by I. J. Parker
A sense of defeat settled into Akitada’s stomach and sickened him. She had outsmarted him again. He had no evidence that she had plotted with another person to make use of Kato’s corpse. He also knew better now than to call her servants to testify against her. The key witness in the murder case, the maid Kiyo, had changed her story. There was only one other move available to him. Though it might well turn out disastrous by involving Hitomaro, it could no longer be avoided.
He said, “You will pay a fine of five bars of silver to the court clerk and make an equal contribution to the local shrines and the Buddhist temple to appease the divine powers and give rest to the dead man’s soul.”
She murmured her thanks, then asked humbly, “May I go home now?”
“In a moment. I have some preliminary questions concerning your ordeal. Sergeant?” Kaoru stepped up and bowed. “Bring in the woman who is waiting outside.”
Mrs. Omeya, the perfect image of a respectable middle-aged matron in her black gown and patterned silk scarf, approached the dais calmly. She ignored curious stares from the crowd, but was visibly startled to see the widow there on her knees.
Kneeling next to the younger woman, she bowed and announced, “This insignificant person is called Omeya, widow and landlady in this city.”
Mrs. Sato gasped and turned. She pointed a trembling finger. “That’s the one! She’s the demon. She held me prisoner in her house.”
Mrs. Omeya’s mouth fell open.
“Please, Excellency,” cried the beauty, “make her tell you about the man who tortured and raped me at her house. She knows who he is.”
Mrs. Omeya looked at Akitada. He held his breath. She said, “What is she talking about? I don’t understand. What man? I thought you wanted to know about the maid.”
“The widow Sato,” Akitada informed her, “has accused you of forcing her to prostitute herself to a customer with a perverse taste for cruelty.”
“What?” cried Mrs. Omeya. “She has gone mad! Several months ago, a local gentleman of the highest reputation arranged to rent one of my rooms so he could meet her in private. But recently she took another lover. I warned her that she was playing a dangerous game, but she wouldn’t listen. Her regular patron is as normal in his tastes as you and me. And as for the other one ...”
The rest of her words were drowned out by Akitada’s baton and the young woman’s shrill cries, “Liar! Demon!”
Akitada could not proceed further without bringing Hitomaro into it. He announced, “The woman Omeya, having been accused of abduction and pandering, will remain jailed. The woman Sato will be released after paying her fines but is to appear again in court when called.” He rapped his baton three times to close the hearing, rose, and left the hall.
♦
Back at his desk, Akitada attempted to think through the shambles of this situation. He had accomplished nothing. The Sato woman, as deceitful a female as he had ever known, was aware of his intentions and fighting back. She had also once again won public sympathy.
Meanwhile, Uesugi continued to threaten with his troops, and Akitada was no closer to knowing the identity of all the conspirators, nor the precise extent of the conspiracy against the emperor or himself. He was nearly certain that it was not Uesugi who was pulling the strings. An undertaking of this magnitude required intelligence and careful planning, and his estimate of Uesugi was of a small local tyrant without enough brains or energy for such a task. Hisamatsu was somehow involved but seemed mentally even less equipped than Uesugi.
Akitada had already considered Abbot Hokko. Years ago, Akitada had encountered just such a conspiracy. That time, a corrupt Buddhist abbot had used his spiritual powers to recruit and train an army of soldier monks. Hokko was a very different type from Master Joto, but he was trusted and treated with respect by Uesugi and, as abbot of the largest temple and monastery in the province, he wielded great influence. However, in the meantime Hokko had warned him of the attack planned by Uesugi and suggested that Takesuke and the garrison would be loyal to the emperor.
He thought of the others who had been present at Uesugi’s banquet. Kaibara was dead, but there was still the troublesome merchant Sunada. He also wielded influence, though with the merchant class. From what Genba had reported, Sunada used thugs to guard his property and spent a good deal of his time in houses of assignation. There was the incident in which he had stabbed his alleged attacker and Akitada suspected him of being connected with local criminals, but neither fact linked him to Uesugi. True, the most recent developments had thrown a new light on Sunada, but Akitada was not ready to accept a mere merchant as the mastermind of such a plot.
There was another guest that night who qualified by both his intelligence and contact with the local community, but Akitada was even less happy with that thought. The trouble was, Akitada had taken him into his confidence without knowing his background. Oyoshi had cured his stomach trouble, but he was knowledgeable about herbs which could cause such complaints in the first place. What better way to win Akitada’s trust? Since then Oyoshi had raised serious suspicions. How, for instance, could he have failed to recognize the mutilated corpse of his former patient? And he could have told Kaibara about the secret exhumation of the late lord. For that matter, could his diagnosis be trusted? Akitada recalled vividly how Oyoshi had paled when Tora had mentioned a murderous physician.
He needed time and proof. The Omeya woman was his only hope at present. She was a witness against the widow—or Ofumi, as she had called herself there—and she also knew Ofumi’s patron. And Mrs. Omeya, at least, was safe and sound in Akitada’s jail.
