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?”
Hitomaro shook his head toevery question. He frowned, seemed to make an effort to think. “She asked a lotof questions about the murder investigation. But she also asked otherquestions, once about the judge.” His voice turned bitter. “I was the last manshe would have confided in. She used me to get information.” His eyes met Akitada’s for a moment. “Let it go, sir. This way she cannot make any moretrouble. If you start looking for her killer, the enemy will take other action.Now it will just be seen as a lover’s quarrel.”
“And you will die for it. Eventhe most lenient court in the capital will balk at passing over a secondmurder.”
Hitomaro’s mouth quirked into aghost of a smile. “Do not worry so. I am done with life.”
“What?” With that angry shout,Akitada rose. “Well, then, go to jail, for I cannot save you from that, but donot think that your friends will rest while you submit to trial, sentence, andexecution because you are tired of living.” He strode to a clothes chest andthrew it open, rummaging until he found his quilted hunting robe, heavyleggings, and an old fur-lined cap. Hitomaro watched without comment as Akitadaput those on, snatched his sword from its stand, slung it over his shoulder,and then clapped his hands.
The constable peered in.
For so big and strong a man,Hitomaro looked oddly shrunken and helpless, sitting there slumped, his headbowed, and his broad hands resting limply on his knees.
“Take the lieutenant to thejail and lock him up,” snapped Akitada.
There was the usual crowd of ghouls when Akitada got off his horse in front of theOmeya house. Only Tora and Genba, both grim-faced, accompanied him. In hishurry, Akitada had dispensed with the usual runners, banner bearers, andscribes, but he was recognized nevertheless, and the people parted before himsilently.
Akitada glanced at them, thenlooked up and down the street, at the neighboring houses, and at the reargarden of the Fox Shrine across the road. When he had an idea of thesurroundings, he entered the Omeya house.
A thin girl with a grotesquelylarge head and thin, greasy hair twisted into a bun tried to fade into the wallof the hallway leading to the rear of the house. Behind her, steep steps led upto the second floor.
“You there!” Akitada called tothe girl. “Come here!”
She shook her head violentlyand turned to scramble up the steps with the agility of a monkey.
“Get her!” Akitada snapped toTora and walked into the first room. It was furnished as a reception room andempty. He continued down the corridor, opening doors and closing them again onunoccupied rooms. Upstairs he heard Tora’s pounding footsteps and the squealsof the girl.
At the end of the corridor aconstable suddenly appeared from one of the doors. “Out!” he shouted, wavingboth hands. “No one is allowed! How many times do I have to tell you bastards… ?” As Akitada stepped from the shadows, the constable fell abruptly silentand dropped to his knees. Akitada walked around him and into the room the manhad come from.
The murder scene was asHitomaro had described. Genba, who came in behind him, gasped audibly, thenwent to feel for a pulse behind the dead woman’s ear. A heavy, sweet smell ofblood mingled with an exotic blend of incense. The bloodied gown, which hadseemed like crimson satin to Hitomaro, was now a dark rust color, and thepuddle the woman lay in had partly congealed and partly soaked into the grassmat.
Akitada bent to undo theblood-soaked bandages Hitomaro had wrapped around the severed neck. Both neckand chest looked like a single massive wound, but the pale face and glossyblack hair were untouched and still achingly beautiful. Akitada stood lookingdown at the woman he had known as Mrs. Sato, but who had also been Hitomaro’sOfumi.
Tora walked in, dragging alongthe maidservant. “She won’t talk, sir. Doesn’t make a sound. Maybe the shockhas addled her brain.” He glanced at the body and whistled. “Merciful Amida! Ican see how it would.” He released the girl.
She scuttled into a corner,where she cowered on her knees and bobbed up and down in silent obeisance.
Akitada approached hercautiously. “Don’t be frightened, girl,” he said. “Nobody is going to harm you.”
She bobbed more violently.
“Stop that!” Akitada ordered,stamping his foot. “Look at me!”
She became still and raisedsmall, anxious eyes to his face. Her bony, work-reddened hands hovered beforeher face and then touched her ears.
“Were you here during the day?”Akitada asked.
She only looked at him withwide, frightened eyes.
“Did you see anyone in thishouse after the midday rice?”
Still no answer.
“Were you here when this womanreturned? Speak, girl! You won’t be punished.”
“Sir?” Genba joined him. “Ithink she’s a deaf-mute. I’ve seen them make that sign with their hands. Youknow, pointing to their mouth and ears.”
“Good heavens, what next?” saidAkitada in disgust. “A witness who may have seen the killer and can’t speak.”
“She may read lips. Let me try,sir,” Genba offered and crouched down next to the girl.
Akitada turned away. The room’sluxury and good taste astonished him. Even the mat on which the body lay was atleast two inches thick and woven of the finest grass, its edges bound in purplebrocade. He bent to touch its surface. The mat was smooth, soft, and springyand must have cost a great deal. Around it stood curtain rails of paintedlacquer draped with robes embroidered in silk and gold threads with a design ofcherry blossoms, birds, and pine branches. The brazier, its coals barelyglimmering under a thick layer of ashes, was a finely chased bronze replica ofa pair of mandarin ducks, symbol of faithful lovers. The four clothing boxes ofgold-dusted lacquer, each decorated with symbols of the season-plum blossomsfor spring, wisteria for summer, chrysanthemums for autumn, and snow-coveredgrasses for winter-stood stacked against a wall. He flung them open one by one.Each contained a rich wardrobe of women’s robes for that time of year.