Текст книги "Black Arrow "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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When they reached their horses, the white dog wagged its tail, then perked up its ears and dashed off.

“Kaoru must’ve called him,” Hitomaro said. “They say dogs have much finer hearing than men.”

They had put some distance between themselves and Takata when Tora brought his horse up to Akitada’s. “You could’ve told us from the start what we were looking for,” he complained.

“I wasn’t sure myself.”

“But you knew where to look. I bet you knew whose body it was, too.”

“I suspected.”

“Well, it wasn’t fair. Sometimes you ask a lot, sir.”

Akitada felt a pang of guilt. “I am sorry,” he said humbly. “I should have trusted you, Tora.”

“I only mention it because we can help much better if we know what you’re thinking. How did you know we would find the old man at the bottom of that wall?”

“You remember the night of the banquet? I had occasion to leave the company twice to use the convenience. On the first trip I glanced out of the gallery and saw the north pavilion. On my second visit I heard a scream from that direction. A servant heard it, too, but he said it was a wild animal in the woods, so I put it from my mind. Then, today, at Lord Maro’s funeral, a small boy asked me to find his grandfather. He said his grandfather was the old lord’s servant and did not return the night of his master’s death. I could see the boy was sick with worry, but Kaibara, the Uesugi steward, snatched him away before I could ask questions. That was when I remembered the scream and decided to have a look.”

“Poor kid,” said Tora, shaking his head.

“What did you think of Kaoru?” Hitomaro asked, bringing his horse alongside.

“Very capable.” Akitada frowned, then added, “But surely he is a man with secrets.”

“Yes, I noticed that, too,” Tora said. “Let him explain that fine bow! No outcast ever carried a weapon like that. It looks like those the young lords in the capital use for their archery contests. And like Hito said, he talks like one of us. Like he’s been educated.”

Akitada suppressed a smile. “You’re right, Tora. That bow is unquestionably a special one. You’re becoming a very good observer.”

Tora glanced at Hitomaro to see the effect of this, then said importantly, “That’s what made me suspicious, sir. He must be a thief and a liar. We shouldn’t have trusted him.”

“Wait a moment,” cried Hitomaro angrily. “The man saved my life. And as for being a thief, I can tell you he’s much too good at using that bow to have stolen it. He let me try it, but it takes a stronger and better arm than mine to bend it. Kaoru is very modest about his ability as an archer, but he’s superb. He says he was taught by his grandfather when he was just four years old.”

“Don’t argue,” Akitada said. “Remember, we need help badly. It is true that our new friend is not all he pretends to be, but the outcasts are at odds with the Uesugi and he did protect Hitomaro’s life.” Akitada paused as a vague memory crossed his mind. Someone else had said something similar recently. Something about pretending to be someone else, he thought, but he could not recall the details or the speaker.

“Sorry, brother,” Tora apologized. “I tell you what. Let’s wait up for your friend tonight and take him out for a nice late dinner at that good noodle restaurant. Make him feel welcome.”

But Hitomaro said stiffly, “Not tonight. I’m busy.”

* * * *

NINE

A CORPSE AT THE

TRIBUNAL GATE

T

here was another, heavier snowfall during the night. Akitada rose later than usual. As they had gone to bed, Tamako had expressed her first fears. She had talked about the bitter winter to come and the birth of their first child. Neither had touched on the dangerous situation in the province. He had lain awake for a long time after she went to sleep beside him. The thought of losing her terrified him far more than any personal danger. He finally slept, but woke late and, though he felt more optimistic, he spent some time considering how he might at least increase her comfort and safety in the tribunal.

Because his mind was preoccupied with domestic arrangements, he did not realize that a large, unruly crowd had gathered outside the tribunal gate until he crossed the courtyard on his way to see if Kaoru had delivered the corpse of the Takata servant. The gate was closed, quite against regulations at this late hour, and the hum of angry voices and shouts of “Keep back!” startled him.

Akitada’s first thought was that something had gone terribly wrong with his plan. He blamed himself for not having waited up for Kaoru.

Changing direction, he tugged open the heavy gate. A constable tried to hold it from the other side, but desisted when he saw Akitada, who stepped through and gazed at a gathering of about a hundred people.

They looked back sullenly and muttered.

Off to one side, Hitomaro and three of the constables stood around something on the ground. Hitomaro, looking grim, came over quickly and saluted. With a glance at the crowd, he said in a low voice, “It’s the body of a mendicant monk, sir. Someone left him here during the night. It must have happened after the hour of the rat, the last time the gate was used.” He met Akitada’s questioning glance and added, “Someone delivered another dead man late last night. It’s raining corpses.”