In less than an hour, he learned differently. Tora burst into his office, crying, “The prisoner has hanged herself.”
When Akitada got to the jail, he was met by Oyoshi, who confirmed Mrs. Omeya’s death.
Akitada pushed past him and strode to the cell. The three other prisoners, Takagi, Okano, and Umehara, huddled fearfully in a corner of the main room. Kaoru was in the cell, bent over the inert body.
Mrs. Omeya looked much frailer in death. She was lying near the cell door, the cut pieces of her patterned silk scarf beside her.
“Kaoru found her and cut her down,” said Oyoshi, who had followed him. “Since I was in the kitchen with the others, I came at once. She must have hanged herself with her own scarf from one of those bars.” He pointed to a metal grille in the wooden cell door. Part of the scarf was still tied to the topmost bar.
Akitada said nothing. He tasted sour bile on his tongue, and his blood thrummed in his head like a large temple bell. He did not believe that she had committed suicide. She was innocent of the charges laid against her. He had meant to protect this woman—for purely selfish reasons, to be sure—but had instead hastened her death. His every action seemed to turn to disaster, not only for himself, but for those he came in contact with. If he could not guarantee the life of this one female for more than a few hours, how was he to govern a province? How, for that matter, was he to save himself and his wife and unborn child?
Oyoshi cleared his throat, and Akitada made an effort to pull himself together. Turning to Kaoru, he demanded, “How could this happen? Was she not being watched?”
The young sergeant looked wretched. “She seemed to calm down quickly, and after eating a bowl of soup, she lay down to sleep. So we all had our own dinner.”
Akitada looked from the cell of the dead woman to the outer room. The three prisoners stared back with pale faces. He noted absently that Okano was wrapped in some trailing purple stuff and clutched a large paper lantern. “Someone must have been close enough to see or hear what was happening,” he pointed out.
Kaoru shook his head. “We ate in the kitchen, sir.”
Akitada stared at him. “What? Everybody? There was no one in this jail except Mrs. Omeya and the prisoners?”
There was a pause. Then the sergeant said, “Just Mrs. Omeya, sir. Takagi, Okano, and Umehara were eating with us.”
Akitada clutched his head. Th
is, too, was his fault, of course. He had known of the liberties the three had been given since Kaoru had taken over the administration of the jail. It had seemed humane at the time. Now it was one more example of his own unfitness for his office.
Kaoru was distraught. “You see, sir,” he tried to explain, “Umehara is the cook, and Takagi said it was his birthday today. So Okano offered to put on a little show. To celebrate Takagi’s birthday” When Akitada said nothing, Kaoru muttered, “I know it was against the rules, but we all thought the woman was asleep.”
“Did anyone leave the kitchen during your celebration?” Akitada asked tiredly.
A look of understanding flashed in Kaoru’s eyes. He paled, thought a moment, and said, “I cannot be certain. At one point, Okano wanted the lights out to do a lantern dance.”
Akitada turned to Oyoshi almost ferociously. “Well, Doctor? Was it suicide?”
Oyoshi winced. “Possibly,” he said.
“Are you just being mysterious or is something wrong?” Akitada snapped.
Oyoshi seemed to shrink within himself. “What I meant is that one can hang oneself in just this manner with the help of a thin garment and a handy hook or bar.”
Akitada went to look at the knot, then turned abruptly to kneel by the dead woman. He checked her face and throat. “There is a small bruise here,” he said, pointing.
“When she dropped, her temple may have hit the door,” Oyoshi suggested.
Akitada measured the distance between the grate and the floor with his eyes. “She is very short. Were her feet touching the floor when you found her, Kaoru?”
“Not quite, sir.”
“Why didn’t she use that stool over there?”
There was no answer.
Akitada picked up the cut scarf. He recalled how proudly she had worn it and sighed. “Hand me that chain over there, Kaoru, and help me measure.” Between them, they straightened the body and measured it. Then they held the marked piece of chain against the door. Akitada nodded. “As I thought. She could not have reached high enough to tie that knot, which is in any case on the outside of the grate.” He looked at Oyoshi. “Do you still think it likely that she committed suicide?”
Oyoshi regarded Akitada warily. “I thought it was possible.”
Akitada bent to spread the scarf over the dead woman’s distorted face. “I see,” he said. “Thank you.”
♦
After a cursory meal of rice and pickled vegetables shared with Tamako who, after one glance at her husband’s face, refrained from making conversation, Akitada sat alone in his office, sipping lukewarm wine and glumly considering his situation. Someone had murdered the Omeya woman in his own jail. The murderer had come into the jail, called the prisoner to the door, reached through to strangle her, and then hanged her from the grate. It had taken remarkable nerve, but this person had taken such risks before. Hitomaro’s testimony against the widow was now useless, and Akitada had lost his gamble. Neither an orderly retreat after resigning his office nor precipitate flight was possible, even had he been able to resort to such shameful solutions.
