by I. J. Parker
Back at his desk, Akitada attempted to think through the shambles of this situation.He had accomplished nothing. The Sato woman, as deceitful a female as he had ever known, was aware of his intentions and fighting back. She had also once again won public sympathy.
Meanwhile, Uesugi continued to threaten with his troops, and Akitada was no closer to knowing the identity of all the conspirators, nor the precise extent of the conspiracy against the emperor or himself. He was nearly certain that it was not Uesugi who was pulling the strings. An undertaking of this magnitude required intelligence and careful planning, and his estimate of Uesugi was of a small local tyrant without enough brains or energy for such a task. Hisamatsu was somehow involved but seemed mentally even less equipped than Uesugi.
Akitada had already considered Abbot Hokko. Years ago, Akitada had encountered just such a conspiracy. That time, a corrupt Buddhist abbot had used his spiritual powers to recruit and train an army of soldier monks. Hokko was a very different type from MasterJoto, but he was trusted and treated with respect by Uesugi and, as abbot of the largest temple and monastery in the province, he wielded great influence.However, in the meantime Hokko had warned him of the attack planned by Uesugi and suggested that Takesuke and the garrison would be loyal to the emperor.
He thought of the others who had been present at Uesugi’s banquet. Kaibara was dead, but there was still the troublesome merchant Sunada. He also wielded influence, though with the merchant class. From what Genba had reported, Sunada used thugs to guard his property and spent a good deal of his time in houses of assignation. There was the incident in which he had stabbed his alleged attacker and Akitada suspected him of being connected with local criminals, but neither fact linked him to Uesugi. True, the most recent developments had thrown a new light on Sunada,but Akitada was not ready to accept a mere merchant as the mastermind of such a plot.
There was another guest that night who qualified by both his intelligence and contact with the local community,but Akitada was even less happy with that thought. The trouble was, Akitada had taken him into his confidence without knowing his background. Oyoshi had cured his stomach trouble, but he was knowledgeable about herbs which could cause such complaints in the first place. What better way to win Akitada’s trust?Since then Oyoshi had raised serious suspicions. How, for instance, could he have failed to recognize the mutilated corpse of his former patient? And he could have told Kaibara about the secret exhumation of the late lord. For that matter, could his diagnosis be trusted? Akitada recalled vividly how Oyoshi had paled when Tora had mentioned a murderous physician.
He needed time and proof. The Omeya woman was his only hope at present. She was a witness against the widow-or Ofumi, as she had called herself there-and she also knew Ofumi’spatron. And Mrs. Omeya, at least, was safe and sound in Akitada’s jail.
In less than an hour, he learned differently. Tora burst into his office, crying, “The prisoner has hanged herself.”
When Akitada got to the jail,he was met by Oyoshi, who confirmed Mrs. Omeya’s death.
Akitada pushed past him and strode to the cell. The three other prisoners, Takagi, Okano, and Umehara,huddled fearfully in a corner of the main room. Kaoru was in the cell, bent over the inert body.
Mrs. Omeya looked much frailerin death. She was lying near the cell door, the cut pieces of her patterned silk scarf beside her.
“Kaoru found her and cut her down,” said Oyoshi, who had followed him. “Since I was in the kitchen with the others, I came at once. She must have hanged herself with her own scarf from one of those bars.” He pointed to a metal grille in the wooden cell door. Part of the scarf was still tied to the topmost bar.
Akitada said nothing. He tasted sour bile on his tongue, and his blood thrummed in his head like a large temple bell. He did not believe that she had committed suicide. She was innocent of the charges laid against her. He had meant to protect this woman-for purely selfish reasons, to be sure-but had instead hastened her death. His every action seemedto turn to disaster, not only for himself, but for those he came in contact with. If he could not guarantee the life of this one female for more than a few hours, how was he to govern a province? How, for that matter, was he to save himself and his wife and unborn child?
Oyoshi cleared his throat, andAkitada made an effort to pull himself together. Turning to Kaoru, he demanded,“How could this happen? Was she not being watched?”
