Pathway to Japanese Literature

It was a commission to write a true story involving forensic detective elements and brutality; however, the case written here was expected to regrettably differ from the official records remaining with the authorities or the author’s notes regarding the aforementioned three items.

1. The topography of the incident location, related place names, and personal names
2. The Content of Confidential Matters
3. The Scope of Activities of Forensic Medical Experts

Therefore, from this perspective, this manuscript lacks qualification to be called a true account; however, it is convenient here that the aforementioned three items are rather collateral matters to this purported true story. Not only did this not obstruct clarifying both the full scope of the incident as demanded at the outset and the true progression of events—where a trivial mystery had appeared grotesquely inexplicable—but I consider that omitting and altering these elements has instead contributed to heightening the clarity of comprehension regarding this case. Moreover, while disguising or costuming the aforementioned three items may displease certain parties who retain memory of this incident's truth, the necessity for such measures will presumably elicit self-evident acknowledgment upon concluding one's reading.

S Cape in R City was a picturesque scenic spot facing the Sea of Japan.
Across the sea from R City, on the opposite shore about one and a half *ri* distant in diameter, within the Akatsuchiyama Pine Grove—a narrow-necked peninsula—Western and Japanese villas stood scattered here and there; at the innermost seaward tip of this area, nestled within the rounded lush green of the pine grove, stood the residence of J.P. Roscoe: manager of a certain petroleum company in R City, an X-national renowned as a devoted husband who had frequently been gossiped about in newspapers.
A stylish blue-painted bungalow—single-storied and Western-style—stood three *chō* away from the Rindai Sanatorium’s red roof when viewed from R City across the shore, accidentally creating a beautiful contrast; yet within this bungalow’s bedroom on a Saturday midnight in August of Taisho X year, Marie Roscoe—the twenty-four-year-old beauty who was Mr. J.P. Roscoe’s beloved wife—had been strangled and assaulted.
At that time, Tōsaku—an old man who served as the Roscoe family’s cook and caretaker, living in a Japanese-style house slightly removed from the back of the property—had, strangely enough, become drunk on alcohol and was snoring loudly in the midst of thick grass atop a low, small rocky outcrop at the tip of the peninsula facing the open sea, about two hundred meters away… This marked the beginning of the incident.

On that Saturday night, after working through the night at the company and rushing home early the following Sunday morning, Mr. Roscoe—known as a devoted husband—was startled to discover from afar that the entrance door, which he had surely locked with his own hands the previous night before leaving, was now half-open.
Rushing into his house in a panic and catching a single glimpse of Madame Marie’s cruelly transformed strangled corpse, he immediately dashed outside and collapsed in a faint at the edge of the Inland Sea’s surf. After some time, two prefectural office officials passing by for shark fishing discovered him and carried him to the nearby Rindai Hospital.
Thanks to emergency treatment from Director Rinda, Mr. Roscoe barely regained consciousness and managed to recount the aforementioned facts, but being fundamentally of that excessively sentimental, spineless disposition characteristic of Westerners, he merely wailed “Marie! Marie!” like some dementia patient, tears streaming down his face—rendering the account utterly incoherent.

Thereupon, Director Rinda showed presence of mind by ordering his sole assistant—a medical scholar named Yuge—to survey the situation at the Roscoe residence. This Yuge happened to be an avid reader of detective novels—exactly the sort of unhurried hospital assistant one might expect to indulge in such literature.
Being possessed of considerable curiosity, he proceeded to enter the Roscoe residence's bedroom without authorization and discovered Madame's gruesome corpse—though being a medical professional after all, he refrained from touching the remains.
Continuing past the bathroom to reach the caretaker's quarters at the rear, he found no trace of Old Man Tōsaku—someone he'd only known by face and name until that moment.
Investigating the area with growing suspicion, he made a critical discovery: both the call bell linked to Tōsaku's room and the telephone line connecting to S City had been cleanly severed.

There, with his curiosity now thoroughly piqued, Medical Scholar Yuge continued scouring every corner of the area when he unexpectedly discovered Old Man Tōsaku sprawled in a spread-eagle position atop the rocky outcrop at S Cape’s tip, snoring thunderously. He promptly shook him awake, escorted him to Rindai Hospital, and stationed him beside Mr. Roscoe, who lay weakened in bed.
Thus Old Man Tōsaku had not yet glimpsed Madame Marie’s corpse and might not even have realized she was dead... This became the first report relayed by telephone from Rindai Hospital to R City’s police.

The group of several individuals—Prosecutor Gabō, Examining Magistrate Ichikawa, R City Police Judicial Director (Inspector), detectives, police physicians, clerks—who had promptly departed from R City across the water aboard a motor launch from the marine police station first dispatched one detective to Rindai Hospital to monitor Mr. Roscoe and Old Man Tōsaku’s movements.
Upon investigating Madame Marie’s corpse—petite for a Western woman yet plump with Southern European sensuality—they found an unbearably ghastly sight: black silk cord torn from a bedside lamp coiled around the neck; disheveled blonde curls plastered across facial features; blue eyes staring wide; dark red blood clotted beneath whitened lips; thin azure silk nightgown yanked upward to expose clawing hands frozen mid-writhe against empty air.
No wonder Mr. Roscoe had fainted after one glance.
The police physician soon confirmed strangulation by lamp cord—a struggle evident from tongue bitten through mid-length—leaving no doubt about homicide.

The torn areas at the bend of the pale blue nightgown’s sleeve, the shoulder, and directly behind the buttocks bore witness to a violent struggle, but what astonished the police officers more than anything was Madame Marie’s body. Across her back—snow-white and smooth as polished rice cakes, a texture rare among Westerners—stretching to her arms and buttocks, tattoos of bizarrely distorted roses, lilies, clouds, and stars were densely packed in a chaotic jumble. Particularly for a young, beautiful Western woman characterized by timidity in such matters, merely imagining the fortitude and endurance required to undergo such extensive tattooing was enough to make one’s hair stand on end.

The officials who saw this seemed to feel an unprecedented kind of peculiar tension toward the case.
As a result of engaging in the investigation with far more zeal than usual, various intriguing facts came to light one after another.

The point where the perpetrator broke in was a heavy plank door directly beneath the balcony on the front of the Roscoe residence; upon disassembling the keyhole, it became clear that they had pried it open using what is commonly called a “universal key”—the most sophisticated tool among specialized criminal implements.
The fact that the perpetrator had then pushed open the unlocked door facing inward from the entrance to invade Madame’s bedroom, struggled with her on the bed and strangled her, then fled without taking a single item… and so on were inferred without difficulty. However, what troubled them here was that they could not discern at all the perpetrator’s actions outside the room beyond those.

Around the Roscoe residence's pine grove, round stones lay exposed in abundance from the sandy red soil, with little moss growing.
For this reason, whether stepped on with shoes or walked upon barefoot, no footprints remained at all.
However, since the entire area around the pine grove strewn with round stones—except for the rocky outcrop at the cape's tip connected to the pine woods—was a pure white, beautiful quartz-sand beach, if the perpetrator had come sneaking through the pine grove along that rocky outcrop and did not retrace the same route on their return, footprints should have remained somewhere on the sandy areas around those pine woods.
Yet regarding footprints remaining on that sandy beach, apart from those of two shark fishermen who had walked along the water's edge from R City on the opposite shore, and prior to that, Mr. Roscoe's shoe prints—from when he had returned along the coast from the suburban train station, been shocked upon seeing Madame Marie's corpse, and collapsed at the surf's edge—they could discover nothing at all.
This meant the perpetrator must have either swum or rowed a boat along the sea under cover of darkness to cross the rocky outcrop at the tip of the cape—a feat requiring considerable familiarity with local geography and thorough knowledge of tide times and current patterns. Without such expertise, one would have to conclude this haphazard, adventurous approach succeeded through sheer luck.
Not only that, but given that Tōsaku—the Roscoe household's employee—had been lying on that very rocky outcrop (even though drunk), the whole affair took on a peculiarly fishy air.
Even if Tōsaku were considered the culprit, there seemed to be something that didn't quite add up.

