Read Online Assassin's Touch by Laura Joh Rowland - Free Book Online
Authors: Laura Joh Rowland
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donned white cotton mitts to protect himself from bodily excretions and spiritual pollution. He inspected Ejima’s head, turning it from side to side. His hands moved, pressing and probing, over the torso.
“I feel broken ribs and ruptured internal organs,” he told Hirata.
“But did I understand you to say that the witnesses saw Ejima collapse in the saddle?”
“Yes,” Hirata said.
“Then he was probably dead before he fell, and these injuries are not what killed him,” Dr. Ito said. “Mura- san , please turn the body.”
Mura rolled Ejima onto his stomach. A dark stain had spread across his back. “The blood has pooled,” Dr. Ito explained, then carefully examined Ejima’s scalp. “There are no injuries here. The helmet protected his head.” Circling the table, he pored over the body; he told Mura to turn it again, then continued his scrutiny. He shook his head and frowned.
“Can’t you tell what caused his death?” Disappointment filled Hirata at the thought of returning to Sano empty-handed.
Dr. Ito suddenly halted near the right side of Ejima’s head. He stooped, his gaze intent. An expression of surprise and heightened interest came over his face.
“What is it?” Hirata said.
“Observe this mark.” Dr. Ito pointed to a hollow in the facial bones between the eye and the ear.
Hirata leaned close. He saw a small, bluish, oval spot, barely visible, on Ejima’s skin. “It looks like a bruise.”
“Correct,” said Dr. Ito. “But it’s not from the injuries at the track. This bruise is more than a day old.”
“Then it must have nothing to do with his death,” Hirata said, feeling let down. “Besides, a little bruise like that never hurt anybody.”
But Dr. Ito ignored Hirata’s words. “Mura- san , please fetch me a magnifying lens.”
The eta went to a cabinet and brought a round, flat piece of glass mounted in a black lacquer frame with a handle. Dr. Ito peered closely through it at the bruise, then gave Hirata a look. Enlarged, the bruise showed an intricate pattern of parallel lines and whorls. Hirata frowned in disbelief.
“It’s a fingerprint,” he said. “Someone must have pressed against Ejima’s skin hard enough to bruise it. But I’ve never seen such fine detail in a bruise. What’s the meaning of this?”
As Dr. Ito contemplated the strange bruise, wonderment shone in his eyes. “In all my thirty years as a physician, I’ve never personally seen this, but the phenomenon is described in the medical texts. It sometimes appears on victims of dim-mak .”
“The touch of death?” Hirata saw his own amazement reflected on his men’s faces. The atmosphere in the room chilled and darkened.
“Yes,” Dr. Ito said. “The ancient martial arts technique of delivering a single tap that is so light that the victim might not even feel it but is nonetheless fatal. It was invented some four centuries ago.”
“The force of the touch determines when death occurs,” Hirata recalled from samurai lore.
“A harder tap kills the victim immediately,” Dr. Ito clarified. “A lighter one can delay his death for as long as two days. He can seem in perfect health, then suddenly drop dead. And there will be no sign of why, except an extremely clear fingerprint where his killer touched him.”
“But dim-mak is so rare,” said Detective Arai. “I’ve never heard of anyone using it—or killed by it—in my lifetime.”
“Neither have I,” said Detective Inoue. “I don’t know of anyone in Edo who’s capable.”
“Remember that anyone who is would not publicize the fact,” Dr. Ito said. “The ancients who developed the art of dim-mak feared that it would be used against them, or for other evil purposes. Hence, they passed down their knowledge to only a few favored, trusted students. The techniques have been a closely guarded secret, kept by a handful of men whose possession of it is known only among themselves.”
“Doesn’t it take an expert martial artist
“I feel broken ribs and ruptured internal organs,” he told Hirata.
“But did I understand you to say that the witnesses saw Ejima collapse in the saddle?”
“Yes,” Hirata said.
“Then he was probably dead before he fell, and these injuries are not what killed him,” Dr. Ito said. “Mura- san , please turn the body.”
Mura rolled Ejima onto his stomach. A dark stain had spread across his back. “The blood has pooled,” Dr. Ito explained, then carefully examined Ejima’s scalp. “There are no injuries here. The helmet protected his head.” Circling the table, he pored over the body; he told Mura to turn it again, then continued his scrutiny. He shook his head and frowned.
“Can’t you tell what caused his death?” Disappointment filled Hirata at the thought of returning to Sano empty-handed.
Dr. Ito suddenly halted near the right side of Ejima’s head. He stooped, his gaze intent. An expression of surprise and heightened interest came over his face.
“What is it?” Hirata said.
“Observe this mark.” Dr. Ito pointed to a hollow in the facial bones between the eye and the ear.
Hirata leaned close. He saw a small, bluish, oval spot, barely visible, on Ejima’s skin. “It looks like a bruise.”
“Correct,” said Dr. Ito. “But it’s not from the injuries at the track. This bruise is more than a day old.”
“Then it must have nothing to do with his death,” Hirata said, feeling let down. “Besides, a little bruise like that never hurt anybody.”
But Dr. Ito ignored Hirata’s words. “Mura- san , please fetch me a magnifying lens.”
The eta went to a cabinet and brought a round, flat piece of glass mounted in a black lacquer frame with a handle. Dr. Ito peered closely through it at the bruise, then gave Hirata a look. Enlarged, the bruise showed an intricate pattern of parallel lines and whorls. Hirata frowned in disbelief.
“It’s a fingerprint,” he said. “Someone must have pressed against Ejima’s skin hard enough to bruise it. But I’ve never seen such fine detail in a bruise. What’s the meaning of this?”
As Dr. Ito contemplated the strange bruise, wonderment shone in his eyes. “In all my thirty years as a physician, I’ve never personally seen this, but the phenomenon is described in the medical texts. It sometimes appears on victims of dim-mak .”
“The touch of death?” Hirata saw his own amazement reflected on his men’s faces. The atmosphere in the room chilled and darkened.
“Yes,” Dr. Ito said. “The ancient martial arts technique of delivering a single tap that is so light that the victim might not even feel it but is nonetheless fatal. It was invented some four centuries ago.”
“The force of the touch determines when death occurs,” Hirata recalled from samurai lore.
“A harder tap kills the victim immediately,” Dr. Ito clarified. “A lighter one can delay his death for as long as two days. He can seem in perfect health, then suddenly drop dead. And there will be no sign of why, except an extremely clear fingerprint where his killer touched him.”
“But dim-mak is so rare,” said Detective Arai. “I’ve never heard of anyone using it—or killed by it—in my lifetime.”
“Neither have I,” said Detective Inoue. “I don’t know of anyone in Edo who’s capable.”
“Remember that anyone who is would not publicize the fact,” Dr. Ito said. “The ancients who developed the art of dim-mak feared that it would be used against them, or for other evil purposes. Hence, they passed down their knowledge to only a few favored, trusted students. The techniques have been a closely guarded secret, kept by a handful of men whose possession of it is known only among themselves.”
“Doesn’t it take an expert martial artist
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