It didn’t matter though. What they knew had nothing to do with me.
I pushed myself to my feet, then started back to my apartment.
I was surprised—but relieved—to hear movement. I stepped inside and kicked off my boots.
Emeríann stood over the stove, cooking herself some food in the single pan I owned. She didn’t look up.
“Don’t touch me till you shower,” she said. “You smell like barbecued shit.”
“Do you barbecue shit often enough to know what it smells like?”
“You’re not cute enough to get into semantics, okay?” She finally turned and looked at me. “You look terrible, too.”
“It’s been a day.”
She nodded, then flicked her head toward the bathroom in the bedroom. “I made enough for two. It’ll still be hot if you wash quick.”
After we ate, she piled the dishes in the sink and said she was going to bed, hanging in the doorway for a few beats, waiting for me to follow.
I swallowed hard. “I’ll be in in a couple.”
She sighed, then came back and kissed me on the forehead before retreating to the bedroom.
There was something I still couldn’t shake. The mercenaries had never seen the boy. There were no indications in Carrick’s apartment of a child ever being there. So where was Daniel Kearney?
I fired up the memory viewer again and grabbed a well-deserved glass of bourbon. When the machine was ready, I resumed combing through his memories.
Something caught my eye at the six-month mark. I hit play. Carrick Kearney stared into the mirror behind a bar, a nearly empty tumbler glass in hand, an ill-fitting suit draped over his frame. His eyes were vacant in a way I hadn’t seen before but, on some deep level, understood in an instant. It was the physical manifestation of loss.
A friend came up beside him, wrapped his arm around Carrick’s shoulder. Entire sentences became one word, he was so drunk, but he seemed to hold it together well enough to suggest his liver probably resembled mincemeat.
They exchanged a couple bits of small talk before Carrick sniffed hard and looked away, clenching his eyes like fists and pinching the bridge of his nose. When he opened them, I saw a sparse crowd of people, Siobhan conspicuously not there. Between them, laid out on a table, was an open coffin, smaller than an adult’s. A shock of red hair poked out above the edge.
“Shit.”
I hit stop. My head fell forward, resting in my hands, covering my eyes. I’m not sure how long I sat there.
Eventually I made my way back to the bedroom, the sound of Emeríann’s soft snoring the guide for my morning star. I stripped off my clothes and tossed them on an old chair in the corner then climbed under the covers to join her.
She snuffled, rolled over and laid her arm across my chest. “Did you find what you were looking for?” she mumbled.
“Daniel died six months ago.” I nearly laughed. “I don’t know. I know it’s stupid, but I just thought…”
She rubbed my chest, pulled me closer. “I’m sorry. Really.”
“If only I could’ve—”
“Babe, honestly,” she said, placing her hand on my mouth.
“It’s just,” I tried to say beneath her hand.
“Forget it, Henraek. It’s Eitan. It’s just,” she mumbled something else. “It’s Eitan.”
I patted her hand, said I knew, then kissed her forehead.
My eyes were closed, but I couldn’t sleep. The darkness was there, all around me, taunting me, laughing at me.
Or maybe, calling for me to join.
Back to TOC
Paw-trait of a Murderer
John Helfers
The man sat cross-legged on a woven tatami mat in the middle of the room. His chin was resting on his chest, and his eyes were closed. An ink brush rested in his open right hand, a writing stone was held loosely in his left. On the floor before him lay a pristine scroll of rice paper.
From what Kitsune could see, it looked like the man was sleeping. Only when he walked around the still form did he see the dark stain on the man’s kimono, blood dripping down to pool with the ink from the spilled pot beside him. A line of strange markings near the ink puddle caught his eye, but before he could examine them further, a voice commanded his full attention.
“Kitsune! Do not touch anything!”
Straightening, the boy turned back to the doorway, where the middle-aged man who had spoken to him was talking with Ikama, the captain of the house guards. Kitsune edged closer and picked up the conversation in mid-sentence.
