Three Tales of Love and Murder (Akitada Stories)

by I. J. Parker

  With an impatient grunt, Kiyowara pushed the warden aside and, carefully tucking aside his sleeve, bent to retrieve something from his daughter’s sash. “Here,” he said, holding up a square of paper smeared with blood.

  The warden shrank back even farther. “I can’t read, my Lord. You read it. What does it say?”

  “Very well.” Kiyowara unfolded the paper and read out: “My heart, cast down by harsh fate, shatters like the blossoms.” Sighing deeply he refolded the note. “It’s as I thought. Her unhappiness has caused her to end her life.”

  There was something familiar about the words. Akitada extended his hand. “May I?” Kiyowara relinquished the paper. Akitada read the note. The writing was not hers, but he recognized the line. It was Akimitsu’s and he must have given her this. Returning the paper, he said only, “This note doesn’t speak of death specifically, only of unhappiness. I regret this deeply, my Lord, but I should like everyone to verify a small detail. There is a comb on Lady Umeko’s mirror. Would you please look at it?”

  Lord Kiyowara glanced at it. “What about it? Young Kose gave it to her earlier. She was combing her hair with it before she …” He turned away and covered his face.

  “There’s a great deal of blood on the mirror, but none on the comb,” Akitada persisted.

  The warden stepped closer and looked. The Koses muttered together.

  Still hiding his face, Kiyowara cried out in a pained voice, “Amida! What next? There is blood on the front of her gown, but none on the back. Who is to say at such a moment what will get stained?”

  “There usually is a reason for things.”

  “Sugawara,” said his host in a tired voice, “will you please leave and let the man get on with his duty? I’m at the end of my patience.”

  Masanobu stepped up to the veranda and laid his hand on Akitada’s elbow. “Time to go,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’ve outstayed your welcome.”

  Akitada shook off his hand. “My point about the comb is that it cannot have been lying on the mirror when Lady Umeko died or it would be covered by her blood. This kind of fatal wound causes the blood to spurt. Someone put the comb there after her death.”

  Silence. Then the warden nodded, “Yes, yes, quite right. That must be so. Someone came in later and put it there. Perhaps the person who found her?”

  “Nonsense,” snapped Kiyowara. The warden jumped a little. His expression turned glum.

  “The maid denies going near her,” said Akitada, “and if anyone else had been here, he or she would have given the alarm. No, it isn’t likely that anyone set foot in this room after the murderer until the maid arrived.”

  Kiyowara groaned again. “Now I remember what Soga told me about you. You look for murder in everything. There is a perfectly simple explanation. Both you and I entered the room. One of us accidentally kicked the comb.”

  The warden chuckled with relief. “Yes, yes!” he cried. “Very good. That explains it perfectly.”

  Akitada cleared his throat. “I’m afraid not. You, my Lord, never went near the body, and I was careful. No, I’m afraid the comb was where it is now. In any case, I think there is sufficient cause for calling in the metropolitan police.” Seeing Kiyowara’s lips tighten, he added, “They will make a thorough search for other notes, or perhaps a diary, which may throw additional light on Lady Umeko’s frame of mind.”

  The warden, whose face had fallen at Akitada’s objection, brightened instantly. “Yes, yes. The metropolitan police! What I was thinking exactly. I said to myself, ‘You must call in the metropolitan police.’ Yes. Yes.”

  “Enough!” Kiyowara threw up his hands. “Have it your way! I shall deal with matters in the morning.”

  Akitada hesitated, then turned to the warden. “Can you spare one of your people to guard this room until the police arrive?”

  “Guard the room …?” began the warden. Kose senior interrupted. “This is an unbearable insult to your host and to myself and my son, Sugawara,” he snapped. “We shall not forget it.” He took his son’s arm and stalked off.

  The warden moved uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Do you mean someone has to stay with the dead lady?”

  Akitada sighed. Most people feared contamination by the dead, and country people also believed in possession by their spirits. “Very well,” he said. “I shall keep watch myself.”

