He made a gesture of dismissal, then pulled the quilt over himself and closed his eyes. “Another time. I’m too tired to try again now.”
“Yes, Your Excellency.” Ichiteru rose and straightened her disheveled garments. As she crossed the chamber, her resolve strengthened within her like flint in the bones and heart. Next time she would succeed. And until her future was secure, she must make sure her crime was never exposed.
Lady Ichiteru slipped out the door, closing it behind her. Memory and need intersected with a sudden click in her mind. She smiled in wicked inspiration. She knew just how to avoid the calamity of a murder charge and advance her position.
19
After a few hours’ sleep and a breakfast of fish and rice, Sano left his mansion early the next morning. Inside, Reiko still slept; servants cleaned up the mess in Sano’s office. The detective corps had left word that Lieutenant Kushida was securely imprisoned in his family home. Hirata had already left Edo Castle to check some leads on the drug peddler before finishing his interview with Lady Ichiteru. And Sano was taking a journey back in time.
Overnight, an autumn fog had billowed in from the river. White mist veiled the city, rendering the distant hills and the upper tiers of Edo Castle invisible. The sun was a pale circle floating in a sea of milk. As Sano headed toward the palace, patrolling sentries emerged out of the mist, only to disappear again. Moisture dripped off the stone walls of passages and slickened the paths. The thin cries of airborne crows and the drums summoning spectators to a sumo wrestling tournament sounded muted, as if strained through cotton mesh. The smell of wet stone, leaves, and earth dampened the tang of charcoal smoke. On such days when the sharp edges of reality blurred, the spirit world had an almost palpable presence for Sano. The ghostly trail into the past beckoned. What better time than now to follow it to hidden truths about Lady Harume’s murder?
Sano found Madam Chizuru in her office, a tiny room in the Large Interior. On the wall hung wooden plates bearing the names of officials and servants on duty. A window overlooked the laundry courtyard, where maids boiled dirty bedclothes in steaming pots. The harsh odor of lye drifted through the lattice. Chizuru, dressed in her gray uniform, knelt behind the desk, going over household account books.
“Madam Chizuru, may I speak with you a moment?” Sano asked from the doorway.
“Yes, of course.” The otoshiyori set aside her work and motioned for Sano to sit before her. Then she folded her hands and sat waiting, her masculine face impassive.
“What can you tell me about Lady Harume’s background?” Sano asked. Instinctively he believed that the concubine’s life held valuable clues about her death. Where she had come from, and who she’d been, could enlighten him more than witnesses, suspects, or evidence had yet.
Chizuru hesitated, then said, “The dossiers of His Excellency’s household are confidential. Special permission is required for me to release details.”
“I can get permission from the shogun and come back later,” Sano pointed out. Though annoyed by Chizuru’s resistance, he respected her adherence to the rules: If more people obeyed them, there would be less crime. “You might as well save us both some trouble by telling me now. And what does confidentiality matter now that Harume is dead?”
“Very well.” Madam Chizuru conceded with a brief lowering of her eyes. “Lady Harume was born in Fukagawa. Her mother’s name is Blue Apple; she’s a nighthawk.”
This was the poetic euphemism for unlicensed prostitutes, who serviced customers who couldn’t afford the expensive, legal Yoshiwara courtesans. No wonder Harume had felt out of place among the generally highborn women of the Large Interior. Confidential or not, personal information had a way of spreading. Had Lady Ichiteru, in particular, resented Harume’s presence enough to kill her? Hopefully Hirata would find out today.
“How was Harume chosen as a concubine?” Sano asked.
“The bakufu decided that variety would benefit the To-kugawa succession,” Chizuru said.
Meaning that when ladies of samurai or noble blood failed to produce an heir, a peasant girl was worth a try, Sano interpreted. And Harume had succeeded in becoming pregnant, though the child’s paternity wasn’t established.
“What about Harume’s father?” Sano said.
“He is Jimba of Bakurocho. You may know him.”
“Yes, I do.” The man was a prominent horse dealer who supplied the stables of the Tokugawa and many powerful daimyo clans, and Sano had purchased mounts from him.
“When the shogun’s envoys were searching for new concubines, they came across Harume,” Madam Chizuru continued. “She had good looks, a little education, and adequate manners. She seemed promising, and was brought to Edo Castle. That’s all the records say about Harume.”
