by I. J. Parker
Manjiro’s jaw dropped. “The police will look at our books?”
“They can’t do that,” Saito said, but he sounded uncertain.
Saburo turned away. “I can find my way out. Good luck!”
Nakamura’s daughter cried, “Wait. Perhaps we should listen. He doesn’t want any money. It couldn’t hurt to listen.”
Saburo decided that all three were equally greedy, though the son was perhaps a little less so. He had guessed correctly that an investigation of their business would reveal unsavory details. He really liked them for suspects in this murder and wondered how to discover if any of them had been to the bathhouse that morning. But instead of irritating them further, he asked, “Can you give me the names of people who owed your father money and either couldn’t pay or bore him a grudge because of his business practices?”
Saito snapped, “There’s nothing wrong with our business practices. They’re strictly standard in the city. Because we deal with unscrupulous people who’ll take our money and refuse to pay it back, we carry a big risk that they’ll run away with it.”
“And so you charge how much?”
They balked at answering. Finally Manjiro said, “A third or maybe a half in very risky cases.”
His sister added, “We barely break even at that. People are so unreliable.”
Saburo grimaced. At those rates, there should be a wide field of suspects. “Can you list those who were most desperate or might have reason to feel angry?”
Again Manjiro and Saito exchanged glances, then Manjiro nodded and got up. His sister finally recalled herself to her duties as a hostess and brought some wine and cups. The wine was atrocious. Saburo noticed that Saito did not drink it.
Saburo asked him, “Are there any others who might have had personal reasons to hate your partner? I believe he was quite well-known in the amusement quarter. Perhaps there was a woman whose husband or boyfriend resented him?”
Saito gave him a pitying look. “The women in the quarter work for money. Why should they or their relatives be resentful?”
Nakamura’s daughter shook her head when Saburo turned to her. “They’re cheap sluts,” she said in a venomous tone.
Saburo thought this interesting. Had her father’s amorous escapades threatened her security? It was another thing he could not ask about, so he said nothing.
Eventually Manjiro returned with a list of names. This he passed first to Saito, who scrutinized it, nodded, and handed it to Saburo.
As expected, it was long. Saburo heaved a mental sigh. He handed it back to Manjiro. “Mark those who might be most likely.”
Manjiro passed it to Saito who took the list and studied it. Then he rose and went to the desk to make marks next to several names.
Saburo asked a few more questions about the “marked” persons, and promised to return if he uncovered anything.
Outside, the rain had started. It was getting colder, and Saburo huddled into his robe as he hurried along.
*
The first of the desperate borrowers was a schoolmaster. His house was not far. As it turned out, it was not only modest, but in terrible condition. The roof was missing thatch and looked as though it was ready to collapse in places. The fence had been mended cheaply, and so had the gate.
Saburo opened it and splashed through puddles toward the house. Before he could reach the door, it opened and a woman looked out. She was pale, thin, highly pregnant, and accompanied by two small, skinny children who clung to her worn cotton gown.
Blinking against the rain, she ran a hand over her hair that was coming loose from the twist at her neck. “Yes?” she asked instead of a greeting. She looked frightened.
“Mrs. Kajiwara? My name’s Saburo. I work for Lord Sugawara.”
“Yes?” she said again, now looking puzzled rather than afraid.
“Would your husband be in?”
She nodded. “What is this about?”
Saburo gestured at the rain. “May I come in? It’s about Nakamura Minobe.”
Now the fear was back. Surely he could not have found his killer already. He looked at her and at the wide-eyed little children and hoped not.
She stepped aside, pulling the children with her, and gestured for him to come in.
The house was dark and—in the way of poor homes—smelled of cheap oil, cabbage, and beans. She led the way to the back.
There, in a larger room mostly empty of furnishings, they found the schoolmaster bowed over a desk. He was writing. Beside him lay a small stack of closely written pages. Somewhere, rainwater dripped from the ceiling.
“What is it, Hatsuko?” the schoolmaster asked without looking up.
