by Susan Spann
“I’ll help you out,” Nobuhide replied. “The killer is at the teahouse, under guard.”
“Perhaps,” Hiro said. “Perhaps not. Did you know a man from Nagoya visited the Sakura the night your father died?”
Nobuhide looked startled. “What are you talking about?”
“And when was the last time you saw your father’s brother?”
“Hidetaro?” Nobuhide’s nose wrinkled as though the name carried an odor. “Do you think he had something to do with my father’s death?”
“We are investigating several possibilities. The point is that the answer is far from clear.”
“It seems clear enough to me.”
“What about your sister?” Hiro asked. “Do you know where she was the night your father died?”
“At home, as usual.” Nobuhide paused. “She said she told you that yesterday.”
“She did. I was just making sure you didn’t have something to tell us, since she isn’t here now.”
“Do you think I’m afraid of a woman?” Nobuhide’s scowl returned with a vengeance. “I would have no problem calling her a liar. That is, if she ever lied.”
“And where were you, exactly, two nights ago?”
Nobuhide’s left hand released the reins and went to the hilt of his katana. “I am a yoriki, assistant to Magistrate Ishimaki, and a servant of the shogun. How dare you imply that I would kill my father.”
“I merely asked your whereabouts. I intended no implication.”
Nobuhide sniffed. “If you must know, I was at the House of the Floating Plums all night. I stayed with a girl named Umeha. Speak with her if you wish.”
Hiro bowed. “That will not be necessary.”
Nobuhide smiled without humor or goodwill. “Make sure the priest shows up at the teahouse tomorrow. I will kill you both if I have to chase him down.”
After Nobuhide rode away Hiro turned south along the Kamo River road.
“We’re not going home?” Father Mateo asked.
“No time,” Hiro said. “I need to talk with Sayuri.”
“Sayuri? Why?”
“I need to know more about her relationship with Hidetaro. Our Nagoya spy might not have left town after all.”
Chapter 30
“Is Hidetaro the spy?” Father Mateo sounded incredulous. “What made you think of that?”
“I’m not certain what I think,” Hiro said, “but this murder is more complex than it seems. Yoshiko claims she was home that night but her geta are covered in mud. Hidetaro had mud on his sandals and on his kimono. A man from Nagoya shows up and then disappears, and Mayuri burns her ledgers the next morning. I’d say that something is not what it seems, but that doesn’t begin to describe the situation.”
They walked down the river a little way and Father Mateo asked, “Did you know Sato was a Christian?”
Hiro nodded. “That’s why I thought she might give us the extra time.”
“How did you know? I had no idea.”
“Her clothing gave the first clue. Some Japanese wear black in mourning but no woman wears a kimono and obi that match. The colors always contrast, and the inner kimono must be a third color since the inner hem shows above the neckline of the outer one. Yesterday, and again today, Akechi Sato wore all black, like a crow … or a Christian in mourning.
“Her reaction to you reinforced that initial impression. She showed no fear or wonder. She didn’t startle or stare, and she showed no concern that your presence might defile her husband’s body. On the contrary, she thanked you for your prayers.
“Only a woman comfortable with foreigners would react to you that way, and since samurai women don’t engage in outside business she had to have experience with priests.”
“She could have seen me in the road,” Father Mateo pointed out, “or heard about me from Nobuhide.”
“Who no doubt praised you in the highest possible terms.”
Father Mateo laughed. “Probably not, at that. Still, it was a very good guess on your part. I thought you didn’t deal in assumptions.”
“I don’t. Sato also wears a Christian cross on a chain around her neck. I saw it when she bowed.”
Father Mateo lifted his head as though he had an interesting thought. “What if Sato killed Hideyoshi?”
Hiro blinked. “You don’t think Sayuri could kill because she’s a Christian, but you believe that elderly woman could? How do you reconcile that?”
“Christians believe in monogamy. Sato might have been jealous of Sayuri, and she didn’t have to hold the knife.”
