Pathway to Japanese Literature

I. Preface

Along the tram street following the Outer Moat stood Yamanote Apartment, a three-story building.

The basement served as a garage for automobiles, while the second and third floors were apartments.
The rooms varied in size—tenants included offices of the Mōrō Company, a secretary from a foreign embassy, families of five members, single company employees, dancers sharing rooms in pairs, and a pale-faced obscure writer who spent his days scribbling away—such was the eclectic mix.

Tokyo Kinei actress Yamagami Misao was also one of the tenants of this apartment.
And it was also there that she recently met a mysterious death.

To put it simply, she had been strangled in her own room’s bed at Yamanote Apartment between 11 AM and 6 PM on Monday, March [X], Shōwa [X].
No direct clues had been discovered.

Since this was common knowledge, I decided to omit all details here—the state of the body when discovered, the police’s routine procedures—and proceeded directly to the testimonies of those involved.
By way of additional explanation—all these individuals had been taken into custody and interrogated on the very day the body was discovered.

II. Kamimura Susumu's Testimony

Kamimura Susumu was a muscular XX Club baseball player standing five feet nine inches tall, aged twenty-nine.
He was Misao's lover.
He responded to the investigating officer’s questioning with the following general account.

……………………………

“I went to Misao’s room around 10 AM.”
“I had informed her in advance by telephone about that matter.”

When I knocked, from inside came Misao’s voice: “The lock’s open—come in.” So I entered.

There happened to be a game at XX Stadium that day, so I was wearing my XX Club uniform. After removing my shoes in the porch and drawing the curtain aside, I found Misao lying on her back atop the bed. On days without filming, she usually slept until around noon as a matter of habit.

However, it seemed she had grown tired of sleeping and had been awake for some time—her eyes wide open as she stared into space, smoking a Bat cigarette. During her time at home, it had long been her custom to smoke tobacco almost without pause from morning until night. And her cigarettes were strictly Bat brand.

She had arranged with a local tobacconist to always buy fifty-cigarette boxes. Since opening each box and attaching filters individually was such a bother, she would open about five boxes at once, fit filters onto every cigarette, store them all in a box, and smoke them in rapid succession.

Of course, the room was filled with thick tobacco smoke that made one choke.

By the bedside stood a side table measuring about one by one and a half shaku—what you might call a night table, anyway a small table—on which sat a lamp with a pink shade and a tin tobacco set.
In the tobacco box were twenty to thirty Bat cigarettes with filters attached, left unwrapped as I mentioned earlier.
In the ashtray, Bat cigarette butts lay piled haphazardly like charred posts in a burned-out lot, smoke still rising vigorously from them.
And among those butts were five or six Shikishima ones.
Since she normally smoked nothing but Bat cigarettes, I found it strange there were Shikishima butts when I first looked.

Beside the tobacco set were small bottles of Narcopon and Scopolamine along with syringes.
Misao had started injecting Narcopon long ago and had become completely unable to stop.
Apparently it began when she saw friends doing it and tried it out of curiosity, but she had now become thoroughly addicted.

Then beside these drugs was a paper bag of mandarin oranges, though I believe the contents were mostly peels.
After a Narcopon injection, her throat would become unbearably dry - that's why she constantly ate mandarins.
I often marveled that her skin never turned yellow from all that citrus.

A carpet was laid on the floor. The carpet was soiled with dust, the unnecessarily long cord of the electric lamp coiled in loops, and all over it and around it were scattered scraps of paper and mandarin peels, along with what appeared to be two or three evening newspapers she had read before falling asleep the previous night. Misao was by nature a lazy, slovenly woman who wouldn’t clean until things became thoroughly filthy, so when she did clean, it was always a major production, like a regular household’s year-end cleaning.

As for the bed itself, its surface lay in utter disarray—strewn about were a Yuzen-dyed crepe silk underrobe with a torn hem, sashes, tabi socks, waist cords, and even her underskirt. The comforter was a new figured silk one she had recently acquired, but from beneath it, the blanket protruded and dangled limply down onto the carpet. I don’t know if I need to mention this, but that woman had a habit of sleeping completely naked when she went to bed. She said that even the smallest thing on her body would bother her and keep her from sleeping.

In the midst of that disordered room and disordered bed, Misao lay with her face burning bright red, alternately eating mandarins and smoking Bat cigarettes.
Her crimson complexion stemmed from the Narcopon injection.
After receiving those injections, it always turned out that way.
They said she entered a pleasant, dreamlike state during those times—invariably becoming excessively talkative.
Though truth be told, she’d always been chatty from the start.

