Sano Ichiro 10 The Assassin's Touch (2005)

by Laura Joh Rowland

  “Perhaps she’s deranged.”

  Reiko shook her head. “Yugao certainly behaves as though she is, but I think she’s just as sane as anyone else. I think she has logical reasons for the things she does; if only I could figure out what they are.”

  “The law doesn’t require that a motive for a crime be determined before an accused person is convicted,” Magistrate Ueda reminded her.

  “I know,” Reiko said, “but I may be getting closer to finding out Yugao’s motive. She got very upset when I mentioned her friend Tama. I’m interested to know what Tama knows that Yugao doesn’t want her to tell me. I suspect that it pertains to the murders.”

  “You haven’t yet talked to this Tama?” When Reiko described her fruitless search for Yugao’s friend, Magistrate Ueda looked concerned. “I cannot delay a verdict any longer. Three people have been brutally slain, and Yugao appears beyond rational doubt to be the killer. Until I put her to death, I’m avoiding my duty to administer justice, and I rightly deserve to be censured. I might add that it’s not fair that one among thousands of criminals should have an exception made for her, especially when she appreciates it so little.”

  Reiko nodded; she couldn’t dispute her father’s point. But a sense of incompletion gnawed at her. Even if she’d made a strong case against Yugao, she didn’t want to cease her inquiries. She sought to articulate why they must continue. “I believe that the reason Yugao stabbed her parents and sister to death is even more important than the fact that she’s the killer. I believe that if we don’t find out what it is, there will be a greater threat to law and order and the good of the public than if you let her walk free.”

  “On what do you base those beliefs?”

  “On my intuition.”

  Magistrate Ueda’s gaze tilted skyward. Reiko remembered many times when, during her childhood, she’d made statements that she’d insisted were true because her feelings said so. Before he could argue, as he had then, that emotions weren’t facts and women were flighty, irrational creatures, she said, “My intuition has been right in the past.”

  “Hmm.” Her father’s expression showed grudging agreement.

  During the murder investigation at the Black Lotus Temple, Reiko’s unfounded suspicions had proved true. Now she said, “I think that whatever Yugao is hiding is too dangerous to let her take to her grave, and if she does, we’ll regret it. Please give me a little more time to find Tama. Please wait at least until I hear what she has to say before you convict Yugao.”

  Magistrate Ueda smiled with fondness and vexation. “I’ve never found it easy to say no to you, Daughter. You may have one more day to investigate. At this time tomorrow, I’ll reconvene Yugao’s trial. Unless you can present evidence that exonerates Yugao—or justifies continuing to investigate the crime—I must send Yugao to the execution ground.”

  One day seemed not enough time to solve the mystery in which justice and a young woman’s life hung in the balance. But Reiko knew she’d pushed her father to overstep his authority too much, and Sano would be even more displeased than when he’d first heard about her investigation.

  “Thank you, Father,” she said. “I’ll have the answers for you by tomorrow.”

  * * *

  18

  The afternoon sun beamed down on a queue of soldiers, officials, and servants who crowded the promenade outside Edo Castle and inched up to its gate. Sentries examined each person’s identification document, which consisted of a scroll bearing his name, post, and the shogun’s signature seal, before letting him inside. They searched everyone’s body and possessions for hidden messages or bombs. In the guardroom above the massive, ironclad portals, more sentries, armed with guns, peered out barred windows, monitoring the street traffic. In the covered corridors atop the stone walls that enclosed the castle’s buildings and wound around the slopes up to the palace, guards scanned the city through spyglasses. Lord Matsudaira, goaded by his fear of attack, had increased the usual security precautions and made Edo Castle the safest place in Japan.

  Sano rode with his detectives to the head of the line. The men trapped in it bowed and yielded politely to him. He heard someone calling his name, turned, and saw Hirata galloping toward him, accompanied by Inoue and Arai. Sano signaled his men to wait. Hirata and the detectives joined them.

  “We’ve got news,” Hirata said.

  At the gate, the sentries recognized Sano and his companions and waved them through without inspecting their documents. They bypassed the troops who were searching people and opening trunks and saddlebags in the guardhouse and rode uphill through the passages.

