“You perfume your sleeves with Dawn to Dusk,” he said to the concubine.
“So what if she does?” Koheiji said.
“When the sosakan-sama and I searched Senior Elder Makino’s room yesterday, we found a torn sleeve perfumed with this same incense,” Hirata said.
He watched the concubine and actor look at each other. Okitsu’s expression was horrified; Koheiji’s combined confusion with dismay. Hirata strode to the cabinet and ransacked through the clothing jumbled inside until he pulled out a pale silk kimono embroidered with gold and silver flowers. He shook out the robe and held it up. The long, flowing right sleeve dangled. The left was missing. Unraveled threads hung from the ripped armhole edges.
“Does this belong to you?” Hirata asked Okitsu.
She didn’t speak, but her stricken eyes were answer enough.
“The sleeve we found came from this kimono,” Hirata said. “You were with Senior Elder Makino the night he was murdered.”
Such stark terror branded Okitsu’s face that Hirata knew he was right. “When you said you were with Koheiji, in his room, you lied,” he said. “You were in the senior elder’s bedchamber. You’d better tell me what happened there.”
Her mouth moved, uttering inarticulate sounds. She gave Koheiji a look that begged for help.
“She was with me. I swear,” the actor said, but his face had turned pale and tense.
Grasping Okitsu by her shoulders, Hirata said, “Then how did your sleeve come to be in Senior Elder Makino’s bedding?”
“It must have gotten there some other time.” Panic trembled in Koheiji’s insistent voice. “Let her go.”
Hirata shook Okitsu. “What happened?” he demanded.
Her breathing escalated to rapid, erratic gasps. Stammers burst from her: “I—he—we—”
“Be quiet!” Koheiji shouted. “Don’t let him scare you into saying what he wants you to say. Just keep calm. Everything will be all right.”
Compelled by his own urgency to learn the truth, Hirata shook Okitsu harder. “Did you kill Senior Elder Makino?”
Okitsu’s head fell sideways as her body sagged. Her weight slipped from Hirata’s grasp. She crashed to the floor.
“Okitsu!” the actor exclaimed.
She lay inert, her long eyelashes resting motionless against her cheeks, her mouth slack. As Hirata stared in dismay, Koheiji knelt beside her and caught up her limp hand.
“Speak to me, Okitsu,” he begged. When she didn’t respond, he glared up at Hirata. “Look what you did! She needs a doctor. I must fetch one immediately.” Koheiji ran from the room.
“Come back!” Hirata ordered.
The actor didn’t. Hirata patted Okitsu’s cheeks, trying to revive her. She was breathing, but she didn’t rouse. “Go catch Koheiji,” Hirata commanded Ibe.
Ibe just grinned. “That’s not my job. Remember what you said: I’m just supposed to observe.”
Hirata seethed inside.
“A lot you’ve accomplished here,” Ibe said snidely. “I hope you’re happy.”
Hirata swallowed a retort that would get him in deeper trouble with Ibe. He wanted to groan in frustration.
He’d weakened Okitsu’s alibi and connected her to the murder. But if, despite her lie, she hadn’t killed Makino, then he’d hurt an innocent girl. Even if Okitsu was guilty, Hirata couldn’t get any facts from her now. Hirata had also undermined Koheiji’s alibi, but the actor had escaped him.
It was an inauspicious beginning for the quest upon which his worth to Sano, and his own honor, depended.
“Excuse me if I don’t understand what we have to talk about that we didn’t already discuss yesterday,” Tamura said to Sano.
They stood outside Makino’s mansion, on a veranda where Tamura had brought Sano when he’d requested a private interview. They leaned, facing each other, against the veranda railing that overlooked the garden. Mist and clouds obscured their view of the palace above the official quarter. Nearby, Otani loitered. Rain dripped from the overhanging eaves and wetted the floorboards. Sano suspected that Makino’s chief retainer had chosen this cold, uncomfortable place in order to keep their talk short.
“There are a few matters I need to clarify,” Sano said.
Tamura scowled as he intently watched Sano. “I told you that I found my master dead in his bed. What could be clearer than that?”
