The eta chief nodded. “Her hair was covered, and the cloak hid her clothes. She had a scarf over her nose and mouth. But I saw the rest of her face. Her eyebrows were shaved.”
In the fashionable style of noblewomen, Sano thought. His heart began to race with the excitement he always felt when nearing the end of a successful investigation. “You never told the police,” he guessed.
The eta chief shrugged helplessly. “When Harume saw me coming, she called, ‘No. No.’ I knew what she meant. We couldn’t let anyone see us together and suspect that we weren’t just strangers who happened to be in the same place at the same time. We couldn’t have the police asking me what I was doing there or why I wanted to get involved in something that was none of my business. So…”
His harsh sigh expressed the tragedy of a man prohibited from aiding his beloved. “I just turned and walked away. Now I live with the knowledge that if I’d come forward and reported what I’d seen, the police might have caught the assassin. Harume might still be alive.” He added in his emotionless voice, “But that’s just the way things are.” Sano wondered how many times a day he fought for and achieved this impassive acceptance of fate. “I can’t go back in time, or change the world.”
“What you’ve told me will help deliver Lady Harume’s killer to justice,” Sano said. “You’ll have the satisfaction of avenging her death that way.”
From the hardening of the eta chief’s mouth and the despair in his eyes, Sano knew this was small consolation. He thanked Danzaemon for his trouble and rose to go.
“I’ll see you to the gate,” Danzaemon said.
They left the house, retrieved Sano’s horse, and walked through the settlement in silence, with Danzaemon’s lieutenants and Mura as an escort. At the gate, Danzaemon bowed in farewell. After a moment, Sano did, too. Thanks to the eta chief’s clue, Sano now believed he knew who had killed Lady Harume. As he started across the field, he turned for a last look at Danzaemon.
Flanked by his lieutenants and Mura, the chief of the outcasts stood proudly before the fetid settlement that teemed with thousands of people, young and old, who honored and depended on him. But for the misfortune of his low birth, what a fine daimyo he might have made! It was a blasphemous thought, but Sano could more easily imagine Danzaemon commanding an army than Tokugawa Tsunayoshi.
37
“Lady Ichiteru is the logical culprit,” Sano said. “A woman threw the dagger at Harume in the Asakusa Kannon Temple precinct. Ichiteru was there, with no alibi. She had access to Harume’s room, and could have bought the arrow toxin from Choyei when she got the aphrodisiac she used on you, Hirata.”
The young retainer’s face was haggard with misery. “I can’t believe Ichiteru is the killer,” he repeated for the third time since he and Sano had met outside Edo Castle and compared the results of their inquiries. Now, as they rode into the Official Quarter, he stubbornly championed his seducer’s innocence. “Maybe Danzaemon is wrong about what he thinks he saw.”
Controlling his impatience, Sano cast his eyes up the hilltop. The late-afternoon sun bronzed the palace rooftops and enflamed the trees in the forest preserve. Blue shadows crept outward from the barracks that lined the street, immersing the district in premature dusk. Sano was tired and hungry; he wanted a hot bath to wash away the pollution of the eta settlement. He longed to see Reiko and share with her the successful conclusion to the case. The last thing he needed was more trouble from Hirata.
“Ichiteru isn’t going to evade interrogation any longer,” Sano said with an air of finality. “By now Lady Keisho-in will have explained to the shogun about our misunderstanding. He’ll have reopened the Large Interior to us.” He paused, then added, “There’s too much evidence against Ichiteru. You’ll have to give up your partiality toward her whether you like it or not.”
“I know.” Hirata’s hands twisted the reins. “It’s just—I can’t accept that I could be so wrong about someone who …I still have this feeling that she didn’t do it. All day I kept hoping to find some evidence that would prove I wasn’t a fool. I convinced myself that Lieutenant Kushida was the killer, and I’ve been looking all over town for him.” They dismounted outside Sano’s estate. In the courtyard, a groom took their horses. A pained sigh issued from Hirata. “But now…”
Outside the barracks, the detectives and their families often socialized before the evening meal. Today a group of boys fought a mock battle with wooden swords, while the men cheered them on and women chatted. A mother played ball with a toddler. Sano said, “Everyone makes mistakes, Hirata. Let it go.”
