Flask of the Drunken Master (13 page)

“How long will you fast?” Father Mateo asked.

“For Chikao, until his funeral,” Mina said. “After that, I will fast on my own account.”

Father Mateo leaned forward slightly. “Why do you need to fast?”

Mina shifted the plate of rice balls toward her guests. “I intend to become a nun, after I finish mourning for my husband.”

“A nun?” Father Mateo looked surprised. His features softened with understanding. “Oh, a Buddhist nun. I apologize—my religion also allows for female nuns.”

“Really?” Mina asked. “And do the widows of your faith elect this path?”

“When God calls them,” Father Mateo said, “and, sometimes, when they have no other method of support.”

Hiro caught the not-so-subtle hint but didn’t mind.

“Sometimes Japanese widows also make this choice for economic reasons,” Mina said, “though I do not.”

“Forgive me,” the Jesuit said, “but you mentioned that the moneylenders wouldn’t give you loans…” He trailed off.

Hiro had hoped the priest would remember Mina’s comment about loans. A samurai could never ask, but Father Mateo’s status as a foreigner, and a priest, created an excuse for intrusive questions.

“Chikao and I attempted to obtain a loan to pay off Kaoru’s debts,” the woman said. “But the moneylender knows my son and wouldn’t take the risk. Not without a licensed brewery to secure the loan.”

Father Mateo looked concerned. “Then how…”

Mina smiled. “I don’t need money. Chikao’s death has freed me to pursue the path I chose many years ago.”

She paused. After allowing sufficient time for Hiro and Father Mateo to change the subject if they wished to, she continued, “I grew up near Tofuku-ji, and my father often took me for walks on the temple grounds. Even as a child, I wanted to become a nun and spend my days in meditation, seeking peace.”

Her eyes took on a distant look.

The monks’ voices rose and fell in the background, chanting prayers.

“And yet, you chose to marry,” Father Mateo said.

Mina’s eyes refocused on the priest. “As duty required. Obedient children place their parents’ hopes before their own.”

Hiro wondered what Mina thought of Kaoru’s selfish choices.

“Now,” she continued, “my husband’s death releases me to pursue my heart’s desire.”

“What will become of the brewery?” Hiro asked.

Mina sighed. “I do not know. I hoped my son would choose to learn his father’s trade, but he refuses. Kaoru says he wants to sell our share of the brewery to Ren. My son will squander the money, but what can I do? He is adult, and male. I can’t control him.”

“Does Ren want to purchase the interest?” Hiro asked.

“I am ashamed to ask him,” Mina said. “It seems unfair to shackle Ren with debts, especially now. If my son would only accept his duty…”

She trailed off into silence.

Hiro sipped his tea and waited.

Eventually Father Mateo asked, “Did your husband know about your wish to lead a religious life?”

Hiro wished the priest hadn’t spoken. People shared more information when the burden of silence reached a certain weight.

“Chikao felt guilty for keeping me tied to the world,” Mina said, “but, as I often told him, I never regretted my choice to marry. I loved Chikao and enjoyed our life together.”

“Does Kaoru know about your plans to become a nun?” the Jesuit asked.

Mina gave the priest a searching look. “My son did not kill his father.”

Chapter 24

Father Mateo blinked in surprise. Even Hiro barely managed to keep his reaction covered. Neither man expected Mina to broach the topic of Kaoru’s guilt.

“That is what you came to ask me,” Mina said, “is it not?”

“I—we—” Father Mateo stammered.

“We did not expect you to guess it.” Hiro opted for the truth.

Mina smiled. “All too often, people assume detachment from the physical world derives from a lack of intelligence or perception. They are mistaken.

“I will answer your questions, but first, please tell me why you suspect my son.”

Hiro saw no point in pretense. “We have learned that Kaoru has a temper.”

Mina lifted the teapot and refilled the shinobi’s cup. “I do not doubt my son could kill a man when drunk and angry. But I do not think he killed Chikao, and that opinion doesn’t stem from a mother’s blinded love.

“Kaoru doesn’t consider his father’s death a benefit. They argued often, over money, but Chikao always conceded in the end. With his father dead, Kaoru will have to work—to support himself—which is the last thing he would ever wish to do.

“This is a terrible thing for a mother to say about her son, but Kaoru is far too selfish to kill his father.”

