Had Lady Harume died because the killer had wanted to destroy the child? Jealousy might have compelled Lady Ichiteru or Lieutenant Kushida, rival and rejected suitor. However, a more ominous motive came to Sano’s mind.
“Can you determine the sex of the child?” he asked.
With the tip of a metal probe, Dr. Ito uncurled the infant and surveyed the genitals, a tiny bud between the legs. “It is only about three months old. Too early to tell whether it would have become a boy or a girl.”
The uncertainty didn’t alleviate Sano’s worries. The dead child could have been the shogun’s long-desired male heir. Someone might have murdered Lady Harume to weaken the chances of continued Tokugawa reign. This scenario posed a serious threat to Sano. Unless…
“Could the shogun have sired a child?” Dr. Ito voiced Sano’s unspoken thought. “After all, His Excellency’s sexual preference is well known.”
“Lady Harume’s pillow book mentioned a secret affair,” Sano said, then described the passage. “Her lover could be the father of the child—if they didn’t limit their activities to the kind Harume wrote about. Maybe I can prove it when I visit Lord Miyagi Shigeru today.”
“I wish you good luck, Sano-san.” Dr. Ito’s face reflected Sano’s hope. The stakes had risen; mortal danger now overshadowed the investigation. If the child belonged to another man, then Sano was safe. But if it was the shogun’s, then Lady Harume’s murder was treason: not just the killing of a concubine, but of Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s flesh and blood, a crime that merited execution. And if Sano failed to deliver the traitor to justice, he himself could be punished by death.
12
Through the streets of Nihonbashi moved a procession of soldiers and attendants, all wearing the gold flying-crane crest of the Sano family, escorting a black palanquin with the same symbol emblazoned on its doors. Inside the cushioned sedan chair sat Reiko, tense and anxious, oblivious to the colorful sights of mercantile Edo. To disobey her husband’s orders would surely bring divorce, and shame to the whole Ueda clan. But she was still determined to pursue her illicit inquiry. She must prove her competence to herself as well as Sano. And to gain the necessary information, she must use every resource she possessed.
Under the surface of Edo society ran an invisible network composed of wives, daughters, relatives, female servants, courtesans, and other women associated with powerful samurai clans. They collected facts as efficiently as the metsuke—the Tokugawa spy agency—and spread them by word of mouth. Reiko was herself a link in the loose but effective network. As a magistrate’s daughter, she’d often exchanged news from the Court of Justice for outside information. This morning she’d learned that Sano had identified two murder suspects, Lieutenant Kushida and Lady Ichiteru. Social custom prevented Reiko from meeting two strangers without introduction by mutual acquaintances, and she dared not risk Sano’s anger by approaching them directly. However, the strength of the female information network lay in its ability to bypass such obstacles.
The procession skirted the central produce market, where vendors manned stalls heaped with white radish, onions, garlic bulbs, ginger-roots, and greens. Memory brought a smile to Reiko’s lips. At age twelve, she’d begun sneaking out of her father’s house in search of adventure. Dressed in boys’ clothes, a hat covering her hair, swords at her waist, she’d blended with the crowds of samurai who roamed Edo’s streets. One day, here in this very market, she’d come upon two ronin who were robbing a fruit stall and beating the helpless merchant.
“Stop!” cried Reiko, drawing her sword.
The thieves laughed. “Come and get us, boy,” they goaded her, weapons unsheathed.
As Reiko lunged and slashed, their amusement turned to surprise, then fury. Their blades clashed with hers in earnest. Shoppers fled; passing samurai entered the melee. Horror filled Reiko. Unwittingly she’d started a full-scale brawl. But she loved the thrill of her first real battle. As she fought, someone’s elbow slammed her face; she spat out a piece of broken tooth. Then the police arrived, disarmed the swordsmen, subdued them with clubs, bound their hands, and marched them off to jail. A doshin grabbed Reiko. While she struggled, her hat fell off. Her long hair spilled down.
“Miss Reiko!” the doshin exclaimed.
He was a friendly man who often stopped to talk to her when he visited the magistrate’s house on business. Thus Reiko soon found herself not in jail with the other troublemakers, but kneeling in her father’s courtroom.
