"Did you search Lady Keisho-in's chambers?" Sano asked.
Ozawa looked at him in surprise. "No. I didn't know you wanted us to, and we would have needed special permission from her. Why?"
"Never mind," said Sano, "that's all right."
"It's probably just as well that we quit," Ozawa said. "We could have spent the rest of the year in the Large Interior without learning anything."
That was little consolation to Sano, because the shogun's edict had deprived him of access to not only Lady Keisho-in's quarters and five hundred potential witnesses, but also another important suspect: Lady Ichiteru. Now the thought of her reminded Sano of an unpleasant task he must perform tonight.
When they reached Sano's mansion, the detectives headed for the barracks. Sano said to Hirata, "Let's go to my office."
There, warmed by charcoal braziers and cups of hot sake, they knelt facing each other. Hirata looked miserable, his head bowed in anticipation of punishment. Sano hardened his heart against pity. He'd let Hirata's dubious behavior slide for too long. Now it had compromised their work, perhaps irretrievably. Sano hated to risk damaging the friendship he valued above any other, but this time he meant to get some answers.
"What happened during your interview with Lady Ichiteru, and why did you let our superiors think we believe she's innocent?" Sano said.
"I'm sorry, sosakan-sama." Hirata's voice quavered. "There's no excuse for what I did. I-Lady Ichiteru-" He gulped, then said, "I couldn't get her to answer my questions, so I don't really know if she killed Lady Harume. She-she got me all mixed up..." His gaze turned luminescent with memory. Then he looked down, as if caught in a shameful act. "I shouldn't have spoken at the meeting. I made a bad mistake. You should dismiss me. I deserve it."
The news shook Sano. Accustomed to relying on his chief retainer, he felt as though an essential support beam had been yanked from the structure of his detective corps. But Sano's anger dissolved at the sight of Hirata's humility.
"After all we've been through together, I won't dismiss you for one mistake," he said. Overcome with relief, Hirata blinked moist eyes. Tactfully Sano busied himself with pouring them each another drink. "Now let's concentrate on the case. We've lost our chance for an official interview with Lady Ichiteru, but there must be other methods of getting information on her."
They drank, then Hirata said hesitantly, "We might still be able to talk to Ichiteru." From under his kimono he removed a letter and handed it over.
As Sano read, excitement eclipsed his depression. "She has information about the murder? Maybe this is the break we need."
"You mean you think I should go?" A wild joy flared in Hirata's eyes before consternation clouded them. "To see Lady Ichiteru, alone, at this place she describes?"
"It's you she's asking for," Sano answered. "She might not be willing to speak to anyone else. And we can't endanger her-or defy the shogun's orders-by meeting in the castle."
"You trust me with such a critical interview? After what I've done?" Hirata sounded incredulous.
"Yes," Sano said, "I do." His purpose for sending Hirata to the rendezvous was twofold: he wanted Lady Ichiteru's information, but he also wanted Hirata to regain his self-confidence.
"Thank you, sosakan-sama. Thank you!" Fervent with gratitude, Hirata bowed. "I promise I won't let you down. We'll solve this case."
After Hirata had gone, Sano went to his desk. Reading reports from his detectives, he wished he could share Hirata's faith. His men had questioned every member of the Miyagi household; no one admitted to tampering with the ink, or seeing anyone do so. They'd traced the bottle's path to Lady Harume. The messenger who had delivered it claimed he'd neither opened the sealed package nor made any stops along the way. Interviews with the castle guard who'd taken in the package, the servant who'd carried it to the Large Interior, and numerous individuals with possible access to the bottle while in transit had proved inconclusive.
Sano rubbed his temples, where a dull headache throbbed-he shouldn't have imbibed liquor on an empty stomach. His journey into Lady Harume's past had made the case more perplexing instead of less; he still believed that the facts of her life related to the murder, but couldn't make the connection. Sano felt drained of energy, in need of solace. Where was the comfort he'd expected to find in marriage?
