‘Ah. Could you describe the scene?’
Fuhito thought a moment. ‘He was on his side near the desk. His face was in a puddle of blood. And his head – his head had wounds, one dreadful wound just there.’ Fuhito gestured to his right temple. ‘His arms were by his sides, and one leg was straight, the other bent at the knee.’
‘And where was he?’
Fuhito indicated a place halfway between the desk and the doors to the garden. ‘His feet were towards the doors.’
Akitada frowned, then went to the closed doors that must lead to a veranda. Opening these, he stepped out. The garden stretched before him. He saw that this spot was around a corner from the place where he had first seen Ono step from the shrubbery. The sound of women’s voices came from the other side of a bank of shrubs.
‘Were these doors open when you found your master? I recall it was a sunny day, and the doors of the waiting room were open to the garden.’
‘I believe one of the doors was slightly open. His Lordship usually kept them closed when he expected visitors, but it was a warm day.’
Akitada nodded and turned back to scan the room one more time. ‘Did you see anything that could have been used as weapon?’
Fuhito shook his head. ‘The police captain asked that. I was very shocked at the time and tried to bring him back to life, so I did not pay attention. Alas, I was too late. The police said he died from the wounds to his head.’
‘That means he must have been struck with something. Do you know if the police found the weapon that had been used?’
‘No, but I don’t think so.’
The wounds and their location suggested someone lashing out in a sudden fit of fury while facing Kiyowara. An unplanned act? Akitada thought of the son again. But what had he used? There was nothing that was both heavy enough and easily grasped and swung. But perhaps the murderer had come with a blunt tool, say a heavy cane, and taken it away after the murder. In that case he would have had murder on his mind. Alternatively, the weapon had been something he’d found here, used, and then carried away.
Fuhito had withdrawn into silent propriety again. All along, he had seemed too detached. Perhaps he was simply being careful not to give something away that might involve him or another.
Akitada asked, ‘Is anything missing from the room?’
Fuhito glanced around, frowned. ‘I don’t know, sir. It looks as it should. But I don’t always come here, and on the day of the murder I did not look at everything. I think I would have noticed something large, though.’
Akitada gestured to the outside. ‘A stranger could have entered Lord Kiyowara’s room from the garden and left that way.’
The major-domo said quickly, ‘No. The garden is walled. Strangers – and most of the servants – would have had to come through the house.’
‘Walls can be climbed.’ Akitada had once climbed such a wall in pursuit of a criminal.
Fuhito shook his head stubbornly. ‘Surely not in the daytime. Someone would have noticed from the outside. Allow me to show you.’
They made a thorough inspection of the walls that separated the garden from the entrance courtyard and the stable area on one side and the streets on the others. They were high and in excellent repair. A gate to the stable enclosure was barred from the inside.
‘I admit the gardeners myself and close it again after they have finished,’ Fuhito explained. ‘They had finished that day.’
‘What about gates to the street in the back of the compound?’
‘Also locked and rarely opened. I have the keys.’
So much security seemed too good to be true. Akitada regarded the major-domo with a frown. ‘And there has never been a single instance of someone getting in without your knowledge?’
Fuhito paled slightly. ‘Never. The rules in this household are quite strict. None of the servants would disobey them. And they are therefore very watchful of anyone who does.’
Akitada was not sure of this, but changed to another subject. ‘Which family members are currently in residence?’
‘Her Ladyship and the young lord. Her Ladyship’s cousin. No one else.’
‘What about the other wives? I take it that Lord Kiyowara had secondary wives and also other children.’
‘Two other ladies. And five smaller children: two boys and three girls. All of them remain in the country.’
‘Isn’t that unusual?’
‘Not at all, sir. The children are small, and neither of the ladies have family in the capital.’
Unlike the first lady. Yes, it made sense. Still, it limited the options. A jealous wife might well have attacked her husband. Women could be quite vicious when they felt themselves slighted. But Lady Kiyowara was small. Could she have delivered such blows? It was barely possible, given the right sort of weapon. Akitada sighed and started off towards the building beyond the shrubbery.
Fuhito hurried after him. ‘That path leads to the women’s quarters, sir,’ he cried.
Akitada stopped. ‘I thought Her Ladyship had instructed you to give me access to all parts of the property?’
Fuhito glanced towards the roof of the distant pavilion and bit his lip. ‘Perhaps I had better go ahead and announce you.’
‘Very well.’ The ladies might be in a state of undress on a hot day like this and have their doors open to the garden. Akitada twitched his shoulders where his own robe was sticking to his skin and thought of Tamako, doubly miserable at this time of year.
Fuhito disappeared into the shrubbery just about where Ono had emerged the other day. The poet’s relationship with Kiyowara’s wife was surely dubious. Had Kiyowara really been so tolerant of another man’s comings and goings?
Akitada wandered along the small stream where Ono had paused to recite his verses. The water was very clear and flowed over smooth river stones that must have been gathered in the mountains, because none so large and smooth were available in the capital. It seemed to him, as he looked around him, that access to Kiyowara’s room had been easy and would have been unobserved. No one would be in the gardens around the main house unless the gardeners were at their supervised chores. The verandas would have been empty in the midday heat.
The waiting room was around a corner from Kiyowara’s room. Each shared a view of part of the winding stream and of the more distant roofs of the women’s pavilions, but from the waiting room it was impossible to see Kiyowara’s room or his veranda or that part of the garden.
The sun blazed down out of the cloudless sky, and Akitada moved into the shade of a catalpa tree. There he stood, raising his eyes to the far blue mountains in the north. They looked hazy through the shimmering heat that covered the capital on this scorching summer day. Far above him in the sky, a hawk circled slowly. He smiled at the notion that it, too, was searching for prey.
Gravel crunched, and Fuhito reappeared.
‘Her Ladyship wishes to speak with you, sir,’ he announced.
He sounded and looked disapproving. It was understandable. This was a house where mourning had been disrupted by police searching for a murderer, and now strange men were being admitted to the women’s quarters. All he had expected was a glimpse of the layout of the grounds.
Akitada followed him through a small thicket of shrubs, trees, and tall grasses, along an overgrown path that might well give a husband romantic notions of seeking out a new beauty in her hidden and derelict house. He was shortly disabused of such thoughts. Lady Kiyowara’s pavilion was large and ornate with red-lacquered railings and banisters. Several maids, their many-layered silk dresses now covered with hempen jackets, had stepped on the veranda to watch their approach. They seemed astonishingly unattractive or elderly. Perhaps this suited their mistress’s vanity.
When Fuhito clapped his hands, they scattered.
Lady Kiyowara’s room was most luxurious. She was seated, surrounded by several folding screens painted with flowers nodding against a background of gold. As before, she wore little paint on her face – just a dusting of
