KYOTARO NISHIMURA

The Kindly
Blackmailer

Kyotaro Nishimura quit his job as a public official to become a writer. While studying his new profession, he held odd jobs—truck driver, insurance salesman, private investigator, guard—all plot grist for his murder mill. In 1965 his Scar on the Angel won the 11th Edogawa Rampo Memorial Award.

A good short story should create a uniform impression throughout, and it should gradually build into breathless suspense and then settle in a satisfactory epilogue. Nishimura's "The Kindly Blackmailer, not only does this but also manages to outwit the reader with an unexpected turn. A barber shop is the locale—an interesting place for intrigue and an unlikely background for crime. . . .

A new customer entered the barber shop. Shinkichi did not know the man. In his late forties or early fifties, he probably suffered from a liver complaint because his face had a strange bluish tinge. He did not make a good impression, but Shinkichi was in a busines that demands courtesy, and, since he liked to talk anyway, he greeted the man with a smile.

Looking steadily at Shinkichi, the man said nothing, but sat in a chair in front of the mirror. Then he yawned slightly as if sleepy. He must be another of those customers who are made drowsy by merely entering a barber shop.

As Shinkichi wet the man's stiff, grizzled hair to make it lie flat, he asked, "Would you like a part?"

The man, with eyes still closed, grunted a low affirmative. Shinkichi, who was naturally inquisitive, thought the bags under the man's eyes indicated a wild way of life. Wonder what kind of work he's in? he thought. Stealing glances at the man's face in the mirror, Shinkichi plied his scissors. He liked trying to guess the occupations of his customers. He usually hit the nail on the head, but this man stumped him.

It was only two o'clock in the afternoon. If the man was an ordinary salaried worker, he would still be at his office. He did not seem the kind to take it easy after retiring from active life. An employee in a store would have seemed more serious. Besides, Shinkichi was familiar with the workers in all the neighborhood shops.

Maybe he's a heavy, he mused. No telling by how he looks. Then, realizing he could not figure the man out, Shinkichi was all the more eager to learn something about him.

"Quite a hot spell we're having. Pretty tiring," Shinkichi said.

"Yeah," the man answered, eyes closed.

"Don't remember seeing you before. Live around here?" "Maybe." The man's tone was reluctant.

Shinkichi cleared his throat. "Excuse me for asking, but what kind of work d'you do?"

"My job?"

"Yes."

"What would you guess?"

"I've been thinking about it. I can't make you out. I'm usually pretty good, guessing customers' jobs."

"That right?"

"Maybe you work in a bar or something?"

"No. But you'll find out. I'll be dropping in here, often."

"That's very kind of you." Shinkichi nodded respectfully.

After the shampoo, Shinkichi began shaving the man. He steamed his face with a hot towel, then lathered him. The man's eyes remained closed as he asked, "You run this shop all by yourself?"

He was asking the questions now. This made Shinkichi feel he might like to talk after all.

"The wife and I. She's out today. Took the kid to see relatives."

"Just yon and your wife?"

"Yes." Shinkichi spoke with a smile and a shrug, as he took up his razor. He lightly pinched the man's skin between his fingers. It was rough and flaccid, the kind of skin that is difficult to shave.

"Shall I trim your eyebrows?"

"Uh." The man nodded as he opened his eyes and looked up at Shinkichi. "Your name's Shinkichi Nomura, right?"

"Yes." Shinkichi looked puzzled. Then he said, "I see you must've read the name plate on the door."

"No. I've known about you for some time."

"You have? I don't know anything about you."

"Yeah. I know a lot about you."

"That so?"

"For instance, I know that three months ago, when you were driving a light truck, you ran into a little kindergarten girl."

Shinkichi's mouth opened. The hand with the razor remained suspended in air. He paled, and the face of the man in the barber chair seemed to swell strangely.

"The little girl died," the man said slowly, as if he were enjoying himself. "After the accident, you read the papers pretty eagerly. You must know she died."

Shinkichi could say nothing.

"The police didn't pin the crime on anybody. They thought there were no eyewitnesses. But there was one—"

Silence settled in.

"Me," the man said. "You okay? You look pale."

Shinkichi still could not speak.