Your wish to limit your testimony to that one statement of fact, Sano thought. “Let’s talk about the time leading up to when you found Senior Elder Makino. When did you last see him alive?”
“It was after dinner the previous night,” Tamura said with a weary air of humoring Sano.
“What happened then?”
“I asked Senior Elder Makino if there was anything he needed me to do. He said no and retired to his private quarters.”
“What did you do after that?”
“I made my usual evening rounds of the estate. I checked that the guards were covering their territory and the gates were secure. My aide accompanied me. He can vouch for what I did.”
“And then?” Sano prompted.
Tamura hesitated for an instant, just long enough that Sano perceived he’d chosen to omit or alter something in the sequence of events. “I retired to my own room.”
After his talk with Makino’s wife, Sano had privately inspected Tamura’s quarters. These were two rooms—a bedchamber and adjoining office—located on the side of the building perpendicular to the one that contained Makino’s chambers. Sano had noted the movable wall panel that separated Makino’s bedchamber from Tamura’s office. He was not surprised that the search revealed nothing of interest. Tamura was smart enough to guess that Sano would search his rooms and to destroy anything that incriminated him.
The office contained only records pertaining to the management of the estate. The bedchamber housed Tamura’s few clothes, bedding, and other necessities, all stored with neat precision. A special cabinet held his armor and many weapons. Each sword, dagger, and club occupied its own rack. None of the racks were missing a weapon, Sano noted, and the weapons bore no traces of blood. If Tamura had used one of them on Makino, he’d cleaned and replaced it afterward.
“What did you do after you went to your room?” Sano asked.
“I worked in my office until midnight,” Tamura said. “Then I went to bed.”
“Did you hear any noises from Senior Elder Makino’s chambers?”
Tamura glared into the rain. “Not a one.”
“Senior Elder Makino was beaten to death in his chambers, which are right next to yours, and you didn’t hear anything?” Sano said skeptically.
A dour expression curved Tamura’s mouth downward. “I wish I had. Then I would have woken up and saved my master.”
Still doubtful, Sano said, “Were you and Senior Elder Makino on good terms?”
“Very good.” Pride rang in Tamura’s voice. “I served him well for thirty years, and I was his chief retainer for twenty. Our clans have been linked for three centuries. My loyalty to him was absolute. If you won’t take my word for it, just ask around.”
Sano would. He planned to check the statements and backgrounds of all the suspects. “Had there been any problems between you and Makino-san?”
Flashing Sano a look of exasperation, Tamura said, “Of course. No two people can live and work together for thirty years in complete peace. I’ll admit that he wasn’t an easy man to serve, but I revered him, no matter that he got crankier as he aged. That’s the Way of the Warrior.”
Sano contemplated the nature of the bond between master and retainer. It was the closest, most important relationship in samurai society, akin to marriage, and fraught with tension. The master gave orders, which the retainer must always obey. Their unequal footing, and the constant need to efface himself, often grated on a samurai’s pride. Sano thought of the trouble between himself and Hirata, and he could easily imagine that Senior Elder Makino had exceeded the limits of Tamura’s endurance.
“I would call them disagreements, not quarrels,” Tamura said. “When he did things that I thought were wrong, I advised him against doing them. That’s a chief retainer’s duty.”
“What were those wrong things he did?” Sano said, hoping for reasons that Tamura might have wanted him dead.
“Nothing important.” Tamura’s tone said he didn’t intend to elaborate.
“Did he reject your advice?”
A wry smile twisted Tamura’s mouth. “Often. He liked making his own decisions. He was difficult to sway.”
“Did you mind that he didn’t listen to you?”
“Not at all. A master has the right to do whatever he wants, regardless of what his retainer might say.”
Sano had the feeling that Makino had been a constant trial to Tamura, who didn’t seem the kind of man to appreciate having his advice ignored. “How did he treat you?”
“Usually with respect,” Tamura said. “But when he was in a bad temper, he shouted curses at me. I didn’t mind. I was used to it.”
Nor did Tamura seem a man to readily tolerate abuse. Sano said, “Did you ever want to punish Senior Elder Makino for mistreating you?”
