Kaoru was distraught. “You see,sir,” he tried to explain, “Umehara is the cook, and Takagi said it was his birthday today. So Okano offered to put on a little show. To celebrate Takagi’s birthday” When Akitada said nothing, Kaoru muttered, “I know it was against the rules, but we all thought the woman was asleep.”
“Did anyone leave the kitchen during your celebration?” Akitada asked tiredly.
A look of understanding flashedin Kaoru’s eyes. He paled, thought a moment, and said, “I cannot be certain. At one point, Okano wanted the lights out to do a lantern dance.”
Akitada turned to Oyoshi almost ferociously. “Well, Doctor? Was it suicide?”
Oyoshi winced. “Possibly,” he said.
“Are you just being mysteriousor is something wrong?” Akitada snapped.
Oyoshi seemed to shrink within himself. “What I meant is that one can hang oneself in just this manner with the help of a thin garment and a handy hook or bar.”
Akitada went to look at the knot, then turned abruptly to kneel by the dead woman. He checked her face and throat. “There is a small bruise here,” he said, pointing.
“When she dropped, her temple may have hit the door,” Oyoshi suggested.
Akitada measured the distance between the grate and the floor with his eyes. “She is very short. Were her feet touching the floor when you found her, Kaoru?”
“Not quite, sir.”
“Why didn’t she use that stool over there?”
There was no answer.
Akitada picked up the cut scarf. He recalled how proudly she had worn it and sighed. “Hand me that chain over there, Kaoru, and help me measure.” Between them, they straightened the body and measured it. Then they held the marked piece of chain against the door.Akitada nodded. “As I thought. She could not have reached high enough to tie that knot, which is in any case on the outside of the grate.” He looked atOyoshi. “Do you still think it likely that she committed suicide?”
Oyoshi regarded Akitada warily.“I thought it was possible.”
Akitada bent to spread the scarf over the dead woman’s distorted face. “I see,” he said. “Thank you.”
After a cursory meal of rice and pickled vegetables shared with Tamako who, after one glance at her husband’s face, refrained from making conversation, Akitada sat alone in his office, sipping lukewarm wine and glumly considering his situation. Someone had murdered the Omeya woman in his own jail. The murderer had come into the jail, called the prisoner to the door, reached through to strangle her, and then hanged her from the grate. It had taken remarkable nerve, but this person had taken such risks before. Hitomaro’s testimony against the widow was now useless, and Akitada had lost his gamble. Neither an orderly retreat after resigning his office nor precipitate flight was possible,even had he been able to resort to such shameful solutions.
At that moment in his ruminations, Hitomaro himself appeared. He walked in abruptly, accompanied by adazed-looking constable, and sat down across from Akitada without a greeting.
Akitada frowned at the constable. “You may wait outside,” he said, wondering what the man was doinghere. The constable hesitated just a fraction of a moment, then left and closed the door behind him.
Akitada’s first impression was that Hitomaro was ill. He was perfectly white, and his eyes met Akitada’s withthe blank fixity of a corpse’s stare. His voice, when he spoke, was flat andemotionless.
“She’s dead.”
Akitada jumped a little. “What?Who is dead? Are you feeling all right?”
One of Hitomaro’s hands moved slightly in a dismissive gesture. “Ofumi. The woman you know as Mrs.. Sato,” hesaid in the same remote manner.
Akitada’s eyes went from Hitomaro’s hand to his robe. There were dark splotches on the deep blue cotton.They spread across the chest and down the front. Hitomaro’s right sleeve wasstained all the way to the wrist. It dawned on Akitada that Hitomaro wore nosword. He controlled a wave of fear.
“Report.”
At first there was no answer.Then Hitomaro’s shoulders straightened. Looking past Akitada, he recited in the official manner, “I proceeded to Hisamatsu’s villa as ordered and found itdeserted. Making inquiries of the servant, I found out that Hisamatsu andChobei had left during the night, taking a pack horse with them. The servant claims he does not know where they went. I returned to the tribunal to make my report. When I heard from Tora what happened at the court session, I was seized by anger and shame that my foolish indiscretions should have warned Hisamatsu and compromised the case against the widow Sato. I immediately went to the Omeya house. She- the Sato woman was there.” He stopped and looked Akitada squarelyin the eyes. “I’m under arrest for her murder, sir. The constable brought me here.”
EIGHTEEN
THE BROKEN LUTE
Akitada found it nearly impossible to raise his eyes from the blood-soaked sleeve. “Hitomaro… ?” he began and faltered.
Hitomaro’s voice was abject and his tone oddly detached. “Forgive the trouble I have caused. You saved my life once, but I should have known it was forfeit. I’ll make it easy for you. Once a killer, always a killer, they’ll say.”
A furious anger seized Akitada,and his voice shook. “Make it easy for me? Like Tora, you mean? You think that will make it easy? Why did you do it? You had your life before you. The other time you killed to avenge your wife’s honor. And I… I thought I had found a man I could trust with my life, a friend, and I counted myself lucky. I would have done anything, faced anything in this godforsaken place to avoid this.” He struck the desk with both fists. “Why, Hitomaro?”
Hitomaro lowered his eyes and shook his head mutely.
“Did you think to save me by killing the woman?”
“I thought of it. Also becauseI was angry that she had lied to me and used me to get to you.”
Akitada put his face in his hands and groaned.
After a moment, Hitomaro continued in the same dreamy tone, “I was so angry I could’ve killed her,perhaps I would’ve killed her . . . but when I saw her, she looked asleep. Her head was turned away and I couldn’t see at first. She wore that white robe-she must have changed into it after she got back from the tribunal-and I thoughtshe was covered with a piece of crimson silk. Strange, I wanted to kill her,but I also felt desire. She was so beautiful. . . lying there.”
Slowly Akitada raised his face from his hands and stared at Hitomaro. “You did not do it? She was dead? When you found her, she was already dead?”
Hitomaro nodded very slowly.His eyes were unfocused, staring past Akitada as if at a memory indeliblyetched on his brain. “I could see what was wrong when I came closer,” he saidin the same terrifyingly detached voice. His right hand touched his neck. “Herhead was almost cut off. She was lying there in her own blood. It was stillflowing… and warm. It was her blood that had turned the white silk red.”
“Dear heaven.”
The toneless voice went on. “Idrew my sword and went to look for her killer. In every room. There was no onethere, not even the maid servant. Then I went back to her. I… I tried to holdher, but her head … I thought, perhaps she’s not quite dead. So I tried totie up the wound. I cut some of the fabric of her gown with my sword. That’swhen they found me. The maidservant and the constables.”
“But you did not kill her,”Akitada confirmed again, relief was hing over him like a warm spring shower.
Hitomaro shook his head mutely.
“Have you any idea who did?”
Hitomaro plucked at hisblood-soaked sleeve. The glazed look was still with him.
“Hitomaro.” Akitada leanedforward. “Think! We must find the killer to clear you. Anything may help. Didshe complain about anyone? Who were her friends? Was she worried aboutanything?”