Then Sano felt Reiko's presence: a mental sensation vaguely akin to the ripple of a distant stream. He realized he'd been feeling it ever since arriving home, like an undercurrent beneath his thoughts. In the space of a mere three days, he had become attuned to his bride. He would always know when she was near. Marriage had worked this strange magic despite the conflicts that divided them. Did Reiko feel it, too? The thought gave Sano hope for a chance of mutual understanding and harmony. Now, as the sensation grew stronger and he heard the creak of the floorboards under her soft footsteps, he forgot the cares of the day. She was coming to him. His heart pounded; his mouth went dry in anticipation.
A knock at the door: three quiet, firm raps. "Come in." Sano's voice hoarsened with nervousness, and he had to clear his throat.
The door slid open. Reiko entered the room. She wore a red dressing gown printed with gold medallions, its lush folds emphasizing the delicate yet seductive curves of her figure. Her knee-length hair swathed her like a shimmering black cape. She looked utterly beautiful and unapproachable. In her proud posture, Sano could see generations of samurai ancestors. Reiko's gaze was cool as she knelt a good distance away from Sano and bowed, her voice level when she said, "Good evening, Honorable Husband."
"Good evening," Sano said, chilled by her formality. "Did you have a good day?"
"Yes, thank you."
Where did you go? Sano wanted to ask. What did you do? But those questions would sound like an interrogation, and probably cause another quarrel. Sano controlled his tendency to batter against any obstacle that stood between him and the truth. Marriage was teaching him patience. He felt as though he'd aged years since his wedding, slowly, painfully maturing into the role of husband. Instead he waited for Reiko to speak. Didn't her visit indicate a desire for his company?
"My father paid a call while you were out," Reiko said. "He wishes to see you tomorrow morning at the hour of the dragon, in the Court of Justice."
Realizing that she'd come only to deliver this message, Sano experienced the heavy letdown of disappointment. "Did he say why?"
"Only that there's a trial that he believes will interest you. I asked if it had anything to do with your investigation, but he refused to say." A bitter smile twisted Reiko's mouth. "Like you, he thinks it's none of my business."
With difficulty, Sano resisted the bait. "Thank you for bringing me the message."
How he ached to touch her! He could imagine the silken sheen of her hair on his fingers, the soft pliancy of her body against his. The tantalizing scent of jasmine wafted across the distance between them. Oddly, her strength of will only increased the attraction she held for him. To win the love of this proud wife would be a greater conquest than domination of a weaker woman. The battle would require less brute muscle than intelligent strategy-the skill on which he prided himself in his detective work. His warrior spirit rose to the challenge.
Reiko bowed, signaling her intention to leave. Seeking a way to keep her with him, Sano said the first thing that came into his head. "About last night-I'm sorry if I hurt you when I pushed you out of Lieutenant Kushida's way."
"You didn't hurt me." Reiko's voice remained cool, her expression implacable. "And you needed my help more than I needed your protection. Why don't you just admit it?"
This was getting them nowhere, except further apart. In desperation, Sano blurted, "I admired that stroke you used against Kushida."
Now Reiko's eyes rounded in surprise at the compliment. "Thank you, but it was nothing, really." A becoming flush of pleasure bloomed in her cheeks. "It's just something I learned from a martial arts treatise by Kumashiro."
"You've read Kumashiro's works?" Now
it was Sano's turn to be surprised. The great swordsman, who had lived two hundred years ago, was a hero of his own. Now his love of the history of martial arts prevailed over his belief that a wife shouldn't practice them. He found himself and Reiko discussing kenjutsu. Because she'd read as widely as he, this was one of the most satisfying conversations he'd ever had on the subject. Reiko's intelligence impressed him, and he enjoyed watching her glow with enthusiasm. She moved closer; her posture relaxed; her smile mirrored his pleasure in their mutual interest. Sano believed that she'd come here because she'd wanted to see him: after all, she could have sent a maid to deliver her father's message. She, too, felt the attraction that sparked between them.