At that moment in his ruminations, Hitomaro himself appeared. He walked in abruptly, accompanied by a dazed-looking constable, and sat down across from Akitada without a greeting.
Akitada frowned at the constable. “You may wait outside,” he said, wondering what the man was doing here. The constable hesitated just a fraction of a moment, then left and closed the door behind him.
Akitada’s first impression was that Hitomaro was ill. He was perfectly white, and his eyes met Akitada’s with the blank fixity of a corpse’s stare. His voice, when he spoke, was flat and emotionless.
“She’s dead.”
Akitada jumped a little. “What? Who is dead? Are you feeling all right?”
One of Hitomaro’s hands moved slightly in a dismissive gesture. “Ofumi. The woman you know as Mrs.. Sato,” he said in the same remote manner.
Akitada’s eyes went from Hitomaro’s hand to his robe. There were dark splotches on the deep blue cotton. They spread across the chest and down the front. Hitomaro’s right sleeve was stained all the way to the wrist. It dawned on Akitada that Hitomaro wore no sword. He controlled a wave of fear.
“Report.”
At first there was no answer. Then Hitomaro’s shoulders straightened. Looking past Akitada, he recited in the official manner, “I proceeded to Hisamatsu’s villa as ordered and found it deserted. Making inquiries of the servant, I found out that Hisamatsu and Chobei had left during the night, taking a pack horse with them. The servant claims he does not know where they went. I returned to the tribunal to make my report. When I heard from Tora what happened at the court session, I was seized by anger and shame that my foolish indiscretions should have warned Hisamatsu and compromised the case against the widow Sato. I immediately went to the Omeya house. She— the Sato woman was there.” He stopped and looked Akitada squarely in the eyes. “I’m under arrest for her murder, sir. The constable brought me here.”
* * * *
EIGHTEEN
THE BROKEN LUTE
A
kitada found it nearly impossible to raise his eyes from the blood-soaked sleeve. “Hitomaro ... ?” he began and faltered.
Hitomaro’s voice was abject and his tone oddly detached. “Forgive the trouble I have caused. You saved my life once, but I should have known it was forfeit. I’ll make it easy for you. Once a killer, always a killer, they’ll say.”
A furious anger seized Akitada, and his voice shook. “Make it easy for me? Like Tora, you mean? You think that will make it easy? Why did you do it? You had your life before you. The other time you killed to avenge your wife’s honor. And I... I thought I had found a man I could trust with my life, a friend, and I counted myself lucky. I would have done anything, faced anything in this godforsaken place to avoid this.” He struck the desk with both fists. “Why, Hitomaro?”
Hitomaro lowered his eyes and shook his head mutely.
“Did you think to save me by killing the woman?”
“I thought of it. Also because I was angry that she had lied to me and used me to get to you.”
Akitada put his face in his hands and groaned.
After a moment, Hitomaro continued in the same dreamy tone, “I was so angry I could’ve killed her, perhaps I would’ve killed her . . . but when I saw her, she looked asleep. Her head was turned away and I couldn’t see at first. She wore that white robe—she must have changed into it after she got back from the tribunal—and I thought she was covered with a piece of crimson silk. Strange, I wanted to kill her, but I also felt desire. She was so beautiful. . . lying there.”
Slowly Akitada raised his face from his hands and stared at Hitomaro. “You did not do it? She was dead? When you found her, she was already dead?”
Hitomaro nodded very slowly. His eyes were unfocused, staring past Akitada as if at a memory indelibly etched on his brain. “I could see what was wrong when I came closer,” he said in the same terrifyingly detached voice. His right hand touched his neck. “Her head was almost cut off. She was lying there in her own blood. It was still flowing... and warm. It was her blood that had turned the white silk red.”
“Dear heaven.”
The toneless voice went on. “I drew my sword and went to look for her killer. In every room. There was no one there, not even the maid servant. Then I went back to her. I... I tried to hold her, but her head ... I thought, perhaps she’s not quite dead. So I tried to tie up the wound. I cut some of the fabric of her gown with my sword. That’s when they found me. The maidservant and the constables.”
“But you did not kill her,” Akitada confirmed again, relief washing over him like a warm spring shower.
Hitomaro shook his head mutely.
“Have you any idea who did?”
Hitomaro plucked at his blood-soaked sleeve. The glazed look was still with him.
“Hitomaro.” Akitada leaned forward. “Think! We must find the killer to clear you
. Anything may help. Did she complain about anyone? Who were her friends? Was she worried about anything?”
Hitomaro shook his head to every question. He frowned, seemed to make an effort to think. “She asked a lot of questions about the murder investigation. But she also asked other questions, once about the judge.” His voice turned bitter. “I was the last man she would have confided in. She used me to get information.” His eyes met Akitada’s for a moment. “Let it go, sir. This way she cannot make any more trouble. If you start looking for her killer, the enemy will take other action. Now it will just be seen as a lover’s quarrel.”
“And you will die for it. Even the most lenient court in the capital will balk at passing over a second murder.”