His enemy was a dead man walking, another casualty of his crusade.
Chapter 16
Sunrise found Sano at his desk, reading documents by the glow of a lantern that had burned all night. As he affixed his signature seal to a document, he noticed that the crickets had ceased to chirp in the garden outside and birds were singing. He heard chatter and bustle from the servants as his estate awakened to life. Detectives Marume and Fukida entered his office, followed by Hirata and Detectives Inoue and Arai.
“Did you forget to go to bed yesterday?” Marume asked.
Sano yawned, stretched his cramped muscles, and rubbed his bleary eyes. “I had some work to catch up on.”
He’d made barely a dent in the correspondence and reports that had filled up his office while he’d been gone, even though his principal aide Kozawa had dealt with much business. And last night, when he’d briefed Lord Matsudaira on the progress of his investigation, Lord Matsudaira had ordered him to continue giving it top priority. Now Sano wished there were two of him, or more hours in the day.
Kozawa appeared, and Sano gave orders that included postponing all his conferences. He dismissed his aide with instructions to attend to minor matters. Then he explained to Hirata and the detectives his plan for today’s inquiries.
“We’ll focus on identifying people that the victims had contact with but were strangers to them, and finding martial artists who might know dim-make.” Sano checked the notes that he and Hirata and the detectives had written. “We’ve determined that all the victims spent time outside the castle and administrative district during the two days prior to their deaths. Hirata-san, I want you and your men to go where they went and find out who, if anyone, besides their friends, families and associates, came close enough to touch them.”
He had a disturbing premonition that the killer would strike again unless they worked fast. “Marume, Fukida, and I will go fishing for martial arts experts. I know a good place to start.”
Sano and the detectives rode through a gate into a neighborhood on an edge of the Nihonbashi merchant district. The sentry greeted him by name. The district was populated by families of samurai blood who’d lost their status through war and other misfortunes, merged with the commoners, and gone into trade. He led the familiar way across a bridge that spanned a canal lined with willows. Whenever he came here it seemed as if he’d traveled a great distance. Along the street of modest shops, houses, and food stalls, people smiled and bowed to him. Receiving such courtesies here always made him feel like an impostor. Some of those old folks had once scolded him for making mischief. He passed little boys who were playing and laughing. Had it really been thirty years since he’d been one of them?
He dismounted in a narrow side lane. Fences enclosed the rear lots of businesses and the proprietors’ living quarters. A gate opened. Two women carrying baskets emerged. One was in her fifties, gray-haired and dressed in a plain gray kimono, the other white-haired and elderly. Sano approached them while his men waited down the lane.
“Hello, Mother,” he said.
The gray-haired woman looked up at him in surprise. “Ichiro!” An affectionate smile brightened her lined face.
Sano greeted his mother’s maid and companion, who’d worked for his family since before his birth: “Hello, Hanasan.”
They had just come out of Sano’s childhood home. His father had become a ronin when the third Tokugawa shogun had confiscated his master Lord Kii’s lands forty years ago, turning the Sano clan and the lord’s other retainers out to fend for themselves. Before his death six years ago, Sano’s father had approached a family connection, called in a favor, and obtained for his only son a post as a police commander. An extraordinary chain of events had led Sano from there to his present station.
“It’s good to see you,” his mother said. “You haven’t been home for more than two months.”
“I know,” Sano said, feeling guilty because he’d neglected his duty to her.
When he’d become the shogun’s sosakan-sama after a brief stint on the police force, he’d moved to Edo Castle and taken her with him. But the change had upset her so much that Sano had been forced to move her back to the house where she’d spent almost her entire life. Now she lived here contentedly, on the generous allowance he provided.
“How are my grandson and my honorable daughter-in-law?” His mother adored Masahiro, but was awed by Reiko and shy with her. After Sano replied that they were well, she said, “Hana and I were on our way to the market, but we can go later. Come inside and have something to eat.”
“Thank you, but I can’t stay,” Sano said.
She noticed his men waiting on their horses down the street. “Ah. You’re busy. I mustn’t keep you.”
They parted, and Sano walked to the corner. There stood the Sano Martial Arts Academy, which occupied a long, low, wooden building with a brown tile roof and barred windows. Like many ronin, Sano’s father had been cut loose with no skills except in the martial arts. He’d founded the academy and scratched out a meager livelihood for himself and his family. During Sano’s youth, the school had lacked the prestige to attract samurai from beyond the lower ranks. But today he saw boys and young men who wore the crests of the Tokugawa and great daimyo clans streaming in the door. His name, his high position, and the fact that he’d learned his own acclaimed righting skills here had boosted the school’s reputation. Now it was one of the top places to train in Edo.
Sano entered the school. Inside the practice room, students dressed in loose cotton trousers and jackets sparred against one another. Amid a din of clacking wooden swords, stamping feet, and battle cries, instructors shouted directions. The sensei, Aoki Koemon, hastened over to Sano.
“Greetings,” he said with a welcoming smile.
He was a stocky, genial samurai, near Sano’s own age of thirty-six. They’d grown up together, and Koemon had once been an apprentice to Sano’s father, who had left the school to him. Sano sometimes envied his friend and childhood playmate the simple life that would have been his if not for his father’s ambitions for him.