While such matters were being deliberated and studied, soon after noon passed, yet another strange object began to be discovered from within this bungalow—followed by more in succession—leaving the officials flabbergasted.

The first of these was the lavish bathroom located at the back of the entrance, designed adjacent to the kitchen.
This bathroom—finally unlocked using a key bundle discovered beneath Madame Marie’s bed—was an absurdly extravagant structure: a roughly three-tsubo room clad in ultra-modern Secessionist-style tiles, its ceiling and walls lavishly outfitted with over a dozen light bulbs and seven mirrors of varying sizes, blatantly underscoring the Roscoes’ decadent tastes.

The second was when a detective casually removed a crude wooden bookcase in a corner of Mr. Roscoe’s study—adjacent to the bedroom (the crime scene)—and discovered an extremely old-fashioned small safe embedded in the wall on the opposite side.
The safe was unquestionably Japanese-made, but the detective who discovered it—likely suspecting something amiss—fiddled with it using Madame Marie’s key bundle and, upon haphazardly inputting the three-character katakana symbol for “Marie,” struck lucky and opened it.
Within its shelves lay numerous photographs each wrapped in tissue paper, a thick bundle of Western-style ruled paper resembling a manuscript inscribed in exquisite small English script, and a large silver box containing Western tattooing tools—all piled atop one another. But most astonishingly, these countless photographs consisted entirely of tattoo images that seemed to span all social classes of people from around the world. Not only did these tattoos intermittently feature faces of foreign dignitaries, celebrities, and star-class actresses reported in newspapers and magazines, but even more remarkably, they discovered individual prints on fine photographic paper showing Madame Marie’s own tattoos, Mr. Roscoe himself, and what appeared to be Tōsaku’s younger self—depicted both as a Westerner and a Japanese man—along with their respective neck-down tattoos.

Among these, Madame Marie’s tattoo design was as previously described, while Mr. Roscoe’s own was a precise monochrome engraving of ancient Western naval battles. As for Tōsaku’s, it depicted a procession of Yoshiwara courtesans—a deluxe edition that stood in direct contrast to Mr. Roscoe’s, showcasing every secret technique of tattooing: gradation, color engraving, cosmetic engraving, and more, all meticulously rendered in watercolor pigments.

These numerous discoveries left even the seasoned police officers—accustomed as they were to cases—thoroughly flustered.

At first, the absence of any missing money or goods had unwittingly led them to assume this might simply be a crime of passion—a notion that seemed to float vaguely in their collective minds. Yet as these extraordinary discoveries emerged one after another, a creeping sensation began unsettling them: that behind the mere murder of a Western woman lurked circumstances surpassing mere complexity—something terrifyingly bizarre, even verging on the mysterious in nature.

On one hand, Old Man Tōsaku—summoned from Rindai Sanatorium—underwent rigorous interrogation in his Japanese-style room at the back of the Roscoe residence; yet even the content of his statements contained elements of considerable bizarreness.

On Tōsaku’s entire body existed tattoos identical to those found in Mr. Roscoe’s safe.
This fact proved just how masterful and exceptional the photography and coloring techniques were; yet he himself, mismatched to the bold magnificence of the tattoos adorning his back, answered the interrogation with nothing but awestruck sincerity, flinching nervously all the while.

“I have had the honor of serving the esteemed Roscoe household as a cook and janitor for approximately thirty years.”
“I receive a monthly salary of eighty yen, which I distribute as sixty yen each to my biological daughter running a billiard parlor in R City and to my adopted son’s university-student household; with the remaining twenty yen spent on tobacco and drink, I lead a carefree life. As my savings now exceed two thousand yen, I haven’t the slightest worry about matters after my death.”

“The current relationship between Young Master and Madam Roscoe seems truly harmonious... Though between them, I must say Madam Marie possesses a strong will quite unlike her delicate appearance.”
“To think she dismissed Young Master’s concerns, purchased land in such a lonely spot, had a house built exactly to her tastes, and kept watch there all alone—most admirable! Yet on snowy days or stormy nights, when Young Master would walk home from that distant suburban tram stop, I couldn’t help but feel pity for him.”
“My daughter and her husband—hearing such stories from me—were quite astonished and impressed... And while Young Master Roscoe is thoroughly gentle and timid in all matters... Beyond this, I know nothing detailed of their daily lives, nor have more to tell.”

“Last night, Young Master Roscoe told me something like, ‘I expect to be quite late tonight, so secure the doors and windows thoroughly and go to bed early.’
“‘I’ll take the spare key for the front entrance myself, so I ask you to secure only the back door.’ With those words, he departed as it was. After nightfall, once I had served Madam her dinner, I immediately retired to this room, drank a leisurely glass by my own hand for the first time in ages, and went to sleep.”

However, due to an old man’s habit, when I awoke in the middle of the night needing to urinate, my head was splitting with pain unlike my usual self.
Yet since the moon shone as bright as day, I slipped on bamboo-soled garden sandals and went out to the back pine grove to relieve myself. Afterward, taking the leftover sake from the evening, I passed through the grove, climbed the rocky outcrop along the outer coast, and there in the grassy field—tipping the sake bottle to my lips while watching the silver waves of the midnight high tide surge forth—the nightcap must have taken effect, for I fell soundly asleep once more.
Before long, I was awakened by Dr. Yuge from Rindai Hospital; Mr. Roscoe had collapsed on the shore and was just then being carried into Rindai Hospital.
When I was told something was wrong and to come attend immediately, I was shocked.
“……No.”
“That is absolutely true.”
“This is the first time I have heard that Madam Marie has passed away… I have no words to convey how sudden this is.”
“Given that Mr. Roscoe—timid as he was, needing constant encouragement from Madam just to muster the resolve to go to work each day—had become so distraught in that manner, it was only natural that…”

I am currently—perhaps from being exposed to the night dew—feeling as though all my bones have been pulled out; my entire body lies utterly listless. Moreover, my chest feels queasy and my head spins, while a rotten camphor-like stench fills my mouth... I have never felt such a sensation before in my life. Given such circumstances, regarding the matter of Madam Marie’s passing, I truly know nothing at all… More than that, Young Master Roscoe’s eye expression has been slightly peculiar since this morning, so I have been solely concerned about that. If what you say is true, then he must indeed be grieving from the heart over Madam Marie’s passing. If left alone, I can’t help but feel we don’t know what he might do—but will he be alright? “Long ago in Hong Kong, when Madam Marie’s engagement to Mr. Roscoe nearly dissolved, he similarly fell into such a hysterical state—and even as I speak now, I cannot help but worry endlessly over it.”

While repeating such things over and over, Tōsaku firmly cradled his white-haired head and thought.
As for anything else regarding the Roscoe family’s past, no matter what they asked, he would not respond.
When it came to matters related to tattoos in particular, he would clam up like an oyster.
Even when tattoo photographs were thrust before him, he merely glared at them with icy eyes, stubbornly shaking his head side to side—an attitude of uttering not a single word that appeared savagely defiant.
Not only that, but last night had been the twenty-ninth of the lunar calendar—a moonless dark night when there should have been no moon at all—yet he claimed a full moon as bright as day had shone, which struck them as deeply perplexing.
It was indeed a spring tide, but under an overcast sky that had persisted all night—without needing to consult the observatory—there should have been no moon, let alone stars. Yet no matter how many times they pressed him, Old Man Tōsaku merely looked astonished, glancing around at the officers with an air of bewilderment.
In the end, whether due to his headache or not, he closed his eyes as if annoyed,

“That is because you gentlemen don’t know the old calendar.”
“Last night was indeed the fifteenth by the old reckoning.”
“There most certainly was a perfectly round moon.”

