by I. J. Parker
Koremori turned perfectly white and began to shake. “You wouldn’t dare. Akemori was a hero and his memory is sacred. Our name must remain unblemished.” He pointed at the scroll about a man’s duty to his past and future generations. “Have you no family feeling? We are related. What about your mother? What about your sisters? Will you ruin them, too?”
Akitada stared at his cousin. He knew he had hit on the true motive for the nurse’s murder. For himself, he cared nothing whatsoever about Akemori’s reputation or Koremori’s family pride, and he did not want his money, but he knew his mother. In her world, the life of an aged servant was negligible when compared to the honor of an aristocratic house.
But more importantly, it seemed to him now that Koremori, the aging lover first betrayed by his mistress and a younger man, and then told by a servant that even his wife had betrayed him, had had great provocation.
Koremori saw him waver and pleaded, “Please, Akitada. Don’t do this. I’m an old man and lonely. Yes, I wanted to punish the old woman for her lies, but I didn’t know she would die. I just wanted to make her sick. It was an unfortunate accident.”
Akitada shook his head. “I’m sorry for you, Cousin,” he said, “but I must tell the police what I know.”
Koremori’s face became set and his eyes seemed to pierce Akitada. “I understand,” he said tonelessly. “You want my life. Very well, but you must at least give me enough time to put my affairs in order. Give me one day before you go to the police.”
The following morning Akitada sat in his room in a black depression that had seized him during a sleepless night. Soon he would have to turn in his mother’s relative, and that scandal would wash over his own family also. Nothing would be gained from it, except some money for the dead woman’s family, and he did not even know if she had any. His mother would never forgive him for what she would see as an ultimate betrayal.
When Captain Kobe was announced, he thought the visit merely awkward. Kobe accepted the offered cushion and looked at Akitada strangely.
“What brings you, Captain?”
“A tragedy at the Kiyowara mansion. Koremori was your mother’s cousin, I understand?”
Was? It dawned on Akitada that Koremori must have killed himself rather than face the arrest. He sighed. “Thank you for bringing the news, Captain.”
“You don’t seem surprised or curious.”
“No.”
“Then you already know that we found two bodies this morning?”
“Two bodies?” Akitada asked, now profoundly shocked.
“Yes. A very strange case. Your cousin and his mistress are both dead. Can you also guess what killed them?”
“Poison?” Akitada’s thoughts were in turmoil.
Kobe’s eyes narrowed. “I know you have a reputation for solving crimes that the police are too stupid for, but pray, enlighten me in this instance. How could you know that?”
Akitada flushed. “I guessed. Was it incense? Koremori dabbled in the stuff.”
“No.” Kobe let a long silence fall. Akitada watched him in growing consternation. “You paid several visits to Koremori lately,” Kobe finally said. “What was the occasion?”
Akitada bit his lip. He did not want to explain his part in Koremori’s suicide. “I delivered a greeting from my mother. A mere courtesy visit.”
“Three times? Did you take him a present each time?” Kobe’s tone was heavy with disbelief.
“No. Only the first time. Why?”
Kobe ignored the question. He drew a red card from his sleeve and pushed it across the desk. “Is this yours?”
Akitada nodded. “Yes, I wrote it and attached it to the fan.”
“Really? We found it attached to a package of poisoned sweets.”
“What?”
“The coroner thinks the poison was the root of wolfsbane. Apparently your cousin shared your present with his mistress.”
Akitada held his head. “How can this be? Koremori I can understand. But why Yoshiko? And why my card?” The answer came to him suddenly and shockingly. He looked up. “You cannot believe I could do such a thing.”
Kobe sighed. “I don’t want to believe it,” he said, “but you of all men will understand that I have my duty to perform. I had hoped that there would be another explanation, but you have confirmed the facts. I shall try to spare you and your family as much indignity as possible.”