The man went on. "Oh, don't worry. I'm not going to the police now. Get on with the shave. That soap makes me itch."

"Excuse me," Shinkichi said stupidly and brought the razor close to the man's face. His fingers trembled slightly, and the man grimaced.

"Watch it!"

Shinkichi said nothing, swallowing hard. He gently stroked the razor over the man's cheeks. The roughness of the skin conveyed itself to Shinkichi's fingertips. With a look of pleasure, the man closed his eyes.

"You sold the light truck, huh?"

"Yes."

"I suppose it's safer that way."

"Look. . ." Stopping his hand, Shinkichi stared desperately at the man's heavy face. "Just what d'you want?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You come here to blackmail me?"

The man's eyelids flickered. "When I come to the barber's, I like to sleep. I'm gonna doze now, so be careful." He fell silent.

While he stropped the razor, Shinkichi looked at his own face in the mirror. He was still pale. He looked panicky. Cool it, he told himself. The man said he had no intention of going to the police. If he'd wanted to tell about the accident, there was no reason to wait for three months. It looked as if his story might be true. Without doubt, he had blackmail on his mind.

Shinkichi tried to recall the exact amount of money he had in the bank. Probably no more than two hundred and sixty thousand yen. He was renting the shop. Someday he wanted to have his own place, and that was the reason for his savings. But if this man would forget the accident, he would let him have all the money. He could always begin saving again. Then Shinkichi remembered a motion picture he'd seen about blackmailers. Once they succeeded in getting money, they came back for more. This man was probably the same kind. It would be crazy for Shinkichi to let him know how much he had in the bank. Somehow, Shinkichi finished shaving the man and trimming his moustache.

"Say, now—" the man said, looking at himself in the mirror. "You're pretty good." As he raised his hand to his cheek, his eyes had a lively look. "You been a barber long?"

"Ten years."

"Then I can feel safe. I don't suppose you ever get excited and let your hand slip." The man grinned, but Shinkichi said nothing. For just an instant, when the man brought up the accident, Shinkichi had entertained the thought of cutting his throat.

"Yep, you're pretty good," the man said again. Stepping out of the chair, he examined himself in the mirror from head to foot. He looked satisfied. "From now on, I think I'll always come to you."

"From now on?"

"Yeah. I want to keep up with a man as good at his work as you are."

Looking self-satisfied, the man lightly brushed at his shoulders with his fingertips. "How much'll that be?"

"Four hundred yen."

"Cheap, for such good work." The man took a slip of paper from his pocket, wrote "four hundred yen" on it, and placed it in front of Shinkichi. He said, "I'll be needing these in the future, so I had some printed up."

On the slip of paper were printed Nomura Barber Shop and the name Saburo Igarashi. Between was a blank line for the amount of money involved in the transaction.

So the man's name was Saburo Igarashi. But the thing that worried Shinkichi was the printed word Nomura Barber Shop. The fact that he had had the slips printed indicated the seriousness of the man's intentions. He was going to blackmail Shinkichi over and over. The amount in the blank this time was only four hundred yen. It would grow.

2

A nightmare awakened Shinkichi. During the five days that had passed since the man came to his shop, he'd had the same dream every night. Everything had been taken away from him, and he, his wife, and their daughter were forced to go begging. His body was drenched with sweat. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was almost noon.

When he had gone to bed, his thoughts prevented his falling asleep. Finally, when he dozed, it was nearly dawn. He huddled in bed till late in the morning. But this was no way for a working man to make a living.

Out of bed, Shinkichi washed his face with cold water, and put on his white barber's jacket. When he went into the shop, he found his wife, Fumiko, cutting the hair of one of the neighborhood children.

"You oughtn't to get up if you feel bad," she said. "Nothing wrong with me."

"But you sweated so much last night."

The mother of the child in the barber chair looked at Shinkichi and asked his wife, "Your husband feeling bad?"

Shinkichi smiled. "No—just a little head cold."

At that moment, the man came into the shop. Shinkichi's wife, raised in the friendly atmosphere of this poorer part of Tokyo, greeted him brightly. Shinkichi lowered his gaze. The man sat in the empty barber chair. Because he could not avoid it, Shinkichi approached him. But he had a stiff expression on his face as he said, "Your hair doesn't need cutting yet."

