Sano Ichiro 9 The Perfumed Sleeve (2004)

by Laura Joh Rowland

  Hirata bowed his head, aware that Sano was right and he’d made himself a liability to Sano. When he’d disobeyed orders during the hunt for their wives and the kidnapper, he’d lowered himself into a hole of disgrace. Now, after only three days on the murder case that he’d hoped would restore him to honor, he’d dug the hole deeper.

  Forlorn, he said, “How can I make up for what I did today?”

  “You might start by telling me what you discovered about Senior Elder Makino’s widow,” said Sano. “Maybe you fooled Otani and Ibe, but I doubt that you came away from Asakusa Jinja Shrine empty-handed.”

  At least he could prove himself a competent detective as well as a fool and liar, Hirata thought glumly. He told Sano the rumors that Agemaki had murdered Makino’s first wife. “Before I came home, I questioned the Edo Castle physician who attended Makino’s first wife when she took ill.” Hirata mentioned some interesting facts gleaned from the doctor. “He’s always suspected she was poisoned. And Agemaki certainly benefited from her death.”

  Sano nodded, absorbing the news, delaying judgment. “Otani told me about your trip to Rakuami’s pleasure house. He says you learned nothing worthwhile about the concubine.”

  “I beg to disagree,” Hirata said, irked that the man who’d expelled him from the investigation had also demeaned his hard-won evidence. “We learned that Okitsu hated Makino enough that she tried to drown herself rather then be sold to him.”

  “Whether or not that means either woman killed Makino, it appears that his household was no model of peace and harmony,” Sano said. “He and his chief retainer had their differences.” He described Tamura’s disapproval of his master’s greed for money and sex. “His vendetta against the murderer could mean he’s innocent, or that he’s covering his guilt. And that actor is a shady character.” Sano told how Koheiji had staged sex shows and once beaten up an elderly client.

  “We’ve discovered evidence against all the people who were in Makino’s private chambers that night,” Hirata said, “but none that proves any of them is guilty.”

  “Maybe Reiko will find some,” Sano said.

  Hirata belatedly noticed the haggard, careworn look that shadowed Sano’s face. He must be worrying about Reiko. “Has there been any news of her?” Hirata hated that he’d caused Sano additional worries.

  “None,” Sano said. “The detectives I put in Makino’s house to report on her have said they can’t find her. I don’t know what’s happened to her.”

  Neither he nor Hirata speculated aloud on the mishaps that might have befallen Reiko by now.

  “What’s the next step in the investigation?” Hirata said, wondering if he even dared ask, now that it was none of his business.

  Sano breathed, slowly and deliberately, as though to gird himself for an unpleasant task. “Much as I would like to avoid the factions, I can’t. I’ve already skirmished with Lord Matsudaira and his nephew.” Sano described what he’d discovered about Daiemon. “It’s time for a talk with Chamberlain Yanagisawa.”

  And Hirata would be left out of it. More than ever he regretted his mistake. As Sano rose, Hirata said, “What shall I do?”

  “Attend to your other duties as my chief retainer,” Sano said. “You can handle the business we’ve neglected since Makino’s murder.”

  To occupy himself with mundane, everyday matters while the investigation went on without him seemed a sentence of doom to Hirata. “Yes, Sōsakan-sama,” he said, bowing humbly.

  Sano hesitated. The concern in his eyes worsened Hirata’s anguish. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sano said.

  With bitter despair, Hirata watched Sano walk out of the room.

  Sano, accompanied by Detectives Marume and Fukida, met Chamberlain Yanagisawa in the passage that led to the heart of Edo Castle. Yanagisawa walked amid his entourage. Lights from torches in the guard turrets and carried by soldiers patrolling atop the stone walls flickered in the black night. Dogs howled somewhere on the hill.

  “Good evening, Sōsakan-sama,” the chamberlain said with cool courtesy as their two parties met.

  Sano bowed, returned the greeting, then said, “May I have a word with you, Honorable Chamberlain?”

  Yanagisawa nodded. Sano fell into step with Yanagisawa; their escorts trailed them. Yanagisawa said, “Don’t tell me—let me guess: Your investigation into Senior Elder Makino’s murder has led you to me.”

