“Accidental murder,” Sano said. "Koheiji didn’t realize Makino was still alive when he beat him. He didn’t intend to kill Makino; he made a mistake. So did Okitsu.”
“A mistake that cost Makino his life,” Ibe said. “If Koheiji hadn’t beaten Makino to a bloody pulp after he fainted, and if this stupid girl had fetched a doctor instead of going along with that no-good actor, Makino might have survived.”
“Okitsu is guilty of interfering with an official investigation at the very least,” Hirata told Sano.
“And Koheiji is guilty of killing Makino whether he meant to or not,” Ibe said. “He should pay for Makino’s death and all the trouble it’s caused.”
“Someone has to,” Otani added.
They were right, Sano knew. Although he hated to punish anyone for an honest error of judgment, the shogun would expect retribution for Makino’s death from everyone involved. Sano summoned four of his detectives. As he told them to take Okitsu to jail, she wept. Agemaki watched with delight.
“You’re going, too,” Sano told her. “You’re just as guilty of interfering with the investigation as she is. And you’ll be tried for the murder of Makino’s first wife.”
She fumed and Okitsu sobbed as the detectives led them away. Sano experienced a massive relief because the end of this difficult investigation was in sight. Soon the only task left to him would be to solve the murder of Daiemon.
“Let’s catch Koheiji’s last performance at the theater,” he said to Hirata and the watchdogs.
“I want to see Lady Yanagisawa,” Reiko said to the guards stationed outside the chamberlain’s compound.
The guards opened the gate. Reiko marched in, followed by four of Sano’s detectives she’d brought. She hungered for her clash with Lady Yanagisawa as a warrior headed into combat hungers for blood. Attendants led her and her escorts to a reception hall in the mansion. Here, on painted murals along the walls, lightning bolts pierced clouds that floated above the expanse of tatami floor. Reiko could hear gunfire, war drums, and conch trumpets echoing from the distant battlefield. Soon Lady Yanagisawa hurried into the room.
“Welcome, Reiko-san,” she said breathlessly.
Reiko stared at Lady Yanagisawa. The woman had undergone an astonishing transformation. She wore a satin kimono printed with orange and crimson flowers instead of her customary drab garments. Its neckline and the white under-robe dropped low around her shoulders, exposing creamy white skin. A blood-red flush colored her cheeks and lips. Her bearing was sinuous instead of rigid as usual. She looked almost pretty, but she gave off an air of corruption that repelled Reiko.
“Have you come to tell me your decision?” Her gruff voice had acquired a strange, husky sweetness.
“Yes,” Reiko said, wondering what in the world had happened to Lady Yanagisawa since the previous day.
Lady Yanagisawa’s broad lips moved in a sensual smile. “May I assume that you will do as my husband wishes?”
“You may not,” Reiko said.
For a moment Lady Yanagisawa looked disconcerted. Then cruelty radiated like poison from her. “You’ll live to regret your defiance. If you’ll excuse me, I have something to tell your husband.” She moved toward the door.
Reiko stepped in front of Lady Yanagisawa. She said, “I, too, have something to tell my husband. He’ll be very interested to hear that you were at the Sign of Bedazzlement the night Lord Matsudaira’s nephew was murdered there.”
Lady Yanagisawa’s features jerked, as if someone had sneaked up behind her and startled her. She said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you do,” Reiko said. “I have a witness who saw you coming out of the house shortly after Daiemon went in.”
“It must have been someone else who looks like me.” But Lady Yanagisawa’s eyes shifted away from Reiko’s, as if they were windows through which she feared Reiko might glimpse the dark places in her mind and her memory of the crime she’d committed.
“The witness followed your palanquin home,” Reiko said. “He saw you in the courtyard with Kikuko.”
Lady Yanagisawa’s face acquired a look that Reiko had seen when she was cornered once before. The skin tightened around her eyes, narrowing them. She resembled a cat with its ears pricked back in alarm.
“You stabbed Daiemon because your husband told you to, didn’t you?” Reiko said. Lady Yanagisawa wheeled in a circle, avoiding Reiko’s scrutiny. Reiko shifted her own position, keeping them face to face. “There’s no use denying it.”