When I entered the room, as I mentioned earlier, the Shikishima cigarette butts in the ashtray immediately caught my eye—it was because suspicion had arisen in me that someone might have come. There hadn’t been any particular change visible in her demeanor, yet somehow I’d recently developed this intuition that something about her seemed slightly off-kilter. Though I possess this robust physique of mine, I’m wretchedly prone to jealousy—to the point of personal embarrassment even—and what with her temperament, circumstances, and profession all considered... once doubts take root about her, there’s no shortage of material for suspicion.—And those Shikishima butts tormented me beyond endurance.

“Someone came by, didn’t they?”

I asked, standing stiff as a pole by the bed.
Of course, I had tried to force myself to feign a perfectly calm attitude as if nothing were wrong.

“No,” she said, removing the Bat cigarette from her mouth before speaking for the first time.
“No one’s coming. Why do you ask?”

This was the first word uttered from her mouth that day.
It felt off.
She’s usually gentler.
I can’t quite put it into words, but she normally wraps me in a much softer tone.
But today, from the very start, she was prickly and curt, almost as if she were snapping at me.

“I’m not saying it’s bad if someone came over,” I began haltingly after a pause.
“Given your line of work, it’s only natural you’d have visitors all the time.”

I had said it without any particular intent, but whether my words had irritated Misao, she persistently kept silent and just kept smoking tobacco.
At a glance, it seemed as if she wasn’t listening to my words at all and was thinking about something entirely different.
Such things had often happened with her before.

"But," I continued, unable to suppress my mounting irritation.
"I want you to tell me everything exactly as it is without hiding anything."
"If you do that, I can understand anything and am prepared to endure it."
"When we live the way we do, having both sides suspect each other becomes unbearable."
"Because that's hell itself."

The words "am prepared to endure it" carried the implication that even if Misao had another man, I would tolerate it provided she confessed openly.
I can't say whether I truly could have endured such a situation, but in that moment, that's how I felt.

Misao appeared to flare up slightly at my words, tucking a cushion under her shoulder and propping her upper body up at an angle.
As I mentioned earlier, she always slept completely naked without even nightclothes, so when she sat up, her shoulders and upper arms became fully exposed outside the futon.
The aftermath of Narcopon injections on her upper arms remained as black spots spread across them, soot-blackened like ink spilled over mandarins and hastily wiped away.
When I saw this, even as her lover, I couldn’t help feeling repulsed and averted my eyes.

“If I say no one came, you should just believe me, shouldn’t you?” she retorted with an edge of resentment.
“Is what I say truly so untrustworthy to you?”
“Well, when you’re in this actress trade, you never know what sort of visitors might turn up at any hour.”
“I’ll grant you that much as a caveat.”
“But today, no one’s come.”
“What could I possibly gain by lying to you about visitors?”

Having said this, she turned sideways, assumed a haughty air, and picked up a Bat again.

“But you only smoke Bat, don’t you?”

I couldn’t take my eyes off the Shikishima cigarette butts in the ashtray right before me, and before I knew it, those words had slipped out.
The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them, but there was no taking them back.

At that moment, Misao’s eyes glinted sharply.
She must have thought I was someone who utterly despised her.
Under Narcopon’s influence, she contorted her flushed face with calculated artifice and laughed shrilly.
That laugh seemed to seep into my gut.
Because the cowardly words I’d spoken were shameful.

“Ah, so you’re suspicious because there are Shikishima cigarette butts here—how very Sherlock Holmes of you?”
“Well, it’s not like I’ve sworn to God I’d never touch Shikishima again or anything.”
“If they somehow ended up in my sleeve or if someone forgot them here, it’d be a waste to just toss them out,” she said eloquently.
Then she let out an exaggerated yawn, muttered “What a troublesome boy you are” under her breath, and looked at my face while laughing.

To be honest, I was startled that she laughed. I’d expected at least some anger, but seeing her laughter then, there wasn’t the slightest trace of irritation about her. As I stood there flustered, she went on speaking.

“Since you’re being such a good boy, why don’t you go home already today? You’ve got a game, haven’t you? Practice must be starting soon. Wouldn’t do to make errors on the field because you’re thinking about me now, would it?”

As she said this, she turned slightly sideways as if out of consideration and reached out her hand.
I completely composed myself, kissed her hand, and left.

Then I went to the ballpark, but on the way there, I kept thinking, “Misao really does love me. She loves only me. I’m sorry for having doubted that unnecessarily. I’ll stop by on my way back after the game to apologize.”

After the game ended, I told everyone I had business to attend to, parted ways with them, hailed a taxi, and rushed straight to Misao’s room.
At the stairway landing I encountered Ueda Yoshiko but—too distracted—I rushed straight past her toward that woman’s room without registering what was said between us.

I knocked but got no answer, so when I pushed the door, it opened. Inside was dim yet still without any lights on. When I twisted the switch, she seemed to be sleeping with a quilt pulled over her head. Thinking to startle her, I took off my shoes and crept to the bedside—just as I was about to reach out to shake her awake, I saw her ghostly pale forehead peeking from the blanket’s edge. She was already cold and dead.

