Black Arrow (44 page)

Sunada nodded again and asked, “How did you find out?”

“Her alibi for the day of the murder was unshakable. It was that which led me to suspect her in the first place. It occurred to me that she must have arranged to have her husband killed while she was safely away visiting her parents. I assume you knew?”

“More than that, Governor. Ofumi was a remarkable woman and perfectly capable of devising the plan on her own, but she lacked the necessary contacts.”

“So you found Koichi for her.”

“That was clever of you. I rather suspected that you did not quite believe my story of self-defense when I killed him in the market the other day.” Sunada grimaced. “It was a public service, though I was protecting myself. Unfortunately assassins are unreliable associates. When you refused to believe the three travelers guilty and started looking for another killer, he demanded money. I could afford to pay, but a man of his background and reputation cannot be trusted. I decided to act while I had witnesses. Then one of your men happened along-—” Sunada broke off and clenched his fists. “Of course,” he muttered. “The lieutenant who attempted to arrest me—he was the one who seduced her.” He glowered at Akitada. “Wasn’t he?”

Akitada was taken aback. How could this matter now? In justice to Hitomaro, he said sharply, “You are quite wrong. She seduced him.”

For a moment their eyes held in a contest of wills, then Sunada lowered his head. “Perhaps she could not help what she was, what she made men do.”

“A woman who plots to have her husband killed deserves no pity,” snapped Akitada.

“What would you know of a woman’s life?” Sunada asked wearily. “That girl—beautiful beyond belief, full of grace, endowed with talent, clever, lively, and filled with dreams—she was born into a peasant family and sold in marriage to an old man, a desiccated dotard so close to death that he stank of decomposition! What chance had she by your laws?”

“Not my laws. The laws of the gods. She was not mistreated. By all accounts Sato doted on her.”

Sunada moved impatiently. “She was made for better things. He had no right to possess her.”

This was absurd—as any good Confucian scholar knew. The ancients taught that a woman had no right to choose for herself. Her duty was first to her parents, then to her husband, and last to her son. And if she was unfortunate enough to survive her immediate family, another male relative would direct her life.

But there was no point in arguing with this man. Akitada said, “So you ‘contacted,’ as you put it, Koichi, a man with a long record of crimes. In fact, you had him released from his latest jail term the day before Sato’s death. Employing the unemployable had always worked well for you. Such men are grateful. Did Koichi balk at all at murder?”

“He was eager to do it and bragged about it afterwards. I found him repulsive.”

“Ah, so he reported to you after the murder.” Akitada was pleased. The case would be resolved more smoothly than he had hoped. “Koichi entered the Golden Carp in midafternoon, at a time when Mrs. Sato would have reached her parents’ village arid been seen there by as many people as possible. It was a sunny day, and the inn’s hallway dim. Koichi stumbled over a packsaddle and damaged it. Okano, one of the three travelers, was taking a bath and heard the clatter but assumed it was made by customers who left again when no one greeted them. I do not know whether Koichi brought a weapon, but I think he saw a large knife lying in the kitchen and decided to use it. After killing the sick old man, Koichi emptied the money box, replaced the knife where he had found it, and left again as unobserved as he had come.”

“I did not know about the packsaddle, and he certainly did not tell me about the money box,” Sunada said. “Otherwise your deductions are correct.”

“Sato had saved up some gold. His widow testified that there were seven pieces, but she provided that information after the three fugitives had been searched and seven gold pieces were found in their possession. Still, it is surprising that Koichi blackmailed you after having helped himself to all of Sato’s savings.”

Sunada laughed mirthlessly. “Come, Governor! Not even you can be that unworldly! Gold begets greed. He was to keep what he found as payment. Clearly it was not enough.”

Akitada knew there was a loose end still, but it had nothing to do with Sunada. He asked, “Will you sign a statement and testify in court that Koichi killed Sato on your instructions and at Mrs. Sato’s request?”

“Yes. But there is a condition.”

“No.” Akitada rose abruptly. The disappointment stung, though he should have expected it. “Even if I wished to grant you leniency, your fate is not in my power. Neither your culpability in the Sato case, nor the three murders you committed yourself signify when compared to a case of insurrection against his august Majesty.”

Sunada smiled a little. “I know. My request is not for me.”

Akitada hesitated. “The same applies to all your associates and includes your henchman, Boshu, and his villainous gang. They have terrorized the local people at your behest. I look forward to sentencing them to long terms at hard labor. Besides, your people had a hand in placing the mutilated body at the tribunal gate.”

Sunada looked astonished. “For what it is worth, we had nothing to do with that. That was done by that animal Chobei, your former sergeant, on instructions from Hisamatsu. No one else could have misused a corpse in such a repulsive fashion.”

“The corpse showed evidence of having been stored in a rice warehouse.”

Sunada hunched his shoulders. “By all means add it to my charges. It does not matter. And do as you wish with Boshu and his men. I’m asking you to spare the two crippled servants you saw in my house. They are simple fishermen who lost the ability to go to sea. They neither read nor write and only took care of my simplest needs in my home. I never asked more of them.”

Akitada remembered the two cripples. Again Sunada had surprised him, almost shamed him. “They have been outside this jail since you were brought here.”