The young sergeant lookedwretched. “She seemed to calm down quickly, and after eating a bowl of soup,she lay down to sleep. So we all had our own dinner.”
Akitada looked from the cell ofthe dead woman to the outer room. The three prisoners stared back with palefaces. He noted absently that Okano was wrapped in some trailing purple stuffand clutched a large paper lantern. “Someone must have been close enough to seeor hear what was happening,” he pointed out.
Kaoru shook his head. “We atein the kitchen, sir.”
Akitada stared at him. “What?Everybody? There was no one in this jail except Mrs. Omeya and the prisoners?”
There was a pause. Then thesergeant said, “Just Mrs. Omeya, sir. Takagi, Okano, and Umehara were eatingwith us.”
Akitada clutched his head.This, too, was his fault, of course. He had known of the liberties the three had been given since Kaoru had taken over the administration of the jail. I thad seemed humane at the time. Now it was one more example of his own unfitness for his office.
Kaoru was distraught. “You see,sir,” he tried to explain, “Umehara is the cook, and Takagi said it was his birthday today. So Okano offered to put on a little show. To celebrate Takagi’s birthday” When Akitada said nothing, Kaoru muttered, “I know it was against the rules, but we all thought the woman was asleep.”
“Did anyone leave the kitchen during your celebration?” Akitada asked tiredly.
A look of understanding flashedin Kaoru’s eyes. He paled, thought a moment, and said, “I cannot be certain. At one point, Okano wanted the lights out to do a lantern dance.”
Akitada turned to Oyoshi almost ferociously. “Well, Doctor? Was it suicide?”
Oyoshi winced. “Possibly,” he said.
“Are you just being mysteriousor is something wrong?” Akitada snapped.
Oyoshi seemed to shrink within himself. “What I meant is that one can hang oneself in just this manner with the help of a thin garment and a handy hook or bar.”
Akitada went to look at the knot, then turned abruptly to kneel by the dead woman. He checked her face and throat. “There is a small bruise here,” he said, pointing.
“When she dropped, her temple may have hit the door,” Oyoshi suggested.
Akitada measured the distance between the grate and the floor with his eyes. “She is very short. Were her feet touching the floor when you found her, Kaoru?”
“Not quite, sir.”
“Why didn’t she use that stool over there?”
There was no answer.
Akitada picked up the cut scarf. He recalled how proudly she had worn it and sighed. “Hand me that chain over there, Kaoru, and help me measure.” Between them, they straightened the body and measured it. Then they held the marked piece of chain against the door.Akitada nodded. “As I thought. She could not have reached high enough to tie that knot, which is in any case on the outside of the grate.” He looked atOyoshi. “Do you still think it likely that she committed suicide?”
Oyoshi regarded Akitada warily.“I thought it was possible.”
Akitada bent to spread the scarf over the dead woman’s distorted face. “I see,” he said. “Thank you.”
After a cursory meal of rice and pickled vegetables shared with Tamako who, after one glance at her husband’s face, refrained from making conversation, Akitada sat alone in his office, sipping lukewarm wine and glumly considering his situation. Someone had murdered the Omeya woman in his own jail. The murderer had come into the jail, called the prisoner to the door, reached through to strangle her, and then hanged her from the grate. It had
taken remarkable nerve, but this person had taken such risks before. Hitomaro’s testimony against the widow was now useless, and Akitada had lost his gamble. Neither an orderly retreat after resigning his office nor precipitate flight was possible,even had he been able to resort to such shameful solutions.
At that moment in his ruminations, Hitomaro himself appeared. He walked in abruptly, accompanied by adazed-looking constable, and sat down across from Akitada without a greeting.
Akitada frowned at the constable. “You may wait outside,” he said, wondering what the man was doinghere. The constable hesitated just a fraction of a moment, then left and closed the door behind him.
Akitada’s first impression was that Hitomaro was ill. He was perfectly white, and his eyes met Akitada’s withthe blank fixity of a corpse’s stare. His voice, when he spoke, was flat andemotionless.
“She’s dead.”
Akitada jumped a little. “What?Who is dead? Are you feeling all right?”
