Black Arrow

by I. J. Parker

  Tora returned with a fistful of loose papers and a grin on his face. “That threw them into a proper tizzy. Didn’t want to turn them over. Said they were for the judge’s eyes only. I had to use a bit of pressure.”

  Akitada noted his bruised knuckle but said nothing. Instead he took the papers and sorted through the badly written pages of questions and answers. They did not take long to read. Akitada laid down the last page with a sigh. His lieutenants looked at him expectantly.

  “I’m afraid the evidence is solid. There are witnesses who have identified two of the men as belonging to a notorious gang which has been robbing inns up and down the northern road. The one called Takagi had the bloody knife still on him when he was caught. He is from this province.” Akitada paused. “And the other two, Okano and Umehara, have signed confessions.”

  Tora and Hitomaro said simultaneously, “But, sir—” and broke off. Tora nodded to Hitomaro. Hitomaro said, “If you will permit, sir, Tora and I’ll have a look at the prisoners.”

  “No. I don’t want to give that judge any more reason to complain that I have been interfering in his affairs. Just return the transcripts with my thanks.”

  They exchanged glances again. Hitomaro bit his lip. “Tora and I heard screams during the night. It sounded like torture. The prison is part of the tribunal. What goes on there falls under our jurisdiction.”

  Akitada thought about the brutish Chobei and his men. “Very well. But make it an inspection rather than an investigation.”

  ♦

  They returned quickly. Hitomaro was grim-faced, and Tora barely suppressed his outrage.

  “The inhuman bastards nearly killed them,” he snarled the moment he entered. “There’s no way those poor devils could have done it. I’ll never believe it. You’ve got to investigate, sir. It’s just common decency.”

  Akitada looked at Hitomaro.

  “Tora is right, sir. If you would take a look at Umehara and Okano, you’d see that they could not possibly be robbers. A mouse would send them scurrying. Those confessions were beaten out of them. We’ve seen their backs.”

  Akitada still hesitated. Uncooperative defendants often got a taste of the “green bamboo,” but both Tora and Hitomaro knew that. “Hmm,” he said. “What about the third man? The one with the knife.”

  “He looks worse than the others. And he never confessed. They got tired of beating him.”

  Tora said, “They’ll kill him, poor brute.”

  “Hisamatsu has already released the body for cremation. Tell me again what you found at the inn.”

  They did. Tora laid much emphasis on Chobei’s officious behavior and the judge’s lack of interest in the case.

  Akitada sighed. “Very well. Bring the prisoners to me one at a time. And tell Hamaya to come in and take notes.”

  ♦

  The first to arrive was Umehara. He was in his fifties, a skinny fellow with a large runny nose and a continuous shiver. When told that he was before the governor, he crouched on his knees and trembled so badly he could hardly support himself. His eyes were red, either from his cold or from weeping.

  Akitada saw that the man was on the point of physical collapse. “Get him a cup of warm wine, Tora,” he said. “Have you had your morning meal, Umehara?”

  The prisoner gaped at him. Someone had knocked some of his teeth out recently and his gums still bled a little. Akitada repeated his question and got a shake of the head in answer. “Can you speak?”

  “Yes.” It was a croak, like an old man’s, hoarse and quavery. “I don’t think I could swallow food.” He received the brimming cup of wine with trembling hands and drank, then asked timidly, “Is there good news? Have they found the real killer?”

  Akitada raised his brows. “No. According to the documents you have confessed to the murder of the innkeeper.”

  Tears rose to the man’s eyes. He trembled again. “Will there be more beatings?”

  “No, but it does not look good for you.” Akitada watched him sink back dejectedly and added, “I wanted to hear your story myself. From your deposition I see that you arrived in town two days before the murder. What made you choose this particular inn?”

  Umehara recited hopelessly, “I always stay at Sato’s. It’s cheap. I sell weaving supplies. In my line of work, you can’t afford to spend your income on high living.” He paused. “But it was different this time.”

  “How so?”

  “Old Sato was sickly, and his new wife didn’t want to be bothered with commercial travelers. When I got there, she was angry with him for giving me a lower rate. He walked away, and she told me to sleep on the kitchen floor or pay extra.”

  “And you slept in the kitchen?”

  The man nodded.

  “And the murder happened during the night?”

  “Not that night. The one after.”

  “Very well. What happened the next day?”

  “The next morning the wife left. The maid was supposed to take care of her sick master and the guests. The girl had a cold and did as little as possible.”

  “Yet you stayed for another night?”

  The wine must have given the prisoner some of his strength back because he spoke more easily now. “I didn’t mean to, but I needed a new backpack. I paid a fellow twenty coppers for one. He cheated me. There was a hole in it. But I didn’t know that and left it at the inn while I went to call on a customer in the city. I didn’t get back till evening rice. Too late to leave by then.”

  “I see. What about your companions?”

