by I. J. Parker
Akitada shook his head. “I am due at the ministry, Mother.”
“It cannot wait,” she snapped. “Someone is trying to kill him.”
Surprised by his mother’s concern, which was so exactly contrary to her hopes, Akitada asked, “Should we interfere?”
Lady Sugawara stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“Sorry. I meant, how do you know?”
“Never mind. Hurry up and go over there. He will explain. And remember what we talked about. Here is your opportunity to demonstrate your devotion.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Akitada bowed and went to work as usual.
• • •
When he arrived at his cousin’s house that evening, he found the police there and wondered if Koremori’s fears had been real after all. The servant who met him reassured him. It was not his cousin who had died, but an elderly maid.
As they passed Koremori’s ancestral shrine, the door opened and a constable stepped out. He recognized Akitada, who had spent too much time at court hearings and murder investigations — thereby irritating the police captain, Kobe, and his superior, the minister of justice.
The constable grinned. “Is it you again, sir? It must be murder for sure then.”
Akitada grinned back and stopped. “Not guilty this time. I’m just paying a visit to a family member. What happened?”
“Lord Koremori sent for us. He found his wife’s nurse dead on the floor in here.” The constable gestured at the shrine.
Akitada peered past him. The tiny room was exquisitely furnished. On its walls were paintings of famous incidents involving Otomo forebears, and on the altar table a finely carved and gilded statue of the Buddha presided over the name tablets of the deceased, prominently among them that of Koremori’s son.
In front of the altar, an old woman lay on the floor, her body twisted, her hands clutching at her throat, and her tongue protruding from a blue-tinged face. The footed bowls with offerings of food and money, the incense burners, and the candlesticks that had stood on the altar lay scattered across the floor. Oranges, coins, ashes, and a number of dead flies and moths were among the utensils on the polished boards. It looked as if the poor woman had done the damage before dying in painful convulsions. Her fingers had left fumbling traces in the ashes from the incense burners. A heavy, acrid smell hung in the air.
“Was it murder?” Akitada asked, stepping inside and bending over the corpse. There were no obvious signs of an attack.
The constable shook his head. “I doubt it. No wounds. No contusions. No signs of strangulation. She was an old woman with a weak heart. The captain didn’t see anything wrong either, but Lord Koremori kept insisting that she was poisoned by the incense and that the poison had been meant for him. The smell’s still pretty strong, but I ask you, who would die from sniffing incense? His lordship got quite rude when we didn’t agree with him.” He gave Akitada another grin. “Maybe you can get this straightened out, sir.”
Akitada had a sinking feeling that he should not have come at all. Kobe would find out that he had been here and complain to the minister again. He shook his head at the constable’s suggestion and followed the servant to his cousin’s study.
Today Koremori looked ill. He sat behind his desk chewing his fingernails. “Where have you been?” he demanded. “I sent for you this morning.”
“I was working at the Ministry,” Akitada said.
“You might have considered that my problem outweighed whatever it is you law clerks do all day long,” Koremori said angrily. “You are great disappointment to your mother and me. At your age, my son Akemori was already a captain in the emperor’s personal guard.”
He was probably right about his work, but Akitada was not about to agree. Koremori had always thought his late son excelled in all areas while Akitada was a dismal failure. He had this in common with Akitada’s mother.
“I wanted you to be here to make sure the police don’t gloss over this matter,” he continued when Akitada said nothing. “My assassin must be found. Frankly, this Kobe fellow struck me as a lazy official.”
“Kobe is a hard-working and conscientious officer. You can safely leave the matter in his hands.” It was the truth, even though the captain had never missed an opportunity to be ungracious to Akitada.
Koremori seemed to swell. “Are you refusing to help me?”
Akitada bit his lip and said, “What makes you think someone is trying to kill you?”
His cousin settled down. “That’s better. Well, as you know, I am preparing for another incense party. I believe the old crone helped herself to some of the incense from that table over there. With the judging to be tomorrow! And now I have a death in the house, and the whole affair will have to be called off. It is outrageous.”
A house where there had been a death was taboo because contact with the dead made people ritually impure. But clearly this had not prevented Koremori from sending for Akitada, who said somewhat curtly, “Tell me about the dead woman.”
Koremori scowled. “She was my late wife’s nurse and then my son’s. I should not have kept her. She was clearly past her duties. She only took care of the ancestral altar, replacing the food offerings and burning incense to the spirits of the dead every morning. When the servants found her dead, they called me.” He paused and gazed into the distance -- perhaps picturing the scene in his mind. “‘Dead as dust and cold as copper coins,’ you might say.”
In addition to incense parties, Koremori was also devoted to poetry contests and practiced whenever an opportunity arose.
“Dust and copper coins?” Akitada did not control his sarcasm.
