Akitada and the Way of Justice (Akitada Stories)

by I. J. Parker

  “Who will take his place?” Akitada asked.

  They glanced at each other. Kiso said quickly, “Kajiwara here has the experience and seniority …”

  Kajiwara cried, “No, no. Kiso is much the better man. Youthful vigor is needed.”

  Apparently both hoped for promotion. A motive, albeit weak. Akitada asked, “Do you have an idea who might want Masayoshi dead?”

  That brought back some of the earlier fear. Kiso said anxiously, “We heard the police already caught someone.”

  “They are not entirely satisfied they have the right person.”

  Kajiwara pursed thin lips. “The young lady was much troubled by unwanted attentions from this young man. The director was very angry about it.”

  “As I said, the police are looking into it, but there are certain unexplained facts.” In truth, Akitada was nearly convinced of Shigeyori’s guilt, but he wanted to make sure that these two had nothing to hide. He became aware that Kajiwara was staring at his court hat and remembered the missing rank ribbon. Touching the hat lightly, he said with a smile, “I must have lost the ribbon—or perhaps one of our cats stole it.”

  Kajiwara rose instantly. “But that’s quite easily taken care of. After all you are in the wardrobe office, my dear sir.” He bowed. “Allow me. We have all the rank ribbons here. Sixth, is it?”

  “Yes. Junior, upper grade. You’re very kind.”

  Kajiwara bustled out, and Kiso looked after him. When the door had closed, he said, “Poor man. He has aged greatly since the affair with his son.”

  “How so?”

  “Oh, it was quite a tragedy. The son fought with a senior noble and inflicted a minor wound. An affair of the heart, they say. It could have been suppressed, you know, but someone insisted on punishment. Kajiwara’s son was exiled and died shortly after.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear it.” Tragic love affairs seemed the order of the day. Akitada made a note of the information and of the fact that Kiso had intended him to. He eyed the smooth-faced Kiso thoughtfully and asked, “Perhaps you can tell me why you went to see Masayoshi today?”

  That wiped the complacent look off the bland face. Kiso stammered and came out with a feeble, “Oh, it was nothing.” He realized that that did not answer the question and added, “Some new weaving technique the director had heard about. He thought he’d found someone to do the work for us.” He smiled nervously. “The director liked sending for us.”

  That certainly sounded like Masayoshi.

  Kajiwara returned holding a green ribbon with a very nice diamond pattern. “This is it, I think?”

  “Yes. Beautiful work. Thank you.” Akitada offered to pay, but Kajiwara would not hear of it.

  “Allow me.” As he fastened the ribbon to Akitada’s hat, Kiso said, “Certain papers belonging to this office are still at the director’s house. When may we go to pick them up?”

  Akitada said, “I have no idea. Not until after the funeral, I should think. You must ask Superintendent Kobe about that.” He thanked both for their time. When Kajiwara made a move to walk out with him, Kiso caught his sleeve and said, “Sorry, Kajiwara, but work presses.”

  Akitada returned to the ministry to make sure all urgent business was completed before the holiday. It was dark before he was done. His last chore of the day was to dispatch a short message to Kobe about his unproductive interviews. Nothing he had learned had helped Shigeyori, but he felt he had done all he could and went home.

  • • •

  Contrary to most wished-for events, the river excursion turned out to be all Akitada had hoped it would be. The sky was clear, it was warm but no longer as humid as earlier in the season, the boat was ably poled down the river by smiling men, and as the capital receded into a hazy blue distance against the mountains, Akitada left his troubles behind. Here he existed in a different world of laughter and song and the delightful sense of floating gently into an earthly paradise. Yasuko, Akitada’s little daughter, toddled about in a bright red dress, red ribbons fluttering from the hair loops above her ears, and her mother looked positively enchanting in the rosy colors that flattered her skin.

  They stopped at a shrine to present offerings of fruit and a length of new silk to the gods. They fished from the boat and ate their rice cakes and dumplings on a willow-shaded bank. They fed the ducks with the crumbs and played with their daughter. When dusk came, Akitada and Tamako spread a white cloth between them and, feeling quite silly and young again, each wrote a love poem on a colored slip of paper and tied it to a branch of fresh bamboo. It was, after all, what you did on the one night of the year when the cowherd star was permitted to meet the weaver star by crossing the milky was— a magical night when lovers joined.

  Akitada did not think at all about Shigeyori until their journey homeward when Tamako, who was leaning against him, looked up at the starry sky and suddenly said, “You know, the Tanabata tale reminds me of your clerk Shigeyori.”

  Akitada reached out to pull his daughter back from the side of the boat where she was stretching short arms toward dancing fireflies. “How so?”

  “Lady Otoku is the weaver maid and Shigeyori the cowherd. Will the real lovers get together now, do you think?”

  He had mentioned Otoku’s weaving skills to Tamako. Of course, Shigeyori was hardly a cowherd but, like the weaver maid’s immortal father, Masayoshi had objected to his lowly status. Akitada doubted that either felt strongly about the other, but he thought Shigeyori would pursue the wealthy heiress if there were not the matter of her father’s murder.

