{"product_id":"the-master-key-isbn-9781782277729","title":"The Master Key","description":"\u003cb\u003eA new   edition of this prizewinning classic mystery from one of Japan's best-loved   crime writers\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eA building full of secrets. A key that will unleash them   all...\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The K Apartments for Ladies in Tokyo conceals a sinister past behind  each   door; a woman who has buried a child; a scavenger driven mad by  ill-health; a   wife mysteriously guarding her late husband's  manuscripts; a talented   violinist tortured by her own guilt. The  master key, which opens the door to   all 150 rooms, links their tangled  stories. But now it has been stolen, and   dirty tricks are afoot.\u003cbr\u003e For a deadly secret lies buried beneath the building. And when it is   revealed, there will be murder.\"An outstanding puzzle mystery… The gradual, logical, but still surprising unfolding of the Russian nesting doll of a plot is a delight.\" \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e— Publishers Weekly\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e (starred review)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Fans of P.D. James, Robert Barnard and other literate writers in the genre will welcome this prize-winning author's first work... Superbly crafted and riveting from start to finish.\" \u003cb\u003e— \u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A twisted locked-room fable, made creepily seductive by masterful portrayals of the residents' eccentricities and hints of malevolent supernatural forces.\" \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e— Booklist Online\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Extraordinarily atmospheric Japanese thriller ... Miss Togawa writes with economy, subtlety and an astonishing feel for time, mood, and the eccentricities of loneliness. An eerie gem.\" \u003cb\u003e— Marcel Berlins, \u003ci\u003eThe Times \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"As fascinating a weird yarn of mystery as you'll find... One word sums it up - superb!\" \u003cb\u003e— \u003ci\u003eLA Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"If you seek a wickedly original, clever crime novel, a brilliant exploration of the weaknesses of the human mind, I strongly recommend you lose yourself in Togawa’s acutely portrayed sketch.\" \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e— Thrillers Books Journal\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Masako Togawa’s works have been recently reissued by Pushkin Press, and we can’t thank them enough!\" — \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eCrime Reads\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Starts out on a high note of tension and stays that way up until the very end.\"\u003cb\u003e — \u003ci\u003eCrime Segments\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A clever story... If you like creepy this will definitely be right up your street.\" — \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eCrime Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A clever, creepy story.\" \u003cb\u003e— \u003ci\u003eMail on Sunday\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The PD James of Japan.\" \u003cb\u003e— \u003ci\u003eTimes Literary Supplement\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A bizarre yarn of guilty secrets among the sad, mad and surprisingly bad occupants of Tokyo’s K Apartments for ladies only.\" — \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eSunday Times Crime Club\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\"Slickly-readable… jaw-dropping moments… Sharply crafted plotting ... Is Masako Togawa Japan’s answer to P.D. James? James should be so lucky.\" \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e— \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eSouth China Morning Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eMasako   Togawa (1931-2016) was one of Japan's foremost writers of crime fiction. Born   in Tokyo, she worked as a cabaret performer before beginning to write crime   fiction backstage, during her breaks. Her debut thriller \u003ci\u003eThe Master Key\u003c\/i\u003e won   Japan's prestigious Edgowa Rampo Prize, and Togawa went on to become a hugely   successful author, while continuing to lead a colourful parallel life as a   singer, actress, feminist, nightclub owner and gay icon.PROLOGUE\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e1 April 1951: At the Otsuka Nakacho crossroads\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e On that day, the snow (unusual for April) which had fallen on\u003cbr\u003e the night before was still half an inch deep in the morning.