by I. J. Parker
In the courtyard outside her tenement, women were busy chattering and scolding their half-naked children while they hung out clothing or beat the dirt out of the straw mats they had slept on. For a copper, one of the older boys held Tora’s horse while he went to call on Little Abbess.
The elderly couple from the previous day already stood outside her door. The man had the brown-and-white jacket over his arm, and both looked put out. When they saw Tora, the wife cried, ‘Maybe you can get the lazy slut to open up. And you can have the jacket. We won’t buy such trash.’ She jerked it from her husband’s arm and pointed a sharp finger at some loose threads.
Tora knocked on the wooden door. It was broad daylight, and contrary to the mean-faced biddy’s opinion, Little Abbess had not struck him as lazy about her small business. When there was no answer, he gave the door a sharp push. It swung in on creaky hinges, and the sharp-nosed female let loose a shrill scream.
Inside, among her colorful bits of cloth, lay the plain brown body of Little Abbess. She was quite dead, her head resting in a pool of darkening blood.
NINETEEN
The Bird Scroll
It was getting dark when Akitada finished with Doctor Inabe’s papers. He had not found what he was looking for. He rose, stretched his stiff back, and cast a final glance around the room. Someone would soon clean out the doctor’s possessions. He took the notebook that should have contained the entry for young Masuda’s death and the scroll with the bird drawings with him. Then he left the studio, closing the door behind him.
He called out for the old servant, but got no answer. Shaking his head, he walked away, first to the restaurant, where he had another excellent meal, and then to his lodging house.
Tomorrow he would report his failure to the warden. Takechi would solve the doctor’s murder – or perhaps not. It was time Akitada returned to the capital and his own work.
There was still the question of the boy’s parentage, of course. If Mrs Ishikawa identified the child as Peony’s, the Masudas or Peony’s people must be informed. If not, Akitada could buy him from the Mimuras and raise him himself.
It had been a long day, but he felt restless. Something had changed. Somehow, without his volition, his thoughts had turned from the boy to the tangled puzzle surrounding the dead Peony. He could not get a clear image of the woman. Was she a scheming and vengeful beauty who had killed her lover out of pique – or a helpless young woman who had loved a man above herself?
Back in his room, he called for more light and pored over Inabe’s notes. Again he scrutinized the pages, the dates, the entries carefully. This time, it seemed to him that the last entry before the break did not follow the system Inabe had established. Inabe normally identified his patients by gender, age, and complaint. Next he rendered his diagnosis and noted his treatment. Then he would leave a space, and at a later time – and with different ink – there would be a comment about the outcome. For some cases there were several visits and different prescriptions, but always an outcome would follow in the end.
Except for the last case before the break. The patient, a ten-year-old girl, had suffered from a fever, and over a period of two days Inabe’s herbal teas had failed to stop the fever. But he had never indicated if the child survived or died.
Surely that must mean that a page, or several, had been removed. And equally certainly they had dealt with young Masuda’s illness and death. But who had removed them? The doctor himself? Or his killer? The studio had not been sealed or guarded after the murder, and as Akitada had noted, the servant was not watching the place as the warden had assumed. Anyone could have taken the pages.
But whoever had removed them had been careful not to leave traces. The stitching was still quite tight. Akitada pursed his lips. Then he carefully tugged off the last sheet of blank paper. It ripped cleanly where it had been stitched. When he held it up against the light, he saw that next to the rips were old pin holes. The notebook had been taken apart and then sewn together again, and the new stitches had not quite met the old pin holes.
He sat back and considered this. The process of removing pages and then painstakingly re-sewing the rest seemed to him not the work of a man who had just committed a murder. It was totally out of character for the person who had bludgeoned the doctor and kicked a wounded crow to death. Neither was it likely that this person, or an accomplice, had returned later to do such time-consuming work. In that case, the whole notebook would have been taken. Therefore Inabe himself must have removed the pages.
