Reminiscence 2: December, Three Years Ago

When I entered the club room, Mitsumura, who was flipping through a paperback book, looked up as though she'd been waiting for me and showed me a stack of manuscript paper on a long table.

“I wrote something like this this time, what do you think?”

I replied “I see,” and pulled another stack of manuscript paper from my school bag. I traded it for hers and we both started reading.

At the time, we were doing an activity where we showed each other short stories we'd written. Even though we were the literature club, we were playing board games. Our advisor had heard about it and scolded us, saying “You should do activities appropriate for a literature club.” Of course, we didn't only play board games, and we also did literature club-like activities like reading literature, but the advisor's stance was “If you're just reading, you don't need to join a club for that. You can just read at home or in the library.” When he said that directly to our faces, Mitsumura and I couldn't come up with any response but “That's true.” So naturally, our first thought was “Why don't we try writing?” And before we knew it, we were hooked.

Mitsumura mainly wrote mysteries. Although her writing and plotting were honestly pretty amateurish, her tricks and the logic behind them were anything but. When I read them, I was always impressed. Every time I'd react in surprise, she'd snort at me.

I, on the other hand, had written short stories in a variety of genres, including mystery, sci-fi, horror and fantasy. I'd actually wanted to only write mystery stories like her, but unfortunately, I couldn't keep up with the pace. The literature club's regular meetings, where we showed each other our stories, were held every other week, so it was an impossible task for me to keep challenging her with new mysteries. Looking at it like that, I thought Mitsumura was really amazing. I liked her as a person, but more than that, I saw her talent and felt her love of the mystery genre. The story she showed me today was particularly good.

I closed the bundle of manuscripts and said

“Not bad.”

Mitsumura looked discontentedly at me.

“Still talking down to me, are you?”

“Readers always speak from above. We're the customers.”

“And where does a customer get off speaking so arrogantly?”

Mitsumura pouted. I glanced at her, then re-read her manuscript, again and again. “Anyway, this locked room trick is amazing.” I decided to give her my honest opinion. “It's at a level even a professional author would find impressive.”

Mitsumura's eyes went wide for a moment. Then she said sullenly “What's with the praise all of a sudden? Gross.” I didn't know how to react to being scolded for praising someone.

“But this really is an amazing.” In the end, I just kept up with my compliments. “Isn't it at a level where you could send it to one of those mystery short story competitions? You could win a Newcomer of the Year award.”

Maybe she was embarrassed. Mitsumura looked away from me and gazed out the window as she spoke.

“The quality of those short stories is very high. They receive about 500 submissions each year.”

“But I still think you could do it. This locked room trick is genius. I can't believe you came up with this...”

“It's not much,” she said plainly. She wasn't being modest; I think she really meant it. “This isn't much of a trick compared to the ultimate locked room trick I came up with.”

I sucked in a breath. “Ultimate locked room trick.” Those were words that a mystery buff would probably say, but it was unusual for her to use an expression like that. She was more of a “There's no such thing as a perfect trick” type. To think she'd say something like “Ultimate locked room trick”...

I was suddenly curious and wanted to ask her what sort of trick it was. But before I could, she said something.

“Hey, Kuzushiro, what do you think would happen if a locked room murder happened in Japan?”

I was momentarily stopped by her question, but I soon replied.

“Don't you know? There's never been a locked room murder in Japan before.”

She shrugged her shoulders and said “I know that. So let's talk about what would happen. What would happen if it did happen? Say it was obvious who the culprit was, but the crime scene was a locked room, so it was impossible for that person to commit the crime. In that case, how do you think the courts would rule? Would they be found guilty, or not guilty?”

“Hmm...” I thought about it for a moment. But the more I thought, the more obvious the answer seemed.

“They'd get a guilty verdict.”

“Why?”

“Because it's obvious that they're the culprit.”

“But isn't it impossible for them to have done it?” Mitsumura said. “For example, if a culprit had a perfect alibi, wouldn't they be found not guilty? Because it was impossible for them to commit the crime. So why wouldn't the same apply to a locked room? From the point of view of 'ability to commit the crime', there's no difference between a locked room and an alibi. Why is the alibi allowed, but the locked room not? It's not logical at all.”

I let out another “Hmm.” She spoke again.

“That's why, Kuzushiro. I think that if a locked room murder ever were to occur in Japan, the culprit would be acquitted.”

Either she was joking with a straight face again, or she'd just made a serious confession. Even now, I don't know what she really meant.

But a week later, Mitsumura was arrested by the police on suspicion of murder, and the crime scene was a perfect locked room that no one could solve.

I remembered what she'd said at the time, “The ultimate locked room trick.”

 

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