A harsh voice from the back of the crowd shouted, “Let’s see you lazy officials do something for a change. Maybe we’ll get a verdict on this one next year.” The crowd guffawed.

Akitada walked over to look at the body and winced.

The monk, in his ragged robe was thin to emaciation. Someone had smashed his face to a pulp and cut off his hands and feet.

Akitada made a quick and superficial examination. The corpse was quite cold, but rigor had passed. He found no other wounds, and it was impossible to tell if the mutilations had killed him. Without glancing at his jeering audience, Akitada said loudly, “Have the body taken inside and notify the coroner. Then send to Abbot Hokko to ask if he is missing one of his monks.”

♦

A short while later Hitomaro joined him in his study. Akitada looked up from his paperwork.

“The abbot says everyone is accounted for, sir. We sent for Dr. Yasakichi, the coroner. He should be here any moment.”

“Hmm. I gather your friend Kaoru carried out his assignment without problems?”

“Yes, sir. In the middle of the night. We put that corpse into the armory for the time being. Tora left with Kaoru afterward. We thought it safer not to alert the constables.”

“Good. They won’t like getting a new sergeant, and we don’t need a mutiny before this afternoon’s hearing.”

“What about the dead monk, sir?”

“He was brought here and we will have to investigate it as murder. Since he is not a member of the local monastery, he must be an itinerant priest.”

Hitomaro pulled a dirty piece of paper from his sleeve and placed it on Akitada’s desk. “That was pinned to his robe when we found him.”

It was a crudely scrawled poem with the title “A Curse on all Governors.” Akitada read it aloud, his face tightening with anger.

Their ignorance appalls the skies.

Their idleness confounds the seas.

They take away our rice,

And let killers roam at ease.

“Well,” he said bitterly, “that explains the hostile crowd.” He crumpled up the paper in his hand. “This smacks of conspiracy to incite a popular insurrection against imperial authority.” He rose and began to pace, muttering under his breath. After a few passes, he stopped and smoothed out the message again. “Look at this,” he said. “The writing is rough and in the native style, but the verse is anything but illiterate. In fact, it is a translation of a poem by one of the Chinese political satirists, if I’m not mistaken. It is meant to look like the work of an ordinary person, but no commoner would know Chinese texts. We may be able to find out who is behind this.”

“Whoever he is,” said Hitomaro, with a grimace of distaste, “he’s enough of a fanatic to kill some poor begging monk to make a point. What kind of people are these?”

Akitada shook his head. “We don’t know if the monk was murdered, but certainly somebody has a warped mind. The mutilations prove that, if nothing else. It should be interesting to hear what the coroner has to say about it.”

“What about Uesugi?”

“Warlords would not hesitate for a moment to kill, mutilate, or torture if it became expedient. But in this case I doubt it. The verse was written by someone here in the city. It is in reaction to the notices we just posted. Uesugi could not have known in time to set up an elaborate scheme, dead body and all, even if he had not been preoccupied with his father’s funeral. I’m afraid someone else is acting independently but with the same purpose. I shall have another look at that corpse when the coroner arrives.”

“He should be here by now, sir. I’m afraid that crowd will not leave. I ordered the constables out to guard the gate.”

Akitada shook his head. “Like setting the cat to guard the fish. The sooner we come to grips with this situation, the better. I don’t like such open defiance of authority. Let’s go and see about that monk.”

The mutilated corpse lay on a plank table in an empty jail cell. A short fat man was about to remove the dead man’s tattered robe.

“Stop that!” Akitada said sharply. “Who are you?”

The man turned around and looked at Akitada from bleary eyes. He was dirty from head to toe: his hair greasy and matted, his gray gown stained, and his sandaled feet caked with mud. “Yasa ... Yasakichi, the cor’ner,” he mumbled, and a strong smell of sour wine and rotten teeth greeted their noses. “And who might you be, young man?”

Hitomaro growled, “Bow to the governor.” When the man merely gaped, he pushed him to his knees.

“Ouch. Let go,” the fat man whined, pulling away from Hitomaro’s grip. “How was I to know? It’s too early in the morning to see clearly.”

“Let him be,” Akitada said. “Get up, Dr. Yasakichi. Did you check the dead man’s clothing carefully before removing it?”

