by I. J. Parker
But Akitada’s eyes fell on two men crouching over a body that rested on one of the mats near the opened shutters. One was young with a slender body and an intent expression on his face. He looked up with a frown at the interruption. Then his face cleared. “Ah, it’s you, Chief.”
The other was elderly and apparently an assistant or servant of the younger.
Takechi made the introduction. “This is Doctor Kimura, our coroner. Kimura, I brought Lord Sugawara along in hopes of clearing up this case quickly.”
Kimura stood and bowed. “An unexpected pleasure, my Lord. And an honor to meet the famous solver of crimes.”
Akitada said drily, “Thank you, but my interest isn’t personal. I’m here on behalf of the governor who could not come himself. I’m merely to report. Have you finished your examination?”
“All but the study of the dead man’s organs, sir.”
Akitada eyed him with considerable respect. Few coroners bothered to cut bodies open. “Does that mean you cannot tell how he died?”
The young coroner smiled. “Not with certainty. Though I should warn you that his organs may not offer much information either. Still, one must be thorough, right?”
“Right.” Akitada approached the corpse to peer more closely. The judge was not a pleasant sight. Naked and considerably aged since they had met ten years before, he was no longer merely well-nourished; he was fat, and the fat hung off his bones in ugly rolls. His skin was mottled, though Akitada saw no wounds of any sort. His face, marred by jowls and deep lines running from below his eyes to his chin, resembled that of a demon. The white hair was thin and showed the scalp underneath. His topknot, tight though it was, failed at keeping his features in place. Akitada straightened and asked, “What can you tell us so far?”
“As you can see, there are no obvious wounds to the front of his body. The back is similarly unmarked. Except for this.” He bent to raise the dead man’s head by the topknot and gestured to its back. “Feel just here.”
Both Akitada and Takechi felt. Akitada detected a slight swelling.
Takechi said, “It isn’t much. Did it bleed?”
“No. The skin isn’t broken.”
“Hardly a fatal wound then?” Akitada asked.
“No. But there is something else.” The coroner lowered the head and raised an eyelid. Takechi and Akitada bent to look.
“His eye appears to be bloodshot.” Akitada shook his head. “That can happen to a living man and is fairly common among the old, I think.”
“It isn’t just bloodshot,” Kimura said. “If you look closely, sir, you may see that the white part of the eyeball appears to have many small red dots in it.”
The others knelt to study the dead man’s eyes. The coroner raised the second eyelid. Both eyes were indeed as he had described.
Akitada sat back on his heels. “What does it mean?”
Doctor Kimura spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I don’t know … or at least I hesitate to say.”
“Speak up, man,” Takechi urged. “We can always decide later if it’s significant.”
“Well, I’ve seen this once before. On a murder victim in the capital. The corpse—it was a middle-aged woman—had died of strangulation. Her husband was her killer. I was a student at the university then and for once our professor, who normally lectured, took us to the police morgue, so that we might observe a female body. The secrets of the female are normally hidden from physicians who must diagnose and treat illnesses based on book learning.” He blushed a little when he met Akitada’s surprised eyes.
Akitada smiled. “I would think that a man with your intellectual curiosity would have remedied this by visits to the willow quarter.”
The blush intensified, but Doctor Kimura said, “Yes, but I was very poor in those days. I found that such education seemed well beyond my reach.”
Akitada and Takechi chuckled at this, and after a moment, the young coroner joined them. The moment of amusement over, Akitada pointed out, “The woman was strangled. I assume her killer left marks on her throat?”
Kimura nodded. “That is so.”
“But the judge’s neck bears no marks of strangulation. How then can the two cases be related?”
Again Kimura made the helpless gesture. “I cannot account for it. I only mentioned it because the spots on the eyes were the same.”
Akitada bent over the corpse and examined his face and throat carefully. When he straightened, he shook his head. “Nothing. How do you account for the bruise to the back of his head?”
“He could have fallen backward and hit his head.”
Takechi said quickly, “He was not lying on his back when we found him. He was on his side, almost on his front.”
“It is possible that the fall merely stunned him and he moved, perhaps in an effort to get up.” But Kimura looked worried.
“You think something is wrong,” Akitada said. “That someone may have caused this death?”
Kimura stared down at the judge’s body. “I don’t know, sir. I have no proof. We will cut him open, but I may not find anything useful. He was an old man, and not very healthy. He could have become dizzy from an excess of blood in his head, or its opposite. That would have caused him to fall. Death came a little later. Alas, dead men don’t speak.”
Takechi nodded. “I get it. It’s a natural death after all. Very well, finish the examination and let me have the report.”
Kimura bowed, and they left.
“What do you think, sir?” Takechi asked when they reached his office again.
“The coroner appears to be a very careful man. You’re lucky.”
“Yes. I think so. But I meant about the judge?”
“I think you’ve done all that was required, and so has Kimura. I shall tell the governor.”