The simplest answer to the ‘why’ was that something had been wrong about the young man’s death and that Inabe had been at least partially responsible. It might explain that note next to the entry about Peony’s drowning: ‘There is no end to my guilt.’ Inabe must have assumed, with the maid, that Peony had committed suicide after struggling hopelessly for another year after the young man’s death. Poison is readily available to a doctor, but would a man who tended so lovingly to birds kill a patient? And what was his motive? It made no sense.
Akitada sighed, blew out the candle, and went to sleep.
The next morning when he went to see the warden he found him with a youngish man who was short and corpulent and wore a mournful expression. His slightly flashy green-checked robe, black hat, and boots made Akitada think of a traveling peddler.
‘This is fortunate, sir,’ Warden Takechi said. ‘Mr Usuki here is the doctor’s nephew. He’s come to make the arrangements.’ He turned to the nephew. ‘Lord Sugawara is kindly taking an interest in your uncle’s murder. Perhaps he has some news for us.’
Mr Usuki bowed deeply, but the small, watchful eyes were suspicious. ‘Deeply honored,’ he murmured.
‘I have very little news, I’m afraid,’ Akitada said, seating himself. He expressed his condolences to the nephew, who became more mournful.
Akitada brought out the notebook, showed them the missing section, and explained his theory that Inabe had removed the pages himself. ‘Both Lord Masuda’s personal attendant and Lady Kohime attest to the close friendship between Dr Inabe and Lord Masuda. And as they accuse Peony of having poisoned young Masuda, I cannot help feeling that the doctor’s death is somehow connected with hers.’
The nephew, his eyes intent, leaned forward to hear better.
But Takechi did not like Akitada’s theories. ‘I don’t see it,’ he said. ‘To be sure, the Masudas took the young lord’s death hard and had their reasons to dislike the young woman, but that doesn’t mean they were right.’
‘It gave them a motive to kill her.’
The warden shot a glance at Inabe’s nephew, who was following the conversation avidly, and said quite sharply, ‘We’ve been over that, sir. Unless Dr Inabe lied, the woman drowned, and Dr Inabe wouldn’t lie.’
Akitada persisted. ‘I don’t think the drowning was natural. I believe someone put her in the lake and held her under. And by the way, when I informed Lady Masuda of Dr. Inabe’s death, she expressed no surprise whatsoever.’
The warden threw up his hands. ‘It means nothing. She’s not very emotional.’
Usuki could not contain himself any longer. ‘Forgive me, do I understand that His Lordship suspects the Masuda family had something to do with my uncle’s murder?’
‘No,’ the warden cried. ‘Not at all. His Lordship has been working on a different case altogether. There’s no connection between that and your uncle’s death.’
Akitada met Usuki’s sly eyes and bit his lip. This was awkward. The doctor’s servant had called the nephew greedy and selfish. Faced with a nearly worthless inheritance, he might well smell a chance to collect damages from the wealthy Masudas. ‘Warden Takechi is right,’ he said, ‘I was merely sharing some random thoughts on separate investigations.’ He glanced at the warden, who was still upset. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been very helpful in the Inabe case. I came to tell you that I have to return to the capital today.’
The warden said quickly, ‘Of course. It was very good of you to look at t
he doctor’s papers for me. It hasn’t helped to find his killer, but it saved us some time.’ He rose.
Akitada suppressed a smile at the somewhat ungracious thanks and got up, but then he remembered the scroll. ‘Oh,’ he said to the nephew, ‘I borrowed your uncle’s scroll of bird drawings. They are quite charming.’ He took it from his sleeve and showed Usuki the pictures of the crow. ‘Your uncle was tending this wounded bird when he died. I wonder if I might borrow this for a few days?’