“This man has come from Nakamura-san.”
The schoolmaster straightened up and turned. Saburo saw that he was near middle-age, thin and pale, with a clean-shaven face. He regarded Saburo with distaste and said, “I don’t have the money. Tell your master I’m working day and night to earn it, but the children have to eat.”
Apparently, the man did not know about Nakamura’s murder.
Saburo said, “I don’t work for Nakamura, sir. I’m here because he was murdered this morning.”
There was a moment’s utter relief on the other man’s face. His wife cried out, “Thank the gods and Amida!”
Her husband said, “I’m ashamed of you, Hatsuko. How can you say such a thing when a man has died?”
“He was an evil man,” she protested.
“Even so.”
Saburo asked, “May I sit down, sir.”
The schoolmaster apologized. “I’m afraid we didn’t expect this news. Forgive my manners. Also forgive the lack of hospitality. We have nothing to offer a guest but water.”
“Water would be very refreshing.”
His wife ran out to get the water, and the schoolmaster studied Saburo for a moment. Then he said, “But surely your purpose for coming here wasn’t to inform me of this murder. Why are you here?”
In answer, Saburo brought out the list Nakamura’s son had made. This he passed to Kajiwara. “The police have arrested a blind shampoo girl, but it’s likely she’ll be cleared. I work for Lord Sugawara and decided to speak to the dead man’s family and his partner. They suggested that the people on this lists might be suspects. Your name was at the top.”
There was a crash. Mrs. Kajiwara had dropped the earthenware pitcher of water. “Oh, husband!” she wailed. “Not more misfortune!”
“Calm down, my dear,” said her husband. “This gentleman will surely explain. Do we have another pitcher?”
She shook her head and crouched to clean up the shards. Saburo got up and took some coppers from his sash. “As it was me who caused the accident,” he said, “allow me to pay for the damage. And I’m not at all thirsty any more. Thank you for your trouble.”
She glanced at her husband, blushed, and took the money. “Thank you, sir. You are kind.”
Her husband muttered, “There was no need.”
Saburo resumed his seat, and the schoolmaster’s wife left the room. Saburo looked at the dim, chilly room, listened to the sounds of water dripping through a torn roof somewhere, and eyed the pages of writing beside the school master. “You’re trying to earn money doing copying work?”
The other man nodded. “I’ll never make enough to pay back all I owe. I should never have gone to Nakamura, but no one else would lend us money. You see, our youngest child got sick this past winter. We tried everything, and in the end the cost of the doctor and his medicines got so high that I borrowed twenty pieces of silver from Nakamura to pay what I owed.” He brushed tears from his eyes. “My little daughter died anyway. Nakamura was very kind and offered me money for her funeral. And after that, he said, ‘Look, you need to get back on your feet. I’ll advance you another twenty. Take your time repaying it.’ I did. Then his partner showed up and demanded repayment. Suddenly I owed more than two hundred pieces of silver. I’ve paid back the first twenty and the second twenty, but I still owe one h
undred and sixty. It’s hopeless. I’ve thought of killing myself, but I cannot leave my family with this debt. I’m going to sell the house and we’ll go away, someplace where there are no men like Nakamura and Saito.” He bowed his head and wept.
“I’m very sorry,” said Saburo. “Why aren’t you teaching? Surely that pays better than copying.”
“I lost my post teaching the children in the household of a nobleman. One of the servants accused me of making lewd remarks to one of his lordship’s daughters. It wasn’t true, but no one will let me teach children now.”
His wife had come back quietly. She went to kneel beside her husband. Putting a hand on his, she said, “It was a foul lie. My husband would never do what they said. That man was angry because I refused to sleep with him.”
Kajiwara squeezed her hand. “Ssh! Saburo doesn’t need to know all of our troubles.” He looked at Saburo. “So now I’m accused of murder? Will the police show up on my door step next?”
“Don’t worry. It will take them a while to clear the blind girl. After that there is Nakamura’s family. He was very wealthy. And perhaps also his partner. I came here to understand how they’ve been operating. The list is long. They’ve driven many people to the point of desperation.” He glanced at the stack of finished pages. “Were you home all day?”
