Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 44, No. 7 & 8, July/August 1999

Reluctantly Akitada checked the small hands, the dainty feet in their white silk socks. Both were unmarked except by muddy water. Then he straightened her clothes gingerly. The dampness made the silk cling to her skin, outlining high, small breasts, a narrow waist, and delicately rounded hips and thighs. In spite of himself Akitada felt the blood rise warmly to his face and looked away in self-disgust. Turning the body on its side, he found a long tear in the back of the outer gown. A sharp, thorny branch was caught in the hem, and the silk showed streaks of dirt and many small rips. “Did you or the constables drag the body on the ground?” he asked the sergeant.

“No. Two of us scooped her out of the water and laid her on the mat she’s on now. She weighed very little, even with all the water.”

Akitada gently laid Tomoe on her back again, plucking at the layers of silk until she looked more decently covered. Then he rose.

“I am afraid, sergeant, this young person was murdered.”

The sergeant turned first red, then white. “No,” he said urgently. “I can’t put that in my report. I don’t care what you think you saw, it can’t be murder. The chief said suicide.”

Akitada shook his head. “It’s murder,” he said stubbornly. “She was knocked unconscious and then dragged to the water and drowned. Now let us go to this villa and see what we can find out.”

The sergeant looked panic-stricken. “Are you mad? You shouldn’t even be here. Come on.” Taking Akitada’s arm, he pulled him out of the room and locked the door after them.

“Now,” he said as they were standing outside, “you’d better go home and forget all about this.”

Akitada gave him a long look.

“As you wish,” he said and walked away. The sergeant stood and watched him turn the corner, wondering belatedly what Akitada’s business had been.

Lord Masahira occupied his family mansion on the corner of Kitsuji and Nishidoin avenues. It was a large, generously staffed establishment, and Akitada had considerable difficulty being admitted. The man he was about to meet was a favorite with the emperor and related by marriage to the chancellor. That gave him the sort of power that would make even Soga grovel. No wonder the minister had dismissed Okamoto without the slightest encouragement. No wonder he’d used his influence to keep Masahira’s name out of the investigation. They were covering up a murder.

Akitada saw again the still face of the dead girl and the pain in her father’s eyes, and a hot anger against Masahira filled his heart. He had known at the police station that he could not tell Okamoto of his daughter’s murder without at least identifying her killer first. And Masahira was the most likely choice.

The handsome captain of the imperial guard was in a small garden enclosed by the walls of several buildings. He was sitting on the edge of the wooden verandah and had Akitada’s visiting card in his hand. Glancing up, he said, “You are Sugawara from the Ministry of Justice?”

Akitada bowed deeply. He knew he was in the presence of one of the first nobles of the land but was much too angry to prostrate himself. Considering the collusion between this man and the minister, he also did not feel obligated to go into long explanations of his status.

When he raised his head, he saw to his surprise that the man before him had red-rimmed eyes and looked as if he had not slept. Beside him, on the polished boards, stood an untouched tray of food.

“Well? What does Soga want?” Masahira asked curtly.

If the minister found out about this visit, he would see to it that Akitada never worked again in any imperial office. On the other hand, Masahira’s question proved that he had recently consulted Soga about Tomoe’s murder. Righteous disgust gave Akitada the strength to continue.

“I am here on behalf of Okamoto Toson,” he corrected Masahira. “He has asked for my unofficial assistance in locating his daughter Tomoe. Perhaps I should explain first that I have just come from police headquarters where I have seen the body of his unfortunate child.”

A slight flush appeared on Masahira’s pale face. “I see,” he said tonelessly. “Well? I was under the impression that the matter was being handled by Soga. Is it money the old man wants? How much? Come on! Let’s get it over with!”

Akitada stiffened, remembering the grief and worry of Okamoto. “It is not a matter of money, and the young woman’s father is not yet aware that she is dead,” he said coldly.

“Oh?” Masahira waited.

Heavens, did the man think this was a blackmail attempt? Akitada flushed with anger. “I shall of course report to him,” he said quickly, “but I came to you first because I hoped that you might wish to see him yourself to explain what happened.”

Masahira turned away. “No. You may tell Okamoto that I am responsible for what happened and that my life means nothing to me now. I am at his disposal if he desires to discuss the affair or avenge his honor.”