\u003cbr\u003e But before midday the sun peeped through the clouds\u003cbr\u003e and a thaw set in. In no time at all, the streets once again\u003cbr\u003e danced in the sunshine of spring.\u003cbr\u003e At exactly noon, a woman tried to cross the road at the\u003cbr\u003e Otsuka Nakacho crossroads, even though the lights were\u003cbr\u003e against her.\u003cbr\u003e Her head was completely hooded by a red scarf, and she\u003cbr\u003e wore a thick winter coat over black ski pants. This in spite\u003cbr\u003e of the fact that everyone else on the street was beginning\u003cbr\u003e to sweat slightly in the warm sunshine…\u003cbr\u003e When the woman had got about a third of the way\u003cbr\u003e across the road, a small van came racing towards her from\u003cbr\u003e the direction of the Gokokuji temple. It was fully laden\u003cbr\u003e with wooden kegs of nails. The young driver, a boy from\u003cbr\u003e the mountains, was affected by the snow; his mind was full\u003cbr\u003e of the rosy-cheeked girls of his native place, and he had\u003cbr\u003e his foot hard down on the accelerator as he came up the\u003cbr\u003e slope. The green light seemed to beckon his youthfulness\u003cbr\u003e on—hurry! hurry! it seemed to say. From the corner of\u003cbr\u003e his eye, he caught a sudden glimpse of the girl in the red\u003cbr\u003e scarf but to him it was just a further reminder of the girls\u003cbr\u003e in his snow-bound native village. Perhaps that was why he\u003cbr\u003e skidded on the tramlines, although one cannot be sure. At\u003cbr\u003e any rate, the inexperienced young driver slammed on his\u003cbr\u003ebrakes, but the van did not respond to his efforts to control\u003cbr\u003e it. It slid right around and headed back towards the woman.\u003cbr\u003e The last thing the young man saw before closing his eyes\u003cbr\u003e was the red-scarved and astonished face of the woman as\u003cbr\u003e she came crashing through his windscreen.\u003cbr\u003e It took three minutes for the white ambulance to come\u003cbr\u003e from the fire station a hundred yards from the junction; it\u003cbr\u003e sped away with the casualties, and in another three minutes\u003cbr\u003e had delivered them to a nearby branch of the T University\u003cbr\u003e hospital. During this time, the girl opened her mouth and\u003cbr\u003e muttered something three times, but no one could catch\u003cbr\u003e what she was trying to say. By the time the ambulance\u003cbr\u003e reached the hospital, it was over.\u003cbr\u003e A tall, white-coated doctor examined the body and\u003cbr\u003e pronounced it dead.\u003cbr\u003e ‘In spite of the lipstick, this was a male,’ he added in a\u003cbr\u003e strangled voice. His face was quite expressionless.\u003cbr\u003e Those present had difficulty in repressing their laughter,\u003cbr\u003e until they were overcome by the solemnity of death,\u003cbr\u003e so that even the horror of the traffic accident was driven\u003cbr\u003e from their minds.\u003cbr\u003e The young driver, who had been but the instrument\u003cbr\u003e of destiny, was punished beyond reason. He was in deep\u003cbr\u003e shock, and even after admission to the hospital he seemed\u003cbr\u003e unable to close his mouth. He slavered constantly, and kept\u003cbr\u003e muttering disjointedly, but all he could say was, ‘The red\u003cbr\u003e scarf, the red scarf.’\u003cbr\u003e Time passed.\u003cbr\u003e The busy police detectives waited for a family to come\u003cbr\u003e forward and identify the body of an unknown male, aged\u003cbr\u003e about thirty, who wore female dress…\u003cbr\u003eTime passed.\u003cbr\u003e A cub reporter covering crime, with time on his hands,\u003cbr\u003e went around the homosexual world of Ueno showing the\u003cbr\u003e photograph of the unidentified male…\u003cbr\u003e Time passed.\u003cbr\u003e The doctors and nurses at the hospital gradually ceased\u003cbr\u003e to joke during tea-breaks about the unidentified male,\u003cbr\u003e in female dress, who had been run over at the Otsuka\u003cbr\u003e Nakacho crossroads.\u003cbr\u003e But somewhere, a woman waited alone in a darkened\u003cbr\u003e room… waited for the man to come back to her.\u003cbr\u003e The room was on the fifth floor of an apartment block,\u003cbr\u003e buried in the shadows just two bus stops away from the\u003cbr\u003e Otsuka Nakacho crossroads.\u003cbr\u003e She awaited the return of the man whom she had dressed\u003cbr\u003e in her own red scarf, winter coat and black ski pants, the\u003cbr\u003e man who had gone off with slumped shoulders, without\u003cbr\u003e even looking back.