“—you realize the delicacy of the situation, Ashiga-sama,” the captain said. “With the generals of Clan Yoshitsune assembled, I don’t know how long we can keep the death of the daimyo quiet. If they find out, they will immediately begin arguing as to who should take over the province. If the mantle of power is not legally and quickly handed down, it could lead to civil war, which we cannot afford, not with enemies surrounding us.”
“It is not the enemies outside your province I would be concerned with, but the enemies within,” the older man replied. “What of Yoshitsune’s son? Surely a suitable governor can rule the province until he is of a proper age.”
“That’s just it, there are too many generals who would see the daimyo’s death as a means to gain control. Once installed, the boy would have an ‘accident’ and the acting governor could take over,” the house captain said, frowning. “Some would just use their troops to take over the castle.”
“That would be inconvenient,” the older man said. “Spread the word that the daimyo is ill and must rest for the next twenty-four hours with no visitors, on my orders. Post only guards you trust around the boy day and night. No one is to see him unless you have cleared the visit personally. I will see what I can do. Please leave so I may examine the scene here. My associate outside will make sure we are not disturbed.”
“Should the boy be here?” the captain asked. “It might disturb him to be in the presence of…” He motioned toward the body.
“I have every confidence in my retainer’s ability to conduct himself in the proper manner. Besides,” the man said with a small grin, “he’s probably seen things that would disturb you. Go now.”
The captain of the guards bowed deeply, turned, and strode out of the room. As he slid the paper and wood door aside, Kitsune saw the familiar form of Maseda, his mentor’s samurai bodyguard, standing just to the left of the door. He smiled, then quickly turned back to the older man.
“If you are done eavesdropping on conversations that do not concern you, perhaps you would care to tell me what you have observed so far,” the man said.
Kitsune gulped and stepped forward, taking a close look at the body. Now that he was able to study it, the dead man’s face wore an expression of calm, not fear, pain, or anger as he had expected. “There is a peaceful look about him, and the brush in his hand is undamaged. Therefore, he must have died instantly. Only a samurai or a ninja would know how to kill so cleanly.”
The older man nodded. “Very good. What else?”
Kitsune thought for a moment. “The fact that he was relaxed when attacked indicates he did not see his killer.” He looked up at the roof, which was composed of wooden panels that could be opened to let the sun in. “I would examine the roof for signs of someone letting himself in that way, perhaps climbing down on a rope, stabbing Yoshitsune, then climbing back up.”
“Perhaps,” the older man’s expression was unreadable, as usual. “More?”
Kitsune walked around the body, pausing when he got to the pool of ink. He bent down to study the strange marks he saw earlier, then looked up at his mentor. “Yoshitsune-sama was not alone.” He pointed to the black paw prints that had been tracked across the otherwise spotless white floor. “His cat was with him, and escaped either when the assassin fled or when the serving girl discovered the body.”
Asano nodded once. “So, based on what you have observed, how would you begin your investigation?”
/> Kitsune thought for a minute before answering. “I would probably question the serving girl to see if she saw anything, then take statements from everyone on the grounds to see where they were at the time of the attack. I would compare the statements to see who was alone or closest to the daimyo’s room and try to find a weakness in those individuals’ alibis, thereby hopefully eliciting a confession.”
Asano nodded again, more thoughtfully this time. “A sound plan, but aren’t you forgetting one thing?”
Kitsune frowned, retracing his plan in his head. “I don’t believe so.”
“Actually, there are two things. First, the fact that Yoshitsune-sama died cleanly may not only indicate that he did not see his attacker, but also that he knew his attacker. One of the generals may have thought that, with all of the commanding officers attending the council, now would be the perfect time to remove his obstacle to taking power, and perhaps even throw suspicion on one of the others. What you will be doing this afternoon is finding out which of Yoshitsune’s military leaders was alone at the time of his death.”
“How can you be sure it was one of them?” Kitsune asked.