The nephew looked bored. ‘Keep it, sir. It’s of no use to anyone. Uncle was eccentric about those birds. It was a worry to me. We argued about it last time I saw him. I’d just as soon not be reminded. He’s turned the whole place into bird land. Of course, since he’d fallen into the habit of treating everyone for free and giving his money away, I really shouldn’t expect common sense.’ A look of cunning crossed his face. ‘I’ve come to make funeral arrangements and settle his estate, but I doubt there’s enough to pay expenses. Shall we say that in exchange for the drawings, you’ll let me know if you discover who murdered poor uncle?’
‘Certainly,’ said Akitada, ‘but since the investigation will be in Warden Takechi’s hands, perhaps you will allow me to reimburse you now?’ As he fished in his sash, he remembered his confiscated funds. But Tamako would like the bird scroll. ‘Would two pieces of silver be fair?’
The man smiled with surprised pleasure. ‘Quite generous, My Lord. If you insist—’ His hand shot forward and grasped the coins eagerly.
The nephew’s views of his uncle’s lifestyle had made Akitada curious about another matter. ‘Tell me,’ he asked the two men, ‘was Dr Inabe’s changed behavior by any chance a sudden and recent thing?’
They exchanged looks. The warden said, ‘I first heard about it a year ago. People told me that he wasn’t charging them. And when I met him, he seemed different. Sort of quiet and … humble. He’d always been very energetic and self-confident, as most physicians are. I never could figure out what happened.’
‘Old age.’ The nephew shook his head. ‘He should have listened and sold the place. I offered him a room in my house. He would be alive today if he’d had any sense.’
But at a price, Akitada thought.
The warden, somewhat surprisingly, walked him out. When they were outside, he said, ‘Usuki’s not a very nice man. No filial sentiment. But he’s been eliminated as a suspect. He was taking care of his business on the day of the murder and is vouched for by family and customers. I’m afraid it’s an impossible case. We’ll question the neighbors a bit more, but then—’ He spread his hands and did not finish.
Akitada had one more errand before leaving Otsu. He took the road up the hill to the Masuda mansion with a sense of fatalism. It would be his final effort to find the boy’s family. All along there had been two people who could have identified Peony’s son: her maid, and the Masuda’s nurse, Mrs Ishikawa. He had no idea if Tora had found the maid, but he could not wait any longer. Whether or not Lady Masuda had forbidden his visits or Mrs Ishikawa felt under obligation to her mistress, she must be made to see the boy and tell him if the child was Peony’s or a stranger’s.
He knocked at the gate and, as before, the old servant responded. Obviously few visitors called, or the man would have been kept too busy answering the gate to look after his master. The old man recognized Akitada and, shaking his head, started to close the gate.
‘Wait.’ Akitada held it open. ‘I’m not here to speak to your master. It’s Mrs Ishikawa I must see.’
The servant kept shaking his head and trying to close the gate. The contest was silly: Akitada, being much younger and stronger, could easily force his way in. He did not do so, because he was unwelcome in this house. ‘Please,’ he begged. ‘Just have her come to the gate, or meet me outside. It’s very important.’
The pressure on the gate eased. The old man said, ‘I can’t, sir. Mrs Ishikawa is gone.’
‘Gone?’ Akitada dropped his hand. They stood looking at each other through the narrow opening. ‘Where is she?’ Akitada asked.
‘Gone on a pilgrimage. The first lady gave her approval.’
‘When did she leave?’
‘Two days ago. Her son came for her.’
‘Ishikawa was here two days ago? When will she be back?’
The old man relented. ‘He said it was just a little outing, a visit to a few temples before the cold weather starts. She’ll be back in two weeks. Sorry, sir.’ And now he closed the gate firmly.
Akitada stood outside and heard the bars slide into place and footsteps recede. After a moment, he turned and walked away, his mind in turmoil. It was pointless to be so upset. Tora should be back soon. Perhaps he had found the maid. In any case, they would return together to the capital and his old life. The child was safe for the time being, and he was content to leave him there. It had been madness to think that he could be a father again.
