“Can I speak to you privately?” Akitada asked with a glance at the guard.

Kobe led him to another office, waving the occupant out. “Well?” he asked brusquely when they were alone.

“It is about the Nagaoka case.”

Kobe began to glower.

“I had no intention of meddling—I swear it—but something you said made me wonder if I might not be involved anyway.

“How so?” snapped Kobe. He had raised his voice, causing Akitada to glance nervously at the door. “What do you mean, ‘involved’? You just got back. How could you have anything to do with a local case? If this is another one of your tricks, you are wasting your time.”

“Oh, come, now,” said Akitada reasonably. “You were glad enough of my meddling the last time we worked together. I thought we had become friends.”

Kobe relented a little and lowered his voice. “Well, it looks bad when you stick your nose into police business. For one thing, it makes us look incompetent. And now that you are a private person of some standing in the government, there might be talk about undue influence.”

Akitada almost laughed. “I have standing? Heavens, Kobe, I am a nobody. I cannot even promote my own interests. And even if I had influence, you should know me better. I would never play political games.”

Kobe sighed. “All right! Never mind! Explain how you are involved in something that happened three days ago in the Eastern Mountain Temple!”

“I spent the night there and heard someone scream.”

Kobe’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“The rain forced me to seek shelter in the temple. I arrived right after a young couple. During a restless night I woke up suddenly—why, I do not know. But once awake, I knew there was a woman screaming somewhere outside my room. I ran out, but being unfamiliar with the temple layout, I got lost. The next morning I left early. At the gate I mentioned the incident to the monk on duty, and he let me have a look at a plan of the monastery. He explained that there is only a service courtyard in the area where the woman must have been, and only monks use it during the day. Also, because of the rain, they had an unusual number of overnight guests, among them a troupe of actors who had given a performance the day before, and the actors were, as I had witnessed myself, an unruly bunch. They could well have wandered all over the place with their women. At any rate, I put the matter from my mind.”

Kobe had listened carefully. “But you think it was something to do with the murder.” Akitada nodded. “Well, I don’t agree. You either dreamed the whole thing or, as you point out, it was probably some of those actors making a nuisance of themselves. But if it will make you feel better, I’ll have my men go back and check it out. Were you staying in the visitors’ quarters?”

“No. They keep apartments for special guests in one of the monastery wings. I stayed there. The visitors’ quarters were quite a long way off.”

Kobe said, “Well, there you are, then. Not anywhere near the murder site. In any case, there is no need for you to trouble with it further. You have reported it, and there the matter rests.”

Akitada protested, “But what if it was the murdered woman I heard screaming? It is certainly a strange coincidence that an actress should have screeched outside my room the same night. Isn’t it at least possible that she was not killed in her room or by her brother-in-law?”

Kobe glared. “That does not follow, and you know it.” Narrowing his eyes, he asked suspiciously, “And how do you know where she was found?”

“Nagaoka told me.”

Kobe flushed with anger. “So you went to speak to Nagaoka after all! No doubt he asked you to clear his brother.”

“He did.”

Kobe muttered under his breath and started pacing, casting angry glances at Akitada from time to time. After a few passes, he stopped in front of Akitada and asked through clenched teeth, “Did you inform him also about the scream and your theory that the murder must have happened elsewhere?”

“Of course not! I have no intention of undermining your work.”

“Hah! You have done plenty of damage already. Now Nagaoka will persist in dragging out the case. I went to tell him that the evidence forces us to put his brother through interrogations until he signs a confession. If the man refuses, he will be dead in a week.”

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.