Rashomon Gate (35 page)

Kobe thought about it and nodded. "I suppose that's possible."

Akitada continued, "When Tora visited the dead girl's family, he ascertained that she not only owned the costly brocade sash with which the murderer strangled her— a nasty touch, that— but also other gifts from his shop."

Kobe glanced at Tora. "But a man like that? A respected citizen? How would he meet someone like her?"

"Oh, he's a regular at the Willow," volunteered Tora. "The auntie there knows all about him. The Willow is the restaurant where Omaki played the lute."

Kobe stared at Tora, then turned back to Akitada. "So what if he did get her pregnant? Why didn't he buy her off? He's said to be wealthy."

Tora said, "Because his old lady frowns on his skirt chasing. And it's really her business."

"What?" Kobe started pacing again. "I suppose it could have happened that way," he muttered after a few moments. He went back to study the map and nodded. "So Umakai did see the killer after all," he said. "Why didn't the old fool tell us? He'd be alive today."

Akitada said, "He did."

Kobe straightened up and looked at Akitada. "He did not. All he gabbled about was Jizo. You heard him yourself."

"Precisely. The statues of the god Jizo traditionally wear red caps, because mothers make them as gifts when they are asking the god to protect their sons. Bearers also cover their heads with a piece of cloth when they carry heavy loads on their shoulders and heads. I think you will find that Kurata's people have red caps."

Kobe looked furious. "Have you known this all along?"

"No. But I believed that Umakai had seen something. I tried to find a connection between the Jizo story and the murderer. The deliveries to the park reminded me of the fact that bearers commonly wear some sort of cap. After that it was easy to guess what must have happened."

Kobe bit his lip. He grunted. "So you think the old man really recognized Kurata? Do you think he went to blackmail him?"

"No, I think Umakai must have glanced into Kurata's shop and recognized a manifestation of Jizo. I doubt he realized what he was up against. He probably told Kurata how he lost his gift. Perhaps he asked for another brocade sash. Of course Kurata could not let him live after that."

Kobe stared at Akitada for a long time. Then he cursed and sat down abruptly, putting his head in his hands and muttering, to Akitada's surprise, "So that heartless bastard killed an old man who thought he was Jizo! Damn it! It fits, and I should have seen it!" He jumped up again and pointed an accusing finger at Akitada. "But you and your servant should have reported sooner what you knew! If you had not been trying to be clever, we could have questioned Kurata days ago."

Akitada, stung by the accusation, said angrily, "Frankly, after you had failed to beat the truth out of Umakai, I had little faith in your methods."

Kobe flushed. "My methods are the only ones that get confessions," he shouted, "and without a confession the guilty go free. You had better leave the real work to the police in the future!"

Akitada retaliated with, "I cannot imagine that you are getting much help from honest citizens with that attitude."

Kobe glowered. "We manage," he snapped. "As for Kurata, we could check the man's whereabouts on the two days, and maybe we'd get results. But my way is to confront him now. A coward like that will confess soon enough, and if your servant is right about the wife, she'll be eager to help convict him when she hears the story."

"Good," said Akitada through clenched teeth. "Then we will leave the matter in your capable hands and be on our way."

But Kobe was not listening. The suggestion of a smile twitched at the corners of his lips. "We got the bastard," he said. "It's poetic justice really. We could never have convinced a judge using Umakai's testimony about the god Jizo giving him a brocade sash."

"Perhaps not," Akitada said over his shoulder as he was heading for the door. "But it is too bad he had to pay with his life to lead us to the killer."

"Not even you could have solved the case otherwise," Kobe said with a snort. His anger was gone, and he looked excited. "Where are you going? Let's go arrest the bastard!"

Akitada stopped. "You want us to go with you? Is that really necessary?"

Kobe had already taken his bow and quiver from the hook on the wall and flung them over his shoulder. "Probably not," he said with a grin, "but I want you to see how
I
work." Before Akitada could protest, he had flung open the door and was shouting out the names of five police constables who came up at a run, red-faced and adjusting their robes and paraphernalia.

