I. Parker: Black Arrow

Akitada looked at Hitomaro.

“Tora is right, sir. If you would take a look at Umehara and Okano, you’d see that they could not possibly be robbers. A mouse would send them scurrying. Those confessions were beaten out of them. We’ve seen their backs.”

Akitada still hesitated. Uncooperative defendants often got a taste of the “green bamboo,” but both Tora and Hitomaro knew that. “Hmm,” he said. “What about the third man? The one with the knife.”

“He looks worse than the others. And he never confessed. They got tired of beating him.”

Tora said, “They’ll kill him, poor brute.”

“Hisamatsu has already released the body for cremation. Tell me again what you found at the inn.”

They did. Tora laid much emphasis on Chobei’s officious behavior and the judge’s lack of interest in the case.

Akitada sighed. “Very well. Bring the prisoners to me one at a time. And tell Hamaya to come in and take notes.”

The first to arrive was Umehara. He was in his fifties, a skinny fellow with a large runny nose and a continuous shiver. When told that he was before the governor, he crouched on his knees and trembled so badly he could hardly support himself. His eyes were red, either from his cold or from weeping.

Akitada saw that the man was on the point of physical collapse. “Get him a cup of warm wine, Tora,” he said. “Have you had your morning meal, Umehara?”

The prisoner gaped at him. Someone had knocked some of his teeth out recently and his gums still bled a little. Akitada repeated his question and got a shake of the head in answer. “Can you speak?”

“Yes.” It was a croak, like an old man’s, hoarse and quavery. “I don’t think I could swallow food.” He received the brimming cup of wine with trembling hands and drank, then asked timidly, “Is there good news? Have they found the real killer?”

Akitada raised his brows. “No. According to the documents you have confessed to the murder of the innkeeper.”

Tears rose to the man’s eyes. He trembled again. “Will there be more beatings?”

“No, but it does not look good for you.” Akitada watched him sink back dejectedly and added, “I wanted to hear your story myself. From your deposition I see that you arrived in town two days before the murder. What made you choose this particular inn?”

Umehara recited hopelessly, “I always stay at Sato’s. It’s cheap. I sell weaving supplies. In my line of work, you can’t afford to spend your income on high living.” He paused. “But it was different this time.”

“How so?”

“Old Sato was sickly, and his new wife didn’t want to be bothered with commercial travelers. When I got there, she was angry with him for giving me a lower rate. He walked away, and she told me to sleep on the kitchen floor or pay extra.”

“And you slept in the kitchen?”

The man nodded.

“And the murder happened during the night?”

“Not that night. The one after.”

“Very well. What happened the next day?”

“The next morning the wife left. The maid was supposed to take care of her sick master and the guests. The girl had a cold and did as little as possible.”

“Yet you stayed for another night?”

The wine must have given the prisoner some of his strength back because he spoke more easily now. “I didn’t mean to, but I needed a new backpack. I paid a fellow twenty coppers for one. He cheated me. There was a hole in it. But I didn’t know that and left it at the inn while I went to call on a customer in the city. I didn’t get back till evening rice. Too late to leave by then.”

“I see. What about your companions?”

Umehara looked uneasy. “They’re strangers.”

“They arrived after you?”

“The actor must’ve come late the first night. I found him there in the kitchen when I woke up. People like that keep late hours. And Takagi came the next day after I’d left to take care of my business.”

“What about the two pieces of gold they found on you?”

His eyes widened with fear. “They were mine. I swear it.” He nearly wept again and looked at Akitada beseechingly. “I don’t like to carry loose coins, so I always change my coppers into gold. I tried to tell the constables, but they said I was lying. Your Honor, I swear I’m innocent. Buddha’s my witness.”

“Hmm. So during the night of the murder you slept on the kitchen floor with your two companions?”

Umehara nodded, sniffed, and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“They were, as you said, strangers to you, yet you were not afraid that they might steal your gold?”

Again Umehara became evasive. “They looked decent enough. Just hardworking fellows like me.”

Akitada raised his brows, but only asked, “Did they get up during the night?”

“I don’t know. I sleep like the dead.”

An unfortunate remark, but Umehara apparently was not aware of it.

“So now we come to the morning after the murder. Why did you all leave the inn together before anyone was up?”

“We knew there wouldn’t be any food in the morning and wanted to make an early start.” He shook his head. “I could’ve made good money. So many customers still to visit in the northern part of the province. A lot of orders, what with winter coming. Why, I could have earned at least another gold piece. And now my money’s gone-and I’ve lost my customers, too.”

Akitada nodded to Hitomaro, who helped Umehara up and led him from the room. Akitada winced when he saw the blood stains on the back of the man’s jacket.

Tora said, “You see what I mean? That dried plum hasn’t got the willpower to say ‘boo’ to a mouse. He’d never have the get-up to kill someone.”

“It does not take much strength to slit the throat of a sick old man,” said Akitada. “A woman could do it.”

Hamaya looked up from his notes. “Besides, there were three of them.”

“The other two are worse.”

“Really? You intrigue me.” Akitada rubbed his stomach. “I grant you,” he muttered, “it’s strange that a man who faces a sentence for murder should worry about his business losses.”

Tora snorted. “If you think him strange, just wait.”

The next person teetered in on tall wooden sandals. For a moment, Akitada wondered if he was looking at a woman in man’s garb. His visitor moved with painful, mincing steps and waving arms. Small and pudgy, he or she was dressed in a flamboyant silk robe and had a red silk scarf around the head. Though much younger than Umehara, the smooth, round-cheeked face made it difficult to guess age or gender. The creature collapsed in a heap in front of Akitada, raised tearful eyes and cried in a childishly high voice, “Oh, blessed Kannon, protect Okano! He cannot bear any more. He is dying!” and burst into noisy sobs.

“Who is this?” Akitada asked, astonished. “Where is Okano?”

“That’s Okano.” Tora grinned.

Hitomaro added, “He says he’s a ‘theatrical performer’ from Otsu, between engagements and on his way to visit relatives in the mountains when he was arrested.”

Okano howled pitifully. Akitada thought he detected a trace of perfume among the stench of blood and sweat.

“Is he badly injured?”

Hitomaro shrugged. “He got a beating. I’d say a bit less than Umehara.”

Okano wailed.

“I see. More wine, Tora.” Akitada shifted uncomfortably. He did not know how to deal with a weeping man, and this one was hysterical. A renewed cramping in his belly provided the excuse. “I’ll be back in a moment. Get him calmed down.”

When he returned, Okano was sitting up and smiling coyly at a scowling Hitomaro.

“I thank the Buddha for this kind officer,” the actor told Akitada. “He is the first person who has shown some feeling for poor Okano. I have been beaten and starved, humiliated and almost frozen to death in your jail, and all for no reason.”