Suddenly Lady Yanagisawa flung up her head. “You think you’re so clever.” Sardonic amusement and naked malice shone in her eyes. “You must be congratulating yourself because you think you’ve found out something that you can use against me. What good fortune you always have!”
Quickening breaths hissed from her like steam; her cheeks flushed redder. She moved closer to Reiko. “But you’re not the only clever, lucky one.” A reckless daring swelled her countenance. “Would you like to know how I did it?”
* * *
34
A mob was gathered outside the Nakamura-za Theater when Sano arrived with Hirata, a squadron of detectives, the watchdogs, and their troops. People surged, yelling and shoving, toward the entrance, where police officers tried to hold them back.
As a chorus of wild shouts issued from the building, more crowds hurried down the street, eager to join the excitement. Sano and his companions leaped off their horses and pushed their way through the mob toward the theater.
“What’s going on in there?” Sano called to the police.
“Some crazy samurai jumped on the stage during the play,” the officer said as he shoved at men trying to scramble through the door. “He’s up there threatening one of the actors.”
Sano had planned to walk into the theater, wait until the show ended, and make a peaceful arrest of Koheiji. Now his smile mocked his notion that anything about this investigation should turn out the way he’d expected. The mob pressed in on him. Nearby, Hirata and the detectives jostled boisterous spectators; the watchdogs and their men floundered at the edges of the crowd.
“Let us in,” Sano told the police. “We’ll restore order.”
The police fought back the mob long enough for Sano and his companions to slip through the door. The theater was jammed with people. Sano couldn’t see the stage because the audience was standing up on the dividers between the seating compartments, craning their necks, blocking his view. The cavernous room thundered with their shouts. The smells of liquor and sweat mingled with the acrid tobacco smoke that hazed the dim atmosphere. Sano tasted violence, intoxicating and contagious, in the air. He leaped onto the walkway, the only unimpeded path to the stage.
As Hirata and the other men hurried after him along the walkway, the audience waved at them and cheered their arrival. The noise clamored in Sano’s ears. Faces distorted and ugly with bloodlust surrounded him. On the stage Sano saw two men facing each other. One held a sword raised high. The other cowered, his palms lifted. Nearing the stage, Sano recognized the cowering man as Koheiji. He wore samurai costume; wide trousers, two swords at his waist, surcoat, and flowing kimono. Shock and fright showed on his painted face. The other man, dressed in black, was Tamura. Surprise halted Sano at the rim of the stage.
“I’ve come to avenge the death of my master, the honorable Senior Elder Makino!” Tamura shouted. He pointed his sword at Koheiji. “You who murdered him shall pay with your blood!”
The spectators roared. Maybe they thought this was part of the play, but Sano knew Tamura was carrying out the vendetta he’d sworn on Makino’s killer. Suddenly Sano recalled hearing someone outside the chapel of the Makino estate while he’d interrogated Agemaki. It must have been Tamura, eavesdropping.
Hirata exclaimed, “He overheard you saying that Daiemon hired Koheiji to assassinate his master!”
“You’re insane,” Koheiji told Tamura. “I didn’t kill Makino.” But his fear quaked under his scornful t
one. “You’ve got the wrong man.”
While the audience cheered, Tamura said, “No more lies!” Rage and determination hardened his stern, masklike face. His blade glinted in the sun that shone through the skylights. “Admit your guilt before you die, you coward!”
Although Sano understood the honor involved in a vendetta, and he hated interfering with a fellow samurai’s duty to avenge his dead master, he couldn’t let Tamura take the law into his own hands. The shogun had the first right to deliver Koheiji to justice if he wanted. Sano stepped onto the stage.
“Tamura-san,” he called.
The noise from the audience subsided into an expectant hush. Tamura turned, glancing at Sano but keeping his attention focused on Koheiji. “Sōsakan-sama,” he said, his manner amused as well as hostile. “Many thanks for discovering that this worthless gob of filth murdered my master. I suppose I owe you an apology for underestimating you. Now, if you’ll stand back, I’ll save you the trouble of arresting him.”
He lunged and slashed his sword at Koheiji. The actor vaulted backward, narrowly escaping the blade. The onlookers cheered. Their hunger for thrills exceeded any concern that their favorite’s life was in peril.
