The Convict's Sword by I. J. Parker

once had sight and had been taught. But a street singer? He shook his head and put the money back in its paper and replaced it. He closed the box and handed it to the lieutenant. “You had better take care of this,” he said. “It may turn out to be evidence. It either proves that robbery was not the killer’s aim—or that he was interrupted before he could ransack the trunk.”
    The lieutenant pondered this. “I get your drift. You think your Tora arrived and the killer ran? Yes, I suppose it could have happened that way.” But he sounded dubious and peered into the open trunk, tossing the folded garments around. “Not much else in here except her rags. I suppose she put her bedding on top every morning. What do you make of her having such a fine box and the silver?”
    “I don’t know. It’s strange.”
    “Stolen, I expect.”
    Though Akitada had just had the same thought, the lieutenant’s easy conclusion bothered him. “Not necessarily,” he said. “We must learn as much as possible about the victim and her past and current life. Now I would like to ask the mason and his family a few questions.”
    When they got back to the main room, they found that the couple had crept out of their blankets and was sitting beside the central fire pit. The mason, middle-aged before his time, still wore his dusty jacket and short pants, and his hands and feet were encrusted with stone powder. His wife did not look much cleaner. Poor people had no bathing facilities, and the public baths charged too much money, but the contrast to their lodger Tomoe was striking. She had made a great effort to be clean, perhaps because her work required it, but Akitada rather thought that cleanliness had been important to her, a matter of pride.
    “We are sorry to be so much trouble.” Akitada squatted down near the mason, though the man’s simian features did not promise much in terms of intelligent responses. After a moment, the lieutenant did the same.
    “No trouble, no trouble,” the mason muttered, avoiding eye contact and bobbing his head.
    “The lieutenant tells me that you heard your lodger cry out and sent for help. Is that so?”
    “She was screaming. It was terrible. It was like demons were tearing her to pieces. I sent my son for the constables.”
    Akitada thought of the blind woman struggling for her life, trying to reach the door and help. And these people had sat there, paralyzed with fear. Superstitions were common, but so were cowardice and ill will. He constrained his anger and said encouragingly. “You must have been very frightened.”
    “Yes. We ran outside and hid. After a long time I went to listen at the door. I heard nothing. But I figured the demon must have heard us, and we went back outside.”
    What a repulsive little toad this man was! In fact, Akitada felt nothing but revulsion for the couple. He looked from one to the other. “Did you hear or see anyone leave?”
    They shook their heads.
    “Did your lodger receive visitors in her room?”
    The mason hesitated and looked at his wife. She glared back at him. The mason fidgeted and said sullenly, “I’m a busy man. I have no time to watch her.”
    His wife gave a snort.
    Akitada said, “Yes, of course. But perhaps your wife, being in the house most of the day, may know something?”
    The woman smirked. “She looked down her nose at people. Men think that makes a whore special.” She snorted again. “Men are fools.” She glared at her husband.
    Aha, thought Akitada, so the wife was jealous of Tomoe. He considered her with interest. She was a short, dumpy female with the sharp nose and close-set eyes of a rat and a permanent scowl of bad temper. The street singer had been no beauty, but to the stonemason she must have seemed a fairy compared to the mother of his children. Had she caught her husband with Tomoe and gone after her rival with her kitchen knife? If so, the mason would be bound to cover up for her.
    As if she guessed what he was