The Death Ceremony

by James Melville

  Hanae was almost finished, and the transformation from harassed housewife to gracious hostess was remarkable. She seldom during their discussions advanced theories of her own, even though in recent years her husband had more and more come to use her as a sounding-board for his own speculations about cases he was concerned with; where previously he had hardly talked about them at all to her. "Well," she said now, "Inspector Sakamoto must have had an accomplice in the room. You told me that yourself."

  Otani nodded. "You're right. We've gone over it again and again. I even thought about staging a reconstruction, but there seems to be very little point in it. People who know the tea ceremony well point out that the movements of the person performing it, his position on the tatami mat, the direction in which he faces and so on are all absolutely prescribed. So if it was just a question of shooting to hit him somewhere in the body it would only be necessary to establish the angle beforehand. No need to see the target at all. To get him in the head, though. That would call for very precise timing, and the gunman would need some signal to let him know the exact moment when the tea master was going to bow to the guests. His head would come up a second before theirs, you see."

  "It sounds very complicated," Hanae said. She made a final adjustment to her obi, then patted her hair. "What-ever's the matter?" she said then, alarm in her voice. "Don't you feel well?"

  Otani was staring at her fixedly, his mouth half open. Then he shook his head violently. "Yes. No. I mean, I'm fine. The Governor's wife! Her sister! A transmitter in her obi, or maybe her hair!" As Hanae continued to look blank, Otani began to pace across the room, talking mainly to himself. "Of course, why didn't I think of it before? Women are always fidgeting with their obi, patting their hair and so forth. Nobody would have noticed: the simplest of codes would do. Pat-pat-pat: he's just come into the room. Pat-pat: get ready, he's whisking the tea . . . then . . . NOW! His head's coming up!" Otani smacked one fist into an open hand, a look of triumph on his face.

  "Why?" Hanae enquired.

  "Why what? What do you mean, why?"

  "Why would the Governor's wife be willing to be an accomplice to the murder of her own lover? You did tell me they'd had an affair, didn't you?"

  "Yes. According to this secretary girl Kimura seems to have fallen for. There must be something about the atmosphere of that place, you know. Don't you see, there's a very strong motive? Mrs Minamikuni found out about the affair and there was a tremendous row, presumably because she came upon some letters her younger sister had written to the Grand Master. Well, these letters are still in Mrs Minamikuni's possession—a perfect blackmail instrument to use on the wife of a prominent politician, don't you see? And even though it has been suggested that she didn't care about her husband's womanising except in relation to her sister, Mrs Minamikuni could have got to the end of her tether, couldn't she? It seems he regarded every woman he set eyes on as fair game."

  Hanae nodded thoughtfully, experiencing a physical frisson as she remembered the look in those eyes, locked on hers for no more than a moment.

  "One can feel a certain sympathy with the woman," Otani went on, and Hanae's head snapped up.

  "Judging by what you told me about Mrs Minamikuni," she said tartly, "she doesn't need anybody's sympathy."

  Otani gave her one of his rare smiles. "All right. But she'd still need someone's help. It's Fujiwara's involvement that bothers me most. Could the Governor's wife have been having an affair with him, I wonder? It's funny, you know, Fujiwara never married. Very unusual for a man in his position . . ."He was interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell, and a look of pure panic spread over Hanae's face.

  "Ara! They're here already!" she wailed, and fled down the stairs. Hanae had disappeared into the kitchen by the time Otani followed at a more stately pace, arriving in the entrance hall just as the sliding door rattled open.

  Feeling something of a fool, Superintendent Tetsuo Otani sank down to his knees to do the honours.

  Chapter 24

  I 1NEELING THERE IN THE ROOM THAT HE AND HANAE slept in, Otani felt heartily relieved that Noguchi wasn't there to witness the scene. Not that Patrick Casey's performance of the tea ceremony was an embarrassment: far from it. In the formal dress which became him very well, with his pale face and general air of looking older than his years, he made a picture of cultured refinement as he went through the solemn ritual. His movements lacked the insolent assurance which had been displayed by the late Grand Master in the last moments of his life, but that was scarcely surprising. For all that, he looked every inch the teacher.

  Hanae, too, looked gracious, and in her husband's eyes beautiful as she watched intently. The cakes eaten as a preliminary had come from one of the oldest shops in Osaka, and Otani himself had been given the duty of buying the powdered tea on the occasion of what he hoped would be his last visit to Kyoto for some time. He had played safe by choosing the most expensive kind.

  It was, alas, Rosie who struck an incongruous note, in her faded and patched jeans, and a sweatshirt with a curious device and some words printed on it. The Otanis were as skilled in the art of selective vision as any other Japanese, and were quite ready not to notice her clothes, but it was more difficult to disregard the subdued snorts which came from her at frequent intervals as she tried valiantly not to giggle. The really terrible thing was that it was catching, and it needed every bit of Otani's self-control to prevent his own shoulders from heaving as he observed ^ Rosie out of the corner of his eye.