The events that followed are as you all already know.
When I left before eleven o'clock, Misao was indeed alive.
And when I returned before six o'clock, she was already dead.
There can be no doubt about it.

III Murai Tamotsu’s Testimony

Murai Tamotsu was the editor-in-chief of the film magazine *Cinema Times*, aged thirty-four years old. Through his work involving magazine articles, he had frequented Tokyo Kinei’s studios and become acquainted with Yamagami Misao, with whom he had entered into a romantic relationship approximately six months prior.

…………………………

I went to Yamagami’s place a little before ten o’clock.
When I knocked, she opened the door after about five minutes.
Perhaps having been roused from sleep, she seemed slightly flustered.
Still wearing her long underrobe haphazardly with its thin cords untied, she opened the door, then—while I was taking off my shoes in the porch—immediately retreated to bed and dove back under the covers completely naked.
The room’s condition matched what that Kamimura fellow described in his testimony.
It was horrendously cluttered.

As I dragged out the wicker chair that had been pushed into the corner and tried to sit down, she hurriedly spoke to me in a low voice.

“Right now, a fan of the baseball player called and said they’re coming over immediately, so sorry, but since the room next door is free, could you go wait there? It’s a well-lit, warm room, so please bear with it for a while. I’ll send them away soon.”

“I’d hate to overhear your amorous moments from next door,” I joked as I headed to the adjacent room. I could have just left then and there, but it felt too abrupt, so I decided to wait so we could meet properly later.

As I was leaving, she muttered to herself as if spitting out, "Ugh, I can’t stand this anymore." Surely she was irritated that our rendezvous had been interrupted by having to entertain some tedious fan.

Then within three minutes, I heard that baseball player knocking on Misao’s door.
Of course, I only learned later it was Kamimura.

Their conversation occasionally reached the adjacent room, but as I had no particular intention to eavesdrop, I don’t know what was said or what transpired.
Anyway, after about twenty minutes—having entered the vacant room with my shoes still on and perched on the windowsill to wait—Kamimura left.

At that exact moment, jazz from a phonograph could be heard coming from a room three or four doors down.
In that room, they were constantly playing the phonograph, so it was insufferably noisy.
Misao was singing in a low voice along with the phonograph, something like, “I just don’t understa~and what’s going o~n at all.”
She was the kind of woman who would casually engage in such improper behavior.

Then, after about a minute,

“Mr. Murai Coming”

She called me in a flute-like voice, so I slowly and deliberately dawdled as I entered her room.
As for my attire at that time, I was wearing this brown-striped suit I have on now with this overcoat over it.
My hair was styled in an all-back as it is now, and my beard was neatly shaved.
My shoes were also the same enamel ones I’m wearing now, polished as if freshly bought.

“Not so innocent, huh? Twenty minutes of secret talks in the bedroom? A fan, you say? That’s pretty suspicious.”

Of course I’d said those things in jest.
I’d always believed—no, still believe—that she truly loved only me.
Especially when dealing with some uncouth baseball player, I even thought that taking such teasing seriously would be beneath my dignity.

“He’s the catcher for the XX Club, you know.”
“You know about it too, don’t you?”
“Since you’re so fond of baseball.”

“So it’s that man, huh? To think that’s your fan—color me surprised.”
“That uncouth man being a movie actress’s suitor—there’s something endearing about that.”
“Isn’t he quite the earnest one?”

I said with a wry smile.
Even if I resolved not to force a wry smile, my lips twisted on their own—so I ended up smiling helplessly.

“Yes, he’s very earnest.”
“And he’s innocent, good-natured, considerate, honest, unpretentious, masculine—I just adore that kind of man.”

Misao's excessive praise of that man left me disconcerted. To have another man extolled before me—for someone as self-assured as myself—proved utterly intolerable. In that regard, I must confess I consider myself possessed of feminine sensibilities. Moreover, each of Misao's words struck precisely at my vulnerabilities. She may not have intended it thus, yet such remained my perception. Most excruciating of all was hearing others lauded as "masculine." For as you observe—forgive my bluntness—I belong rather to the pretty-boy type, decidedly unburdened by masculinity.

“What a bother! This actress business—having to humor every one of those men.”

This time, I adopted a high-handed attitude as if I didn’t give a damn about such a man.
While eating a mandarin, she said without looking at my face.

“But there are amusing aspects too. Though it’s a hassle having to grudgingly humor them, the parts where I genuinely enjoy their company and find it entertaining actually serve as a nice distraction.”

When I saw her turn sideways and eat a mandarin orange, I suddenly became irritated. I was sitting on the edge of the bed near her feet, staring fixedly at her face, but she—as if having completely forgotten my presence—was busily eating mandarins like an animal grazing.

