The Hell Screen

by I. J. Parker

  The other antiquarians likely to have very old and precious goods were called Heida, Kudara, and Nagaoka. Nichira helpfully supplied their addresses. Nagaoka was semiretired, handling a few transactions out of his family residence. All respectable dealers investigated the provenance of any articles brought to them.

  “It is necessary to tell the buyer,” explained Nichira. “You asked about the flute. Knowing the previous owners adds to the value of the item.”

  Akitada parted contentedly from Nichira, promising to return on another occasion.

  He found a silk shop in the next street. This store was open to the street, its shutters raised to allow passersby a view of the large interior, where apprentices bustled about carrying rolls of silk to seated customers. Akitada entered, and a senior saleswoman introduced him to the treasures of the shop. Akitada, who was used to the meager offerings in the northern province, felt his head spin at the colors and patterns of silk and brocade which were offered for his inspection. His own needs were fairly easily met, but he lingered over the silks for Yoshiko.

  The assistant was a graceful middle-aged woman of great patience. Akitada pleasurably pictured Yoshiko in a new wardrobe. A lovely deep rose silk which changed to paler pinks depending on how the light struck it seemed to him particularly elegant and youthful, but it was after all winter, and he eventually settled on a deep copper red. Then, on an impulse, he added the rose silk after all. Matching thinner silks for undergowns, five each, their colors complementary yet distinct, had to be selected next. The assistant brought the lengths of silk tirelessly, combining and recombining their shades in layers until he was happy with the results. The copper red fabric would cover layers of pale gold, lilac, sand, and moss green, while the rose silk would be lined in leaf green, deep red, light red, and white. Immensely pleased with his choices, Akitada paid another astronomical sum and had everything sent to his residence.

  Poorer but happy, he stepped out into the street to the sound of bells. It was already time for the midday rice, and he decided to postpone visits to the other antiquarians, except for Nagaoka, whose house was on his way home.

  The thought of home, reminding him of his mother, ruined his good mood. In addition it began to look more and more as though someone in Toshikage’s office was hiding the treasures for his own purposes. The thought raised unpleasant possibilities. Was it merely an attempt to get Toshikage dismissed and so win a promotion? Or was the thief bent on vengeance and planning to have the treasures discovered on Toshikage’s person or in his house? The offense of stealing from the emperor was serious enough to warrant public humiliation, confiscation of property, and banishment to a distant province. Toshikage’s family would suffer the same fate as he. While Akitada, by virtue of bearing a different surname, would not be involved, his sister Akiko and their unborn child certainly would share her husband’s fate.

  Nagaoka lived in a quiet residential quarter, not quite for the “good people,” nor for mere tradesmen, either. His house was a typical wealthy merchant’s home on a double plot, hidden from the street by tall wood screening. A simple sign above the decorative doorway read, “Nagaoka, Antiquarian.”

  Akitada raised his fist to pound on the fretwork gate, when it was suddenly flung open and he found himself face-to-face with an old acquaintance.

  The expression on the other man’s face changed rapidly from surprised pleasure to acute suspicion.

  “Kobe!” cried Akitada heartily. “What a coincidence! I intended to pay my respects eventually, but family matters have kept me occupied.”

  “What are you doing here?” growled the other man, as usual bypassing politeness to get to the heart of the matter.

  Akitada raised his brows. “Now, that is hardly a friendly greeting after all these years,” he said lightly. He realized belatedly that there was something quite different about the police captain: Kobe did not wear his customary uniform of red coat and white trousers. Instead he was attired rather formally in dark silk. “I was calling on the antiquarian for some information. But are you no longer with the police?”

  Kobe’s face relaxed momentarily and a smile twitched his lips. “Promoted,” he said. “To superintendent.”

  “You don’t say!” Akitada chuckled and bowed. “My sincerest congratulations. You deserved it.”

  “Thanks. You did not do so badly yourself. Provisional governor. And you crushed a rebellion or two, I hear. The New Year should bring a generous promotion.”

  “Not with my luck.” Akitada paused and glanced at a servant who had cracked open the gate and was listening with an expression of avid curiosity. Kobe followed his glance and took Akitada’s arm to pull him a few steps away. Behind them the gate clanked shut.

  Akitada looked back and then in growing puzzlement at Kobe. “What brings you here? Is something wrong?”

  “Murder,” remarked Kobe placidly. “My men seem to be making a mess of the investigation, so I came to see what’s what.”

  “The antiquarian has been killed?” If the trail of the imperial treasures ended here, Toshikage’s predicament had just taken a new, more ominous turn.

  But it appeared that Nagaoka was alive.

  “His wife,” said Kobe. “Apparently killed by his brother. A love triangle. Pretty young wife agrees to meet elderly husband’s younger brother in a romantic setting. Somehow they argue, and he kills her. Husband is understandably distraught. Mixed loyalties! Should he help the police and have his own brother sentenced for murder, or should he protect the man who killed his beloved wife? He has not been cooperative so far.”