  Otani was in any case in a state of euphoria, which had been triggered off by the arrival of the two at the front door. Casey had exuded the very spirit of Kyoto as he bowed low, murmuring the appropriate courtesies, then unobtrusively handed over their present with the prescribed expressions of embarrassment over its inadequacy and general wretchedness. In fact it was a large bottle of the finest "super-special" grade sake: highly satisfactory by any reckoning. Behind Casey, though, Rosie had stood beaming. Her bow was as inelegant as her Japanese, but the sheer goodwill emanating from her had touched Otani, and he was thrown into delighted confusion when she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

  He looked at her now in real affection. The badly-stifled giggles had subsided, and there was a pretematurally solemn expression on her freckled face as she accepted the first bowl of tea. Otani and Hanae had both been adamant that she should take the place of honour, and had immediately forgiven her for doing so at once, ignorant of the fact that she should have demurred.

  They all watched as she raised the bowl to her lips and sipped, then pulled the most comical face as she tasted the bitter liquid. Casey did no more than smile quietly, busy as he was making the next bowl. This came to Otani, to whom the taste was perfectly familiar. As he drained his tea, wiped the rim of the bowl in the prescribed manner and laid it on the tatami mat in front of him he winked solemnly at Rosie, who went bright red in a successful attempt to suppress another paroxysm of mirth.

  Hanae was last, and played her part with deft grace; and soon it was over. They all bowed, and Patrick Casey looked at the little gathering expectantly. Otani turned to Rosie. "You have one more duty, Rosie-san," he said gravely. "As guest of honour, it is for you to thank the sensei on behalf of all of us."

  Rosie looked round wildly, and Otani noticed Casey nod at her, the same quiet smile on his lips. "Oh," she said. "Sorry. Yes. Well. Thank you very much, Patrick. It was very interesting. Actually, if you want to know what I think, it's absolutely horrible, and can't be good for you. All that stimulant, I mean."

  Since she spoke in English, neither Hanae nor Otani could understand. Casey bowed to them, smiling more broadly, and interpreted. "Rosie-san has expressed most eloquently what is in her heart," he explained. "I have been honoured to perform the tea ceremony for you . . . and I shall never forget what I owe to you, Otani-san."

  Now they could all relax, and Otani settled himself more comfortably as Hanae took away the tea bowls and other implements, with Rosie's help. They we
re soon back, with the lacquer trays of food Hanae had prepared, and plenty of sake, Otani was glad to see. Indeed, after three or four cups, he was emboldened to ask Rosie the significance of the sign on her sweatshirt.

  "Oh, that? Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament," she said. "No Cruise Missiles Here. I got it at Greenham Common. That's how I bust up with Roger. Glad I did, now." She grinned hungrily at Patrick Casey, who once more had to render her English into reasonably comprehensible Japanese. A touch of colour came into his own cheeks as he explained that Rosie and Roger, whom he believed they had met in London, were no longer . . . er, that is to say . . . close friends.

  Hanae and Otani nodded solemnly, and to cover the momentary embarrassment Otani ate half of his bowl of brown rice without really noticing what he was doing. It was Rosie who then volunteered the news that the newly-qualified tea-master was planning to establish himself in Diisseldorf in Germany, of all places, in order to earn his living by giving lessons to the wives and daughters of the numerous K Japanese businessmen living there. She didn't actually say as much, but left the Otanis in little doubt that she planned after graduation to make her way there too. Hanae wanted to ask very discreetly whether she possessed any kimonos, but restrained herself. The self-contained Mr Casey seemed to have the measure of the young lady, and they would no doubt come to some satisfactory, even if only temporary understanding.

  The meal was over, and Patrick Casey had begun to make preliminary noises about departing when the telephone rang and Otani went to answer it downstairs. During his absence Hanae referred in a complimentary way once more to Keishii-sensei's elegant outfit, wondering however if he found it a little inconvenient as a foreigner to go about in public like that. For the first time the Irishman looked as young as he was, and Hanae could quite see why Rosie might prefer him to Roger.

  "My other clothes are in a bag in a locker at the station," he explained, his face alive with amusement. "It isn't easy changing in a tiny toilet in a coffee bar, but I did it on the way here, and I'll do it again after we leave. I've got the same kind of sweatshirt as Rosie—she brought it for me as a present."

  It was obviously the right moment to leave, and after only token protests Hanae let them lead the way to the stairs. Otani was half-way up them on his way back from his phone conversation, but retreated again and backed into the living-room until Casey had reached the tiny entrance hall and stepped down into his wooden geta sandals. Rosie sat firmly on the wooden step to put on her canvas training shoes, and then they both turned to bow to the Otanis, who were by then on their knees to bid their guests farewell.

  The old house seemed very quiet after they were gone and Hanae felt an inexplicable mood of melancholy come over her. She looked up from where she was sitting on a zabuton cushion in the living room as Otani came back into the house from the front gate where he had been standing, waving shyly until Casey and Rosie rounded the corner of the street.