  “We traced the movements of all the murder victims except Treasury Minister Moriwaki,” said Hirata. “His habit of sneaking off alone made it impossible. As for Court Supervisor Ono, the retainers who accompanied him outside the castle didn’t see anyone touch him or any stranger behaving suspiciously around him.”

  Sano asked, “What about Highway Commissioner Sasamura and Chief Ejima?”

  “We got lucky there,” Hirata said. “Ejima went to an incense shop two days before he died. One of his bodyguards said that a wandering priest bumped into Ejima in the crowds and knocked the package of incense out of his hands. Ejima bent over to pick it up. The priest could have touched him then.”

  “The bodyguard didn’t notice?”

  “The traffic in the street blocked his view.”

  “Did you get a description of the priest?” Sano asked.

  “He wore a saffron robe and a wicker hat and carried a begging bowl.” Hirata shook his head in regret. “Just like any other priest in Japan. One moment he was there; the next, he’d disappeared.”

  “Did the highway commissioner also have an encounter with a priest soon before his death?”

  “No, but he did with someone else, at a money-lender’s shop.” Although officials of Sasamura’s rank earned big stipends, many overspent on lavish lifestyles and wound up in debt to merchant bankers. “A guard stationed outside the shop saw a water-seller loitering nearby while Sasamura was inside. That in itself wouldn’t have been unusual—except the guard noticed that his water buckets were empty. The guard thought he was a bandit in disguise, waiting to rob people who borrowed money from the shop. He chased the water-seller away.”

  “Maybe the water-seller, and the priest, were the killer in disguise, stalking Ejima and Sasamura for the purpose of assassinating them,” Sano said thoughtfully. “And these ‘chance’ encounters were deliberate.

  “I think they were the points of attack,” Hirata said. “Unfortunately, the guard couldn’t describe the water-seller, except to say he looked like all the rest of them.”

  “I’d like to know where Captain Nakai was when Ejima went to the incense shop and Sasamura visited the money-lender,” Sano said. “By the way, we have a new potential lead.” He told Hirata about the priest Ozuno.

  Rapid hoof beats clattered on the pavement behind them. A voice called, “Honorable Chamberlain!”

  Sano and his party stopped and turned to see two men on horseback approaching. One was an Edo Castle guard, the other a samurai boy in his teens, dressed in a fancy black satin kimono printed with green willow branches and silver waves, as though for a festive occasion. Both halted their mounts and bowed to Sano. The guard said, “Please excuse the interruption, but this is Daikichi, page to Colonel Ibe of the army. He has an important message for you.”

  The page spoke in a breathless rush: “I come on your orders to report any cases of sudden death directly to you.”

  “Has there been another?” Sano said, exchanging alarmed glances with Hirata.

  “Yes.” The page’s voice shook, and tears welled in his clear young eyes. “My master has just died.”

  Consternation struck Sano. “Where?”

  “In Yoshiwara.”

  Edo’s notorious pleasure quarter lay on the northern outskirts of town. Many men bound for Yoshiwara, the only place in the city where prostitution was legal, traveled there by
ferry up the Sumida River, but Sano, Hirata, and the detectives took the faster land route on horseback. Beyond the Dike of Japan, the long causeway upon which they rode, the flooded rice paddies spread lush and green. Peasants waded in them, pulling weeds and netting eels. Irises and lilies bloomed in the willow-edged San’ya Canal, where herons posed in waters swollen from the spring rains. Seagulls winged and jeered in a limpid turquoise sky. But Sano observed that the political strife had contaminated even this bucolic setting.

  Squadrons of armed troops escorted mounted samurai officials. Merchants traveling in palanquins were protected by hired rōnin bodyguards. As Sano passed the teahouses that lined the approach to the Yoshiwara gate, he saw soldiers who wore the Matsudaira crest loitering around them, watching for fugitive rebels. Yoshiwara was a place of high fashion, lavish entertainment, and glamour, but Sano knew it wasn’t exempt from violence. Two winters past, he’d investigated a murder there; six years ago, he’d thwarted an assassination attempt. Now it was the scene of another death by foul play.