But Hirata wasn’t listening. He stood frozen in the courtyard, staring at the mother and child, a stunned look on his face. “Oh,” he said, then repeated with strange emphasis, “Oh.”
“What’s wrong?” Sano asked.
“I just remembered something.” Excitement animated Hirata’s face. “Now I know Lady Ichiteru didn’t kill Harume.”
Sano regarded him with exasperation. “Hirata, don’t. Enough is enough. I’m going to get cleaned up and have a word with Reiko. Then we’ll go to the Large Interior.”
Turning, he entered the house. Hirata ran after him. “Wait, Sōsakan-sama! Let me explain.” As they exchanged their shoes for cloth slippers in the entryway, he said, “I flunk I saw the killer the other day.”
“What?” Sano paused with his hand on the door.
Words tumbled from Hirata in a rapid, incoherent flood: “When I went to see the Rat, I thought it was something different, but now I see what was going on, I should have guessed.” Fairly bouncing with anxiety, he burst out, “She wasn’t selling anything, she was paying him!”
“Slow down so I can understand you,” Sano said. “Start at the beginning.”
Hirata gulped a deep breath. He patted the air in an effort to subdue his agitation. “I paid the Rat to keep an eye out for Choyei. Later I went back to see whether he’d learned anything. There was a woman in the room with him. They were bargaining—making a deal. When the Rat came out, he said she’d just sold her deformed child to his freak show.” Speaking with deliberate slowness, Hirata explained, “Seeing Detective Yamada’s wife playing with their son reminded me.
“Then the Rat told me he couldn’t find Choyei. He returned the money I’d paid him. I suspected that he’d actually found Choyei, who had bribed him to keep quiet. Now I’m positive it was the woman I saw—offering the Rat money, not the other way around. She disappeared while we were talking. It must have been the killer, not a mother selling a child. She must have seen the crests on my clothes and guessed who I was and what I wanted, when I asked the Rat about Choyei.”
“But Ichiteru is the only female suspect.” Even as Sano spoke, he recalled otherwise.
The light of vindication shone in Hirata’s eyes. “I’ve never met Lady Miyagi. What does she look like?”
“She’s around forty-five,” Sano began.
“Not very pretty, with a long face and droopy eyes and a deep voice?”
“Yes, but…”
“And black teeth and shaved eyebrows.” Hirata laughed exultantly. “Just think, I had the evidence all along!”
“That’s an interesting theory,” Sano admitted. “Choyei’s landlord thought he heard a man in the room where the peddler died; he could have been fooled by Lady Miyagi’s voice. But we haven’t placed Lady Miyagi at the scene of the dagger attack. She could have poisoned the ink, but we’ve no proof that she did. And what’s her motive?”
“Let’s go and see if I can identify Lady Miyagi as the woman I saw,” Hirata pleaded. “The Rat must have found out she was Choyei’s customer and tried to blackmail her. She probably meant to kill the Rat the way she did Choyei. I probably saved his life by arriving just then.”
Hirata bowed. “Please, Sōsakan-sama, before you decide Ichiteru is guilty, give me a chance to prove I’m right. Let me question Lady Miyagi!”
Seeking to avert a chase in the wrong direction, Sano said, “Reiko went to see th
e Miyagi today. Let’s find out if she learned anything.” He entered the corridor, where a manservant came to greet him. “Where’s my wife?”
“She’s not home, master. But she left this for you.”
The servant proffered a sealed letter.
Tearing it open, Sano read aloud:
“Honorable Husband,
I had a very interesting visit with Lord Miyagi, and I believe he killed Lady Harume. He and his wife have invited me to view the autumn moon with them at their summer villa tonight. I must use this opportunity to question the daimyo further and obtain proof of his guilt.
Don’t worry—I’ve taken Detectives Ota and Fujisawa along, as well as my usual escorts. We’ll be back tomorrow morning.
With love,
Reiko”
Suddenly the idea of investigating the daimyo’s wife didn’t seem so bad. If there was any chance that she was the killer, Sano didn’t want Reiko traveling to a remote location with her, even under armed guard.
“I guess Ichiteru can wait a little longer,” Sano said. “We’ll try to catch up with Reiko and the Miyagi before they leave town.”