  "It was very nice, wasn't it?" she sighed. "But it makes me feel rather old and a little sad."

  There was tenderness in his swarthy face as Otani looked down at her. "Why don't you ring Akiko-chan in London and have a little talk with her? Tell her about this evening. It'll be morning there."

  Hanae cheered up at once. "Do you know, I think I will," she said, then looked at her husband with some concern. "You look worried. Has something happened?"

  Otani shook his head. "Not really. You go and talk to Akiko. I've got things to think about. You see, that was Inspector Mihara from Kyoto on the phone. He's just discovered why Fujiwara's been having so much sick leave for the past few months. It seems he has cancer. It puts things in a rather different perspective."

  Chapter 25

  Tell me honestly," Otani insisted. "How much did you know from the beginning?'' The members of the Osaka Rotary Club were streaming out of the enormous private room after their luncheon meeting and dispersing into the anonymity of the Royal Hotel, and Atsugi nodded and smiled at a number of them as he placed a strong hand behind Otani's elbow and led him to one side.

  "Not very much," he said at last. "It seemed to me to be a strange way to go about killing the British Ambassador, sure. But I didn't deliberately try to steer you away from the Minamikuni family. I'm glad you got that young Irishman out of trouble. How did the visit to your home go?"

  Otani smiled reminiscently. "I think my wife lost her heart to Casey," he said. "He seems to have a way with women. The English girl has obviously decided she made a mistake in parting with him the first time. Maybe it's something about tea ceremony masters."

  Atsugi nodded. "Could be." Then his big, fleshy face took on a troubled expression. "It's a mess, though. The doctors say that Fujiwara's cancer is pretty far advanced. He has maybe three months. I've talked to the brass in Tokyo and they're inclined to let the marriage go ahead to give him that much comfort at least. After all it begins to look as though it would be hard to prove he had any personal hand in the matter. Who would have thought the Minamikuni woman would have gone on being crazy about him over all those years?"

  "It will be that much harder to pull her in later," Otani said. "And even when we do, the case against her won't be watertight. We shall get nothing out of Sakamoto, I'm quite sure." He shook his head worriedly. Having had several lengthy sessions with Sakamoto, Otani was convinced that his former subordinate was clearly mad. He had confessed to having fired the shot which killed the Grand Master, but insisted that he had acted alone. He would give no explanation of his motive, and denied the existence of a conspirator. Sakamoto also admitted faking the evidence against Casey, and attempting to murder him and make it appear that he had committed suicide. The theory that there had been an attempt to assassinate the British Ambassador had provided him with the idea, and with the opportunity to sacrifice the young man, concerning whom Sakamoto showed no remorse whatever. He seemed, in fact, to have entered a condition of almost mystical serenity, and Otani despaired of making any more progress through interrogation.

  Atsugi rubbed his nose. "We did what you asked. We made very discreet but very thorough enquiries. There's no doubt whatever that the Governor's wife has had an affair with the Iemoto within the past five years, and it seems very possible that her elder sister has been blackmailing her in some way. Psychologically it wouldn't have been difficult. Apparently when they were young the two sisters were inseparable and the younger one was completely under the thumb of the elder. As to whether the new Grand Master is really Fujiwara's son, only Mrs Minamikuni can really tell us the answer, and I somehow doubt if she will. In short, your theory might just hold water, Otani-san. All the same, I wouldn't try to prove it if I were you."

  He looked at his watch. "Hey, I have to go. Look, I can't stop you arresting Mrs Minamikuni. You're the cop, not me. I don't think you'd find the District Prosecutor would be too pleased, though. It makes a fine magazine story. Childhood lovers, prevented from marrying. A forced v marriage, a love child, divorce out of the question in such a family. Widowhood the only hope." Atsugi looked at Otani, one eyebrow raised. "Who knows, perhaps you could dredge up failed attempts on her husband's life during the years. Driven to desperation when lifelong lover develops cancer, plots to kill husband by blackmailing sister and with the willing cooperation of the one man she knows who would do anything without question to serve the interests of the wartime commander he worshipped— and just happened to have the right skills."

  Atsugi paused, clapped Otani on the shoulder and left his hand there for a moment. "A great story. Would make a great movie. They could have Toshiro Mifune play the Fujiwara part. But where's the evidence, my friend? You got the murderer, after all. I have to go. The British Ambassador's due in town this afternoon. I'll see you."

  He turned away, then came back and spoke in a stage whisper. "Know what? He's had another threatening letter. I think he writes them himself."

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  James Melville was born in London in 1931 and educated in North London. He read philosop
hy at Birkbeck College before being conscripted into the RAF, then took up schoolteaching and adult education. Most of his subsequent career has been spent overseas in cultural diplomacy and educational development, and it was in this capacity that he came to know, love, and write about Japan and the Japanese. He has two sons and is married to a singer-actress. He continues to write more mystery novels starring Superintendent Otani.