Not having anything else to do, he got his saddlebag from the lodging house and rode to the outskirts of Otsu, where he settled himself on one of the benches outside a wine shop to await Tora. The bench was under a spreading cherry tree and the weather was pleasant. The summer heat had passed, and a light breeze came from the lake, where seagulls swooped and cried to each other. A cheerful waiter brought him some wine and a bowl of salted vegetables without bothering him with small talk. His horse grazed quietly on a patch of weeds. Akitada watched the road and the lake for a while, then pulled Inabe’s bird scroll from his sleeve.
The crow was really very well drawn. Inabe had had a gift as an artist. And his comments suggested a well-educated mind, even if he seemed somewhat obsessive about the supernatural significance of birds. Looking at the pictures, Akitada wondered if the splinted wing would have healed and if the crow would eventually have flown back to the wild. Probably so. Perhaps the place was full of birds the doctor had healed. No wonder they were so tame. The birds would have been company of sorts for a very lonely man.
Something had happened to turn Inabe inward. The loss of his wife? No, that had been earlier. Akitada knew all about loss and what it could do to a man, but he put thoughts of his own loneliness from his mind and unrolled more of the scroll.
Two magpies on a pine branch. Inabe had written down the Tanabata legend about the bridge of magpies. Cranes. It appeared that cranes were as faithful to their mates as mandarin ducks. They symbolized a long life. Auspicious birds! Ah, here was a story about a wounded crane’s gratitude to a human. It had turned itself into a beautiful maiden for the lonely young man who had saved it. Akitada smiled at the fanciful thought that Inabe’s loneliness had caused him to devote his skills to healing birds in the hope of finding a wife.
A series of sketches of small birds: a water-rail, snipes, a fly-catcher, a cuckoo. The drawing of a plover carried a legend about its grieving for a lost mate. The nightingale was said never to sing in the gardens of the imperial palace. Why not? Akitada knew that white doves were sacred to the god of war, Hachiman, and he also knew the story of a pair of wagtails teaching the first deities how to make love and create life.
Akitada thought of Tamako. She really would enjoy this scroll.
Apparently, Inabe had loved the common sparrows better than any other bird. Several sheets were filled with their sketches and tales. He searched for and found the story he remembered from his own childhood. He had told it to Yori. It was about the sparrow with the broken wing who rewarded the poor woman who healed him with an unceasing supply of food until her jealous neighbor caught the little bird. But remembering his son brought tears to his eyes, and the characters swam crazily on the paper.
Akitada blinked and unrolled the scroll a little more to read the rest of the story, but the text changed suddenly. There were no more drawings. The writing was dense and professional and hard to decipher. It was the same writing as in Inabe’s medical notebooks. His heart beating faster, he unrolled a large section. There were four sheets of medical notes altogether before the bird pictures continu
ed. The story of the wounded sparrow had no ending because the medical notes had been glued over it.
What was more, these were the four sheets missing from the notebook. Inabe had hidden the pages by removing them carefully, and then he had sacrificed four sections of his treasured bird drawings to make sure they were hidden. Why? And from whom?
He read and learned that the ten-year-old girl had recovered. But it was the next patient who mattered: a thirty-year-old male who had complained of acute cramping in his belly, along with vomiting, and burning in his mouth and throat.
It had to be young Masuda.
There was no mention of warabi mochi. The doctor had merely poked and questioned the patient. He had noted spasms and tightness in the lower belly, especially on the right side, and had prescribed a dose of powdered daiou and moutan. The next day he had been called back and found the patient improved. But then, the day after, young Masuda had become much worse. He was now suffering from severe dysentery. Palpitation of the belly had produced fluid sounds. Inabe had again prescribed daiou and added persica. On this occasion he had noted a yang pulse and a yellow, dry coating of the tongue, and had identified them as the symptoms of an intestinal inflammation.
An inflammation? What had been wrong with the patient? There were two more visits, the comments increasingly shorter and more ominous: shallow breathing, cold sweats, and severe pain on the first of these, and on the last Inabe had noted that the patient was unresponsive and suffered from seizures. The outcome was, of course, death.