Later Sano would visit the dead concubine’s parents and learn more about her. But for now, perhaps the crime scene would reveal undiscovered secrets. “I want to look around Lady Harume’s room again. Are her things still there?”
Madam Chizuru nodded. “Yes. The floor has been cleaned, but otherwise, everything is just as it was when she died—I’ve not yet had a chance to send her belongings to her family. And her former chambermates have moved to other quarters. The room is vacant. Come.”
Rising, she led Sano through the Large Interior, which was gradually awakening. Palace officials and guards made morning rounds. Maids filed through the corridors, carrying tea trays and water basins. Behind the paper walls, bedclothes rustled and sleepy feminine voices murmured. A fusty odor of sleep and stale perfume soured the atmosphere. But the hallway outside Lady Harume’s room was deserted. Sano thanked Madam Chizuru, slid open the door, and shut himself inside the cell. He stood still for a moment, looking around, absorbing impressions.
The slatted window shutters admitted misty daylight. New tatami covered the floor. Furniture stood undisturbed. But under the clean smell of soap, Sano detected the lingering taint of blood and vomit. In his mind he saw Harume lying on the floor, hideous in unnatural death. Her spirit seemed to infect the air. Although Sano hadn’t known her, he got a sudden, vivid image of the living girl: bright-eyed, vivacious, with a merry laugh that echoed across the distance from the netherworld. A cold shiver rippled over him, as if he’d seen a ghost.
Shrugging off his fancy, Sano began a systematic search through the chests and cabinets. On his last visit, he’d been concerned mainly with finding the poison. Now, as he examined Lady Harume’s belongings, he asked himself: Who was she? Who were her friends? What had mattered to her? What traits had she possessed, what things had she done that might have inspired murder?
Sano took a closer look at the kimonos he’d casually inspected before, laying them out on the floor. Two were cotton, much creased, with no sign of recent wear—she’d probably brought them to the castle with her, then rejected them in favor of the six expensive silk ones, which she must have received as a concubine. All the fabrics shared an extravagance of color and design, a lack of fashionable elegance. Sano contemplated the most striking example of Harume’s taste: a summer garment whose garish yellow lilies and green ivy seemed to vibrate against a brilliant orange background.
The iron chest yielded a stack of papers tied with frayed string. Sano leafed through them, hoping to find personal letters, but they were merely old Kabuki theater programs and illustrated broadsheets hawked by Edo news sellers. There was also a good-luck charm from the Hakka Temple in Asakusa—a prayer printed on cheap paper. Harume must have collected these things as souvenirs of holidays away from the castle. In drawers Sano discovered jars of face powder, rouge, and perfume, gaudy sashes, and floral hair ornaments; playing cards; cheap knickknacks; an old wooden doll with rope hair—probably a childhood toy. Sano sighed in frustration. There was nothing here to indicate that Harume had been anything but a common young woman with no intellectual interests or special relationships. Why would anyone have wanted to kill such a nonentity?
Perhaps Magistrate Ueda’s theory was correct, an
d the murderer’s real target had been her unborn child and the Tokugawa line. Unless Harume’s parents supplied new leads, the investigation into her background was a dead end.
Then, as Sano replaced items in the cabinet, he picked up a blue silk purse with embroidered white peonies and a red drawstring. There was a bulge inside. Opening the purse, Sano removed a folded square of unbleached muslin. Curious, he unfolded it. Inside was a wad of black hair and three fingernails, apparently pried off the flesh, with dead skin around the edges. Revulsion twisted Sano’s mouth. He didn’t remember Harume’s corpse missing any nails, and surely Dr. Ito would have noticed during the examination. Where had Harume gotten the grisly relics, and for what purpose?
A possible answer occurred to Sano, but it seemed incongruous, and he didn’t see how his discovery related to the murder. Rewrapping the muslin around the nails and hair, he replaced them in the purse, which he tucked inside the drawstring pouch at his waist for later contemplation. Then he began a meticulous reinspection of Lady Harume’s other possessions. What other evidence might he have missed?
