from Miss Kamata Michiko, 25-year-old daughter of his mistress, shortly after the end of the war.
Miss Kamata is said to have told the police that this came about through her acquisition of some potassium cyanide while working as a typist for a firm in Tokyo during the war and shortly thereafter.
About this time, she said that Hirasawa frequently came to see her mother and is believed to have walked off with her potassium cyanide after she had shown it to him.
Meanwhile, authorities were said to be investigating other phases of the poisoning case, such as Hirasawa’s possible acquisition of potassium cyanide while working as a member of the special painting material research centre of the Kisarazu airfield during the war.
POLICE CLARIFY HIRASAWA CASE
Declare Teigin Suspect Is On The Point Of Making Vital Confession
TOKYO, Sept. 26 – Teigin suspect Hirasawa Sadamichi is believed to have been driven to the verge of making a vital confession at any time as a sequel to renewed, detailed police questioning relative to fresh incriminating evidence that has turned up concerning his possession of a large amount of questionable money shortly following the Teikoku Bank ‘poison holdup case’.
Chief Fujita of the Detective Section, Metropolitan Police Board, commenting on the progress of the latest investigation, said that it may lead the 57-year-old artist finally to come forth with a vital confession.
‘At any rate, the investigation has reached a highly important stage,’ he said, adding that if such a confession should be made the press would speedily be informed.
MURDERER OF 12 CONFESSES CRIME
Hirasawa Admits He Administered Poison to Bank Workers; ‘I Confessed My Guilt On Own Free Will,’ Says Hirasawa; Family Stands By Him
IN THE FICTIONAL CITY, again and again I knock on her door, until she says from behind the door, ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me,’ I say. ‘It’s Takeuchi.’
‘What do you want?’
‘He’s confessed,’ I tell her. ‘Hirasawa has confessed!’
The lock turns. The door opens. Murata Masako stares at me. Murata Masako says, ‘But it wasn’t him. I know it wasn’t him.’
‘But it was him,’ I tell her. ‘He’s confessed everything, says he made the unsuccessful attempts to poison and rob the employees at Ebara and Nakai, that he did what he did at the Teikoku Bank for money, that he needed the money for his tempera paintings and for family reasons, and that it was him and him alone …’
‘I don’t believe it,’ she says. ‘I can’t.’
‘Well, you should and you must…’
‘Why?’ she asks. ‘Why must I?’
I step forward into her genkan. I take her hand in mine. I say, ‘Because it means it’s over, it’s finished now. You don’t have to be afraid any more, you can forget it, forget him. You can move on now, you can start a new life. We can start…’
‘We?’ she laughs. ‘We? Us?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Together …’
‘Are you asking me to marry you?’ she whispers.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I’m asking you to marry me.’
‘As a reporter,’ she says. ‘Or as a …’
‘As a man,’ I say. ‘I’m going to quit my job …’
‘You’re going to quit your job? Really?’
‘You don’t believe me?’ I ask her.
In the Fictional City, in the genkan to her house, Miss Murata Masako stares at me, Miss Murata Masako stares at me and says, ‘I don’t know what to believe any more …’
‘Believe me,’ I say. ‘Please …’
‘I’m not sure I can …’
‘Then pretend,’ I say. ‘Let’s both pretend …’
IN THE FICTIONAL CITY, I walk her streets and I hear her stories, but I’ve had enough of her streets and enough of her stories, her telephones and her voices, her wires and her cables, her alleyways and her back rooms, all her times and all her places –
‘I just want to know who did it…’
The man slowly folds up the newspaper. He takes off his glasses. He puts the glasses in the breast pocket of his jacket. He sits forward in his chair. He looks up at me and he says, ‘But why?’
‘For me,’ I say. ‘Not for a story, not for the paper.’
The man smiles and says, ‘What difference would it make? They’ve got their man and you’ve got your story …’
‘I don’t want any more stories,’ I tell him.
The man laughs, ‘No more stories? Bit late for that, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘But no more stories, please …’
IN THE FICTIONAL CITY, I stand before my editor’s desk –
‘Ah, Takeuchi,’ says Ono. ‘You still here?’
‘Well, not for much longer,’ I say. ‘But I just wanted to say goodbye and also to thank you for all you