“Neko-te,” Hiro corrected. “I’m sure that’s the type of weapon that killed him.”
“Sato could have given the claws to whoever impersonated the spy.”
“Possible but doubtful. From what I could tell, she actually believes in gods and wouldn’t want to anger them. And if I remember correctly, your Jesus isn’t very big on murder.”
“But her husband was involved with another woman!”
Hiro laughed. “You don’t know much about Japanese wives.”
Father Mateo looked offended. “I know enough about women to know that they don’t like being replaced.”
“Entertainers are not replacements for wives. A wife bears children and keeps the household accounts. No one expects her to display any skill at singing or conversation. Wives provide security. Entertainers offer social interaction. They fill completely different roles.”
“All women are good at conversation,” Father Mateo argued, “Japanese men just don’t listen to most of them.”
Hiro cocked an eyebrow at the priest. “Forgive me, but I hardly consider a celibate priest an authority on women.
“Akechi Sato is not responsible for her husband’s death. She doesn’t have the strength to ride a horse or to walk all the way to the Sakura. Her sandals showed no hint of mud, so she wasn’t out in the rain. She couldn’t have wielded the weapon that killed her husband, either. Neko-te require hand strength she doesn’t possess.”
The priest looked relieved. “I’m glad you think so. I agree, but I took the other side because I wanted to hear you say it.”
* * *
The four dōshin remained on guard outside the Sakura Teahouse, but they sat in a circle under one of the cherry trees instead of lurking by the path. As Hiro and Father Mateo approached, the youngest man startled and scooped something into his kimono sleeve. Dice, or possibly gambling sticks, unless Hiro missed his guess. Something to pass the time after the initial excitement of guarding a murderer died away, leaving only another routine wait.
Faint chanting emanated from the house. It came from the direction of the garden, most likely due to an open veranda door.
“Are the priests still here?” Father Mateo asked.
Hiro nodded. “The purification will take almost a week, and Mayuri can’t use the room until it’s finished.”
“That must be expensive,” the priest said.
“You have no idea.”
Hiro knocked on the teahouse door. The chanting increased slightly as Mayuri opened the door. She looked irritated to see them, or possibly just irritated with all the inconvenience.
“We have come to see Sayuri,” Hiro said.
Mayuri gave him a cold smile. “There is nothing new for you to discover here and your presence makes the girls nervous.”
“Are you refusing us admittance?” Hiro asked.
Mayuri’s smile widened and she opened the door a little more. “Of course not. The Sakura is pleased to cooperate with your investigation. Please come in.”
They found Sayuri in the same front room, wearing the same kimono she had changed into the day before. Her eyes seemed hollower, perhaps from lack of sleep, but she smiled when she saw the priest.
Father Mateo started across the floor.
Hiro turned to Mayuri. “Thank you. We will let you know when we have finished.”
She nodded and closed the door without a word.
Sayuri looked from Father
Mateo to Hiro. “Have you found the killer? Will Nobuhide let me go?”
“Not yet,” Hiro said. “May I see your dagger?”
She looked surprised. “I don’t carry a tanto.”
Hiro wasn’t fooled and he was finished playing. “If you’re an entertainer and not a prostitute, you have a weapon under that kimono. Produce it for me or I will find it myself.”
She looked at him for a long moment, then reached her right hand into her left sleeve and withdrew a long, slender sheath. She snapped it open to reveal a painted fan with metal ribs connected by hand-painted paper panels that showed a city scene.
Sayuri closed the fan with a click and took the blades in her left hand. Her right hand drew the concealed dagger from the bottom of the sheath. The five-inch blade fit snugly in the largest rib of the fan. Its length and diameter were closer to a throwing knife than a tanto, or more properly a menhari-gata since it was concealed in a fan. Sayuri spun the knife in her hand so the blade lay across her palm and offered the hilt to Hiro.
