Akitada's stomach lurched. "You cannot do that! Your evidence is not complete. He was asleep or unconscious when they found him. He does not remember anything."

"That's what he says. He was drunk. It'll come back to him when he feels the bamboo whip."

Akitada searched for a convincing argument and failed. Biting his lip, he tried another tack. "What does your coroner say about the cause of death?" he asked.

To his surprise, Kobe became evasive. "Nothing special. Time of death sometime during the night. They never like to be precise. In his fit of anger, the killer cut her up pretty badly with his sword. Not a pretty sight. By the way," he added pointedly, "Nagaoka's brother still had the sword in his hand and was covered with her blood when we found them together."

Akitada felt his heart beating faster. "You still have the body?"

Kobe jerked his head. "In the morgue. It's messy. You don't want to look."

"I do want to look. Would you show me?"

Kobe turned away.

"Three days have passed," Akitada pleaded. "There is not much time before you will have to release her for cremation. How could my seeing her ruin your case?"

After a moment Kobe turned and nodded grudgingly. "Come on, then," he muttered, walking to the door. "I must be mad, but there is something that's been bothering me about that corpse. The coroner and I have an argument about the cause of death. I'd like to get your opinion. The doctor is still around somewhere, I think."

As they passed through the hall, smiling police constables and sergeants bowed snappily to Kobe. His new status had clearly won him their respect. He passed them with a joke here or a nod there, only pausing once to request that the coroner be sent to the morgue.

They left the administration hall by the back, crossed an open exercise yard, and headed toward a series of low buildings. The morgue was the farthest of these, a small building reminiscent of the earthen storehouses of most mansions and temples. A guard stood at the narrow door. When he saw Kobe approaching, he flung it open. Kobe led the way as they stepped over the wooden threshold onto a floor of stamped earth. The bare room held several human cocoons, bodies wrapped in woven grass mats, but only one corpse occupied its center. A faint smell of death hung in the cool air but was not yet offensive. Light fell through two high windows covered with wooden grates.

Kobe went to the body in the middle of the room and flung back the grass mat covering the naked corpse of a young woman. She was on her back. Next to her lay a carefully folded bundle of clothing. Akitada recognized the material, heavy cream-colored silk with an embroidery of chrysanthemums and grasses. He had last seen it on the veiled woman in the rain outside the temple gate. The lovely fabric was stained with blood and dirt, and Akitada, having priced expensive silks for his sister, guiltily wished it had not been wasted on a woman who had first dragged it through the mud and then allowed herself to be murdered in it.

"Well?" said Kobe, when Akitada's eyes had rested long enough on the clothing. "Look at her! What do you think?"

Akitada did as he was told. It was his second glance, and again he flinched inwardly. The first look had taken in the mutilated head and quickly escaped to the embroidered silk. The willful destruction of a part of the human anatomy which was the person's identity, the self which he or she saw every morning in the mirror, the means by which humans are recognized for who they are and by which they express their thoughts and emotions to others, shocked even him who had seen too much of violent death. He recalled wishing to see the face of the veiled lady who had moved with such lithe grace. Now he would never know if she had been beautiful. Gone was the mouth which once had smiled at husband or lover and had spoken words of love-or hatred! The eyes would never again see the beauty of the world and mirror thoughts of happiness or sadness. Instead of a human face he saw a bloodied mask of raw flesh, the nose and one eye gone, the other covered with gore, and the mouth gaping like some grotesque wound. The memory of the horrors of the hell screen flashed into his mind. He wondered if the painter had studied his craft in the police morgue.

It had been a vicious attack. The killer must have been either demented or so furiously angry with his victim that he was no longer rational. Akitada thought of Nagaoka, the husband.

Kobe, untroubled by either philosophy or psychology, urged impatiently, "Well, come on! Or are you waiting for the coroner to tell you what happened to her?"

"Talking about me behind my back again, Superintendent?" asked a high, brisk voice from the doorway. A small, dapper man in his fifties walked in with a bouncing step. He gave Akitada a glance, bowed slightly to both of them, but spoke to Kobe in a casual, almost jovial manner. "So? What gives us the honor of a second visit, Super?"

" 'Us'?" Kobe grinned, raising his brows. "Have you appropriated police headquarters, Masayoshi, or just the morgue? Or perhaps you have formed a closer relationship with the late Madame Nagaoka here?"

The dapper man cackled. "The latter, of course. It is a professional bond which always develops between the coroner and the latest victim of a crime. The intimacy of my investigation has much of love and passion in it." He winked at Akitada, who frowned back.

"I brought a friend," explained Kobe. "His name is Sugawara. He's the nosy fellow who likes to solve my cases. As he wanted a look, I thought you could use some help, being that you don't seem to be able to make up your feeble mind about the cause of death." Kobe turned to Akitada. "This is Dr. Masayoshi, our coroner."