His calm yet insistent expression held such earnestness it felt uncanny.
Thus, for now at least, Tōsaku stood as the prime suspect.
The officials unanimously agreed to detain him provisionally as Madame Marie’s murderer.
As they prepared to leave the Roscoe residence for nearby Rindai Hospital—intending to question Mr. Roscoe directly about the circumstances—Dr. Yuge came stumbling in breathlessly, still wearing his white hospital coat.

When they heard this report, it was a major incident.

Mr. Roscoe, who had been sobbing and repeatedly crying "Marie, Marie" from the start, suddenly fell silent.
He sat up on the bed, firmly crossed his arms, and stopped moving.
In mere moments, his face had grown terrifyingly gaunt beyond recognition. With eyes fixed unblinkingly, he stared through the window at the blue sky while maintaining absolute silence. Gradually, the hue of those eyes grew increasingly dreadful. Like midnight itself, he began grinding his teeth with a fierce gnashing sound. Suddenly showing signs of mental disturbance, he started grabbing whatever objects were at hand and hurling them—hurling them about—making it too dangerous to approach.
In the midst of this, Mr. Roscoe—seizing his moment just then—pitifully drew a pistol from his pocket and shot himself in the upper temple, ending his own life.
The story went that the hospital director and his staff were profoundly apologetic for not having recognized his disturbed state and taken action a bit sooner…

The officials were thrown into disarray as if only now comprehending the situation.
Rushing to the scene with the still-panting Dr.Yuge, they found everything precisely as reported: within Mr.Roscoe’s hospital room facing the outer sea beyond the rear garden—amid picture frames, medicine bottles, flowerpots, mud, gravel, plants, and other vessels and glass shards scattered so thickly there was no place to step—lay Mr.Roscoe himself, brain matter splattered and azure eyes bulging grotesquely. Covered in a web of fresh blood, he gripped the sullied pistol tightly as he had slid headfirst off the bed, presenting a scene even more ghastly and horrifying than Madame Marie’s death-state.

The police investigation policy had now come to wander lost in an impenetrable fog.
When they superimposed these elements—Tōsaku’s testimony about a moon that never appeared; documents and photographs concerning English-language tattoos that seemed to enshroud the entire case in fateful significance; and the stark fact of Mr. Roscoe’s sudden deranged suicide, which should have held the key to explaining it all—the minds of Prosecutor Gabō and his fellow officials had unwittingly lost their practical focus, being drawn ever deeper into a vortex of detective-novel-esque fabrications, imaginings, and deductions.
While appearing overall like a crime of passion, half of it incorporated the methods of a skilled burglar.
It had become clear that unless one considered this not merely a murder nor merely a suicide... even the seasoned Prosecutor Gabō found himself unable to make hasty conclusions.
The detectives, who had grown accustomed to basing their judgments solely on standard cases of a similar nature, were utterly flustered.
"This case was utterly beyond our capabilities."
There were even those who grew evasive, muttering things like, "We can’t possibly understand how foreigners think…"

Chief Yamaguchi of R City Police—having listened to a detailed report from the judicial affairs chief inspector—also found himself at a loss for judgment.

Under normal circumstances, Chief Yamaguchi—known for his mild-mannered nature—would simply listen to his subordinates’ grievances against the prosecutor, offer some encouraging words like “I’m counting on you,” and refrain from adding any opinions of his own, maintaining a habit that seemed to define his duty. Yet this particular instance alone had become an exception.
This was because it had just then become clear that the Special Higher Police Division of the prefectural office was treating Mr. Roscoe’s suicide as a matter of grave importance.
Though the precise reason remained unclear, it appeared Mr. Roscoe’s activities had long been under covert surveillance by the Special Higher Police Division, and upon learning of his suicide, two plainclothes officers from the Special Higher Police and Foreign Affairs Divisions requested an extremely confidential meeting with Chief Yamaguchi to inquire into the truth of the incident.
Furthermore... it appeared that the headquarters of the petroleum company where Mr. Roscoe was employed was also taking considerable interest in this S Cape Incident.
Today, Mr. Doran—an executive at the R City branch who was proficient in Japanese—appeared before an acquaintance of his, the chief of the Special Higher Police Division, to inquire whether Mr. Roscoe’s cause of death was suicide or homicide.
Since it was necessary to cable the home country, he wanted an explanation provided in strict confidence.
A telegram had arrived stating that two individuals from the Tokyo headquarters—a personnel manager (a foreigner) and a Japanese executive who had risen from naval lieutenant—had departed Tokyo on that afternoon’s express train; therefore, unless the truth was ascertained before their arrival, there was a risk that he would be held responsible, so he earnestly requested an explanation.
The situation abruptly grew tense in multiple overlapping dimensions after a Foreign Affairs Division officer leaked that Mr.Doran had come pleading and entreating in an exceedingly deferential manner—stating he wished to be introduced to either the Prosecutor of this city's court or the Police Chief if his demands went unmet.
Even Chief Yamaguchi—known for his steady and mild-mannered nature—was somewhat flustered by this.
If they did not resolve the truth of this elusive case within two or three days at most, the situation was developing in such a way that it would not only concern the prestige of the Japanese police but also risk entangling them in troublesome international issues through procrastination—so they could no longer remain idle.

However, fortunately, Prosecutor Gabō—who had been involved in this S Cape Incident from the very beginning—was both from the same hometown as the police chief and shared a close relationship with him; thus, a path forward was discovered there.
Chief Yamaguchi—after secretly meeting with Prosecutor Gabō that very night and engaging in extensive discussions—ultimately decided they should first hear expert opinions regarding the so-called “tattoos” before determining a course of action.
Be that as it may, the fact that such bizarre documents were central to a gathering comprised solely of tattooed individuals was strange indeed.
Moreover, given how Old Man Tōsaku stubbornly refused to speak when it came to matters of “tattoos,” they had recently come to agree that the key to unraveling the case’s secrets might lie hidden there… However, in a relatively small city like R City, there seemed to be no such person as a tattoo researcher.
Of course, since they had no concrete leads to speak of, it was decided that—as a provisional measure—they should summon Dr.Inuta, a professor of forensic medicine at R University who was well-acquainted with the police chief as his elementary school classmate, and hear his opinion…

Upon returning from his business trip and shortly after hearing the detailed account from Police Chief Yamaguchi, Dr. Inuta, the forensic medicine professor, found himself sympathizing with the position of his old friend, who, having reached old age, was engaged in such strenuous duties.

“How fortunate you’ve come at precisely the right moment. I’ve long considered researching tattoos from a forensic medicine perspective. Researching and systematizing tattoos from both national and occupational perspectives is a highly challenging yet invaluable task—indeed I currently possess one volume each by German and French authorities on the subject—but hearing your account makes me believe Mr. Roscoe’s research approaches my ideal conception. In any case, I had no inkling such an ardent tattoo scholar resided nearby—I must absolutely accompany you to examine those tattoo research documents comprising Mr. Roscoe’s legacy.”

Thus that very day, he appeared at R Police Station and, in the presence of Prosecutor Gabō, Examining Magistrate Ichikawa, Chief Yamaguchi, Special Higher Police officers, and the judicial affairs chief, was shown bromide photographs of the tattoos remaining on the corpses of S Cape Incident victim Madame Marie and suicide victim Mr. Roscoe—which had been stored at R Station—and conducted an exceedingly meticulous comparative study.
Next, after meticulously examining through a magnifying glass the documents and photographs retrieved from the Roscoe household’s Japanese-made safe—peering closely at every detail—and finally opening the silver box containing tattoo tools; sniffing and even tasting the small vials of alcohol and cocaine packed in its corner; then dissolving indigo ink from a small silver case engraved with “India Rubber” into cocaine and smearing it on the back of his hand—following this fervent investigation that consumed considerable time—Dr. Inuta, having tousled his salt-and-pepper hair, smoothed his goatee, and adjusted the collar of the maroon frock coat draped over his emaciated frame, flushed crimson with humility.

