by I. J. Parker
“Lazy lot,” muttered the sergeant.
One shouted, “The captain’s inside. He’s been waiting for you.”
The sergeant did not bother to reply. “What do the neighbors say?”
The constable looked at his partner and said, “Not much.”
“What do you mean?”
“They heard nothing and they saw nobody.”
“You’re telling me they were all home and awake during the night?”
The second constable giggled. His partner flushed. “Well no. They were home, but while they were awake they saw and heard nothing.” He added lamely, “A bunch of old people.”
“So she didn’t scream or call for help?”
Both shook their heads.
Have you found the weapon?”
They shook their heads again.
“You did look?”
“The captain made us search the house.”
“But not outside?” They shook their heads in unison. “Well, get started. First the garden and then up and down the street. Look over fences and into weeds. Pretend you’re a killer and need to get rid of a bloody knife where it can’t be found.”
They looked rebellious. The silent one said, “The captain didn’t say to do that.” The other tried to get clever. “If nobody can find it, Sarge, there’s no point looking.”
Maeda just looked at them, and they left.
They entered the house and walked down a dirt-floored corridor past a kitchen and a work room. The house smelled of stale food and dirt. The light was dim because the shutters had not been opened, but Tora stopped to stare at rows upon rows of wooden shelves filled with tiny people, some fully dressed, and others as naked as they were born. “What the hell?” he started, then he realized he was looking at dolls, at least a hundred of them in different stages of completeness. The house belonged to a doll maker.
In the living quarters in back were four people.
An elderly man knelt, his hands tied behind his back. His clothes were stained with blood, and he looked frightened. Two burly constables stood on either side of him. Captain Okata, the fourth man, faced them. He turned and scowled at Maeda. “About time you got here. You can take over now. We made a search of the house and haven’t found the knife yet. He has nothing to say about it. Knows nothing and has done nothing.” He grimaced. “It’s a disgusting mess up there.” He jerked his head toward the steps leading to the second floor. Then he stared at Tora.
Maeda said, “We’ll take a look, sir. This is Lieutenant Sashima, the new governor’s inspector. He’s offered to help. He’s got experience with murder cases. And he requested assistance with some thieves who cleaned out the governor’s place.”
Okata eyed Tora coldly. “The murder is solved. And since you have experience, you and your master will surely make short work of the thieves.”
Tora controlled his anger. “Normally, we would, Captain, but we don’t have any staff. I’ve always been told we’ve been given two hands so they can wash each other. Maybe a little cooperation is in order?”
“Coming from the capital, you people may not realize that here we’re used to taking care of our own problems. Thieves at the governor’s residence are the governor’s business, and investigating murders in Hakata is my business. Besides, I just told you we’ve got our killer.” He turned on his heel and walked out.
“That’s it?” Tora looked after him. “Where is he going?”
One of the constables snorted. “Home. Case solved. The old guy did it. We’re taking him in. Once he’s in jail, we’ll have the confession out of him in no time, don’t you worry.”
The prisoner shivered uncontrollably.
Tora asked, “Does that mean he denies killing his wife?”
Sergeant Maeda sighed. “I suppose so. I guess it’s my case.”
The doll maker looked to be about sixty and in bad health. Thin and stringy, he trembled and stared at the ground. He had large dried blood stains on his clothes and hands. The gray hair of his topknot had come undone and one side of his face was beginning to swell. Apparently the constables had beaten him already without getting a confession.
Tora bent down to the man. “What’s your name?”
No answer. The man’s teeth chattered. Since it was not particularly cold, he must be in shock.
“Speak up, Mitsui!” The constable kicked him. “The bastard doesn’t want to talk, but we’ll see if we can change his mind.”
Tora gestured to the man’s face. “Maybe he won’t talk because you punched him. I’ve always found that the best way to shut up a suspect.”
The doll maker came out of his stupor. “I told them! I wasn’t here,” he wailed. “People can tell you I wasn’t. I was in Hakozaki, making a delivery. I got back late. She was dead.” He gazed up at Tora. “Please make them understand!”
