“Thank you, Honorable Abbot,” Sano said, feeling pressured by this hint to speed up his progress.
A faint smile cracked lines in Makino’s skull face. He addressed the shogun: “May I invite the city elders to express their concerns about the situation?”
“Permission granted,” said Tokugawa Tsunayoshi. His worried gaze moved over the assembly while he tried to read the conversation’s undercurrents.
The delegation on the lower level stirred. An elderly man with sparse white hair inched forward on his knees, bowed to the shogun, and said with visible nervousness, “A thousand thanks for the privilege of speaking, Your Excellency. During the past few months there have been fires in the Suruga, Nihonbashi, and Kanda districts, causing thirty-four deaths.” The old man glanced at Makino. “We fear that the fires may be related to the one at the Black Lotus Temple.”
Sano was alarmed by this theory that the Black Lotus fire might be the latest work of a habitual arsonist. However, he deduced that it was Makino who had planted it in the minds of the elders and brought them here to help make Sano’s failure to solve the case seem more reprehensible.
“I thank the city elders for the news,” Sano said evenly. “While there’s no evidence that the Black Lotus fire involves anyone or any place outside the temple, I shall certainly check into the possibility.”
“That sounds like a good, ahh, plan,” the shogun ventured, as if afraid to contribute his opinion to an argument he didn’t understand.
A flicker of annoyance in Makino’s eyes acknowledged that his ploy hadn’t worked the way he’d hoped. “You exhibit an astonishing indifference to the concerns of our citizens, ssakan-sama. Perhaps you do not care about their safety. Is that why you’re taking so long with your inquiries?”
The shogun frowned in confusion, but Sano felt his lord’s approval swaying toward Makino. Sano said, “A thorough investigation requires time. Perhaps the Honorable Senior Elder would prefer that the job be done poorly?”
“An honorable man does not evade the blame for his mistakes.” Although Makino’s expression didn’t change, anger radiated from him. “Nor does a good detective ignore what is before his eyes. The orphan girl is the obvious culprit, but she hasn’t been arrested yet. She’s free to set more fires and kill again.”
The other council members nodded. The abbot gave Sano a sympathetic glance. Indecision puckered the shogun’s brow.
“The evidence against Haru is a matter of circumstance and hearsay,” Sano said, forced to defend the girl despite his suspicion of her. “There’s no proof of her guilt.”
“Why do you need proof when a confession would suffice? Are you saying that you’re incapable of getting the truth out of a fifteen-year-old female peasant?” Makino emitted a cackle of laughter. “Perhaps you need a lesson in interrogation techniques.”
Sano swallowed a sharp retort that would demonstrate bad manners and offend the shogun. “If Haru didn’t commit the crimes, then torturing her would do us no good and her much undeserved harm. Executing an innocent person won’t serve justice or protect the public.”
“Yes, you must, ahh, protect the public.” The shogun echoed Sano’s words with the breathless relief of a man who has just run a long distance to catch up to his comrades.
Sano watched Makino hide his chagrin by puffing on his tobacco pipe.
“Therefore, you should have arrested Haru long ago,” the shogun continued, giving Sano a reproachful look. “Your, ahh, procrastination makes the bakufu look weak. We cannot afford to let the citizens think they can get away with, ahh, murder. Haru should have already been punished as an, ahh, example of what happens to anyone who breaks the law. I am extremely disappointed in you, Ssakan Sano.”
Anxiety filled Sano as he saw Makino’s veiled glee. He said carefully, “I’m sorry, Your Excellency. Please be assured that I have the bakufu’s interests at heart. Please allow me to point out that we could lose tremendous face if more fires and murders occurred after Haru’s execution because the real culprit escaped justice.”
“Ahh.”
Comprehension brightened Tsunayoshi’s face. Makino’s ugly features darkened. Everyone else gazed at the floor.
Then the shogun said, “However, I must demand action, Ssakan Sano. Either prove that the girl is guilty, or find out who is. Otherwise I shall put someone else in charge of the, ahh, investigation.” The shogun looked around the room, and his gaze settled upon Makino.