  “No.” Kiyowara’s tone was peremptory. “Seal the door, Warden, by pasting some paper over it. No one will enter. Good night to you, Sugawara!” He swung around, and walked quickly away. The warden obeyed as Akitada watched, then said apologetically, “With your permission, sir. I must dictate my report and send a messenger to the capital.”

  Akitada walked back to his room, his mind in turmoil. The darkness was now dense, and there was a hint of coming rain on the light wind which had sprung up. He glanced up at the sky. Clouds had moved in, black rags blotting out the stars and moon.

  There was something very strange about this murder, and murder it was, no matter what Kiyowara said. At least the warden’s habit of agreeing with any person of higher rank had allowed Akitada to prevail about the police. Tomorrow, by daylight, the efficient constables of the metropolitan force would search Lady Umeko’s room and interrogate every person in the household. They would find the diary, put the pieces together, and see the pattern—of anger, passion, or greed—which had led to this violent act.

  But Akitada found sleep escaped him. Half-remembered bits and pieces kept worrying him. He went over each of the possible suspects again. Akimitsu, by his own admission her lover, had two strong motives. He seemed gentle and harmless, but the tutor was a bit of an exhibitionist and could have put on an act. And she had still had his last poem on her when she died. Proof that he had visited her?

  Kose Masanobu had opposed the match from the start, possibly because of another strong attachment. If he had discovered Lady Umeko’s affair, he might have lashed out in fury. Masanobu, unlike Akimitsu, struck Akitada as a man with a violent temper.

  His father’s motive was less strong, but he also might have avenged an insult to his family.

  Surely it had not been Tadahira, a drunk, and a loving uncle more distraught over Lady Umeko’s death than her father.

  Akitada sat up.

  A loving uncle? Or a drunken sot bent on seduction? Yes, it had been Tadahira who had forced his caresses on her. Lady Umeko’s reference to her unwelcome visitor’s drunkenness and her pathetic wish that her father, instead of this man, would show her more affection made it a virtual certainty. Poor lonely Lady Umeko.

  The shutters rattled in a gust of chill wind; Akitada shivered and rose to step outside. It was almost dawn. The clouds above the mountain range were turning a tarnished silver, and the first drops of cold rain struck the veranda.

  He stood there for a moment, rubbing his arms to warm himself, and glanced at the gradually brightening cherry trees in the grey, rain-spattering dusk.

  In the dismal weather, the mountain peaks towered like angry gods over the shadowy earth, and smoky clouds moved before the cold wind which shook the trees, tearing at their fragile springtime beauty and scattering blossoms across the rain dark earth.

  And suddenly, with utter certainty, Akitada knew what must have happened. As she knelt before her silver mirror, Lady Umeko had seen her murderer’s image and had been as defenseless as the cherry trees before his fury.

  The police officer was no stranger to Akitada. A lieutenant by rank and an ex-soldier, the grey-haired Ishida was a thorough professional who frowned on junior legal clerks meddling in criminal cases. To Akitada’s relief, he did not acknowledge their acquaintance.

  While the police examined the body, they were herded into the banquet room, where some of the remnants of yesterday’s celebration still lay about. Under the watchful eyes of two constables no one felt like chatting. Lord Kiyowara had withdrawn into his own wretched thoughts, his brother looked ill, and the Koses apparently still simmered with resentme
nt. Akimitsu, pale and silent, sat by himself near the door. Akitada bowed in the direction of the noblemen and was ignored. With a sigh he sat down beside the tutor.

  Outside, in the ruined garden, the wind and rain scattered blossoms like snow across the sodden ground, but today no one intoned a verse comparing the brevity of cherry blossoms to human life.

  They did not have long to wait. Lieutenant Ishida entered briskly, accompanied by more equally businesslike constables. After a glance around, he addressed Kiyowara. “I have some questions for those who were here last night, my Lord. Since Sugawara is the only outsider, perhaps I’d better start with him.”

  Lord Kose growled, “You should be warned, Lieutenant. Sugawara has some insane fixation about one of us having murdered the young woman. His behavior has been shocking. I have every intention of speaking to his superiors.”

  The lieutenant raised his brows, looked at Akitada, and asked, “What gave you such an extraordinary idea, Sugawara?”