“Even I could provide an explanation of this level, but…”

With a beaming smile, he repeatedly wiped his nearsighted glasses and cleared his throat to address the group.

“This is indeed a most valuable collection of documents, isn’t it? These documents all pertained to the collaborative research between Mr. Roscoe’s late father, M.A. Roscoe, and J.P. Roscoe—who had now taken his own life—focused on tattoo techniques and categorized by country and profession. I believe that were this manuscript to be published, it would have undoubtedly become one of the world’s foremost authoritative research texts on tattoos.”

“According to the preface at the beginning, approximately two-thirds of the entire collection pertained to photographs amassed by his father, M.A. Roscoe, and their accompanying descriptions, while the remaining third at the end constituted the work of his son, J.P. Roscoe.”
“At the end of each entry were appended the investigation date and signatures of either the Roscoe father and son or specially commissioned contributors.”

According to the preface, his father, M.A. Roscoe—a close relative of Sir Roscoe, a chemist from X Country—had served as a diplomat simultaneously trusted by both the renowned statesman Lord G and his political rival Lord S.
The career of this M.A. Roscoe saw him transferred through posts such as second- and third-class secretary in Spain, Turkey, Chile, Japan, and so forth before finally assuming the position of consul in China and Hong Kong. During this time, as a personal pursuit, he collected photographs and literature on tattoos to the fullest extent possible. Moreover, he conducted hands-on research with tattoo technicians in each region, ultimately documenting—with precise examples one after another—the conclusion that Chinese and Japanese techniques stood as the world’s finest. This had to be recognized as an astonishingly earnest scholarly pursuit.

——The very first entry displays a photograph taken in 1886 of Count Floriani from Romanian royalty, after which the investigation that was subsequently undertaken spans approximately forty long years up to the present day, with a note recorded that in 1919, Mr. J.P. Roscoe assumed responsibility for the research following his father’s death.

The photograph of Tōsaku’s tattoo in question appears to be quite old.
The date is April 1904, and the tattooing technique is entirely Japanese-style—moreover, the designs strictly adhere to methods from the Tokugawa period within twenty years of the Meiji Restoration. Therefore, it stands to reason that Tōsaku must have been well acquainted with the late Mr. Roscoe.

——The tattoos remaining on the corpse of the son, Mr. J.P. Roscoe—excluding those engraved on his left upper arm—depicted the Battle of Salamis across his entire back, with ancient warships, surging waves, and deities soaring through the sky all rendered through extremely fine lines executed in uniform black without shading or gradients.
Judging from the intermittent quality of those thin lines, this clearly belonged to an antiquated method—unfamiliar with cocaine usage even by foreign standards—making it conceivable that his father, Mr. M.A. Roscoe, might have performed the tattooing himself as practice.

——Next, there was a particularly fascinating detail.
It was none other than this.
The tattoo on the left upper arm of Mr.J.P.Roscoe—who had died by suicide—and those covering Madame Marie’s entire body showed no correspondence whatsoever in technique.
That said, their designs were entirely different.
The one on Mr.Roscoe’s left arm was of a type common among sailors—an anchor combined with a sea serpent.
In contrast, Madame Marie’s tattoos—gentle flowers and stars among other motifs—appeared to have employed cocaine for localized numbing, utilizing far denser and sharper lines than those on Mr.Roscoe’s back. The designs, distorted through modern artistic techniques, shared a commonality in their use of clouds, stars, and elements bearing the distinctive essence of post-Impressionism—curves brimming with expressiveness and irregular straight lines. Observing this, one might conclude these were manifestations of demands born either from young Mr.Roscoe’s perverse fixation on his wife’s physique or from Madame Marie’s own masochistic inclinations toward her husband.
As a result, it seemed reasonable to infer that such an extraordinary procedure had been performed on this young Western woman.
In short, had not Mr.Roscoe’s left arm tattoo served as his experimental study of modern cocaine ink methods before applying them to Madame Marie?

“In order to verify the aforementioned facts, might I be permitted to meet with the currently detained old man Tōsaku just once? ...as I have some questions I would particularly like to ask him myself.”

As Prosecutor Gabō, Judge Ichikawa, Chief Yamaguchi, and all the others listened to Dr.Inuta’s explanation, they felt themselves momentarily roused from the uncanny nightmare veiling the case’s surface—only to be plunged once more into an even more terrifying nightmare. And so, everyone—having for the first time come to know the greatness of Dr.Inuta’s intellect, which had until then remained entirely unknown to the world—were both astonished and began to feel respect; thus, it was said that they now wished to grant Dr.Inuta slightly more freedom to take charge, at least in this particular case.

Old Man Tōsaku, who had been dragged out to the chief’s office, appeared to be quite advanced in years. Yet he seemed to have endured considerable hardship in his youth—the skeletal frame swathed in the oil company’s emblem-printed work jacket and traditional work pants remained robust, his physique thoroughly muscular though seemingly better nourished than the average person. With handcuffs still on and eyes closed in resignation, he was made to sit in the chair facing Dr.Inuta. Raising his fearsome eyes brimming with vigor, he fixed a piercing gaze on the doctor’s face before quietly shutting his eyelids once more. When one observed his square-cut silver hair in abundance, his gorilla-like narrow forehead with brush-stiff stubble, his thick bushy longevity eyebrows, and his lips pressed shut in a rigid line, it indeed seemed no wonder suspicion had fallen upon him—these features revealed a wild, obstinate character.

However, Dr. Inuta remained unfazed.
While deflecting Old Man Tōsaku's fearsome glare with his trademark gentle smile—the sort that radiated kindness—he lit an Asahi cigarette and clamped it straight between his lips.
Then lighting another for himself and clamping it likewise, he smiled again while pushing his chair forward.

“Old man.”
“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”
“I know you’re innocent.”
“So now that it’s come to this, wouldn’t it be better to lay everything bare and speak the whole truth?”
“I think that would be for the best for your daughter and her husband. How about it?”
“Won’t you tell me everything about the Roscoe family’s secrets?”
“Mr. Roscoe committed suicide right after that, you see.”

Before Dr.Inuta had even finished speaking, old man Tōsaku let the cigarette he’d been puffing away at so contentedly drop between his knees.
Upon learning of Mr.Roscoe’s suicide, he seemed utterly shocked—his complexion rapidly turned pale, and the muscles of his face began to twitch spasmodically.
Tears streamed down from his tightly closed eyes as he hung his head, then he pressed his lips together even more firmly than before.
Seeing this attitude, Dr.Inuta leaned forward further on one knee.

“Look here, Tōsaku, old man.
“The Roscoe family had been tattoo-obsessed madmen starting with the late patriarch, but the current young Mr.Roscoe was an even more extreme specimen than his predecessor.
“That madness infected Mrs.Marie before you knew it—but you were sworn to absolute silence about all this by the Roscoes, weren’t you?
“You first met the late Mr.Roscoe around the Russo-Japanese War era, then served his household ever since—correct?
“Just like with the father, they gagged you about the tattoos—so you vowed never to spill their secrets while serving them, all for your daughter’s marital happiness—am I wrong?
“We’ve uncovered every detail already—concealment serves no purpose.
“...Old man...”

Old Man Tōsaku let out a deep sigh amidst the doctor’s continuing words.
In a grating tone with a hoarse yet resonant voice—after drawing deeply on the Asahi cigarette the judicial officer had put back between his lips—he began to speak.
With wide-open eyes characteristic of an honest man’s frank gaze fixed directly upon Dr. Inuta...

“Right.”
“Understood.”
“As for why Young Master Roscoe passed away... Hmm... If that’s how it stands, then there’s naught to be done.”
“I’ll confess everything.”
“Right...”

