I. Parker - Death of a Doll Maker

The police chief hung his head. “I’ll get to it right away, sir. Do you care to witness the search?”

“Certainly.”

They set out for the abandoned well, followed by a group of disgruntled constables carrying ropes, pulleys, shovels, and lanterns and pulling a cart for anything of interest they might find.

The well was only wide enough to allow one man to work with a shovel. The rest of the constables crouched in a circle above, peering down and shouting encouragement. Now and then, they lowered a large basket to remove dirt and garbage. Nothing else happened for a long time. They dug in shifts and brought up the basket filled with assorted debris many times. Not only garbage was down below, but also rocks, broken tiles, and other building debris. Akitada was about to call the effort off. It had been too far-fetched. But before he could admit having mad an embarrassing mistake, there was a shout. He and Maeda pushed into the circle of constables and looked down.

The upturned face of the unfortunate constable, who had been sent down by the luck of the draw, was a pale circle with shock-widened eyes. “Another corpse, Lieutenant,” he reported. “And this one’s wearing a fine silk robe.”

Maeda said heavily, “It seems you were right, sir.”

Akitada nodded grimly. “Bring him up.”

But first the constable who had made the discovery emerged, looking green and walking away a few steps before vomiting into a bush.

Akitada peered down into the darkness of the pit. He thought he saw some faint colors below, a bit of white and some green, and a pale round object that might be a skull.

Two more constables descended the ropes with a large piece of cloth. A short while later, a shout from below caused those above to start pulling on the rope. Slowly the body rose to the daylight, wrapped in the cloth and tied securely. They swung it out and lowered it to the ground, where one of the constables untied it and opened the cloth. The smell of decomposition was strong and nauseating.

Both Maeda and Akitada looked at the partially decomposed body of a nobleman. The type of clothing the dead man wore made that much certain. Identifying him as a particular person was no longer possible. The features had lost any resemblance to a living human being. Apart from a few patches of moldy, darkened skin, the face had become a skull, its bones showing pale against remnants of black hair and the folds of a green, shell-patterned silk robe. The formerly white silk trousers were stained and clung loosely to the bones beneath.

Given the clothing and the fact that no other member of the nobility had gone missing, it must be Tachibana. It seemed shocking that a powerful and fortunate man at the height of his career and in the full enjoyment of a privileged life should end up like this.

Not only had much time elapsed since the governor’s death, but the recovery of the body had involved clumsy handling by the constables. Akitada and Maeda both knelt beside the body for a closer look. Akitada refrained from touching anything, but Maeda lifted a fold of clothing here and there, searching for signs of wounds. He pointed to dark stains and tears in the outer robe and matching black stains on the white silk undergarment. These were on the front and left side of the body’s chest area.

“Knife wounds, I think,” Maeda said softly. “He was stabbed.”

“They cut off his hair,” Akitada commented, looking at the short strands. “Possibly he was also tortured. Someone enjoyed killing him.”

The constables had all come to stare at the corpse. Contact with the dead made them all ritually unclean and prohibited their taking part in certain Shinto observances. Their profession should have inured them to this, but they looked morose and muttered.

Maeda asked the two constables who had been in the well, “Did you find a weapon?”

They shook their heads. One of them said, “We looked good this time, Lieutenant.”

Akitada rose. “Will your coroner be able to confirm the cause of death?”

The police chief nodded. “I think so. He’s a good man. What will happen next, sir?”

Akitada glanced at the corpse of Lord Tachibana. “Identification of the body as that of Lord Tachibana. It should be easy, given his clothing. People will have seen him and remember. It was murder, and the murderer is here in Hakata. He must be found. I shall report to the assistant governor general and to our government in the capital. You carry on with the investigation.”

But as they loaded the ex-governor’s corpse onto the cart and gathered their tools, another of Maeda’s men arrived at a run. He was flushed with exertion and gasped, “We found Hiroshi.”

Akitada asked, “Where is he? Did you arrest him?”

The man was breathless and just shook his head.

Impatiently, Akitada turned to Maeda. “Come, we must question him at once. This is about Tora.”

But the constable finally managed, “He’s dead, your Excellency. Murdered.”

Akitada’s disappointment was staggering. With Hiroshi dead, chances of Tora being alive had just shrunk to nothing.

The green water boiled around the black rocks, tossing men and parts of the ship mercilessly against the sharp teeth of the island. Most of the men were already dead, drowned or killed by the battle on board.

Tora swam by instinct only, breathing when his head happened to emerge briefly from a wave and fighting against the dark pull of the sea that battered the rocky shore. Eventually he managed to cling to a rock much like barnacles did. Here he rested, his eyes closed, feeling the rush of the cold water hit his back, then pull at him as it tried to suck him back into the hungry sea.

He thought of nothing except resistance to the pull of the water until he heard his name called.

He had to hear it twice before he managed to open his eyes and peer around. Another wave washed over him, but he had seen enough of the open water to know the ship lay impaled on rocks, its masts gone and its body breaking apart. The sea was littered with debris, but he saw no living human beings. A dream, he thought, as the wave receded.

But the shout came again. And this time he looked the other way, toward land. And there on a rock lay a man, looking down at him from a bearded, shaggy face.

Shigeno?

It was Shigeno. He was waving and shouted, “Swim ashore. Hurry!”

Tora was afraid of releasing his rock. The next wave would pull him back out to sea, and he did not think he had the strength to swim. But he could not stay here forever, and there was another rock only some ten feet away. Each time a wave hit, the water would spout up from between the two rocks before receding and leaving for a few moments a calm surface.

He watched the next wave and trying to time it carefully, let go of his rock and plunged into the water. It instantly sucked him out again and he struggled desperately, but then, quite suddenly, he was free and reached the next rock. From there it became easier. The waves did not come in with as much force and he made his way to the shore where his feet met rough sand. There he collapsed, lying prone and exhausted.

Shigeno seized his arm. “Get up! You can sleep later.”

Tora spat out some sea water and sat up. His side protested with a sharp pain that left him gasping. He found that Shigeno’s sash, sodden with water, had slipped to his waist. Looking at the big convict, he said, “By all reason you should be dead, yet here you are and in better shape than me.”

Shigeno snorted. “I’m a better man than you. Besides, I grabbed hold of a hatch cover and let the sea carry me ashore. But no time for chit-chat. We’ve got to get away before they notice us.”