by I. J. Parker
A strange implement, but quite as deadly as a knife. Still, it was an unusual weapon for a footpad. Perhaps it was some sort of tool he used in his trade. Or someone else had dropped it, and they had kicked it in their struggle.
He tucked the pin in his sleeve and looked again at the brothel. His fury had abated. He decided to go home and sleep.
The bruiser at the door approached him with a couple of girls in tow. “Why not pay us a visit?” he said with a smirk. “We’re still open for business. Tokuzo provides the best service in the quarter-right, girls?” They nodded and pressed themselves against Genba.
Genba pushed them away. “I’d like to put that bastard Tokuzo in hell,” he snarled and stalked off.
A Strange Case of Suicide
From Kosehira’s house, Akitada headed straight for the kebiishi-cho, the police headquarters, where Superintendent Kobe’s office was.
The story Kosehira had divulged appalled him on so many levels. And Kosehira had been right: it was dangerous to meddle in this. Becoming involved in either the court lady’s suicide or Prince Atsuhira’s conspiracy could damage his career permanently.
Lady Masako was not only the favorite daughter of a powerful lord, but she had been very close to the young emperor. Even if His Majesty had not been attracted to her, her person was taboo, and so were her activities prior to her death and the circumstances of that death.
The political intrigue was potentially even more explosive. And in this case, the ruling Fujiwara lords had no reason to suppress public knowledge or to protect Atsuhira and his friends. In fact, if they wanted to make their point, they would act openly and quickly.
But Akitada owed Kosehira a great deal, and the truth was that Kosehira’s story had intrigued him. He did not like coincidence, and to his mind the suicide of one of the emperor’s ladies and the arrest of her imperial lover for conspiracy were not separate events. He meant to get to the bottom of the puzzle.
But to do so, he must find out why Kobe had decided to cover up the “alleged” suicide. Akitada suspected that all was not as Kosehira had told it. He did not suspect Kosehira of lying, but Lady Masako’s action seemed too sudden. The prince had apparently not expected her action. Besides, Akitada felt she would not have acted in this fashion if she had loved the prince.
He found the superintendent inspecting the adjoining jail. Few ranking officials in his post would have troubled themselves with such a depressing and disgusting chore. Prisoners came from the dregs of humanity and were not treated very well. They were dirty and crawled with vermin, and their cells stank in spite of frequent cleanings. Kobe felt strongly that the situation would become intolerable if he did not walk through both jails at least once a week and unannounced.
He broke off his inspection when he saw Akitada. They returned to his office, where they took the bad taste out of their mouths with a cup of wine.
“What brings you?” Kobe asked, after smacking his lips and setting his cup down. He was usually abrupt and got to the point quickly.
“Prince Atsuhira,” Akitada said, equally blunt.
Kobe’s face fell. “No. You can’t. Believe me, that’s not for you.”
“I have to disagree. My best friend is involved.”
“Your best friend?” Kobe looked hurt.
“My other best friend.” Akitada smiled. “Kosehira.”
“Oh, him.” Kobe pursed his lips. “If this is about the conspiracy charge against Atsuhira, I have nothing to do with it. And that business is definitely not a good thing to meddle in.”
“I’m really here about Lady Masako’s so-called suicide. But I think the two cases are connected.”
Kobe’s eyes widened, and he sat up. “You can’t be serious. That’s ridiculous! You’re really reaching this time. And how do you come to know about her? Never mind. I see Kosehira told you. He’s another meddler. He should know better than to talk about it.”
“How much of an investigation did you do before shuffling the body off to her family?”
The superintendent flushed. “Are you accusing me of a cover-up?”
Akitada wished he had been more circumspect. Kobe was thin-skinned when it came to his work, and he had a notorious temper. “Sorry. I know there were good and sufficient reasons to protect her reputation and that of Prince Atsuhira.”
“Not to mention His Majesty’s feelings.”
“That too. But the point is, was there anything peculiar about her death?”
“Peculiar? If one of His Majesties women jumps off a cliff, I’d call that peculiar.”
