LITMIR.BIZ

      Sunday morning was bright and sunny, and at 9:00 A.M. it showed every indication of becoming a very warm day. Japan's late spring-early summer rainy season was officially over and the populace was now in for two months of baking heat.

      Captain Kawamura and Sergeant Suzuki, wearing suits and ties, walked up the four broad steps to the entrance of the tennis club.

      "I just want to observe the normal flow of things," said Kawamura to Suzuki. "Get a feel for things."

      "We should have worn tennis outfits," said Suzuki-san, who was already sweating profusely in his blue serge suit.

      "Requesting a duty-shift in short pants would probably cause Chief Arai to feed us to the birds out by the zoo."

      The temperature inside the entrance lobby was slightly lower, but not much. To the right, behind a chest-high counter, was the manager's office. To the left, the circular stairway up to the men's and women's locker rooms. Straight ahead were large wooden doors leading to the clubhouse proper. Immediately to the right of the wooden doors was a reception desk. The lady rose from her seat behind the desk and stood at attention.

      "Please don't stand for us," said Kawamura gently.

      The lady obediently sat.

      "I would imagine you see nearly everyone who comes in or goes out."

      "I think so," said the lady, who proceeded to point out a sign-in book near the wooden doors. "Everyone, including guests, must sign the book when they arrive."

      Kawamura looked through the names, Japanese and foreign, signed in yesterday. There were over two hundred.

      "Some people stay all day," added the lady, "and some only stay for a few hours."

      "Is Manabe-san's name here?"

      The lady looked embarrassed.

      "It's not there," said the lady after a moment. "Manabe was a very nice man, but some of the older members didn't like to always sign the book."

      The lady picked up a piece of paper from her desk and showed it to Kawamura.

      "In those cases, I try to write down their names anyway."

      On the paper, neatly written, was Manabe's name. There were also a dozen other names, presumably older members, on the list.

      "You are very efficient," said Kawamura, smiling kindly.

      The lady blushed ever so slightly. Kawamura turned and looked at the spiral stairway to the second-floor locker rooms. One man had just come through the wooden doors and the clubhouse proper and was now bounding up the stairway. He passed two ladies coming down the stairway.

      "Did you notice Manabe-san going up to the locker room yesterday?"

      "No," said the lady hesitating briefly. "Sometimes it gets very busy in here. And sometimes... if I have to step away from my desk for a moment... it's difficult to..."

      "I understand," said Kawamura softly. "One can't sit here for an entire eight hours."

      The lady smiled. It was a relief to know that the policeman understood.

      Kawamura and Suzuki-san opened the wooden doors and entered the clubhouse.

      "In theory, we have over two hundred members from yesterday as suspects," said Kawamura, "and as far as we know, a million or more people who could have walked in from the street."

      All ten courts were already occupied, most with foursomes. Another fifty or sixty people were sitting, talking, or eating breakfast. The mood did not appear to be cheerful, but Kawamura had never been in the clubhouse under normal circumstances and couldn't really judge.

      The club president, former Ambassador Morimoto, had just come in from the courts. He even managed to sweat with control and a certain elegance. He promised to join Kawamura after getting a cool drink. Suzuki-san wandered out to courtside and began to talk to the groundsmen there.

      Morimoto eventually joined Kawamura at a table and chairs in a relatively deserted area of the clubhouse.

      'The club office tells me we finally located Manabe-san's wife in New York," announced Morimoto as he sat and patted his brow with a towel. Kawamura observed that the former ambassador's hair wasn't even mussed. "And she'll get to Japan as soon as possible. Probably tomorrow," Morimoto added.

      "I must tell you that the, ah, tragedy is even worse than you might think," said Kawamura. "We are convinced Manabe-san was murdered, and the murder weapon is his tennis racket."

      Morimoto stared at Kawamura for a moment, then shifted his eyes to the ceiling and the general direction of the locker room. Morimoto shook his head slowly, as if he couldn't believe it, then looked back at Kawamura.

      "I can't believe it," said Morimoto.

      "We can't argue with the physical evidence, no matter how unlikely the event might seem."

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