∞
Something nagged at Akitada after he parted from Takechi. Perhaps it was simply the fact that he had known Nakano and learned more about the man today. The judge had not been a likable man. The way he treated his servants proved this, as did the fact that he appeared to have no friends and that any family he had stayed well away from him. He had also been a miser and was probably quite rich by now. As a judge he had been corrupt. Such men make enemies and are likely to end up murdered.
On an impulse, he returned to the judge’s house where he found that the housekeeper’s husband had returned. He was playing with the toddler, carrying him on his shoulder while galloping around the courtyard. The child shrieked with delight and his father looked happy.
Akitada stopped. Just so he had carried his own children. And Yori had shrieked exactly like that. Yoshi was more given to giggling, and Yasuko had cried, “Faster! Go faster!” and belabored him with a small, pudgy hand. He missed the children and looked forward to having them come for the shrine festival. He would send Tora home today to carry the invitation and spend a night with his wife. That part of normal married life, Akitada missed most of all.
During the past year, he had gradually sought relief from several women who obliged for silver or a length of silk. They were discreet and pleasant—indeed one or two had been well educated for such women, and one had confessed to coming from a good family. This last had shocked him, but she had been matter-of-fact about her life. Her father was land-poor and had to feed a large number of children. She had become tired of never owning a silk dress, rarely having enough to eat, and not attracting any suitors except the most unsuitable ones. She liked her present life much better.
But such visits were not the same as the comfort a man found with his own wife.
The father made another turn and caught sight of Akitada. Startled, he stopped and put the child down. The boy wailed his protest.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Akitada said and went to pick up the toddler. The boy stopped crying to stare at Akitada.
“Forgive me, sir,” stammered his father. “I didn’t see you. Let me have him back. He’ll get your fine robe dirty.”
; “I don’t mind. He’s a handsome boy. I used to do what you just did with my own children.” The boy got hold of Akitada’s ear and pulled, chuckling. Akitada was tempted to put him on his shoulders and start galloping but decided that his father would think him mad. He lifted the child up and down a few times, enjoying his delight, then handed him back.
“You must be Kiyoshi. The chief and I spoke with your wife earlier. I’m Lord Sugawara.”
Kiyoshi bowed deeply. “Tatsuko said a gentleman gave her silver. Was it you?”
Akitada nodded. “You have not been paid. It seemed wrong that the children should suffer because your master died.”
“We’re very grateful for this kindness. I can perhaps repay it by doing some work for you? You can see I’m very strong.”
He was indeed muscular, but Akitada had no need for more servants. He thanked him. “Perhaps instead you might talk to me about your late master?” he suggested.
“I’m at your service, but let me take my son back to his mother.”
Akitada wandered into the house, peering into rooms as he passed them. They were all empty, though furnished with thick tatami mats and amenities like candle holders, oil lamps, braziers, and small screens. Here and there, he also saw clothes racks. All of those things were of good quality and everything was very clean. The wooden floors shone. He thought of the poor young couple. Judge Nakano had certainly got his money’s worth from their services. Given the fact that Otsu provided many opportunities to earn a living, he began to wonder if Nakano had used some sort of threat to keep them in bondage.
And that, of course, would give them a motive. But a motive for what? Nakano’s death was most likely due to his age and ill health.
He returned to the study and cast another glance at the desk with its papers, fanciful writing implements, and that odd carving of Jizo. He picked it up to see if it might have an inscription, making it something like an amulet, but saw nothing.
“I’m ready now, sir.”
Akitada turned, startled. The young man was back. He was barefoot; that accounted perhaps for his silent movements. He looked curiously at the little figure in Akitada’s hand as he waited.
This room was the only one that was not painfully neat. The floor still bore all the marks of recent activity by constables and others.
The violent intrusion of strangers after a death.
“Any idea why your master had this little carving of Jizo?” Akitada asked, holding it up.
The young man shook his head. “I never saw it before his death, sir. It’s not the sort of thing the judge would own. It was on the floor when we found the master dead. My wife put it on his desk.”
“Strange. Where did it come from? Did he have any visitors recently?”
“No, sir. No one.”
“Well, then, did he go out the day before he died?”
“No, sir. My wife and I do the shopping.”
A brief silence fell while Akitada looked at the young man thoughtfully. If he had indeed worked against his will for the judge, he could not be trusted to tell the truth.”
The young man shifted nervously, then said, “If you’ll forgive me, sir, but the figure looks like the sort of cheap stuff people sell at markets and fairs around here. Travelers buy them for good luck, and we have many travelers passing though.”
“Hmm. Yes. But that doesn’t explain how it got here.” Akitada replaced the carving on the desk and looked about again. “I’ll mention it to the chief. Meanwhile it will be best if you and your wife stay out of this room. The police will seal the doors until the investigation is finished.”
The young man bowed. “Is there anything else, sir?”
Akitada noticed that the servant’s eyes wandered to the desk, and he glanced at it again. This time he noticed that the stack of notes had been shifted aside a little. “Have you or your wife tried to clean up here?”
“No! The police chief said not to touch anything.”
It came too quickly and with a furtive expression.
“Very good. That’s all for now. You may leave. I’ll see myself out.”