Tora touched his shoulder. “If you’re innocent, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Sergeant Maeda and I will get it straightened out.”
The constables laughed. “Right,” sneered the one who had kicked him. “We’ll see who gets at the truth quicker. You or us.”
Maeda snapped, “It’s my case until the captain says otherwise. And you’ll leave him alone until we’ve checked out his story. Or else!”
The other constable pointed. “Look at him. He’s covered with her blood. And he didn’t report the crime until this morning.”
Tora asked, “Why not?”
“He won’t say.”
The doll maker muttered, “It was dark and I was tired. How was I to know?”
“What?” cried the constable. “You have the nerve to say that you got in bed with a dead woman and went to sleep?”
The doll maker started sobbing.
“You can take him away, but don’t touch him.” The sergeant turned to Tora. “Come, we’ll go up and have a look at the dead woman.”
They climbed a steep and rickety stairway to an upper floor with two small rooms. One was evidently storage for the doll making business, the other was the Mitsuis’ bedroom. A shutter stood open, and the spring sun shone on a bloodbath. Tangled in blood-soaked quilts lay a woman, her face and limbs white from blood loss, and her dark hair partially covering her face.
She had struggled against her assailant, but probably not for long. The killer had hacked away at her until he had hit her neck and caused her to bleed out. There was blood everywhere, on the floor, on the walls, soaked into her clothes, and into the bedding. Bloody footprints headed out of the room, and there was a bloody handprint near the doorway.
Tora walked around the body, looking at the tangled bedding. He bent to touch the stains. “They’re nearly dry,” he said. “This happened many hours ago.”
“The killer butchered her,” said the sergeant, sounding awe-struck. “Looks like he stabbed her at least twenty times. He kept stabbing away in a frenzy.” He gave a small snort. “Bet the captain didn’t take a very close look. Probably just peeked in or took the constables’ word for it, as the case may be. But it looks bad for the husband. Usually only husbands get that angry at their wives.”
“I don’t know. He had blood on him but it was mostly on his back,” remarked Tora, walking around the body to study it from all sides. “How would it get there if he was leaning over her as he stabbed her?”
“Hmm. Maybe he slipped in the blood and fell.”
“Maybe. And maybe he really came in after dark and went to sleep next to her.” Tora pursed his lips and poked a finger at the bedding beside the dead woman. “As you say, the killer stabbed her many times, but it could have been a woman. It doesn’t take much strength to shove a knife into a body.” He looked at the floor. “Perhaps we’d better measure the footprints and that handprint, though I’d guess they belong to the husband. Here’s a footprint that’s bigger though. It’s been smudged.”
Maeda studied the smaller prints, then measured them by laying his hand next to them. “You’re right,” he said. He looked at Tora’s boots. “The big o
ne’s about your size.”
Tora placed his right foot on the print and nodded. “It’s mine. You got me, Sarge.”
They laughed and went downstairs again. The murder weapon had not turned up.
“Strange,” muttered Maeda.
Tora said, “If the doll maker told the truth, the murderer came from outside, killed her, and took the knife away with him.”
Maeda grunted. “Well, we’d better talk to the next-door neighbors. I don’t think those constables asked the right questions.
The house to the right belonged to a man who worked in the harbor office and was at work. Mrs. Kubota was middle-aged, hard-featured, and not fond of policemen.
“I told those yokels I know nothing,” she snapped. “Go away and bother other people. I’m busy. Talk to the slut across the street. She has nothing better to do than ogle men.”
Tora eyed the slut’s house with interest, but Sergeant Maeda said firmly, “There has been a murder. It’s your duty to answer questions.”
She glared at him. “The constables took old Mitsui away. You’ve got your killer. So why bother me? Mind you, I could have told you as much a long time ago.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because they were always fighting, that’s why.”
Tora did not like the woman. He said, “Mitsui claims he was away making deliveries and found her dead.”
She snorted.