One of Hitomaro’s hands moved slightly in a dismissive gesture. “Ofumi. The woman you know as Mrs.. Sato,” hesaid in the same remote manner.
Akitada’s eyes went from Hitomaro’s hand to his robe. There were dark splotches on the deep blue cotton.They spread across the chest and down the front. Hitomaro’s right sleeve wasstained all the way to the wrist. It dawned on Akitada that Hitomaro wore nosword. He controlled a wave of fear.
“Report.”
At first there was no answer.Then Hitomaro’s shoulders straightened. Looking past Akitada, he recited in the official manner, “I proceeded to Hisamatsu’s villa as ordered and found itdeserted. Making inquiries of the servant, I found out that Hisamatsu andChobei had left during the night, taking a pack horse with them. The servant claims he does not know where they went. I returned to the tribunal to make my report. When I heard from Tora what happened at the court session, I was seized by anger and shame that my foolish indiscretions should have warned Hisamatsu and compromised the case against the widow Sato. I immediately went to the Omeya house. She- the Sato woman was there.” He stopped and looked Akitada squarelyin the eyes. “I’m under arrest for her murder, sir. The constable brought me here.”
EIGHTEEN
THE BROKEN LUTE
Akitada found it nearly impossible to raise his eyes from the blood-soaked sleeve. “Hitomaro… ?” he began and faltered.
Hitomaro’s voice was abject and his tone oddly detached. “Forgive the trouble I have caused. You saved my life once, but I should have known it was forfeit. I’ll make it easy for you. Once a killer, always a killer, they’ll say.”
A furious anger seized Akitada,and his voice shook. “Make it easy for me? Like Tora, you mean? You think that will make it easy? Why did you do it? You had your life before you. The other time you killed to avenge your wife’s honor. And I… I thought I had found a man I could trust with my life, a friend, and I counted myself lucky. I would have done anything, faced anything in this godforsaken place to avoid this.” He struck the desk with both fists. “Why, Hitomaro?”
Hitomaro lowered his eyes and shook his head mutely.
“Did you think to save me by killing the woman?”
“I thought of it. Also becauseI was angry that she had lied to me and used me to get to you.”
Akitada put his face in his hands and groaned.
After a moment, Hitomaro continued in the same dreamy tone, “I was so angry I could’ve killed her,perhaps I would’ve killed her . . . but when I saw her, she looked asleep. Her head was turned away and I couldn’t see at first. She wore that white robe-she must have changed into it after she got back from the tribunal-and I thoughtshe was covered with a piece of crimson silk. Strange, I wanted to kill her,but I also felt desire. She was so beautiful. . . lying there.”
Slowly Akitada raised his face from his hands and stared at Hitomaro. “You did not do it? She was dead? When you found her, she was already dead?”
Hitomaro nodded very slowly.His eyes were unfocused, staring past Akitada as if at a memory indeliblyetched on his brain. “I could see what was wrong when I came closer,” he saidin the same terrifyingly detached voice. His right hand touched his neck. “Herhead was almost cut off. She was lying there in her own blood. It was stillflowing… and warm. It was her blood that had turned the white silk red.”
“Dear heaven.”
The toneless voice went on. “Idrew my sword and went to look for her killer. In every room. There was no onethere, not even the maid servant. Then I went back to her. I… I tried to holdher, but her head … I thought, perhaps she’s not quite dead. So I tried totie up the wound. I cut some of the fabric of her gown with my sword. That’swhen they found me. The maidservant and the constables.”
“But you did not kill her,”Akitada confirmed again, relief was hing over him like a warm spring shower.
Hitomaro shook his head mutely.
“Have you any idea who did?”
Hitomaro plucked at hisblood-soaked sleeve. The glazed look was still with him.
“Hitomaro.” Akitada leanedforward. “Think! We must find the killer to clear you. Anything may help. Didshe complain about anyone? Who were her friends? Was she worried aboutanything?”
