Ikuko to listen from the next room and translate for him.
The situation was delicate. There was a strict news blackout in place. Nothing would be reported in the morning papers. But Sanzo Tsuda was most certainly dead. The cause was under investigation, but for the time being appeared to be acute pneumonia.
They discussed the developments leading up to his death in great detail.
Kushiro Prison had been established six years ago, during a time of public instability and a spike in crime rates, and a corresponding increase in the number of incarcerations. Many prisons were built in Hokkaido, not only to make it more difficult for the criminals to flee but also to take advantage of convict labor for land development. Kabato Prison was built in 1881, Sorachi Prison the following year in 1882, and Kushiro Prison three years later in 1885. Only serious offenders with sentences of ten years or more were transferred to these new institutions. They were drafted from prison houses throughout the country.
Of the nearly 1,000 convicts at Kushiro Prison, around half were, like Tsuda, serving life sentences. The majority were assigned to construction work outside, building roads from Shibecha to Kushiro or Atsukeshi. The work—clearing roadways through thick forests and wilderness—was grueling. The remaining convicts worked in the factories inside the prison, with duties ranging from construction and metalwork to mechanics, soy sauce processing and straw goods. Other work included farming, forestry, and woodworking.
Tsuda, however, was assigned only simple tasks such as straw making, filling out prisoner name badges, and work charts. Though reports indicated some concern over his poor health, there was, in truth, no other work he could be assigned. None of the supervisors wished to furnish him with anything that might be used as a weapon.
One might assume conditions at Kushiro were atrocious. But the complex had many features besides its cell house: There was a mess hall, baths, an infirmary, a sick ward, and even a chaplain’s office where prisoners could read the Bible and take English lessons. In late May, when Tsuda received his life sentence, the Russians had even complained the prison conditions were too lenient in comparison to Siberia.
As an inmate, Tsuda made no trouble and was not prone to outbursts. But he did act and speak in odd ways, and the guards and other prisoners avoided him. He was in constant poor health, and often didn’t eat. Some worried that he might be trying to starve himself to death.
In late August, a single-page “Will and Testament” was discovered in Tsuda’s solitary cell. The document included a request that any money he possessed be sent to his family in Iga-Ueno, and listed his concerns over the future of Japan. Nail and hair clippings belonging to him were discovered folded inside a separate paper.
The details of the will were reported to the Hokkaido commissioner. The commissioner feared that if Tsuda committed suicide, joui sentiment might be rekindled. He ordered that Tsuda’s watch be strengthened.
By September, Tsuda had grown thin and emaciated. His appetite was erratic—he would go three days with nothing, only to eat regularly the next. On the 7th, he complained of a severe chill and was transferred to the sick ward, where he seemed to have a slight fever. The prison doctor diagnosed him with a cold. At the time he was eating rice porridge three times a day.
But his fever did not improve and his appetite faltered. The following week he was given sugar, chestnuts, sweets, pickled plums, milk, and other delicacies, but he still could eat nothing. He grew weaker and weaker.
The previous day, Tsuda began having trouble breathing. His face grew pale and sickly, and his body was covered in sweat. He complained several times of pain in his chest. In the morning he vomited about a cup’s worth of blood, and by afternoon his vomiting had increased.
As of today, Tsuda had been bedridden. He lacked the strength even to heave up blood. The doctor had been forced to use strips of paper to drain the blood that still pooled in Tsuda’s mouth. As his condition grew critical, the warden, the secretary, the head of the guards, and several others assembled in the sickroom. They all looked on as Tsuda passed away.
After his death, authorities reached out to his immediate family, relatives, and even acquaintances, but no one was willing to take his body. The law stipulated that if no one came forward to claim him, he would be buried in Kushiro Prison’s graveyard.
The prison was thoroughly examined down to the last screw, but no one discovered any signs of poison. At present, there was nothing to contradict the diagnosis that Tsuda had died of illness.
But the timing couldn’t be worse.
The commotion Tsuda’s death might cause in Japan was worrying enough, but even more concerning was how Russia would react. What if the Russians assumed Tsuda had been assassinated because he could not be executed? It might look to international eyes as if Japan had turned to cowardly, barbaric measures to avoid war or demands for compensation. International trust would etiolate, and it would be more difficult than ever to establish Japan as a nation governed by law. And any hope of revising the unequal treaties would fade to a mere pipe dream.
Police Chief Sonoda’s voice grew faint, and ended in a whisper. “There is something else. As of now, the details are still unclear, but…”
Ikuko pressed her ear against the sliding door, desperate to make out what was being said. Sherlock brought out a cup and showed her how to hold her ear against the base so she could hear better.
This seemed to do the trick. Ikuko began translating again. A colleague who had worked with Tsuda at the Shiga police force had testified that before Nicholas had even visited Japan, Tsuda had already apparently met several times with some Russian personages.
Since March, Tsuda had been leaving work as soon as his shifts ended. The colleague stated he had often witnessed two men, Westerners, greet Tsuda in the streets near the police station. Both men were tall and slim, perhaps in their twenties or thirties. One spoke in what sounded like Russian, while the other translated into Japanese. The colleague had not been sure what the men were discussing. The three would usually depart together, on foot.
Kushiro Prison only permitted visits from family members, and the two Russians never visited Tsuda after he was incarcerated. The Shiga police attempted to track the two down after the incident, but had been unable to identify them.