It’s embarrassing to admit, but at that moment, my confidence began to waver for the first time. Could it be that someone like me meant nothing to her? That she had two or three other lovers, and I was merely playing a bit part among them? Such impossible fantasies flickered through my mind, each pricking my heart with sharp little stings. Of course, such a thing was absolutely not the case. I swear and state that she absolutely never loved any man other than myself. But at that time, I was not myself.

“But really—what could it be? There’s nothing going on, right? With that sort of man?”

I said, stammering incoherently while staring down at her face.

She slowly lit a Bat cigarette this time, took a deep drag, and then spoke.

“What do you mean by that?”

“In other words, there’s obviously no relationship or anything—not that there ever would be, of course.”

“Well, if an actress went so far as to get involved with every single fan, even ten bodies wouldn’t be enough.”
“It’s obvious no one would have just one person like that, right?”

After all, the man Misao loved was me alone. Of course, that one person was me. I suddenly found Misao unbearably cute. I felt a sort of pity. When I thought she was relying solely on me, it became heartrendingly touching. Especially when I saw the dusky injection marks on her upper arms dangling limply over the futon, I felt so sorry for her that my chest tightened.

“You still haven’t quit the injections, huh?”
I said in a solemn tone while looking at the bare skin of her arm.
“It’s poison. I really want you to quit that, for my sake.”
“When I see you doing such things, it feels like you’re deliberately destroying your own body—it becomes unbearably heartrending.”

“Well, I want to quit too, but when I get this stir-crazy, I can’t help but keep doing it.”

“You really need to keep your body healthy, you know.”
“And aren’t you smoking far too many cigarettes?”
“Puffing away nonstop like that?”

I rose from the edge of the bed and wordlessly stomped toward the pillow side.
Then stretching out both arms, I tried to tightly embrace her neck where her face powder had flaked off.

Then she—who until now had been staring into space with upturned eyes—suddenly noticed,

“Don’t!”

She shouted in a sharp voice and violently pushed me away.
I clearly remember how her nude upper body slid out from under the mouse-gray blanket in that moment.

I was shocked.
Before I could even get angry, I thought this was strange.
She had never driven me away this fiercely before.
She was a woman who had always let me do as I pleased and never resisted.
What had come over her today? As if my hand were a caterpillar or some such thing, she wouldn’t allow it to touch her flesh even slightly.
She brushed it off as if it were something filthy.

But after a while—perhaps having reconsidered she’d gone too far—she looked at me standing there dumbstruck,

“Tamotsu, you should leave for today.”

No sooner had she said this than she burrowed headfirst under the futon.

"Isn't this truly inexplicable behavior?"

I stood dejectedly frozen in the room and spoke as if addressing a petulant child I didn't know how to handle.

“Misao, you’re really not yourself today.”

Misao did not respond at all.

At that moment, when I suddenly noticed, her waxen left ankle had slipped out from the edge of the futon toward the side of the bed.
For a while, I watched it with a feeling as if looking at something strange.
In truth, the sight of only the woman’s ankle—her face and body unseen—protruding from the bedding was a strange spectacle.
And it was unbearably, indecently alluring.

Suddenly, I knelt down on the spot and tightly gripped that ankle with both hands.
Then, strangely enough, she didn’t resist at all this time.
I thought she must have deliberately exposed her foot before my eyes, so I aimed near her big toe and gave a quick kiss.
I should clarify—my kissing her foot wasn’t limited to that occasion; at least between us, it wasn’t an unnatural act.

When I moved my hand along with my lips, she silently and obediently withdrew her foot.
After that, I left without another word.
At that time, it was exactly eleven o'clock.

4 Matsuki Kyusaku’s Testimony

Matsuki Kyusaku, managing director of ○○ Confectionery Company, was a portly fifty-year-old gentleman who had become Yamagami Misao’s patron a month prior through an introduction by an executive at Tokyo Kinei.

…………………………

I came to Misao’s place last night before one o’clock and stayed until this morning.
Since I began looking after Misao, it had become customary for me to stay over on Sunday nights.
Of course I came on other nights as well, but I had made it a rule to return before one o'clock.

I woke up this morning around nine o’clock. Since Misao still seemed to be asleep, I thought it would be cruel to wake her, so I spread out the *Mainichi* and *Yomiuri* evening papers I had been reading last night before falling asleep on the floor and read them. But when I grew lonely, I gently roused her.

When Misao woke up, she complained of a headache and remained in a bad mood for a while. Whenever she woke up in the morning, that woman was in a bad mood.

But after a while, she sat up on the bed, stretched her legs out over the futon, and inserted the Narcopon syringe near her groin.
At first, I too warned her repeatedly to stop, but while she listened to everything I said about other matters, that one thing she absolutely would not obey, so lately I had stopped trying to intervene even when watching from nearby.

