Koremori flushed and looked away. His pudgy fingers drummed on the desk. After a moment, he heaved a deep sigh. “I suppose it had to come out. You see before you a broken man. I'm ashamed of my foolishness. Look at me, Akitada. I'm old and ugly. Yoshiko only wanted me for my wealth. I knew about those visits from the handsome Sakanoue, but she claimed they were related and merely good friends. I accepted it. I've been very lonely since my wife died. I did not want to lose Yoshiko. It was hopeless, of course. I surprised them caressing each other. The nurse, who should have been there, left them alone together—a serious dereliction of her duty, but no doubt Sakanoue paid her off. I was very angry with the woman and called her to my study to dismiss her. She became rude and threatened to tell people about the affair. That is what Kenzo overheard.” Koremori shuddered and buried his face in his hands.
Akitada felt an unaccustomed surge of pity for his cousin.
Koremori dropped his hands. “It must have been Sakanoue who tried to poison me. Yes, I'm sure it is his handwriting on the tag. Yoshiko recognized it too—do you remember? Dear heaven, perhaps she even helped him. Oh, what a fool I've been!"
Akitada did not like any part of this theory and stiffened his resolve. “Are you accusing your mistress and Sakanoue of plotting to kill you? What would be their motive?"
Koremori made a face. “Isn't it obvious? They are lovers."
"That is ludicrous. The poisoned incense could have killed everyone at the party, and Sakanoue was to be a participant."
"You forget that I test all samples first. He knew that and expected me to be dead before the judging. I don't think I like your attitude, Akitada. What is the matter with you? You're my cousin. We are family."
Akitada snapped, “By marriage only, I'm thankful to say."
"What?” Koremori's face reddened. “You would do well to think before you insult me."
"I have thought. You killed the old woman because she blackmailed you, and now you are trying to punish Yoshiko and Sakanoue by accusing them."
Koremori's eyes bulged. “Have you gone mad?"
"Sakanoue and Yoshiko have no need to kill you. Yoshiko can leave you anytime. But your pride cannot tolerate scandal. I expect the nurse knew that."
"That is an outrageous lie. Get out of my house, now!"
"I'm not done, Cousin. There is still the little matter of murder. As an expert in the preparation of incense, you are familiar with poisonous substances, and you knew the nurse was fanatical about her shrine ritual. You made sure there would be none of the usual incense in the house. Then you prepared the poisoned incense and left it where she would find it. You murdered her, Koremori."
Koremori stared at him. “I never knew you, Akitada. Your mother was right about you all along."
Even coming from Koremori, that hurt. Akitada rose and looked down at his cousin. “You don't know me at all, Koremori. I never liked you, but I didn't think you capable of murder. You actually gloated over the old woman's death and made verses about it. Then you tried to use me to pin the crime on your rival. You made sure that I had all the clues: the tag written by Sakanoue and his relationship with Yoshiko. And, while you were about it, you got rid of Yoshiko's kitten. It irritated you, and you used it to test your poison."
Koremori gave him a twisted smile. “You think you're clever, but you are only a fool after all. Even if you were right, you could do nothing. There is no proof."
"That remains to be seen. I will lay charges against you, and the police will question your friends, your servants, and Lady Yoshiko. They will find I am right. Even if by some miracle you escape prosecution, the scandal of the investigation will put an end to your social life.” Seeing Koremori's fury, he added, “What would your son have thought of such a father ... or did the old nurse perhaps reveal something of his true parentage?"
Koremori turned perfectly white. “You would not dare drag Akemori's name into this. His memory is sacred.” He looked up at the scroll about a man's duty to his past and future generations. “Have you no family feeling?” he asked with a shaking voice. “We are related, Akitada. What about your mother? What about your sisters? Will you ruin them too?"
Akitada had hit on the true motive for the murder. Akemori had not been his cousin's son. He cared nothing whatsoever about Koremori's reputation or his family pride, and he did not want his money, but he knew his mother. In her world, the life of an aged servant was negligible when compared to the honor of an aristocratic house.