The senior elder’s humble bow didn’t hide his satisfaction.
“If you do not produce results immediately,” the shogun continued to Sano, “I shall also have to reconsider your, ahh, position at court.”
Makino flashed a triumphant look at Sano, who realized with dismay that this case could destroy his career. He also understood that the surest way to save it was to prove that Haru was guilty, and do it fast.
“Dismissed,” the shogun said, waving his fan at the assembly.
Back at his mansion, Sano summoned four detectives to his private office and said, “I have a new assignment for you: secret surveillance on the Black Lotus sect.”
He’d picked these men because they hadn’t been part of the arson investigation yet, and they weren’t known at the temple. Now he turned to Kanryu and Hachiya, former police officers some years his senior. “You two will disguise yourselves as pilgrims and loiter around the temple.”
“What are we looking for?” said Kanryu. His sleepy appearance concealed a talent for spying.
When Sano related the novice monk’s story, the detective exchanged glances with Hachiya, a muscular man whose friendly disposition inspired trust, often to the detriment of people with something to hide. The pair bowed to Sano, observing the samurai tradition of unquestioning obedience to their master, but he sensed their skepticism.
“I know it sounds unbelievable,” he said, “but if there is anything wrong at the temple that may have any bearing on the arson and murders, we need to know.” To the two other detectives he said, “I want you to infiltrate the sect.”
The two men, Takeo and Tadao, were brothers in their late teens, from a family of hereditary Tokugawa vassals, apprentices to Sano. They shared similar daring spirits and handsome faces. Now they listened attentively as Sano said, “You’ll pose as religious youths who want to enter the Black Lotus monastery. Get accepted as novices and find out what goes on inside.”
“Yes, master,” Takeo and Tadao chorused, bowing.
“Kanryu-san, you’re in charge of the surveillance,” Sano said. “Report to me on everyone’s progress.”
“Will you be at the temple today?” Kanryu asked as the detectives prepared to leave.
After a moment’s hesitation, Sano said, “Later, perhaps. I’ve got some business to take care of.”
Kojimachi district occupied the central ridge of Edo, just west of the castle, along the road that led to Yotsuya, home of the secondary branches of the Tokugawa clan. Here, in a narrow corridor between the compounds of Tokugawa daimyo and retainers, commoners plied their trades. Merchants sold and delivered food; restaurants and teahouses served travelers; Hirakawa Tenjin Shrine hosted one of Edo’s few evening markets. Behind the businesses thrived a populous residential area.
As Sano rode past a shop redolent of fermenting miso, light rain fell from the gray sky; umbrellas sprouted in the crowds around him. Trepidation weighed upon his spirit. He’d promised Reiko that he would personally investigate the Black Lotus, and sending detectives instead seemed a betrayal of her trust. And he hadn’t told her that he was going to check Haru’s background. Although he deemed this necessary for assessing the girl’s character, he didn’t want Reiko to think he lacked faith in her judgment or was persecuting Haru.
Still, he must determine to his own satisfaction whether Haru was guilty, so he could either arrest her and satisfy the shogun and the public, or develop other leads if she was innocent Perhaps what he learned at her birthplace would put him and Reiko on the same side of the case
.
The road led Sano to Kojimachi’s most famous landmark: the hunters’ market. Stalls sold the meat of wild boar, deer, monkey, bear, and fowl from the mountains outside Edo. Customers and vendors haggled; flies buzzed around carcasses hung on hooks or spread on pallets; the air reeked of blood and decay. Buddhist religion prohibited the eating of meat, with one exception: for medicinal purposes. Some diseases could be cured only by consuming stews or elixirs made from animals. Farther down the road stood the popular restaurant named Yamasakana—“Mountain Fish”—which served these remedies.
In a row of low, attached buildings near Yamasakana, Sano saw a noodle restaurant. This must be the establishment once owned by Haru’s family. Short indigo curtains hanging from the eaves sheltered a raised wooden floor where diners could sit. At this hour—midway between the morning and noon meals—the restaurant was empty, but the sliding wooden doors stood open. As Sano dismounted and tied his horse to a pillar, he heard pans rattling in the kitchen at the rear; charcoal smoke wafted out. The moneylenders who had seized the restaurant as payment for Haru’s father’s debts had apparently sold it to someone else.