  “I suppose Ibe-san has reported to you what we discovered today,” Sano said.

  “I haven’t yet heard from Ibe-san. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

  Sano described his talk with Lord Matsudaira and Daiemon, and their allegation that Makino had defected. “They claim that they therefore had no reason to want him dead, and you did,” Sano said.

  “That’s a good one.” Yanagisawa gave Sano a sidelong, amused glance. “Was it Daiemon who introduced the idea that Makino had turned on me?” When Sano nodded, Yanagisawa chuckled. “I underestimated his talent for fabricating lies.”

  “Then it’s untrue that Makino defected?” Sano’s skepticism extended to Yanagisawa as well as the Matsudaira.

  “Makino and I were longtime allies. There wasn’t a chance that he would betray me at this stage,” Yanagisawa said. “What proof do my enemies offer that he did?”

  “None,” Sano admitted. “That’s why I came to hear your side of the story.

  “Before accusing me of murdering Makino, based on their story?” Yanagisawa interpreted Sano’s silence as assent. “That was wise of you.” Respect tinged his tone. “Five years in the bakufu have refined your judgment. I scarcely recognize you as the raw amateur who used to rush headlong into every dangerous situation. Tell me: Under what circumstances did Daiemon announce that Makino had joined the Matsudaira faction?”

  “I was questioning him about a visit he paid to Makino the night of the murder.”

  A cloud of vapor issued from Yanagisawa’s nostrils as he snorted. “How unsurprising. You placed Daiemon at the scene of the crime. He knew he was in a dangerous position. What better way for him to cast off your suspicion than by foisting it onto me? That was quick thinking on his part.”

  “The same logic applies to you,” Sano said. “What better way for you to reflect my suspicion back at Daiemon than by pointing out that he had reason to mislead me?”

  Yanagisawa shrugged. “It’s up to you to decide which of us is telling the truth.”

  And unless Sano found evidence to support Daiemon’s story, he must give Yanagisawa the benefit of the doubt. Sometimes he could discern Yanagisawa’s thoughts, but not tonight. Sano couldn’t tell if Yanagisawa felt threatened by Daiemon’s accusation or as unworried as he appeared. Yet Sano guessed that Yanagisawa had some scheme underway. He always did.

  “But I must warn you against jumping to the conclusion that I’m the liar and not Daiemon,” Yanagisawa said. “The fact remains that Daiemon was in Makino’s house the night of the murder. I was at a banquet in my own house, with officials who can attest to my presence there.”

  Here was the alibi that Sano had expected Yanagisawa to offer. At least the chamberlain had spared him the trouble of asking his whereabouts the night of the murder.

  “How am I supposed to have killed Makino while entertaining my guests?” Yanagisawa gave Sano a sly glance as they walked. “I presume you’ve investigated my spy whose name was given you by our mutual friend in the metsuke?”

  Sano had stopped by Makino’s estate before returning home tonight and questioned the guard Yanagisawa had employed to spy on Makino. The interview had negated the theory that the spy had assassinated Makino on orders from Yanagisawa. “Luckily for you, your spy was locked in the barracks that night,” Sano said, “and the patrol guards confirmed that he was in his bed. He couldn’t have killed Makino.”

  “What about Lord Matsudaira’s spy?” Yanagisawa said in a tone of mild curiosity.

  “He was stationed outside the front gate,” said Sano. “According to his partner, he ne
ver left until their shift ended at dawn.”

  Torches in a guard turret above Sano and Yanagisawa briefly illuminated a smug expression on the chamberlain’s face. “Then your only evidence that the murder was committed by either faction is Daiemon’s presence at the scene of the crime. Daiemon is therefore your best suspect among us.”

  “Not necessarily,” Sano said. “If Makino did defect, you could have hired someone else in his estate to kill him. And your elite troops are known for their skill at stealth.” Those troops were assassins whom Yanagisawa employed to keep himself in power. “They’d have had no problem invading Makino’s house—or killing him under his guards’ noses.”

  “If I had sent them to kill Makino. But I didn’t,” said Yanagisawa.

  They’d reached his compound. As they halted outside the high stone wall, their escorts stopped behind them.