Akitada clenched his hands. “Are you arresting me? No, you’ve got it all wrong, Kobe. It was suicide. Suicide and murder. It was revenge.” Akitada realized he was babbling and took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I made my cousin a foolish promise yesterday. I gave him time before turning him in for killing that old maid. The woman was blackmailing him. He admitted it. His new mistress was having an affair with a younger man. Koremori tried to use me to implicate the lovers in this murder.”
Kobe raised his brows. “You cannot kill people with incense. The old woman had a heart attack.”
“Perhaps, but it was brought on by poisoned incense that Koremori had prepared. He knew in a tiny closed room she would choke to death. Once she was out of the way, he claimed the poison had been intended for him by Sakanoue and Yoshiko, and that the nurse had died by accident.”
“Nonsense. This isn’t worthy of you, Sugawara.”
Akitada chewed his lip. He realized that a man like Kobe would not accept the convoluted reasoning behind Koremori’s action. He tried again, more desperately.
“Captain, you don’t know my cousin’s mind. His reputation meant everything to him. When I told him what I knew, he begged for time. I thought he wanted to settle his estate before making a clean breast of what he claimed was an accident. Instead, he committed suicide, taking Yoshiko along, and putting the blame on me.” Akitada grimaced. “I should have expected a trick. That’s the way Koremori’s mind worked.”
Kobe said coldly, “No, it’s the way your mind works. Your story is absurd. No one else could think up such a tale on the spur of the moment.”
Akitada swallowed. “Captain, you cannot seriously suspect me of such a heinous crime. You know me. Besides where is my motive?” But even as he said it, he knew and despaired.
“Where was his? As for yours, according to Koremori’s will, you were his favorite cousin. He left you his entire fortune, which is considerable. His precise words were, I believe, ‘in the hope that it may repay him for his kindness to me.’”
Akitada stared at Kobe in horror. “I won’t touch it. Give it to the families of the dead women.”
Kobe shook his head. He looked unhappy but determined.
“I bet Koremori wrote a new will before killing himself.” Akitada felt the beads of perspiration turn cold on his neck and face. “I tell you, he did this out of revenge. Because I knew what he’d done and threatened to expose him, he decided to take my life.”
“This isn’t getting us anywhere.” Kobe got up. “Let’s go,” he said wearily.
Akitada looked around the room helplessly. What would become of them all? What would his mother do? “Wait,” he cried. “My mother selected the fan I took to Koremori. She will tell you so.” But he already quailed at the thought of that scene.
Kobe shook his head. “We know about the fan. You must have brought the sweets on your third and last visit. Time’s up.”
How quickly a man’s fortune can change! By not going to the police immediately, Akitada had caused Yoshiko’s death. Your actions will return to you, said the proverb. He had bungled, and now he was lost.
As he stumbled to his feet, his eyes fell on his card and a memory flashed into his mind. He saw a boy holding a black and white kitten and removing the red card from its teeth.
“The card. Look at it. It’s proof that I’m innocent.” He held out the slip of red paper to Kobe with a shaking hand. “Do you see those marks? Yoshiko’s kitten made those on my first visit. When I went back the second time, that kitten was already dead.” He took a deep breath. “There is a witness. If you don’
t believe me, ask for Jiro, one of the servants. He’s only a boy, but very bright and observant. He came to catch the kitten while I was with his master on my first visit. The kitten was playing with this card.”
Kobe took the card and looked at it. Then he looked at Akitada. Slowly conviction gave way to doubt. “Very well. If the boy remembers, I’ll reopen the investigation,” he said. “If not, I’ll be back.”
When Kobe was gone, Akitada’s knees suddenly gave way. He sank on his cushion. But he was no longer afraid. Kobe, for all his coldness, was a fair man and a good officer, and Jiro would remember. They would talk to Sakanoue and to Kenzo and to the other servants. They would find the poison in Koremori’s house. Koremori’s will would be declared invalid, though the blood money would not console Yoshiko’s family for her death. And he would always bear the guilt for that.
Then he thought of the bright-eyed and observant boy Jiro who was about to save him, and was grateful.