Maeda said, “Did you see Mitsui yesterday?”
She shrank away from him. “Well, he left in the morning with his cart packed high. But he could have come back. When was she killed?”
“Late yesterday. Did you hear any noise from next door?”
“No. I went to bed early and I sleep like the dead.” She gave an awkward laugh. “I mean, you know, real deep.”
Tora asked, “What about your husband?”
“Him?” She snorted again. “He came home drunk. Passed out before me. I had to shake him awake this morning. If Mitsui didn’t do it, who was it? It’s getting so a person isn’t safe in their own house. The police are useless.”
The sergeant glowered at her, but something had occurred to her. “Maybe it was one of her own people,” she said. “They are violent by nature, as we all know. They don’t believe in the teachings of the Buddha.”
Tora asked, “Her own people?”
Before she could answer, Sergeant Maeda growled, “If that’s the best you can do, Mrs. Kubota, we’ll be on our way.”
Outside he said, “Mrs. Mitsui was his second wife. She was Chinese. There’s a large Chinese ward, Daito-gai, in Hakata. It’s pretty old and they speak our language, but some people still don’t accept the Chinese. Mostly, they keep to themselves, but some like old Mitsui have married Chinese women. Personally, I’ve never seen much difference between the Chinese and us. We’re all doing the best we can for our own.”
Tora decided he liked Maeda.
The sergeant headed for the door of the neighbor on the other side. “A friend of mine lives here,” he said and called out, “Lady Kimura, my pretty! Are you home? It’s me.”
From inside came a soft cry and a giggle. Then the door curtain parted and a tiny, ancient woman peered out. “Is it you, Love?” she asked, bright black button eyes moving from Maeda to Tora. “And you’ve brought me a gorgeous youngster. Bless you, you generous man.”
Maeda laughed and drew Tora forward. “This is Sashima Kamatari, known as Tora. He’s fresh from the capital. Feast your eyes, my dove!” Tora grinned and made her a bow. “Mrs. Kimura practically raised me when I first came here as a raw youngster and took a room in her house. How are you, my dear?” he asked the tiny woman.
“Good as ever. I’ve been working outside. Come on back, both of you.”
They followed her through the little house and out onto a narrow veranda overlooking a tiny garden filled with miniature trees in all sorts of containers. Tora had seen such things before, but in the capital these little marvels, trained painstakingly for years to remain as small as a child’s toy, belonged to the wealthy.
She perched herself on the edge of the veranda and they joined her.
“You admire my little trees, Tora? It gives me something to do,” she said. “Before my husband and the children died, I never had the time for gardening. Now I have too much time, but most of my strength is gone. Sergeant Maeda looks after me like a son.”
The sergeant blushed. “You’re no trouble, Love. But I’m here on business today. Mrs. Mitsui is dead. Stabbed. We think it must have happened last night.”
“Oh no!” The bright eyes widened with shock. “Oh, poor Mei! Someone stabbed her? How terrible!” She twisted her hands together. “Mei never had any luck. That grumpy husband and those unpleasant children, and now this.” She sighed deeply. “I wish I’d known. Perhaps I could have helped her.”
Maeda looked at her affectionately. “I take it you heard or saw nothing. I’m glad you didn’t tangle with a killer. When I heard about a murder in your street, I was afraid for you. You shouldn’t live alone. At least when I was here there was a man in the house.”
She gave him a sad smile. “The men aren’t exactly looking for old ladies like me.”
Tora thought about women alone. The murdered woman next door had also been alone, though not as frail and ancient as this one. “Have there been attacks on women around here?” he asked. “Do you think it could have been a thief? Perhaps she had money in the house?”
Mrs. Kimura thought about it. “No, this is a very safe neighborhood. I’m not a bit afraid.” She gave Maeda a sidelong glance. “I don’t know if they kept money in their house. Poor Mei.” She sighed again. “Her name means beautiful plum, you know. She told me that, chatting over the fence. I think she was pretty once. She said her husband had become unkind, though she was a very hard worker. It was her business, too, you know. He makes the dolls’ bodies, and she painted them and dressed them. Even so, they were very poor. Their children moved away and hardly ever visit. When the doll business was bad, Mei had to go clean the Hayashis’ house.”
