Then followed the testimony of more witnesses: the doctor; neighbors who confirmed the unhappy state of the defendant's marriage; the police who had found a bottle hidden under the defendant's kimono, tested the contents on a rat, observed its quick demise, and made the arrest. A solid case, Sano thought.
"What have you to say in your own defense, Mariko?" asked Magistrate Ueda.
Still weeping, the woman raised her head. "I didn't kill my husband!" she wailed.
The magistrate said, "There is much evidence of your guilt. You must either refute it, or confess."
"My mother-in-law hates me. She blames me for everything. When my husband died, she wanted to punish me, so she told everyone I poisoned him. But I didn't. Please, you must believe me!"
Stepping forward, Sano said, "Honorable Magistrate, I beg your permission to question the defendant."
Heads turned; a buzz of surprise swept the audience. It was rare for anyone except the presiding official to conduct interrogations during trials. "Permission granted," Magistrate Ueda said.
Sano knelt beside the shirasu. From behind a tangled mop of hair, the defendant eyed him fearfully, like a captive wild animal. She was emaciated, her face covered with bruises, both eyes blackened.
"Did your family do this to you?" Sano asked.
Trembling, she nodded. Her mother-in-law said righteously, "She was lazy and disobedient. She deserved every beating my son and I gave her."
Anger blazed in Sano. The fact that this situation occurred often made it no less reprehensible to him. "Honorable Magistrate," he said, "I need information from the defendant. If she provides it, I shall recommend that the charge against her be modified to murder in self-defense, and that she be returned to her parents' home."
Protests rose from the audience. A doshin said, "With all due respect, sosakan-sama, but this sets a bad example for the citizens. They'll think they can kill, claim self-defense, and get away with it!"
"She murdered my son! She deserves to die!" shouted the mother-in-law.
"You and your son mistreated that girl," Sano retorted, though he wondered why he was interfering in business that had nothing to do with his own investigation. Dimly he realized that his rage stemmed from his new awareness of the plight of women, a need to somehow make amends to Reiko for society's cruel treatment of her sex. "Now you're paying the price."
"Silence," Magistrate Ueda thundered over the audience's clamor, which subsided after the guards dragged the cursing, shrieking mother-in-law out of the room. To Sano, he said, "Your recommendation shall be accepted if the defendant cooperates. Proceed."
Sano turned to the girl. "Where did you get the poison that killed your husband?"
"I-I didn't mean to kill him," she sobbed. "I only wanted to make him weak, so he couldn't hurt me anymore."
"You're safe now," Sano said, but he could only hope her parents wouldn't punish her for the failed marriage-or wed her to another cruel man. How little he could do to correct centuries of tradition! Especially when he wasn't willing to begin at home. "Now tell me where you got the poison."
The defendant sniffed mucus up her nose. "I bought it from an old traveling peddler."
Choyei! Sano's heart leapt. "Where did you meet him?"
"At Daikon Quay."
Canals gridded the district northwest of Nihonbashi. Flagstone quays fronted warehouses; along these, dockworkers carried firewood, bamboo poles, vegetables, coal, and grain to and from moored boats. Sano knew the area from his police days, because the yoriki barracks were located in adjacent Hatchobori, on the edge of the official district. He rode down Daikon Quay, past porters laden with bundles of the long white radish. Everyone's breath formed clouds of vapor in the bright, chill air; a stiff breeze rippled the waters of the canals, which reflected the sky's wintry blue. Shouts, crashes, and the clatter of wooden soles rang out with sharp clarity. Sano could smell the distinctive blend of charcoal smoke and distant mountain snows that for him poignantly heralded the year's final season.
The defendant had given him directions to the place where she'd met Choyei: "He has a room in a house in the third street off the quay."
Sano steered his mount into the street. Rows of two-story slum dwellings lined a space barely wide enough to accommodate Sano's horse. Overhanging balconies blocked the sunlight; from clotheslines stretched across the narrow gap, laundry flapped. Night-soil bins, overflowing trash containers, and a privy shed befouled the air. Oily smoke rose from chimneys. Closed doors hid whatever activities the one-room apartments sheltered. The street was empty, permeated with a dreary quiet.