In spite of the disagreeable tone of Shinkichi's voice, the man shut his eyes and said slowly, "Today, all I want's a shave." Then he added, "I could do it myself, but I love your work."

Fumiko, who had no inkling of the situation, said, "Thank you for complimenting my husband's work."

The man opened his eyes. "This the little woman?"

"Yes." Shinkichi lowered the chair.

The man closed his eyes. "She's not only good looking, she works hard, too."

"Oh. I'm not good looking," Fumiko said with a little laugh.

Shinkichi thought, He wants to drag my wife into it.

The man said, "When both husband and wife work together, there's bound to be a nice stash."

Shinkichi's face stiffened. He saw what was behind the man's compliment. There would be plenty of money to extort because both husband and wife worked. But Fumiko took the man at face value and said, laughing, "There's not all that much left over."

Shinkichi did not like this conversation between his wife and the man. He covered the man's face with a steaming towel. If he pressed on the towel now, the man would die. This thought flashed through Shinkichi's mind, but he slowly removed the towel and went to work shaving with a blank expression.

When the shave was finished, just as before, the man looked contentedly at himself in the mirror and took a slip of paper from his pocket.

"How much for the shave?"

"Two hundred yen."

"Fair price," the man said as his pen moved across the paper. Shinkichi flushed as he read what was written there: five thousand and two hundred yen.

The man whispered, "Be waiting for you in the coffee shop up the street." Then, with another, self-satisfied glance at the mirror, he slowly left the shop.

Shinkichi shouted, "Goddamn!"

Fumiko, who was giving the child some candy after the haircut, was startled. "What's wrong?"

Hurriedly shaking his head, Shinkichi said, "Nothing." Their daughter was about the same age as the little girl he had hit and killed. He had been unable to tell Fumiko about the accident. "Where's Kaoru?" he asked.

"Why, it's only a little past twelve. You know she never gets home till one."

"Oh, yeah." Shinkichi forced a smile. "I'm going out for a minute."

Entering the coffee shop only three doors away, he found it empty except for the innermost table, where the man sat. He waved to Shinkichi, who approached and sat down. As he did so, the man said, "This's a nice shop. I think it'll be a fine meeting place."

"Meeting place?"

"Yeah. You don't want to do business in front of your wife, do you? I suppose you brought the money?"

"I brought it." Shinkichi drew a five-thousand-yen bill from his pocket and tossed it on the table. Laughingly, the man picked up the money and slipped in inside his coat. He said, "This makes five thousand and six hundred yen I've borrowed from you. I'm keeping track in my little black book."

"Even though you don't intend to repay?"

"Stop your griping."

"You have any idea how much that money means to us? With both of us working, there are times when we don't take in five thousand yen in a whole day."

"Tough—" the man said. "You ask me, you're getting off cheap, if I'm willing to forget about the accident for this kind of dough."

"That kid ran out in front of me, I hit the brakes, but it was too late. There was nothing I could do."

"You think they'll buy that?"

"You were a witness. You know what happened."

"I'm not sure about that. What'd happen if I went to the police and said you were speeding, that you weren't looking where you were going?"

"You shit!" Shinkichi pounded on the table.

The man grinned with satisfaction. He said, "Now, if you'll excuse me," and rose sluggishly, picking up the check. "I'll pay for my own coffee. Thanks to you, I've got a little something in my pocket. Besides, it's too much trouble to write a receipt for one hundred yen."

3

Five days later, the man entered the shop for another shave. Thinking he was just a good customer, Fumiko was happy to see him. This time, he wrote a receipt for ten thousand and two hundred yen. Probably the next time it would be twenty thousand and then forty thousand. At that rate, Shinkichi would be bankrupt in no time. His nightmare would come true. I've got to do something, was all he could think.

He could not complain to the police about being blackmailed by Saburo Igarashi. If he did, his part in the accident would be uncovered. There could be no doubt that Igarashi would tell the law that he had been speeding and reckless. He would be convicted and sent to prison. He could stand jail, but he had to consider his wife and daughter.