“I may not look it now, but I’m an Edokko through and through—my registered domicile bein’ Kanda’s — Town — Number here in Tokyo. I was born the child of a cook at Yaohisa—right famous in those parts—and from a young’un, just like that, I took to mimickin’ my folks and got doted on by Yaohisa’s head chef… Yes. But then,”
“When folks get a mite too handy at their craft… well… *heh heh*… they start swellin’ up with themselves, don’t they? I tumbled right into that pit—drinkin’, gamblin’, whorin’, just like the old tales warn. Got so I couldn’t stick ’round Japan no more. So off I went to Shanghai, fixin’ to learn foreigner cookin’ and make my mark. That’d’ve been right ’fore the First Sino-Japanese War, I reckon.”
“I’d meant to sail to Shanghai, but wound up in Hong Kong by mistake… Heh.”
“Whether I took the wrong ship or the ship wronged me, can’t rightly say, but either way, I got dumped in Hong Kong and was proper stuck.”

“But what you’d call the world’s a strange thing—you never know what’ll bring happiness. Just before headin’ off to China, thinkin’ I’d better not get mistaken for no Chinaman once I arrived, I had this Yokohama artisan called Horitatsu cover me head-to-toe in these unsightly marks you see here. But damned if those very marks didn’t speak up in Hong Kong—had folks peggin’ me as a half-baked ruffian, if you’ll pardon the expression. It was... hmm... somethin' like endin' up workin' in the kitchens of a modest little restaurant...”

“But then again—might I call it the inborn fate I was saddled with? When I’d gotten Chinese and Western cookin’ under my belt—startin’ to make something of a name—that old itch for the three vices I told ya ’bout came crawlin’ back… And those vices over there, see, they bit different from home—meaner, hungrier. Could chew a man up ’fore he knew what hit him. Wasn’t long ’fore I got caught in some hellish rigged game, cleaned out proper. Spite made me flip that damn table right over in their den.”
“Tore their scam apart for all to see, but what’s one man against a pack? Tussled with a dozen-odd foreign toughs and Chinamen—ended up near-dead in that basement stinkhole.”

“But then again—could this be what they call divine aid? As fate would have it, there was an unusual gentleman—the great Master Roscoe, Hong Kong consul—who’d been disguising himself to frequent that gambling den for tattoo research. He paid a king’s ransom to buy my life and made me his household cook… Hmm.”
“Could this be what you’d call fate?”
“I resigned myself completely then—vowed to serve great Master Roscoe my whole life through.”
“Though after grilling me about Horitatsu’s work in Yokohama and photographing my tattoos, he declared, ‘You’re of no more use.’”
“‘Leave if you want,’ he said—even gave me passage money back to Japan. But once I fix on something, I’m stubborn as a mule… Around then—she’d have been five or six—Miss Marie took such a shine to me she’d cling-cling-cling and never let go. However much she wailed, showing my inked back always hushed her tears. So… I stayed on for good… Heh.”

“The Young Master Roscoe who committed suicide was an adopted son. Now around that time, there was this Mr. James who’d been serving as what they call a consulate secretary—a graduate of C University, they say. Being fond of painting, he came to be favored by the late Mr. Roscoe and assisted with colorin’ those tattoo photographs. As he did so, he gradually grew fascinated with tattoos himself—or so the story goes. Well, Miss Marie fell head over heels for this Mr. James, till even the great master Roscoe was put to shame by it all. When he came to know of their relationship, he went and rejected every last one o’ those unavoidable marriage proposals that came pourin’ in… But sirs—beggin’ your pardon—Westerners’ way o’ lovin’ is a right peculiar thing, ain’t it?”
“It is rather peculiar.”
“The more they fell in love, the more it seemed to border on madness. After the father passed away, when the young couple relocated here, they brought all sorts of tools and materials with two servants in tow, built this Anna Bathhouse at the S Cape mansion—what they meant to do with it, I couldn’t fathom (...)—and though I found it all rather comical to watch, I endured my service thinking it was both repayment to the late master and for my daughter and her husband’s sake… Yes…”

“The daughter I spoke of is currently running a billiard parlor in R City.”
“A Hong Kong-born twenty-five-year-old this year—though it may be unbecoming for a parent to say—she’s a steady sort who takes after her late mother.”
“As for the husband I speak of, he is one year younger than my daughter and is currently studying as a fourth-year student at R University, with the intention of becoming a doctor at S.L. Hospital.”
“According to that adopted son’s account—though I don’t know if you’re aware—this Mrs. Marie of S Cape here has Irish blood from her mother’s side, if I may say so.”
“In R City’s student circles, she was said to be quite the celebrated beauty—so much so that not just university students, but even impudent middle schoolers would often row out their school boats on Sundays, docking at this S Cape to come gawking in droves. Each time, chasing them off fell to me, and those middle schoolers were nothing but noisy brats, just like stray cats.”
“Occasionally there’d be some rascals outside the curtains rattling the windowpanes while Young Master Roscoe and Madam sat facing each other over their meal, but when that happened, the first to fly out in anger wasn’t the young master nor myself.”
“It was always Madam Marie—she was an extremely strong-willed person, if I may say so.”
“There were times she’d go mad-like, pulling out a pistol to fire at students fleeing along the shore—brazenly for a woman—but Madam’s pistol skills were quite masterful, if I may say so.”
“In Hong Kong, she often attended shooting meets or such events—to the extent that she had even won a large silver cup—so she must have been quite skilled indeed.”
“I was astonished by how she would shoot at the fleeing students’ feet, kick sand over their heads, or even shoot off the metal fittings of boats rocking at the water’s edge.”
“The students seemed to lose their nerve after such incidents and gradually stopped coming to tease, but whenever this happened, Young Master Roscoe would turn deathly pale, cling to the dining table, and tremble violently—the whole situation was completely backwards.”
“It may sound like a lie… but it’s absolutely true… if I may.”
“Given how things were, I believe the Young Master Roscoe’s suicide stemmed from genuine despair over Madam’s passing—but things took a dreadful turn… Due entirely to my own carelessness, it became irreparable, and I’ve no face left to show the late Mr. Roscoe, if I may say so.”

“The only puzzling thing is that it was a moonlit night that evening. At that time, I was severely scolded by the masters—‘There couldn’t have been a moon out!’—but after being thrown into this detention cell and seeing the crescent moon through the window covering, counting on my fingers confirmed it should’ve been a moonless night… Yet it’s also true that on that very evening, I saw a perfectly round, glaring moon through the pine needles in that grove. As proof it wasn’t a dream—how else could someone like me, an old man, have passed through that pitch-dark Pine Grove without snagging on anything and slept atop that treacherous Rocky Outcrop? Since the partially drunk sake bottle was still standing right there, I must conclude I truly did rely on the moonlight… but this alone is utterly, utterly baffling, if I may say so.”

“No.”
“Not at all.”
“In all my years, I’ve never once been addled by sleep.”
“No one’s ever heard so much as a word of sleep-talking from me… Call it strange if you will, but there’s nothing this peculiar about it.”
“Moreover, the exhaustion the next day and the peculiar severity of my headache were unlike anything I’d experienced before—the strange smell and taste in my mouth felt as if I’d suffered a grave illness. Even after being brought here, food wouldn’t pass down my throat.”
“Right…”
“This was entirely different from a mere hangover… Right…”
“How could I ever commit such an outrageous act as killing the Roscoe couple—the precious children of my great benefactor?”
“There’s no doubt Mr. and Mrs. Roscoe possessed considerable assets, but where and how those might be located holds no connection to me—nor do I have any knowledge of such matters.”

"I may be seventy-one this year, but I’ve not yet grown so senile as to fail grasping how utterly absurd—how it doesn’t add up on the abacus—it would be to disgrace my daughter and adopted son’s entire lives with such an act… Heh… Please… I earnestly beg your forgiveness…"

After Old Man Tōsaku—having finished his tale—smoked another cigarette, was treated to a cup of hot tea, and left the chief’s office, the police chief, somewhat red-faced, ventured to ask Dr. Inuta for his opinion on the entire case.
As this occurred, the assembled judges, Special Higher Police officers, and judicial personnel also seemed to begin paying deference to Dr. Inuta’s opinion—their eyes gleaming as they held their breath.