In a thunder of hoofbeats, Sano and Hirata arrived at Lord Miyagi’s gate. Sano cast an anxious glance up and down the street. “I don’t see Reiko’s palanquin,” he said, “or her escorts.” Against his will, he began to believe that Hirata was right—Lady Miyagi was the killer they sought. And Reiko, who didn’t know about Danzaemon’s evidence, thought it was Lord Miyagi. A band of worry closed around Sano’s heart.
“Calm down,” Hirata soothed. “We’ll find her.”
Leaping off his horse, Sano accosted one of the two gate sentries. “Where’s my wife?” he demanded, grabbing the man’s armor tunic.
“What do you think you’re doing? Let go!”
The guard shoved Sano; the other gripped him in an armlock. Hirata rushed to explain. “The Sōsakan-sama’s wife was supposed to go to the villa with Lord and Lady Miyagi. We want to talk to them. Where are they?”
At the mention of Sano’s title, both guards tensed and stepped away from him, but didn’t answer.
“We’re going inside,” Sano told Hirata.
The guards blocked the gate, expressions fearful but obstinate. Their defiance triggered an alarm in Sano: Something was wrong here.
“There’s no one home,” said a guard. “Everyone’s gone.”
Seized with an overwhelming fear that something had happened to Reiko in the house, Sano drew his sword. “Move!” The guards leapt aside, and Sano threw open the gate. With Hirata following, he ran across the courtyard, through the inner gate, and into the mansion, calling, “Reiko?”
Silence veiled the long, dim tunnel of the corridor. The ancient smell of the house filled Sano’s lungs like a noxious gas. He pounded along floors that groaned under his footsteps, calling his wife’s name. He heard the guards shouting at him to stop, and Hirata holding them off. Forging ahead, he found himself alone in the family living quarters. This wing was as cold, dark, and damp as a cave. The mullioned paper walls were gray squares of waning afternoon light. The Miyagi’s musky odor saturated the air. Pausing to catch his breath and get his bearings, Sano saw no one. At first he heard nothing except his own labored breathing. Then came a thin wail.
Sano’s heart lurched. Reiko! Panic burgeoned in him as he followed the sound, hurrying past the closed doors of unoccupied rooms. His aversion toward the Miyagi couple turned to fear as he imagined Reiko their victim. The wailing grew louder. Then Sano rounded a corner. He halted abruptly.
Lamplight spilled from an open doorway. Outside knelt the manservant Sano remembered from his first visit. Head bowed, the man wept. At Sano’s approach, he looked up.
“The girls,” he moaned. Tears glistened on his wrinkled face. Raising a shaky hand, he pointed into the room.
As Sano rushed through the door, à disturbing, familiar scent hit him: fetid, salty, metallic. At first he couldn’t make sense of the scene that greeted his dazed eyes. Twisted white shapes contrasted violently with black swirls and gleaming red puddles on the slatted floor. Then Sano’s vision focused. In a bathchamber furnished with a sunken wooden tub and bamboo screen lay the naked bodies of two women, curled side by side. Their wrists and ankles were bound with cords. Deep gashes across the throats had nearly severed their heads. Crimson blood drenched their long, tangled black hair and pale skin. It had splashed the walls, run over the floor, and dripped over the sides of the tub into the water.
Horror paralyzed Sano. He felt the turbulent thudding of his heart; a cold sickness gripped his stomach. As vertigo dizzied him, he clutched the door frame. He heard a rasping sound, like a saw against wood, and recognized it as his own breathing. With nightmarish clarity, the faces of the dead women stood out from the carnage. Both bore Reiko’s delicate features.
“No!” Sano blinked hard, rubbing his eyes to rid himself of what seemed a case of shock-induced double vision. “Reiko!” Moaning, he fell to his knees beside the women and seized their hands.
As soon as he touched the cold flesh, awareness penetrated his agony. Sano realized that his inner sense of Reiko remained intact. He was still attuned to her; he could perceive her life force, like a distant bell that was still ringing. The illusion dissolved. These women’s bodies were larger and fuller than Reiko’s. He didn’t recognize their faces. Sobs of relief wracked his body. Reiko wasn’t dead! His stomach convulsed, and he retched, as if trying to vomit up the needless terror and grief.
