AHMM, Sep 2005

by Dell Magazine Authors

  Akitada said, “Don't disturb yourselves, gentlemen. I have just one or two questions. You heard that the young man arrested for your chief's murder has committed suicide?"

  Kajiwara glanced at Kiso. “Yes. How sad. I can imagine what his poor parents must be feeling."

  Kiso nodded. “So difficult nowadays to raise sons properly. At least this one accepted his punishment like a man. Sometimes suicide is very proper, don't you think?” When Kajiwara made an inarticulate sound, Kiso cried, “Oh, forgive me, Kajiwara. I didn't mean..."

  But Kajiwara had already jumped up. His hands shook so badly that he clenched them. “You did mean it,” he shouted at Kiso. “You never let me forget my poor son for a moment. You do it on purpose, Kiso. It is very cruel of you.” With a sob, he fled the room.

  Kiso opened his mouth to explain, but Akitada interrupted coldly. “Don't bother. Your colleague's story is known to the police. Your own, however, is another matter. I think you lied, and I came to ask you again what you were doing at Masayoshi's that morning."

  "What?” The color drained from Kiso's face.

  While satisfied with the reaction, Akitada still wondered what Kiso was hiding and suddenly remembered the neat stack of account books on Masayoshi's desk. It was worth a try. “Come,” he said, “you may as well admit it. Masayoshi had questions about the accounts."

  "The accounts?” Beads of sweat appeared on Kiso's face.

  Akitada smiled unpleasantly. “And I am even more curious to know what you did about it."

  "Nothing. I did n-nothing,” stammered Kiso. “I mean, he did nothing. That is...” He was hopelessly entangled.

  "Masayoshi was not the sort of man to overlook improprieties. You killed him and hoped to pin the crime on Kajiwari, didn't you? You knew he had an appointment after you."

  "N-no, no! I didn't. You made a mistake. He didn't—I wasn't—I'm innocent.” Kiso sweated and wrung his hands. “Please, you must believe me, I'm innocent.” He burst into tears.

  A very satisfactory reaction. But Akitada had just realized something else: If the wardrobe accounts were the reason for Kiso's panic, it was not likely that he had stabbed his superior and left them behind. He decided to go back and make sure.

  * * * *

  This time, the imposing gates of the Masayoshi residence were closed, and a taboo sign warned of the recent death. He was admitted by the gatekeeper who was dressed in the drab mourning garment Lady Otoku's maids had been sewing. The funeral was over and silence hung over the compound.

  This time, Lady Otoku was behind a screen, dressed in the dark silks of mourning. Her voice was faint. Akitada thought cynically that screens made it easy for women to pretend emotions they did not feel, but he realized that he had transferred his disapproval from Shigeyori to the woman he had loved—or at least courted.

  After expressing condolences on Shigeyori's death—she listened with deep sighs—he asked for her help in clearing Shigeyori's name.

  "Oh,” she murmured, “I thought ... you mean Shigeyori did not do it? But why then ... oh, how terrible!” She burst into violent sobbing, and the elderly maid hurried to her assistance.

  After her self-control on his last visit, Akitada was startled. It seemed odd that she should collapse now, but perhaps she, too, felt responsible for Shigeyori's death. Embarrassed and concerned for her distress, he rose to withdraw.

  "What is it that I can do?” she asked suddenly, her voice thick with weeping.

  He paused. “I was curious what brought your father's colleague Kiso here that morning, but it can wait."

  "Kiso,” she corrected him, “is not my father's colleague. He is a clerk, and he may be a thief. My father summoned him because he had questions about the accounts. Even though Father conducted some of the affairs of the wardrobe office from here, he was very conscientious."

  That at least confirmed his guess. “I do not doubt it,” Akitada said politely. “What was the outcome of the interview?"

  "I never saw my father alive again. Do you suspect Kiso?"

  Before Akitada could answer, the door opened. A servant knelt in the opening and bowed. “A thief has been arrested, mistress,” he cried. “By the constable in the main hall."

  Lady Otoku gave no sign of surprise at the news. She asked, “Is that all?"

  "It's Mr. Kiso, Mistress. He was trying to take away the master's books. Now he's off to jail.” The servant looked pleased.

