“…Very well.”
I then begin to summarize the case. About a month ago, a forty-two-year-old man was visiting Yokohama on business when he suddenly vanished. After tracing his footsteps, it became clear that he left the port, checked into the hotel, and went to town the next day. However, he never showed up to his work meeting, nor did he ever return home. His belongings were still in the hotel room, and he simply left of his own accord, disappearing without a trace.
A single traveler, a participant in a trade show—the other missing people vanished more or less the same way. From age to place of residence and workplace, none of the eleven victims has anything in common, barring that they all visited Yokohama alone. The city police are asking around town, trying to trace the victims’ footsteps after they left the hotel, but they’ve yet to find any witnesses. It’s as if these people disappeared like a puff of smoke.
The police are leaning toward the possibility of a kidnapping. However, there isn’t a single place in this massive city where someone could be abducted without any witnesses. What would be their objective anyway? None of the families has been threatened to pay a ransom or anything of the sort.
“The objective’s pretty clear if you ask me.”
Dazai, who had been quiet this entire time, suddenly speaks up with a merry note in his voice.
“Trade.”
“What?”
“I’m saying, somebody’s kidnapping these people and selling them. From what I’ve heard, it sounds like the missing people have all been healthy adults, right? Hearts, kidneys, corneas, lungs, livers, pancreases, bone marrow—I mean, they’d all be sold in foreign markets, so they’re not particularly valuable in terms of yen, but having eleven bodies is like stepping into a gold mine. If the criminal is acting alone, then I bet they’re sitting on a fortune.”
“I’ve heard about black markets like this before, but how do you know so much about them?”
I’m fairly sure the general public knows only what they see in movies or hear in stories.
“Oh, y’know, I just heard people talking about it at this dingy pub outside of town once.”
How convenient. A sketchy excuse at best. Then again, the very atoms that make up his body are suspect.
“…So you’re telling me the victims went to the buyer themselves? In the middle of their trip, they went out of their way to beg someone to buy their organs?”
“Yeah, you’re right. It doesn’t add up. I guess that means they just wanted to disappear for some reason? Maybe they met with a mediator who specializes in taking people and giving them new names and identities.”
“But then there should be witnesses or security footage proving they left town to meet with the mediator.”
“What if they went to a master of disguise to alter their appearance?”
“Now that you mention it, I’ve heard of someone like that before! In show business, they have this technique that can change men into women. Like, first, they fill their cheeks with some sort of cotton to change the shape of their face, and then—”
“Nobody asked you.” I promptly cut off the driver before he launches into another one of his never-ending stories.
“Ah, I’ve got it! Look at this picture! They’re both wearing glasses, right? I found something they have in common! It’s the case of the Serial Disappearances of People with Glasses!”
I take a look. The victims are indeed wearing glasses: one with black frames and one with silver.
“This is your chance, Kunikida!”
“My chance to do what? Regardless, several of the victims weren’t wearing glasses, you know. So no, you didn’t find something they all have in common.”
If my memory serves me correctly, four of the other nine victims were wearing prescription glasses, two were wearing sunglasses, and three were wearing nothing at all.
“Tsk… Guess I’ll just have to come up with another way to use you as bait. I bet the criminal targets tourists. All right, Kunikida, slip on your rubber boots, throw on your backpack, put on your red-and-green-striped shirt, and start walking the town in your knickerbockers. Make sure to bring a giant camera with you to take pictures of everyone who walks by and say ‘eh’ at the end of every sentence.”
“Like hell I will!”
“‘Like hell I will, eh!’”
“You call that a strategy? That’s a terri—”
“‘A terrible idea, eh?’”
“Stop guessing what I’m going to say!”