After giving thought to his predicament, Shinkichi came up with an idea. Igarashi was blackmailing him because of an accident that had taken place three months ago. Probably somewhere in Igarashi's background there was something shady. Shinkichi was determined to find what it might be. Since he was the kind of man who indulged in blackmail, anything could be true; he might even have a previous record of some kind, or he might be concealing something he did not want exposed.

On the following Monday, a holiday for the shop, Shinkichi visited the office of a private investigator he'd seen advertised in the newspaper. Although the name was flashy, the company was located up a steep flight of steps in a shabby building. The gilt letters on the glass door were peeling. Inside the office sat a small man in his early thirties. His remark that all other employees were out on assignments failed to convince. Entertaining doubts about this unpromising enterprise, Shinkichi said, "I'd like you to investigate someone."

"Personal investigation?" the man asked, opening a notebook on his desk.

"I want to know everything about this person. Even the little things."

"Name?"

"Saburo Igarashi."

"Sounds like an actor. Where's he live?"

"I have no idea."

The man stared blankly.

Shinkichi said, "I know a place he comes to. You could follow him from there."

Shinkichi explained that he would call the investigator the next time Igarashi came to the shop and would ask him to wait in the nearby coffee shop.

"You say you want to find out everything about him. How far you want to go? You want to know whether he has a record?"

Mention of a record upset Shinkichi, but quickly regaining his composure, he said, "I'd like whatever you can find out about him. Everything and anything."

The day after Shinkichi's visit to the investigator, Igarashi came to the barber shop.

"My beard grows fast," he said, rubbing his chin as he moved slowly to the empty chair. He sat down.

With barely controlled disgust, Shinkichi noticed a red handkerchief peeking from Igarashi's coat pocket. After putting a steaming towel on his face, Shinkichi walked to the telephone and dialed. Hearing the investigator's voice, Shinkichi said, "Okay, please," and hung up. When he removed the towel, he found Igarashi looking at him with wide eyes.

Sarcastically, Igarashi said, "'Okay, please.' That sounds like an important phone call."

"A loan from a friend. I knew you'd want money."

"That's an old trick."

"What?"

"No use trying to make me sorry for you. Anyway, so far I've borrowed fifteen thousand eight hundred yen. Working and living the way you do, you must have two or three hundred thousand in the bank. No reason for you to borrow from a friend."

Shinkichi did not reply, but began stropping his razor with a loud, threatening, slapping sound. Igarashi closed his eyes and looked happy. Shinkichi thought, He may have guessed the phone call wasn't to a friend, but he hasn't learned it was to a private investigator. I'll find something in his past—then I'll shut him up. I'll even make him give back my money.

"Where's the wife?" lgarshi asked, eyes closed.

Bringing the razor close to his face, Shinkichi said, "Making lunch, inside. We take turns eating."

"Must be hard when both of you have to work."

"Look, blackmail me if you want. But don't drag my wife or my daughter into this, or I'll kill you." Shinkichi moved the razor back and forth in front of the man's face. Opening his eyes slightly, Igarashi looked at both Shinkichi and the glinting razor.

"I'm not blackmailing you. I'm only borrowing. I even write receipts."

"With no idea of ever paying back," Shinkichi said, spitting out the words.

But Igarashi had closed his eyes again. "Get on with the shave," he said.

When the shave was finished, as a matter of course, Igarashi wrote a receipt for twenty thousand and two hundred yen and gave it to Shinkichi with the remark, "I'll be waiting in the coffee shop."

As usual in the daytime, the coffee shop was empty when Shinkichi arrived. But just inside the door sat the private investigator, reading a newspaper. Shinkichi walked to the table where Igarashi sat and, throwing two ten-thousand-yen bills down, said, "Take the money and get out. It makes me sick to look at you."

"Easy, now. You and I'll be seeing each other for a long time, yet." Igarashi grinned as he rose to leave.

The small investigator made no sign, but followed Igarashi outside.

4

Three days passed before the investigator called, asking Shinkichi to meet him at the coffee shop. With a look of pride and self-satisfaction, he said, "We've checked all we can get on Saburo Igarashi." He took a manilla folder from his briefcase and placed it on the table. Shinkichi reached for it, but said, "I'd rather you told me just what kind of guy this Igarashi is."

"He's fifty-three. A movie actor. Or maybe more accurate, a former movie actor."