“You know what I meant. She could have been thrown over.”
“What? You think this was murder?” Kobe flushed with anger. “Why do you always assume the worst? And why do you still have no confidence in my methods after all these years?”
Awkward.
Akitada thought of Kosehira. Whatever had happened to the dead lady, it was the living who must be protected. “You’re my friend and I trust you,” he said in a soothing tone. “Please bear with me. I’m just trying to understand the connections. Kosehira is innocent of conspiracy. I know him. He’s simply not political. He’s always stood up for me, and I was never a popular man. I cannot let this happen because he was good-natured enough to be a friend to the prince.”
Kobe grunted. Then he said, “There’s not much to tell. Your friend asked to speak to me privately. Naturally, I accommodated him-because of his rank, but also because he came as your friend. His story was shocking. It involved an affair between an imperial prince and one of His Majesty’s women. Furthermore, this lady was lying dead in Atsuhira’s summer villa, where he’d been meeting her. I used discretion and went to see Atsuhira. He was in a terrible state. Together we rode to his villa where I inspected the corpse, was told of the letter she’d written the prince, retraced her path to the cliff, and climbed down to the streambed where he’d found her. Then I spoke with the old couple who were the caretakers. They knew only that the lady had arrived and gone into the house to await the prince. In other words, there was nothing whatsoever to indicate that she hadn’t committed suicide.” Kobe stopped and looked at Akitada as if he dared him to challenge his findings.
Akitada thought about it. “The letter,” he mused. “It hinges on that letter. Anything odd about it?”
Kobe frowned. “No. Why should there be? The prince told me what it said. It seemed a bit flowery, but you know how emotional women get. All about taking the dark path alone and meeting again in paradise.”
“Hmm. Did she say why she was taking such a step?”
“I asked the prince, who wasn’t altogether rational. He burst into tears, then confessed she was expecting their child, and perhaps her condition had made her unstable. He seemed to think women do strange things at such a time, but he insisted she’d been happy about the child and that he’d planned to take her to wife. Then he started moaning, and I couldn’t get another sensible word out of him.”
“And the body? What injuries did you find?”
“What you’d expect with a fall from that height. She fell at least fifty feet onto a rocky streambed. Broken limbs. Bleeding from the mouth, nose, ears. Badly broken skull.” Kobe frowned. “She must have hit head first,” he added.
“Head first? Surely that’s strange. You would expect her to step off and fall straight down. You’d expect her lower limbs to take the brunt of the impact. Or, if she let herself fall forward, she’d hit flat and face down. Was her face damaged?”
Kobe’s frown deepened. “No. I doubt anyone would dive down a precipice. But Akitada, what does it matter? She died from the fall. All the bleeding proves that. If she’d been dead already and then tossed over, she wouldn’t have bled so much. Besides, there was no sign that anyone helped her to her death. Remember, she’d been alone. The two old people couldn’t have managed such a thing.”
But his voice sounded less certain. Akitada asked, “You checked for tracks?”
“Yes. But it snowed that night, and later the
prince and the old man searched for her. They both say they saw no tracks.”
“Ah. Not even hers. The snow was expected?”
“Perhaps it was, but I still don’t see how that matters.”
“Come, Kobe, what do you really think?”
Kobe shook his head. “That it’s far too dangerous to investigate this case. Think of all the people we would offend. The emperor first of all. Then Lady Masako’s father and her family. And Prince Atsuhira. And finally whoever was behind it.” He added quickly, “If someone did, in fact, stage it.”
“Yes,” said Akitada. He felt an inner satisfaction. So Kobe had some doubts after all.
Kobe gave him a look, and silence fell.
“But that doesn’t make it right,” Akitada said.
“No.”
“Then you’re with me on this?”
Kobe glared. “Let’s say I’m dissatisfied with the whole situation.” He paused. “And I’m resentful that I’ve been dragged into it by your friend.” Throwing up his hands, he protested, “What good is it to expect me to investigate and tell me that no one must know about it?”
“Yes, that’s a problem. What did you do with Lady Masako?”