Dismounting outside the fifth door, Sano knocked. When he received no answer, he tried the door, but it wouldn't budge. He peered through the cracks in the window shutters. "Choyei?" he called.
The door of the next apartment creaked open. A thin, unshaven man came out. "Who are you?" he demanded. When Sano identified himself and stated the purpose of his visit, the man bowed hastily. "Greetings, sosakan-sama. I'm the landlord, and it just so happens that I need to see the peddler, too. He owes me rent. I know he's in there, with some man who came to see him. I heard them talking just a moment ago. The old rascal is just pretending he's not home." Pounding on the door, the landlord yelled, "Open up!"
Sudden intuition compelled Sano to action. He rammed his shoulder once, twice, three times against the door. The wooden panel gave way. From inside the room came wheezing, sucking noises, punctuated by groans. Alarm struck Sano's heart. "No," he said as comprehension spurted through him like ice water. "Please, no."
"What's wrong, sosakan-sama?" the landlord cried. "What's that sound?"
Sano burst into the room. At first it was too dark for him to see more than shadowy silhouettes. Then, as his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, the shadows became a chest, a cupboard, and a table. Bowls and jars covered every surface, including the floor. Pots steamed on a clay stove. The air was redolent with the medicinal odors of a pharmacist's shop. In a far corner lay a human figure, the source of the terrible noise.
Sano tripped over a mortar and pestle. He pushed aside a frame of the sort worn by traveling peddlers, a wooden contraption with baskets suspended from crosspieces. He knelt by the prone figure.
"Give me some light!" he ordered.
The landlord opened the shutters and lit a lamp. Choyei flashed into vivid focus. He was ancient, but vigorous of physique. Dirty white hair straggled around his bald crown. Eyes bulging with terror stared up at Sano from a face as gray and creviced as sun-baked mud. Blood flowed out of his gaping mouth and poured from a wound in his chest, staining his ragged kimono. Wheeze, suck, groan. The noise continued as he arched in pain, fighting for breath.
"Oh, no, oh, no," moaned the landlord, wringing his hands. "Why did this have to happen on my property?"
"Get a doctor," Sano commanded. Then he examined the deep gash between Choyei's ribs, made with a sharp blade, that alternately sucked and burbled blood. "Never mind, it's no use." Sano had seen this type of injury before, and recognized it as fatal. "Call the police instead." Choyei's visitor must have stabbed him and fled just moments ago. "Hurry!"
The landlord rushed out. Sano pressed his hand over Choyei's wound, temporarily sealing the hole. The wheezing abated. Choyei inhaled and exhaled hungrily. Feeling the warm, wet suction of bloody flesh against his palm, Sano said, "Who did this to you?"
The peddler's mouth opened and closed several times before his voice emerged. "Customer... bought... bish," he gasped out. Red froth bubbled from his nose. "Came back today... stab..."
Bish: the arrow toxin that had killed Lady Harume. Elation rushed through Sano. The customer must have been her murderer, who had returned to prevent Choyei from ever reporting the purchase to the authorities. Sano cast an impatient glance toward the door, wishing the police would hurry. The killer was still in the area. He longed to give chase, but he needed the testimony of his only witness.
"Who was it, Choyei?" Urgently Sano gripped the dying pedd
ler's hand. "Tell me!"
Choyei emitted sickening gurgles. Blood continued to leak from the wound. His lips and tongue struggled around the syllables of a name that seemed caught in his throat.
"What did he look like, then?" Sano said.
"No... No!" Choyei's hand clutched Sano's. His mouth formed words, but no sound came.
"Easy. Relax," Sano soothed him.
While the peddler struggled to speak, Sano's mind raced through possibilities. The brutal stabbing argued in favor of Lieutenant Kushida. Had he escaped house arrest to assault Choyei?
"Did he use a spear?" Sano said, hiding his impatience.