“Yes!” husband and wife called out together.
“You didn’t by chance visit the Daikoku-yu?”
“A bathhouse? I can’t afford such luxuries,” the schoolmaster said with a snort.
“Good. One last question: do you know of anyone who might have murdered Nakamura?”
The schoolmaster shook his head.
Saburo rose, bowed to both of them, and left.
The rain still fell, casting the city into a gloomy grayness that matched Saburo’s mood. The Kajiwara story depressed him. The poor family needed help Saburo could not provide. He decided to speak to his master. Then it struck him that the murder case itself was just the sort of thing to lure his lordship from his self-imposed house arrest.
Greatly cheered, he hurried home.
11
Fire in a Jar
Akiko was not a woman to remain soft-hearted for long. Once they had reached Akitada’s study, she wasted no time speaking her mind.
“You have worried us long enough,” she said. “It’s time you returned to your duties. Sitting for hours in a dark room, as Tora and Hanae assure me you have been doing, does no one any good, least of all your children and your people who depend on you. Over the last few years, you have taken on responsibilities beyond those of your own family. Soon there will be many more mouths to feed. Genba’s wife is expecting.”
Akitada covered his face with his hands as if he could thus stop the onslaught of accusation and reproof. “I only just noticed,” he muttered. “They didn’t tell me.”
“They’re afraid to. They all walk about on tiptoes so they won’t disturb you.”
Akitada lowered his hands. “Not quite.” He decided to distract Akiko from the issue of his not having returned to work yet. “It seems Kobe, Nakatoshi, and Tora have plotted together to get me involved in the investigation of a strange death. Do you recall my former friend Tasuku?”
Her eyes flashed with interest. “The handsome Tasuku? He’s the very splendid abbot of Daiun-ji now, did you know?”
“Yes. Well, it seems a beautiful and mysterious woman has hanged herself in his mansion.”
“No!” Eyes round with delighted shock, Akiko sank down on a cushion. “Tell me! I want to know all. A mysterious woman, you say? Just the sort of thing to stimulate the mind.”
Akitada looked at her in dismay. He had only meant to stop the flood of recriminations. Instead he had given her exactly what would make her an intolerable nuisance. She would not rest now until she was part of the investigation, and that meant she would be here every day until the case was solved.
“It’s probably nothing,” he said weakly. “The police have investigated and confirmed the death as suicide. But … “ He thought of the two sweets on her shelf.
“So you suspect murder?” Akiko’s eyes glittered. “What’s the lady’s name?”
“Her name is Ogata. It may be an assumed name.”
“Ogata? Hmm. A good family, but not well known. Now where have I met someone by that name?” Akiko was off on the trail.
Akitada sighed. “Well, perhaps it will come to you later,” he said, hoping it would encourage her to leave and continue her research from her home.
But his sister was not so easily distracted. “Yes,” she said. “It can wait. Right now I want to know everything you know. Did you speak to Abbot Genshin? What does he say?”
“I have not spoken to him,” Akitada said quickly. “We did not part on very friendly terms years ago, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“Ah, yes. I recall you were always critical of him.” Akiko giggled. “You can be very judgmental in matters of romance, dear brother. You didn’t approve of the man because he was very good-looking and adored by many women.”
Akitada frowned. “His offense was rather more serious than flirtations.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You don’t say. What exactly did he do?”
“I’m not going to tell you.”
She pouted. “Oh, very well, but you won’t get off so easily about this case. You think the evil abbot murdered the Ogata woman, right?”
“Don’t call him an evil abbot, and I don’t think anything of the sort. Really, Akiko, you jump to conclusions much too fast to make a good investigator.”
Her eyes shone. “Then you’ll let me help?”
He sighed. “Very well, but you must promise to be discreet. We can’t afford to offend the abbot. He seems to be a favorite with the court.”
“I promise. Not a whisper of his secret shall pass my lips.”