Then, in the middle of a passionate argument about the merits of a particular style of swordsmanship, Sano realized he was making the same mistake that Magistrate Ueda rued: encouraging Reiko's interest in unfeminine pursuits.
His expression must have shown his dismay, because Reiko stopped talking in the middle of a sentence. Sadness quenched the sparkle in her eyes; she'd read his thoughts. "It's late," she said regretfully. "I shan't interrupt your work any longer." As their camaraderie died, the room seemed to grow suddenly colder. "Good night, Honorable Husband." Reiko bowed and rose.
"Wait," Sano said. When she paused at the door, a question in her eyes, he wanted to say: Investigating Lady Harume's life has opened my eyes. I understand what it's like to be female in a world ruled by men. I realize the cruelty of a society that limits a woman's existence. I know how you feel!
Yet how could he claim to understand Reiko's position, while still maintaining his own? He didn't want her involved in a murder investigation that had grown even more perilous with Lady Keisho-in's emergence as a suspect. He still doubted her ability to accomplish anything worth the risk of her life. Knowing this, Reiko would surely repudiate his sympathy as a mere ploy to win her affection against her will. Sano cast about for a neutral topic of conversation, but anything he might say could lead to the central issue of her independence-his authority- and another quarrel.
"Good night, " Sano said at last.
With a swish of silk garments and a whiff of jasmine, Reiko slipped out the door, closing it softly behind her. More despondent than ever, Sano sat alone at his desk. Her presence still lingered: a clear, rippling stream slowly carving its path through the bedrock of his soul. Yet unless they could somehow get beyond this terrible impasse, they were doomed to live like strangers, together yet apart. Love seemed a hopeless dream.
Against his better judgment, Sano poured himself another cup of sake. Then, sipping the lukewarm liquor, he turned his thoughts to another unhappy lover, Lieutenant Kushida. The palace guard represented Sano's best chance to conclude the murder investigation quickly, and with his life intact. However, as he scanned the detectives' report on Kushida, his spirits waned further. No incriminating evidence had been found in his background or his quarters. That left Sano right where he'd started: with Kushida's statement, and the attempted burglary.
Sano reached over to the built-in shelves of his study niche and removed Lady Harume's diary. Riffling through the pages, he again wondered why Lieutenant Kushida had wanted to steal them. Then Sano noticed something he'd missed before. He held the open diary near the lamp for closer scrutiny.
Tiny ink marks filled the inner margins of the pages, where the silk cord joined them. Sano untied the cord and separated the sheets. The marks were the fine outer brushstrokes of characters that Lady Harume had written along the edge of the middle pages, then hidden beneath the binding. Arranged sequentially, they read:
Lying together in the shadows between two existences,
Skin touching bare skin,
Your breath joins mine; your sighs fill my depths
And our blood sings to the rhythm of a single heartbeat.
As you explore the secret places of my body
I open myself to your touch
Ah, if only I could take all of you inside me
So that we might never part.
But alas! Your rank and fame endanger us.
We can never walk together in daylight.
Yet love is eternal; you are mine forever, as I am yours,
In spirit, though not in marriage.
Sano reread the lines with repressed jubilation. Harume's expression of eternal love didn't reflect Lady Keisho-in's complaints of betrayal. She must have been involved with someone else, whom she'd loved so much that she couldn't resist committing her emotions to paper despite the fear of discovery.
But who was this lover of public reputation and unspecified name? Any man would be condemned to death for bedding the shogun's favorite concubine; even a woman could earn the same fate by usurping Lady Harume's affection. How had this particular individual's position worsened the danger? Had the affair occasioned the earlier attempts on her life?