“Because of the killing blow,” Asano replied. “As you said, only a samurai or a ninja would know how to strike so cleanly. And, if I know the generals, none of them would trust anyone else to take care of this matter.”
“What will you be doing?” Kitsune asked.
Asano smiled. “I will be interviewing the witness.”
“Witness?” Kitsune frowned again. “What witness?”
“Why, the cat, of course,” Asano replied.
Later that afternoon, Kitsune trotted back into the castle, searching for Asano. He went to the room where the body was and saw Maseda guarding the door, still as a statue.
Kitsune walked up to him. “Has Asano returned?”
Maseda shook his head, pointed down the corridor, and held up three fingers. Kitsune bowed, turned, and started down the hall. At the third sliding panel, he tapped gently on the wooden frame.
“Enter,” Asano’s voice came from within. Kitsune pushed the panel open and stepped inside.
Compared to the orderly neatness of the other rooms, with their soft white paper walls, polished wooden beams, and swept floors, this area was a mess. Several pots of paint were scattered around the floor. Dozens of sheets of valuable rice paper were hung on every wall at varying heights, none more than a foot off the ground. These were smeared with paint in dizzying combinations, from multi-colored bursts of red, blue, and green to delicate patterns that resembled flowers or ornate gardens. Multi-colored paw prints were everywhere, tracked around the room until it was impossible to tell where one set ended and another began.
In the middle of it all sat Asano, stroking a black Persian cat resting on his lap. When Kitsune entered, the man and cat both looked up at him at the exact same time. Kitsune shivered involuntarily as he approached, bowed, and sat down.
“What news?” Asano asked, his own slitted black eyes remarkably cat-like in the gloom.
“Three generals were alone at the time Yoshitsune was killed,” Kitsune replied. “General Konami, who leads the Crane regiment, was walking in the garden. General Ryuga, leader of the Tiger regiment, was writing a letter in his quarters. General Tokushu, commander of the Lotus regiment, was riding his stallion.”
“Interesting. Did Ryuga-sama say whom the letter was for?”
“He claimed he was writing to his wife,” Kitsune said.
Asano nodded. “Did Tokushu-sama have the stable boy get his horse, or did he have it out already?”
“The stable boy said that Tokushu-sama had taken his horse out that morning, and returned it just a few minutes before I came to see him. In fact, he was rubbing it down as we talked.”
“Did the horse look winded?” Asano asked.
“Yes, he was sweaty and lathered, as if he had been ridden hard,” Kitsune replied.
“Hm. Any one of them could have easily killed the daimyo. While you were out, I was having a most illuminating conversation with Ningpo-san,” Asano said.
When he didn’t say anything more, Kitsune’s eyes dropped to the cat, who stared back at him unruffled. “And?” Kitsune finally asked.
“She knows who the murderer is,” Asano said.
“Great, then all we have to do is assemble everyone who was on the castle grounds, and have her point him or her out,” Kitsune said. “Surely her negative reaction will be enough for a trial.”
But Asano shook his head. “No, Kitsune, you do not understand. I know she witnessed what happened in Yoshitsune’s room, however, she does not realize what she has seen. If we were to attempt your test, then Ningpo-san might seize on the aura of someone that cats naturally find repellent, and could condemn an innocent man to death. No, there is another way to uncover the killer, and the cat is the key.”
“But if the cat can’t tell you who did it, why don’t you just contact the spirits and ask them who killed the daimyo? Surely they saw it happen,” Kitsune said.
Asano rolled his eyes. “Pah, their assistance is not required for this minor matter. If one goes to the spirits too much, then they begin to believe that one relies on them for everything, which can lead to all sorts of difficulty. Better to exercise the mind and solve this using more earthly methods.”
“But how are we to accomplish that?” Kitsune asked.
“That is my business,” Asano said. “I will need plenty of clean rice paper and pots of paint in every color you can find. By tomorrow morning, we shall have our murderer.”