  He and his comrades left their horses at a stable by the moat that surrounded Yoshiwara and crossed the bridge. Civilian guards let them through the red, roofed gate in the high wall that kept the courtesans from escaping. Inside, they strode past the pleasure houses that lined Naka-no-cho, the main street. Laughter burst from teahouses jammed with men; samisen music spangled the air. Customers strolled, gawking at the women who sat on display inside the barred window of each brothel except for one, the Mitsuba. It was located at the farthest, least prestigious end of the street and catered to clients who wanted women for lower prices or rowdier entertainment than was offered at the better houses. Here, according to his page, Colonel Ibe had died. Bamboo blinds covered the windows. A funereal vacuum shrouded the building.

  Detective Marume lifted the entrance curtain and called, “Hello! Is anyone in there?”

  A samurai emerged. He was a gray-haired man with thin, precise features, his air of dignity compromised by flushed cheeks from drinking too much. He courteously greeted Sano, then said, “I’m Lieutenant Oda, Colonel Ibe’s chief aide. You must have received the message I sent.”

  “Yes,” Sano said. “Thank you for alerting me so promptly.” He and his comrades entered the vestibule, where the watchman sat. Voices murmured inside the building. “Where is Colonel Ibe?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  Lieutenant Oda led the way down a corridor. On the left were two rooms. One contained a group of samurai; in the other, a flock of women, dressed in bright kimonos and made up with rouge and white rice powder, huddled with a few men and older women who looked to be the brothel’s owner and servants. Sano glimpsed resignation or impatience on some faces, fright on others.

  “I’ve detained everyone who was in the house when Colonel Ibe died and kept everyone else out,” said Lieutenant Oda.

  “Your cooperation is most appreciated,” Sano said.

  Oda slid open a door on the opposite side of the corridor. Sano entered a parlor. Its floor was littered with cushions, musical instruments, sake decanters, and cups. Lacquer trays held plates of half-eaten food that suggested a banquet interrupted. Colonel Ibe knelt alone and immobile, his upper body flopped across a tray. Sano, Hirata, and their detectives stood gazing down at the corpse. Colonel Ibe was in his fifties, his topknot streaked with gray. Sano had met him some months ago, at a meeting, but found him almost unrecognizable now. His neck was twisted sideways. His eyes were open but glazed; his moonlike face wore a surprised expression. Chewed food was visible in his open mouth. His stout body was naked except for a red-and-gold-striped dressing gown that had been tied around his waist and shrugged off his shoulders, leaving his top half bare.

  “This must have been a wild party.” Detective Marume picked up a man’s loincloth and a woman’s white under-kimono from the floor. More clothing lay strewn about.

  “Which is fortunate for us,” Sano said, aware of Oda listening by the door and glad that he and his men needn’t improvise a way to examine the corpse without breaking the law. “Right there is the sign of dim-mak.”

  He pointed at Colonel Ibe’s back. A faint bruise, shaped like a fingerprint, nestled between two vertebrae. Lieutenant Oda came over and stared at the bruise in consternation.

  “Then he was killed in the same manner as the metsuke chief?” Oda said.

  Sano said, “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Then it’s true. There exists someone who has the power to kill with a mere touch.” Amazed, Lieutenant Oda glanced around, as though afraid for his own safety. “Who can it be?”

  “That’s what I must determine,” Sano said. After five murders, his mission was more urgent than ever: Another man was dead because he hadn’t caught the killer. Crushed by a sense of failed responsibility, Sano hid his emotions behind a stoic expression. The odor of death mingled with the smells of wine and stale food. Sano felt the presence of evil, although the killer was far removed in space and time. He walked to the exterior door and flung it open, admitting fresh air from the garden, then turned to Oda.

  “I need your help.”

  “Of course.” The lieutenant appeared shaken sober; the flush had paled from his complexion.

  “Tell me everyone that had contact with Colonel Ibe, starting two days ago.”

  “I know some of the people, but not all—I didn’t go everywhere with him,” Oda said, “but his bodyguards did. They’re in the room across the hall. Shall I fetch them?”