“I’m not the murderer.” His desperation obvious, Koheiji said, “Ask Okitsu. She’ll tell you.”
“She has,” Sano said. “She told me the whole story.”
“Louder!” came shouts from the audience. “We can’t hear you! Speak up!”
Sano glanced over his shoulder and saw hundreds of avid faces looking at him: He’d become part of the drama. “You did kill Makino,” he said to Koheiji, then addressed Tamura: “But he’s not a murderer.”
Both men stared at him. Tamura halted on the verge of another attack. Disbelief and confusion showed on both their faces.
“Tamura-san, you listened to only part of the story,” Sano said. “You overheard me tell Agemaki that Koheiji had been hired to assassinate your master. If you hadn’t rushed off so fast, you’d have heard there was no assassination plot, and Makino’s murder was an accident.”
“What?” Tamura exclaimed. The audience quieted, eager to hear the conversation.
“Makino collapsed during a sex game,” Sano said.
Koheiji exhaled a puff of relief that the truth had come out. “That’s right,” he said. “Makino dropped dead on Okitsu and me while we were giving him a little fun.”
“Quiet!” Bent on pursuing retribution, Tamura slashed his sword at Koheiji.
The audience gasped a collective breath. Koheiji drew his weapon and parried strikes; the audience cheered him on. But his sword was a mere theater prop. Tamura’s sword hacked off its wooden blade. Koheiji stared in dismay at the useless stub that fell from his hand.
“I don’t believe you,” Tamura said angrily to Sano. “You’re just trying to trick me out of my vengeance.”
“This is no trick,” Sano said. “The assassination plot was a fraud.”
Tamura glowered and raised his sword at Koheiji, who cried in desperation, “Get him out of here, will you please?”
Sano gestured for Hirata and the detectives to surround Tamura. As they moved in on him, Tamura ordered, “Get out of my way. Let me at him.” But indecision flickered in his eyes. Sano had shaken his certainty that Koheiji had murdered his master.
A gang of samurai jumped onto the walkway. Clad in tattered clothes, they appeared to be rōnin. Sano saw that they wanted to join the action, and they were too excited—or too drunk—to worry about the consequences of interfering with bakufu business. Ibe’s and Otani’s men held them back from rushing onstage. Their leader, a brute with an unshaved face and a red head kerchief, yelled, “Fight! Fight!”
The audience took up the chant. The rhythm, accompanied by stamping feet and clapping hands, rocked the theater.
“Makino drank too much aphrodisiac and overexerted himself,” Sano said. “He’s as responsible for his death as anyone else is.”
Tamura stood paralyzed. His face reflected shock, then disgust, then acceptance that lustful habits, not murder, had been his master’s undoing.
“Now that you know I’m innocent, can you all just go?” Koheiji whined. “Can I please finish the play?”
“Fight! Fight!” chanted the audience. The brute in the red head kerchief wrestled with Otani’s and Ibe’s troops as they tried to force him and his gang off the walkway.
“I’m afraid not,” Sano told Koheiji. “You see, Makino wasn’t quite dead when he collapsed. You shouldn’t have tried to make his death look like murder by an intruder. The beating you gave him is what really killed him.”
Koheiji stared in open-mouthed, silent horror. Sano could almost see his face turn pale under its makeup. “Merciful gods,” he whispered. “I had no idea…” He shook his head, ruing his mistake. Sano watched him realize that someone must shed blood for Makino’s death, and he was that someone. He staggered under the knowledge that he’d come to the end of living by his impulses and wits, and this was one scrape from which they couldn’t save him.
“Then Makino’s death was a stupid blunder by this fool,” Tamura said. “It’s not worth avenging. And a fool isn’t worth bloodying my sword.” Crestfallen, he lowered his weapon. But Sano discerned that he was relieved—he lacked the heart to enjoy killing. Now he sheathed the weapon. “I renounce my vendetta,” he said and jumped off the stage.
The audience and the gang of rōnin booed, furious to be cheated out of the carnage they wanted to see. Police moved through the theater, forcing the mob to clear the seats. Sano nodded to Detectives Marume and Fukida. They moved to Koheiji and grabbed his arms. He didn’t resist; he appeared too shattered by his misfortune. “You’re under arrest,” Sano said.
