Rising, she descended from the pavilion. She moved with a jerky, unfeminine stride; her gray kimono hung on her angular body. Hovering close beside Reiko, she said, “We are delighted to make your acquaintance.”
Earlier, Reiko had hoped that the Miyagi would welcome a chance to curry favor with Sano through her, and hence give her more than the usual few moments allotted for a courtesy call. Now, though the scheme was working, she longed to finish her business and leave as soon as possible. Lady Miyagi’s flat black eyes glittered with predatory interest. Reiko edged away—and bumped into Lord Miyagi, who had come to stand at her left.
“As lovely as spring snow on cherry blossoms,” he drawled, sighing through moist lips.
Pinned between her hosts, Reiko felt increasingly alarmed, and not at all flattered by the compliment, which suggested the spoilage of beauty. She found Lord Miyagi repulsive, with his loose skin, droopy-lidded eyes, and slouching stance. Was he the father of Lady Harume’s chüd? How could she have tolerated his touch? The stench Reiko had noticed didn’t mask the intimate, musky odor that wafted from husband and wife. Inwardly she recoiled from its aura of mysterious, unhealthy practices. After consummating her marriage, she’d fancied herself very adult and experienced. Now her happy delusion crumbled before the perverse sophistication of the Miyagi.
“A walk in the garden sounds wonderful,” she blurted.
Eager to put some distance between herself and the couple, she started down the path. But Lord and Lady Miyagi stayed so close that their sleeves touched hers as they strolled. Reiko could feel the daimyo’s hot breath on her temple. Lady Miyagi was a barrier that prevented her from breaking the formation. Had Lady Harume felt this fearful unease while ensnared in the couple’s erotic web? Would they dare make designs upon the wife of a high Tokugawa official?
Reiko wished she’d brought her guards. Nervousness drove from her mind the plans she’d made for questioning Lord Miyagi. She fumbled to start a conversation that might produce the answers she wanted.
“I admire your garden,” she said. “It’s so—” Seeking an apt description, she noticed another statue: a two-headed winged demon with the corpse of a small animal in its claws. Reiko shuddered. “So elegant,” she finished lamely.
Lady Miyagi said, “But I imagine that the Sōsakan-sama’s garden is far better?”
Hearing genuine curiosity in the conventional reply, Reiko guessed that the daimyo’s wife had mentioned Sano because she wanted to find out what Reiko knew about the murder case. Reiko seized on the opening. “Unfortunately, my husband hasn’t much time to devote to nature. Distressing matters occupy his attention. You may have heard about the incident that interrupted our wedding festivities?”
“Indeed. Quite shocking,” Lady Miyagi said.
“Oh, yes.” The daimyo sighed. “Harume. All that loveliness destroyed. Her suffering must have been extreme.” Lasciviousness crept into Lord Miyagi’s smile. “The knife cutting her soft skin; the blood welling; the poisoned ink seeping into her young body. The convulsions and madness.” Lord Miyagi’s hooded eyes sparkled. “Pain is the ultimate sensation; fear is the most intense of all emotions. And there’s a unique beauty in death.”
Reiko experienced a frisson of horror as she realized that Lord Miyagi’s tastes ranged even farther beyond the boundaries of normality than she or Sano had thought. She remembered a trial her father hadn’t let her watch, that of a merchant who’d strangled a prostitute while they coupled, achieving the ultimate carnal satisfaction in the death of his lover. Had Lord Miyagi sought the same with Lady Harume, reveling in her agonies from afar?
Pretending not to notice anything unusual about his response, Reiko said, “I was very much saddened by Lady Harume’s death. Weren’t you?”
“Some women are wayward creatures who tease, torment, and entice in a continual flirtation with danger.” A dark, morbid excitement roughened the daimyo’s affected drawl. “They invite killing.”
Reiko’s heart jumped. “Did Lady Harume do that?” she asked. With you, Lord Miyagi?
Perhaps aware that her husband spoke too freely, Lady Miyagi cut in, “What progress does the Sōsakan-sama make on his investigation? Will he make an arrest soon?” Eagerness sharpened her voice: She, unlike the daimyo, seemed worried about the outcome of the murder case.
“Oh, I don’t know anything about my husband’s business affairs.” Reiko spoke with blithe unconcern, not wanting the couple to guess that she knew Lord Miyagi was a suspect.