After that, we found ourselves reluctant to leave the warm bed for some thirty minutes, talking while smoking cigarettes.
She only smokes Bat cigarettes, and I simply can’t stand any tobacco other than Shikishima.

Then Boy Washio informed her from outside the door, "Ms. Yamagami, you have a phone call."
After a while she returned and said people would be coming in another thirty minutes, so I should hurry up and get up.
While checking my watch, I thought thirty minutes would still be safe and lingered sluggishly—then came the sound of knocking in the hallway.

I was startled and jumped up.
She frantically stopped me, saying there was no time left—it would be cramped, but I should hide here awhile—and pushed my body against the edge of the bed, wrapped it in a blanket, and covered me with the futon from above.
She hurriedly straightened the blankets and futon to make my presence undetectable at a glance.
Then she frantically stowed the clothes, hat, and shoes I had stripped off into the closet,

“Just bear with it a little longer, okay?”

she said in a low voice while going to open the door, turned back immediately, and got into bed herself.

My body was wedged in the gap between the straw futon and the wall, so my back was unbearably painful, but I endured it without moving until the two men had left.

When Murai left around eleven o’clock, Misao poked her face out from under the blanket, hurriedly lit a Bat cigarette, and began briskly puffing away—but once the footsteps faded,

“That’s enough now.”

With that, she flung off the futon.

When I sat up, that woman threw her arms around my neck and began planting kisses all over—my forehead, eyes, cheeks, everywhere.

“I’m sorry for putting you through such discomfort—forgive me,” she said while showering me with kisses like rain.

“Can’t you refuse to meet every single one of those people?”

I asked with a slight furrow between my brows.

“If I refuse, refusing just brings more trouble.”
“The one who came later was from Cinema Times—if you cross them, they’ll scribble all sorts of nonsense.”
“Then my fans’ popularity naturally drops, and when that happens, things get awkward with the company too—I’ve really come to hate this business, I tell you.”

“What’s with the first man? This ‘baseball player’—if he’s just a fan, isn’t he acting a bit too familiar?”

“He’s just a fan, but I’ve never met anyone as persistent as that boy.”
“When I was on tour in Fengtian, that club happened to come there for a match. I first met him at a café there—he kept pestering me for a bromide photo, so I gave him one. And now he still treasures it like some sacred relic! After that, he started sending letters and dropping by unannounced. It’s absolutely exhausting.”

Upon hearing that explanation, it made perfect sense why she couldn't refuse them.
Given that actresses rely on public favor, I too fully understood one couldn't carelessly offend people and expect to maintain their position.

After all, that woman—despite our parent-and-child age difference—had been utterly infatuated with me.
Having never been loved by a woman in such a manner before, she became so endearing I wanted to keep her within my sight at all times.
In just one month alone, I spent nearly four thousand yen on her.
Yet I never once considered it wasteful.
Even now, I don't regard it as wasteful.
We industrialists never make expenditures that don't balance on the abacus under any circumstances.
But in her case, it was completely beyond calculation.
It had transcended mere financial transactions.
And this morning too... Well regardless, under such circumstances we parted reluctantly and went our separate ways.
I never dreamed I'd see her in that state tonight.
The time? I left just before twelve o'clock, if I recall correctly.
Of course she was alive.
"Farewell then—you must come again tonight without fail," she said while kissing this very hand of mine.

5. Ueda Yoshiko’s Testimony:

Through the testimonies of these three individuals, it was established that Yamagami Misao had remained alive until 11 AM on March ___.
Murai left at eleven o'clock, after which Matsuki Kyusaku met with Yamagami.
Yet Matsuki Kyusaku's assertion that Yamagami survived until just before noon could not be verified through his testimony alone.
This stemmed from there being no witnesses who saw Yamagami alive thereafter.
Kamimura Susumu's testimony ultimately confirmed Yamagami had been dead by six o'clock that evening.

Ueda Yoshiko was roughly the same age as Yamagami Misao and was likewise an actress at Tokyo Kinei.
She was said to have been very close with Misao—in a relationship that went beyond friendship.
She had rented and lived in the room adjacent to the left side of Misao’s room.
Incidentally, the room adjacent to the right side of Misao’s room was vacant.
Her initial response to the police officer’s questioning was brief yet highly significant.

…………………………

“Misao-chan and I were so close that people envied our relationship.”
“Though we were the same age, since I helped her enter Tokyo Kinei, she called me ‘Sis’ and confided everything in me—and only me.”
“Yes, I knew about Mr. Kamimura, Mr. Murai, and Mr. Matsuki too—all of them.”
“She told me everything.”
“She was careless with men—really, she didn’t care who it was.”
“While she only seemed involved with those three lately, from what I knew alone, there must’ve been twelve or thirteen others before.”
“Well…if asked who she truly loved among them…it’s hard to say…but I think Mr. Kamimura was her favorite.”
“Their relationship lasted longest…and with him…she seemed genuinely infatuated…no ulterior motives.”
“But given who she was…I doubt there was anyone she’d call her ‘true love’…or die for.”
“With Mr. Matsuki…it started as financial…but she said herself…once you knew him…he was kind…a good man.”
“Even Mr. Murai—he began with practical motives…but lately she’d say…‘He’s flashy but has good points’…so…not entirely unpleasant.”