“Well, no need, is there?” The coroner staggered to his feet. He tugged at his robe, which was coming apart across his belly, and shook his head as if to clear away the fog of drunkenness. “Mere rags. Obvious what killed him. Mut’lated, then bludgeoned to death. Vicious but common crime among vagrants. I was just about to look for other wounds, though it won’t matter one way or ‘nother. Anything you can see with your naked eye is ‘nough to kill a man. I’ll get a report ready.”

“Hmm. What did you make of the rice husks on his robe and”–Akitada bent over the body and pointed at the mass of torn flesh and bone that had been a face—”in those wounds?”

“What? Ah. Wouldn’t worry about ‘em. Look at his rags. He’s slept in all sorts of dirt.”

Akitada glanced at the coroner’s stained gown, but made no comment. He lifted the hem of the victim’s ragged robe and looked at the thin legs and thighs. They were as pale-skinned and flabby as the frail arms. Stepping back, he gave the coroner a thoughtful look and said, “I think perhaps we’ll dispense with your services in this instance. Hitomaro, send a constable for Dr. Oyoshi! And tell him it’s urgent!”

“What?” The coroner swelled with outrage and his robe parted again. “This is my duty,” he shouted. “Oyoshi’s a mere pharmashist. You can’t put a pill roller on important judish . .. legal matters like this! Why, he could comprom ... ruin the whole case!”

Akitada eyed him coldly. “You are insubordinate. In fact, I believe you are drunk on duty. Consider yourself dismissed.”

The coroner opened his mouth to argue, but Hitomaro took him by the arm and marched him out the door. When he returned, he said, “I think the fellow was drunk when he was at the Golden Carp. We both smelled wine on his breath as he passed us.”

Akitada was bent over the body. “I would not be surprised,” he muttered. Straightening up, he added, “Still, a slit throat is fairly simple to identify as cause of death. This, on the other hand, is no vagrant. With that pale skin on his arms and legs, he has spent his life indoors, and fully clothed. The muscles are also underdeveloped. An itinerant monk does a lot of walking. He should have muscles in those shanks.”

“Yes, I see. What about the rice husks?” Hitomaro asked.

“The body was kept somewhere where rice was being threshed.”

“Maybe he slept in a granary.”

“If so, he was probably killed there. The husks have stuck to the lacerated flesh of his face. But there was really very little bleeding from those wounds, don’t you think?”

Hitomaro frowned and scratched his head. “If he’s no vagrant monk, then those are not his clothes. And if the killers changed his clothes after death, there wouldn’t be much blood on them.”

“Yes, you’re quite right, but that still does not explain ... Ah, there you are already!” Dr. Oyoshi had entered and was bowing politely. “You are more than prompt, my dear Doctor.”

“I happened to be passing the tribunal on my way home from a patient, Excellency. I trust you are fully recovered?”

“Yes.” Akitada smiled at the ugly little man. “I’m much obliged to you for your medicine. Both my wife and my secretary are knowledgeable about herbal remedies and most curious about the ingredients. My wife used to have a fine garden and raised many medicinal plants at her home in the capital. Now she wishes to learn about the medicines of this region.”

“I shall write out the recipe for her, but I’m afraid some of the ingredients come from plants which grow only in remote mountain regions.” Oyoshi cast a curious glance at the body on the table. “How may I serve you today?”

“As coroner. I just dismissed the incompetent sot who held that office.”

Oyoshi bowed. “Thank you for your confidence, but I must warn you that Yasakichi has powerful friends. He was appointed by the high constable.”

“I need competence, not influence. Have a look and tell me what you think.”

Oyoshi set down his case and rolled up his sleeves. He stared at the wounds on the face and the stumps of the arms and legs, and shook his head. Reaching into his case, he took out a set of pincers and a sheet of paper, on which he carefully placed tiny bits of debris from the wounds. Next he checked the man’s rags, even feeling and smelling them.

When he was done, he looked up at Akitada. “Would you like a preliminary report now before I remove the clothing and wash the body?”

“If you please.”

“This man was about fifty years old and in poor health. In fact,” he said with a puzzled frown, “there is something oddly familiar about him. His head is shaven, so I assume he is a monk. Perhaps he belongs to our temple and I have had occasion to treat him in the past. But I don’t think the clothes are his. They are too large and too dirty, for one thing, whereas the body seems quite clean. The wounds to his face and the mutilations were inflicted several hours after death. I cannot speak to the cause or time of death until I have made a more thorough study, and it is possible that the mutilation will make a definite diagnosis impossible.”