Neither Lady Miyagi’s expression nor bearing changed, but Reiko felt her relax. They reached the flower bed where the daimyo had been working. He picked up the bucket, which contained a lumpy red and gray slop, the source of the unpleasant odor. Flies buzzed around it. “Ground fish,” Lord Miyagi explained, “for enriching the soil and making plants grow.”
Reiko’s stomach turned. As the daimyo ladled the mixture onto the ground, his limpid gaze caressed her. “From death comes life. Some must die so others may survive. Do you understand, my dear?”
“Urn, yes, I guess so.” Reiko wondered whether he was referring to dead animals—or Lady Harume. Was he justifying her murder? “It’s the way of nature,” she improvised.
“You are as perceptive as you are beautiful.” Lord Miyagi brought his face close to hers and smiled, his wet lips baring discolored teeth.
Rigid with distaste, Reiko tried not to cringe from the dawning infatuation in his bloodshot eyes. “A thousand thanks,” she murmured.
At the sound of the door opening and footsteps on the veranda, Lady Miyagi said, “Tea is served.”
“Tea! Oh, yes!” Reiko exclaimed, giddy with relief.
They sat in the pavilion. The concubines brought hot, damp cloths for washing their hands and laid before them an extravagant repast: tea, fresh figs, bean-jam cakes, pickled melon, boiled chestnuts in honey, sliced lobster arranged in the shape of a peony. As Reiko politely sampled the refreshments, she thought of the poisoned ink. Her throat closed; a surge of nausea roiled her stomach. She felt a growing conviction that Lord Miyagi was the killer. The crimes against Lady Harume, which had involved no physical contact, suited the daimyo’s habits. He’d sent her the ink bottle. The tea tasted bitter in Reiko’s mouth, and the sweets saturated with the taint of dead flesh.
Lounging beside her, Lord Miyagi chewed slowly, amid much lip-smacking. As he ate petals of the lobster peony, his gaze moved over Reiko as if peeling off her clothes with his eyes. She blushed under her makeup, forcing down a gulp of tea. Her stomach lurched, and for one awful moment she feared the liquid would come back up.
The daimyo intoned:
“High on the bough hangs the ripe fruit,
Safe beyond the reach of man; untouched
A wasp pierces her downy flesh
And drinks of the sweetness within—
From below, I celebrate the wedding
With my own ecstasy.”
He bit into the rosy pulp of a fig, never taking his gaze from Reiko. With a sinuous movement, he lifted a hand to her head. Reiko gasped. The concubines tittered; Lord Miyagi chuckled. “Don’t be afraid, my dear. A leaf has become tangled in your pretty hair—let me remove it.”
His fingers trailed over Reiko’s temple and down her cheek before falling away. There was no leaf in them. The daimyo’s touch left a damp sensation, like a snail’s track. Hot with angry embarrassment, Reiko looked away. As a sheltered upper-class girl, she’d had little contact with men outside her immediate household, and none had dared treat a magistrate’s daughter with such disrespect. Thus, she had no idea how to handle Lord Miyagi’s vulgar attentions. The only thing she could think to do was pretend she didn’t know what he was doing.
“You have an admirable turn of phrase,” she said weakly, then looked to Lady Miyagi for assistance. If the woman had any pride or sense, she would stop the daimyo’s outrageous flirtation now! How could any wife bear seeing her husband make advances toward another woman? Reiko herself would kill
Sano if he ever behaved this way.
Yet Lady Miyagi merely watched and nodded; her stiff smile never wavered. If she felt any jealousy, she kept it well hidden. “Do you enjoy poetry, Lady Sano?” Sunlight slanted through the pavilion’s lattice walls, revealing the mustache hairs on her upper lip. At Reiko’s helpless nod, she said, “So do I.”
They discussed famous poets and quoted classic poems. Lady Miyagi recited some of her own verse and invited Reiko to do the same. Licking his fingers, Lord Miyagi watched. Reiko hardly knew what she was saying. As the food soured in her churning stomach, her mind whirled with questions. What had happened between the couple and Lady Harume? Was this how it had started? Had it led to the concubine’s death?