  "Thank you, Hiko,” she said in dismissal. When the door had closed again, she turned to Akitada. “How clever of you, sir. So my father's murder is solved. I am deeply in your debt.” She sighed. “How very sad that Shigeyori had so little faith in justice."

  She had regained her control. Akitada found her complacency tasteless and quickly departed for Kobe's office.

  * * * *

  Kobe looked excited. “Look! The victim identified his killer,” he cried and pointed to Masayoshi's accounts on his desk. “Kiso tried to steal them. Have a look."

  Akitada took the books up one by one and leafed through. They were the wardrobe office accounts, and a loose note tumbled from one. Masayoshi had been angry enough to jot down some figures and the words “Let that rascal Kiso weasel out of this!"

  "It's my fault,” Akitada said with a sigh, replacing the books. “I talked to Kiso earlier and frightened him into making this foolish attempt. Apparently he is guilty of falsifying the books, but that is all.” He explained his reasoning and saw Kobe's face fall.

  "Well,” Kobe said, shaking his head, “I had hoped we would not have to start all over again, but it seems we must. There may be another suspect. Masayoshi was involved in an affair with a married woman, and the lady's husband recently returned from four years of provincial service."

  Akitada frowned. “An affair?” This sort of thing happened often enough and explained why many officials dragged along their families when assigned to distant places, though some wives flatly refused to leave the comforts and pleasures of life in the capital, while some husbands preferred the freedom of new liaisons at a distance from their homes. “Wasn't Masayoshi getting a little too old for that sort of fling?"

  "He was only forty-five."

  Akitada grimaced. He was rapidly approaching forty himself. “How did you find out?"

  "My wife heard about it. Women know such things first. It seems the husband found her pregnant and sent her home to her family."

  Akitada sat up. “She was pregnant?"

  "Yes. And an injured husband is a murder suspect."

  "But the husband wasn't there that morning, or was he?"

  "He was not seen, but I'm afraid we have to consider him. It seems strange Masayoshi and his paramour did not prepare better. They must have expected the husband's return."

  Akitada's eyes widened. Then he smiled. “Oh, but I think they did! Of course, they did. There is someone who had a much stronger motive than all of our suspects. Come, we have to go back to Masayoshi's house."

  Kobe looked startled. “Why?"

  "Sorry. I have been wrong so often in this case that I'd rather make sure first."

  When they crossed the entrance courtyard of the Masayoshi house, Akitada stopped. “Shigeyori was seen running from the main hall to this gate?"

  Kobe nodded.

  "And both Kajiwara and Kiso arrived and left this way?"

  "Yes. What difference does it make?"

  Akitada started for the main hall. “I don't know yet, but I take it you had their route searched for the murder weapon?"

  "Of course, and the entire neighborhood, including the nearest canal."

  Akitada nodded absentmindedly. They took the stairs and went inside and to Masayoshi's study.

  Akitada threw open the doors to the rear veranda and stepped outside. The constable jerked to attention and was ignored. They looked down into the small courtyard with its gravel and river pebbles. A memory stirred for Akitada, and he glanced across to Lady Otoku's pavilion.

  Kobe said unnecessarily, �
��The women's quarters."

  "Yes.” Akitada looked at it fixedly for a moment, then ran down the stairs, across the courtyard, and to the foot of the pavilion's stairs. The two planters with the matching orange trees flanked the staircase. He looked at the pebbles in the right one, then thrust his hand among them. Feeling around a moment, he pulled out a short ornamental dagger.

  Kobe joined him. “The murder weapon?” he asked. “How did you know it was here?"

  "I guessed. The first time I came, I noticed dirt on the pebbles and thought a bird had scratched around.” Akitada looked at the dagger with satisfaction. The handle was black lacquered wood with a fine silver overlay, but the blade was wickedly sharp. A crust of dirt and a brown substance clung to its top. “If I'm not mistaken, this belongs to Lady Otoku. It is the sort that is given by a father to a newborn daughter,” he said. “I'm afraid this one still has her father's blood on it."

  "Shigeyori!” Kobe looked stunned. “He's the only one who could have taken it from Lady Otoku's room. Unless you think it was one of her maids?"