He accepted the weapon and examined it carefully, paying special attention to the grooves where the blade met the handle and where the handle fitted the sheath. He saw no blood or suspicious marks. The polished metal shone like new, though the blade was not newly forged.
“Very nice,” he said as he handed it back. “A family heirloom?”
Sayuri shook her head as she resheathed the dagger and returned it to her kimono. “It was a gift from Mayuri. She carried it when she was an entertainer.”
“Tell us again what happened the night Hideyoshi died,” Hiro said. “The truth this time.”
“I told you the truth yesterday.”
Hiro gestured to Father Mateo. “Let’s go. We can be halfway to Nagasaki by evening.” He glanced at Sayuri as he started for the door. “Good luck with Nobuhide tomorrow. I am sure Father Mateo will pray for your soul.”
Sayuri grabbed the Jesuit’s arm as he began to rise. “No, wait. I’ll tell you everything.”
Chapter 31
“Akechi-san visited almost every night since my debut,” Sayuri said, “but he was a regular client of the teahouse even before I started as an apprentice.
“Two nights ago, he arrived shortly after sunset. I served him dinner and sake, and afterward I sang and danced. He got very drunk and stayed very late. I wanted him to leave, but he refused to go. He started telling me that he intended to become my exclusive patron.” She gave Father Mateo a sidelong glance.
“An exclusive patron has rights not available to other men,” Hiro explained.
Father Mateo raised a hand and ran it through his hair.
“I hoped it was a lie,” Sayuri said. “Mayuri hadn’t mentioned it to me. He became insistent, trying to touch me, and I grew scared. That’s when I told him I needed to use the latrine and went to see Mayuri. She told me to return to the room and entertain my guest. She did not agree to intervene.
“I went to the latrine and hid there a very long time. Hideyoshi was so drunk, I didn’t think he could stay awake very much longer. When I did return to the room he had fallen asleep. I stayed with him because Mayuri would be angry if I left a guest alone. I fell asleep too, and when I woke up he was dead.”
With the exception of the comments about patronage, which Hiro suspected had their roots in honesty, Sayuri told the story without emotion.
“Did you move Hideyoshi’s body from where you found him?” he asked.
She shook her head and looked at the floor. “I wouldn’t defile myself that way.”
“I thought Christians didn’t believe in ritual defilement,” Hiro said.
She raised her head and met his eye. “I am Japanese as well as Christian, and my clients do not share my faith. I would not ruin my career by touching a corpse.”
“Then how did your kimono get so much blood on it?” When Sayuri didn’t answer Hiro added, “Perhaps I did not make myself sufficiently clear. I ask, you answer. If you lie, the priest and I go to Nagasaki and you face Nobuhide alone.”
Her face crumpled. “I touched him but I didn’t move him.”
She gestured to the hearth at the center of the room as though she could still see the corpse laid out beside it. This time, the horror on her face was very real. “I saw Akechi-san lying there, covered in blood, and at first I didn’t realize he was dead. I shook him and tried to revive him. I swear, I didn’t move his body.”
“When was the last time you saw Akechi Hidetaro?” Hiro asked.
She flushed and looked at her hands. “I don’t remember. Weeks ago.”
“How many more lies do you think I will listen to?” Hiro demanded. “I know he was buying your contract. He was here yesterday—did you see him?”
“Yesterday?” She looked up suddenly. Her lip trembled. “Mayuri didn’t tell me.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
Her shoulders slumped. “Two days ago, in the morning. He argued with Mayuri, and left, and then sneaked around the side of the house and told me what had happened.” She bit her lower lip. “Mayuri changed the price. She wanted more money and he couldn’t afford it, so she told him to go away.”
“What changed her mind?” Hiro asked.
Sayuri clasped her hands and rubbed the thumbs together. “I don’t know, but I can guess.” She looked miserable.
“Then guess,” Hiro said.
“I think Hideyoshi did want to become my patron, and he offered Mayuri money to break her contract with Hidetaro. Hideyoshi was rich.” She looked up with sudden fire in her eyes. “But Hidetaro is a better man. I’d rather be his wife, and poor, than a rich man’s mistress.”