"Actor?"

"Yes. He's been on TV a few times. Nothing but bit parts. The way he looks, he was always cast as a heavy—killer, blackmailer. . ."

"Blackmailer?"

Igarashi was putting into actual practice the roles he'd had in the motion pictures and on television. Looking at himself in mirrors must be a habit he'd picked up when he was an actor.

"His acting was old hat. Gradually he was used less and less. Now he's never called at all."

"Then he's hard up for money?"

"Income zero. What else can an old actor do but act?"

"Family?"

"Slightly younger wife, and a son just starting college."

"How can a man with no income send a son to college?"

"His wife works at home. They skin by, but it's thin."

For Shinkichi this was bad news. A man without an income and with a son just beginning college would want all the money he could get. Once a man like that found a soft touch like Shinkichi, he'd go on blackmailing for the rest of his life.

"How about a record?" Shinkichi asked with a flicker of hope.

But the investigator said, "No record. I checked plenty of people who used to work with him, and they all agreed. He might play heavies in the movies, but he's incorrigibly good. Incapable of doing anything bad."

"That's what they know."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Incorrigibly good! Damn the man!. . .

"If he has no record, what, about his reputation? No bad rumors about him?"

"Nothing there, either. He liked working in movies, but his lack of talent finished his career. That's all people had to say about him. Oh—"

"What is it?"

"Saburo Igarashi's appearing on the late show on the tube tonight. Picture made ten years ago, called Kill the Villains."

This was the report, for which the investigator demanded ten thousand yen. Maybe a knowledge of the true nature of the man was of some value, but it offered no hints about ways to protect him and his family from blackmail. The next time Igarashi appeared and asked for money, Shinkichi would have no choice but to be silent and hand it over.

That night, Shinkichi sat up late watching television. When Saburo Igarashi's name appeared toward the end of the actors' credits, in spite of the foreknowledge given by the investigator, he experienced a shock.

The motion picture was a classic sample of the trival action film. The handsome hero defeated hoods who controlled the town and then married the heroine, an ex-hooker. Igarashi played a cool loan shark who blackmailed the heroine, whom he tried to convince to become his mistress. His acting was poor. The heroine wasn't much. Shortly after his attempt to seduce the heroine, Igarashi was killed by a small-time gunsel. Shinkichi turned the set off at this point.

The investigator had been right. Igarashi was a lousy actor. No wonder he was out of work. But if he was bad on the screen, in life he was a successful blackmailer.

Five more days passed. Shinkichi was expecting Igarashi to come to demand forty-thousand yen, or twice the amount of the last payment. But he did not turn up in the afternoon or evening. As late as closing time, his bluish face had not appeared.

After work, sitting down for a cup of tea, Shinkichi gasped as he saw, in the social-events page of the paper, the photo of Igarashi under the heading "Man Hurt While Saving Child." The picture showed Igarashi, who had a bandaged leg, patting the head of a small child. The article told how he had leaped into the street to save a small child who darted in front of a car. Igarashi was quote as saying, "I simply jumped without thinking. I only did what anyone else would've done."

Shinkichi couldn't believe that the rescuer of the child was the same man who had been blackmailing him. Shinkichi found it hard to connect a blackmailer and a person who risked death to save the life of a child he had never seen before.

But the photograph certainly looked like him. The name was the same, and the location where the accident happened was on the path Igarashi would follow to reach Shinkichi's shop. What kind of man would take such a fatal risk while on the way to collect blackmail money? In the confusion of his thoughts, Shinkichi saw a faint ember of hope. Maybe Igarashi experienced a change of heart when he saw the near accident. Maybe he'll stop asking me for money!

The afternoon of the following day, however, Shinkichi saw how foolish this had been, when Igarashi, with the same bluish-hued face, limped into the barber shop.

5

"Maybe you thought I was killed in the accident yesterday," he said sarcastically, while Shinkichi was shaving him. "Too bad—because, here I am, healthy as a horse."

Shinkichi held his breath, then said, "How long you going to keep after me?"

"The rest of my life. I like you."

"You like me!"

Shinkichi had shouted the words. Immediately he went silent.

"It's nothing," he said to calm the surpise of Fumiko, who was cutting the hair of a young man in the next chair.