However, Reiko had lost whatever control she’d had over the interview. None of Sano’s explanations or advice had prepared her for the actuality of this situation. She couldn’t figure out how to direct the conversation back to the murder case without arousing suspicion. Despair worsened the sickness that washed over her in hot and cold waves. The morning took on the dimensions of a nightmare. Lady Miyagi’s eyes shone as she recited haiku. Reiko squirmed beneath Lord Miyagi’s tactile gaze. At last she could bear her distress no longer.
“I’ve imposed upon your hospitality for too long,” she choked out. “Now I must be going.”
The daimyo sighed regretfully. “So soon, my dear? Ah, well…partings are inevitable, the joys of life ephemeral. The frost claims even the freshest, loveliest blooms.”
Again the dark excitement swelled in his voice. Reiko felt the spirit of Lady Harume hovering over the garden. Her gorge rose.
Then Lord Miyagi’s eyes brightened, like sunlight reflecting off polluted water. “Tonight we are making a trip to our villa in the hills, to view the autumn moon. Would you be so good as to accompany us?”
No! I never want to see you again! Let me out of here! The vehement refusal would have burst from Reiko’s lips, had she not been pressing them together in an attempt to contain her sickness. She knew the danger she courted during every moment spent with a man who found pleasure in the death of a young woman.
“Please do come,” Lady Miyagi urged. “Your poetic talent will find much inspiration in the beauty of nature.”
Sano had told her to be careful, and the thought of going anywhere with the Miyagi terrified and repulsed Reiko.
“The occasion will provide us a chance to become better acquainted, my dear.” The daimyo’s lazy smile suggested a night of bizarre, forbidden thrills. “So far from the city, nothing shall disturb us.”
Yet Reiko had no proof that Lord Miyagi had poisoned Harume. Her own certainty wouldn’t convict him. She needed evidence, or a confession. To obtain either, she must take advantage of the chance to see Lord Miyagi again.
“Thank you for the kind invitation.” Reiko forced the words past the sour bile in her throat. “I gladly accept.”
Fighting nausea, her skin cold and clammy, she nodded as her hosts discussed and settled upon travel arrangements. “Now I must be on my way to finish my calls and prepare for the journey. Good-bye!”
The walk through the daimyo’s estate to the street lasted an eternity. Dizzy and faint, Reiko jumped into her waiting palanquin, not at all sure she could control herself until she got home. As the vehicle bounced with the bearers’ steps, her stomach heaved.
“Stop!” Reiko cried.
Leaping out, she ran into an alley, crouched, and vomited, raising her sleeve to shield herself from public view. Relief was instantaneous, but dread followed immediately. How could she bear to spend an entire night with the Miyagi? Stumbling back to the palanquin, Reiko consoled herself with the knowledge that she had the rest of the day to prepare for the ordeal. She couldn’t let Sano down, when failure to solve the case would ruin them. Somehow she must deliver Lord Miyagi to justice.
If only her courage—and stomach—didn’t fail her.
34
The Tsubame Inn, where Lady Harume and Lord Miyagi had trysted, was located in a quiet lane on the outskirts of Asakusa, away from the busy Kannon Temple precinct. Its low, thatch-roofed buildings clustered behind a high bam-boo fence. Across the street, an earthen wall surrounded a minor temple. The blank façades of warehouses comprised the immediate neighborhood.
Dismounting outside the inn’s gate, Sano surveyed the empty street. A short distance away, birds soared above rice fields. Harume and the daimyo could not have chosen a more private, out-of-the-way place for a rendezvous. However, Sano hadn’t come here to investigate their affair. He was playing a hunch.
He stepped through the gate. Inside, an artfully landscaped garden of evergreens, cherry trees, and red-leafed maples signaled a high class of clientele, none of whom was visible. The buildings’ doors were closed, their windows shuttered. But Sano heard the murmur of voices through thin walls; he could smell food cooking. Steam issued from the bathhouse. Sano suspected that a raid on the inn would expose the illicit liaisons of some of Edo’s most prominent citizens. He hoped that the solution to the mystery of Lady Harume’s murder also hid here.
The entranceway of the front building sheltered an alcove tastefully decorated with branches of red berries in a black ceramic vase instead of the usual list of prices for room and board. When Sano rang the bell, the proprietor emerged from his living quarters.