  “Trace the movements of my troops that night if you like,” he told Sano, “but it will be a waste of your time. Any evidence you find that implicates them in the murder will have been planted by my enemies. You’ll exhaust yourself trying to separate fact from fraud.” Yanagisawa shunned the notion with a flick of his hand. “There’s a better solution to your problems. Go along with the evidence that says Daiemon is guilty. It’s enough to convict him in the Court of Justice. Lodge an official accusation against him. Consider your investigation finished.”

  “And join your campaign against his uncle?” Sano said.

  “Would that be such a bad idea?” Yanagisawa responded to Sano’s lack of enthusiasm. “Remember that you’ve prospered during my time as chamberlain. I promise that if you ruin Daiemon and help me defeat Lord Matsudaira, you’ll enjoy a larger income and more authority when my power is secure.”

  “I remember what my life was like before you agreed to a truce,” Sano said, alluding to Yanagisawa’s attacks on his person and reputation. “I also remember that you can call off our truce anytime you choose. And with all due respect, I would be a fool to believe a promise from you.”

  “You would be a fool to think that Lord Matsudaira can give you better terms than I can,” Yanagisawa said. “Lord Matsudaira is more vulnerable than he seems. He’s going to lose our battle. Join me and be on the winning side.”

  Sano felt the potent combination of will, menace, and charm by which Yanagisawa won allies and compelled their obedience. The vast, fortified bulk of his estate silently proclaimed his power. But despite his intelligence and his skill at manipulating people, Yanagisawa had never understood what motivated Sano. He couldn’t offer Sano anything that would atone for years of torment or induce him to compromise his principles.

  “Winning isn’t as important to me as honor,” Sano said, although Yanagisawa would never believe him. “And I’ll serve honor by standing by the shogun, not conniving behind his back for control of the regime. Not with you, or with Lord Matsudaira.”

  “You’ll be answering to one of us eventually.” A cunning smile hovered around Yanagisawa’s mouth. “At least you and I are old colleagues. You’re hardly acquainted with Lord Matsudaira at all.”

  “And the familiar is better than the unknown?” Sano laughed at this argument that he recognized as a last resort. “Many thanks for your advice, Honorable Chamberlain, but I must go the way I’ve chosen.”

  Yanagisawa laughed, too, but his laughter had a mirthless, steely ring. “You’re walking a dangerous path,” he said. “Sooner or later you’ll fall off on one side or the other. For your sake, it had better be my side. Because if you think you’ve already experienced the worst I can do to someone who opposes me, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  Late that night, Sano lay wide awake in bed. He shut his eyes tight and willed sleep to come and replenish his strength for whatever challenges that tomorrow would bring. But images, conversations, and disturbing thoughts from the day seethed in his head. He turned under the heavy quilts, trying and failing to find a comfortable position. The bed felt cold and empty without Reiko. Wondering if she was safe increased his anxiety. His mind reprised the tense scene with Hirata and his doubts that things would ever again be right between them. He endlessly sorted through the results of his inquiries and tried to decide which of the suspects had most likely killed Makino, but all the facts he’d gleaned led him nowhere so far. The investigation seemed at an impasse.

  When he heard footsteps in the corridor outside his room and Detective Marume call his name, he welcomed the distraction, even though he knew that a summons late at night usually meant trouble. “Come in,” he said, throwing off the quilt. “What is it?” The door slid open, revealing the bulky figure of Marume, lit by the flame of a lamp he carried. “I’m sorry to wake you, Sōsakan-sama, but there’s a message from one of your informants in town. Lord Matsudaira’s nephew Daiemon has just been murdered.”

  * * *

  20

  The building was a commonplace two-story wooden structure, located in the Nihonbashi merchant district, on a street that paralleled the nearby rice warehouses along the Sumida River. Bamboo shades screened the balcony; shutters covered the windows. A short blue curtain hung over the recessed doorway, where two soldiers whose armor bore the crest of the Matsudaira clan stood guard. Opposite were run-down shops and teahouses, the doors closed over their storefronts. A crowd of townspeople had gathered outside the building. In the sky, a faint ruddy glow in the east presaged dawn. Lanterns shone at neighborhood gates at either end of the street. As Sano rode through a gate with Marume, Fukida, and three other detectives, the crowd parted to let them pass. They dismounted outside the building.