\u003cbr\u003e She waited, alone, for seven years. She is still waiting.\u003cbr\u003e The name of the building where she lives is ‘The K\u003cbr\u003e Apartments for Ladies’.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePART ONE\u003cbr\u003e Three hints\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eThe eye-witness: Three days before the accident\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The man stumbled yet again as he climbed the stairs.\u003cbr\u003e The Gladstone bag that he was carrying seemed to get\u003cbr\u003e heavier and heavier; already, he had had to stop on the\u003cbr\u003e landing of the third floor to change hands. He gazed\u003cbr\u003e at the brown dyed leather bag, cursing its weight, but\u003cbr\u003e betraying no emotion towards its contents. He was too\u003cbr\u003e far gone to think of that any more. All he was now concerned\u003cbr\u003e about was getting everything over with as soon\u003cbr\u003e as possible. He had been driven along for the last few\u003cbr\u003e hours by a feeling of resignation, a hope that the end\u003cbr\u003e was at last in sight. His consciousness seemed blocked\u003cbr\u003e by a wall, or blinded in limitless darkness. Now that the\u003cbr\u003e end was at last near, he felt no elation, merely a sense\u003cbr\u003e of despair.\u003cbr\u003e Shrugging his shoulders, he wiped his forehead with a\u003cbr\u003e handkerchief and carefully readjusted the red scarf around\u003cbr\u003e his face before picking up the leather bag again. The sweet\u003cbr\u003e female perfume on the scarf affected him profoundly.\u003cbr\u003e Recovering his spirits, he lifted the heavy case and carried\u003cbr\u003e it, bumping his knees, up the staircase. From time to time,\u003cbr\u003e he could hear footsteps or voices downstairs. Hurrying\u003cbr\u003e on, he reached the fifth floor and, pausing only to make\u003cbr\u003e sure there was no sign of life in the corridor, made his\u003cbr\u003e way to the door of a certain apartment.\u003cbr\u003eA girl was waiting there. Glancing at the travelling bag,\u003cbr\u003e she asked, ‘Did the receptionist say anything?’\u003cbr\u003e ‘No, she was so deep in her newspaper that she didn’t\u003cbr\u003e even notice me.’\u003cbr\u003e As he replied, he lowered the case onto the doorstep.\u003cbr\u003e The leather base curled and the bag overbalanced onto\u003cbr\u003e the concrete floor with a dull thump.\u003cbr\u003e ‘Hey, watch what you’re doing! You shouldn’t treat it so\u003cbr\u003e roughly!’ exclaimed the girl in a loud voice.\u003cbr\u003e The man wanted to point out how heavy the bag was,\u003cbr\u003e and how his hands were slippery with sweat. But he could\u003cbr\u003e only mumble, ‘It makes no difference.’\u003cbr\u003e The woman, without seeking his help, lugged the bag\u003cbr\u003e into the middle of the room.\u003cbr\u003e ‘Poor little thing. Well, we’d better get him out quickly.’\u003cbr\u003e ‘Poor little thing.’ The woman repeated herself, but the\u003cbr\u003e man could only slump on the floor and gaze blankly at her.\u003cbr\u003e The woman snapped apart the clasp of the bag, which\u003cbr\u003e fell open. Inside, there was the body of a small child. She\u003cbr\u003e unwrapped the thick blanket, revealing miniature features\u003cbr\u003e in apparently tranquil sleep.\u003cbr\u003e His silky flaxen hair glimmered like gold in the lamplight.\u003cbr\u003e The girl chattered ecstatically.\u003cbr\u003e ‘Oh my, oh my! Poor little fellow—we must get you out\u003cbr\u003e of this, mustn’t we now? What a good little boy to put up\u003cbr\u003e with such cramps for so long!’\u003cbr\u003e As she bent down to draw the little blanket-swaddled\u003cbr\u003e body from the bag, she noticed for the first time that he\u003cbr\u003e was gagged with a white handkerchief stained with clotted\u003cbr\u003e black blood. After a while she spoke, but her voice now had\u003cbr\u003e a hollow ring to it.\u003cbr\u003e‘He’s dead.’\u003cbr\u003e The man propped himself up on his elbows.\u003cbr\u003e ‘It couldn’t be helped. It was the only way.’\u003cbr\u003e For a long while, all was silent in the room. The man\u003cbr\u003e and the woman just sat there with the corpse of the child\u003cbr\u003e in the travelling bag between them.A new edition of this prizewinning classic mystery from one of Japan's best-loved crime writers.","brand":"Pushkin Vertigo","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302677827813,"sku":"NP9781782277729","price":14.95,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781782277729.jpg?v=1767740435","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-master-key-isbn-9781782277729","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}