However, Dr. Inuta did not say much at this time.

“This may turn out to be a surprisingly ordinary case. In any case, as long as it’s not inconvenient, might I trouble you to show me the scene once more on a day that suits you? There are a few things I’d like to verify now, and we might uncover something that could serve as a useful reference…”

“Then do you have any leads regarding the culprit…?”

From the sidelines, the Judicial Personnel interjected. The zealous Judicial Personnel, while observing the exchange between Dr. Inuta and Tōsaku, seemed to shift his perspective on the case completely and began working his mind from an entirely new angle. His sharp, vivid eyes gleamed.

However, Dr. Inuta did not rush to a conclusion.
He closed his eyes and shook his head as if organizing his thoughts.

“No—
“It remains unclear.”
“However, this is merely stating an impression derived from medical reasoning based on my initial meeting with Old Man Tōsaku, so I must ask you not to accept it unconditionally—but it does seem the old man has no connection to this incident.”

“As for this hypothetical basis you refer to…”

The judicial officer pressed sharply.
But Dr. Inuta remained composed.
He stayed properly seated in his chair, merely surfacing a faint, enigmatic smile.

“It’s the full moon Tōsaku saw on the last day of the month.”

The following day—210 days prior—was overcast, with both the open sea and inland sea lying in an unbroken sluggish calm.

The motorboat carrying Dr. Inuta, Prosecutor Gabō, Judge Ichikawa, Chief Yamaguchi, the Judicial Personnel, two plainclothes Special Higher Police officers, and a newspaper reporter who had swiftly caught wind of the case departed R City’s wharf and surged toward S Cape across the gently undulating inland sea. Incidentally, the aforementioned two Special Higher Police officers had vehemently opposed allowing the newspaper reporter into this investigation; however, Dr. Inuta and Chief Yamaguchi—who trusted the reporter—guaranteed that not a single line would appear in print, thereby barely securing consent for his inclusion aboard. One reason was likely also that everyone feared provoking the reporter’s displeasure might invite harsh retaliation elsewhere.

Before arriving at S Cape, Dr.Inuta gathered as detailed information as possible regarding the geography of S Cape and the layout of the Roscoe residence by referring to a 1:50,000 scale map from the General Staff Office and a sketch provided by the Judicial Personnel.

Dr.Inuta asked the driver to dock the motorboat at the base of the Rocky Outcrop in question located at the tip of S Cape and had the group disembark there.
Then he stood on the grassy plateau atop the Rocky Outcrop where Tōsaku had reportedly drunk sake while watching the waves, and put on aviator goggles with thick, dark glass lenses so dense they were nearly indistinguishable from the darkness of night.
After carefully surveying his surroundings, he alone descended along the precarious rock edges down to the water’s edge.
Then, raising and lowering his posture while gingerly feeling for footholds to explore around the Rocky Outcrop, he finally seemed satisfied, removed his goggles, and beckoned the group over.
Then, putting on the black glasses once more, he briskly made his way through the Pine Grove strewn with scattered rocks to Tōsaku’s quarters behind the Roscoe residence. After meticulously examining the interior of the door, he let out another small sigh of satisfaction and wiped his sweat.

“There are no signs of the door having been locked.”
“The latch ring is badly rusted.”
“Tōsaku had been going to bed without locking the door every night, hadn’t he?”

The judicial personnel nodded.
The group surrounded Dr. Inuta.

“It is by no means difficult to walk from this house to that rocky cape in total darkness. A relatively wide gap runs straight through the scattered rocks in the Pine Grove. Please put on these black glasses and see. This is a newly invented device I ordered an optician to create—when applied to investigating incidents that occurred at night during daylight hours, it performs rather delicate functions.” He chuckled. “Ah, no—it’s not something worthy of a patent, but observe. To the naked eye, it cannot quite be discerned, but through these lenses it becomes apparent. From that Rocky Outcrop to these scattered stones here, you can perceive a faintly whitish glowing path.” He gestured with academic precision. “This results from overlapping traces of human passage—hence why such markings remain absent in the Pine Grove behind the privy where none ordinarily tread.” Since this wear extended to the rocky shore beyond the outcrop, these subtle reflections of celestial light proved paradoxically undetectable by day. “The deeper the darkness,” he continued, “the more distinctly they manifest.” Thus Old Man Tōsaku—and indeed all Roscoe household members—had traversed that outcrop countless times regardless of hour, descending to wave-lapped rocks below until instinct alone could guide them through shuttered eyes. Yet Tōsaku, having forgotten this ingrained familiarity, clung fiercely to his conviction that navigating Pine Grove and scaling that outcrop in true pitch-dark night defied possibility—hence his adamant testimony.

When one carefully considers these points, it becomes possible to suspect that Old Man Tōsaku may have been anesthetized on the night of the incident. Explaining brain function here would take time—but given Tōsaku’s heavy drinking habits, even if one intended to administer sufficient—nay ample—anesthesia, medical science tells us only about half might have taken effect. In a half-awake state, one like Tōsaku often sees vivid moons and suns or experiences semi-conscious somnambulism. Tōsaku’s own physical and mental fatigue, lethargy, headache, strange odors in his mouth and nasal cavity, and unpleasant tastes from the following morning all serve to corroborate this line of reasoning—thus ultimately, Tōsaku’s somnambulism…the full moon he claimed to have seen on that moonless last-night-of-the-month darkness and the silver great tidal waves not only establish his absence from the crime scene but simultaneously provide crucial evidence regarding the culprit’s methodology.

“Therefore, the culprit was likely targeting Mr. Roscoe’s absence.”
“After anesthetizing Tōsaku—who lay drunk and asleep in this room—if one were to don tabi socks and traverse along the plastered eaves to circle around to the entrance, neither footsteps would be heard nor footprints left.”
“Even if by some chance Mrs. Marie were to raise an alarm, wouldn’t the culprit have calculated that it was merely a single woman…?”
“Of course, this is still merely within the realm of my conjecture...”

The judicial officer, who had been impatiently awaiting a pause in Dr. Inuta’s explanation, drew his sword hilt closer with some excitement.

“……Then…according to your conjecture…since this culprit uses anesthetics and possesses a universal key…they must be a formidable individual indeed.”

Dr. Inuta waved his hand lightly and laughed.

“Ha ha ha. Ah, no— Since we haven’t yet seen inside the room, it’s too early to draw conclusions. At present, what have been confirmed are only two things: that Tōsaku is not the culprit, and that the likely culprit has become accustomed to using anesthetics. But are there any traces of such a culprit having been active in this area?”

The judicial officer hesitated slightly in his response and looked at the chief’s face.
The Chief nodded magnanimously.

“Hmm.”
“If it’s that fellow, his movements seem a mite too quick...”
“Just studying this house’s perimeter and comings-and-goings should take a week... But if it’s him...”

“Please wait.”

Dr.Inuta promptly raised his hand to stop them.

“Wait a little longer until more evidence surfaces about the culprit.”
“We must research this thoroughly to see if it perfectly matches the perpetrator... There shouldn’t be a single fingerprint... Anywhere...”

The Chief widened his eyes wordlessly and stared at Dr. Inuta’s face.
At the same instant, the judicial officer gasped and froze rigid.
Then both men, like children transfixed, kept their gazes locked on Dr. Inuta’s face as they nodded.
This was that breathless instant—charged with raw tension—when the culprit teetered on the brink of being unmasked.