  “I doubt it,” he said, then smiled. “The celestial lover crosses on a bridge made by magpies. I don’t see how such a thing is possible in this case.”

  Tamako chuckled. “You’re much too literal. I thought you might play the magpie in this instance and bring them together.”

  Hardly. Akitada snorted, but he pulled his wife a little closer.

  • • •

  The next morning, his new rank ribbon had also vanished. Irritated, Akitada blamed his daughter, the cat, a light-fingered servant, and general carelessness. The pleasant feelings lingering from their outing changed to ill humor. He left the house quickly.

  He was still going through the daily assignments with the head scribe in his office at the ministry, when Kobe was announced. He was not alone. A neatly-dressed elderly man accompanied him. The elderly man looked distraught, and Kobe himself seemed a little upset.

  To Akitada’s intense embarrassment, Kobe announced, “This is Mr. Hakata, Shigeyori’s father.”

  Then, before Akitada could find words to explain why Shigeyori had been dismissed, Kobe added, “Shigeyori killed himself yesterday.”

  “What?” Akitada searched Kobe’s face, hoping he had not heard correctly. “Why? What happened?”

  Kobe spread his hands without answering.

  Mr. Hakata said, “Before he died, my son told the guard he had brought shame on himself and on his family.” Then he sat down abruptly and burst into tears.

  Akitada swallowed a wave of nausea. Kobe sat down also and said, “Shigeyori found a piece of wood, sharpened it, and cut his neck. When he was found, he was barely alive. He told the guards he could not face his parents.”

  Shigeyori’s father whimpered. They avoided looking at him.

  “Dear Heaven,” muttered Akitada. He pictured Shigeyori in his prison cell, scraping away at a sliver of wood, intent on putting an end to his misery, while he and his family were drifting down the Katsura river. It was ironic that Shigeyori had pursued death with greater persistence and care than he had shown in his work at the ministry.

  The father still wept quietly.

  Kobe sighed.

  Unspoken was the thought that the suicide had been a confession of sorts.

  The father found a paper tissue in his sleeve and blew his nose. Settling himself a little more properly, he turned red-rimmed eyes on Akitada. “My son always spoke of you with the utmost admiration, sir,” he said. “Always. He was
so proud to be working under you. Nothing mattered more in his life than to excel in your eyes.”

  Akitada felt sick. He glanced at Kobe who grimaced.

  “I mention this for two reasons,” Mr. Hakata explained earnestly. “First, Shigeyori would never have done anything criminal because he could not have looked you in the eye. Secondly, I have come to ask you to clear my son’s name. He told me how brilliant you are at solving crimes. He would have wanted you to find the real killer.”

  Akitada took a deep breath. He could hardly feel worse. Never mind that there was no good reason why Shigeyori should have killed himself if he were innocent. As long as his father believed him innocent, he would think that Akitada had a responsibility, no, a duty, to clear his son’s name.

  Yet, in spite of all the evidence against Shigeyori, Akitada felt the faint stirrings of doubt, and with them came terror that he had failed another human being and was responsible for his death. What if Shigeyori had killed himself because he could not prove his innocence and Akitada had refused to help him? The thought was monstrous.

  Shigeyori’s father reached into his sleeve and withdrew a small package wrapped in bright green silk and tied with red silk braid. He unwrapped it and placed two shiny gold bars on Akitada’s desk. “This much I could collect,” he said, his eyes pleading. “If it isn’t enough, I shall go home and see what else can be sold.”

  Akitada’s hand shot out to push the gold away but he stopped himself when he saw the fear in the older man’s eyes. Tucking his hands back into his sleeves, he heard himself say, “It is enough. I shall do my best, Mr. Hakata.” Seeing the father’s relief, he added, “Your son showed great promise.”

  Hakata smiled and nodded. “Yes, he was a good boy, a remarkable son in every way. I wonder what happened to make him do such a terrible thing.”

  For a moment, Akitada thought he meant the murder, but then he realized it was his son’s suicide that weighed on Hakata’s mind.

  “Did he mention the Lady Otoku to you?” he asked.

  “No. I think he was afraid to tell me. He should not have reached for the clouds when he knew that I hoped he would marry his cousin. But Shigeyori has not been home in many months, and for the past month he has not written. It must have been because of her.” Hakata frowned. “It wasn’t like him. We were always close.”

  Perhaps it had been love after all. Love could cause all sorts of trouble. Akitada wondered if Shigeyori’s work at the ministry had declined because of this. Why had he not paid more attention to the young clerk? The young were vulnerable, and their despair often ran deeper than that of more mature men.

  Akitada glanced at Kobe. They could not discuss the case in front of Hakata, but Akitada guessed that Kobe also felt responsible.

  Hakata and Kobe left soon afterwards, and Akitada mulled over the situation. He had no intention of keeping the gold. Somehow he would find a way of returning it. He had been all but certain that Shigeyori was guilty. How was it that a brief meeting with his father, a meeting which had produced no new information, had changed his mind? He did not trust emotions—neither his sick fear of having misjudged Shigeyori and caused his death, nor his pity for the father who had lost a son— and he sat long, brooding over the situation. In the end, he rose with a sigh.