His cousin was a broken man. The aging lover had been betrayed by his mistress. The doting father had learned that his beloved son was not his own. Koremori seemed sad and pathetic rather than evil.
Koremori saw Akitada's determination waver and pleaded. “Don't do this. I'm an old man and have nothing left but my name. Yes, I wanted to punish the old woman for her lies, but I didn't know she would die. I just wanted to make her ill. It was an unfortunate accident."
"I am sorry for you, Cousin,” Akitada said uneasily, “but you know that I must tell the police."
Koremori's head sank. “I understand,” he muttered. “You want my life. Very well. Give me until morning to put my affairs in order. My will. I want to make provisions for the old woman's family and for my servants."
"You will only get exile,” said Akitada.
"I want to die. I have nothing left. Akitada, would you let me die by my own hand? Please Akitada? A death for a death. Isn't that enough? Let me keep my honor and my good name."
Suicide was not what Akitada wanted; it made him both judge and executioner. It was also improper to suppress his knowledge of a crime. But he knew that to his cousin death was preferable to the public shame, which would accomplish little for the victim.
They stared at each other. “Please!” Koremori said again, and Akitada nodded.
* * * *
The next morning Akitada sat in his room in the black depression that had seized him during a sleepless night. He had regretted his promise almost immediately. Soon he would be told of Koremori's death. Nothing had been gained by it, except some money for the dead woman's family. The fact that he was spared his mother's wrath only made him feel worse.
When Captain Kobe was announced, Akitada was gloomy but not apprehensive. “Please sit down, Captain. What brings you?"
Kobe sat and looked at him fixedly. “There has been a tragedy at the Kiyowara mansion. Koremori was your cousin, I understand?"
Akitada nodded and sighed. “On my mother's side. Thank you for bringing the news, Captain."
"You don't seem surprised."
"No."
"Then you already knew that we would find two bodies this morning?"
Akitada's head jerked up. "Two bodies?” he gasped.
"Yes. Your cousin and his mistress are both dead. Any idea what killed them?"
Akitada tried to grasp what had happened. Yoshiko dead? Perhaps there had been an accident, but the icy fear of what he had caused twisted inside him already. Dazedly, he asked, “Poison?"
Kobe's voice was cold. “I know you have a reputation for solving crimes that the police are too stupid for, but, pray, enlighten me in this instance: How could you know?"
Akitada sensed anger and knew he deserved it. “I guessed. Was it incense? Koremori dabbled in the stuff."
Kobe let a long silence fall, watching Akitada's growing agitation. “You paid several visits to your cousin recently,” Kobe finally said. “What was the occasion?"
Akitada bit his lip. He would have to explain his part in Koremori's suicide. “I delivered a greeting from my mother. A mere courtesy visit."
"Three times? Did you take him a present each time?"
"No. Only the first time. Why?"
Kobe ignored the question. He drew a red card from his sleeve and held it up. “Is this yours?"
Akitada nodded. “Yes, I wrote it and attached it to the fan."
"Really? We found it attached to a package containing poisoned sweets."
"What?"
> "Apparently your cousin shared your present with his mistress. They died together. But you already knew that."
Akitada held his head. “No. How can this be? Koremori I can understand. But why Yoshiko? And why my card—Oh!” He shuddered when he realized the magnitude of his error and the horror of what Koremori had done.
"I really regret this,” Kobe said after a long pause. “But you of all men will understand that I have my duty. I came myself to spare you and your family as much indignity as possible."
Akitada woke from his stupor. “What? You're arresting me? No, you've got it wrong, Kobe. My cousin committed suicide. Well, murder and suicide. This is Koremori's revenge.” Akitada took a deep breath. “I'm afraid I made my cousin a foolish and very improper promise last night. I let him take his own life instead of facing a murder charge. You see, Koremori poisoned the incense that killed his late wife's nurse. She blackmailed him. He admitted it to me. His new mistress was having an affair with a younger man, and the nurse knew. After killing the woman, Koremori planned to use me to pin this murder on the lovers."
Kobe raised his brows. “Nonsense. You cannot kill people with incense. The old woman had a heart attack."