When he was refolding the orange lilies-and-ivy kimono, its right sleeve crackled under his touch. Part of the sleeve’s hem felt stiffer than the rest. Folding it back, Sano saw loose threads where the stitching had been cut away. Excitement stirred in him. He inserted his hand into the hem and removed a folded sheet of thin paper. Tiny pink petals embedded in the paper gave it a feminine air, as did the faint scent of perfume and the spidery calligraphy that covered one side. Sano carried the letter over to the window and read:
You do not love me. Much as I try to believe otherwise, I cannot blind myself to the truth any longer. You smile and say all the right things because I command your obedience. But when I touch you, your body stiffens with distaste. When we are together, your eyes get a distant look, as if you would rather be elsewhere. When I speak, you do not really listen.
Is there someone you care for more than me? Alas! My spirit sickens with jealousy. But I must know: Who is it that has captured your affection?
Sometimes I feel like throwing myself at your feet and begging for your love. Other times I want to strike you for denying my soul’s desire. Woe is me! If I committed seppuku, I would not have to endure this misery!
But I do not want to die. What I really want is to see you suffer as I do. I could stab you and watch the blood run out. I could poison you and delight in your agony. As you plead for mercy, I will only laugh and say: “This is how it feels!”
If you won’t love me, I will kill you!
The letter bore neither date nor salutation, but the signature seemed to rise up off the page and fill Sano’s vision. Dread settled upon him like the dense, cold weight of a heavy snow that had fallen on Edo several winters ago, collapsing roofs and blocking streets. The writer of the letter was Lady Keisho-in.
This new clue turned the murder case in a different, perilous direction. Sano saw how wrong he’d been to think he’d accurately assessed the scope of the investigation. Here was proof that the shogun’s mother’s relationship with Harume had been more than just one of mistress and attendant. During the interview with Keisho-in, her expressions of maternal fondness for Harume had been pure deception. Sano had thought the old woman stupid, yet she’d tricked him by concealing her destructive rage toward Lady Harume. Now Keisho-in joined the array of murder suspects.
The letter established her motive, in her own, handwritten words. As ruler of the Large Interior, she had access to all the women’s rooms, and spies to keep her informed on every aspect of their lives. She could have seen the ink jar when it arrived at Edo Castle, read the accompanying letter, and recognized a perfect opportunity to kill Harume and have someone else blamed for the murder. She had servants to seek out rare poisons, and the wealth to purchase them. Between these factors and the letter, Sano had enough evidence to warrant a serious investigation of Lady Keisho-in—and perhaps even a murder charge against her.
Sano could see an additional reason why Lady Keisho-in might have wanted Harume dead—a motive even stronger than embittered love. Keisho-in must have known about Harume’s pregnancy, which held special ramifications for her. Now the case against Lieutenant Kushida, the Miyagi, and Lady Ichiteru diminished in comparative significance. But the evidence in Sano’s hand possessed the dangerous power of a double-edged blade. It opened a whole new line of inquiry, which might provide the truth about Lady Harume’s murder and spare Sano the death penalty for failing to solve the case. But following the lead could ruin him anyway.
Sano didn’t even want to think about what could happen, and he wished he’d never found the letter. If only he’d limited his attention to the previous suspects and evidence, and never learned about Keisho-in’s unhappy love affair with Harume! Perhaps she was innocent. By omitting her from his investigation, Sano could save himself. Slowly he began to tear the letter in two.
Yet honor would not let him evade the truth. Justice must be served, even at the cost of his own life. Reluctantly Sano folded the letter and tucked it inside his pouch with the purse of fingernails and hair clippings. He would postpone dealing with the document for as long as possible. But sooner or later, unless he found conclusive evidence against Lieutenant Kushida, Lady Ichiteru, the Miyagi, or someone else, deal with it he must.
20
A squadron of mounted samurai rode sedately along the highway on Edo’s western outskirts. The Tokugawa triple-hollyhock crest decorated the horses’ equipage, banners mounted on poles attached to the riders’ backs, and the huge black palanquin that followed. The open windows of the palanquin framed two faces.
Lady Keisho-in, her double chin bobbing in time with the bearers’ steps, gazed out at the landscape. “Beautiful!” she exclaimed, admiring the scarlet-and-gold foliage of the woods and the misty hills beyond. Her powdered and rouged face wore a gap-toothed smile. “I can’t wait to see the site of the future Tokugawa Dog Kennels. Are we almost there?”