Akitada gave the man a cool nod. He was scandalized by the coroner's flippant attitude toward the body of a respectable young married woman.

If Masayoshi noted his expression, he ignored it. "I've heard of you," he said. "There was a great deal of talk the time you pinned a strangulation of a girl from the pleasure quarter on one of the silk merchants."

Akitada stiffened. "Nobody pinned anything on the silk merchant. The man was guilty. It was a long time ago, and you cannot be expected to have all the facts. Also, it required no medical skills. I have since had opportunity to learn a few things from one of your colleagues, but could not, of course, match your expertise. Please give me the benefit of your opinion in this case."

"Ah!" said Masayoshi, his eyes twinkling. "I see how it is. The superintendent has brought an ally. It would hardly be fair if I spoke first. Tell us what you think happened to her."

Irritated by the man's manner, Akitada said, "Very well," and began an examination of the dead woman. Nagaoka's wife was of average height, as he knew from having seen her at the gate, and had a well-shaped and pale-skinned body. There were no visible wounds anywhere except, of course, for the mutilated face and shoulders. Nudity of men and women was too common a sight in bathhouses, or in ponds and rivers during the summer, to trouble him as he bent closer to scrutinize the well-shaped legs and arms, the small, firm breasts, flat belly, and rounded hips. "She was young and attractive, perhaps in her early twenties, and has led an active life," he said, and moved to study the soles of her feet and the palms and fingers of her hands. "Her skin is too smooth and white for a peasant," he noted, "and her hands and feet are well cared for, but..." He felt the upper arms and thighs, pursed his lips, and straightened up.

Kobe met his eyes impatiently. "Come on! What about the way she died?"

Akitada glanced at the terrible wounds made by the killer. Several of them could have been fatal. They had obliterated the face, nearly severed the neck, and left deep gashes in her shoulders. "The cuts were made with a sword, I believe. No knife could have left such deep, hacking gashes, but sword wounds look like that. I have seen many of them." Unwelcome memories rose; Akitada pushed them firmly aside and knelt again to look more closely at the wounds. "Strange," he muttered. "She must have been prone. Whoever wielded the sword stood over her, for the cuts are deeper at the top and quite shallow lower down. Also the swordsman, or perhaps it was a woman, must have cut the throat deliberately, for that required a change of direction."

Kobe said, "Hah!" and exchanged a triumphant glance with Masayoshi, who chuckled and asked, "Anything else?"

Akitada was still looking and probing with his long index finger. The wounds of the face gaped, puddles of dried blood mingling with cartilage here and there, and pieces of bone protruded whitely from the raw flesh. One eye was closed; the other had disappeared completely in a mass of bloody pulp. Where the lips had been, broken teeth glimmered against the coagulated blood which filled the mouth cavity. It was no longer a human face. Akitada controlled a shudder.

"There is not enough blood," he said after a moment, and looked up at Masayoshi, his face suddenly tense. "That means she was already dead when she was hacked to pieces, doesn't it?"

"Excellent!" cried Masayoshi, clapping his hands. His tone was that of a teacher praising a bright child. "But come, how then did she die?"

Irritated by the coroner's manner, Akitada looked at the corpse again. Except for the carnage about her head and shoulders, there were no wounds on the front of her body. He gently rolled her onto her stomach. The silken hair was tied in back with a bow, once white but now mostly dark with dried blood. The young woman's back was also without wounds. "Perhaps a head wound," he muttered, feeling the skull through the soft hair. Whatever blood the facial wounds had produced had run down her neck to gather between the shoulders. Her hair and bow had soaked up what little there had been. The skull itself proved to have neither cuts nor the soft depressions caused by bludgeoning. "No," he said, sitting back on his heels and looking at her thoughtfully. "If we eliminate poisoning, the cause of death must be hidden by her wounds. Her face and throat are slashed so badly that it is hard to tell how she died, but it could have been many things. An arrow or knife thrust through the eye or mouth, or through the throat, for example, in which case she would have bled to death elsewhere."

"I'm impressed." Masayoshi nodded, smiling broadly. "They do teach you young gentlemen something after all." His tone was openly offensive.

Akitada got to his feet slowly. From his full height he looked down at the short coroner and said coldly, "I gather from your remark that you know nothing about a gentleman's education. It would have been wiser to hold your tongue under the circumstances. Your specialized training is what put you in your present occupation. Confine yourself to that in the future."

Kobe gave a snort which could have been either surprise or satisfaction, but the coroner's face froze. He bowed stiffly, saying, "I beg your pardon, my lord. I forgot myself."

