There it was, a dainty dark brown mark, no bigger than an orange seed. According to her sister, it had worried her, but Akitada thought it most beautiful, this small imperfection in the otherwise perfect face of the girl Tomoe.
“Oh!” he murmured, overcome with pity and regret. The puzzle had turned into something far more real that touched him deeply.
The thin red line widened and deepened just below the ear but did not continue around her neck. It was recent. Whatever had caused it had not been strangulation, though something might have been put around her neck and then jerked backward.
“What is it?” asked the sergeant. “Anything out of the ordinary?”
She was everything out of the ordinary to Akitada’s mind, but he asked, “Did she have anything around her neck?”
“No. Well, was it suicide or what?”
“What makes you think it was suicide?”
“My boss told me it was. He said she left a letter or something before drowning herself.”
Akitada sighed. It was too likely that Tomoe had written a tragic love letter. If Masahira was the lover, he was beyond her reach. He looked at the lovely, silent face before him. A young romantic girl would have found the noble captain irresistible. Masahira was in his late thirties and one of the handsomest men at court. All the empress’s ladies in waiting were said to be in love with him. For all that, Masahira had had an excellent reputation up to now. Married to a daughter of the chancellor, he had never been rumored to have affairs or even flirtations. If he was indeed the man, she must have seen him at one of the wrestling contests held in the palace. He would be in attendance, riding at the head of the imperial guard, resplendent in golden armor shining in the sunlight and seated on a prancing steed.
“Well?” urged the sergeant. “Shouldn’t you take off her clothes?”
Akitada recoiled from the suggestion. Instead he gently opened her lips and felt inside. He pulled out a fragment of a water plant and some wet dirt. “She drowned,” he told the sergeant. “The fact that she swallowed water mixed with vegetation and pond mud proves that she was alive when she fell in.”
“Ah,” nodded the sergeant. “I shall put it in my report.”
Akitada turned her head and felt the skull, moving the wet hair aside from the skin. On her left temple he found a bruise, slightly swollen and discolored. Her hair had become glued to the scalp and as he pulled it loose the tips of his fingers came away red.
The sergeant peered. “Must’ve banged her head when she went in.”
Akitada looked up. “Not if she committed suicide. She would have walked into the water. Unless she jumped from a high place and hit some obstruction. Where was she found?”
“She didn’t jump. It was just a murky garden pond frill of frogs.”
Frogs! Akitada was momentarily distracted by the memory of the poem. He asked, “Was the water deep?”
“No. It only came to my hips.”
Akitada looked at the sergeant. “Would you drown yourself in that? Where was this place?”
“Small villa in the western part. You know how things are over there. It’s pretty much deserted. She was staying by herself. Not even a servant. If you ask me, it was your typical love nest.”
“Whose house?”
The sergeant cast up his eyes and grinned. “Ah! Your guess is as good as mine. The chief says it’s immaterial. She committed suicide. Case closed.”
“But what about her family?”
“Well post a notice. If anybody missed her, they can claim the body.” The sergeant looked worried suddenly. “It is suicide, isn’t it? Of... an accident?”
“You mean, could she have run into something with her head and fallen in the water? I don’t know. You’ll have to show me the place.”
The sergeant frowned. “Aren’t you going to look at the rest of her?”
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.