The man seated opposite in the sedan chair watched Lady Keisho-in. He had a handsome profile, with a high brow, long nose, heavy-lidded eyes, and the full, curved lips of a Buddha statue. His shaven scalp accentuated the sculpted bones of his head. At age forty-two, Priest Ryuko had been Lady Keisho-in’s companion and spiritual leader for ten years. His association with her made him the highest-ranking cleric in Japan, as well as indirect adviser to Tokugawa Tsunayoshi. Ryuko had suggested this outing, as he had many other past schemes. Despite the cold, damp weather, Keisho-in had acquiesced, as she usually did. He’d convinced her that it was necessary for her to inspect the building of the kennels, a special project of theirs.
Yet Ryuko harbored another, more personal motive. The kennels wouldn’t be completed for several years, and in any case, their construction didn’t require Lady Keisho-in’s help. Ryuko had important business to discuss with her, away from Edo Castle and its many spies. Her future—and, therefore, his—might depend on the outcome of the investigation into Lady Harume’s murder. They must protect their mutual interests.
“We shall arrive soon,” Ryuko said, tucking the quilts more comfortably around Lady Keisho-in. He warmed her gnarled old hands in his strong ones, murmuring, “Patience,” as much to himself as to her.
Keisho-in preened under Ryuko’s attentions. Presently the palanquin rounded a curve in the road, and Ryuko ordered the bearers to stop. He helped Lady Keisho-in out, throwing a padded cloak over her shoulders. To the east, fields led to a village of thatched huts; beyond, the city, invisible beneath a heavy pall of fog, extended to the Sumida River. On the west side of the road, a huge expanse of forest had been reduced to a wasteland of jagged stumps. Woodcutters hacked down more trees, the ring of their axes echoing over the hills. Peasants sawed logs and hauled away branches, while samurai foremen directed the work. A team of architects consulted plans drawn on huge sheets of paper. The sweet, pungent smell of wet sawdust filled the air. Lady Keisho-in gasped with awe.
“Wonderful!” Leaning on R
yuko’s arm, she stepped off the road and minced toward the construction site.
As laborers knelt and bowed at her approach and the architects came to pay their respects, Ryuko signaled everyone to return to work. He wanted noise to mask his conversation with Lady Keisho-in. But first the guided tour, to fulfill the ostensible purpose of the expedition.
“Here will be the main entrance, with statues of dogs at the door,” Ryuko said, leading Lady Keisho-in to the eastern edge of the clearing. Slowly he walked her around the site. “Here will be rooms to house cages for twenty thousand dogs. The walls will be decorated with paintings of woods and fields, so that the animals can feel that they are outdoors.”
“Perfect!” exclaimed Lady Keisho-in, her eyes goggling. “I can see it all now.”
As the tour proceeded, Ryuko divided his concentration in two parts, according to long-standing habit. With the larger part he focused on Lady Keisho-in, watching for signs that she might be getting cold or tired, anticipating her need for flattery. Since his fortune depended on their relationship, he couldn’t afford to displease her. With the remainder of his mind he watched himself, monitoring his performance. He saw a slender holy man shod in modest wooden sandals, wearing a padded brown silk cloak over his saffron robe. His gaze had a wise, penetrating intensity that he’d practiced in the mirror until it became natural. His manner was dignified, his voice suavely cultivated. No trace remained of his humble origin.
Orphaned at age eight, Ryuko had come to Edo to seek his fortune. He’d found refuge at Zojo Temple, where the priests had fed, sheltered, clothed, and educated him. At fifteen, he’d taken religious vows. However, his tragic youthful experiences had endowed him with two contradictory traits, which prevented him from finding fulfillment in his vocation.
Ryuko hated poverty with a soul-searing passion. He would never forget the hardship of peasant life, slaving in the fields, with never enough to eat and no hope of a better existence. As a young priest, Ryuko had worked tirelessly to alleviate the suffering of Edo’s poor. He solicited donations and distributed them to needy citizens. His work financed the care of orphans at Zojo Temple. Soon he gained a reputation as a man of selfless, merciful character. The poor worshipped him; his superiors praised him for enhancing the image of their sect. Yet another urge compelled Ryuko.
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