Magistrate Ueda glared down at her from the dais. “What is the meaning of this, daughter?”
Quaking with fear, Reiko explained.
Her father’s face remained stern, but a proud smile tugged his mouth. “I sentence you to one month of house arrest.” This was the usual punishment for brawling samurai when no fatalities were involved. “Then I shall provide a more suitable outlet for your energy.”
Hence the magistrate had begun letting her observe trials, on the condition that she stayed off the streets. The broken tooth, though an embarrassment, was also Reiko’s battle trophy, the symbol of her courage, independence, and rebellion against injustice. Now, as the palanquin carried her into a lane of shops with colorful signs above curtained doorways, she felt the same thrill that she’d known during that long-ago battle and the trials she’d watched. She might lack detective experience, but she knew instinctively that she’d at last found the right use for her talents.
“Stop!” she commanded her escorts.
The procession halted, and Reiko alit from the palanquin. As she hurried down the street, her escorts tried to follow. But Reiko soon lost them in the crowd, which was composed mainly of women, like flocks of chattering birds in their gay kimonos. These shops sold beauty potions and hair ornaments, makeup and perfume, wigs and fans. The few men present were shopkeepers, clerks, or ladies’ escorts. Reiko ducked under the indigo doorway curtain of Soseki, a popular dealer of unguents, and stepped inside.
The showroom, lit by barred windows and open skylights, contained shelves, cabinets, and bins of every imaginable beautifying substance: medicinal balms, hair oils and dyes, soap, and blemish removers, as well as brushes and sponges for applying them. Clerks waited on their female customers. Reiko left her shoes in the entryway, then moved through the crowded aisles. She halted at the bath-oil display.
There stood a woman in her late thirties, wearing the blue kimono of a joro—second-rank palace official. Thin to the point of emaciation, hair piled atop her head, she addressed the clerk in an authoritative manner. “I’ll take ten bottles each of the pine, jasmine, gardenia, almond, and orange-scented oils.”
The clerk wrote up the order. Gathering her attendants, the joro prepared to leave. Reiko approached.
“Good morning, Cousin Eri-san” she said, bowing.
This was a distant relative from her mother’s side of the family, once concubine to the last shogun, Iemitsu. Now Eri was in charge of supplying the personal needs of the women’s quarters, and thus a minor functionary whom Sano would no doubt relegate to the bottom of his list of witnesses. But Reiko knew that Eri was also the center of the Edo Castle branch of the female gossip network. Through the servants, Reiko had traced Eri to Soseki, and she meant to benefit from her cousin’s knowledge. Still, Reiko addressed Eri with cautious diffidence.
“Might I please have a word with you?” Since her mother’s death, the Ueda clan had maintained infrequent contact with Eri’s family. Eri’s position had further isolated her, and Reiko guessed that she might resent a younger, prettier, and well-married relative.
But Eri greeted Reiko with a gasp of delight. “Reikochan! It’s been such a long time. You were just a little girl the last time I saw you; now you’re all grown up. And married, too!” A former beauty, Eri had lost her youthful good looks. Middle age showed in the gray roots of her dyed hair and the gaunt planes of her face. Yet the warmth of her eyes and smile was undiminished. When Eri looked at you, Reiko remembered, you felt special, as though you had her comple
te interest. No doubt this was how she’d charmed her lord—and how she got people to tell her secrets. Now Eri said, “Come along, where we can talk in private.”
Soon they were settled comfortably in a back room of the shop, with sake, dried fruit, and cakes supplied by the proprietor. Since high-ranking ladies couldn’t drink in public teahouses or eat at food stalls, many establishments in this district provided areas in which customers could refresh themselves. These rooms, where men were not allowed, often served as stations for the exchange of gossip. Through the paper walls, Reiko could see other women’s shadows, hear their chatter and giggles.
“Now tell me everything that’s new with you,” Eri said, pouring them each a cup of heated liquor.
Soon Reiko had told her cousin all about the wedding, what gifts she’d received, and how her new home was furnished. She only just managed to stop herself before revealing her troubles with Sano, marveling at Eri’s talent for extracting personal information. What a fine detective she would make! But Reiko couldn’t afford to go away having told more than she’d learned.
