It had been a long day, but he felt restless. Something had changed. Somehow, without his volition, his thoughts had turned from the boy to the tangled puzzle surrounding the dead Peony. He could not get a clear image of the woman. Was she a scheming and vengeful beauty who had killed her lover out of pique – or a helpless young woman who had loved a man above herself?
Back in his room, he called for more light and pored over Inabe’s notes. Again he scrutinized the pages, the dates, the entries carefully. This time, it seemed to him that the last entry before the break did not follow the system Inabe had established. Inabe normally identified his patients by gender, age, and complaint. Next he rendered his diagnosis and noted his treatment. Then he would leave a space, and at a later time – and with different ink – there would be a comment about the outcome. For some cases there were several visits and different prescriptions, but always an outcome would follow in the end.
Except for the last case before the break. The patient, a ten-year-old girl, had suffered from a fever, and over a period of two days Inabe’s herbal teas had failed to stop the fever. But he had never indicated if the child survived or died.
Surely that must mean that a page, or several, had been removed. And equally certainly they had dealt with young Masuda’s illness and death. But who had removed them? The doctor himself? Or his killer? The studio had not been sealed or guarded after the murder, and as Akitada had noted, the servant was not watching the place as the warden had assumed. Anyone could have taken the pages.
But whoever had removed them had been careful not to leave traces. The stitching was still quite tight. Akitada pursed his lips. Then he carefully tugged off the last sheet of blank paper. It ripped cleanly where it had been stitched. When he held it up against the light, he saw that next to the rips were old pin holes. The notebook had been taken apart and then sewn together again, and the new stitches had not quite met the old pin holes.
He sat back and considered this. The process of removing pages and then painstakingly re-sewing the rest seemed to him not the work of a man who had just committed a murder. It was totally out of character for the person who had bludgeoned the doctor and kicked a wounded crow to death. Neither was it likely that this person, or an accomplice, had returned later to do such time-consuming work. In that case, the whole notebook would have been taken. Therefore Inabe himself must have removed the pages.
The simplest answer to the ‘why’ was that something had been wrong about the young man’s death and that Inabe had been at least partially responsible. It might explain that note next to the entry about Peony’s drowning: ‘There is no end to my guilt.’ Inabe must have assumed, with the maid, that Peony had committed suicide after struggling hopelessly for another year after the young man’s death. Poison is readily available to a doctor, but would a man who tended so lovingly to birds kill a patient? And what was his motive? It made no sense.
Akitada sighed, blew out the candle, and went to sleep.
The next morning when he went to see the warden he found him with a youngish man who was short and corpulent and wore a mournful expression. His slightly flashy green-checked robe, black hat, and boots made Akitada think of a traveling peddler.
‘This is fortunate, sir,’ Warden Takechi said. ‘Mr Usuki here is the doctor’s nephew. He’s come to make the arrangements.’ He turned to the nephew. ‘Lord Sugawara is kindly taking an interest in your uncle’s murder. Perhaps he has some news for us.’
Mr Usuki bowed deeply, but the small, watchful eyes were suspicious. ‘Deeply honored,’ he murmured.
‘I have very little news, I’m afraid,’ Akitada said, seating himself. He expressed his condolences to the nephew, who became more mournful.
Akitada brought out the notebook, showed them the missing section, and explained his theory that Inabe had removed the pages himself. ‘Both Lord Masuda’s personal attendant and Lady Kohime attest to the close friendship between Dr Inabe and Lord Masuda. And as they accuse Peony of having poisoned young Masuda, I cannot help feeling that the doctor’s death is somehow connected with hers.’
The nephew, his eyes intent, leaned forward to hear better.
But Takechi did not like Akitada’s theories. ‘I don’t see it,’ he said. ‘To be sure, the Masudas took the young lord’s death hard and had their reasons to dislike the young woman, but that doesn’t mean they were right.’
‘It gave them a motive to kill her.’
The warden shot a glance at Inabe’s nephew, who was following the conversation avidly, and said quite sharply, ‘We’ve been over that, sir. Unless Dr Inabe lied, the woman drowned, and Dr Inabe wouldn’t lie.’
Akitada persisted. ‘I don’t think the drowning was natural. I believe someone put her in the lake and held her under. And by the way, when I informed Lady Masuda of Dr. Inabe’s death, she expressed no surprise whatsoever.’
The warden threw up his hands. ‘It means nothing. She’s not very emotional.’
Usuki could not contain himself any longer. ‘Forgive me, do I understand that His Lordship suspects the Masuda family had something to do with my uncle’s murder?’
‘No,’ the warden cried. ‘Not at all. His Lordship has been working on a different case altogether. There’s no connection between that and your uncle’s death.’
Akitada met Usuki’s sly eyes and bit his lip. This was awkward. The doctor’s servant had called the nephew greedy and selfish. Faced with a nearly worthless inheritance, he might well smell a chance to collect damages from the wealthy Masudas. ‘Warden Takechi is right,’ he said, ‘I was merely sharing some random thoughts on separate investigations.’ He glanced at the warden, who was still upset. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been very helpful in the Inabe case. I came to tell you that I have to return to the capital today.’
The warden said quickly, ‘Of course. It was very good of you to look at the doctor’s papers for me. It hasn’t helped to find his killer, but it saved us some time.’ He rose.
Akitada suppressed a smile at the somewhat ungracious thanks and got up, but then he remembered the scroll. ‘Oh,’ he said to the nephew, ‘I borrowed your uncle’s scroll of bird drawings. They are quite charming.’ He took it from his sleeve and showed Usuki the pictures of the crow. ‘Your uncle was tending this wounded bird when he died. I wonder if I might borrow this for a few days?’
The nephew looked bored. ‘Keep it, sir. It’s of no use to anyone. Uncle was eccentric about those birds. It was a worry to me. We argued about it last time I saw him. I’d just as soon not be reminded. He’s turned the whole place into bird land. Of course, since he’d fallen into the habit of treating everyone for free and giving his money away, I really shouldn’t expect common sense.’ A look of cunning crossed his face. ‘I’ve come to make funeral arrangements and settle his estate, but I doubt there’s enough to pay expenses. Shall we say that in exchange for the drawings, you’ll let me know if you discover who murdered poor uncle?’
‘Certainly,’ said Akitada, ‘but since the investigation will be in Warden Takechi’s hands, perhaps you will allow me to reimburse you now?’ As he fished in his sash, he remembered his confiscated funds. But Tamako would like the bird scroll. ‘Would two pieces of silver be fair?’
The man smiled with surprised pleasure. ‘Quite generous, My Lord. If you insist-’ His hand shot forward and grasped the coins eagerly.
The nephew’s views of his uncle’s lifestyle had made Akitada curious about another matter. ‘Tell me,’ he asked the two men, ‘was Dr Inabe’s changed behavior by any chance a sudden and recent thing?’
They exchanged looks. The warden said, ‘I first heard about it a year ago. People told me that he wasn’t charging them. And when I met him, he seemed different. Sort of quiet and… humble. He’d always been very energetic and self-confident, as most physicians are. I never could figure out what happened.’