As soon as the young man was gone, Akitada scooped up the judge’s notes and put them inside his robe. Then he left, closing the door behind him.
Chapter Nine
The Sohei Return
Tora arranged to have a pair of staves sent to his room, then he, too, rode into Otsu. He was uneasy about the man he had rescued and wanted to check on him. His first call was at the harbor master’s office.
He dismounted and tied up his horse, then went inside. The clerks stared, but the harbor master saw him from his backroom and came to greet him.
“How may I assist, sir?” he asked with a nicely calculated bow, and a glance at Tora’s black eye.
“You recall the incident yesterday?”
“I do indeed. Please accept my deep regrets for the monks’ behavior toward you.”
Tora blinked, then got it. Touching his eye, he said, “Oh, this? That’s nothing. I came to check on that worker. Those bastards threatened him.”
“I haven’t seen him today. If he’s smart he’ll have left Otsu with his family. North of here, at Hikone, there’s also good work and it’s much safer.”
“Hmm.” Tora pondered this. It made sense, but he had a bad feeling about the man’s absence. He had not been eager to leave on the day of the incident, so why now? “What’s his name, do you know?”
“Kinzaburo. He comes from someplace near Awazu.”
“He was worried about his family, you said? Did he bring them to Otsu with him?”
“That’s what I thought. He lost his farm. They couldn’t have stayed behind.”
“And where would they live here?”
“There’s a workers quarter over there.” The harbor master pointed. “Most of the men employed in the harbor live there. It’s poor housing, but the rents are cheap.”
Tora thanked him and walked along the harbor looking at the teams of bearers and porters and scanning the area for armed monks. All was peaceful this morning. The unloading progressed briskly, and the men sang as they trotted back and forth between the quay and the bowels of the boats. Kinzaburo was not there.
The workers quarter seemed a safer bet for finding him. In Otsu, this looked not much different from all the poor housing wards in other cities. The capital had several of these in its western part, and Hakata’s had borne a strong resemblance to Otsu’s. Here as there, the harbor provided abundant work to unskilled men who had nothing to offer but a strong back and nimble feet. They labored as porters and bearers, carrying heavy loads on their backs, or as sailors, taking boats up and down the shores of Lake Biwa, or they took cargo by land in wagons or with pack horses. It was poorly paid work and very hard, but it was abundant and they all hoped to save a little by living in shacks or in one room in row houses so that some day they might buy a little bit of land.
Tora was familiar with them. Their dreams invariably came to nothing as the years passed and a large family, or drinking, or gambling consumed their savings. But a poor peasant whose land had been stolen by greedy monks and who was about to be put in bondage with his family might prefer even this hopeless existence.
The poor, mostly women, children, and the old, treated Tora with respect, and his questions eventually led him to one of the row houses. The last unit of this was the home of the porter Kinzaburo.
He walked into tragedy.
Children squalled inside. When Tora lifted the rag that served as a door and looked in, he saw two small children and a screaming baby lying in its mother’s lap. The mother cowered in a corner, her face bloodied and her body shaking. When she became aware of him, she started wailing. The small space looked as though a battle had raged in it. Broken crockery, torn clothes, and blood stains covered the dirt floor.
He was still staring, aghast, when a shrill voice behind him demanded, “Haven’t you done enough, you filth? Leave her alone.”
Tora turned and saw a
bent old woman peering up at him from dim eyes. She held a stick in one trembling hand and waved it in threatening manner.
“Go away! And may the gods smite you!”
“What’s happened here, grandmother?” Tora asked, raising his hands to show his innocence.
She lowered her stick a little. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“Lieutenant Sashima, in the service of Lord Sugawara. I came to talk to Kinzaburo. Where is he and what’s happened?”
“The animals came down from the mountain and got him. And that’s not all those assholes did.” She shook her stick. “Look at her!”
“You mean the monks? From Enryaku-ji?”
“I don’t mean Onjo-ji. They’re holy men.” She peered past him into the room. “See what they did to her, poor girl? And her with a small babe.” She poked Tora with the sharp end of her stick until he stepped aside and let her pass. Waddling over to the cowering woman, she said, “Come, come, Keiko. Pull yourself together. They’re gone and the children are hungry.”
The woman responded with another heartrending wail.
“All right, Keiko,” the old one said firmly. “Enough of that. Get up now and let’s see what the bastards did to you.” She bent over the sobbing woman and pulled her up.
Tora turned away. It was clear that Keiko had been raped.
The old woman muttered softly, and gradually Keiko answered. There had been four of them. Kinzaburo had tried to fight them. Three of them had beaten him unconscious and dragged him out of the room. The fourth had told her to get the children ready. They were to return to their farm and work there. Then he had left. She had started to gather their few things, weeping all the while. When the three who had beaten up her husband returned, she was ready to go with them, but they had other things in mind and had taken turns raping her. Then they had left again.”
Tora cleared his throat. He was hoarse with anger. “Is she decent, grandmother?” he asked.
“Yes, yes. What do you want from her? Hasn’t she suffered enough?”