When Sano entered, a middle-aged proprietor wearing a blue cotton kimono and white head kerchief came to greet him. Sano introduced himself, then said, “I need information on the family who owned this restaurant before you. Did you know them?”
The proprietor’s round, honest face looked perplexed. “Yes, master. They were my parents. They died eleven years ago. My wife and I have been running the business ever since.” He gestured toward the kitchen, where a woman stirred steaming pots on a hearth amid chopping blocks heaped with sliced vegetables.
“I must have the wrong place,” Sano said. “The people I’m interested in died just two years ago. They had a daughter named Haru.”
He was about to ask whether the proprietor knew the family, when the man went deathly pale, dropped to his knees, and uttered an anguished moan: “Haru-chan …”
The woman ran out from the kitchen. Small and slender, with graying hair piled atop her head, she scolded her husband, “We agreed never to speak of her again!” Then she took a second look at the man, and her rage faded into concern. “What’s wrong?” She turned wary eyes on Sano. “Who are you?”
“He’s the shogun’s ssakan-sama,” the proprietor said in a choked voice. “He asked about her.”
“Then you know Haru?” Sano said, baffled by the couple’s reaction.
“No.” The woman shot her husband a warning glance.
He lifted bleak eyes to Sano. “She was our daughter.”
“Your daughter? But I understood that Haru was an orphan whose parents died of a fever.”
Misery slumped the proprietor’s shoulders. “Whoever told you that was wrong. We are alive. It is Haru who is dead.”
Trying to make sense of the conversation, Sano shook his head. “Haru is at the Zj Temple convent.” He explained about the fire and murders, and Haru’s situation. The couple listened in blank silence: Apparently they hadn’t heard the news. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Sano said. “We can’t be talking about the same—”
Grunting noises came from the man, and Sano realized that he was weeping, although his eyes were tearless. The woman pressed her hands against ashen cheeks. She murmured, “Oh, no.”
In the kitchen a pot boiled over; moisture sizzled on hot coals, and clouds of steam rose. The woman rushed to the stove and removed the pot. The man stood, his movements shaky. “There’s no misunderstanding,” he said sadly. “The Haru you speak of is our daughter. She is dead to us, but we’ve known all along that she was out in the world somewhere.”
So Ham had lied about being an orphan. Disturbed, but not really surprised, Sano wondered whether she’d told the truth about anything. “Did she run away?” Then another possibility occurred to him. “You disowned her.”
“After what she did?” The woman returned, wiping her hands on a cloth. Indignation distorted her face. Now Sano saw a resemblance to Haru in her small build, wide brow, and delicate features. “We had no choice!”
“What did Haru do?” Sano asked.
“For you to understand, I must begin the story at the beginning,” said the proprietor. “Two years ago, we had a regular customer—a wealthy Shinjuku rice broker named Yoichi. He came to Kojimachi every few days to shop at the hunters’ market, and he often ate at our restaurant.”
“Haru was growing up into a pretty young woman,” the wife said. “Yoichi-san was a widower, and he took a liking to her. He asked for her hand in marriage.”
“It was a good match,” said the proprietor. “As a rich man’s wife, she would live in a fine house and be secure. She could care for us in our old age. Her children would have everything, and inherit a fortune.” Financial gain was always an important factor when arranging a daughter’s marriage. “So we accepted Yoichi-san’s proposal.”
“But Haru didn’t want to marry him because he was old and ugly. Such a disobedient, ungrateful girl!” Disgust tightened the wife’s mouth. “But it was her duty to marry the man we chose for her.”
“A month after the wedding, in the middle of the night, Yoichi-san’s house burned down. The fire brigade found him and the servants dead in the ruins. But Haru turned up at our door the next morning. She was covered with soot. There were burns on her hands and clothes.” Spreading his hands in a helpless gesture, the proprietor said, “Of course we took her in.”