Choyei's body thrashed and his head rolled from side to side in a violent protest against impending death.
"What did he look like? Tell me so I can find him!"
Now the drug peddler seemed to accept his fate. His hold on Sano's hand weakened while involuntary tremors shook him. With a great effort, he gathered a deep, rattling breath and whispered: "... thin... wore dark cloak... hood..."
That description could fit Lord Miyagi as well as Kushida. Or what about Harume's secret lover? How Sano welcomed this evidence that pointed away from Lady Keisho-in!
Running footsteps clattered down the street. A doshin and two civilian assistants arrived at the door. Quickly Sano repeated Choyei's description of the killer, then added his own of Lieutenant Kushida and Lord Miyagi. "It might be either of them, or someone else, but he can't be far away. Go!" The police rushed off, and Sano turned back to the drug peddler. "Choyei. What else can you tell me? Choyei!"
Desperation tinged his voice as he felt the drug peddler go limp under his touch. The animation faded from Choyei's eyes. One more faint moan, a last drool of blood, then the source of the poison-and Sano's only witness to murder-was dead.
28
The house to which Lady Ichiteru's letter had directed Hirata was built on a willow-shaded canal near the river, in a wealthy merchant district. Usually Hirata took pride in his knowledge of Nihonbashi, gained from years of police work. However, as he walked over an arched bridge and through the gate leading into the street, he found himself in unfamiliar territory. Age and affluence lay like a rich patina upon the district. Moss furred high stone walls; a green film lustered the copper-tiled roofs. Because of their fortunate proximity to water, the mansions had survived many fires, making them some of the oldest buildings in town. But Hirata felt his own luck-and confidence- draining away with every step toward his rendezvous with Lady Ichiteru.
In his fist he clutched like a talisman the list of questions he must make Ichiteru answer. Folded inside was her letter. He'd spent hours guessing at possible meanings of the last line: "It is with more than ordinary pleasure that I look forward to seeing you." Now, as he unfolded his list to study it one final time, he saw with dismay that the sweat from his palm had run the ink of the two documents together. This interview might determine his fate and Sano's; yet Hirata felt terribly unprepared, despite all his planning. He hungered for Ichiteru, but wished he'd brought another detective along, or sent one in his place.
Now he had reached the designated house, a miniature estate set off from the others by a large garden. The mansion seemed to lurk beneath spreading pine boughs that almost hid its low roof. It hadn't escaped fire unscathed; smoke had darkened the walls. With his heart drumming the opposing rhythms of desire and doom, Hirata knocked on the gate.
It opened, and a young girl's pretty face appeared. Hirata recognized Midori, whom he'd all but forgotten. "Detective Hirata-san!" she exclaimed in delight. "I was so hoping to see you again." Eagerly she drew him into an overgrown jungle of weeds and unpruned shrubs, brown and lifeless with the waning season. An arbor draped with withered vines overhung the flagstone path to the veranda. Dressed in a kimono printed with red poppies, Midori was like a flower in a dead wilderness. She giggled in excitement. "What brings you here? How did you know where to find me?"
Her enthusiastic welcome flattered Hirata, easing his nervousness. At once he felt more like the competent professional he really was. Wishing to prolong the sensation, and reluctant to hurt Midori by correcting her assumption that she was the object of his visit, he said, "Oh, we detectives have ways of finding out things."
"Really?" Midori's eyes widened in awe.
"Sure," Hirata said. "Just try me. Come on. Give me a mystery to solve."
With her head tilted in thought, a finger to her cheek, Midori made a charming picture. Then she grinned mischievously. "I've lost my favorite comb. Where is it?"
She laughed at Hirata's disconcerted expression, and after a moment, he joined her. "I confess; I don't know," he said. "But I'll come over and help look for it if you want."
"Oh, would you?" Dimples sparkled in Midori's face.
Cheered by her frank admiration, Hirata chatted about inconsequential things with Midori. They didn't hear the door open, or notice Lady Ichiteru until she spoke.