Hitomaro shook his head toevery question. He frowned, seemed to make an effort to think. “She asked a lotof questions about the murder investigation. But she also asked otherquestions, once about the judge.” His voice turned bitter. “I was the last manshe would have confided in. She used me to get information.” His eyes met Akitada’s for a moment. “Let it go, sir. This way she cannot make any moretrouble. If you start looking for her killer, the enemy will take other action.Now it will just be seen as a lover’s quarrel.”
“And you will die for it. Eventhe most lenient court in the capital will balk at passing over a secondmurder.”
Hitomaro’s mouth quirked into aghost of a smile. “Do not worry so. I am done with life.”
“What?” With that angry shout,Akitada rose. “Well, then, go to jail, for I cannot save you from that, but donot think that your friends will rest while you submit to trial, sentence, andexecution because you are tired of living.” He strode to a clothes chest andthrew it open, rummaging until he found his quilted hunting robe, heavyleggings, and an old fur-lined cap. Hitomaro watched without comment as Akitadaput those on, snatched his sword from its stand, slung it over his shoulder,and then clapped his hands.
The constable peered in.
For so big and strong a man,Hitomaro looked oddly shrunken and helpless, sitting there slumped, his headbowed, and his broad hands resting limply on his knees.
“Take the lieutenant to thejail and lock him up,” snapped Akitada.
There was the usual crowd of ghouls when Akitada got off his horse in front of theOmeya house. Only Tora and Genba, both grim-faced, accompanied him. In hishurry, Akitada had dispensed with the usual runners, banner bearers, andscribes, but he was recognized nevertheless, and the people parted before himsilently.
Akitada glanced at them, thenlooked up and down the street, at the neighboring houses, and at the reargarden of the Fox Shrine across the road. When he had an idea of thesurroundings, he entered the Omeya house.
A thin girl with a grotesquelylarge head and thin, greasy hair twisted into a bun tried to fade into the wallof the hallway leading to the rear of the house. Behind her, steep steps led upto the second floor.
“You there!” Akitada called tothe girl. “Come here!”
She shook her head violentlyand turned to scramble up the steps with the agility of a monkey.
“Get her!” Akitada snapped toTora and walked into the first room. It was furnished as a reception room andempty. He continued down the corridor, opening doors and closing them again onunoccupied rooms. Upstairs he heard Tora’s pounding footsteps and the squealsof the girl.
At the end of the corridor aconstable suddenly appeared from one of the doors. “Out!” he shouted, wavingboth hands. “No one is allowed! How many times do I have to tell yo
u bastards… ?” As Akitada stepped from the shadows, the constable fell abruptly silentand dropped to his knees. Akitada walked around him and into the room the manhad come from.
The murder scene was asHitomaro had described. Genba, who came in behind him, gasped audibly, thenwent to feel for a pulse behind the dead woman’s ear. A heavy, sweet smell ofblood mingled with an exotic blend of incense. The bloodied gown, which hadseemed like crimson satin to Hitomaro, was now a dark rust color, and thepuddle the woman lay in had partly congealed and partly soaked into the grassmat.
Akitada bent to undo theblood-soaked bandages Hitomaro had wrapped around the severed neck. Both neckand chest looked like a single massive wound, but the pale face and glossyblack hair were untouched and still achingly beautiful. Akitada stood lookingdown at the woman he had known as Mrs. Sato, but who had also been Hitomaro’sOfumi.
Tora walked in, dragging alongthe maidservant. “She won’t talk, sir. Doesn’t make a sound. Maybe the shockhas addled her brain.” He glanced at the body and whistled. “Merciful Amida! Ican see how it would.” He released the girl.
She scuttled into a corner,where she cowered on her knees and bobbed up and down in silent obeisance.
Akitada approached hercautiously. “Don’t be frightened, girl,” he said. “Nobody is going to harm you.”
She bobbed more violently.
“Stop that!” Akitada ordered,stamping his foot. “Look at me!”
She became still and raisedsmall, anxious eyes to his face. Her bony, work-reddened hands hovered beforeher face and then touched her ears.
“Were you here during the day?”Akitada asked.
She only looked at him withwide, frightened eyes.
“Did you see anyone in thishouse after the midday rice?”
