'That's what I understand," said Kawamura. "Something about the bath, and apparently... ah, a member..."
"Very sad," confirmed Morimoto without moving but managing to look diplomatically sad. "Very sad indeed."
Kawamura repeated "very sad" and managed to duplicate the impression of sadness.
"But perhaps it would help if I could, ah, examine the area where the sadness occurred," explained Kawamura.
"Of course," responded Morimoto, suddenly adopting a businesslike attitude. "It's up the stairs in the locker room."
Kawamura followed Morimoto and a half-dozen Concerned Members up the circular staircase to the bath area. "Very sad" was murmured by the accompanying entourage.
The locker room was modern, air-conditioned, and equipped with all the niceties one expects in a first-class operation—towels, toothbrushes, spotless floors, hairdryers, and tatami flooring in the entranceway to the bath. A foreigner, naked and apparently in a traumatized state, gazed toward Kawamura with round and unfocused eyes as the entourage approached the bath.
"Is he all right?" Kawamura asked Morimoto with reference to the foreigner.
"We think so," answered Morimoto. "He was... shocked by discovering the, ah, sad problem."
Shig Manabe's body, formerly housing one of the nicest guys in the world, had now sunk completely under water. Only the toes stuck up above the crimson fluid. The court manager, who had greeted Kawamura on the steps outside the club, had managed to remove his necktie and beat the entourage to the bath area. He was now demonstrating his commitment to things by vigorously flourishing a mop around the floor.
"We think he slipped and cracked his head," explained Morimoto, as Kawamura studied the scene. "And that's why..."
"Tell him to stop that," said Kawamura abruptly. The court manager, not comfortable with outsiders giving directions, paused in his mopping chores and looked at the club president.
"Stop that," confirmed Morimoto.
"Has anybody touched anything here?" asked Kawamura.
The locker room denizens mumbled noncommittally.
"I touched the mop," replied the court manager after a moment. He had been spreading pink puddles around the floor next to the bath.
"Anything else?" asked Kawamura.
"Well," considered the court manager thoughtfully, "maybe just the towel." The court manager indicated a pile of obviously clean towels stacked neatly on a cabinet. "Shig, er, Manabe-san hadn't used his yet, and we're supposed to reduce the expense for laundry..." The court manager's comments trailed off.
Kawamura looked down at the body in the bath.
"We called an ambulance," explained Morimoto, "even before we called you. For some reason..."
"It's outside, still... stuck in traffic," said Kawamura interrupting. "Are you certain nothing else has been touched?"
No one answered.
"Sometimes the footing in the bath, getting in and out, can be dangerous. Particularly when..."
President Morimoto's remarks were interrupted by the still-naked foreigner.
"I think there was a tennis racket on the floor. Next to the bath. At least, that's what I remember."
"A tennis racket?" Kawamura repeated, using the English pronunciation.
"Oh, that," said the court manager. "I gave it to
"Me," said a young man wearing a white shirt, polka-dot necktie, blue blazer, boxer shorts with red dots, calf-length socks, and no trousers. "And I gave it to..."
"Me," said a very tan, middle-aged man wearing jockey shorts and a spectacular bandage on his elbow. "And I gave it to..."
"Me," said a dapper man wearing a cravat under his paisley shirt. "And I gave it to..."
"Me," said a gray-haired gentleman—the other half of the now defunct Silver Foxes. "And I put it back in the rack where tennis rackets belong. Water ruins the gut strings."
Kawamura stared at the group surrounding him. A basic precept taught in all courses on detection dictated that private feelings and personal emotions had no place in the analytical process. Kawamura turned to his assistant, Suzuki-san.
"Get the damn racket, be careful with it, and seal it."
"What could be so important about the racket?" asked Morimoto. "Slipping in the bath..."
"I have no idea what's important about the racket," answered Kawamura. "But simple observation, even without the ambulance people, indicates that your friend here suffered from a... different problem."
"Different problem?"
"Different problem. The rim of the bath is horizontal. Your friend died as the result of a vertical blow... which nearly split his head lengthwise."
The locker room denizens and Kawamura were staring at what used to be one of the nicest guys in the world—now in water turning almost purple—as the white-coated ambulance personnel bounded into the room.
CHAPTER 5
The first couple of hours after the discovery of a tragic death can be both frustrating and rewarding. On the one hand, there are the complications brought about by confusion, shock, and perhaps hysteria. Even sealing off the scene of events can be difficult with random medical technicians and investigating officers shuffling about their tasks. More hard evidence is destroyed at this time than is generally appreciated.
On the other hand, the questioning of potential witnesses during the first two hours after a tragedy often brings answers that have not been reworked, polished, or enhanced. Kawamura's practice had always been to begin taking statements immediately.
Normally Kawamura would have established himself as close as possible to the scene of the event so that witnesses could demonstrate sightlines and distances with some degree of accuracy. In this case however, the chaos brought about by removing the body, draining the bath, scrubbing the floor, and more specifically, dealing with hot and sweating members demanding access to their lockers was something to be avoided. Instead, Kawamura borrowed the manager's office downstairs.
An immediate problem facing Kawamura was the fact that he wasn't certain what he was investigating. Presumably the wound on the top of Shig Manabe's head could have been caused by the rim of the tub, but only if Manabe was whirling on his toes as he entered the bath. And Manabe didn't seem to be the type to execute the graceful pirouettes of a ballet dancer. To be certain of his suspicions, Kawamura would have to wait for the preliminary findings from the coroner.
One thing was certain, however. People seemed to like the victim. Kawamura first interviewed Nat Forrest, the Discoverer of the Body. Fortunately, someone had persuaded Forrest to put on some clothes—he now wore a tennis shirt, shorts, and a sock on his left foot—but he was still obviously dazed by the experience.
Forrest's