Koemon pulled two wooden swords from a rack on the wall. “It’s been ages since you showed up for a practice session. Are you here to make up for lost time?”
“Actually, I’ve come in search of somebody,” Sano said.
The school was a gossip center of the martial arts world, and a source of news he’d often plumbed. But when Koemon tossed him a sword, he caught it. They faced off, holding their weapons upright. Sano hadn’t fought a match in more than a month, and the sword felt good in his hands.
“Who is it?” said Koemon as they circled each other and the class continued nearby.
“A martial artist who has the touch of death.”
Koemon lunged, whipping his sword in a fast curve. Sano dodged and barely avoided a smack on the hip.
“With all due respect, your reflexes are a lot slower than they used to be,” Koemon said. “I don’t know of anyone who practices dim-make”
They resumed circling. “Well, he exists.” Sano launched a series of lashes that Koemon easily parried, while he explained about the murders. “And he’s in Edo.”
“That’s amazing,” Koemon said, then attacked Sano with swift, ferocious swordplay that drove him backward against the wall.
Already breathless from exertion, Sano counterattacked, gained himself room to maneuver, and darted around Koemon. Sweat trickled down his brow as they faced off again. The sword now felt heavy in his hands, which hurt where his calluses had grown soft. “Have you heard of any martial arts masters coming to town?” Perhaps the killer numbered among those ronin who wandered Japan, fighting duels, teaching lessons, and gathering disciples. There had been legions after the Battle of Sekigahara ninety-four years ago, during which the first Tokugawa shogun Ieyasu had defeated his rival warlords whose armies had then scattered, but their numbers had dwindled over the decades.
“Not recently,” Koemon said.
“On th
e other hand, he could be someone who’s been here all along.” Sano favored this theory. “Maybe the killer is an enemy of the victims—or Lord Matsudaira—who’s hidden his secret knowledge of dim-make until now.” Sano charged and slashed.
As Koemon leapt away, Sano’s blade grazed his sleeve. “Good, you’re warming up,” Koemon said. A thought altered his expression. “I just remembered something. Do you know the priest Ozuno?”
“The name doesn’t sound familiar,” Sano said as they struck and parried. “Who is he?”
“He’s a samurai from the old days. When he lost his master, he took religious vows. He entered the monastery at Enryaku Temple on Mount Hiei.”
Mount Hiei was the sacred peak near the imperial capital. Enryaku Temple had been a mighty Buddhist stronghold of fighting priests until some hundred years ago, when its political influence and military power had posed a threat to the warlord Oda Nobunaga and he’d leveled it. The temple had since been rebuilt, and traditions died hard.
“The priests taught Ozuno their ancient secrets.” Koemon’s sword battered Sano’s. “By the time he came down from the mountain, he was an expert at the mystic martial arts and much sought after as a teacher.”
“That story has been used by legions of samurai who are trying to boost their reputations or attract pupils,” Sano said. “If it’s true in this Ozuno’s case, why isn’t he famous?”
“He’s a loner who hates publicity. And he’s very selective about whom he chooses to teach. He takes on one pupil at a time and trains him for years. He makes all his pupils swear not to reveal that they’ve studied with him or give away the techniques that he teaches them.”
This aura of secrecy jibed with what Sano knew about dim-make and its practitioners. Fatigued from defending himself, Sano ducked Koemon’s blade; it whistled over his head. “Where can I find Ozuno?”
“When he’s in town, he lives at one temple or another,” Koemon said. “I hear he has friends at them who give him a place to stay. I don’t know if he’s still teaching. He must be ninety years old. But he still roams the country when the wanderlust takes him.”
As Sano considered this promising lead, his attention drifted from the fight. Koemon’s blade whacked him across his stomach. Sano doubled over, wincing from the blow, humbled by the abrupt defeat.
“My apologies,” Koemon said, remorseful.
“No need,” Sano said. “You won a fair victory.”
They bowed to each other, hung their swords on the rack, then gulped water from a ceramic urn. Sano thanked Koemon for the information and the combat practice. “Any time,” Koemon said. “I’ll put the word out that you’re looking for Ozuno and send you any news I hear.”
When Sano left the school, he found his detectives at a food stall, drinking tea and eating noodles. He joined them, and as he ate, he told them about the mysterious priest.
Marume, interested yet dubious, was shoveling noodles into his mouth with his chopsticks. “Even if this fellow is still in good enough shape to kill at age ninety, it doesn’t sound as if he has any connection to Chief Ejima and the others.”
“Or to Lord Matsudaira,” said Fukida.
“Maybe one of his secret pupils does. At any rate, I think he’s worth talking to.” Sanofinished his meal and set aside his empty bowl. “We’ll go back to Edo Castle and mount a search for Ozuno. And maybe there will be some news from Hirata and Detective Tachibana.”
Chapter 17
Reiko paced around the room in her father’s estate where she’d interviewed Yugao two days ago. When she’d arrived this morning, she’d asked Magistrate Ueda to let her speak to Yugao again, and he’d sent men to the jail to fetch her. It was almost noon by the time the door opened. Two guards brought in Yugao. Her hands were shackled; she wore the same dirty robe. She seemed surprised and displeased to see Reiko.