"Perhaps, but it was brought on by poisoned incense. She got hold of some that Koremori had prepared. He knew she would use it in that tiny closed room. Once she was out of the way, he claimed the poison had been intended for him by Sakanoue and Yoshiko, and that the maid got hold of it by accident.” The story sounded crazy even to Akitada.
Kobe snapped, “You cannot expect me to believe such nonsense. Granted you have on occasion guessed correctly, but that doesn't mean you'll get away with murder now."
A man like Kobe would not understand Koremori's convoluted reasoning, but Akitada tried again, more despairingly.
"Captain, you don't know my cousin's mind. His reputation was everything to him. When I confronted him, he admitted what he had done. He begged to be allowed to commit suicide, and I agreed. But he wanted revenge. He decided to take Yoshiko's life and make it look as though I had murdered both of them.” Akitada grimaced. “I should have expected this trick. It's the way Koremori's mind worked."
Kobe said coldly, “No. It's the way your mind works. It's absurd. Nobody but you could think up such a tale on the spur of the moment."
Akitada swallowed. “Captain, you cannot seriously suspect me of such a heinous crime. You know me. I've always been on the side of justice. Besides, what would be my motive?” But even as he said it, he already knew and despaired.
"According to Koremori's will, you were his favorite cousin. He left you his fortune, which is considerable. I believe, his precise words were, ‘in the hope that it may repay him for his kindness to me.’”
Akitada stared at Kobe. “I won't touch it. Give it to the families of the dead women."
Kobe shook his head. He looked unhappy but determined.
"I bet Koremori wrote the new will before he killed himself.” Akitada felt the perspiration turn icy on his back and face. “It is his revenge, Kobe. Because I knew what he had done and might yet expose him."
"This is not getting us anywhere.” Kobe rose. “Let's go,” he said wearily.
Akitada looked around the room. What would become of them all? His sisters were mere children. What would his mother do? “Wait,” he said. “My mother selected the fan I took to Koremori. She will tell you so.” He already quailed at the thought of that interview.
Kobe shook his head. “Not worthy of you. We know about the fan. I think you brought the sweets on your third and last visit. Come, it's time."
How quickly a man's fortune changed! By not going to the police, Akitada had caused Yoshiko's death and his own arrest. Your actions will return to you, said the proverb. He had erred out of weakness, and now he was lost.
As he stumbled to his feet, his eyes fell on the red card and he saw again a young boy holding a black and white kitten and removing the red card from its teeth. He snatched it up.
"The card,” he said, holding it out to Kobe. “Look at it. It's proof that I am innocent. Do you see the marks? Yoshiko's kitten made those. When I went back the second time, that kitten was already dead. Poisoned.” He took a shuddering breath. “I have a witness. If you don't believe me, ask for Jiro, one of the servants. He is only a boy but very bright and observant. He came to catch the kitten while I was with Koremori on my first visit. The kitten was playing with this card."
Kobe took the card and looked at it. Akitada saw determination slowly giving way to doubt. Kobe said grudgingly, “Very well. If the boy remembers, I'll reopen the investigation. If not, I shall be back for you."
When Kobe had left, Akitada's knees gave way and he sank on his cushion. But he was no longer afraid. Kobe, for all his coldness and lack of imagination, was a fair man and a good officer, and Jiro would remember. They would talk to Sakanoue and to Kenzo and to the other servants. Of course, Koremori's will would be declared invalid, but blood money would not console Yoshiko's family for her death. Akitada would always bear the guilt for that.
And there was still his mother.
But then Akitada thought of the boy Jiro and of the kitten and smiled. In the end the gods were always just.
Copyright © 2009 I.J.Parker
* * * *
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Department: SOLUTION TO THE MYSTERIOUS CIPHER
A mouse in the wrong place, like too many milk bottles on a doorstep, might be a sign of passions stretched beyond control.
—John Mortimer
From Rumpole a la Carte (1990)
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Fiction: PICKUP ON ROUTE 66 by Joseph B. Atkins
* * * *
Jorge Mascarenhas
* * * *
Everything came to a dead stop in Oklahoma. For four hours we waited under a July sun with no luck.