  “It was the comb, sir.”

  He explained about the clean comb on the bloody mirror. Kiyowara immediately offered his own explanation. Ishida listened to both versions without comment.

  Increasingly nervous, Akitada told of his activities during the night. When he came to the part where he found the diary, Kiyowara spoke up again.

  “Pure fabrication. My daughter never kept a diary. Her education had been neglected to the extent that she could barely read and write. That is why she had a tutor. There never was a diary. Sugawara must have dreamed it.”

  A soft voice said suddenly, “But there was a diary. I recommended she keep one for practice.”

  They all looked at the tutor. Akimitsu saw Kiyowara’s glowering expression and bit his lip. “I am sorry, my Lord, but she showed it to me once to ask about a poem she had written in it.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It must have been something else,” snapped Kiyowara. “I do think you’re singularly lacking in loyalty, Akimitsu.”

  The tutor paled and shrank into himself. Ishida asked him, “Did you read any other entries?” Akimitsu shook his head wordlessly. “And you?” Ishida asked Akitada. “How much did you read before you were interrupted?”

  “Enough to know it was a diary. I started at the beginning and had reached a passage where she expressed fear of some unnamed man who had come to her room at night and attempted to seduce her.”

  “What?” Kiyowara was on his feet now, his face red with fury. “How dare you make such a shocking suggestion.”

  “Please sit down, my Lord,” Ishida told him. “You will get your turn in a moment.”

  Akitada said anxiously, “If you’ll send one of your men to her room, the matter can be cleared up quickly. I hid the diary under the edge of the mat near the veranda door.”

  “There was no diary in Lady Umeko’s room. We looked under all the grass mats.”

  Akitada stared at Ishida. “Then someone found it. You must search everyone’s room immediately. It’s a slim volume of some rather nice mulberry paper sewn together in a red brocade cover. The handwriting is childish, but perfectly adequate.”

  “I do not need instruction in my job,” the lieutenant snapped. “As it happens, I have ordered such a search.” He paused and let his eyes move over the group. “It turned up some fragments among the ashes of one of the braziers in the guest quarters.” He drew a sheet of paper from his sash and unfolded it. In it lay a bit of charred red brocade. The paper was browned at the edges but covered with writing. Holding both paper and brocade up for them to see, he asked Akitada and Akimitsu, “Do either of you recognize this?”

  Akimitsu nodded nervously. Akitada could not read the words, but there was no doubt in his mind that Ishida had found the diary. “Yes,” he said. “Is that all that’s left of the diary? May I look at it more closely?”

  Ishida refolded the fragment and tucked it away. “Later. As to what is left, let’s just say someone was careless. Thank you, you have both been helpful. Please remain for the time being.”

  Turning to Lord Kiyowara, Ishida said, “My Lord, it’s my duty to confirm that the death of your daughter was indeed murder and that there is evidence of a forbidden sexual relationship in the remnants of her diary. It is my belief that the murderer attempted to destroy this evidence before we arrived.”

  Kiyowara demanded, “Let me see what you found.”

  Ishida bowed. “Forgive me, my Lord, but there is no point. You have already stated that your daughter could barely write and will hardly be able to identify the sample.”

  Kiyowara snapped, “I still deny the existence of such a diary. I don’t know what you found, but it did not belong to my daughter. She was illiterate.”

  Akimitsu cried, “No, my Lord,” then blushed and cleared his throat apologetically. “Lady Umeko was far from illiterate. It grieves me that you have so little confidence in your daughter who was a beautiful, gentle, and loving young woman. She could both read and write very well before she died, and she showed considerable talent for poetry.”

  Suddenly Masanobu was on his feet, eyes blazing. “According to the lieutenant, there was a forbidden sexual relationship between my future wife and some man. Was this … this mere hireling the person who dishonored her?”

  Akimitsu turned perfectly white. “No! Never. I swear it by my ancestors.”

  Kose senior pulled Masanobu down, whispering something in his ear. His son subsided with a frown.