“It’s you again,” she said. “What do you want now?”
The guards shoved her to her knees in front of Reiko, then departed, closing the door behind them.
“I want to talk some more,” Reiko said.
Yugao shook her head, obstinate. “I’ve already said everything I have to say.”
She looked the worse for another night at Edo Jail. Flea bites dotted her neck, and her eyes were crusted, pink, and swollen. Reiko felt both revilement and pity toward her. “We have some new things to discuss.”
Raising her bound hands to scratch her flea bites, Yugao waited in suspicious silence.
“I paid a visit to your house yesterday,” Reiko said.
Yugao’s swollen eyes blinked in shock. “You went to the hinin settlement?” She sat up straight and stared at Reiko. “Why?”
“You wouldn’t tell me what happened the night your family was murdered,” Reiko said, “so I decided to find out for myself. I talked with the headman and your neighbors.”
Yugao shook her head in evident confusion. Her hands rubbed together, and her knees clenched spasmodically. Reiko thought that perhaps her efforts had convinced Yugao that she sincerely wanted to help. Maybe Yugao was relenting toward her and would now trust her enough to talk.
“The headman told me why your father was a hinin,” Reiko ventured.
Now Yugao’s face turned ugly with sudden rage. “You snooped into my business! You samurai people do whatever you want and you don’t care about anybody else’s privacy. I hate you all!”
This outburst disconcerted Reiko, who was chagrined because this conversation wasn’t going the way she wanted. But she continued, “For a man to commit incest with his daughter is not only a crime but a betrayal of her love for him. Did your father do it to you that night?”
“I won’t talk about my father,” Yugao said with bitter indignation.
“Then let’s talk about your mother and your sister. Did they do something to hurt you, too?” A new theory evolved in Reiko’s mind. “Were they cruel to you because they blamed you for the fact that they had to live as outcasts?”
“I won’t talk about them, either,” Yugao said.
While Reiko controlled her exasperation, she saw a possible reason why Yugao had refused to talk. Maybe she was so shamed by her sordid life that she would rather die than reveal it. Maybe she blamed herself for it and wanted to be punished even if she hadn’t killed her family. Because the law treated people as guilty for the transgressions of their kin and associates, it was logical for them to believe they really were.
“You should reconsider,” Reiko advised Yugao. “If you stabbed your father while he was forcing himself on you, that’s different from murder. If your mother and sister attacked you because you were protecting yourself, you had a right to fight back against them. Killing in self-defense isn’t a crime. You won’t be punished. The magistrate will set you free.”
Any other accused criminal that Reiko had ever seen would have gladly seized on this explanation as a chance to save his life. But Yugao turned her face away and said in a cold, recalcitrant voice: ’That’s not what happened.”
“Then tell me what did,” Reiko said.
“I stabbed my father until he died. Then I stabbed my mother and my sister. I murdered them. I don’t have to say why.”
Reiko’s mind flashed back to the vision she’d had of the murders at the hovel. She pictured Yugao wielding the knife, heard the screams, smelled the blood. But her imagination plus Yugao’s confession didn’t necessarily equal the truth.
“Listen, Yugao,” she said. “My father bent the law by delaying the verdict at your trial. I’ve gone far out of my way for you.” She’d even risked putting Sano in jeopardy. “That obligates you to tell me the truth.”
Scornful contempt wrenched Yugao’s lips. “I never asked you or the magistrate to save me. I’m ready to accept my punishment. So go away before I spit on you again.”
Reiko prowled the room, venting her impatience. She began to appreciate the benefits of torture. A little molten copper poured on Yugao would certainly improve her manners as well as break her s
ilence. “I’m not going away until you convince me that you’re guilty,” Reiko said, circling Yugao. “And if that’s really what you want to do, you’ll need to do better than you have, especially in light of what else I learned yesterday.”
“What are you jabbering about now?” Yugao’s voice was insolent, but Reiko heard a current of fear in it.
“You and your family weren’t the only people in your house the night of the murders. Your sister’s friend Ihei has admitted he was there, sleeping in the lean-to with her. The boy on fire-watch duty saw him running away after the murders.” Yugao sniffed, disdainful. “Ihei is a clumsy weakling. If he tried to stab anybody, he would cut himself.”
“What about the warden from Edo Jail?” Reiko said. “He was at your house earlier that evening. He and your father had a fight. Nobody can call him a weakling.”
“Do you really think Ihei or the warden did it?” Yugao demanded. Her gaze smoldered with animosity as it followed Reiko around the room. “Have they been arrested?” She read the answer on Reiko’s face and laughed. “You don’t have any more dirt on them than you’ve just said. If your father put the three of us on trial, he’d have to convict me before them. I was caught in the house, with the knife.”
None of Reiko’s experience with crime and criminals had prepared her to understand this woman who was so bent on dying for the murders. She tried a different strategy: “Let’s make a bargain. I’ll tell my father that you’re guilty if you tell me why you killed your family.”
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