"Fall in behind!" Kobe ordered, running a sharp eye over them. "We're on our way to Kurata's silk shop for an arrest." Turning to Akitada and Tora, he waved a peremptory hand for them to join him and then strode out.

Akitada sighed and said to Tora, "I suppose we had better go."

In spite of the evening heat which produced a general lassitude among the people in the streets, Kobe walked at such a pace that Akitada and Tora stayed a few strides behind. Their group attracted curious stares. Since Akitada and Tora were trying to keep up with Kobe and were themselves followed by five trotting constables, they looked like a pair of criminals being conducted to their well-deserved punishment. Akitada's upper class clothing caused particular interest, and by the time they reached Kurata's establishment, they had a following of about fifty people of all ages and types.

Kobe ignored them and strode into the shop, glanced around at the customers— staring open-mouthed at the sudden invasion of the red coats— and shouted, "Everyone out but the shopkeeper and staff!"

The customers scrambled up and ran, practically falling over each other in their haste to leave. Only Kurata remained, along with two shop assistants and a boy who had been carrying stacks of fabric and dropped them at Kobe's words, and a middle-aged woman who had been working with account books and an abacus in the rear. They stood or sat frozen, staring white-faced at the police.

The reputation of the municipal police force was such that anyone who found himself the focus of their interest immediately assumed that he or she had committed, however unintentionally, some terrible offense. Thus the boy burst into noisy tears, crying, "I didn't do it!" Of the two assistants, one attempted to slip away, while the other one was trembling so much that his teeth chattered.

Kurata, sleek in his silk robe, stood in the middle of the floor, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. Only the woman with the abacus seemed in reasonable control of herself. She stood up, brushing down the black silk of her severe gown, and checked Kobe's rank insignia.

"What is your business here, Captain?" she asked in a harsh voice. At that moment, one of the constables made a sudden dash and tackled the fleeing assistant, throwing him to the ground and sitting on his back. Kobe watched this expressionlessly before answering the woman's question.

"I am investigating a murder that was committed in this neighborhood two nights ago," he said. "Everyone in this house will be interrogated. Who are you?"

The woman bowed. "I am Mrs. Kurata, the owner." Casting a glance out to the street at the gaping crowd, she said, "Perhaps we had better talk inside," and pointed to a door in the rear wall.

Kobe nodded. "Lead the way."

"Someone will have to close the shutters or thieves will take the stock," she said.

Kobe snapped, "Don't be a fool, woman. No one is going to steal anything with my men on the premises."

She turned to lead them into the living quarters behind the shop. With the exception of two constables, who remained behind to keep the curious outside, they all followed her. Kobe seated himself on one of the cushions and invited Akitada to do the same. Kurata and his wife were going to follow suit, but Kobe snapped, "You stand!" On a sign from him, the three constables took up their positions behind the Kuratas. The shop assistants huddled together in a corner.

Kurata finally found his voice to make a protest. "What is this all about, Captain? This is my house and I am a respected— I may even say highly respected— citizen. I do business with the palace and the best people are my valued customers. Any number of them will testify to my good character."

Kobe looked at the sleek Kurata much like a cat studying the antics of a mouse, secure in the knowledge that there was plenty of time. His eyes went briefly to Mrs. Kurata, flicked over her bony physique, dwelt briefly on the sharp nose, the small, mean eyes, the thin lips and the gray-streaked, thinning hair before returning to Kurata. "Did you make a delivery to the Spring Garden the afternoon before the poetry contest last week?" he barked.

Kurata opened his mouth and closed it again. The question had clearly been unexpected. Kobe had announced that he was investigating a murder in the neighborhood, and Kurata had expected to be questioned about the beggar. He hesitated, then glanced at his two assistants for a moment, before admitting that he had. Akitada silently applauded Kobe. He had made it impossible for the man to lie or prepare an evasive answer in the presence of his employees.

"You were acquainted with the girl Omaki, a lute player who entertained in the Willow Quarter?" Kobe demanded.

Pearls of perspiration appeared on the man's face. Mrs. Kurata was standing quite still, looking strangely at her husband.