Igarashi closed his eyes and grinned. It was all Shinkichi could do to suppress his passion to smash Igarashi in the face. After the shave, with the gesture of a magician pulling a pigeon out of a hat, Igarashi produced another receipt. On this one was written "forty thousand and two hundred yen."

"Forty thousand!" Although he had suspected the amount would be double the previous one, Shinkichi blanched. Glaring at Igarashi, but keeping his voice low, he said, "You think I keep that kind of money around here?"

Igarashi turned heavy eyes to the clock. "It's only two."

"So what?"

"Banks are open till three," he said with a grin. As he left, he said, "I'll be waiting at the coffee shop."

Shinkichi felt more despair than anger. Once a blackmailer succeeds, he goes on demanding. The price gets higher and higher, since there is no limit to human greed.

Without telling Fumiko, he took forty thousand yen out of the bank and silently handed it over to Igarashi. But he had lost all patience now. He could not go to the police. He had only one course—run from Igarashi. Late that night, without explaining his reasons, he said to Fumiko, "I want to move away from here."

She was shocked. "Why? We've finally got some good customers. It's nice here—"

"Never mind. I hate this place. I can't put up with it anymore."

"But what about Kaoru? She'll have to change kindergartens."

"Look, you don't like the idea, I'll go alone. But I'm going." He shouted it at Fumiko, who paled and said she understood.

"All right. We'll move. But I want to ask you something. Does this have anything to do with that man who's been coming here lately?"

Lowering his eyes, Shinkichi spat out the word, "Nothing!"

Fumiko asked no further questions.

On the following day, the entire family moved to the outskirts of the city. They did not break completely with Tokyo, since they had all been born there and had no home town to which they might return. Since he knew no other trade, before long Shinkichi opened another barber shop. On the day the shop was finally ready, and while Fumiko took Kaoru for her first day in the new kindergarten, Shinkichi was sitting, exhausted, in the barber chair. What with Igarashi's demands, and the cost of the move from the city, the two hundred and sixty thousand yen he'd saved was nearly gone. He would have to start all over putting money aside, bit by bit. The dream of his own shop had been spoiled because of that man. Hearing someone at the door, Shinkichi turned with a smile to greet his first customer. But the smile froze. It was Saburo Igarashi.

Running his eyes over the new shop, he said in a bored tone, "I've spent some time hunting you down."

Shinkichi glared at Igarashi. His lips tightened with anger. Ignoring Shinkichi's emotion, Igarashi sat in the unoccupied barber chair and said in a leisurely way, "Just give me the regular shave. I've brought the usual receipt."

Silence.

"Well—get with it—"

As if in reflex to Igarashi's words, Shinkichi rose from the chair, got a hot towel, and, mechanically lowering the back of the man's chair, put the towel on the bluish face below him.

When he removed the towel, Igarashi looked at him with wide eyes. He said, "You're kind of peaked. If you're sick, you better get well fast. You're important to me."

"Shut up!" Shinkichi's voice was a sob. He held the razor in his hand. His fingers trembled.

"What you mad about? At last we're together again." Igarashi spoke in a pleasant voice. "I want you to be happy. After all, we're going to stay together now for a long time."

"Shut up!"

"What's got you?"

"I'm asking you to be quiet—"

"Why don't you smile? You're in a business where you have to be nice to people."

Igarashi went on grinning. Shinkichi's face became more and more drawn. He felt sweat breaking out in his armpits.

"You bastard," he whispered.

"Don't get so hot. After all, I like you."

Shinkichi just stood there.

"What a face! Frightening. Oh, I get it. Today's the anniversary of the death of the little girl you killed. Put you in a bad mood?"

Suddenly Shinkichi could no longer hear Igarashi's voice. Just below his eyes, the man's mouth was flapping. His bluish skin wiggled like the flesh of a repulsive mollusk. A disgusting, ugly creature. In his delusion, Shinkichi recalled a blue-black caterpillar he had squashed as a small boy. This was the same caterpillar. If he squashed it, blue juice would spurt out. He had to step on the caterpillar. No! He should cut it with a knife. The caterpillar was still wriggling in front of him. Shinkichi's arm came up with the razor.