“Don’t be dense. It’s what she was lying on. Ashes from the over-turned incense burner and a little pile of coins from one of the offerings to the dead. The line symbolizes the futility of human desires rather neatly, don’t you think?”
“Very appropriate.” Akitada felt slightly sick.
“You may jot it down for future reference,” Koremori said generously.
“What about the incense? How did she get it?”
Koremori rose. “Come and see for yourself.”
On the table near the door, the tray now held only one small packet wrapped in paper, tied with silk, and labeled with an elegantly brushed phrase. One end of the paper twist had been opened and re-folded carelessly. Akitada bent and sniffed. The remnant of ground incense inside seemed to have the same odor as the ancestral shrine.
He had heard stories about people becoming ill after experimenting with exotic combinations of incense ingredients but, like the constable, he had never encountered a case where the victim had been killed. The opened package was labeled “Transcending Life.”
“How do you know this was poison?” Akitada asked. “Apparently the police think the nurse died from natural causes.”
“Hah! That shows you what they know. There was a very unpleasant smell in the shrine. When we found the dead woman, my major-domo mentioned that she had complained earlier about running out of incense, but she had clearly found some. Then I came in here and I saw that this sample had been opened. It arrived late yesterday. I decided to test it. But after getting a pinch started, I was called out of the room. When I returned, there was the same strong stench in the room and Yoshiko’s cat lay on the floor, dead. I held my breath and ran to open all the shutters to air out the room but nearly fainted anyway. There’s your proof that someone wants to murder me.”
Akitada regarded his cousin. Koremori looked ill but Akitada did not like the note of triumph in his voice. Still, poisonous incense would explain the dead flies in the shrine. There was something vaguely troubling about the scenario, something that had nothing to do with Koremori’s fears. “Whose incense sample is this?” he asked, nudging the opened paper with his fingernail.
“I don’t know. The samples are anonymous. We identify each sample by its title.” Koremori detached the label and gave it to Akitada before returning to his desk.
Akitada followed, frowning at the label. “But why would the nurse help herself to a contest sample?” he asked.
“How should I know? She was a very unpleasant and disobedient servant and was probably too lazy to get fresh incense from the household stores. Really, it served her right.” He paused, then added, “It was lucky in a way. If she had not helped herself, I would not have discovered the plot and would be dead by now.”
Akitada thought the luck depended on your point of view. His dislike for Koremori increased. He laid the label on the desk. “Whom do you suspect?”
“No idea. That’s where you come in, my dear Akitada. Your success in criminal investigations is well known. You will work it out quickly, I’m sure.”
“If this is a murder case, I’m afraid I cannot get involved. The minister has strictly forbidden it.”
“Soga?” Koremori waved a dismissive hand. “Never mind. I will speak to him.”
“I doubt he will permit it. He has been very clear on that point in the past. I regret that I cannot be of assistance, Cousin, but Captain Kobe is very efficient.”
Koremori opened his mouth to protest when the door opened and a teary-eyed and agitated Lady Yoshiko rushed in. “Oh, Koremori,” she cried wringing her hands, “it is too dreadful! What shall be done about poor Oigimi? I’m too distraught to manage.” She saw Akitada and blushed. “Cousin Akitada,” she murmured, raising her sleeve to dab at her eyes.
Koremori looked away.
“Perhaps,” offered Akitada, “I may be of assistance, Lady Yoshiko. If you are worried about funeral arrangements for, er, Oigimi, I could stop at a temple and ask the monks to come and read the services.”
She looked at him with a tremulous smile. “You are the kindest man, Akitada,” she murmured. “Do you think they would come?”
“Don’t be an idiot, Akitada,” snapped Koremori. “Oigimi was her cat.”
“Oh,” said Akitada.
The young woman looked reproachful. “She was a very beautiful cat, black with four white paws, and so sweet. She never left my side. I am sure some divine creature’s soul inhabited her body.”
“Never mind, my dear.” Koremori was irritated but he restrained himself. “We are very busy just now. Please speak to one of the servants about the cat.”
“You never liked Oigimi,” Lady Yoshiko accused him with a charming pout. She turned to Akitada. “He always thought the poor little sweet thing would disturb his papers.” Her eyes fell on the desk, and she saw the incense tag with the words “Transcendent Life.” “Oh,” she said, “I shall ask Sakanoue,” and left.
An uncomfortable silence fell, then Akitada asked, “Who is Sakanoue?”
“A friend. A distant relation who amuses Yoshiko. But to get back to my problem. What will you do? Remember, the killer may try again.”
“Is there someone in your household who would want to kill you?”
Koremori threw up his hands. “How should I know. I treat my servants well.”
“What about your friends? Specifically the participants in the incense party?”
“Quite impossible! And don’t ask for their names. They are far too important to be troubled with questions.”