“But he does inherit the brewery,” Hiro said.

“Our half of it, yes, but that will not support his habits long.” Mina paused as if unwilling to finish her thoughts. At last she continued, “I’ve said this much, I will say the rest. My son is a coward. He lacks the courage to take his father’s life.”

“Perhaps,” Hiro said, “but we would prefer some evidence of his innocence. Do you know where Kaoru went last night?”

Mina considered the question. “He wasn’t here. If I had to guess, I would say the Sakura Teahouse, east of the Kamo River on Sanj
ō
Road, or else at the Golden Buddha in Pontocho. Before you ask, I do not know what time Kaoru returned. He said he was here all night, and sleeping. I found him asleep and still too drunk to pay attention when Ren arrived this morning with the news of Chikao’s death. Kaoru claims he returned before the brewery closed last night. He may be telling the truth. He may be lying. I don’t know.”

“What about Ren?” Hiro asked. “Do you know where he was last night?”

“Ren worked here all evening with Chikao,” Mina said. “After the brewery closed, I cannot tell you, though I doubt that he went anywhere but home. Ren didn’t believe in wasting money on women or entertainment. He wanted to join the brewers’ guild and invest in a larger shop. To my knowledge, all his money went to savings.”

“That must have caused some conflict with your husband,” Hiro said.

“Not with Chikao.” Mina smiled. “But Ren and Kaoru didn’t get along.”

“Ren admitted to arguing with Chikao about the decision to pay off Kaoru’s debt,” Father Mateo said. “Did you know they argued?”

“The argument involved my son. Of course I knew about it.” Mina refilled the Jesuit’s cup. “Ren threatened to leave the partnership and join the brewers’ guild alone if Kaoru’s actions stopped the
za
from approving Chikao’s part of the petition.”

“Did that create bad blood between them?” Hiro asked.

Mina smiled sadly. “Chikao and I did not want Ren to bear the burden of Kaoru’s … disappointing choices.”

The monks’ chanting rose and fell.

Hiro considered Chikao’s body—so close, and yet impossible to reach. He wondered whether Mina would grant permission for a viewing. Doubtful, since the funeral prayers had started. Still, a request could do no harm.

“Would you grant us a favor?” Hiro asked.

“You want to see my husband’s body,” Mina said.

The comment left Hiro momentarily speechless. He forced his surprise away and said, “We believe a closer examination will help us find his killer.”

Mina nodded. “I wondered when you would get around to asking. I didn’t think the
yoriki
would let you view him at the murder scene. I will allow it, if you don’t abuse his body in the process.”

“We will treat him with respect,” the shinobi said.

Mina led Hiro and Father Mateo across the room to the shoji that separated the common room from the space beyond. The sound of chanting increased as they reached the door.

She laid a hand on the door frame. “Please wait here while I offer the monks some tea. I would prefer they leave the room before you enter.”

“You truly don’t mind?” Father Mateo asked.

“I do not,” Mina said. “The dead may defile the living, but we cannot harm the dead.”

An unusual attitude for a Japanese woman, but in character with Mina’s perceptive nature.

She drew open the door and stepped into the room beyond.

The chanting stopped. Moments later, a line of elderly priests filed out of the room, followed by two boys in saffron robes.

Mina paused in the doorway as she left. “If you touch my husband’s body, leave no sign.”

“May I ask why you chose to allow this?” Father Mateo seemed confused.

“I respect every living creature, including the man accused of my husband’s murder.” Mina glanced into the room where Chikao lay. “I wish to know, with certainty, that the person who dies for this crime is guilty of it.”

She gestured toward the room. “You have ten minutes.”

Hiro and Father Mateo entered the tiny room. Mina slid the shoji closed behind them.

A pattern of barrel-sized rings on the bare wooden floor suggested a former storage room converted to a far less pleasant purpose. The odors of sugi wood and straw still lingered beneath the incense in the air.

Chikao lay face-up on a narrow futon at the center of the room. A cone of incense smoldered in a ceramic burner near his head. One of his arms lay stiffly akimbo. The other reached out, as if grasping at something only the dead could see.

Father Mateo looked from the corpse to Hiro. “Is that normal?”

“You mean the arms?” Hiro asked.

