I Parker - The Masuda Affair

‘ No!’

Tora jumped a little. Sadanori had practically shouted the word. What was going on?

Above him, Ishikawa laughed again. ‘And to think of the risks I took for you. Sugawara was back in Otsu with that servant of his.’

‘So what?’

‘Don’t forget, there is still another witness.’

‘Your mother?’ There was panic in Sadanori’s voice.

‘Of course not. No, this one is here.’

‘Then you have been careless.’

‘Not at all. I just found out that Sugawara is asking questions about the case.’

‘He won’t find anything.’

‘I disagree.’ Ishikawa moved above Tora’s head. ‘You forget that I know how Sugawara works. He doesn’t give up easily once he catches a scent.’

Silence again. Tora strained his ears. Sadanori grunted, ‘I can stop him.’

‘So can I. There is a woman at Fushimi. She knows how to find her.’

‘I don’t like it. It goes on and on. You take too much on yourself, and things get worse. See if you can manage it another way. We’ll discuss your… fee when all is safe.’

One man’s footsteps receded; Sadanori’s, probably. What was Ishikawa doing? What witness had he been talking about? Tora felt a hollow in the pit of his stomach. What if it was Hanae? But Hanae was safe at the Sugawara house.

Ishikawa finally moved. He went to the stairs and came down. Tora shrank behind one of the supports and watched him walk to the water’s edge. There Ishikawa stopped and looked up into a tree. Suddenly, he scooped up a stone and flung it into the branches. With a loud squawk, a black crow flew up and disappeared. Ishikawa cursed after it and walked away, his face a mask of fury.

More confused than ever, Tora crept from his hiding place and followed. Ishikawa left by the open back gate and turned north.

The Fushimi market adjoined a fox shrine outside the city. Tora was convinced that Ishikawa had killed the doctor in Otsu and planned to kill someone else. Perhaps he should return to Otsu to report, but there was a certain urgency about Ishikawa’s errand that made Tora nervous.

He stayed as far back as he could, mingling with other travelers on the road. Ishikawa was easy to see and not, in any case, suspicious of being followed. He never once bothered to look back.

The shrine attracted many people from the capital, and a village had sprung up around the conical wooded hill sacred to the grain deity. The market stretched along the main street, and at this time, near sunset, it was crowded. Vendors sold food and wine. Ballad singers, monks, and dancers competed for the pilgrims’ coppers and added to the cacophony of the sellers crying out their wares. From the market, a line of red-lacquered torii snaked up the hill towards the shrine to the abode of the three grain deities.

But Ishikawa was not making a spiritual journey. After surveying the crowd, he made his way purposefully along the stands. Tora followed much more closely now. Though Ishikawa was tall, it would be easy to lose him here.

Near the entrance to the shrine grounds, Ishikawa stopped at a stall where a woman was selling combs and fans. The conversation between them was brief. Even at this distance, Tora saw that the woman was nervous. She kept bowing and speaking quickly. After a few sentences, Ishikawa nodded and walked away without buying anything.

Tora was about to approach the stall when a mendicant monk drifted up and talked to the woman. Tora waited, muttering unkind words and scanning the crowd for Ishikawa. He had disappeared.

To console himself, Tora bought a cup of the hot spicy wine. The wine eased his parched throat and was delicious, so he had a second cup. Then he returned to the comb and fan seller. She was middle-aged, but wore the colorful clothes of someone much younger. The paint on her face and her clothes probably meant that she had started life as a ‘fallen flower’ and now eked out a living in this market. She looked glum.

‘If I buy one of your pretty combs for my wife, charming lady,’ Tora said, ‘would you answer a question?’

Few women could resist Tora’s charm when he put his mind to it. This one could. ‘What question?’ she asked listlessly.

He selected a comb. ‘How much for this one?’

‘Fifteen coppers. It’s a very fine comb.’ The answer was automatic. When Tora did not argue, she took the money.

‘A tall man stopped by here a little while ago. Do you know him?’

Her face closed. ‘I don’t remember. A lot of people stop.’

‘Come on,’ Tora pressed her. ‘It just happened. A guy with a sharp face and lousy manners. I saw him. He didn’t buy anything.’ He paused, frustrated by her stubborn silence. ‘Just before that monk talked to you.’

‘He asked about the shrine. The monk asked, too.’

‘He did? Which way did they go?’

She shook her head and turned to another customer.

Tora considered the shrine entrance. Two stone statues of foxes flanked it, their bushy tails reaching skyward. They smirked down at him. The climb was a long one. Tora decided that Ishikawa would not have bothered. He was in the crowd somewhere, probably being followed by the monk wearing a basket hat. That reminded him of the monk in front of Sadanori’s gate. Whichever monk this one was, he was following Ishikawa. Find the monk and find Ishikawa.

He walked up and down between the stalls without seeing either of them. Eventually, he sighed and gave up. The monk was a puzzle. Anyone could hide under one of those basket hats.

Tora’s depression lifted abruptly when he got to the bridge over the Kamo River and saw the monk walking ahead of him. The basket hat bobbed along briskly, and the monk was over the bridge and turning into the warren of streets and alleys before Tora was halfway across.

Cursing the ‘holy’ man’s longer stride, and dodging other travelers, Tora broke into a run. He must not lose his prey again. Luck was with him, and in the light of a shop lantern he caught sight of the basket hat turning south, towards the Willow Quarter. Even better, he was taking a street that was deserted at this time of evening.

Tora increased his speed and had almost caught up when the other man heard his running footsteps and gasping breath and swung around.

With a growl, Tora flung himself on him, carrying him backward a few steps and to the ground. He had surprised the monk by his sudden attack, but the man was fighting back. He was young, strong, and more knowledgeable about street brawling than a servant of Buddha had any right to be.

In the struggle, the basket hat came off and rolled away, and Tora saw that he had caught a stranger. A young, strong, and desperate stranger. In that moment of surprise, the monk managed to bloody Tora’s nose, nearly rip off an ear, sink his teeth into Tora’s forearm, and knee him in the groin.

Tora grunted and released his prey to curl up in agony. The other man was on his feet in an instant, snatched up his basket hat, and took off, running.

Doubts returned. Perhaps this was just an ordinary monk. Itinerant monks often came from humble backgrounds and, being suddenly attacked, might revert to old habits. Still, this man had been far more violent than a religious calling permitted. Shaking his head in confused disgust, Tora walked home.

Genba answered his knock. ‘You’re late,’ he grumbled.

‘Couldn’t help it. All is well? No trouble of any sort?’

‘Trouble? No. Unless you count your dog. Why?’

Tora suddenly felt very tired. ‘I lost Ishikawa.’ He went to the well and pulled up a bucket of water. He drank, then splashed his face. ‘What’s that howling?’

‘The dog. I had to tie him up so he wouldn’t wake everybody when you got home.’

Tora became defensive. ‘He’s a fine watchdog. Let him do his job.’ He went to the stable.