The Tokyo Zodiac Murders

by Sōji Shimada

I finally solved a mystery before a mystery book ended! It only took knowing the exact reference—and having that exact reference mentioned by name—for me to get there.

“Suspension of disbelief” makes me both an ideal and terrible reader of mysteries; I let myself go into complete shutdown-brain mode. And my list of mystery novels read is quite short, so most twists and turns tend to surprise me. I have a lot more experience with mystery games like 999 and Virtue’s Last Reward, which sort of have a similar vibe to The Tokyo Zodiac Murders. They all have a bit of an otherworldly plot hook early on, and then an overarching puzzle broken up with a lot of metanarrative commentary between you as the reader and the author qua narrative impetus.

But back to my victory lap, which was not well-earned but I will take whatever I can get. Two times the author breaks into the text and tells you, dear reader, that all the information required to illuminate this heart of darkness is available.

“Take a break,” he exhorts, “and maybe think about things for a bit before plowing ahead?”

But did I listen? Oh, no. No, I did not. Thankfully, the case had been solved—by me—minutes before the second behest to rest. I mean, mostly solved. Partially. In theory. More solved than is typical for me and mysteries. And it only took having the crux to the entire mystery explained to me as if I were an inquisitive child mere days before I started The Tokyo Zodiac Murders for things to fall into place.

Put another way, it’s kind of like your friend ran up to you and says, “Guess what I want for dinner!” and you say, “Portobello mushroom cacciatore?” for no other reason than you just ate some portobello mushroom cacciatore, but you’re right because that’s how coincidences work. And they are shocked but you know in your heart of hearts you would have said “portobello mushroom cacciatore” no matter what, but now your friend thinks you are some sort of psychic genius.

That’s how I feel.

My solution would have been “the paper money counterfeit move” no matter what clues the book gave me, because it was on my mind. But I was in the right place at the right time, so I’ll keep my stolen genius feeling, gloat a little bit, and then promptly fail to unravel anything the next time I read a mystery novel. Unless the solution is “the paper money counterfeit move.” And the detective mentions it by name.