The man had a careless tongue, and Akitada did not like the manner of the apology, but he controlled his anger. He had no wish to humiliate people who performed useful tasks, but the coroner had taken intolerable liberties. A coroner was a mere functionary of the courts and he, Akitada, had held the rank of governor. He had been the one who administered justice and maintained good order among his people. He said brusquely, "Very well. Please explain your findings now."

Masayoshi bowed again and turned to the corpse. He pushed aside the woman's hair and pointed to the back of her neck. The blood had been washed off, and the skin gleamed softly white-except for a thin pink line, hardly noticeable, beneath one ear. "There it is," he said dryly.

"It is nothing," said Kobe quickly. "Anything could have done that. It certainly did not kill her."

Akitada bent to look. He slowly turned the woman's head, following the thin line until it disappeared in front under the torn flesh of the severed throat. Straightening up, he looked at the coroner. "I believe you are right. You think she was strangled with a rope or cord of some sort?"

Masayoshi nodded. "There are no other wounds on the body, and there is no evidence of poison, or of disease." He bent to lift the lid from the undamaged eye. The pupil was turned upward, but the white was suffused with broken blood vessels. "This is what happens when people cannot breathe," he said dryly.

"But," complained Kobe, "it makes no sense! Why would the man first strangle her and then hack her to pieces?"

"That, my dear Superintendent," said the coroner, rising, "is your job. May I be excused now?"

Kobe muttered, "Yes, yes. Sorry to have kept you, Masayoshi."

Akitada cleared his throat. The doctor's eyes flicked in his direction. "May I be of further service, my lord?" he asked tonelessly.

"I wondered if you had found any sign of sexual, er, activity."

"If you mean intercourse, the answer is no. Anything else?"

"No, thank you." Akitada felt that, quite unreasonably, he was being told that he had given offense and was being put in his place. When Masayoshi had left, he said to' Kobe, "What a very unpleasant fellow! Where did you dig him up?"

Kobe frowned. "He's a good man. In his own way, he is as stubborn and opinionated as you are. But he is no respecter of the aristocracy, and your reprimand has made him angry. Now it will take me days to soothe him sufficiently to get any work out of him. You had no cause to humiliate him that way. Especially when you were wrong and he was right."

Akitada felt himself redden. "He was disrespectful. Remember, Kobe, I, too, am not the same man I was eight years ago. Up in the deep snow country I have learned some hard lessons about authority. The man was disrespectful of my position. Respect for distinctions of rank is necessary to maintain harmonious order. Common sense dictates that respect must be given and demanded or social chaos ensues. By mocking me, he mocked the order established by our emperor and the gods, and that cannot be not permitted."

Kobe burst into shouts of laughter.

Akitada froze, then turned to leave.

"Wait," cried Kobe. "Don't be ridiculous! I grant you the man lacks manners, but I have to take a more practical view. Masayoshi is a damned fine coroner, so I don't pay attention to his oddities. For instance, in this case, if he says she was strangled, then she was. Though it makes the case against Nagaoka's brother damned awkward."

Akitada snapped, "Well, it could not matter less, for the dead woman is not Nagaoka's wife."

Kobe turned to stare at him. "Not his wife? Have you lost your mind? The husband has identified her. There is no doubt about it. Besides, even Kojiro identified her as his sister-in-law."

"Nevertheless, they are mistaken." Akitada glared back with the certainty of conviction. "Perhaps they are lying for their own reasons. Without a face, the body could belong to a lot of young women. This particular one is well muscled, her palms are callused, and the soles of her feet are toughened from walking. She may not be a peasant woman, but neither is she a lady of leisure, as Nagaoka's wife surely was. I don't know how she came by the gown, but I think you should look for a missing servant girl. Apparently neither you nor your clever coroner have wondered why her face should have been destroyed."

Kobe started to laugh again. "This is your unlucky day! It so happens I asked about the muscles and calluses. Nagaoka says his wife was raised in the country and used to ride horses and climb mountains and everything. A regular tomboy, according to him." He stood, rocking back and forth on his heels, his eyes filled with glee.

Akitada gaped. "Are you sure? But why cut up her face like that, then? What was the purpose?"

Kobe took his arm to lead him out. "Never mind! You have done enough damage for one day. Why don't you go home now? You said earlier that your mother was very ill. Surely you are needed at home." His tone was paternal and thoroughly insulting.

Akitada shook off his arm. Through clenched teeth he said, "Could I have a few words with Nagaoka's brother first?"

"No." Kobe's tone was firm, and his eyes cold. "Not today or anytime. Put the matter from your mind! It is not your concern."

FIVE.

The Shrine Gate Perhaps four years earlier Akitada, less conscious of his consequence, might have persisted in his plea to see the accused, but now, meeting Kobe's implacable eyes, he merely executed a stiff little bow, turned on his heel, and left.