“My husband had discovered that Lord Matsudaira’s nephew and concubine were having a love affair,” Lady Yanagisawa told Reiko. “He’d learned about the signal that Lady Gosechi used to arrange secret meetings with Daiemon. He lured Daiemon to the Sign of Bedazzlement and sent me there to assassinate him.”
Lady Yanagisawa seemed unfazed that the detectives, as well as Reiko, were listening to her incriminate herself. Shocked by her admission even though already aware of what Lady Yanagisawa had done, Reiko said, “Weren’t you afraid? How could you do it?” A reason occurred to her. “What did the chamberlain offer you in return?”
“His love,” Lady Yanagisawa said.
Her mouth curved in a secretive smile; she sighed with pleasure. Reiko saw her suspicion confirmed. The chamberlain had taken advantage of his wife’s passion for him and promised to make the crime worth her while. After she’d rid him of his enemy, he’d rewarded her by bedding her as she had longed for him to do.
“I disguised myself as Gosechi. I wore my hair down,” Lady Yanagisawa said, stroking the black tresses that flowed down her bosom. “I put on the kind of bright, pretty clothes that Gosechi wears.” She touched her orange kimono. “I covered my head with a shawl. I carried a dagger that my husband gave me.” Her fingers curled around the hilt of an imaginary weapon.
“Why did you take Kikuko with you?” Reiko said.
Guilt shadowed Lady Yanagisawa’s features. Even if she didn’t care that she’d killed a man, she felt she’d done wrong by bringing her daughter on such an errand. “Kikuko has been difficult lately. When I tried to leave the house, she screamed and clung to me. She wouldn’t let me go. I had no choice but to take her along.”
Lady Yanagisawa shook her shoulders, casting off blame for her lapse of maternal responsibility. “We rode in the palanquin to the Sign of Bedazzlement. When we arrived, I told the bearers to wait for me down the street. I told Kikuko that she must stay inside the palanquin and be very quiet. She thought it was a game. I left her and hurried into the Sign of Bedazzlement.” Lady Yanagisawa drifted across the room as if in a trance, following the path along which the chamberlain had sent her that night. “There were other people in the house—I could hear them in the rooms. But the doors were shut. The corridor was emp
ty. No one saw me.”
Reiko pictured Lady Yanagisawa’s furtive figure sneaking through the house of assignation, the dagger clutched hidden under her sleeve. Her eyes must have glittered with the same determination as they did now.
“I went to the room where my husband had told me that Daiemon and Gosechi met,” Lady Yanagisawa said, drifting to a stop in a corner. Lightning bolts painted on the mural converged toward her head. The detectives watched, impassive. “I covered the lantern with a cloth to make the room dim. I took off my cloak but kept my shawl over my head. Then I sat on the bed and waited for Daiemon. I began to worry that something would go wrong.” A spate of trembling disturbed her composure. “I almost got up and ran out of the house.”
The image of her huddling in her shawl, beset by last-moment anxiety, the knife shaking in her hands, filled Reiko’s mind.
“But I’d promised my husband. And it was too late to turn back. He was coming down the passage.” Lady Yanagisawa whipped her head around. Reiko could almost hear Daiemon’s footsteps echoing in Lady Yanagisawa’s memory. “He entered the room. He said, ‘Here I am.’ He sounded happy because he thought I was Gosechi. I didn’t answer. I was praying for courage and strength.”
Fear coalesced in her eyes; she mouthed silent words. “He knelt beside me on the bed and said, ‘Why are you so quiet? Aren’t you glad to see me?’ I turned toward him, willing myself to do what I must. He lifted the shawl off my head before I could stop him.” In Lady Yanagisawa’s eyes seemed to float a reflection of Daiemon, surprised to find a stranger in place of his beloved. “He said, ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’
“I drove the dagger into him.” Lady Yanagisawa held her fists one behind and touching the other; she thrust them violently forward. A crazed, inhuman expression distorted her face. “Daiemon opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. The dagger was stuck in his chest. I saw that he realized he’d been tricked. He was furious. But then his eyes went blank. He fell against me. He was dead.”
Sano Ichiro 9 The Perfumed Sleeve (2004) Page 32