“I didn’t meet her even once today.”
“It seems there had been quite a number of visitors.”
“As for people coming and going from her room today—that would be Mr. Kamimura and Mr. Murai. That’s all I know.”

I met Mr. Kamimura around six o'clock when he was climbing the stairs wearing a jacket over his baseball uniform.
"How was the match?" I asked, but he showed no sign of hearing my words and hurried past.
After that, he discovered Misao-chan's corpse, and that's when the commotion began.
Let me see—had about five minutes passed in between?

“I saw Mr. Murai’s retreating figure exiting Misao-chan’s room as I was bringing in laundry from the rooftop to return home,”
“I couldn’t see clearly from behind, but he appeared to be in a terrible hurry.”
“The time? I don’t remember clearly, but I believe it was around three o’clock.”
“No, it wasn’t eleven o’clock or anything like that.”
“I woke up at nine this morning and went out shopping in Ginza—I returned around half past one, you know.”
“Since quite some time had passed after that, I think it must have been around three o’clock.”
“There is certainly no mistake.”
“Yes, that must have been Mr. Murai.”
“It is absolutely not a case of mistaken identity.”

6. Boy Washio’s Testimony

Through Ueda Yoshiko’s testimony, it became clear that Cinema Times reporter Murai Tamotsu had left victim Yamagami Misao’s room around three o’clock.
Moreover, during the initial interrogation, Murai had failed to disclose this fact to the police officer.
This deepened suspicions against Murai, while simultaneously yielding another critical testimony from Boy Washio of the Yamanote Apartment cafeteria.
The sole fact he provided during police questioning was as follows.

…………………………

“I saw Mr. Matsuki leaving Ms. Yamagami’s room around three o’clock this afternoon,” I stated. “He’d been visiting her place frequently lately, so I recognized him without doubt.”
“There’s no mistake about it.”
“I can’t vouch for the exactness of the time, but it was certainly around three.”
“Might’ve been a few minutes past—but definitely not before three.”
He didn’t seem to notice me observing from the passageway connecting the left corridor to the cafeteria. Truth be told, Mr. Matsuki appeared in quite the hurry that day.

7. Murai Tamotsu’s Second Testimony

“You’ve got me.”
To this, Murai Tamotsu—bowing his head and trembling under the interrogator’s severe second round of questioning—answered: “I’ll tell you everything.”
“The one who left Misao’s room a little past three was indeed me.”
“Right after that, when I returned to the office, an interesting manuscript about Misao arrived. So for the next issue—while running that article—I decided to feature her photo as a full-page frontispiece. That’s why I came: to inform her and show her the manuscript.”

When I knocked on the door and received no reply，I thought she might still be asleep and pushed—it opened by itself.
From the entrance，she appeared to be sleeping just as she had been this morning when I left，burrowed under the futon from head to toe.

I called “Misao-chan” twice，but when there was no reply，I thought she must be playing possum，so I approached and lifted the futon covering her head.
Her deathly pale face with eyes rolled back struck me as terribly wrong.
I put my hand on her shoulder and shook，but there was no resistance—she simply moved limply with the motion.
She’s dead，I thought.
I felt her bosom—still warm—but there was no doubt.
I decided to notify the office immediately，then glanced at the pillow where an antique sarasa-patterned cushion lay folded.
A paper edge peeked through—when I pulled it out，there was a check dated this morning.
The drawer was Mr.Matsuki，the amount ¥500，from Ushigome Branch of XX Bank.

I once tried putting the check back in its original place, but I simply couldn’t resist the temptation. Since she was already dead, if I took that check to the bank now and cashed it in, no one would ever notice. When I thought that, I was overcome by a demonic impulse and stuffed the scrap of paper into my pocket. And after covering the corpse’s head with the futon just as it had been, I quietly left Misao’s room. Fortunately, I didn’t run into anyone on my way out, so I immediately went to the XX Bank branch, wrote the name Murai Hachitaro with a random address, stamped my seal, and received the cash. I still have all of that money here with me.

“As I have just stated, it was indeed I who left Misao’s room at three o’clock.”
“And there is no doubt that I was also the one who stole that person’s check.”
“However, Misao had already died by that time.”
“I absolutely did not kill her.”
“Moreover, since that person hadn’t sustained any wounds on her body, I thought she hadn’t been killed but had simply died.”

“I once heard Misao say, ‘If you have a drink after a Narcopon injection, you’ll die right away,’ so I thought maybe she’d accidentally died from the drugs through carelessness.”
“That she’d been strangled—this is the first time I’m hearing of it.”