“Welcome to the Tsubame Inn, master,” he said. “You wish lodgings?” His grave mien and somber black kimono conveyed the utmost discretion.
Sano introduced himself. “I need some information about one of your former guests.”
The proprietor’s haughty eyebrows lifted. “I’m afraid it’s against our policy for me to supply any. Our clients pay for privacy, and we take pains to ensure it.”
Sano understood this to mean that the man paid the authorities not to look too closely into the inn’s operations. However, his own power superseded that of petty local officials. “Cooperate, or I’ll arrest you,” he said. “This is a murder investigation. And since the guest in question is dead, she can hardly mind if you talk about her.”
“All right.” The proprietor shrugged in annoyed resignation. “Who was she?”
“Lady Harume, the shogun’s concubine. She came here to meet Lord Miyagi of Tosa Province.”
The proprietor brought out the guest register and made a show of consulting it. “I’m afraid that those individuals have never patronized this inn.”
“There’s no use hiding behind a list of false names.” Sano knew that the proprietors of such establishments took care to find out who their clients were. Guessing the reason for the man’s evasion, he said, “Don’t worry about Lord Miyagi punishing you for talking to me. I’m not interested in him right now. What I want to know is this: Did Lady Harume meet anyone else here?”
If she’d had a secret lover, the concubine would have had to see him outside Edo Castle. She’d had limited freedom, little money of her own, and probably nowhere to go for illicit meetings. How better to arrange liaisons than during the same outings when she’d escaped her guards to meet Lord Miyagi, at the inn where he’d paid for the room? Therefore Sano had come to the Tsubame Inn in search of an unidentified potential suspect. Now creative deduction reaped its reward.
“Yes,” the proprietor admitted, “she did meet another man.”
“Who was he?” Sano asked eagerly.
“I don’t know. Lady Harume sneaked him in. I only found out about him by accident—the maids heard a man and woman coupling in the room, which was unusual, because Lord Miyagi always stayed outside. Later I had the man followed, but was unable to learn his name, occupation, or where he lived, because he always got away.”
Was jealousy of Harume’s lover the daimyo’s motive for killing her? “What did the man look like?” Sano said.
“He was a plainly dressed samurai in his twenties. That’s all I can tell you. He was careful to avoid observation—as are many of our guests.” The proprietor gave a sardonic smile, “I’m sorry I can’
t be of more help.”
So the lover wasn’t Lieutenant Kushida, but definitely a man, not a woman. Sano said, “Can I see the room they used?”
“It’s occupied now, and has been thoroughly cleaned since Lady Harume’s last visit.”
“Would you recognize the man if you saw him again?”
“Maybe.” The proprietor looked doubtful.
He might be someone from Edo Castle. Sano considered taking the proprietor there to try and pick out Harume’s lover. But he might also be someone she’d met outside, or known before she became the shogun’s concubine. “I’ll post a detective here in case the man comes again,” Sano told the proprietor. “Don’t worry; your guests won’t be bothered.”
As Sano left the inn, disappointment drained his initial elation. Confirming the existence of Harume’s lover brought him little closer to solving the case. Other troubles weighed heavily on his mind. He wondered whether he’d done the right tiling concerning Hirata. Should he have removed Hirata from the investigation, lest he cause more problems? Or assigned other detectives to check his results on the scene of Choyei’s murder and the dagger attack on Harume? But that would betray their mutual trust, possibly driving Hirata to ritual suicide. And as for Reiko…
Sano’s heart swelled with love for his wife. But love brought worry, like a net that arrested the joyful flight of his soul. He yearned to know how she was faring with Lord Miyagi. Though he couldn’t think what else he could have done and still preserved the spirit of their marriage, he regretted sending Reiko on such a hazardous mission. If the daimyo was the killer, he’d already destroyed one young woman. Reiko, like Lady Harume, was beautiful and sexually appealing—tempting prey.
Then Sano’s practical side countered his fears. Reiko had promised to be careful. The daimyo wouldn’t dare attack the wife of the shogun’s Sōsakan-sama. In any event, the more likely suspect was Lieutenant Kushida. However, it was all Sano could do to keep from rushing off to defend his beloved. He fought the impulse, reminding himself of the promise he’d made Reiko and the cost of betrayal. Then he forced his attention back to the matter at hand.
The Concubine's Tattoo Page 31