According to what I later heard, throughout the entire incident, there had been no moment when the Chief and the judicial officer were as utterly dumbfounded as at this instant.
Of course, Dr. Inuta had not yet inspected the house's interior, but having deduced from the Chief's initial report that no fingerprints remained—a conclusion he reached through rough surmise—he had casually uttered these words. At that juncture, among the culprit's characteristics envisioned by the Chief and the judicial inspector, one item prominently noted in the circulated warrants read: "Leaves no fingerprints under any circumstances." Thus when Dr. Inuta's remark struck this precise point with the suddenness of an ambush, both men were said to have felt reverence akin to that reserved for deities.

Next, Dr. Inuta—under the sharp-eyed scrutiny of several specialists—examined the entrance door confirmed as the culprit’s entry route but found nothing new, then proceeded to the bedroom door immediately adjacent.

“There are no signs of a universal key having been used on this door.”

The Examining Magistrate and the Chief Inspector nodded simultaneously.
Dr. Inuta nodded and smiled.

“Mrs. Marie, feeling secure with just the entrance key that Mr. Roscoe had taken with him, had gone to sleep without locking this door—it seems.”
“Mrs. Marie was strong-willed even in such matters... To put it bluntly, one might even consider her daring to the point of being unladylike—a boldness surpassing men’s... What do you think?”

This time, the Examining Magistrate and the two from the Tokkō Section nodded simultaneously.
The Examining Magistrate stated quietly.

"In the key ring under Mrs. Marie’s bed, there were two keys that fit this door."
"However, the key ring discovered in Mr. Roscoe’s corpse’s pocket contained no key for this door."

While listening to these explanations, Dr. Inuta firmly closed the bedroom door and peered through the keyhole.
Estimating the position on the blue-painted door surface opposite his kneeling knees, he vigorously scattered aluminum powder for fingerprint detection—until discovering overlapping scalene triangular patterns of coarse skin folds slightly below where Dr. Inuta’s knees had been. Clearly pleased by this discovery, he repeatedly wiped the crimson sweat from his flushed forehead while issuing instructions to the group.

“This culprit is Japanese after all.”
“After all, unless one were Japanese, there couldn’t be a criminal who exposes their knees like this.”
“However, appearing rather short—when he squatted to peer through this keyhole—he inadvertently pressed his kneecap against this very spot.”
“I believe the culprit himself has likely forgotten it in his unconsciousness…”

The Chief wiped his sweat with a deep sigh that seemed tinged with relief.
He glanced back at Prosecutor Gabō and said.

“This is exactly why I’m always saying they should establish a forensics department here in R City too.”

The group, each seeming to share the sentiment, nodded in agreement.

Soon after, Dr. Inuta entered the bedroom. After conducting a detailed examination of the bed—its top, bottom, and surroundings—which remained in the same state as at the time of the incident save for the removal of the corpse, he glanced back at the prosecutor and said:

“Was the lamp cord used at that time the one from this small stand lying under the bed?”

From the side, the Judicial Officer interjected and answered.

“That’s correct.”
“I have brought it here.”

As he said this, he took out the newspaper-wrapped cord from the medium-sized suitcase he had brought with him.

“Are the bends and such in the cord where the culprit grasped it with his hand still as they were at that time?”

“That’s correct.”
“I took particular care to preserve that point…”

An indescribable look of satisfaction appeared on Dr. Inuta’s face.

“That’s most commendable.”
“Let me take a look…”

As he said this, Dr. Inuta received the cord with ceremonious care but immediately turned back to the judicial officer.

“Was this rolled up once?”

“No, twice.”
“As you can see, the blood Mrs. Marie expelled has adhered in three places.”
“The area where these bloodstains perfectly overlap corresponds to the thickness of Mrs. Marie’s neck, you understand…”

“Precisely… I see.”
“Then it follows that the culprit stealthily rolled it twice while Mrs. Marie slept before abruptly initiating the strangulation.”

“That’s correct… Therefore we acknowledge it as premeditated murder…”

Dr. Inuta placed one foot on the edge of the now-inspected bed and coiled the cord twice around the slender area above his ankle.
Gripping the section bent by the culprit’s force exactly as it was, he twisted it tightly.
When the centers of the three bloodstains adhering to the cord reached perfect alignment, he glanced back at the prosecutor with a tense expression.

"...This culprit is indeed a small man, isn't he? Judging from how force was applied starting at this cord's bend, his shoulder width appears narrower than that of an average person. Both old Tōsaku and Mr. Roscoe have exceptionally broad shoulders, you see. Even among Japanese people—let alone Westerners—shoulders this narrow would be exceedingly rare."

"Why didn't he use an anesthetic?"

Prosecutor Gabō asked.
Dr. Inuta scratched his face with a bitter smile.

“Well.
That point is unclear even to me.
That is probably the most delicate point in this entire case.”

Then Dr. Inuta lifted the feather quilt that had been draped over the bed, meticulously examined every corner of the sheet’s surface with a magnifying glass, and summoned the police chief, prosecutor, judge, and judicial officer.
He pulled out tailor’s chalk from his trouser pocket and began drawing a large curve on the sheet before the four men’s eyes.

“Take a look. This area corresponds to Mrs.Marie’s neck. The blood that flowed from her mouth to her cheek has adhered here. Next, this yellow stain indicates where urination occurred after death. If we use these two points as reference to plot the corpse’s final position, it would form a configuration like this. In other words—while somewhat petite for a Western woman—her build was slightly larger than that of an average Japanese man… wouldn’t you agree?”

“That would have been the case.”

By the way, an extremely faint yellow stain had appeared here on the right side of Mrs. Marie’s buttocks.
This stain—unnoticed by anyone immediately after the incident—had discolored and become visible over several days of air exposure; it was believed that some form of Mrs. Marie’s bodily fluid, having come into contact with the culprit’s exposed right kneecap during the struggle, had been forcefully pressed against this spot without the culprit ever realizing it.
As for these two faintly dark stains near the hem here—judging from their shape—they appeared to be traces of dust that had adhered to the toes of the culprit’s tabi socks. However, these too had been pressed with such considerable force that they barely remained; they were nearly invisible to the naked eye.
“From measuring the dimensions of this right kneecap and the tip of the toe, we can determine that the culprit is a small man barely reaching five shaku [approximately five feet].”
“I will submit the formally calculated documents once I return, but…”

While explaining this, Dr. Inuta took out a small tape measure from his pocket, measured the distance between the pale yellow and faintly dark stains, and recorded it in his notebook.

Chief Yamaguchi, his forehead shining as though he could scarcely contain his joy, glanced at the judicial officer beside him.

“So it was him after all.”

“That’s correct.”
“There’s no mistake.”

The judicial officer also nodded with apparent satisfaction.

“Since he left no fingerprints whatsoever, I did consider the possibility that it might be him…”

“Hmm.”
“But that bastard wasn’t one to ever pull such reckless stunts… And not stealing a single thing—damned suspicious, ain’t it?”

“That’s correct.”
“Because of that, we were completely unable to establish an investigative direction.”
“Well, that actually saved us.”

“Since you all detained old man Tōsaku on your end, this many threads have come unraveled, you see.”
“If Tōsaku hadn’t failed to see the New Year’s Eve full moon, we still wouldn’t have been able to grasp the strongest lead—the anesthesia incident—you see.”
“Hahaha.”
“Oh, no.”
“Good work there.”

Prosecutor Gabō offered consolation.
Chief Yamaguchi, his face bright red, removed his hat and wiped his sweat.

“If you compare this knee print with the suspect’s own, you’ll finally understand.”
“Since it has the same value as fingerprints.”

While the judicial officer was engaged in hushed consultations with the prosecutor, judge, and police chief about something, he hurriedly left the Roscoe residence.
That was to borrow the telephone at Rinda Hospital in order to make arrangements without delay.

However, Dr.Inuta's activities had not yet concluded.