“How do you know he was already dead when this was done to him, Doctor?” Hitomaro asked.

“There’s hardly any blood in the wounds, Lieutenant. A dead man does not bleed. Most likely the mutilation happened in a place where rice is threshed or stored. There are husks in the wounds.”

Hitomaro glanced at Akitada and was about to say something, but at that moment a loud clanging came from the tribunal gate.

“It’s that bell again!” Akitada said. “And to think that only a short while ago I complained about a lack of official business.” He told Oyoshi, “I must go. Please continue your examination. Later Hitomaro will show you another body. You may report when you have finished with both.”

Oyoshi raised his brows, but said nothing and bowed.

Outside, Akitada and Hitomaro found a small group of people standing in the main courtyard. More people pressed curiously forward at the gate. The armed constables made a halfhearted effort to hold them back, while carrying on an exchange of crude jokes. The courtyard group stood around a stocky man who wore only a stained shirt and loincloth. A powerful odor of fish emanated from him.

Sergeant Chobei detached himself from the group and greeted Akitada with a grin. “This man has a complaint, Excellency,” he announced loudly. “A local fishmonger, name of Goto. His shop’s at the western end of the market.”

Goto spat, stuck out his chest, and glanced around importantly. He said in a belligerent tone, “I want to see that dead man.”

“Why?” Akitada looked the fishmonger and his supporters over. They appeared the type that scraped by with a minimum of work and a maximum of resentment for authority. As a rule they proved too cowardly to cause real trouble.

“My brother’s missing and I’m thinking it may be him,” the fishmonger said. “And if it’s Ogai, you’ve got to arrest that bastard Kimura for his murder.” He looked at his companions, who muttered in agreement.

Akitada frowned but decided not to make an issue of the man’s disrespectful manner. “Is your brother a monk?”

“A monk? Not Ogai!” Goto and his companions burst into raucous laughter.

Akitada was about to send them away, when Goto said, “Ogai’s a soldier. On leave from the garrison.”

Akitada considered this. A soldier? True, not only monks shaved their heads. Soldiers did also, to prevent lice, a common plague in close barracks quarters.

“Come on then. Just you.” Akitada strode off toward the jail, Hitomaro following.

In the jail cell, Dr. Oyoshi was just sponging the nude body. “Oh,” he said, “you’re back already.” His eyes fell on Goto. “Is there a problem?”

“No. Just a matter of identification. Well, man? Is it your brother?”

The fishmonger peered, turned green, and slunk back, nodding. “Yes, that’s him. P-poor Ogai! That bastard Kimura did that to him! It’s terrible!” He wiped his eyes with filthy hands.

“Come outside. Hitomaro, a cup of water.”

In the yard, the fishmonger took some deep breaths and drank. “Thanks,” he said. “Made me sick, to see that. Ogai’s been the best brother a man ever had. We were as close as a snail and his house, Ogai and me. But him and that Kimura—” He shook a fist. “May a hundred demons tear out his guts and scatter them on the mountaintops. They got into a fight over a dice game. Kimura said he’d kill him and he did. I can show your constables where Kimura lives so they can arrest him.”

“When was that quarrel?” Akitada asked.

“Two weeks ago, and the very next day Ogai was gone. The garrison says he never signed in. They came to arrest him for desertion and searched my house and asked the neighbors questions. Only nobody’s seen him.” He jerked his head toward his companions. “They’ll tell you.”

“No doubt,” Akitada said dryly. “Why did you not report your brother’s disappearance earlier?”

Goto looked down at his bare feet. “Ogai was home on leave. I thought he’d just gone on a little trip before going back. But then the soldiers came for him and I got worried. Then I heard about the body at the tribunal gate...Holy Buddha! What that animal did to my poor brother!”

“Hmm. How did you recognize him? Any special marks?”

The man shook his head. “No, but I’d know my brother anywhere.”

Akitada regarded the man through narrowed eyes. “How old was your brother?”

Goto suddenly looked nervous. “Thirty-five. But-he looked older.”

“I see. We will investigate your charge. Give my lieutenant the particulars.”

“You’ll arrest Kimura today?”

“You will be notified when your case comes up.”

The fishmonger began to look belligerent again. “I won’t be put off because I’m a poor man and Ogai’s just a soldier.”

“Come along!” Hitomaro growled, giving him a shove toward the main courtyard.

“Excellency?” Oyoshi met Akitada at the door of the jail. “Did that fellow say his brother was in his thirties and a soldier?”