  Sano assented, and Oda brought the two young samurai into the parlor. They recited a long list of family members, colleagues, and subordinates whose lives had intersected Colonel Ibe’s during the critical period. When they’d finished, Sano glanced at Hirata, and they shook their heads: As far as they could recall, none of the people mentioned were the same as those who’d had contact with the four other victims.

  Sano addressed the bodyguards: “Was there any time when Colonel Ibe was out of your sight?”

  The men looked at each other, clearly ashamed because their vigilance had lapsed and horrified that the lapse might have resulted in their master’s death. One blurted, “It was just for a moment.”

  “Last night, at Sanja Matsuri,” said the other. “We lost him in the crowd.”

  Sano thanked the bodyguards and Lieutenant Oda for their information, gave them permission to take their master’s body home, and told them to let the brothel resume its business. He and Hirata and their men walked down the street toward the gate.

  “That festival turns Asakusa Temple into a wild mob scene,” Hirata said. “It would have been a perfect place for the assassin to stalk Colonel Ibe and give him the touch of death.”

  “With no one the wiser until now,” Sano said.

  He paused at the gate, turned, and looked down Naka-no-cho. He saw the bodyguards carrying out the shrouded corpse of Colonel Ibe on a litter. As people gathered to watch, Sano heard the buzz of excited conversation and saw the crowds in the street group into clusters, spreading the news. Courtesans pressed their faces against the bars of their windows and revelers spilled from the teahouses, eager to learn the cause of the commotion.

  “Do you think it was Captain Nakai?” Hirata asked.

  “We need to find out where he was last night,” Sano said. “And we’d better go back to Edo Castle and report this latest murder to Lord Matsudaira.” Trepidation filled him as he imagined how Lord Matsudaira would react.

  * * *

  19

  The teahouse was the fourteenth that Reiko had visited since she’d left the Court of Justice.

  She’d already searched for Yugao’s onetime friend in all the teahouses near the Hundred-Day Theater, but none of the customers, proprietors, or servants at them knew Tama. Extending her search into the outlying neighborhoods, Reiko stepped from her palanquin in front of this teahouse on a street lined with tenements above shops that sold preserved vegetables and fruit. It was almost identical to all the others she’d seen. A curtain hung fro
m the eaves halfway down an open storefront. A maid leaned, downcast and bored, against a pillar at the edge of its raised plank floor. The room behind her was vacant except for the proprietor, a middle-aged man who squatted beside his sake urn, decanters, and cups. She spotted Reiko’s guards, and her face brightened.

  “Hello, there,” she called to Lieutenant Asukai. She was past her youth, but her figure was voluptuous. Her eyes gleamed at the prospect of male company and big tips. “May I serve you and your friends a drink?”

  “Thank you,” Asukai said. “By the way, my mistress has some questions that you will please answer.”

  Curious but wary, the maid beheld Reiko. “Whatever you like.”

  The proprietor poured sake, and while the maid served the men, Reiko said, “I’m looking for a woman named Tama. She works at a teahouse around here. Do you know her?”

  “Oh, yes,” the maid said. “We used to work together, here. Tama’s father used to own this teahouse.”

  Reiko’s spirits leapt. “Can you tell me where I can find Tama?”

  But the maid shook her head. “Sorry. Haven’t seen her in, oh, two years. She and her family moved out of the neighborhood. I don’t know where they went. Her father sold the teahouse to him.” She waved at the proprietor, who sat with Reiko’s escorts, engaging them in polite chat. “Hey, what ever became of Tama?”

  He shook his head in ignorance. Disappointed, Reiko pressed on. “Did you know a girl named Yugao? She was friends with Tama.”

  “No…” The maid reconsidered. “Oh, yes, there was a girl who used to come around to visit.” But when Reiko asked her about Yugao’s character and family, she couldn’t provide any information. “Say, why all these questions? Has Tama done something wrong?”

  “Not that I know of,” Reiko said, “but I must find her.” Tama seemed Reiko’s only chance at facts that might shed light on the murders. “Where did Tama used to live?”