Then Dr.Inuta collaborated with two Tokkō officers to conduct an exhaustive search of the Roscoe residence's interior and exterior.
Through this effort, they reportedly discovered numerous important confidential documents concealed within the bathroom ceiling tiles' inner surfaces, though their contents remained unknowable.
Subsequent investigations nevertheless confirmed that the principal culprit behind the international espionage suspicions surrounding the Roscoe family until that time had indisputably been Mrs.Marie herself.
This meant Mrs.Marie Roscoe was an hereditary international spy who employed both her beauty and tattoos.
Examination revealed that connecting the unusually distorted portions of her back tattoo with straight lines formed a diagram of an antiquated fortress—stars positioned as watchtowers, flowers as artillery batteries, and clouds representing wooded areas.
Simultaneously, her husband Mr.Roscoe proved merely an accomplice—a technical artisan who stylized provided topographical maps into tattoo designs according to his wife's directives.
It must further be noted that the hired hand Tōsaku—apparently wholly ignorant of these affairs—had stubbornly maintained loyalty through gratitude to previous generations despite being exasperated by the Roscoe couple's perverse romantic antics that defied common sense; this understanding only emerged after multiple interrogations.

And as stated at the outset, such facts were entirely unrelated to the essential interest of this case.

Additionally, at this time, Dr. Inuta requested to receive—as reference materials for his research—only those portions of documents pertaining to the Roscoe family's tattoo research that were unrelated to the case; however, this was granted over a year and a half after the culprit's apprehension.

And regrettably, it must be noted that these materials were destroyed during the recent mysterious fire incident at R University's Department of Forensic Medicine.

The culprit was, as Dr.Inuta had surmised, a small man of just under five shaku and one sun (approximately five feet one inch). Two weeks prior to the S Cape Incident, Maya no Oto—real name Katamura Onkichi, thirty-seven years old, a repeat offender who had been wanted in the R City area after being released from a distant prison and rampaging across regions—was a notorious bandit specializing in using anesthesia on household members to quietly steal valuables. Six months after the S Cape Incident, he was arrested by a shrewd detective from the same city while carousing with a prostitute marked by old stains in the red-light district of a major metropolis approximately a hundred miles from R City.

According to his confession at that time, while eating tempura rice bowl at a certain udon shop in R City, Onkichi overheard middle schoolers—who had once gone to see Mrs. Marie—discussing the topography of S Cape, the architectural outline of the Roscoe residence, and their living conditions, leading him to conceive it as an ideal target.
As this occurred precisely on that Saturday evening, he entered the udon shop’s telephone booth, searched for the name of an oil stove dealer in the city, called the petroleum company where Mr. Roscoe was employed under that pretense, summoned an employee, and tested his ruse by stating, “I wish to meet Mr. Roscoe at his residence.”
Upon hearing the response—“Since Mr. Roscoe will not be returning home tonight, please come here”—he resolved not to let this opportunity slip, proceeding with no plan beyond this. He obtained enough anesthetic for two people, boldly stole two oars from a boat rental shop on R City’s coast, threaded two hand towels through the oarlocks to secure the oars, rowed under cover of darkness to the rocky point of S Cape, scaled the rocky outcrop as per the middle schoolers’ account and crept toward the Roscoe residence, first cutting the telephone and doorbell wires, then began administering anesthesia to the drunkenly slumbering Tōsaku—only to be shocked when the anesthetic proved unexpectedly ineffective.
He had used every last drop of the ether and chloroform he’d brought, finally thinking he’d achieved his objective.
So then—even if he had miscalculated—he resolved that it was merely a single woman of known stature and bravely picked the lock on the entrance door.

Then, aiming to sneak into his target study as he passed through the bedroom, the dim light of a single bulb dangling from the ceiling revealed Mrs. Marie’s sleeping form—prompting an odd impulse within him. When he detached the cord from the small bedside lamp and attempted to strangle her, underestimating her as a mere woman proved a grave miscalculation. He encountered astonishingly fierce resistance, and only after a frantic struggle did he finally achieve his aim.
In other words, only the initial speculation that "the culprit had broken in after thorough research" proved spectacularly incorrect, while all other aspects had been struck with considerable precision.
Therefore, Onkichi initially attempted to evade the capital murder charge by flatly denying any knowledge of the crime, but when confronted at the scene by the judicial officer—who interrogated him methodically about his actions during the offense and psychological state—and finally presented with matching evidence of the length imprinted on the sheets, shoulder width left on the lamp cord, and crease patterns from his kneecap, even Onkichi broke into a drenching sweat and admitted defeat.

“With your investigation having reached this point, playing innocent won’t do any good.”
“It must be the end of my luck.”
“It was undoubtedly me who killed the foreign bitch.”
“Up until now, I’ve never paid any mind to women outside my jobs—specializing in theft—but that night alone, I must’ve been possessed by some devil.”
“…Somehow that tattoo must’ve unsettled me… Under the dim electric light, next to her pure white, snow-like bare breasts, a vivid indigo flower petal floated up, and since she was breathing so peacefully, I ended up feeling this strange urge.”
“It was the ruin of my entire life.”
“Women… they really are demons after all… Heh heh…”

“The reason I fled without stealing anything was none other than this.”
“Right after I’d finished off that foreign bitch and was catching my breath—in the darkness beyond those deathly quiet glass windows where you couldn’t even hear waves—I faintly caught something like sandals dragging… a dry rustling sound.”
“I froze solid before I knew it.”
“Having killed someone for the first time—my mind must’ve snapped.”
“Don’t know why—just panicked something awful.”
In frantic haste I yanked off the ceiling’s parent-child bulb to kill the light, flipped up the hanging window drape, and pressed my forehead against the glass pane (Note: The forehead skin print left here had even escaped Dr.Inuta’s notice). Peering out—an unexpectedly hulking figure crossed before the white wall right under my nose—heading toward the caretaker’s room entrance… Then realizing this was none other than that white-haired caretaker old man—who should’ve been knocked out by double-dose anesthesia—felt like ice water cascading down my spine from crown to tailbone…
What’s more—when that same geezer emerged again from the entrance and passed along the white wall—looked like he gripped some pale gleaming blade… reversed in his hand like this… Arching backward with that half-undone sash dragging limp behind him—he glided priest-style into pitch-black pines… soundless…
“Seeing that—terror gripped me proper—left that foreign whore’s corpse sprawled—backed out through the entrance—scrambled up that rocky outcrop like mad… Just as I tried climbing down to my boat—a sudden ‘gurgle-gurgle’ snore erupted from nearby grass… Even my iron guts near leapt out my throat!”
“Came within a hair’s breadth of fainting.”
“Ducked into grass—peered through night-accustomed eyes… Sure enough—that same white-haired caretaker bastard I’d juiced up with drugs!”
“Turned out what looked like a reverse-gripped blade was just some white Seto sake bottle… But no courage left to double back.”
“Rowed like hell—when I figured we’d reached mid-sea and sighed relief—hair suddenly prickled upright… teeth chattering fit to shatter… Never felt fear like that since birth… Whole job reeked of devilry start to finish…”

“However, I find it most puzzling how you came to realize that I had administered anesthesia to that old man.”
“I believed that so long as this anesthesia matter remained undiscovered, there would be scarcely any suspicion falling upon me—I had taken every possible precaution… To avoid leaving traces, I used that old man’s used hand towel instead of cotton wool. His sleeping posture appeared no different from that of a drunkard. Both medicine bottles were discarded into the sea midway. There should have been no chance whatsoever of him recalling anything afterward. Yet your account speaks as though you witnessed it firsthand at the scene…”

he said, blinking his eyes rapidly.

However, where had Onkichi acquired such masterful techniques for administering anesthesia?
As for by what means he had obtained the drugs... this fact was regrettably overlooked.
At present, with all R Police Station staff from that time having been transferred and Dr.Inuta deceased, it appears there are no means available for the author to investigate this matter anew.

Old man Tōsaku was still alive.
He appeared to possess a somewhat simple, even dull-witted disposition, and despite being over ninety years old, it had recently been mentioned in a minor newspaper article that he was working as a cook at a certain hospital in R City, disregarding his daughter and her husband's admonishments.