“I’m very interested in the murder of Lady Harume,” she said, nibbling a dried apricot. “What do you know about it?”
Sipping from her cup, Eri hesitated. “Your husband is investigating the murder, isn’t he?” A sudden wariness cooled her manner, and Reiko sensed Eri’s distrust of men in general, and the bakufu in particular. “Did he send you to question me?”
“No,” Reiko confessed. “He ordered me to stay out of the investigation. He doesn’t know I’m here, and he would be furious if he did. But I want to solve the mystery. I want to prove that a woman can be as good a detective as a man. Will you help me?”
A mischievous sparkle lit Eri’s eyes. She nodded, then held up a hand. “First you must promise to tell me everything you can learn about your husband’s progress on the case.”
“Done.” Reiko suppressed a twinge of guilt over her disloyalty toward Sano. Fair was fair; she must pay the price of the information she needed—and by refusing her assistance, hadn’t Sano earned the punishment of having his activities known to every woman in Edo? Even as the memory of her desire for him fluttered Reiko’s heart, determination steeled her resolve. She reported the news gleaned from the maids who eavesdropped on Sano’s detectives while cleaning the barracks: “Today my husband interviews Lieutenant Kushida and Lady Ichiteru. Could they have poisoned Harume?”
“The women in the Large Interior are laying bets that one or the other did,” Eri said, “with most of them favoring Lady Ichiteru.”
“Why is that?”
Eri smiled sadly. “Concubines and ladies-in-waiting are young. Romantic. Naïve. The plight of a rejected suitor touches their soft little hearts. They don’t understand how a man can love a woman as much as Kushida did Lady Harume, and at the same time hate her enough to kill her.”
“But there must be evidence that has persuaded other women to believe Kushida is guilty?”
“My, you sound just like a police officer, Reïko-chan. Your husband is a fool not to accept your help.” Eri laughed. “Well, I’ll tell you something he probably doesn’t know and won’t find out. The day before Lieutenant Kushida was suspended, a guard caught him in Lady Harume’s room. He had his hands in the cabinet where she kept her undergarments. Apparently Kushida was stealing them.”
Or planting the poison? Reiko wondered.
“The incident was never reported,” Eri continued. “Kushida is the guard’s commanding officer, and he forced the man to keep quiet. No one would have known about it, except that a maid overheard them arguing and told me. The guard will never talk, because he could lose his post if the palace administration found out he protected someone who broke the rules.” Eri paused. “And I never spread the story because Kushida had never made trouble before, and it seemed like a minor, harmless thing. Now I wish I’d gone to Madam Chizuru. If I had, Harume might not have died.”
Through Eri’s excuses, Reiko saw her real reason for keeping silent: Despite her worldly experience, her heart was as soft as those of the young concubines; she also sympathized with Lieutenant Kushida. But she’d established his opportunity for murder.
“Why is Lady Ichiteru considered the better suspect?” Reiko asked.
Eri’s mouth tightened; she evidently disliked the concubine as much as she pitied Kushida. “Ichiteru hides her emotions well—from her manner, you’d never guess that she felt anything toward Harume besides disgust for a lowly peasant. She’ll never admit how furious she was when the shogun stopped sleeping with her because he preferred Harume.
“But one day last summer, the ladies went on an outing to Kannei Temple. I was rounding them up for the trip home, when I heard screams in the woods. I hurried over and found Ichiteru and Harume on the ground, fighting. Ichiteru was on top of Harume, hitting her, shouting that she would kill Harume before she took Ichiteru’s place as the shogun’s favorite. I pulled them apart. Their clothes were dirty, their faces scratched and bloody. Harume was crying, and Ichiteru mad with rage. I separated them, then told everyone they’d hurt themselves by falling down in the woods.”
“And this incident wasn’t reported, either?”
Eri shook her head. “I might have lost my post for failing to keep order among my charges. Ichiteru didn’t want anyone to know she’d behaved in such an undignified manner. And Harume was afraid of getting into trouble.”