8. Matsuki Kyusaku’s Second Testimony

During the earlier interrogation, I had very much intended to mention that matter too, but refrained thinking it would mean getting involved in something trivial—a nonsensical affair.

The truth is, this morning when parting with Misao—she claimed spring was coming yet she couldn’t make proper preparations—I wrote out a ¥500 check and gave it to her.
Where could she have put it? When I left, I believe it was still placed by the bedside.

After that, I showed my face at the company for a bit, but somehow I suddenly grew anxious about that matter.
The truth is, whenever something weighs on my mind, I'm the type who can't focus on anything until I've confirmed it—once worry takes hold, I simply can't stay calm.
Until then, I'd never entertained such trivial thoughts, but when two men came visiting this morning as they did, I found myself unable to avoid doubting whether I could truly remain secure.
In any case, among the three of us, I am the oldest.
And though it pains me to say it, there's no man besides me who could provide financial support.
I've come to suspect they're buttering me up just to squeeze money from me, and that she's getting along quite well with other young men.

Thinking I should meet her again to properly ascertain her true feelings, I left the company a little before three, so by the time I arrived there, it must have been slightly past three.

When I entered Misao's room, she appeared to still be sleeping exactly as when we had parted.
Since neither of us had slept much last night, I thought her sleep deprivation must have made her drowsy again while lingering in bed. When I approached and shook her, she wouldn't wake up no matter what.
When I pulled back the coverlet, that girl had already stopped breathing.
I had done something pitiful.

However, upon reflection, I was the last one to leave that girl's room this morning. And now, seeing her lying there dead exactly as she was, I became certain someone must have killed her during that interval - yet not a single soul in this apartment knew about it. That being the case, the killer must have made a clean escape. Realizing hesitation would only cast suspicion on me, I tried to hurry out - but then it struck me: leaving that check behind would create evidence leading straight to an investigation. So I turned back and searched everywhere frantically, but between my panic and confusion, I couldn't find it. In the end, I resolved to deal with it somehow if discovered and made my exit.

As for how I knew she had been killed—it was because her throat had been constricted.
The area around her throat had developed a bluish tint with scratch-like abrasions.
Whoever did this must have been a young man of considerable strength.

9. Ueda Yoshiko’s Second Testimony

“Yes, I was constantly coming and going to Misao’s room as usual.
“As I mentioned before, that person called me ‘Sis’ over and over, so we acted just like sisters.”

“In fact, today I went to that person’s room just once.
After shopping in Ginza and returning home, I called through the wall from next door, ‘Misao-chan, are you still asleep?’ and when I did,

“Yeah, ‘Won’t you come over?’ was the reply.”

“Is it okay if I come in? You don’t mind?”

While saying that, I went in.
Misao-chan had sat up on the bed and was injecting herself in the thigh.

“Are you doing that again?”

I glared at her.
Every time I found her doing it, I tried to stop her for the sake of her health, but she just wouldn’t quit.

“I’m sorry, Sis,” Misao-chan said, her eyes brimming with tears, so I began to feel sorry for her.
“This is already the second time today. I’ve grown so sick of living that I don’t care what happens anymore.”

“What’s gotten into you? It’s not okay to act so recklessly and throw a self-destructive tantrum!
“You’re supposed to go to Tsukuba Mountain for the location shoot tomorrow, aren’t you?
“If you end up unable to go, that’d cause real problems, don’t you think?”

“Sis,” that person said again in a tearful voice. “I might break up with Old man Matsuki soon. Because he says such brazen things! He gets carried away, acting like he’s bought exclusive rights to my body!”

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked, sitting down next to that person at the edge of the bed and placing my right hand on that person’s shoulder.

“This morning as he was leaving, he told me to get out of this apartment.”
“And he said he’d find another place for me—told me to move there.”
“He says there are too many temptations here—that I mustn’t meet any men besides that old man?”
“In exchange, he’ll guarantee my living expenses—but if I secretly see other men from now on, he says he won’t let it slide.”
“He’s surely planning to kill me.”

That person was terribly excited, leaned against my chest, and sobbed resentfully.

“He thinks he’s bought me complete freedom with four or five thousand yen—a paltry sum.”
“This mistress is completely sick and tired of it all, I tell you.”
“So I’ve made up my mind to break it off.”
“At the time, I thought if I left Old man Matsuki, I’d end up short on pocket money again, so I told him to give me time to think. Then he said he’d wait two or three hours—that he’d come back around three o’clock to hear my answer and told me to decide by then. He’ll be here any minute now.”
“If he comes, I’ll turn him down.”
“If I become that old man’s mistress and get put under surveillance, first of all, I won’t be able to meet Susumu anymore.”
“I’ve already made a firm promise with that boy, you know.”