Akitada’s lip twitched. “That shouldn’t be hard, since you don’t know what it is.”
She smiled. “I don’t know it yet. Well, what can I do? I mean besides finding out what I can about this Ogata person?”
“That will be quite enough for the moment. She was known as Lady Ogata, so is most likely a member of one of the good families. She was in her mid-twenties, and is said to have been very beautiful.”
“At that age? Who said so?”
His sister was a shrewd observer of female looks.
“My information comes from a middle-aged caretaker, a young student, and an elderly professor. Perhaps they overlooked her age.”
He had joked, but she took him seriously.
“Yes. And all are male. Women have sharper eyes. Who’s the professor?”
“His name is Suketada. He is retired. But there is also a painter. Surely he knows beauty when he sees it.”
“They all sound dreary. And the student, I take it, is at that awkward age when his face is covered with spots?”
It was true, but Akitada said, “You women are very hard on men. He’s just an ordinary-looking youngster.”
“Very well.” She got to her feet. “I’ll see what I can do. Send for me if there’s any new information.” She eyed him a moment. “You look better. Good. I’m glad I took you out of that dreadful state of melancholy. Mind you take care of business.”
She swept to his side to give him a quick hug, and was gone.
Akitada sighed. He would hardly have any peace from now on. He looked about the dim room and at the dust on his desk. On an impulse he opened a lacquer box that held writing paper. Inside, hidden under blank pages, lay his letter of resignation from his position at the ministry. His post as governor of Chikuzen province he had resigned before leaving Kyushu. Presumably, the news had been transmitted to the government here. But he felt very ill at ease about this. The act of resigning and leaving his post without permission should long since have brought him his due punishment in the form of being called in to account, but nothing whatsoever had happened. The resignation from the ministry was presumably pointless,
because he would be dismissed anyway. Only his friendship with the minister, Fujiwara Kaneie, had made him write out the formal letter. He had not sent it. Their friendship really required that he hand-deliver it.
Here he was, ignoring his responsibilities in every conceivable fashion. Dabbling in the peculiar activities of someone from his past was hardly what was required. He sighed again. He would go to see Kaneie and apologize.
He had barely come to this decision when there was a scratching at the door, and Saburo put his head in. “Do I disturb you, sir?” he asked, looking at him anxiously.
“No.” Akitada added ungraciously, “It seems everyone else has been to see me today.”
Saburo came in hesitantly and bowed. “It’s a private matter, sir. I can go away again.”
More responsibilities. Come to think of it, Tora had mentioned that Saburo had found a girlfriend. Perhaps he, too, had decided to start a family. Akitada glanced despairingly at his resignation letter and closed the box.
“Sit down.”
Saburo sat. “This morning,” he started, “I went to visit a young woman in the city.”
Her it comes, thought Akitada, but managed to nod encouragingly.
“Her name is Shokichi. She earns a living by doing the make-up and hair of entertainers. Her good friend is blind and works as a shampoo girl at a bathhouse. Her name is Sachi. I didn’t know of this friendship until today, sir.”
Akitada frowned. Where was this going? What was he to do about hairdressers and shampoo girls?
Saburo saw his expression and gulped. “Er, to make a long story short, sir, this Sachi was arrested this morning for murdering a customer. Shokichi and I went to the bathhouse to see if we could help, but the police had already arrested her. Shokichi says her friend couldn’t have done it.”
Akitada said nothing. It was clear now that this was another attempt to get him out of the house and involved in every crime that happened in the capital.
Saburo waited a moment, then continued in a rush. “I’ve spoken with the bathhouse owner, a dubious character who washes his hands of the girl, and I also went to see the victim’s family. The victim was one Nakamura, a moneylender with a reputation of charging so much interest that he ruined people. He preyed on the most desperate cases only and had become a very wealthy man, sir. His heirs are his son and daughter. Then there’s also a stepbrother who is his business partner, a very suspicious character called Saito. No doubt there are many others who had reason to kill the man.”