“Yes. He was lying, I’m afraid.”

“Even aside from the fact that the poor man in there never did any physical work, he must have been at least fifty years old. His shaven crown made me think he was a monk.”

“I know. Soldiers shave their heads sometimes, but I suspect his deceitful identification was part of a plot to discredit me. No doubt once we arrest this Kimura and charge him, someone will produce the brother, hale and hearty. They’ll have a good laugh and Kimura will charge me with false arrest.”

“Ah!” Oyoshi nodded. “I was afraid there was something brewing in town. You may wonder that I did not warn you, but I am not universally trusted, in spite of my professional repute.”

“I see. Well, as my coroner you may well find yourself completely ostracized. If you would prefer not to serve, I understand.”

Oyoshi smiled a little sadly. “Not at all, Excellency. I was surprised and honored by your confidence. And,” he added, pointing to the corpse inside the cell, “my professional curiosity is aroused. There is something odd about that one.”

“Good!” Akitada said briskly. “But if the rest of your examination can wait a little, I think I would like your opinion on the other body first.”

“Of course.”

Tora and Hitomaro had put the dead Uesugi servant in the armory. This building, like the granary, was empty of its customary contents. The old man’s body lay on the floor, covered with a straw mat. Akitada pulled the mat back.

Oyoshi sucked in his breath. “Hideo! What happened to him?” He fell to his knees beside the body. “Oh, dear. Does the boy know?”

“No. The youngster asked me to find his grandfather after the funeral yesterday, but Kaibara took the child away before I could ask questions. I remembered hearing a cry when I was in the west gallery during the banquet, so we went to Takata and had a look. The body was at the foot of the cliff below the north pavilion. I expect Uesugi will claim it was a suicide.”

Oyoshi shook his head. “Hideo would never commit suicide. He dotes on his little grandson. Excuse me.” He made a quick but thorough examination. When he was done, he rose.

“Poor Hideo,” he murmured. “He died from the fall all right. Most of his bones are broken. But the injuries to the face suggest that he was beaten shortly—very shortly—before his death. I regret that there is no physical evidence of murder, but I would stake my life on it that it was not suicide.”

Akitada nodded. “Thank you. It is as I thought. Please put your findings about both bodies in separate reports. I shall call you during this afternoon’s hearing.”

When they returned to the main courtyard, the fishmonger and his friends had gone, but Tora was back. He was talking to Hitomaro. They came up quickly, and Hitomaro said, “We’d like to follow that fellow Goto.”

“What is on your minds?”

Tora said, “Hito thinks that bastard was lying.”

Hitomaro explained, “That dead man’s never been a soldier. And if Goto lied about the corpse, it follows that he’s in on the plot, sir. He’ll lead us to the person who composed the note.”

“Possibly, but I doubt it,” Akitada said. “He arrived here rather late for that. Perhaps he just took advantage of the incident for his own purposes. But you had better go to the garrison and ask some questions about this Ogai. I can manage with Tora for the hearing this afternoon.”

♦

Akitada was nervous about the hearing, his first official public duty. That in itself was miserable enough for a man who hated to attract attention to himself. But in this case, he also had to make a good impression in order to sway the local people to his side. He quaked at the thought of all those eyes on him, all those ears primed to catch him in some error of procedure or slip of the tongue. He had to remind himself of his duty, of his oath to serve the emperor to the best of his ability, of his education and training, of his good intentions.

At the sound of the great gong, he rose from behind his desk, straightened his dark blue court robe, adjusted his black cap of stiffened gauze, and put the flat wooden baton of office in his belt. Assuming what he hoped was a dignified mien, he walked down the corridor. A hum of voices greeted him when he stepped around the screen and onto the dais at the north end of the tribunal hall.

People filled the dim space to capacity, pushing, pressing, simmering with excitement, barely subdued by a pitifully small number of constables placed strategically around the room. Tora stood to his left, keeping an eye on things. His full suit of armor had been polished till it gleamed in the light of the candles and torches.

Akitada looked into the sullen or angry or merely avid faces of the citizens of Naoetsu and considered the irony of having wished for a modest turnout only yesterday. Now he had to contend with a hostile multitude.

He turned his mind to the task ahead. Best to forget about impressing these people with the sacred power of justice and concentrate on business. Announce the discovery of two new bodies and then deal with the innkeeper’s murder quickly before someone had time to start trouble.

Tora bellowed, “His Excellency, the governor. Bow!” Akitada watched as over a hundred men and women went down onto their hands and knees before him and put their foreheads on the floor.

