The Hell Screen

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 ma

“ ‘Us’?” Kobe gri

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 pi

Akitada stiffened. “Nobody pi

“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 ma

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 ma

“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 ma

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?”