Then, since Mr. Matsuki was coming, I left Misao-chan’s room and immediately went up to the rooftop to retrieve my laundered handkerchiefs. On my way back down—as I stated earlier—I saw Mr. Murai leaving Misao-chan’s room.
“That’s correct.”
“I suppose I stayed on the rooftop about twenty minutes?”
“The weather was so fine—I let the wind blow through me while gazing at the view.”
“I believe it was just past two o’clock.”

10. Final Cross-Examination Interrogation

The prosecutor overseeing the investigation conducted a final cross-examination of all aforementioned suspects, with the principal points of this interrogation being as follows.

…………………………

Prosecutor (to Murai): “You claim the victim was already dead when you stole the check—but it was you who killed her and stole it, wasn’t it?”

Murai: “No, it’s true—Misao had already stopped breathing by then.”
“It is exactly as I stated previously.”

Prosecutor (to Matsuki): “Your testimony differs considerably from the facts.”
“Initially, when you left Yamagami’s apartment, you never mentioned having told her to move out of that apartment—but according to Ueda’s testimony, weren’t you threatening the victim?”

“I stand corrected,” said Matsuki.

“Is what Ueda said true?” asked the prosecutor.

“Yes.”

“Did you explicitly tell Yamagami you wouldn’t let it slide if she met another man?”

“I may have said something to that effect.”

“Don’t give me any ‘maybes’—answer clearly! You did say it, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did indeed say that,” said Matsuki.

Prosecutor (to Kamimura): “Have you ever made a promise to marry Yamagami?”

“Yes, I promised we would never part.”

The prosecutor turned to Matsuki again: “You left Yamagami at noon, came back around two, and when she rejected your demand—after learning she had another man—you strangled her out of jealousy, didn’t you?”

“No, when I came back the second time to hear her answer, that girl had already been killed.”

“Shut up! When you told the victim you wouldn’t let it slide, you meant you’d kill her, didn’t you?”

“That’s not true,” said Matsuki. “On that point, as I stated before, when I went to her room, she had already been killed.”

The prosecutor turned to Yoshiko: “You claimed you and victim Yamagami were like sisters, but rumors say your relationship went beyond sisterhood. Is this true?”

Ueda flushed crimson but remained silent.

“First you stated Murai left Yamagami’s room at three o’clock, then later claimed it was past two. Which is true?”

“I...I didn’t recall clearly...”

“Why did you conceal having met Yamagami today during initial questioning?”

“Because I feared suspicion.”

“You grew jealous upon hearing Yamagami loved Kamimura, didn’t you? They say same-sex love can surpass heterosexual passion. If love burns stronger, wouldn’t jealousy rage fiercer? Blinded by envy, you committed this brazen atrocity—unbecoming of a woman!”

Ueda: “……”

Prosecutor: “Do you not realize that staying silent won’t make this go away?”

Ueda: “I will tell you everything. The truth is, Misao-chan and I were in the relationship you have surmised, and we had made a promise between ourselves not to marry without permission. The two of us truly loved each other, and because of that, whether it was me or Misao-chan, neither of us could genuinely love someone of the opposite sex. We had agreed that if either of us were to marry a man without permission, the other would be allowed to exact whatever revenge they desired. However, today, hearing the confession from Misao-chan’s own lips that she truly loved Kamimura-san, I completely lost my reason.”

“I was so frustrated—so frustrated—that before I knew it, I grabbed her throat,” she said. “When she started to cry out, I pressed both hands against her neck and shoved her down hard onto the bed. Then when I came to my senses and let go, she’d already rolled her eyes back and gone limp, her head lolling backward.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I jolted upright in shock.”
“Terrified to stay there, I rushed into the hallway and ran up to the rooftop—let the cold wind slap my face.” She clenched her fists on the witness stand. “When I finally understood what I’d done, I went back downstairs to check Misao-chan’s room again.” A bitter laugh escaped her. “I thought she couldn’t have died from something so quick—but there was Mr. Murai scurrying out like a cockroach when I reached her door.”

Then I returned to my room, wondering whether I should go check on Misao-chan's room or not, and as I listened intently, I soon heard the sound of someone entering her room. That must have been Mr. Matsuki. I was only listening from next door and couldn't clearly tell who it was, but after five or six minutes had passed, that person left as well.

Then, fortunate that no one had seen me, I spent time until evening keeping my composure as much as possible and maintaining a face as if nothing had happened—during which I encountered Mr. Kamimura returning from baseball.

“I never had the slightest intention to kill.”
“In the heat of the moment—overcome by a blind rage—I ended up doing such a thing.”

……………………………

Postscript: The case was settled approximately as outlined above, with Ueda Yoshiko charged with manslaughter. However, medical experts have turned their scrutiny to whether Yamagami’s unusually swift death bore any connection to her Narcopon injections.