  “I see.” It was a tricky problem for a Confucian scholar. Was a man’s first duty to his wife or to his blood brother? More to the point, Nagaoka would hardly be in a frame of mind to answer questions about antiques.

  “What did you want from him?” Kobe’s eyes studied Akitada’s face with bright interest.

  Akitada could hardly divulge Toshikage’s problem to the police superintendent, yet Kobe must be told something. Akitada hesitated just a fraction too long, and Kobe’s eyes suddenly became intent. “Aha! I was right. What do you know about the case?” he snapped, his good humor gone in a flash. “Come on! Your arrival is just a little too coincidental.”

  “I swear I know nothing about it,” said Akitada, trying to think of some innocuous reason. Then he remembered his flute purchase. “I, er, have taken up flute playing, and am interested in antique instruments. Nagaoka’s name came up as someone who might help me.”

  Kobe was unconvinced. “You are here to look at flutes?”

  Akitada nodded. “I have had four long years in the northern wilderness to practice. You have no idea how soothing the sound of a flute is when you are snowed in and the cares of the world hang heavy on you.”

  Kobe looked at him askance. “Sounds depressing to me. I don’t suppose you’d better bother Nagaoka at present. He has about as much of the cares of the world as any man can bear.”

  “I can see that. When did the murder happen?”

  Kobe hesitated for a moment, then said, “Night before last. In a temple west of the capital. The brother was found with the wife’s corpse in a locked room. It’s a clear case and he confessed right away, but then Nagaoka talked to him in jail, trying to get him to withdraw the confession. I could see our case falling apart in court and came to warn Nagaoka off.” Somewhere another bell rang the half hour. Kobe said, “I must get back. Are you walking my way?”

  Akitada hesitated. He cast a glance back up the street at the closed gate of the Nagaoka residence, then said, “I am on my way home. My mother is very ill, and I had better not be too late. Can we meet tomorrow?”

  “Of course. Stop by my new office in the palace. Sorry about your mother.”

  They exchanged bows and walked off in opposite directions. Akitada went around the next corner and stopped. A murder night before last? In a temple? Perhaps the Eastern Mountain Temple, where he had heard a woman scream in the middle of the night?

&n
bsp; It was not really any affair of his, and Kobe would not take kindly to his meddling in police business again. But Akitada had never been able to resist a mystery.

  Peering around the corner of Nagaoka’s fence, Akitada made sure that Kobe was gone. Then he returned to the gate and knocked.

  * * * *

  FOUR

  Faceless Murder

  After a moment, the fretted doorway opened a crack and the round, frowning face of the servant peered out.

  “I am Sugawara,” said Akitada in a businesslike manner. “I must speak to your master immediately.”

  This had the desired effect, for the gate opened wider and the servant let him enter. Akitada took in his surroundings. The unswept courtyard with its stone pathway was covered with fallen leaves, and the man had merely tossed a hempen shirt of mourning over his regular cotton clothes. He looked irritated, symbol of a household in disarray, but led Akitada politely enough into the house and helped him remove his shoes before bringing him to a small study in the rear of the building.

  The room was bathed in diffuse light which came through the paper-covered openings of doors to the outside. Faded silk paintings and calligraphy scrolls hung against the dark wood of the walls, and carved stands displayed translucent jade bowls and vases. In the center of the room sat a thin, bent figure at a low black desk.

  Nagaoka was a colorless man, gray from his hair to his dress. His clean-shaven face was ashen and deeply lined. He wore a robe of costly gray silk and was sitting hunched over, inert. When the door opened, he looked up without much interest. Even the sight of an unexpected guest caused no change in his expression. In a tired voice he said, “Not now, Sasho.”

  “The gentleman insisted, sir.” The servant’s tone was aggrieved.

  Akitada stepped fully into the room. “I am Sugawara Akitada,” he introduced himself formally, closing the door on the servant’s curiosity.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Nagaoka took in his rank and came to his feet with a deep bow. He was almost as tall as Akitada, but narrow-shouldered and much thinner. “How may I serve you, my lord?”

  “I came here for information about antiques,” said Akitada, seating himself, “but find instead that I may be of some use to you in your present difficulty.” At least he hoped he might. “Just now I met my old friend Superintendent Kobe outside your gate. He told me of the recent tragedy. You have my deepest sympathy on your loss.”

  Nagaoka still stood, looking down at him with a dazed expression. His face contracted suddenly. “My brother ...” he said, his voice catching. “My younger brother has been arrested for murder. If you can help, I would be...” Tears suddenly spilled from his eyes. He broke off, put a shaking hand to his face, and collapsed on his cushion. “Oh, there is no help,” he sobbed. “I don’t know what to do.”

  The fact that Nagaoka seemed to grieve, not for his wife who had been the victim, but for the brother who had murdered her, struck Akitada as strange. When Nagaoka finally stopped weeping and dabbed his face with a piece of tissue, Akitada said, “May I ask where the murder took place?”

  Nagaoka raised reddened eyes to his. “In the Eastern Mountain Temple. They were on a pilgrimage.”