  “What is this place?” Marume said.

  “It’s a house of assignation,” Sano said. He remembered the house from his days as a police commander of this district. “Lovers come here to engage in illicit affairs. It’s called the Sign of Bedazzlement.”

  Here, in this seedy, disreputable place, had died Daiemon, the ambitious upstart of the Matsudaira faction and heir apparent to the shogun.

  Sano, Marume, and Fukida climbed the steps and went into the house. The sounds of men muttering and women crying greeted them. The house’s proprietor, a frightened old man, huddled in the entryway.

  Beyond this, more Matsudaira troops stood along a lamp-lit passage. Police Commissioner Hoshina came striding down the passage toward Sano and the detectives.

  “Sōsakan-sama. What are you doing here?” Hoshina said in a tone that branded Sano as a trespasser.

  “I heard that Daiemon was murdered,” Sano said. “I’ve come to investigate.”

  Hoshina spread his arms, planted his hands on the walls of the passage, and blocked Sano’s way. “There’s no need. My officers have already begun inquiries. This is police business.” And none of yours, said his hostile expression.

  “Daiemon was a suspect in a crime that the shogun ordered me to investigate,” Sano said. Hoshina never ceased his petty squabbling over what crimes comprised whose territory. He grasped every chance to enlarge his sphere of authority and diminish Sano’s. The war between the factions had only aggravated his sense of rivalry. “That makes his murder my business.”

  Indecision broke Hoshina’s gaze; he seemed to recall that Lord Matsudaira, his master, needed as many allies as possible and particularly wanted Sano. “Very well,” he said grudgingly.

  He let Sano and the detectives pass, but he dogged their heels as they moved down the corridor, which was lined with dim chambers enclosed by wooden partitions. Through the open doors of several chambers Sano saw couples, shamefaced and disheveled, guarded by Lord Matsudaira’s troops. Sano recognized an army official and a prominent banker. Although Hoshina was more interested in politics than in police practice, at least he’d trapped the potential witnesses.

  “He’s in the last room on the left,” Hoshina said.

  Sano preceded Marume and Fukida into the room. More troops loitered against walls painted with crude, gaudy landscape murals. A cold draft wavered the flame inside a torn paper lantern suspende
d from the ceiling. Furniture consisted of a charcoal brazier, a washbasin behind a cheap wooden screen, and a lacquer table that held a sake decanter and cups. On the tatami floor Daiemon lay, covered by a striped quilt, upon the futon. Only his face showed; his eyes were closed and his handsome features blank as if in sleep. Beside him knelt his uncle, clad in an opulent padded satin cloak and an armor helmet studded with gold. Lord Matsudaira looked up at Sano.

  “Honorable Lord Matsudaira,” Sano said, bowing, “please accept my condolences on the death of your nephew.”

  The man’s eyes blazed with rage and grief. Tears streaked glistening trails down his cheeks. He seemed mute and stunned, like a warrior who’d taken a severe blow during battle. Sano felt an eerie echo of the past. A year ago he’d investigated the murder of Lord Matsudaira’s son, a former favorite of the shogun. Being heir apparent brought bad luck, Sano reflected. Now Lord Matsudaira had lost another important kinsman.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” Sano said.

  “See for yourself,” Lord Matsudaira said in a tight, bitter voice. He flung back the quilt that covered Daiemon.

  Air saturated with the metallic smell of blood billowed up at Sano. Nausea clenched his stomach. Daiemon’s torso was twisted and his limbs bent as if he’d crumpled onto the bed where he lay. Wet, gleaming blood stained the front of his silk kimono and the white cotton cover of the futon. The hilt of a dagger, bound in plain black cord in a crisscross pattern, protruded from his chest. Sano observed that the blade had been driven under his breastbone at an upward angle, beneath the rib cage, and into his heart.

  Turning away from the gory sight, Sano said, “Was Daiemon here with a woman?”

  Lord Matsudaira regarded Sano as if he thought the question idiotic. “That’s what this place is for.”

  “Who was she?” Sano said.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Where is she?”

  Police Commissioner Hoshina said, “There was no sign of her when we arrived. Daiemon was alone.”