  He went over Shigeyori’s records again and talked to his associates. The young men who had mocked Shigeyori only two days ago looked subdued today. They confirmed that Shigeyori had started acting strangely about a month ago. He had spent hours staring distractedly into space. He had been late for work or absent. Once they had teased him that he had fallen for a woman, and he had rushed off angrily. He had started drinking.

  A month ago, according to Lady Otoku, Masayoshi had forbidden the relationship.

  Kobe returned briefly in the afternoon. He was still upset.

  Akitada confessed that he had developed doubts about Shigeyori’s guilt, saying, “I’ve wondered if Shigeyori found Masayoshi dead and was afraid he would be blamed. It would explain his behavior as he rushed away.”

  Kobe nodded glumly. “I blame myself,” he said. “It never occurred to me that he might be unstable enough to do away with himself. I should have posted a guard.”

  “And if I hadn’t been so angry with him, I would have gone to see him in jail. In any case, I should have checked into his problems at the ministry much sooner. But self-recrimination is pointless. I’m going to investigate the murder properly this time. What about Masayoshi’s feud with Inage?”

  “Oh.” Kobe ran a hand over his neatly tied hair. “That happened recently. Both Masayoshi and Inage were being considered for the governorship of Omi province. Masayoshi apparently set out to ruin Inage with a string of malicious allegations ranging from public drunkenness to treason.”

  Akitada raised his brows. “Treason?”

  “It isn’t likely from what I know of the man, but Inage’s daughter is married to the assistant governor of Mutsu, and he was once suspected of dealings with the enemy in the North. That connection, along with Masayoshi’s lies, was enough to remove Inage’s name from the list of candidates. Worse, people don’t forget that sort of thing and the rumor will be dangerous to his future and that of his family.”

  Akitada shook his head. “Very nasty. I assume Inage learned the source of the gossip and came to speak to Masayoshi?”

  “Yes. They say he was livid with anger. Masayoshi refused to see him, and Inage claims he went home and calmed down. He was not seen again at the Masayoshi residence, but there is so much coming and going there all day that he could have slipped back unnoticed.”

  “A strong motive. And we know both Kajiwara and Kiso were there that morning.”

  “Yes, I thought of that. They are the most likely suspects after Shigeyori. Kiso is ambitious and may have wanted Masayoshi’s job. But Kajiwara has a much a stronger motive. Masayoshi is responsible for his son’s exile and death.”

  Akitada sat up. “Ah. I wondered what Kiso was hinting at. The sly toad! Masayoshi seems to have made a habit of causing trouble for others. Why didn’t you question Kajiwara?”

  Kobe looked unhappy. “Well, he could have done it. He was the last visitor before Shigeyori, but he claims he left Masayoshi alive and they had a normal business discussion concerning the wardrobe office. I hoped you would get to the bottom of that.”

  Akitada bit his lip. “Did you believe him?”

  “He was very nervous, but I really didn’t see him suddenly taking his revenge after all this time.”

  “True. I can’t say I like Kiso much. What if Kajiwara also found Masayoshi dead and was afraid to admit it, knowing that he would be suspected? That would bring us to Kiso. I think Masayoshi sent for him that day. Curious.”

  Kobe looked interested. “He seemed innocent enough. He says Masayoshi had come to some decision concerning the weaving and dying orders.”

  “It’s all very frustrating.” Akitada rose to pace the room. “I wish we had the weapon.”

  “We looked in all the likely places, but we cannot search the suspects’ houses without good reason. Besides, the killer could have tossed the knife into the nearest river or canal.” He paused, then said, “Speaking of canals, would you go to see Lord Inage? I think he might speak to you more freely.”

  Akitada stopped pacing. “If you like. Why canals?”

  “No reason. Inage lives on the Muromachi Canal.”

  • • •

  On his way to Lord Inage’s home, Akitada was conscious of the weight of Mr. Hakata’s gold in his sleeve, but Shigehiro’s death rested far more heavily on his conscience. Umajiro Road was in a part of the capital that had seen better days but, being near the Greater Palace, the area bounded by the Muromachi Canal still contained substantial older estates and large gardens.

  Inage’s property was one of these. It was large and heavily wooded. A servant directed Akitada into a landscape planted by a master and lovingly maintained. An elderly man in grubby short pants and a jacket of
rough hemp was digging a hole next to three large rocks. When he straightened up to wipe the sweat from his face, Akitada saw that he was tall and his frailty was deceptive. At that moment, the man noticed Akitada and smiled.

  “A beautiful day,” he cried, waving a hand. “And now I’m also blessed with company. Welcome to my garden.”

  Akitada was startled by this unorthodox greeting from a gardener, but the man looked so happy to see him that he approached.

  “Come, come,” the odd character urged. “Would you mind giving me a hand with this rock?” He was about to man-handle the tallest rock toward the hole he had dug. Akitada helped him push the rock in and then stood aside while the gardener took up a thick bamboo pole and tamped down the earth around it. “The roots of a stone must be set deeply,” he explained. He gestured to the two smaller rocks. “And it must be balanced with a fore-stone or two. Mine will be a trinity.”