  The lieutenant regarded the Koses thoughtfully for a moment, then turned back to Kiyowara Toyashi, saying, “So it seems that the page I found was indeed written by your daughter. Fortunately we have enough evidence to bring charges. I regret to inform you that it was your brother who …”

  “No!” Tadahira covered his ears, and burst into loud moans, “No. Oh, no! No.”

  Ishida raised his voice a little. “Kiyowara Tadahira. I arrest you in the name of the emperor.” He gestured to his constables. Two of them approached and began to unwind thin chains from around their waists.

  Kiyowara Toyashi rose and stepped in front of his brother. “Lieutenant, I don’t understand any of this. There must be a mistake. But even if you have proof, you cannot put chains on my brother as if he were a common criminal. We are descendants of the third emperor. Do you truly have grounds for such an arrest? If you have been influenced by the mad charges of that young puppy Sugawara, I’ll have both of you tried for slander.”

  “Imperial blood or not, my Lord, it looks very much like your brother raped your daughter,” Ishida said brutally. “Yesterday he tried to repeat the assault, only this time she objected and he …”

  “No!” cried Akitada, as shocked as Kiyowara by the lieutenant’s charge. “That’s not what happened.”

  Ishida shot him a furious glance and snapped, “May I remind you, Sugawara, that you will be mentioned in my report to Minister Soga?”

  “The whole charge is a foul lie,” insisted Lord Kiyowara. “No judge would take a silly girl’s over-heated imagination as evidence against my brother, whose only motive for a few harmless visits was a natural affection for a lonely young girl. Young women fill their diaries with all sorts of foolish notions. I will not tolerate your spreading such scandal about members of my family.”

  The lieutenant smiled coldly. “So you now admit the existence of the diary, my Lord?”

  Tadahira had become calm except for tears streaming down his face. He looked at his brother. “It’s no use, Toyashi. She …”

  Kiyowara turned. “Say no more! They’ll use your words against you. I shall have you released as soon as possible.”

  But Tadahira shook his head. “No, it’s too late, Toyashi.” He looked at the lieutenant. “You were quite right about my misconduct with my niece. The first time I simply mistook the room. She was so sweet and innocent. Too sweet and gentle for the rude hands of that young rake Masanobu, I thought. She had no mother and my brother had no time for her. I only meant to prepare her a little, but the wine … one night
I went too far. Poor child!” He wept in slow, gulping sobs which shook his whole body.”

  A flash of fury passed over his brother’s face. “You’ve lost your mind!” he said disgustedly.

  The Koses had listened with increasing anger. Now the elder Kose exploded. “This is an outrage!” He got up and faced Kiyowara. “How dare you involve my family in such shameful doings? I should have suspected your haste to marry the girl off to my son, but I thought you were desperate for money.” He turned to Ishida. “Kiyowara misused funds in his office and was about to be found out. He approached me for a loan, offering his daughter and a captaincy in the imperial guards to my son. I accepted. Fortunately events have prevented the disastrous connection before it was too late. We shall not remain under his roof for another moment. With your permission, my son and I will return to the capital. You may call on us at any time for our testimony.”

  When Ishida nodded, Masanobu joined his father. On their way out, they paused before Akitada, who rose quickly to his feet and bowed.

  “We’re indebted to you, young man,” Kose senior said. “If it hadn’t been for your insistence that the young woman was murdered, I would have extended the loan against Kiyowara’s promise of the appointment for my son. We would have looked fine fools. I hope you will accept our apologies and call on us for future assistance.” Father and son bowed and walked stiffly away through the drizzle outside.

  Struck with astonishment, Akitada was still looking after them when Tadahira cried, “Don’t try to protect me any longer, Toyashi. I have ruined everything.”

  “Hold your tongue, you fool!” Kiyowara lunged for his brother and would have struck him if Ishida had not separated them. Two constables seized Tadahira and pulled him toward the door.

  In a sudden panic, Akitada jumped up and barred their way. “Lieutenant,” he cried, his heart pounding, “you’re making a mistake.”

  “Stay out of this, Sugawara,” Ishida warned.

  “Just one question, Lieutenant, please. Are you arresting Kiyowara Tadahira because you think he burned the diary?”