“No. But there is something else.” The coroner lowered the head and raised an eyelid. Takechi and Akitada bent to look.

“His eye appears to be bloodshot.” Akitada shook his head. “That can happen to a living man and is fairly common among the old, I think.”

“It isn’t just bloodshot,” Kimura said. “If you look closely, sir, you may see that the white part of the eyeball appears to have many small red dots in it.”

The others knelt to study the dead man’s eyes. The coroner raised the second eyelid. Both eyes were indeed as he had described.

Akitada sat back on his heels. “What does it mean?”

Doctor Kimura spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I don’t know … or at least I hesitate to say.”

“Speak up, man,” Takechi urged. “We can always decide later if it’s significant.”

“Well, I’ve seen this once before. On a murder victim in the capital. The corpse—it was a middle-aged woman—had died of strangulation. Her husband was her killer. I was a student at the university then and for once our professor, who normally lectured, took us to the police morgue, so that we might observe a female body. The secrets of the female are normally hidden from physicians who must diagnose and treat illnesses based on book learning.” He blushed a little when he met Akitada’s surprised eyes.

Akitada smiled. “I would think that a man with your intellectual curiosity would have remedied this by visits to the willow quarter.”

The blush intensified, but Doctor Kimura said, “Yes, but I was very poor in those days. I found that such education seemed well beyond my reach.”

Akitada and Takechi chuckled at this, and after a moment, the young coroner joined them. The moment of amusement over, Akitada pointed out, “The woman was strangled. I assume her killer left marks on her throat?”

Kimura nodded. “That is so.”

“But the judge’s neck bears no marks of strangulation. How then can the two cases be related?”

Again Kimura made the helpless gesture. “I cannot account for it. I only mentioned it because the spots on the eyes were the same.”

Akitada bent over the corpse and examined his face and throat carefully. When he straightened, he shook his head. “Nothing. How do you account for the bruise to the back of his head?”

“He could have fallen backward and hit his head.”

Takechi said quickly, “He was not lying on his back when we found him. He was on his side, almost on his front.”

“It is possible that the fall merely stunned him and he moved, perhaps in an effort to get up.” But Kimura looked worried.

“You think something is wrong,” Akitada said. “That someone may have caused this death?”

Kimura stared down at the judge’s body. “I don’t know, sir. I have no proof. We will cut him open, but I may not find anything useful. He was an old man, and not very healthy. He could have become dizzy from an excess of blood in his head, or its opposite. That would have caused him to fall. Death came a little later. Alas, dead men don’t speak.”

Takechi nodded. “I get it. It’s a natural death after all. Very well, finish the examination and let me have the report.”

Kimura bowed, and they left.

“What do you think, sir?” Takechi asked when they reached his office again.

“The coroner appears to be a very careful man. You’re lucky.”

“Yes. I think so. But I meant about the judge?”

“I think you’ve done all that was required, and so has Kimura. I shall tell the governor.”

∞

Something nagged at Akitada after he parted from Takechi. Perhaps it was simply the fact that he had known Nakano and learned more about the man today. The judge had not been a likable man. The way he treated his servants proved this, as did the fact that he appeared to have no friends and that any family he had stayed well away from him. He had also been a miser and was probably quite rich by now. As a judge he had been corrupt. Such men make enemies and are likely to end up murdered.

On an impulse, he returned to the judge’s house where he found that the housekeeper’s husband had returned. He was playing with the toddler, carrying him on his shoulder while galloping around the courtyard. The child shrieked with delight and his father looked happy.

Akitada stopped. Just so he had carried his own children. And Yori had shrieked exactly like that. Yoshi was more given to giggling, and Yasuko had cried, “Faster! Go faster!” and belabored him with a small, pudgy hand. He missed the children and looked forward to having them come for the shrine festival. He would send Tora home today to carry the invitation and spend a night with his wife. That part of normal married life, Akitada missed most of all.

During the past year, he had gradually sought relief from several women who obliged for silver or a length of silk. They were discreet and pleasant—indeed one or two had been well educated for such women, and one had confessed to coming from a good family. This last had shocked him, but she had been matter-of-fact about her life. Her father was land-poor and had to feed a large number of children. She had become tired of never owning a silk dress, rarely having enough to eat, and not attracting any suitors except the most unsuitable ones. She liked her present life much better.

But such visits were not the same as the comfort a man found with his own wife.

The father made another turn and caught sight of Akitada. Startled, he stopped and put the child down. The boy wailed his protest.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Akitada said and went to pick up the toddler. The boy stopped crying to stare at Akitada.

“Forgive me, sir,” stammered his father. “I didn’t see you. Let me have him back. He’ll get your fine robe dirty.”

“I don’t mind. He’s a handsome boy. I used to do what you just did with my own children.” The boy got hold of Akitada’s ear and pulled, chuckling. Akitada was tempted to put him on his shoulders and start galloping but decided that his father would think him mad. He lifted the child up and down a few times, enjoying his delight, then handed him back.

“You must be Kiyoshi. The chief and I spoke with your wife earlier. I’m Lord Sugawara.”

Kiyoshi bowed deeply. “Tatsuko said a gentleman gave her silver. Was it you?”

Akitada nodded. “You have not been paid. It seemed wrong that the children should suffer because your master died.”

“We’re very grateful for this kindness. I can perhaps repay it by doing some work for you? You can see I’m very strong.”

He was indeed muscular, but Akitada had no need for more servants. He thanked him. “Perhaps instead you might talk to me about your late master?” he suggested.

“I’m at your service, but let me take my son back to his mother.”

Akitada wandered into the house, peering into rooms as he passed them. They were all empty, though furnished with thick tatami mats and amenities like candle holders, oil lamps, braziers, and small screens. Here and there, he also saw clothes racks. All of those things were of good quality and everything was very clean. The wooden floors shone. He thought of the poor young couple. Judge Nakano had certainly got his money’s worth from their services. Given the fact that Otsu provided many opportunities to earn a living, he began to wonder if Nakano had used some sort of threat to keep them in bondage.

And that, of course, would give them a motive. But a motive for what? Nakano’s death was most likely due to his age and ill health.

He returned to the study and cast another glance at the desk with its papers, fanciful writing implements, and that odd carving of Jizo. He picked it up to see if it might have an inscription, making it something like an amulet, but saw nothing.

“I’m ready now, sir.”

Akitada turned, startled. The young man was back. He was barefoot; that accounted perhaps for his silent movements. He looked curiously at the little figure in Akitada’s hand as he waited.