“We-the prince and I-carried her to a nearby monastery. The monks are very holy, and it’s a small community. They prayed and read sutras over her. The prince attended the services, while I hurried back to the capital and sent an overnight messenger to her father. Minamoto Masaie arrived immediately in a state of grief and fury. He and the prince huddled behind closed doors. In the end, Lord Masaie took Lady Masako’s body home to Sagami with him. End of story.”
“I see. But it isn’t really the end, is it? I wish I knew more about the relationship between Masaie and Prince Atsuhira. The prince seems to have calmed down the father’s anger. I wonder how.” Akitada got up. “Thank you, my friend. I’ll try to find out what the prince thinks of all this.”
Kobe frowned. “He won’t talk to you. They say he’s in retreat, preparing to forsake the world. Whatever you do, will you keep me informed?”
Akitada smiled at him. “Certainly. You may wish to reopen the case of Lady Masako’s death after all.”
Kobe just shook his head and looked unnerved.
Akitada left the compound of the kebiishi-cho with a lighter step. He had managed to shake Kobe’s conviction that he was dealing with a simple, if dangerously scandalous, suicide. The thought that it must have been a murder was strangely energizing. It seemed better than such a pathetic end to the love affair.
He had also worked up a great anger at what had been done to the poor young woman and her unborn child. He burned to find out who and what was behind all of it.
Murder in the Willow Quarter
Genba did not sleep well that night. He kept seeing Ohiro’s bruised face. By morning he had decided he must take Tora into his confidence, even if it would bring him more mockery.
He found Tora in his quarters with his wife Hanae and their little son. They greeted him and offered to share their breakfast gruel, but Genba had no appetite. He sat down, glanced at Tora’s full bowl, swallowed down a bout of nausea, and said, “Thanks, no. But please finish. I’ll wait to talk with Tora.” He saw Hanae’s surprise and had an idea. “And you, Hanae.”
Now they both looked at him with concern, but they finished their meal without comment and sent Yuki out to play.
“So, what is it, Brother?” Tora asked when they were alone.
“You know I’ve met someone.” Genba felt himself blushing.
To his relief, Tora did not grin or mock him. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You look upset.”
Genba shot Hanae a glance. “It’s as wrong as it can be. I, well, I met Ohiro. Ohiro’s a working girl.” He blushed more deeply. “She works for a bastard called Tokuzo. He owns a wine house in the Willow Quarter. His waitresses… well, they do whatever the customers pay for. Yesterday Tokuzo beat Ohiro brutally, and then he raped her. He’d found out she’d been seeing me.” He paused to swallow again. “Ohiro and I, we’ve been saving for six months to buy out her contract, but we still don’t have enough. I almost killed the swine last night. Please tell me what I should do.” Against his will, tears rose to his eyes. He blinked them away. “Tora, Hanae, I love this girl. She’s a good, gentle girl. I want her to be my wife. You two know how it is.”
Clearly shocked, they looked at each other.
Hanae said, “Tokuzo? That’s bad. I know of him.”
“How much money do you need?” Tora asked. “We have some saved.”
“Thanks, Brother. It’s too much. Twenty pieces of gold.”
Tora made a face. “We can scrape together ten. Maybe.” He and Hanae looked at each other again.
“Tokuzo will raise the price,” Hanae said.
Genba stared at her. “How can he do that? It’s in the contract.”
“He’ll find ways to charge her for things she’s used over the years. Maybe he’ll fine her for not having collected from you.”
“Amida!” Genba clenched his fists and hung his head. Then he looked up. “I’d go to the master, but you know how he is about women like Ohiro.”
They nodded gravely.
“I don’t know what to do. And even if I could buy her out, how can we be together?” Now the tears started again, and Genba choked up. “I’ll have to leave here. Maybe Ohiro and I should just run away together and hide out some place.”
“You can’t do that,” Tora said. “The master would be hurt. You’d better tell him about it.”
Hanae put a hand on her husband’s arm. “Wait. Tora, can’t you do something first? Maybe you and Saburo and Genba could go and frighten the man into being cooperative?”