“Did Akechi Hideyoshi know about your feelings for his brother?” Hiro asked.
“Yes, but I don’t know how. I didn’t tell him. He teased me about it the night he died. He said I should be nice to him instead of Hidetaro.”
Her eyebrows drew together and her lips pursed at the memory. She gave a little shiver as though trying to forget what she could not unsee.
“Do you think Hidetaro sneaked in here and killed his brother while you slept?”
Sayuri gripped her hands so tightly the knuckles whitened. “No.”
“You know your story makes him look guilty,” Hiro said.
“No,” she repeated. Her chest heaved. “He wouldn’t do that. Hidetaro isn’t violent, and, more importantly, he wouldn’t kill his brother when the blame might fall on me.”
“Did anyone else join Hideyoshi in the room the night he died?” Hiro asked.
“Anyone else?” Sayuri repeated. “What do you mean?”
“Visitors, other clients, entertainers … anyone at all.”
“No.” She shook her head. “It was just him and me.”
“Did he leave the room at all? To visit the latrine?”
She looked up. “He did visit the latrine. That was early in the evening. He went twice, one short visit and the second time longer.” She paused. “The second time was after dinner.”
“Was he injured when he returned?” Father Mateo asked. He sounded eager to hear the answer, as though it might provide an important piece of the puzzle.
Hiro wished the priest would reveal less about the expected responses, especially when asking leading questions.
“Not that I noticed,” Sayuri said. “Certainly not the way he was later on. That didn’t happen in the latrine.”
Based on her tone, she wished it had.
“I’m sure you would like to spend some time in prayer,” Hiro said.
Father Mateo looked offended. “I was going to suggest that,” he said in Portuguese, “but my religion is not a cover act.”
“Not for you,” Hiro replied in Portuguese, “but I need it to cover me for a little while. Ten minutes should be sufficient.”
He slipped out of the room as the priest and Sayuri began to pray. The common room was empty, as was the smaller family room beyond. The women must be upstairs, sleeping or doing whatever they did in th
e morning hours.
Hiro crossed the smaller common room and entered the narrow hall that led to the stairs and the yard. The little sliding door to the left beckoned as it had on his earlier visit. If Hiro guessed correctly, that door led to Mayuri’s office. At least, he hoped it led to the office and not a storeroom or other useless space. His task would be much harder if he had to infiltrate the second floor.
He had wanted to check the office since he discovered that Mayuri had burned her ledgers. The woman might have destroyed all evidence of whatever act she wanted to conceal, but he wouldn’t know until he looked for himself.
Hiro crept to the opposite end of the hall and listened. He heard voices upstairs, at least four and all female. They spoke too quietly for him to hear more than simple sounds, but the tones suggested an ongoing conversation rather than one about to end.
He returned to the opposite end of the hall and pressed his ear to the door. He heard nothing. He closed his eyes and opened his lips a fraction to increase his hearing and focus his attention.
Still nothing.
He took a deep breath and slid the paneled door. It whispered open with barely a sound.
As he stepped across the threshold a frigid female voice asked, “What are you doing here?”
Chapter 32
Hiro straightened his shoulders. “Looking for you, Mayuri.”
The woman sat at a low, movable desk in the center of the room. Although smaller than the guest rooms at the front of the house, the office was finely apportioned with white tatami of the highest grade and cedar paneling covering two of the walls. A tokonoma just to right of the entrance held an expensive vase, and beyond the alcove cedar doors indicated a floor-to-ceiling storage closet. A cedar chest to the right of the desk most likely held both money and record books, but it was closed, obscuring its contents.
Mayuri’s eyebrows knit together in a frown. “This is my private office. You have no right to be here.”
Hiro stepped into the room and slid the door closed behind him. He looked at the single, long-stemmed orchid stalk in the decorative vase.