Akitada raised his brows. “You are not making this easy. Who would benefit from your death?”
Koremori’s mouth twitched. “Apart from some small bequests for the servants, my property will go to your mother.”
Akitada felt trapped. “Very well. If you can get permission from the minister, I’ll look into it.” He picked up the tag. “The handwriting is elegant. Do you recognize it?”
“It’s vaguely familiar, but I can’t say.”
Since further conversation seemed unprofitable, Akitada rose to leave.
• • •
As he had suspected, his mother took an avid interest in the news about Koremori’s will. “Very proper,” she concluded. “I daresay Koremori exaggerates his danger but it is good to know that his affairs are in order. There is still the young woman. Of course the affair may not last, but meanwhile you must spare no effort to ingratiate yourself. Make yourself indispensable. Exaggerate the danger. Convince him that but for you he might die. In short, act like his son Akemori would have acted under the circumstances.”
The thought was revolting, but Akitada said, “Yes, Mother.”
• • •
A messenger arrived early the next morning with a note from Koremori: “I have spoken to Soga. Come.”
Reluctantly — it was amazing that even a dull day in the archives seemed preferable —Akitada returned to his cousin’s house to question Koremori’s major-domo.
He found Kenzo — a small, thin, middle-aged man of neat appearance — in the ancestral shrine, instructing the youngster who had removed the kitten from Koremori’s room in the proper polishing of the floor.
“A terrible thing,” Kenzo said. He shook his neatly coiffed head. Every strand of his hair had been pulled back sharply, wound about with a black silk cord, and tied at the precise apex into a smooth loop. As a result of this extreme hairstyle, his thin eyebrows were permanently raised, as if in astonishment at the oddities of life. “Tomoe—she was the dead woman—asked me for incense that morning. I went immediately to the store house, but the supply was gone. I think the maids must have helped themselves. I suggested she skip the incense just once, but she refused quite rudely. She should never have taken the master’s incense but she always thought of herself as belonging to her dead mistress and her son.” He shook his head again and adjusted the black sash that held the stiffly starched blue cotton robe at his neat waist.
“It’s surely unusual for an experienced servant to disobey in this manner,” Akitada suggested.
Kenzo agreed. “Tomoe has always been difficult. She came here as her late ladyship’s nurse and took orders from no one but her mistress. It was very frustrating. All the other servants disliked her.”
“Why was that?”
Echoing Koremori, Kenzo said evasively, “She was an unpleasant person.” When Akitada raised his brows, he added, “It’s true. Even the master had trouble with her. Only the day before she died, I heard them shouting at each other in the master’s study. Imagine a servant shouting at the master of the house! A very unpleasant woman.”
At this point, the boy looked up from his chore and said, “Tomoe took money and things from people. I told the maid not to give the old demon her best sash, but she slapped my face and said to keep my mouth shut.”
“And very good advice, too,” said Kenzo. “Nobody asked you.” He apologized to Akitada. “He’s only a silly boy and not very bright, as you can see, sir.”
“Not at all,” said Akitada, smiling at the boy. “I am sure he is quite clever.”
The boy nodded. “I watch everything and I remember. You were visiting the master yesterday and the day before that. Go ahead, ask me about the master and Tomoe.”
“Enough, Jiro!” snapped Kenzo.
But Jiro had something to prove. “I heard them. The master was going to send Tomoe away, but she talked about her mistress and Master Akemori, and the master got really quiet, and when she came out, she looked very pleased.”
Kenzo lost his temper. “Leave the room this instance, Jiro. You’re as foolish as a monkey.”
Jiro gave Akitada an impudent grin, dropped his oily rag, and scampered off.
Akitada did not agree with Kenzo’s estimate of Jiro, but he said nothing. Instead he asked, “Were any of Lord Koremori’s guests regular visitors in this house?”
“Ah, you mean the incense party. Only Lord Sakanoue. He’s related to the young lady, I believe, and visits her quite often. The other gentlemen only attend for the incense guessing.”
Koremori had refused to give Akitada the names of the contestants, but Kenzo had no such reservations. When Akitada asked, he listed them. “In addition to Lord Sakanoue, there was the senior secretary of the imperial household office, the captain of the inner palace guards, the recorder in the
ministry of popular affairs, the abbot of the Ninna Temple, and Professor Tachibana from the university.”
It was as he had thought. They were men above and beyond reproach and incapable of concocting poisonous substances in order to do away with Koremori. Akitada thanked Kenzo for this very precise and useful information and asked to speak to some of the other servants.
This effort also produced little that was new. They had not liked Tomoe and had hoped the master would dismiss her. They denied taking or hiding the incense stores. They refused – quite properly – to comment on the new mistress or her relative, though Akitada caught a smirk or two from the maids. The general feeling was that Tomoe had died from old age and poor health and that they were not particularly sorry.