A chill spread through Sano. Fires were common, yet Haru had been involved in one that bore a sinister resemblance to the one at the Black Lotus Temple. Was it mere coincidence, or more reason to justify his suspicion of Haru?
“We knew right away that something was wrong,” the wife said. “Haru was so happy to be home. She didn’t seem sorry about the fire. When we asked how she’d managed to get out alive, she said she woke up and found her bedchamber filled with smoke. She said she ran through the flames, screaming for her husband, but he didn’t answer, and she couldn’t find him.
“She jumped off the rear balcony, and the next thing she knew, she was lying in the street, with people trying to revive her and the fire brigade throwing water on the house. But Haru couldn’t explain why she woke up while the others didn’t. We asked why she hadn’t gotten hurt when she jumped off the balcony, and she said she’d tied a quilt to the rail and climbed down it. But if that was so, then why did she say she’d jumped? How did she get knocked unconscious? She looked nervous and guilty and said she must have fainted.”
“Later we heard that the fire had started in Yoichi-san’s bedchamber,” said the proprietor. “A neighbor saw a woman run out the gate before the fire brigade came. We asked Haru again and again what happened, and every time, she told a different story, and finally said she couldn’t remember.”
Despair filled the proprietor’s eyes. He and his wife stood apart, but united in shame, their heads bowed. “We began to believe that Haru had set the fire.”
“Other people thought so, too,” the wife said. “Yoichi-san’s relatives demanded that Haru give them the business and money he’d left her, or they would go to the magistrate and accuse her of arson. She didn’t want to give up her inheritance, but we convinced her that she must.”
“If the magistrate decided she was guilty, she would be burned to death,” Haru’s father explained.
“And so would we,” the mother added. In cases of serious crime, the offender’s family shared his punishment.
“So you kept your suspicions to yourselves,” Sano said. The couple nodded. “What happened then?”
“At first we pretended nothing had happened.” As if sensing disapproval from Sano, the proprietor said, “Haru was our only child. We loved her.” He swallowed hard. “But we couldn’t bear to look at her and think she might be a murderess. Haru must have guessed how we felt, because she changed. She’d always been a good girl, but—”
“Well, she never liked hard work,” Haru’s mother qualified,
“and I had to keep after her to do her chores. She was sometimes rude to customers. I did the best I could with her, but she just had a bad character.”
So much for Haru’s story of happy, harmonious family life, Sano thought.
“After the fire, Haru began leaving the shop without permission and staying out all day and night,” the wife continued. “Many times she came home drunk. She stole from the cash box. Neighbors told us they’d seen her in teahouses with men. We scolded her and beat her, but we couldn’t control her. She just cursed at us. We began wondering if she’d disobeyed Yoichi-san and he’d punished her and made her angry, and that was why he died. We were afraid of what she might do to us.”
Commander Oyama had also made Haru angry, according to his son, Sano recalled.
“Finally we gave Haru some money and told her to leave.” The proprietor gazed out at the rainy street. In the dim light, he looked pale and sick. “For months afterward, I worried about what would become of our daughter. I blamed myself for her evils and wondered what I should have done differently. I mourned her and prayed for her. My wife and I tried to forget her and go on with our lives.
“But now I can see that we were wrong to keep silent about Haru and send her out into the world.” The proprietor spoke with remorse. “We should have known she would cause trouble again.” He turned a haunted gaze on Sano. “She set the fire at the Black Lotus Temple, didn’t she?”
“I’m afraid she may have,” Sano said.
She might also have progressed to murder by means other than arson. The new evidence against his prime suspect gave Sano no joy. He deeply pitied Haru’s mother and father. How terrible it must be to have a child go bad! Estrangement seemed almost worse than death, and parenthood fraught with hazards. Would Masahiro grow up to be an honorable samurai, or a wayward spirit like Haru? Sano also regretted coming to Kojimachi and hearing Haru’s parents’ story because he dreaded telling Reiko what he had learned about the girl.
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