Hirata rushed into the chamber. “Merciful gods!”
“It’s not her. It’s not her!” In a frenzy of joy, Sano jumped up and threw his arms around Hirata, laughing and weeping. “Reiko’s alive!”
“Sōsakan-samal Are you all right?” Hirata’s face was a picture of frightened bewilderment. He shook Sano hard. “Stop that and listen to me.” When Sano only laughed harder, he smacked Sano’s cheek.
The blow jolted Sano out of his hysteria. Quieting immediately, he stared at Hirata, surprised that his retainer would ever strike him.
“Gomen nasai—I’m sorry,” Hirata said, “but you have to get hold of yourself. The guards told me that Lady Miyagi killed her husband’s concubines. She tied them up. They thought it was a game. Then she cut their throats. When the guards and servants heard screaming and came to see what was wrong, she ordered them not to tell anyone. She and Lord Miyagi left to meet someone at the castle gate so they could travel to the villa together. That was two hours ago.”
Fresh horror drowned Sano’s relief. Though he couldn’t begin to fathom Lady Miyagi’s reasons for killing the daimyo’s concubines, her brutal act surely confirmed her, not Ichiteru, as the murderer of Lady Harume and Choyei. Gazing at the bloody tableau, Sano fought the resurgence of panic.
“Reiko,” he whispered.
Then he was running and stumbling out of the mansion, with Hirata supporting him.
38
Above the western hills outside Edo, a tapestry of golden clouds wove across a sky awash with fire, ensnaring the radiant crimson orb of the setting sun. The distant mountains were shadowy lavender peaks. On the plain below, the city lights flickered under a veil of smoke. The river’s great curve gleamed like molten copper. Temple bells echoed across the landscape. In the east rose the full moon, immense and bright, a mirror with the image of the moon goddess etched in shadow upon its face.
The Miyagi summer estate occupied a steep hillside off the main road. A narrow dirt trail led through the forest to the villa, two stories of vine-covered wood and plaster. A dense thicket of trees nearly obscured the roof. Lanterns burned in the stables and servants’ quarters, but the other windows turned blank, shuttered eyes to the twilight. Except for the evening songs of birds and the wind rustling dry leaves, quiet engulfed the property. Beyond the villa, the terrain climbed through more forest to a bare promontory. A small pavilion topped the rise. In this, Lord Miyagi, his wife, and Reiko sat facing a perfect view of the moon.
Lattic
e walls at the back and sides of the pavilion shielded them from the wind; charcoal braziers under the tatami floor warmed them. A lantern lit individual desks furnished with writing supplies. A table held refreshments. On a teak stand were the traditional offerings to the moon: rice dumplings, soybeans, persimmons, smoking incense burners, and a vase of autumn grasses.
With a provocative gesture, Lord Miyagi picked up a brush and offered it to Reiko. “Will you compose the first poem in honor of the moon, my dear?”
“Thank you, but I’m not ready to write yet.” Smiling nervously, Reiko wanted to move away from Lord Miyagi, but Lady Miyagi sat too close at her other side. “I need more time to think.”
In truth, she was too frightened to apply her mind to poetry. During the journey from Edo, the presence of her palanquin bearers, guards, and the two detectives had eased her fear of Lord Miyagi. But she hadn’t foreseen that the moon-viewing site would be so far from the villa, where her escorts now waited. She’d had to leave them behind because ordering them to stand guard over her would have aroused Lord Miyagi’s suspicion. Trapped between the murderer and his wife, Reiko swallowed her rising panic. Only the thought of the dagger hidden beneath her sleeve reassured her.
Lady Miyagi laughed, a gruff caw tinged with excitement. “Don’t rush our guest, Cousin. The moon has not even begun to approach its full beauty.” She seemed strangely altered since morning. Her flat cheeks were flushed; the prim line of her mouth quivered. Her eyes reflected pinpoint images of the lantern, and her restless energy filled the pavilion. Fidgeting with a brush, she smiled at Reiko. “Take all the time you need.”
What a pathetic fool, obtaining vicarious thrills by abetting her husband’s interest in another woman! Hiding disgust, Reiko politely thanked her hostess.
The Concubine's Tattoo Page 34