“By murdering him, I suppose you mean.” Hostility narrowed Tamura’s eyes. “For a samurai to kill his master is the worst violation of Bushido. I would never have killed Senior Elder Makino for any reason.” Anger clenched his hand so hard on the veranda railing that his knuckles whitened. “That you would even suggest I did is the worst insult to my honor. I should challenge you to a duel and make you apologize for your accusation.”
Sano could tell that Tamura was serious, whether guilty of murder or not. The last thing Sano needed was to fight Tamura and either kill his suspect or lose his own life. “I’ll apologize right now for making any accusation that’s unjust,” he said mildly. “But even you can see that the circumstances suggest you killed Senior Elder Makino. You were one of a few people in his private quarters with him. Your rooms adjoin his. And you found his body.”
“That doesn’t prove I killed him,” Tamura scoffed.
“If indeed you are innocent, and you want to protect your honor— and your life—you’d best tell me everything you know about that night,” Sano said.
An intense frown contracted Tamura’s forehead, slanting his brows so sharply that they formed an inverted chevron over his eyes. Behind them, Sano saw thoughts churning. Then Tamura relaxed his features and blew out a gust of resignation.
“All right,” he said. “There was somebody else besides Senior Elder Makino’s wife, concubine, houseguest, and myself in the private quarters.”
Sano regarded Tamura with disbelief. None of Hirata’s interviews with the residents had placed a fifth person near Makino. Had Tamura been holding this fact in reserve, like a wartime general hoarding ammunition in case the enemy got too close? Or was he inventing a new suspect to cover his own guilt?
“Who was it?” Sano said.
“It was Matsudaira Daiemon,” said Tamura. “Lord Matsudaira’s nephew.”
The young man was the shogun’s latest favorite paramour and rumored to be his intended heir to the regime. He was also a strong supporter of his uncle’s bid for power and a vocal opponent of the Yanagisawa faction to which Makino had belonged.
Concern struck Sano as the investigation took a perilous turn. Dismay sharpened Otani’s features because he understood that his master had just been connected to the murder.
“Why would Daiemon come here?” Sano said.
“He was visiting my master,” said Tamura.
Sano couldn’t imagine Makino allowing a member of the enemy camp into his estate, let alone his private quarters. “Why didn’t you mention this earlier? Why didn’t anyone?”
“Senior Elder Makino ordered us to keep the visit a secret,” Tamura said. “We had to obey him, even after his death.”
“So why are you telling me now?”
“Because I’ve decided that an occasion like this justifies disobedience.” Tamura exuded self-righteousness. “Lord Matsudaira’s nephew might have killed my master. I can’t keep quiet about his visit any longer.”
While Sano scrutinized him, trying to gauge his veracity, Tamura added, “The guards will confirm that Daiemon was here, as soon as I let them know they should.”
Sano intended to talk to them, although he expected they would say whatever Tamura ordered them to say, whether it was true or not. “Suppose you tell me about this visit. When am I to believe it occurred?”
“Just after dinner ended,” Tamura said, ignoring Sano’s skeptical tone. “Everyone was leaving the banquet hall, when a servant came to tell me that Daiemon was at the gate, wanting to see Senior Elder Makino. I went outside and asked Daiemon why he’d come. He said Senior Elder Makino had sent him a message that invited him for a visit. I left him waiting and went to tell Senior Elder Makino. He said to bring Daiemon to his private chambers. I advised against letting in someone from the opposition.” Tamura shot Otani a hostile look. “But it was one of those times when Senior Elder Makino chose to shun my advice. He ordered me to bring Daiemon. He said they had private business, and they were not to be disturbed. So I fetched Daiemon, delivered him to Senior Elder Makino’s office, and left them alone.”
“What happened then?” Sano said.
“I began my rounds. Later, the guards at the private quarters told me that Daiemon had just seen himself out.” Tamura grimaced in disgust. “The fools let him go, even though we have a strict rule that no outsider goes unescorted. I immediately gathered the patrol guards and mounted a search for Daiemon. He was nowhere to be found. The guards at the gates never saw him. No one knows how he got out.”
“So you’re saying Lord Matsudaira’s nephew had free run of the estate?” Sano perceived the implications.