Sano cautioned himself against hoping too much for a lead that pointed away from Lady Keisho-in. Perhaps Harume had been writing about the shogun's mother during a happier phase of their relationship. Though Sano knew that love often surmounts the barriers of age, he wanted to believe that Harume had accepted old, homely Keisho-in's advances only to gain privileges. He wanted to believe that the hidden verse implicated someone else.
Lieutenant Kushida had denied sexual contact with Harume, but what if he'd lied? Maybe he'd tried to steal the diary because he feared Harume had named him as her lover. The impassioned tone of the verse and the sexual acts suggested didn't fit Harume's arrangement with Lord Miyagi, but their liaison could have later evolved beyond his spying at her through windows, despite his denials. It wasn't uncommon for a worldly older man to win a young girl's affection. Either the daimyo or Lieutenant Kushida might have killed Harume to prevent the affair from being exposed, or the shogun from finding out that the suspect had impregnated her.
Or perhaps there was another, yet unknown lover in Harume's past.
Sano must investigate the possibility. But for now he invested his hopes in Lieutenant Kushida and Lord Miyagi as the prime suspects.
25
The bathchamber of the Miyagi mansion was similar to those in any of Edo's great daimyo estates. A sunken wooden tub full of hot water steamed in the center of the spacious room. Shelves held rinse buckets, drying cloths, rice-bran soap, and jars of scented oil. A slatted floor allowed spilled water to flow into drains below. Charcoal braziers heated the air. But this particular bathchamber also had two unusual features.
A bamboo screen enclosed one corner, and in the wall, a tiny sliding door was inset at eye level. Lady Miyagi knelt on a cushion in the enclosure. Hearing footsteps, she tensed, alert to her husband's arrival. The spyhole door slid open, and she sensed his anticipation as he looked into the bathchamber, awaiting the entertainment she'd arranged for him. She clapped, the signal for the ritual to begin.
The door opened. In walked Lord Miyagi's concubines, Snowflake and Wren. Both wore dressing gowns, their long hair pinned up. Chattering together, they did not appear aware of their lord watching through the spyhole. Nor did they seem to notice Lady Miyagi, although the screen only hid her from the daimyo and she was clearly visible to them. At the Zojo Temple orphanage four years ago, she'd inspected all the girls, seeking the right combination of cleverness and docility, before taking these two home with her. She'd trained Snowflake and Wren in the art of pleasing her husband. Now they were superb actresses. As if oblivious to the presence of master and mistress, they slipped off their robes.
From behind the spyhole, Lord Miyagi sighed. Lady Miyagi smiled, vicariously enjoying his pleasure at the sight of his concubines' naked bodies. Snowflake had large breasts with prominent nipples. Wren, small of bosom, had wide, curving hips. They complemented each other perfectly, and Lady Miyagi could feel the heat of her husband's excitement, like flames licking the wall. Snowflake picked up a bucket and doused herself with water. Squatting, she scrubbed her arms with soap. To Wren, she said coyly, "Will you wash my back?"
Lady Miyagi heard her husband moan. She knew he was taking his manhood out of his loincloth, stroking it. Wren cast an oblique glance at Lady Miyagi, who gestured for her to continue touching Snowflake. Lord Miyagi enjoyed this drawn-out erotic play. Lady Miyagi didn't know-or care-whether the concubines did, or if they only feigned pleasure out of duty to the master who fed and sheltered them, or fear of their mistress's anger lest they disobey. But she herself felt no physical response. An early experience had destroyed her capacity for sexual pleasure.
As a child of a secondary branch of the Miyagi clan, she'd grown up on this estate. Back then the house had always been full of people. The former daimyo-her husband's father-had loved hosting lavish parties. At one of these, eleven-year-old Miyagi Akiko had met an uncle newly arrived from Tosa Province. Ten years her senior, Uncle Kaoru had charmed her with his good looks and friendliness. She'd begun tagging after him, bringing him little gifts of flowers and sweets. In a childish way, she fell in love.
Sano Ichiro 4 The Concubine's Tattoo (1998) Page 23