  Umehara looked uneasy. “They’re strangers.”

  “They arrived after you?”

  “The actor must’ve come late the first night. I found him there in the kitchen when I woke up. People like that keep late hours. And Takagi came the next day after I’d left to take care of my business.”

  “What about the two pieces of gold they found on you?”

  His eyes widened with fear. “They were mine. I swear it.” He nearly wept again and looked at Akitada beseechingly. “I don’t like to carry loose coins, so I always change my coppers into gold. I tried to tell the constables, but they said I was lying. Your Honor, I swear I’m innocent. Buddha’s my witness.”

  “Hmm. So during the night of the murder you slept on the kitchen floor with your two companions?”

  Umehara nodded, sniffed, and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

  “They were, as you said, strangers to you, yet you were not afraid that they might steal your gold?”

  Again Umehara became evasive. “They looked decent enough. Just hardworking fellows like me.”

  Akitada raised his brows, but only asked, “Did they get up during the night?”

  “I don’t know. I sleep like the dead.”

  An unfortunate remark, but Umehara apparently was not aware of it.

  “So now we come to the morning after the murder. Why did you all leave the inn together before anyone was up?”

  “We knew there wouldn’t be any food in the morning and wanted to make an early start.” He shook his head. “I could’ve made good money. So many customers still to visit in the northern part of the province. A lot of orders, what with winter coming. Why, I could have earned at least another gold piece. And now my money’s gone—and I’ve lost my customers, too.”

  Akitada nodded to Hitomaro, who helped Umehara up and led him from the room. Akitada winced when he saw the blood stains on the back of the man’s jacket.

  Tora said, “You see what I mean? That dried plum hasn’t got the willpower to say ‘boo’ to a mouse. He’d never have the get-up to kill someone.”

  “It does not take much strength to slit the throat of a sick old man,” said Akitada. “A woman could do it.”

  Hamaya looked up from his notes. “Besides, there were three of them.”

  “The other two are worse.”

  “Really? You intrigue me.” Akitada rubbed his stomach. “I grant you,” he muttered, “it’s strange that a man who faces a senten
ce for murder should worry about his business losses.”

  Tora snorted. “If you thinkhim strange, just wait.”

  The next person teetered in on tall wooden sandals. For a moment, Akitada wondered if he was looking at a woman in man’s garb. His visitor moved with painful, mincing steps and waving arms. Small and pudgy, he or she was dressed in a flamboyant silk robe and had a red silk scarf around the head. Though much younger than Umehara, the smooth, round-cheeked face made it difficult to guess age or gender. The creature collapsed in a heap in front of Akitada, raised tearful eyes and cried in a childishly high voice, “Oh, blessed Kannon, protect Okano! He cannot bear any more. He is dying!” and burst into noisy sobs.

  “Who is this?” Akitada asked, astonished. “Where is Okano?”

  “That’s Okano.” Tora grinned.

  Hitomaro added, “He says he’s a ‘theatrical performer’ from Otsu, between engagements and on his way to visit relatives in the mountains when he was arrested.”

  Okano howled pitifully. Akitada thought he detected a trace of perfume among the stench of blood and sweat.

  “Is he badly injured?”

  Hitomaro shrugged. “He got a beating. I’d say a bit less than Umehara.”

  Okano wailed.

  “I see. More wine, Tora.” Akitada shifted uncomfortably. He did not know how to deal with a weeping man, and this one was hysterical. A renewed cramping in his belly provided the excuse. “I’ll be back in a moment. Get him calmed down.”

  When he returned, Okano was sitting up and smiling coyly at a scowling Hitomaro.

  “I thank the Buddha for this kind officer,” the actor told Akitada. “He is the first person who has shown some feeling for poor Okano. I have been beaten and starved, humiliated and almost frozen to death in your jail, and all for no reason.”

  “Not quite without reason,” Akitada said dryly. “You spent the night in a place where a murder was committed, left under cover of dark with two companions, one of whom was found in possession of the murder weapon, and you carried on your person a share of the gold taken from the victim.”

  “Oh!” Okano’s eyes filled with tears again. “But I explained that. The two pieces of gold I had with me are mine, a farewell gift from a fan.” “

  Akitada pursed his lips. “A rich tip indeed! What is this benefactor’s name and where does he live?”

  The actor drew himself up proudly. “I cannot tell. It is a matter of honor.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Akitada said coldly. “If it was a legitimate gift, there can be no harm in your telling me his name.”

  “No! Never! Such a thing is never done. It is not possible between gentlemen. Here! You may torture me again, but I will not reveal my friend’s name.” He pulled open his robe and slipped it off his round pale shoulders. Angry red welts caked with blood marked his chubby chest. “Go ahead,” he wept. “Kill me!”

  Akitada felt nauseated by the sight and the weeping. He snapped, “Stop making scenes and put your clothes back on!”

