I. Parker - The Crane Pavillion

It was barely large enough for a reed mat. Apparently it was used for massages or moxa treatments, but the scattered metal bowl, towels, and bloody shaving knife showed that Sachi had worked here, giving shampoos and shaves. Across the reed mat lay a skinny man on his side. His gray hair was undone and still wet. He wore only the thin cotton yukata provided by the bathhouse. The yukata , the reed mat, most of the towels, and part of the floor were covered with his blood. The blood had also spattered across one of the walls, making a strange swirling pattern as if the dead man had turned the moment his throat had been cut.

A black-robed monk was rising to his feet beside the body. He wiped his bloody hands on a towel, then dropped it. “You can take him away now,” he told the policeman.

The policeman elbowed Saburo out of the way, and let the monk out of the room. “Did she do anything else to him?” he asked the monk.

The monk shook his head. “Just the slashed throat. It was quick.”

The policeman noticed Saburo and opened his mouth to speak.

“Who is the dead man?” Saburo asked quickly.

The monk glanced at him. “Nakamura Minobe. To live is to die.”

The policeman growled, “Get out! This is an official investigation.”

Saburo retreated to stand with some of the other watchers, as the monk walked away. Several young women, prostitutes to judge by their colorful wraps and the smudged makeup on their faces, stood about. The one closest to him said, “He was a bastard. Sachi did a lot of people a favor.”

Saburo eyed her with interest. “How so?”

She glanced at him, stared at his scars and his rolling eye, and stepped back a little. Close-up, Saburo was still a shocking sight to women. He made an effort to control his eye and gave her a reassuring smile.

“Nakamura’s got more money than the emperor,” she said. “The stingy bastard’s a regular here. People think he’s Daitoku himself.” She laughed harshly. “He lends money to people and charges twice the monks’ rate. The monks are choosy who they lend money to, but Nakamura doesn’t care as long as they pay or own something he can sell.”

A money lender? Saburo was pleased with the information. “A lot of people want a moneylender dead. And if he was wealthy, there’ll be some who’ll benefit from his death. So why would the police arrest a blind shampoo girl?”

The woman gave another laugh. “Because she did it. Don’t ask me why. Sachi’s crazy. Who knows what such a person will do? Maybe her hand slipped, or maybe she made it slip. But if you ask me, I think he made a pass and she killed him for it. He’s a dirty old man and she doesn’t like to be touched.”

“Really? How do you know?”

The woman made a face. “She acts like she’s better than us. Some of us took pity on her and tried to get her work in one of the houses, but she wouldn’t do it. Now look at her. No better than a beggar and a murderess.”

There was an interruption as some sweepers came in with a litter. They went into the small room, wrapped the dead man into the blood-soaked mat, and placed him on the stretcher. The onlookers, shying away from contamination by the dead, dispersed, and the prostitute gathered her skirts and scuttled away on her wooden geta .

Saburo stayed. The sweepers carried the corpse away at a brisk trot. He got only a brief glimpse of the man’s face between the folds of the mat. Nakamura’s face was gray and his fleshy lips had opened in an expression of surprise.

The observation was not helpful. Saburo imagined he would have been as surprised at being cut by the shampoo girl as by one of his disgruntled clients attacking him. With a sigh, he went in search of Shokichi.

He found her near the entrance where the owner loitered, attempting to reassure possible customers. Shokichi was talking to the prostitute. When she saw Saburo, she bowed to the woman and came to him. “Komachi says there was blood everywhere,” she informed Saburo.

He nodded. “People bleed out quickly when you cut their throat,” he said, looking after the prostitute. “Do you know her?”

“Yes. Komachi’s a bitch and hates Sachi.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure. I think it’s because Sachi wouldn’t sell herself. Some of the women wanted to help her because she’s pretty. You saw her.” She gave Saburo a searching glance.

He nodded absentmindedly. “So the prostitutes hate her because she refused to become one of them?” Shokichi said nothing for a moment. “Well? Is that all they hold against her, that she tried to keep her self-respect?”

Shokichi flushed and stared at him. “I guess so,” she finally said tonelessly.

“Then they should be ashamed!”

“She was starving. They meant to help. They tried very hard to get one of the houses to take her on. The woman who owns it didn’t want a blind girl. She said it would be a turn-off for the customers. But in the end she agreed, and they got her to offer Sachi a place. Sachi absolutely refused. She made a lot of enemies in the amusement quarter.”

“Hmm.” Saburo thought this over. “I wonder what she said when they accused her of murder,” he muttered.

Jinzaemon, overheard him. “The stupid bitch called for help,” he said. He directed one of the bath attendants, who carried two buckets of water, to the room where Nakamura had died. “Hurry,” he told the woman. “We’ll need the room later.”

Jinzaemon was clearly above all a businessman. A murder on his premises was something that must be erased from people’s minds as quickly as possible.

“Now, then, sir,” he said to Saburo. “Let me show you and the little woman where to go. You’ve paid already, haven’t you?”

Saburo shook his head. “We’ve changed our minds.” He took Shokichi’s arm and started to walk out.

Shokichi shook him off. “Look,” she pleaded with Jinzaemon, “Sachi’s my friend. We need to help her. Could someone else have done this?”

Jinzaemon lost his good humor. “You should pick better friends,” he said and started to walk away.

“Wait.” Saburo reached into his sash and pulled out a handful of coppers. “Here,” he said. “I bet you lost some business over this.”

Jinzaemon stopped and took the coins. “You’re right,” he said, bowing. “And he was a very good customer, too. A real loss.”

“You said she called for help. Did she know what she’d done?”

“I would imagine. She’d enough common sense to say she’d stepped out the room for something and found him dead when she got back. Of course, no one believed that. She was covered with his blood. She would’ve been better off just running away as fast as possible.”

“A blind girl?”

“Whatever. Look, I’ve got to go. Thanks for the tip. Come back another time. This isn’t a good day.”

No, it was not a good day.

Saburo found Shokichi staring into space, her face white and frozen. He thought the smell of blood must have nauseated her. Somehow the mix of steam and blood had settled in his own nose and throat. He put an arm around her and walked her outside.

Shokichi asked tonelessly, “What will you do next?”

“The owner says your friend claimed she was out of the room when Nakamura was killed.”

“If she said so, it’s true.”

Saburo chuckled. “Why?”

She glared at him. “Because she doesn’t lie. Poor Sachi.” She wrung her hands. “They’ll beat her till she confesses. This is so unjust.”

Saburo cleared his throat and spat. He needed some wine to wash away the taste of blood. “Well, there’s nothing to be done at the moment,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders again. “Let’s go have a bite to eat and a cup of wine.”