"I think we been dropped off in hell,” I told my buddy Mickey as we made our pact to take the first ride in either direction. So Mickey crossed the median to the eastbound side of I-40, and I stayed put. The first car to stop would determine whether it was still on to San Francisco or back to North Carolina.
It was 1969 and we were in the godforsaken country west of Oklahoma City between El Reno and Clinton, a point where I-40 stretches east and west along a straight line that disappears into the sky in front of you and in back of you. Stuck at the crossroads where the last ride had left us, we were so sick and tired of the highway, the sun, and Oklahoma that we were ready to say to hell with California.
We'd been mostly lucky up to that point, catching one ride after the other through the Smoky Mountains and Tennessee. Of course, we got the usual harassment about our long hair. “All the boys back where you come from look like girls?” said a pompadoured gas monkey with a wink to his buddies at one mountain crossroad. It was scarier in Arkansas, where we got frisked and our backpacks autopsied by a pockmarked sheriff and his deputies. “You ladies know what we was looking for, don't you?” he said just before they drove off, leaving everything strewn along the roadside.
Mickey was a bone-thin high-school dropout, shade tree mechanic, and chain-smoking reformed thief. I'd known him since the eighth grade. We parted ways when I went off to college, then reconnected when I flunked out. He'd just finished a year in prison for borrowing a 1962 Corvette without asking. We both needed a change of scenery, an adventure, so why not San Francisco? I'd read Dharma Bums, wanted to go to the City Lights Bookstore, meet Jack Kerouac. Mickey had no idea who Jack Kerouac was, but city lights sounded good. At least until we got to Oklahoma.
Then came Lefty, just as the sun was sliding down the western sky.
He was driving a new Ford pickup, shiny and black, like his cowboy hat. Pulling the truck over to the shoulder, he leaned out the window an
d shouted, “You boys look like you could use a ride.” I raced ahead, threw my backpack into the bed, and waved Mickey over. Mickey walked across the empty road, unloaded his pack, and climbed into the air-conditioned cab next to me. As Lefty spun out onto I-40, he said he'd get us as far as Albuquerque, but he preferred Route 66 to the new highway and he took the next exit to the Mother Road.
I gave my stone-faced buddy a slit-eyed grin that read: “Got it made now, man.” What I didn't know was that this was our ride to hell, and Lefty was the chauffeur.
Hitchhiking has its own etiquette. You do the small talk when you first climb in. Then comes the long silence. Lefty offered his hand and his first name. Never told us his last name. He said he was on a business trip, but he never said what that business was. I tried sizing him up—the black jeans that matched his cowboy hat, the sleeveless blue denim shirt, the pale skin and lean-but-taut arm bearing the tattoo of a guitar, the dog tags dangling from his neck. A scar followed the line of his right eyebrow. He looked an old twenty-five. The cab offered no clues. Other than a sweating six-pack of Coors beer on the floorboard, it was as clean and bare as if it had just come off the lot.
Mickey brought up the dog tags. “Were you in the military?"
"U.S. Army, Fifteenth Combat Battalion."
"Vietnam?"
"Bien Hoa, Saigon, Vung Tau."
Mickey eyed him suspiciously. “I tried to join, wanted to bad, but got rejected. Four-F. Busted knees.” I grinned at my buddy, the bad luck rebel who thought he wanted to be a soldier. A baseball bat got him those bad knees. Same job that landed him in prison.
"Thank your lucky stars,” Lefty told him.
He flipped on the radio. KVOO out of Tulsa. Golden Oldie Country. We drove past grain elevators, wheat farms, Nazarene churches, a road sign announcing god is alive. are you? We passed diners, motels, drive-in picture shows, hubcap and auto salvage shops, fields of prickly pear. As the sky grew dark, Lefty nodded toward the Coors. “You boys ready for a beer?” We nodded, both hungry, but thirsty too. I pulled one off for each of us. I was beginning to like Lefty. No cracks about long hair. Just music, air conditioning, and Coors beer.
AHMM, September 2009 Page 11