  "Not a maid,” Akitada said, “and the fact that Shigeyori was Lady Otoku's lover does not prove he took it."

  "But ... you don't mean she gave it to him! To murder her own father?” Kobe was shocked. “What a very nasty thought."

  "I agree. I think she suggested the murder to him weeks ago. That was why he was too upset to keep his mind on his work.” He looked up at the pavilion. “Shall we go arrest the lady?"

  "Are you sure she knew Shigeyori took her dagger?"

  "We arrest her for the murder. I think Shigeyori refused and she did it herself."

  "She killed her own father?"

  "Yes. Shigeyori found Masayoshi dead and ran out the front in a panic. We found the dagger here, between her father's room and her own—where she hid it after the murder. Then she did her best to pin the crime on Shigeyori by sending him to talk to her father. She expected him to come running back to her with the news, but Shigeyori was so horrified that he fled. A good thing you posted a constable or she would have disposed of the dagger by now."

  Kobe shook his head in disbelief. “I don't understand it. I don't care how unpleasant the man was to others, he clearly doted on her."

  "Sometimes fatherly love is too constricting. And she was about to lose everything. She was her father's sole heiress—until Masayoshi acknowledged another child. If that child was a son, Lady Otoku, as a female, would have to submit to her half brother's wishes."

  "Oh. You think she found out about that?” Kobe was thunder-struck.

  "I think Masayoshi informed her. They were much alike, you know. Lady Otoku is a strong-willed female, and he had very firm notions about her future. Her own wishes did not matter to him."

  Kobe looked at him curiously. “Aren't you shocked?"

  "No. I did not much like her because of her remarkable self-control. She is a clever woman, though, and perfectly capable of pretending grief when it suits her."

  Kobe looked unhappy. “This will be difficult to prosecute. A young woman of her class? And such a crime."

  "I know.” Akitada walked up the steps and called out. A servant came and was sent to announce them.

  Lady Otoku was behind her screen again and in the company of the same elderly maid.

  They accepted the cushions waiting for them, refused the offered wine, and went straight to business.

  "We found the murder weapon,” Akitada said.

  She gave a small gasp.

  Akitada pushed the dagger under her screen. “I believe this is yours."

  Lady Otoku gave a high-pitched cry and scooted back. “Take it away,” she squealed. Her maid rose, uncertain what to do.

  Akitada retrieved the dagger. “Your father's blood is on it,” he said coldly. “On the dagger he gave you himself, never suspecting that you would use it against him."

  "How dare you! I loved my father. Perhaps one of my servants..."

  Her maid gasped and turned pale.

  Her mistress tried again. “No. If this is really the murder weapon, then Shigeyori must have taken it without my knowledge. Oh, how horrible.” She whimpered.

  Akitada was suddenly very angry. He rose and moved the screen, so he could look at her. She hid her face with her sleeve. He snapped, “Don't waste our time. We know what happened. You tried to get Shigeyori to do it, but he could not bring himself to kill another human being, and so you had to do it yourself. Shigeyori committed suicide in jail so he would not have to tell the police about you. He loved you, but you only saw him as a convenient tool to rid yourself of your father."

  She had become very still, but when she lowered her arm, her eyes flashed. “Shigeyori was a coward and a weakling. I suspected it, but he was handsome and he was the only man who ever came close to me. My father denied me a normal life because he liked the way I ran his household for him. Far from my using Shigeyori, he used me. He killed my father to get his hands on my wealth."

  "Impossible. As angry as he was at Shigeyori, your father would never have turned his back on him.” Akitada looked at the elderly maid, who was weeping. “You are Lady Otoku's nurse, aren't you?” The woman nodded, brushing away tears. “What happened to the young maid who was here the first time I called?"

  "She went to visit her family,” her mistress answered—too quickly.

  "At a time of mourning?” Akitada shook his head. “I think you sent her away.” He read the answer in the nurse's face and drove the point home. “She knew you had paid your father a visit that morning, didn't she? Or did you get his blood on your gown when you stood behind him and drove your dagger into his back?"

  "No,” Lady Otoku shrieked. She rose and stamped her foot. “How can you be so cruel? Leave my house this instant."