Sunada lowered his head, then brushed a hand across his eyes. “I plead with you,” he said brokenly. “They must not suffer for their loyalty, for their love ...” He choked on the word.

“Very well. If they are as innocent as you say, they may return to their families.”

“Thank you.” Sunada bowed deeply, his face wet with tears.

Back in the common room, Kaoru and Tora greeted Akitada with broad grins.

“We heard,” cried Tora. “You solved the Sato case. It was brilliant. From little things like Umehara’s backpack and a noise Okano heard, you put the whole thing together.”

“And from Koichi’s jail records, when no one knew he had been near the inn,” added Kaoru. “Such wisdom is worthy of the famous judge Ch’eng-Lin.”

Akitada looked at him for a moment, then smiled and shook his head. “I don’t deserve any credit. From the beginning, Tora was closer to the answer than I was.”

“Me?” Tora gaped.

“Yes. We should have arrested the maid. It would have saved trouble and lives. She was an accessory before and after the fact and should have been questioned rigorously.”

“Kiyo? Why?”

“The bloody knife. Someone had to put it in Takagi’s pack. Koichi knew nothing of the three travelers. I think we will find that Kiyo not only knew of the planned murder, but that she and Koichi split Sato’s savings.”

Tora stared at him. “But she hated her mistress.”

“Probably. She also hated old Sato. When she thought you were a stranger passing through, she carelessly revealed her motive. It is to your credit that you recognized and reported it. Later she changed her story, but by then she knew that you worked for me, and that Sunada had killed Koichi. She was afraid.”

“Well,” Tora said with great satisfaction, “would you believe it? I have the instinct for it after all.”

Akitada nodded. “Oh, yes. It is your case now. Go arrest the girl and get her confession. We also need a statement from Sunada.” He paused and gave the sergeant a considering look. “All the clerks are busy with Sunada’s papers ...”

Kaoru said eagerly, “I can write well enough, sir,” and gestured at a sheaf of reports on his desk.

Akitada looked and raised his eyebrows at the neat script, then smiled. “Very well, Sergeant, go ahead. But first tell your three prisoners that they are free to go. Hamaya will return their money and property to them. There should be additional compensation from Sunada’s confiscated estate after both cases are settled.”

♦

Someone, Tamako or Seimei, had brought hot tea and placed it on the brazier in his office. He poured some and drank greedily before sitting down at his desk.

The prince’s letter still awaited his attention. Tamako had understood immediately that an official report to the chancellor would set wheels in motion which might well put Akitada and his family in personal danger. She had wanted him to wait. But this could not wait. The emperor himself was in danger.

Akitada reached for his writing utensils. His cover letter was very brief. He enclosed it and the prince’s letter in another sheet of paper, sealed this, and addressed both to a man whose wisdom and kindness were well known to him, the retired emperor’s brother who was a Buddhist bishop. Then he clapped his hands.

The young soldiers selected by Takesuke looked eager and intelligent. Akitada gave his instructions and turned his letter over to them. This accomplished, he had another cup of tea and relaxed.

There was little left to do. The tangled web of murder and mayhem had resolved itself with Sunada’s confession. Akitada took no pleasure in it. There had been many deaths and there would be many more, public executions which he must attend in his official role. Besides, it had not been his own effort which had brought justice to the three unfortunate travelers, or revealed and broken the conspiracy against the emperor. No, it had all been due to chance encounters between one woman and two men.

He considered the destruction Mrs. Sato had wrought in the lives of others. The good abbot Hokko had his own symbol to explain the inexplicable. Buddhist scripture taught that man occupied a precarious position midway between the angels and the demons on the wheel of life. A turn of the wheel propelled him either upward, toward righteousness, good fortune, and happiness, or it dragged him into the filth of evil and crushed him underneath. The wheel had crushed Sunada.

He sniffed. There was a strange fishy smell in the air. Then he became aware of a peculiar noise coming from the wooden shutters behind him. It sounded like the gnawing of a rat. A soft hissing followed, then a scrabbling noise. Akitada turned on his cushion so that he faced the shutters. As he watched, a narrow line of light widened into a crack and a pudgy hand appeared in the opening. More hissing followed—whispering, Akitada decided—and then a round red face topped with short black horns appeared and leered in at him from bulging eyes.

Both Akitada and the goblin jerked back in surprise. The goblin squealed, and the shutter slammed shut. Akitada opened his mouth to shout for a guard, when the shutter flew open again, revealing two human backs, bowed abjectly on the narrow veranda outside.

“Who are you and what do you want?” barked Akitada, his heart pounding.

One of the creatures, the horned goblin, visibly trembled, but the other one raised his gray head. Akitada recognized Umehara.

“Forgive us, Excellency,” Umehara said, wringing his hands and sniffling. “We asked your clerk to let us see you, but it was strictly forbidden, so we came this way.”

“Ah.” Akitada regarded the shaking figure. A certain plumpness suggested Okano, but the horns? “Is that Okano?” he asked.

The spiked head nodded violently.

“What happened to your head, Okano? Are you playing a goblin?”

“Oh!” The actor wailed and covered the spikes with both hands. “See, Umehara? Okano should have worn his scarf! He is so ugly!”