Instruments of Murder
Heian-Kyo (Kyoto), 11th century, Leaf-changing Month:
LORD Sugawara—Akitada to family and friends—was playing his new flute to the breaking dawn. He was constrained to practice in the far corner of his garden, in a vine-covered shack, well away from the main house, because his efforts grated on the ears of his household. They were too polite to say so, but had a habit of scattering every time he pulled out his beloved flute.
For this reason he was surprised to see his secretary Seimei running toward him over the smooth stones of the old path. He broke off a tender rendition of “The village in the forest” and asked, “What’s the matter?”
The elderly man stopped breathlessly and wiped beads of perspiration from his wrinkled brow. It was already hot and humid, though summer was past. “I’m very sorry, sir,” he gasped, “but there’s a constable at the gate. He says that Tora has been arrested for a double murder.”
Akitada’s mouth fell open. “Tora? A double murder?”
“I’m afraid so, sir. The earth always shakes when we least expect it.”
Akitada sighed and tucked his flute into his sleeve. “There is some mistake, of course, but I’d better go and see. Bring me my cap and tell my wife that I have been called away.”
“I brought your cap, sir.” Seimei produced it from his voluminous sleeve, along with a small bronze mirror. He said smugly, “They say ‘Have an umbrella ready before it rains!’”
Peering into the mirror, Akitada adjusted the stiff black silk cap on his topknot and tied the black cords under his chin. “Very well. If you haven’t done so already, you might send to the ministry and tell them I’ll be a little late. It shouldn’t take long to clear this up.”
He met with difficulties the moment he arrived at the office of the warden of the Eastern River Village, a pleasure quarter on the left bank of the Kamo. Clearly his name meant nothing to the fat warden and red-coated constable, and the colored trim on his hat denoting his rank passed unnoticed. The warden merely stared rudely as the constable snapped, “No one is admitted. Orders of the Metropolitan Police.”
“Announce my presence to the person in charge or I shall report your insolence,” Akitada snapped.
The warden opened his mouth, thought better of it, and disappeared. The sound of muffled voices came from the rear of the building. Someone cried, “Not that Sugawara?” The warden’s reply was inaudible, but the other voice was still raised in frustration: “Get rid of him! Any way you like! That’s all I need! The amateur snoop.”
Akitada cast a glance at the impassive face of the constable, sighed, and then went to sit on a grimy mat in the corner.
After a moment he drew his flute from his sleeve and began to play the opening notes of “The village in the forest.”
The inner door opened abruptly and an official, wearing a red tunic and the insignia of a police inspector on his silk cap, burst into the room.
“Who’s making this infernal noise?” he shouted. His eyes fell on Akitada. He took in the silk robe and the blue rank trim on his cap and swallowed. Bowing deeply, he said, “Forgive this humble person, sir. This filthy hovel distorts sound dreadfully.”
“Really?” Akitada looked about him vaguely. “I’m Sugawara. You have a servant of mine in custody?”
“Oh!” The inspector looked as if he had bitten on a cherry stone with a sore tooth. He waved his hands and said quickly, “It’s nothing, sir. Nothing at all to require your attention. Merely a small matter of obstructing the law, sir.”
“Not a double murder?” Akitada sounded disappointed.
“No, no. A silly mistake of the local authorities. Your man came across two bodies and called the warden who did not like his manner and arrested him. The case is solved.”
“You have solved both murders?”
“Oh, yes, yes. One murder only. A beggar stabbed a drunken wrestler during a robbery. He then succumbed to his evil deed.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“He died of natural causes near his victim. It closes the case.”
Akitada’s eyebrows shot up. “That is very strange indeed. Perhaps I might have a look?” He rose smoothly and tucked the flute back into his sleeve.
The inspector cleared his throat. “Er … ah … I’m expecting the coroner any moment …”
“No trouble at all, my dear fellow,” Akitada said breezily, striding purposefully toward the door. “It’s a sort of hobby of mine, you know. You may not be aware of it, but I’ve been able to solve a number of puzzling crimes in the past. I should be delighted to offer my views on this case.”