  Akitada had expected it. The complexities of fate always had a way of catching him. The rains which had brought him to the Eastern Mountain Temple for the night of the murder, the old abbot’s rambling talk, the hell screen, and his frightful dreams of screaming souls had all inescapably led him to this moment in Nagaoka’s house. He felt a shiver of dread run down his spine.

  He asked Nagaoka, “Why do you believe that your brother is innocent?”

  Nagaoka cried, “Because I know him like myself. He is incapable of such a crime. Kojiro is the most gentle of men. Since he remembers nothing of the night and does not know how he got into my wife’s room, he should not have confessed to something he did not do.”

  Akitada reflected that a loss of memory hardly constituted innocence, even if it was genuine, but he only said, “Perhaps you had better tell me his story.”

  But now Nagaoka balked. “Forgive me,” he said, “but why is it that you are interested in my family troubles?”

  “Not at all. I happened to spend the night at the temple and may have seen or heard something which could be of use to you and the authorities. Besides, I am fascinated by complicated legal problems and have had some luck in discovering the truth on past occasions. In fact, that is how Superintendent Kobe and I met several years ago. He was a captain then, and I served in the Ministry of Justice. I am sure he will vouch for me.” Akitada had some doubts about this, but his curiosity about the Nagaoka murder was thoroughly aroused. “Suppose you start by telling me a little about your wife and your brother.”

  Nagaoka had listened with growing amazement. Now he nodded. “Yes, yes. Let me see. My brother is much younger than I, and more strongly built. He has an intelligent, cheerful look about him. Everyone takes to him right away.”

  Akitada nodded. “It sounds like a young man I saw when I first arrived at the temple gate. The lady with him was veiled.”

  “My wife was wearing a pale silk robe embroidered with flowers and grasses. She, too, is ... was young.”

  “Quite right. They had arrived just before I did. I am afraid we did not exchange many words.”

  “What a coincidence!” Nagaoka said, shaking his head. “That gown ... I had just given it to her. She died in it. When I saw her, her face was ... disfigured, but she was very beautiful.” He shuddered. “It is most kind of you to offer help. My brother and I...” His voice broke. “We are very close, and my being the elder... our father died young, and I have always felt like a father to Kojiro. This has all been most dreadful and I blame myself terribly.”

  “For what?” Akitada asked, surprised, then added, “I don’t wish to pry into personal matters, but I would have expected you to be deeply grieved and shocked by the loss of your young wife. Instead you seem to be mostly troubled by your brother’s arrest.”

  The antiquarian said bleakly, “Of course I am shocked by her death, but it is my brother who is alive, and he needs my help now. Besides ...” He sighed deeply. “Our marriage had become a burden to both of us. Nobuko did not love me. I think she fell in love with my brother. It was to be expected. She was only twenty-five, and I am fifty. Look at me! I am an old man, a dull fellow who deals in old things. My brother is fifteen years my junior. He writes poetry and plucks the zither in the moonlight outside his room. What young woman could resist?”

  Being happily married to Tamako, Akitada could not imagine what another husband might feel when his wife sought love from his own brother. It occurred to him that Nagaoka had a strong motive for murder himself. In spite of his explanations, the man’s reactions were all wrong. A husband betrayed by both wife and brother should have been furiously, even murderously angry. But this man sounded apologetic about his wife’s faithlessness and frantic over his brother’s arrest.

  Nagaoka took up his story again. “I should never have married again. At least not someone young enough to be my daughter.” He moved his thin hands helplessly. “Nobuko was very lively when she lived in her father’s home. She liked to dance and sing, and they always had young people around. I had hoped that children might fill her life, but we did not have any. I found out soon that she was unhappy with me, and so I started staying away. I claimed that my work kept me busy, but the truth is I could not bear to see her so unhappy. She only cheered up when my brother came, and I was glad.” He broke off and stared miserably at one of the scrolls on the wall.

  After a moment, Akitada said, “Forgive me, but are you suggesting that your wife took your brother as a lover because she was bored?”

  Nagaoka looked shocked. “Of course not. They were not lovers, though I would not have objected. But Kojiro would never betray me ... unless ...” He flushed, then said firmly, “My brother would never knowingly do anything to hurt me, any more than I would hurt him.”

  “Knowi
ngly? People don’t commit adultery unknowingly.”

  Nagaoka looked away. “I do not believe it.”

  Akitada, having caught the small note of doubt, coaxed gently, “But there is something?”

  Nagaoka cried, “I don’t know the full truth...Neither does he! Apparently Kojiro had been drinking heavily. When he drinks he often does not remember the next day where he has been or with whom. The constables from the pleasure quarter used to bring him home senseless. It was a great worry to me, because I was afraid that his drinking would ruin him.” He sighed. “And now it has.”

  “Did your brother live here?”

  “No, he stayed here only for his visits. He owns a place in the country. I helped him buy it with money from our father’s estate. He has worked hard on that land and also managed Prince Atsuakira’s estate nearby.” Nagaoka clenched his hands. “Oh, what will the prince think! And why did this have to happen now?”