The view of so many bent backs overwhelmed him. Shivering from the chill air and nerves, he arranged his face in an impassive mask and seated himself quickly on the cushion in the center of the dais, glancing first to his immediate left, where Hamaya and his assistants knelt behind three identical low desks with paper and writing implements, and then to his right, where Seimei, his own secretary, presided over the official seal and judicial mandates.

At Akitada’s nod, Seimei began the reading of the Imperial Directive, composed more than three hundred years ago. It empowered the governor of a province to hear and decide difficult legal cases. As a young student at the university, Akitada had had to memorize this text, but today the beauty and propriety of the August Words struck him most forcibly.

A wide gulf separates the throne from the people, but a diligent governor is the bridge between them.

Let him ascertain and verify guilt, redress wrongs, discern lies, reveal evil, and disclose secret plots like a good physician who probes the body for the nature of the disease in order to heal the patient.

Let him be virtuous in pronouncing judgment on the guilty and showing compassion to the innocent, acting at all times like a father to his people.

How great then will be his happiness in having the respect of his people!

Seimei rolled up the document and reverently raised it above his head. The bent backs let out their breaths, and sat up. Akitada looked for respect in their faces and found none.

He tapped his wooden baton on the floor and announced, “The bodies of two men were brought to this tribunal during the night. An investigation into the manner of their deaths has begun. I will now hear the reports.”

Tora brought Kaoru before the dais. The young woodcutter knelt, gave his name, and told of finding the body of the Uesugi servant: “I spent the day in the woods behind Takata manor, gathering fallen limbs for sale in the city, when my dog found a dead man in the snow. When I brushed the snow away, I recognized Hideo, who served the late lord of Takata. It being the day of the old lord’s funeral, I thought it best not to disturb the family and to bring the body to the tribunal instead.”

Akitada nodded and dismissed him.” Tora stepped forward again and stated, “This morning the constable who opens the tribunal gate noticed something by the gatehouse and pointed it out to me. I investigated. It was the mutilated corpse of a middle-aged man. Subsequent identification by the fishmonger Goto says that the corpse may be that of his brother Ogai, a soldier.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Has the coroner checked the causes for these deaths?”

“Yes, sir. Dr. Oyoshi is waiting to report.”

When Oyoshi stepped forward, there was a murmur of astonishment from the crowd. Sergeant Chobei turned to stare at the new coroner with an expression of profound shock.

Oyoshi knelt. “This person is the pharmacist Oyoshi, coroner of this tribunal by order of his Excellency, the governor. I was called to the tribunal early this morning to inspect the corpse of a middle-aged male. His hands and feet had been severed and were missing and his face was badly damaged by a beating with a heavy blunt weapon. The cause of death may have been disease, possibly due to exposure and neglect, or from his wounds. Death occurred at least a day and two nights ago, and the mutilations were inflicted several hours later, possibly to hide a fatal wound.”

Again there was a murmuring from the crowd, and Akitada rapped his baton. “The case will be investigated since there is a suspicion of murder. Continue!”

“The second man was much older. I immediately recognized him as Lord Maro’s personal attendant Hideo. Death was due to multiple and severe injuries to the whole body. I am told the body was found near the foot of the cliff at Takata manor. The injuries are perfectly compatible with a fall from that height. Hideo had been dead for more than two days.”

The doctor paused and looked at Akitada for instructions. Receiving a nod, he continued, “I have to report that, in addition to those injuries caused by the fall, the body also showed evidence of a beating about the face and head. These injuries were inflicted before death.”

A buzz of interest rose in the crowd.

Akitada said, “Thank you, Dr. Oyoshi. This case will also remain under investigation.” He paused briefly to gauge the mood of the audience. In vain. Taking a deep breath, he announced, “I shall now hear new evidence in the murder of the local innkeeper Sato.”

A hush fell in the hall. Then the crowd parted to allow a veiled woman and two elderly people to approach the dais. With a sinking feeling, Akitada saw that Mrs. Sato and her parents had arrived. The widow wore modest hemp instead of silk on this occasion. He decided against calling her to testify before this hostile crowd. Ignoring her presence, he continued.

“I have studied the documents in the case carefully. Certain statements of the three suspects were left unverified, an oversight which had to be corrected before the case could be heard. Now witnesses have stepped forward to support parts of the prisoners’ stories. That development, taken together with the fact that only two of the men have confessed and both have since recanted, could mean that the murder was committed by someone else.”