“Saburo?” Genba looked shocked.
“He’s one of us.” Tora smiled at his wife. “If I have your permission to go to the Willow Quarter, we’ll do it.”
“Anytime,” she said with an airy wave and got up to remove the bowls. “Though maybe you’d better go in the daytime. Before he gets busy with his customers and the girls.”
Tora nodded. “Good thinking. Come, brother, let’s talk to Saburo.”
Genba and Saburo shared quarters in a spacious room adjoining the stable. Saburo had been offered Seimei’s room in the main house, but had humbly declined.
When they walked in, Saburo was getting ready for his duties in the main house. He had dressed as usual in a neat blue robe with a black sash. He had also taken pains with his hair, making sure the knot and loop were perfectly centered on top of his head and tied with the black silk ribbon. His disfigured face looked even more incongruous with his very neat and proper appearance.
Saburo heard Genba’s story without much surprise, but he glanced at Genba as if reassessing his character in light of this new information. When Tora and Genba had finished, he was matter-of-fact. “You said you changed your mind about killing this man. Was that because you’re opposed to killing on principle, or for some other reason?”
Genba frowned. “Does it matter?
Saburo made one of his unreadable grimaces. “I like to know how other people solve their problems. It’s been useful in the past.”
Genba thought about it. Saburo was an ex-spy and an ex-monk. That made him a far more unpredictable and mysterious person than Genba knew himself to be. On the other hand, his curiosity was probably part of his training. The spy wanted no surprises from allies or opponents, and the monk was opposed to killing. Suddenly curious himself, he asked. “Have you ever killed anyone, Saburo?”
Saburo scowled. “Don’t ask me such things.”
“Well, I have,” Genba said heavily. “I swore to myself that I would never do such a thing again. It’s not because I’m very religious. It’s because I felt sick and dirty and because it almost destroyed me. If the master hadn’t taken us on, me and my best friend Hitomaro, I’d be dead today. We were both wanted for murder. But yesterday was different. Yesterday it was because someone hurt the woman I love. I fel
t like killing the man.”
Tora said loyally, “I’d kill anyone who lays a hand on Hanae. I almost did once, but she got away from the bastard, and then an earthquake flattened him permanently.”
Genba said, “There was something odd, though. I bumped into a man outside Tokuzo’s. I thought he was a footpad. We struggled and he dropped an object. Or I think he dropped it. It’s a bit like some of those strange weapons you have, Saburo. Wait a moment.” He went to his trunk and returned with the long metal pin or needle.
Saburo almost snatched it from his hand. “An assassin’s needle! I haven’t seen one in years. This is a fine one. Look at the workmanship.” He held it up. It gleamed a dull charcoal gray from thickened shaft to long and narrow point. He touched the point. “It’s as fine as a sewing needle. A master smith made this.”
Tora peered at it. “Looks vicious. What do you mean ‘an assassin’s needle’?”
Saburo still handled the needle lovingly. “There are men-a very few-who can kill without leaving a trace. They’re expensive, but when they’re good, they’re worth their weight in gold. They’re paid very well to remove certain people who are a trouble to others. When they use this, not even the best physician can prove it was murder.”
Shuddering, Genba said, “You can keep that thing. I can’t believe I had a run-in with an assassin.” He brightened a little. “Maybe someone else dropped it.”
Saburo looked at him. “Not likely. Whoever dropped it would have gone back for it.”
Genba turned pale. “He could’ve killed me easily by shoving that in my eye or belly.”
“No,” said Saburo, inserting the needle carefully into the lining of his sleeve. “That way people would know you’ve been murdered. He would have inserted it into your ear when you’re asleep. Or into your skull in the back of your head where your hair would hide the small puncture wound. Mind you, it takes skill. Maybe the assassin didn’t get a chance to use it on you.”
Genba thought back to the dark alley and shuddered again. He had caught the man’s arm and then hugged him hard against himself with a wrestler’s hold. He had heard the clinking sound then. “Amida, he had it in his hand!” He shook his head in horror. “And I thought he’d just been relieving himself.”