The next morning dawned clear and bright. Kitsune rose to watch the sunrise and meditate, then went to Asano’s room. He’d spent the previous evening hanging the sheets of rice paper and leaving the pots of paint on the floor of the cat’s playroom as instructed.
Maseda was standing outside Asano’s quarters. He opened the door for Kitsune and motioned him inside. Asano was sitting in the lotus position, his eyes closed.
“Asano?” Kitsune asked, bowing.
Asano’s eyes opened. “It is time. Have the captain of the guard summon the three generals and bring them to the room we were in last night.”
Kitsune bowed and ran to find Captain Ikama. He located him in the main courtyard and gave him Asano’s message, then ran back to find Asano sitting in the middle of the cat-tracked floor in the paint room. The cat Ningpo, paws streaked with paint, rested on his lap. Maseda, looking as inconspicuous as ever, stood quietly in a corner of the room. Kitsune bowed again and waited beside the door. He noticed that only one sheet of rice paper now hung on the wall to the left of the entrance.
A few minutes later, Kitsune heard the sounds of men walking and talking amongst themselves as they came down the hallway. Captain Ikama entered, bowed to Asano, and walked over to him, where the two men whispered for a few moments. He then moved to stand on the other side of the door.
Then the three generals came in, all dressed in kimonos with katanas by their sides. Each of their kimonos was decorated on the front, back, and sleeves with patterns representing their regiments. General Konami was tall and thin, with a long nose much like his unit’s namesake. His kimono was covered with the image of a crane spreading its wings to fly. General Ryuga was short but thickly muscled, with his hair cropped close to his head, and a long scar that sliced its way down one cheek. His orange and black robe was decorated with dozens of sitting tigers. General Tokushu, commander of the Lotus regiment, was a handsome man in an immaculately pressed silk kimono covered in lotus blossoms. Of the three men, he seemed the most annoyed at being summoned here.
“Honored gentlemen, once again I humbly thank you for meeting us here on such short notice,” Captain Ikama began. “It is my sad duty to inform you that our daimyo, died yesterday.” The captain paused to let the news sink in. “He was murdered. Killed by a single katana thrust to the heart.”
The generals murmured among themselves. Then General Ryuga stepped forward, bowing slightly. “It i
s indeed a most sorrowful matter. But what does this have to do with us?” he asked, the other two nodding in confused agreement.
“For that answer, I will turn to the physician of the Royal Court of his Most Revered Emperor Yamata, Master Ashiga Asano.” Captain Ikama bowed to Asano, who had not moved, but still sat in the center of the room, his nimble fingers stroking the cat in his lap.
“Honored gentlemen, the captain of the guard has asked me, a humble physician, to investigate this terrible matter. After doing so, I have come to the conclusion that one of you three had both motive and opportunity to commit this most dishonorable crime,” Asano said.
The three generals exchanged suspicious glances with each other.
“What the murderer did not count on was that a witness saw this horrible deed,” Asano continued. “That witness is sitting on my lap as I speak.”
All eyes went to the black cat lounging on Asano’s lap.
General Konami was the first to break the silence. “This is ridiculous. How can a cat tell us who may have killed Lord Yoshitsune?”
“Regardless, this cat has told me who killed Lord Yoshitsune. The proof is hanging on the wall there,” Asano said, motioning.
The three generals, Asano, Kitsune, and the captain of the guard turned towards the wall where the lone sheet of rice paper hung. On it was what looked like rough brush strokes in the shape of a man dressed in a kimono and carrying a katana. The robe in the painting was covered with paw prints decorating the sleeves and front.
“What the murderer didn’t know is that Yoshitsune’s cat Ningpo-san is one of the rare breed of painting cats,” Asano said. “When left here with paper and paint, she produced this rather accurate picture of the murderer.”
Kitsune saw the eyes of the generals widen as they studied the painting. Asano continued as if he hadn’t noticed. “As you can see by the design on the kimono, it is obvious which one of you is guilty.”
Mystery! Page 8