“Yes. Maybe, while we were busy looking for Daiemon, he sneaked back to the private quarters.” Insinuation echoed in Tamura’s voice. “Maybe he finished his business with Senior Elder Makino.”
“Or maybe your story is pure fabrication,” Sano said. Not only did he distrust Tamura’s motives for telling it, but there were too many unexplained details, including why Daiemon had come and how he’d vanished without a trace afterward.
“But you’ll have to check into it, won’t you? That should keep you occupied for a while.” Obviously aware and pleased that he’d given Sano a clue that pointed him straight toward peril, Tamura said, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to my master’s funeral rites.”
He bowed and went into the house. Sano turned to his watchdog. “What do you have to say about this?”
“Tamura was lying.” Although Otani’s brusque voice rang with conviction, fear gleamed in his shrewd eyes. “My master’s nephew never visited Senior Elder Makino.”
“Do you know that for a fact?” Sano said.
“No,” Otani admitted. His puffy face was slick with sweat, despite the cold. Clearly he knew that if suspicion should taint the Matsudaira clan, all its associates would be in trouble. “But I think Tamura killed Makino himself, and he’s trying to save his own skin by blaming Makino’s enemies.”
These notions had already occurred to Sano, but he couldn’t swallow them without question any more than he could Tamura’s story.
Hirata, accompanied by Ibe, joined Sano and Otani on the veranda. Hirata wore a chastened attitude; Ibe, a sardonic smile.
“What happened?” Sano asked.
Hirata told how he’d discovered that the torn sleeve had come from a kimono he’d found in the concubine Okitsu’s room. He related the dubious alibi that she and Koheiji had given.
“That’s why Koheiji seemed familiar,” Sano interjected. “I saw him in a play.”
Next, Hirata explained how Okitsu had fainted during his interrogation and Koheiji had absconded. “I’ve got detectives after him,” Hirata said. “An Edo Castle physician is with Okitsu now.
She hasn’t revived yet.”
Hirata’s unhappy tone told Sano that he expected to be rebuked for the outcome of his inquiry. Sano did wonder if Hirata could have done better, but Hirata had found the origin of the sleeve and unearthed information that might yet prove valuable. And Sano wouldn’t criticize Hirata in front of their watchdogs.
“The actor and concubine can wait,” Sano told Hirata. “We have a new possible suspect.”
He described how Tamura had implicated Lord Matsudaira’s nephew. Interest cleared the unhappiness from Hirata’s eyes.
Ibe jabbed Hirata with his elbow. “See? Didn’t I tell you?” Ibe said. “The actor and girl may have been up to no good, but neither of them killed Senior Elder Makino. The murderer is exactly where I tried to steer you—in the Matsudaira camp.”
“Don’t listen to him, Sosakan-sama,” Otani said, glaring at Ibe. “He’s just following his master’s orders to attack Lord Matsudaira.”
“Are you afraid your master is headed for a downfall and he’ll take you with him?” Ibe gloated over his rival. “You should be.”
Loud argument, rife with insults and threats, ensued between Otani and Ibe.
“That’s enough from both of you,” Sano said with such authority that the men subsided into glowering quiet.
“Something strange went on in this estate that night, but maybe Senior Elder Makino’s wife, concubine, actor, and chief retainer weren’t the only ones involved,” Hirata said to Sano. “What’s our next step?”
“We’ll have the detectives check Tamura’s story about Daiemon with everyone who was in the estate during the murder. In the meantime …” As much as Sano dreaded the consequences of what he must do, he said, “We’ll have a talk with Lord Matsudaira’s nephew.”
Political unrest had transformed the enclave inside Edo Castle where important Tokugawa clan members lived. The once-serene landscaped grounds were crowded with tents pitched to house troops that Lord Matsudaira had brought in from his province. In this camp, hundreds of idle soldiers drank, brawled, and played cards. Makeshift stables sheltered their horses. Smoke from cooking fires blackened the air. As Sano walked through the enclave with Hirata, Otani, and Ibe, he smelled the stench of privies. The soldiers’ restless presence filled Sano with apprehension. War seemed inevitable unless the conflict between Lord Matsudaira and Chamberlain Yanagisawa was quickly resolved.
The Perfumed Sleeve Page 8