The Jesuit nodded. “Why are they sticking out like that?”

“The body must have gone rigid before they retrieved it,” Hiro said. “The muscles will loosen tonight or tomorrow. After that, he will look more normal.”

Hiro stepped to the side of the futon.

Father Mateo followed. “Only half his face is purple. Did it look that way before?”

Purple mottling covered the right side of Chikao’s face from halfway across his nose to the side of his jaw. The left side of Chikao’s face was deathly pale, except where swollen bruises blossomed around his eye.

“How did the killer bruise an entire side of Chikao’s face?” the Jesuit asked. “And why is the right cheek bruised, and not the left one?”

Hiro gestured to the mottled purple color on the right. “The killer didn’t cause this part. The parts of the flesh that lie toward the ground will always discolor shortly after death.”

“Always?” Father Mateo asked.

Hiro nodded. “It takes a few hours, but yes, it always happens. The blood settles into those parts of the body, turning them purple, though the parts that actually touch the ground stay pale.” He indicated the strip of bloodless skin on Chikao’s right cheek and along the jawline. “See? That’s where he rested on the ground.”

“So, dead people bruise on the underside?” Father Mateo asked.

“It’s not exactly bruising,” Hiro said. “I think it has to do with the way the blood runs downward after the heart stops beating. That also explains why you see less discoloration when the victim dies from bleeding, because the blood ends up on the outside, rather than trapped beneath the skin.”

“I didn’t need to know that.” Father Mateo stared at the patch of waxy skin along Chikao’s jaw. “Why does the part that touches the ground stay pale?”

“That, I can’t explain,” Hiro said, “but it happens every time.”

“Interesting,” Father Mateo said, in a tone that actually meant “repulsive.” “The bruises around his eye look worse. Can that happen after death?”

“Not after his heart stops beating.” Hiro studied the dead man’s face, and agreed with the priest. The bruises did look darker. “This room is better lit than the alley. It might be an illusion.”

He laid his hands on Chikao’s outstretched arm. “Let’s turn him over.”

Chapter 25

“How did you learn so much about death?” Father Mateo asked as he helped the shinobi turn Chikao onto his stomach.

“A shinobi has to understand the body and how it works,” Hiro said.

“Yes,” the Jesuit countered, “but the skills required to kill a man aren’t quite the same as the ones you use to reconstruct the death of a total stranger. I’ve wondered this before but never found a good time to ask. How did you learn to read a corpse so well?”

Hiro shifted his gaze to the body. “You do not want to know.”

“If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t ask.”

Hiro glanced at the priest. “Then I choose not to tell you.”

He bent forward and touched the flattened area at the base of Chikao’s skull. The fractured bone moved beneath his fingers as he palpatated the injury.

“The lower left side of his skull is shattered.” Hiro withdrew his hand. “I can’t tell exactly how badly, but the extent of the injury doesn’t matter. This is the one that killed him. The first blow probably knocked him unconscious. It might or might not have cracked his skull. Chikao fell to the ground, and the killer struck him several times—substantially more than necessary to kill him.”

“That probably rules out bandits,” the Jesuit said.

Hiro nodded. “Only an angry killer does this much damage.”

“Or, possibly, someone who hated him?” Father Mateo asked.

“Perhaps, but hatred tends to express itself in calculating ways.” Hiro gestured toward Chikao’s broken skull. “It’s fury that doesn’t know when to stop attacking.”

“What can you tell about the weapon?” Father Mateo asked. “Could Ginjiro’s stoneware flask have caused this damage?”

“The flask is a problem,” Hiro said. “I can’t be sure.”

Father Mateo considered this. “Could the killer have known how to swing the flask in a way that prevented its breaking long enough to kill Chikao?”

“Perhaps,” Hiro said.
Which looks bad for Ginjiro.

He indicated the tear in Chikao’s scalp. “Look closely. What do you see?”

Father Mateo leaned forward. “Not as much blood as I would expect from a head wound. He died before the cut occurred.”

Hiro smiled. “Yes, but we already established that in the alley. This suggests another fact as well. Would you like to guess?”

Father Mateo thought for a moment and shook his head, defeated. “Nothing comes to mind, except that only a coward attacks a man from behind.”

“Exactly,” Hiro said. “I’ve seen what I needed. Let’s turn him over.”