  Okano obeyed, casting a glance over his shoulder at Hitomaro, who looked away quickly.

  “Why did you confess, if you did not do it?” Akitada demanded.

  “I was afraid they would kill me.”

  “You arrived very late during the night before the murder?”

  “Yes. Some gentlemen in a wine house asked me to perform the dance of the River Fairy, and my effort was so well received that I ended up entertaining a crowd.” He smirked.

  Tora made an uncouth noise, and Hitomaro coughed. Akitada frowned at them and asked, “Why did you not continue your journey the next day?”

  “It turned cold and I had no warm clothes. Since my audience was generous the night before, I decided to do some shopping and continue the day after. I bought a lovely quilted jacket. A very becoming color and pattern. White cherry blossoms on blue waves. But those animals took it away along with my gold.”

  “Did you see the innkeeper while you were at the inn?”

  “Only the wife, in the morning. She was leaving for a trip to the country. Just like a woman. Her husband’s ill, and she’s off.” He turned down the corners of his mouth and shook his head.

  “What did you think of Umehara and Takagi?”

  “Not my types. The old fellow was already asleep when I arrived, and he left before I got up. The farmer came after I went out. I didn’t really talk to them till evening.”

  “Don’t evade the question! Did you trust them? Do you think them capable of murder?”

  “How would I know? They seemed all right, a bit rough, especially that farmer.” Okano gave an exaggerated shudder.

  “Would you have noticed, if one of your companions got up during the night? Perhaps to relieve himself?”

  “Oh yes. I don’t sleep well, and the maid was snoring in her cubicle. They didn’t get up. It is too dreadful that we were the only guests. Someone arrived in the afternoon just after I got back from my shopping. I was having my bath. They made a great clatter in the entry, but I expect whoever it was didn’t like the place and left again.”

  “Very well. You may go. If you recall anything useful, get word to Lieutenant Hitomaro.”

  “With the greatest pleasure.” Okano rolled his eyes at the muscular Hitomaro and tittered. On the way out, he made a show of stumbling and grasped Hitomaro’s arm, but he found his hand quickly removed.

  When the door had closed behind them, Tora burst out laughing. “Hitomaro’s finally made a conquest.” He swished across the room and fluted in falsetto, “‘With the greatest pleasure.’”

  Akitada watched him sourly. “Okano’s another one who worries more about trivia than his life. But his accounting for the gold is as unbelievable as Umehara’s trust in total strangers.”

  Tora stopped prancing. “Maybe not. In the capital, rich men take actors for lovers, and when they get tired of them, they pay them off. If they don’t, the bum-boys haunt their doorstep. Okano’s getting a bit past it as a pretty boy, so he could be telling the truth.”

  “He is thirty-one according to the record, Excellency,” offered Hamaya. “And he is, of course, an outcast. By law, he was not permitted, to sleep at the inn. I expect that’s why they shaved his head.”

  “They shaved his head? I suppose that explains the red scarf,” Akitada said. “Make a note to look into the matter. I do not approve of wanton cruelty toward those who cannot defend themselves.”

  Hitomaro returned with the last man, the young farmer who had carried the bloodstained murder weapon among his belongings.

  Unlike the other two, he walked in with a firm step, wearing nothing but a loincloth and a shirt of rough hemp which left bare his thick muscular thighs and legs and revealed a good deal of barrellike chest. With his low forehead and vacant look he reminded Akitada more of a docile beast than a man. Hitomaro had to push him down into a kneeling position, where it became obvious that the back of his shirt was soaked in fresh blood.

  “Takagi, sir,” said Hitomaro. “Son of the headman of Matsuhama village in the mountains.”

  The young man grinned and nodded.

  “Let me see his back,” Akitada said.

  Tora and Hitomaro turned the prisoner around and lifted the crimson cloth. Akitada recoiled. This man’s back was one huge open wound. It seemed impossible that a mere flogging could have done so much damage. Or that he should still be able to walk upright or kneel.

  “Has he been seen by a doctor?”

  Hitomaro answered. “No. They just got through with him an hour ago. He never confessed, but they ran out of bamboo canes and complained of muscle cramps. Chobei told them to take a rest and continue later.”

  “Tell them I forbid it. And have a doctor sent for.”

  They repositioned Takagi and covered his back again. The peasant submitted passively, staring around the room with a vacant expression.

  Akitada leaned forward. “Takagi, look at me. Where did you get the gold you had?”

  “Three
pieces of gold.” Takagi nodded proudly, holding up three fingers. “The soldiers took the gold. I got to have it back. It belongs to the village.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s for the bowls and the oxen. My father said, ‘Takagi, go sell our bowls in the markets of Shinano province where they have much gold, and sell the oxen, too. Then we don’t have to feed them in the winter when they are no good to us.’ And so I go and I bring home three gold pieces.” He held up the three fingers again.