"I . . . I may have met her," Kurata stammered. "Why are you asking about . . . what does that have to do with—"

"Answer the questions!" snapped Kobe. "I don't have time for chitchat. Is it true that this Omaki was your mistress and that she was expecting your child?"

Mrs. Kurata made a hissing sound and clenched her hands in front of her stomach.

Kurata cried, "No! Of course not! I'm a married man and I have no other women. Someone is telling slanderous tales."

His wife asked Kobe abruptly, "This Omaki, is she the girl that was found strangled in the Spring Garden?"

Kobe looked at her. "Yes," he said. "I regret to inform you that your husband is a regular customer in a number of establishments of the Willow Quarter."

She nodded, and her eyes, inscrutable in their expression, fixed on her husband again. "What business did you have with that beggar two nights ago?" she asked him.

Kurata turned as white as bleached silk. "Wh . . . at b–beggar?" he quavered. "I saw no beggar. There was no beggar." His voice rose in panic.

His wife turned back to Kobe. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders, brushed her black silk gown down again with her hands, and said in a toneless voice, "Someone came late in the evening. I was in my room and heard my husband let him in. Naturally I got up to see who it was. I saw an old and ragged man talking with my husband. They were in the corridor. I think the man was asking for red silk. My husband promised to give him some, and they went out the back way. A little later my husband came back. Alone."

Kurata wailed, "Don't believe her!" He fell to his knees, sobbing with fear. "She lies! She's angry because I had other women. That's why she's making up stories."

Kobe smiled. Again Akitada was reminded of a cat licking its whiskers in anticipation of a juicy meal. "Why the fuss?" he asked Kurata. "So you talked to a beggar. Is that any reason to start crying like a baby?"

Kurata wiped at his wet cheeks with a sleeve. "I . . . I don't know. All this is very upsetting . . . ."He staggered to his feet.

Kobe's smile widened. "I can see how it would be upsetting, when you are the one who strangled that beggar to keep him from talking."

"No, I—"

"Because that beggar," Kobe shouted suddenly, leaning forward to fix Kurata with his eyes, "was the one who saw you in the park the day you murdered the girl."

Kurata's eyes were wide with fear. He seemed incapable of looking anywhere but at Kobe. "No, no, I didn't . . . he didn't . . ."

"The girl Omaki. The one you gave the brocade sash to. Red
figured
brocade, remember! A pretty present for a pretty mistress. She wore it because you had given it to her. And you used it to strangle her."

Kurata's knees buckled and he collapsed on the floor, wailing, "No, no, no, no."

His wife looked down at him dispassionately. "You have dishonored the name my father gave you," she said loudly. "I shall petition the family council to rescind the adoption and expunge you from the family register. I also divorce you." Turning away from the moaning creature on the floor, she looked around the room. "You are all my witnesses."

Akitada was familiar with the legal terms of divorce and adoption; Mrs. Kurata evidently was also. She had, at this moment and in front of witnesses, divorced her husband and taken back the family name. That she had done so without hesitation or show of emotion, without any explanations, shocked him profoundly. He had believed women to be softer, more emotional, less coldly practical. Even years of grief from a faithless husband should not end like this, with a wiping out of every bond as if it had never existed.

Tora bent down to Akitada and whispered, "What a she-devil! I could almost pity that bastard."

Kobe was watching Kurata, who was Kurata no more, but a nonperson at the mercy of the law, even less likely to escape its full cruelty than the beggar Umakai.

Belatedly, the man became aware of his change in status and its implications. He raised himself to his knees and crept towards Mrs. Kurata, whimpering, "Take it back! Please, my treasure, do not do this dreadful thing! Remember our vows! Remember my years of hard work in the business! I have been unjustly accused."

She watched him approach until he came to a halt before her and touched the hem of her silk gown. Then she kicked his hand away and spat in his face.

Kurata recoiled. "My wife," he cried hoarsely, the tears running down his face mingling with her saliva, "I did it for you, for us. That girl, she was going to make trouble and come between us. I didn't want that to happen. And that old tramp, he saw me closing the shutters and started jabbering about Jizo and the park. I had to shut him up. You can see that, can't you?" He started towards her again, extending a hand pleadingly.