In his fury, he walked straight home without noticing the change in the weather. The city shivered in a cold wind and under a sky which was clouding up rapidly. People rushed along, holding on to their hats and pulling their collars up against the chill breeze. Leaves danced along the street, swirled up in little eddies, and subsided in odd corners of buildings and along the bottom of bamboo fences.

Saburo opened to his knocking, his wrinkled face breaking into a welcoming smile. Akitada brushed past him. The chanting monks had withdrawn from the windswept courtyard into the shelter of the house. Their droning voices reverberated through the corridors.

Yoshiko heard his step and came running, her eyes shining. "Oh, Akitada," she cried.

"How is she?" snapped Akitada, his face and voice stormy.

Yoshiko's happiness faded abruptly. "There is no change." She faltered. "Is ... is anything wrong?"

"No. Yes. Never mind! It has nothing to do with you. If Mother has not sent for me, I'll go to my room."

"No, she has not. But... what has happened? Can you not speak about it?"

She looked anxious, and Akitada felt guilty that he had inflicted his outrage with Kobe on her. "I am sorry," he muttered. "There is nothing for you to worry about. Just an injury to my own cursed pride and self-consequence. Come and I'll tell you about it, if you like."

She brightened at that and followed to his room.

"Did they deliver the silks?" he asked, glancing at her severe dark blue cotton dress.

"Oh, yes," she cried. "That is what I wanted to tell you. But Akitada, you should not have bought such very gorgeous fabrics for me. And why two sets, and with all the stuff for under-gowns? I have never had anything half so expensive or lovely. It must have cost a fortune?"

He smiled at that. "Not quite a fortune. I am reasonably well-to-do these days, Little Sister, and it gives me great joy to imagine you in the finished gowns."

"I am so very grateful, my dear, but I may not get much use out of them, especially the rose-colored one."

"Why not?"

"Because of Mother."

For a moment his anger rose at the thought that the meanness of his mother might extend to forbidding her daughter a pretty gown. Then he understood. "Oh, dear," he said, ashamed of his thoughtlessness. "Yes, I suppose we must be prepared to go into mourning when the time comes. But it may not be for some time."

Yoshiko shook her head. "Certainly before spring. It will be soon, I am afraid. She has been spitting up some blood."

Misery settled on Akitada. "What does the physician say?"

Yoshiko looked down. "He says the end is not far away."

"And she has not asked for me?"

Yoshiko shook her head mutely. He sat, staring sightlessly at his clenched hands. How much she must hate me, he thought. And he knew that his mother was leaving him a legacy of self-doubt along with the memory of rejection. He sighed deeply.

"She is very ill," said Yoshiko gently, "not really herself, you know."

He said nothing.

"You look tired and ... have you had your meals in the city?"

"What? No. There was so much to do I forgot."

She left and came back with a bowl of noodle soup and some rice cakes on a tray, and watched him as he ate. He had little appetite, but the food made him feel better. He put the half-empty bowl down and said gratefully, "It is so good to be back," then corrected himself quickly with a grimace: "I meant with you. This has never been a happy house for me."

Yoshiko looked stricken. "You mustn't feel that way! This is your home, not Mother's or mine," she cried. "Do not let her spoil it for you and Tamako and your son. It will be a happy home again. Our family has lived here for many generations and will continue to live here through you."

Akitada glanced around his room and out to the overgrown garden, now as covered with leaves at Nagaoka's courtyard had been. From the direction of his mother's room the voices of the monks penetrated even into his sanctuary. Like Nagaoka's, this, too, was a house in disarray, but Yoshiko's words touched something in his heart. She was right! It was up to him to give life back to the family home. Tamako would make short work of the weeds and choking vegetation outside and turn the garden into a flowering grove, while his son Yori, and in due time other children, would play outside, filling the place with their shrill shouts and laughter instead of the horrible drone of prayers for the dying. He smiled.

"There," said Yoshiko. "That looks much better. Now tell me what happened to upset you so."

He decided not to mention Toshikage's problem, but told her of his night at the temple, and how he had run into Kobe in the city and ended up becoming involved in the murder of Nagaoka's wife.

"It was foolish," he said, when he was done, "to become so angry with Kobe for refusing what I considered a courteous request, but I have become used to being obeyed. No one has spoken to me in that manner for a long time now." He added with a smile, "It will take some patience before I will become properly humble again."

Yoshiko did not smile. She was sitting very still. He was dismayed to see her so pale, her eyes large with shock. Cursing himself for frightening her with his gory tale of murder and nightmare, he apologized.

"No, no," she said, smiling a little tremulously. "It is nothing. But what will happen now? Who will help that poor man? Oh, Akitada, can you not do something? You could use your rank, perhaps. Or get some of your powerful friends to intercede."