Maeda said, “Mitsui left yesterday to take an order of dolls to Hakozaki. Maybe his business was getting better?”
She looked surprised. “I didn’t know. I really don’t pay much attention.”
“You didn’t see him come back by any chance? It would have been after dark.”
She shook her head.
Tora asked, “What sort of person was she?”
“I liked her, but we didn’t talk much. She kept to herself and was always busy. She didn’t have any friends. People are sometimes unkind to those who are different. I think she gave up trying to be nice to people, but she was always pleasant to me.”
“Was it a bad marriage?”
“Ordinary, from what saw. There was an age difference, but Mei was no longer young when Mitsui took her as his second wife after the first died. As I said, she was a hard worker. I expect he liked that.” She said this a little tartly, as if her sympathies were with his wife.
Maeda got up with a sigh. “I wish we could stay, Love, but Okata will be chewing his mustache if we spend too much time on this. He thinks her old man did it.”
She grimaced. “It’s foolish to kill your best ox.”
“Yes, but people aren’t wise when they’re in a temper.”
She nodded. “True enough. Come back, both of you. A lonely old woman gets bored, you know.”
Outside, Tora said, “Nice lady. She’s fond of you.”
Maeda nodded. “She won’t let me do much for her. She sells the little trees and lives on what she earns. She gets good money for them, but it takes such a long time to grow them.”
Tora glanced up and down the street. “Seems strange not more people saw Mitsui or anyone else go in or out of the house.”
“One person saw him leave early in the morning. There was another who thought Mitsui and his cart had passed him on the main road coming back at night just after the watchman had called the hour o
f the rat, but he’d been drinking and wasn’t sure about it. Besides, that sighting doesn’t help him. He could still have done it. It’s his word against all the blood on him … plus the very suspicious fact he didn’t report her dead until daylight.”
Tora nodded somberly. “Are you giving up?”
Sergeant Maeda shot him a look. “Not yet. I’ll talk to her children next. They have to be told anyway.”
“I need to get back to the tribunal. Since Okata won’t help, there will be a lot of work.”
Maeda slapped his back. “Thanks for your help, Tora. Come back anytime. Oh, and don’t worry about your thieves. I’ll have a word with some people I know.”
5
DAZAIFU
Leaving Saburo and Mori behind to put the scattered documents in order and to hire some servants, Akitada got back on his borrowed horse and set out for Dazaifu to report his arrival to the assistant governor general. He hoped to get some answers about the way his predecessor had left things in the Chikuzen tribunal and to have the missing people and supplies replaced.
It was customary for a governor to travel with a retinue but this was, of course, impossible. Akitada had at least no trouble finding his way. The broad well-paved road ran straight south from Hakata to his destination. On the outskirts of Minami, he passed a post station and lodging house for officials. Both were in good repair and busy. The road was busy with official and military travelers among the usual messengers and farmers’ carts. He noted the large number of soldiers.
Mountains rose on all sides, but the road followed the valley of the Mikasa River. The distance from his new office to Dazaifu was no more than a single post station, and on the way he marveled at the fortifications protecting the central government of Kyushu against foreign invaders. The mountains on either side of the road had strategically placed forts watching the road. The most amazing sight was the mizuki, a huge fortified dam spanning the valley from mountain to mountain. It was a building feat worthy of giants. The only passage was over a bridge across a deep moat and through a narrow, tunnel-like cut through the dam. An enormous gate guarded by soldiers appeared at the other end. Akitada was stopped repeatedly and presented his travel papers. Each time the guards stared at him, then saluted and waved him through. On the other side of the gate, Akitada saw remnants of deep canals which ran behind the earthworks. He had read they could be filled with water from the Mikasa River. The canals had floodgates which could be opened against an invading army.
