Chapter 35: A Serendipitous Deduction
When Matsushita Makoto heard that Kishida Masayoshi had unraveled the mystery of Kagehara Tetsuya’s disappearance, her eyes widened in disbelief. “Really?” she exclaimed, leaning forward eagerly. “How did you figure it out, Senpai? Tell me, what happened?”
“I’ve only just started piecing it together,” Kishida admitted. “There are still some gaps I can’t fill, so I can’t tell you everything yet.” He hesitated, reluctant to reveal that his breakthrough had come from Matsushita’s own analysis of Yomikawa Tsuko’s motives for meeting ĹŚshima Mana.
“What? That’s not fair!” Matsushita pouted, crossing her arms. Her voice took on a pleading tone. “If you’re stuck, we can figure it out together. I won’t tell anyone. Come on, Senpai, just tell me.”
Kishida shook his head firmly. “No means no.”
The truth was, he couldn’t share his thoughts—not yet. They revolved around Yomikawa Tsuko, and the implications were too delicate to voice aloud. He replayed the events in his mind, focusing on Yomikawa’s behavior during their visit to the inn.
Why had she insisted on accompanying him? The inn wasn’t a restricted area that required police presence. Her questions to the clerk had been oddly specific—asking about smells, sounds, anything unusual. At the time, Kishida had assumed she was probing for clues about Kagehara’s disappearance. But now, he wondered if her questions had been directed at him instead.
Yomikawa had wanted him to believe that a sleeping agent had been used in the room that night. If he accepted that theory, it would mean she had been asleep when Kagehara vanished. But what if she hadn’t been asleep at all? What if the entire “mystery” was a carefully constructed illusion?
Kishida’s mind raced. Kagehara had returned to the room around 11:30 PM. Kishida suspected he had stayed there with Yomikawa until ĹŚshima Masaki’s body was discovered. The evidence supported this: Yomikawa had left the room to check the commotion on the second floor. Logically, she should have noticed Kagehara’s absence by then. Yet, when she arranged for her classmate to call the police, she mentioned needing to confirm the status of the other two individuals.
But here was the inconsistency. When Yomikawa went to the front desk to retrieve the spare key, she only mentioned the murder and instructed the clerk to guard the exits. She hadn’t asked if the clerk had seen Kagehara. Was it an oversight? Unlikely. From what Kishida had observed, Yomikawa was sharp and composed, even in the aftermath of a murder. Such a basic question wouldn’t have slipped her mind.
The only explanation was that, by the time she went to the front desk, she already knew Kagehara hadn’t disappeared.
Kishida’s thoughts turned to the timing of Kagehara’s departure. He guessed that Kagehara had left the inn when the police arrived and took the clerk away for questioning. It had been a late-night call, and only three detectives—himself, Matsushita, and one other—along with a forensic examiner had responded initially. With so few officers, the front desk had been left unattended, giving Kagehara the perfect opportunity to slip away unnoticed.
If Kishida were to speculate further, he believed Hasebe Koichi had been waiting outside the inn. When Hasebe saw the police taking the clerk away, he must have signaled Kagehara to leave. It was a risky move, but one that fit the pieces of the puzzle Kishida was assembling.
Of course, Kishida didn’t suspect Yomikawa Tsuko of being the third murderer. His instincts told him she was innocent, but her involvement was undeniable. He pieced together what he believed to be the true sequence of events.
Kagehara Tetsuya had first passed a note to Yomikawa Tsuko, then slipped into Room 216 to dismember the body and clean the scene. Afterward, he returned to his room. Whether he confessed to Yomikawa or she deduced the truth herself, she had come to realize his involvement in the murder. Yet, Kishida was certain she didn’t know the victim’s identity, the motive behind the crime, or that Hasebe Koichi was also a perpetrator.
The reasoning was clear. Yomikawa had shown no knowledge of the victim, ĹŚshima Masaki. According to the records, she hadn’t even realized the body wasn’t the guest from Room 216 until Matsushita had explained it to her. Furthermore, if Yomikawa had been the third murderer, she would have had a way to contact Kagehara directly, rendering the note unnecessary. She also wouldn’t have needed to go to Kagehara’s room; they could have met in her room on the second floor, a far more convenient and safer option.
Therefore, Kishida concluded that Yomikawa had no part in planning the crime. She was a bystander, drawn into the chaos by circumstance.
For now, this was as far as Kishida’s reasoning could take him. What puzzled him most was why Kagehara had lingered at the inn for so long. If his theory was correct, what had Kagehara been waiting for? Was it to spend more time with Yomikawa before parting ways? That seemed unlikely. Based on Suzuki KĹŤji’s psychological profile, Kagehara Tetsuya wasn’t the sentimental type.
And then there were the other questions that gnawed at him. Why go through the gruesome effort of decapitating ĹŚshima Masaki and smuggling the head out of the inn? And, most baffling of all, how had ĹŚshima Masaki entered the inn without the clerk noticing?
Kishida sighed, running a hand through his hair. The case was far from solved. His current deductions were just fragments, and there was still a long way to go before the full picture would come into focus. Worse, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his reasoning might be flawed. And with Yomikawa Tsuko’s involvement, he couldn’t risk sharing his thoughts with Matsushita—not yet.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. Matsushita was sharp and loyal, but everyone had moments of carelessness. Kishida knew that all too well. A year ago, a single slip had cost him dearly. He couldn’t afford to make the same mistake again.
In Japan, discrimination against criminals and their families was almost openly accepted. Even friends of those accused could face severe backlash. This pervasive stigma created an environment where suspicion alone—unproven rumors or baseless accusations—could shatter lives and relationships.
For ordinary people, the safest course of action was to distance themselves from anyone who might be labeled a "criminal," even if the allegations were unfounded. When everyone adhered to this mindset, it bred a suffocating, oppressive atmosphere.
Take Kagehara Kenta, for instance. Once a highly skilled and respected surgeon, his life had been upended the moment he was branded the "father of a juvenile suspect." His career was destroyed overnight. No patient wanted to be treated by a man who had raised a murderer, and no hospital would hire a doctor boycotted by the public.
But for Kagehara Kenta, this was only the beginning of his nightmare. Being on the wrong side of public opinion meant that every malicious rumor, every piece of idle gossip, became a weapon against him. What might have been casual chatter over tea for some was a life-altering disaster for him.
"The son turned into a deranged killer—it must be because of how he was raised."
"Maybe he deliberately raised his son to be a murderer. He couldn’t act on his own dark desires, so he planted them in his child."
"I heard he taught his son to perform cruel surgeries on stray cats when he was young. That must have been practice for killing."
"People like him are terrifying. Why doesn’t he just die?"
"Didn’t his wife pass away? Could he have killed her too?"
From whispered gossip among neighbors to hostile stares from strangers, Kagehara Kenta’s life became a living hell. He was refused service at convenience stores, ostracized by his community, and ultimately condemned to a slow, agonizing social death.
Kishida’s mind flashed back to Kagehara Kenta’s suicide note, filled with accusations and despair, and the image of his shattered body. The memory sent a chill through him, his hands trembling involuntarily. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to steady himself, and took a deep breath. Turning to Matsushita, he said firmly, "In any case, don’t ask anymore."
He couldn’t allow another tragedy like Kagehara Kenta’s to happen—not because of him. The weight of that responsibility pressed heavily on his chest, a silent vow to tread carefully in a world where suspicion alone could destroy lives.
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