"Kill him!"

Everything went red in front of Shinkichi. Then the razor was no longer in his hand. It was slashed deeply into the strained, blue-white throat of Saburo Igarashi. Bright red blood spurted around the razor.

Not knowing what to do, Shinkichi called for help. His voice was ragged. Blood continued to flow from Igarashi's neck. His face was ashen. In a groan, the dying man said, "Tell them—tell them—I moved." These last words were barely audible.

Shinkichi failed to understand the meaning of the words, just as he had failed to understand a blackmailer who risked his life to save a child. Blood continued to flow, but Saburo Igarashi was quite dead.

6

At first, Shinkichi was arrested on suspicion of murder, but later the charge was reduced to manslaughter as the result of severe professional negligence. The police could find no motive for murder. Before they arrived, Shinkichi burned the receipts in Igarashi's pockets and the ones he had kept. No matter how they tried, the police could find no relation between the two men except that of a barber and a regular client. "Just as I had the razor at his throat, he suddenly moved," Shinkichi told them. He recalled the words of the dying man: "Tell them I moved." Why should a blackmailer have been kind enough to provide an excuse for his own death?

The sentence was one year's imprisonment with a three-year suspension; so light that Shinkichi himself was puzzled. Of course, he was forbidden to practice as a barber. But that was to his liking. He would never be able to hold a razor again without seeing blood. He told his wife and child that he was resolved to move back into the city and do hard physical labor. They were happy to return.

As they were making preparations for their second move in a short period, a middle-aged woman whom he did not know came to Shinkichi and introduced herself as Kiyoko Igarashi. Shinkichi paled at the name. Because he did not want his wife to overhear, he invited the woman to step outside to talk. Turning to the woman, who wore a kimono, he said, "Have you come to accuse me of your husband's murder?"

She slowly shook her head. "No."

"Why, then?"

"While we were going through my husband's effects, we found a letter addressed to you. I've come to deliver it." Handing him a thick envelope with his name on it, she ran off. Shinkichi opened the envelope and read:

"I'm writing this because I don't know when you'll kill me.

"I was a failure as an actor. I was such a ham I never got anything but bit parts. As I write this, I am no longer employed by anyone either in movies or TV. But I am fifty-three. Acting is all I know. Now that is gone, and I have nothing.

"Of course, if I were alone, I could solve everything by simply killing myself. But I have a wife and son, who has just entered college. I want to leave them a solid sum of money.

"Fortunately, I have an insurance policy for five million yen. With that much, the two of them can make out somehow. But the problem is that insurance companies do not pay in cases of suicide. Aside from a minor liver complaint, I am in good health. If it is necessary for me to die a natural death, all three of us will starve. The only way out is accidental death, or murder at the hands of someone.

"When I witnessed the accident in which you were involved and found out by tracing your license-plate number that you are a barber, I decided to use you. But, because I hesitated to make use of a stranger, it took me three months to act. Finally, I convinced myself it would be all right because you were the kind of person who was low enough to hit a child and run away.

"Something else made me hesitate. I had no confidence in my acting ability. Because of my looks, I had always been cast as villains, but my acting was so poor people laughed instead of being afraid. I was concerned that, if I tried blackmailing you, you would laugh, too. I studied blackmailing techniques for some time. When I tried them on you, you went pale with fear.

"It is ironic. In thirty years of acting, I never turned in a satisfactory performance. But I succeeded when I tried to be a villain in real life.

"Gradually, however, I found that you are not a bad person. You are ordinary and good. Then I began to suffer for what I was trying to force you to do. That was why I leaped in front of the car to try to save that child. The attempted rescue was really an attempt at suicide. I was certain that, if I died in that accident, the insurance company would have paid. Unfortunately, I did not die.

"You, then, became my only chance. I have continued blackmailing you and have doubled the amounts to increase your hatred for me. Before long, you will kill me. If I die by the razor you hold in your hand, I shall be satisfied. I shall be able to leave five million yen for the wife and son who have long suffered for my sake. And—my final role will have been brilliantly played.

"Please, forgive me.

"I am enclosing the money I received from you up to this date: seventy-six thousand and two hundred yen (including one thousand and two hundred yen for barber services)."