The inspector gulped and moved aside. “Er … there’s really no case … down the hall and to the left,” he said, watching helplessly as Akitada disappeared into a room.
The dead men lay naked on grimy straw mats on the floor. One looked to be in his thirties or early forties, a big, handsome man with muscular legs and arms and a belly which showed signs of turning to flab. Several stab wounds in the left chest and side had torn the thick skin, bleeding profusely down the left side of his belly, groin and upper thigh. The cause of death was obvious, but Akitada peered at the wounds, measuring their width and placement, touching the skin and dried blood, and moving fingers and wrists. Then he turned to the other body.
This man was in most respects the opposite. He was elderly—at least sixty, thought Akitada—short, fat and unhealthy looking. He had a belly but his arms and legs were pitifully thin and weak. Akitada inspected every inch of the body, paying particular attention to the scalp and face, but found no wounds, only a trickle of blood from one nostril and ear. For a few moments he stood, pursing his lips and pulling his left earlobe. Then he bent again to check the dead man’s palms, fingernails, and the soles of his feet.
The inspector, who had watched impatiently, offered a comment now. “That’s the killer. A common beggar. They hang about the river front and beg from drunks returning from parties. When times get bad, they turn to robbery. This one must’ve found the wrestler sleeping it off—you can still smell the wine on the fellow—and tried to get his money from his belt. No doubt the wrestler caught him at it, and the beggar had no choice but to kill him.”
Akitada looked at the policeman. “With what?” he asked.
The inspector pointed to a package wrapped in oiled paper. “A short sword. We found it in a rain barrel near the site.”
Akitada unwrapped the parcel, exclaimed in surprise, and reverently raised a short sword, perfectly clean, its slim graceful blade mounted on a grip of black metal heavily inlaid in pure gold with a design of waving grasses. “How did the beggar get a sword like this?” he asked. “For that matter, what makes you think he’s a beggar?”
“His clothes, sir.” The inspector indicated two bundles in the corner. “As to the sword, we cannot be sure yet, but he either took it from the victim or stole it somewhere earlier.”
Akitada grunted. He undid the first bundle and found the beggar’s rags, a torn grey robe, its tattered bottom so short
it must barely have covered his naked legs, for there was nothing else except the white loincloth. The robe was horribly stained with blood on the front, the right side, and the right sleeve. The loin cloth was quite clean. Akitada frowned, holding up the garments and looking from them to the corpses and back again. Then he put them down and took up the wrestler’s clothes: a loin cloth, a white silk underrobe, sky blue cotton outer robe with a large white pattern of waves and cranes, and a black-and-white checked cotton sash. Both robes were slashed and blood-soaked in the chest area, and the sash and loin cloth were partially stained. He nodded and put them back.
“May I now see my servant?” he asked.
Tora crouched in the corner of a bare cell in the back of the warden’s house. His face was bruised, and his hands and feet were chained, but he greeted Akitada with a grin.
“Knew you’d come right away, sir. I told the fools you’d straighten them out in short order. Never saw a warden as stupid as this one. Have you seen the bodies? Any idea what happened?”
Akitada raised his hand. “Not so fast! I should be the one to ask you what happened.”
“The victim is Kiyomura, a fourth-rate wrestler. I’ve never laid eyes on the other fellow. I had supper with Kiyomura and a few others at the Phoenix Pavilion, a restaurant on the river. It was hot, and the Phoenix Pavilion has balconies hanging over the water. There’s a cool breeze with a fine view of the city and of pleasure barges with lots of pretty girls in them, and they serve an excellent cheap wine.”
“Never mind all that.”
“Kiyomura used to be a pretty decent wrestler, but this year he didn’t place at all. Too much high living.”
“How did he support himself?”
Tora shook his head. “It’s a mystery. Last night he had plenty of money. Bragged that he’d found his own gold mine and talked about gifts from an admirer.”