"I am honored by your acceptance of my invitation, Hirata-san." Down the length of the arbored passage, her low voice issued like a warm draft from a furnace. "A thousand thanks for being so... prompt."
Cut off in midsentence, Hirata turned and saw Ichiteru standing on the shadowy veranda. Her pale skin, mauve silk kimono, and the ornaments in her upswept hair gleamed as if she somehow concentrated the meager light upon herself. Her enigmatic gaze transfixed Hirata. At once his dread returned.
"Midori, why do you detain my guest outside instead of bringing him to me?" Lady Ichiteru rebuked the girl.
Hurt filled the eyes Midori turned on Hirata. Crestfallen, she said, "Oh. You've come to see her. I guess I should have known. I'm sorry for keeping you." Bowing awkwardly, she added, "I'm sorry, my lady."
Hirata pitied her embarrassment. Vaguely he remembered that his plan called for questioning Midori.
"Detective Hirata-san, there's something I should probably tell you," Midori whispered, averting her face so Ichiteru wouldn't notice.
"Yes, sure," Hirata said. But Ichiteru's seductive beauty lured him like a physical force. "Later." Leaving Midori, he moved through the dark tunnel of vines. The crumpled list of questions fell from his hand. He climbed the steps of the veranda and accompanied Lady Ichiteru into the house.
The corridor was dim, and smelled of mildew and the dank canal. Drifting a few steps ahead, Lady Ichiteru shimmered like a ghostly vision. Panic and anticipation weakened Hirata's legs. Every sane, prudent instinct told him to conduct their conversation outside, in the safety of the public thoroughfare. But the powerful, bittersweet scent of her perfume tantalized him. He would have followed Ichiteru anywhere.
She ushered Hirata into a room at the end of the corridor, where a single lamp burned upon a low table which also held a sake decanter and two cups. Age and dampness had discolored the painted landscape murals on the walls, so that they looked like cliffs and clouds under water. Carved sea demons snarled upon ancient cabinets. Through the shuttered windows Hirata could hear the waters of the canal lapping at the stone embankment. A futon lay upon the tatami. At the sight of it, Hirata felt heat gather in his loins. Tearing his thoughts away from the bed's implicit invitation, he blurted the first thing that came into his mind: "Whose house is this?"
A fleeting smile crossed Ichiteru's face. "Does it matter?" Kneeling beside the table, she motioned for him to join her. She murmured, "The important thing is that you are here... and so am I."
"Uh, yes," Hirata said. Clumsily he trod on the hem of his trousers and almost fell as he knelt opposite Ichiteru. Shame flushed him. The room seemed too warm and too cold at the same time; his hands felt like ice, while sweat saturated his clothes. "So, uh, what did you want to tell me?"
"Come now, Hirata-san." Ichiteru shot him a coquettish glance. "There's no need to be... in such a hurry. Are you that eager to get away?" Her full lips pouted. "Do you dislike me so much?"
"Oh, no. That is, I like you just fine." A hot blush crept over Hirata's neck and ears.
"Then
let us first... enjoy this time we have together." Ichiteru's kimono, worn fashionably off the shoulders, slipped lower, revealing the top of the aureole around one nipple. "May I offer you refreshment?" She lifted the sake decanter, arching her painted brows in suggestive invitation.
Hirata usually preferred not to drink while on duty, but now he needed to calm his nerves and still his trembling hands. "Yes, please," he said.
Lady Ichiteru poured a cup of sake. When she passed it to Hirata, her smooth, warm fingers caressed his. Her eyes drew him into their fathomless depths. With difficulty, Hirata looked away and drained the cup in one swallow. The liquor had an odd, musty taste, but he was too grateful for its immediate calming effect to care. Ichiteru watched him, her hands clasped in her lap, a smile playing around her mouth.
"Now I believe we're ready," she said.
Leaning forward, she drew her fingertips down Hirata's cheek. Her touch left a trail of heat. Aroused but aghast, he shrank away.
Sano Ichiro 4 The Concubine's Tattoo (1998) Page 26