In Reiko’s opinion, Lady Ichiteru had a much clearer motive for murder than Lieutenant Kushida. The concubine had also threatened Harume, and might have followed up the attack by poisoning her. “Did anyone see Lady Ichiteru in or near Harume’s room shortly before she died?”
“When I asked the women, they all said no. But that doesn’t mean Ichiteru wasn’t there. She could have sneaked in when no one was looking. And she has friends who would lie for her.”
Motive, and possible opportunity, Reiko decided. Lady Ichiteru was looking better and better as a suspect, but to prove her guilt, Reiko needed a witness, or evidence. “Can you let me talk to the other women and help me search Ichiteru’s room?” she asked.
“Hmmm.” Eri looked tempted, then frowned and shook her head. “Better not take the chance. It’s against the rules to bring an outsider into the Large Interior. Even your husband will need special permission—though I doubt that he’ll find anything. Ichiteru is smart. If she’s the murderer, she would have gotten rid of any leftover poison.”
Reiko was disappointed, but not unduly. She would just have to find a way around the rules, lies, and subterfuge that protected the Large Interior.
Eri was watching her with concern. “Cousin, I hope you won’t go too far with playing detective. There are other men in the bakufu besides your husband who don’t like women interfering in matters that are none of their business. Promise me you’ll be sensible.”
“I will,” Reiko promised, though Eri’s slighting reference to her pursuit bothered her. When a man investigated murder, it was considered work, for which he earned money. But a woman could only “play” at the same job. Impulsively, Reiko said, “Eri, I think it would be wonderful to have a real job in the castle, the way you do. Are you glad you became a palace official instead of marrying?”
Her cousin’s mouth twisted in a smile of affectionate pity for her naïveté. “Yes, I’m glad. I’ve seen too many bad marriages, I enjoy my authority. But don’t idealize my position, Reiko-chan. I got it by pleasing a man, and I serve under the rule of other men. Really, I’m no more free than you, who serve only your husband.”
This depressing truth further convinced Reiko that she must find her own path through life. Then, seeing a sudden distracted expression on Eri’s face, she said, “What is it?”
“I just remembered something,” Eri said. “About three months ago, in the middle of the night, Lady Harume became violently ill with stomach pains. I gave her an emetic to make her vomit, then a sedative to put her to sleep. I thought that her food must have disagreed wi
th her, and didn’t bother reporting the illness to Dr. Kitano because she was better by morning. And Harume was almost struck by a flying dagger in a crowded street in the Asakusa district, on Forty-six Thousand Day.” This was a popular temple festival. “No one knows who threw it. I never thought the two events were related, but now …”
Reiko saw Eri’s point. In hot summer weather, spoiled food often caused sickness. Weapons let loose during battles between gangsters or dueling samurai endangered innocent bystanders. However, in view of Harume’s murder, another possible explanation connected her two earlier misfortunes.
“It looks as though someone had been trying to kill Harume even before yesterday,” Reiko said.
But was it Lady Ichiteru, Lieutenant Kushida, or some other, unknown person?
13
After leaving the Satsuma-za puppet theater, Hirata rode aimlessly around town. Hours slipped by while he relived every moment spent with the woman he desired but could never have. He couldn’t think of anything except Lady Ichiteru.
Eventually, however, his physical excitement subsided enough for him to grow aware of his actions. Instead of working on the murder investigation, he’d wasted a whole morning on hopeless daydreams! And he’d automatically traveled to his old territory: police headquarters, located in the southernmost corner of Edo’s administrative district. Seeing the familiar high stone walls and the stream of doshin, prisoners, and officials passing through the guarded gates restored Hirata’s wits. He realized what had happened, and cursed himself for a fool.
Lady Ichiteru had avoided answering every single one of his questions. How would he explain to Sano why he’d failed to establish whether Ichiteru had motive or opportunity for Lady Harume’s murder? He’d made a complete mess of the crucial interrogation of a prime suspect. Now he could admit that Ichiteru’s evasion indicated her guilt. And, Hirata thought miserably, a woman of Lady Ichiteru’s class wouldn’t dally with a man of his, unless for unscrupulous purposes.
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