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

Akitada, with the certainty of conviction, said, “He looked deranged. I think he got in and attacked Tomoe.” Masahira shook his head, but Akitada added quickly, “Perhaps she caught him stealing. He could have picked up something and knocked her out.” Looking around the room, he pounced on an iron candlestick, examined it and put it back, disappointed. Next he picked up the heavy silver mirror. “Yes,” he cried. “I see a dent here and...” He dashed out into the sunlight with it, squinting at the rim.

“There!” he shouted triumphantly. “Do you see it? That is a bit of blood and a long hair is stuck to it. This was used to knock her out. Now do you believe me?”

Masahira came to look and nodded. “Yes,” he said sadly. “You must be right, but the man has always been quite gentle. He has never hurt a living thing. He is not very bright and sells talismans that the other monks inscribe with spells against demons.”

“Of course,” cried Akitada. “Fox magic. He knocked at the door, and when Tomoe opened it, he offered her one of his charms. I suppose they are those wooden tablets he had around his neck. Then he saw all these fine things and no one to watch them but a young, delicate lady. He helped himself, and when Tomoe protested, they struggled and he hit her with the mirror. He thought she was dead and decided to hide the body in the pond.”

Masahira frowned. “Could not someone else...”

“No, no. It all fits,” cried Akitada, rushing out. “Let us go back and tell the police.”

When they reached the police building, the sergeant was talking to Okamoto Toson, who had finally come to report his daughter missing, and had ended up identifying Tomoe’s body.

An uncomfortable scene ensued.

Okamoto’s eyes went from Akitada to Lord Masahira. He recognized him instantly and prostrated himself. Masahira went to help him up, whispering something in his ear. Okamoto stiffened, then nodded. Masahira turned back to Akitada, saying in a tight voice, “Perhaps it will be best if you leave things to me now.”

Akitada looked at Okamoto. The old man was very pale, but he nodded. “Lord Masahira is right. You have done your part and quickly, too. If you will excuse me now and allow me some time to mourn and bury my child, I shall reward your efforts in a day or two.”

Akitada flushed with embarrassment. He stammered that nothing was owed, that he was sorry to have brought no better news, and left as quickly as he could.

He slept poorly that night. Something kept nagging at him. When he finally fell asleep, he dreamt of foxes. At one point the vixen appeared on the fallen pine. She raised herself on her hind legs and paraded back and forth, dragging her tail behind like the skirts of a long robe, making a strange snickering noise. Then the fox’s black eyes and pointed muzzle changed into the sharp features of Lady Chujo, who laughed, baring her fangs. He sat bolt upright, staring at the stripes made by the sunlight falling through the closed shutters of his room.

Stripes... lines... the thin red line on Tomoe’s neck... the monk selling amulets... charms against fox spirits. Of course. The frightened Tomoe had bought one, and she had worn it before her death. Someone, the murderer, had tom it off her and had caused the red line on her neck.

Amulets! Lady Chujo had mentioned Tomoe’s reliance on amulets. How had she known?

Akitada threw on his clothes and ran to police headquarters.

A yawning sergeant was just sitting down when Akitada burst into the office.

“That monk,” cried Akitada. “Did you arrest him?”

The sergeant’s mouth fell open again. He nodded.

“What did he say? Did he visit the girl?”

The sergeant nodded again.

“Well?”

The sergeant closed his mouth and sighed. “It’s too early,” he said reprovingly, “for so many questions, sir. However, the man absolutely denies killing the girl. He sold her a charm, that’s all, he says. Of course we can still beat him and get a confession that way, but Lord Masahira has asked us not to.”

Thank God for Masahira, thought Akitada. He, Akitada, had made a terrible mistake. He asked, “Did he say when he sold her the charm?”

“Yes. The day before we found her.” The sergeant shook his head. “It didn’t do her much good.”

“The monk is innocent. You must let him go.”

The sergeant raised his brows. “On whose say-so?”

Akitada’s spirits sank. He knew now who the killer was, but he would never prove it. No doubt the poor monk would be beaten into some form of confession and condemned to forced labor at some distant frontier. And all of it was Akitada’s fault. He had been wrong about the identity of the murderer three times. He had lost his job, failed Okamoto and Tomoe, and added the burden of guilt to his other miseries.

He went to see Lord Masahira.

Recalling too late that it was the emperor’s birthday, Akitada fully expected to be turned away. Instead he was admitted instantly to face who knew what additional disaster.