  Kobe was beginning to look uneasy, but Akitada said firmly, “It is over, Lady Otoku. That maid will be brought back and she will testify. And so will your father's mistress. I have no doubt they discussed their plans for his unborn child and for your future."

  He saw her eyes widen with shock. Before they could stop her, she darted forward to snatch up the dagger from the floor. Placing its tip to her throat, she cried, “Don't try to stop me."

  The purpose of the dagger was known to all high-born women. They would use it to end their lives when dishonor threatened. And a woman with the determination of Lady Otoku did not hesitate for a moment.

  * * * *

  The following morning, Akitada went to his study to get Mr. Hakata's gold. He intended to return it with the explanation that the police had solved the case.

  When he opened the door, he disturbed a bird that had flown in from the garden. For a moment, it fluttered wildly about the room with a clatter of wings, then it escaped through the open doors. Akitada caught an indistinct glimpse of its dark shape and of something red flitting through the air before it was gone. On the desk lay the green silk package with the gold, but the red silk braid was gone.

  Bemused, Akitada walked out to his veranda and looked up into the trees. There was a slight movement on one of the branches. A feathered thief, he thought, and remembered his lost rank ribbons. It was so easy to misplace blame. Somewhere, no doubt, a magpie nest was luxuriously lined in red and green silk brocade.

  The trouble was that human beings were neither as infallible nor as fortunate as the immortals. There had not been a magic bridge for Shigeyori and Lady Otoku.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Copyright © 2005 by I. J. Parker.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  The Timber Snake by Doug Allyn

  Heck heard the shickety-shickety warning of the rattlesnake. And froze. An unnatural act. Every nerve in his body was screaming, Jump back! Run!

  No chance. He couldn't see the damn snake and his arms were loaded with firewood. So Heck forced himself to stillness. And waited. Listening.

  Tried to recall the sound. Which direction? Couldn't be sure. Only knew the snake was very close. He'd been beefing up the
stack of firewood behind his cabin, and timber rattlers, massa-saugas, love woodpiles. Lots of nests for them.

  Hadn't seen a rattler in years. But there was no mistaking that sound.

  The shirring came again, closer this time. To his left! Still didn't see it—the hell with this! Tossing the firewood toward the sound, he leapt backward. Glimpsed a gray flash vanishing between two logs atop the woodpile. Then it was gone.

  Grabbing a double-bitted axe, Heck inched warily toward the stack, scanning the ground. Where there was one snake, there were often two. Maybe more.

  Didn't spot any other rattlers. Couldn't even find the first one. Axe at the ready, he yanked a half dozen logs out of the woodpile. Uncovered an old snakeskin, but no massasauga. From her withered, papery hide, he guessed she was an adult, two and a half foot. Maybe a little longer now. Big for a timber rattler. Big enough.

  Bitch snake probably had a dozen hidey-holes in the stacks of firewood that lined the cabin's rear wall. No way to find her without tearing the whole damn woodpile apart. Screw that. Too much like work. Probably get himself snake-bit for his troubles.

  Best to leave her be. Get wood from the far end of the stack through the fall, leave the logs at the rattler's end until deep winter when the snake would be asleep. Or moving slower, at least.

  As he shouldered the axe, he realized his hands were shaking. Grinned in spite of himself. Damn snake was good for one thing, anyway. Jump-starting a man's heart. Fear's a better buzz than amphetamines, with no crash-out after.

  Stripping off his faded flannel shirt, Heck went back to splitting the maple logs he'd chainsawed to length the day before. Steady work, but not hard. A single swing of his axe neatly halved most of the two-foot chunks. Perfect job for a sunny September afternoon. Warm enough to keep a man loose with an occasional gust from Lake Superior to cool him now and again. A reminder the northern winter would sweep down from Ontario soon.

  Born on the Michigan side of the Sault Ste. Marie, Hector Jean Baptiste had grown up in north country forests, worked in them most of his forty-two years. Even so, the woods still held surprises. And dangers. Mishandle an axe or a chainsaw, bleed yourself out. Stumble onto a she-bear with cubs. Or dump firewood on a damned timber rattler.