“Did his sumata win him the patronage of Senior Elder Makino?” Sano said.
Ebisuya gave Sano a look that scorned the idea. “Senior Elder Makino didn’t practice manly love. That’s not why he paid the Nakamura-za to hire Koheiji and make him a star.”
“Then why did he?”
“Koheiji found a way to attract men who didn’t want sex with him.” The onnagata’s tone conveyed reluctant admiration for his clever rival. “Makino was one of them. He liked the special performances that Koheiji put on after the theaters closed at night.”
“What sort of performances?” Sano said, intrigued.
“Koheiji would hire a female prostitute and make love to her in front of his clients. They were all rich, impotent old men who couldn’t make love to a woman themselves. Instead, they watched Koheiji do it.”
Sano imagined Koheiji and the woman naked and coupling while the elderly men looked on, their lined faces avid with their need for vicarious sexual gratification. “Did Senior Elder Makino become Koheiji’s patron after watching his act?”
“Yes,” Ebisuya said, “but he didn’t just watch. For an extra charge, Koheiji would give shows for only one client at a time. The client could join in the fun—if he got excited enough.”
“Makino paid for private shows?” Sano said.
“So I’ve heard. And he must have enjoyed them a lot, because not only did he become Koheiji’s patron, he also took him into his home. He probably wanted to save himself the trouble of a trip to Kobiki-cho every time he wanted a show.”
On the night of the murder, had Koheiji performed a sex show for his host? Sano envisioned the skull-faced Makino with Koheiji, both fondling a nude woman pressed between them. If this revolting scene had indeed occurred that night, who had she been? The torn sleeve pointed to the concubine Okitsu. But Makino’s wife had also shared his chambers, and perhaps his sexual proclivities. And Sano wondered whether a three-way encounter had any connection with Makino’s death. Ebisuya had portrayed Koheiji as a greedy, ambitious user of men, but no worse. Sano had heard nothing to suggest that he’d killed the patron on whom his career depended.
“But Makino wasn’t aware that he was risking his life every time Koheiji put on a show for him.” Ebisuya’s portentous tone announced that he’d come to the part of his story he most wanted to tell. “There were rumors that Koheiji played rough during those private shows. Some men liked it that way. But he went too far at least once.” Ebisuya inhaled on his pipe, blew out smoke, and continued: “It happened late at night about five years ago. I woke up to hear someone calling my name and knocking on the window beside my bed. I looked outside and saw Koheiji standing there.
“He said, ‘I need your help.’ When I asked him what was wrong, he wouldn’t tell me. He was all upset. He begged me to come with him. I was curious, so I went. He took me to a room at an inn. There was an old samurai lying naked inside. He was covered with bruises and blood. At first I thought he was dead, but then I heard him groan.”
A tingle of anticipation coursed through Sano.
“I asked Koheiji what happened,” Ebisuya said. “He said, ‘It was a private show. Things got out of control. I just sort of lost my mind. The next thing I knew, I’d beaten him up.’ ”
Sano’s pulse accelerated as he transposed the scene to Senior Elder Makino’s estate. He pictured Koheiji beating Makino in a frenzy, mounting him, and violating him. Perhaps Koheiji harbored a secret hatred for the men that his ambitions forced him to please. Had he lost control that night and killed Makino in a fit of rage?
Ebisuya said, “I asked Koheiji, ‘Where’s the girl?’ He said, ‘Gone. She must have run away.’ I said, ‘Why did you come to me?’ He said, ‘Because I know you’ll do anything for the right price.’ I asked him what he wanted from me. He said, ‘That man is an important official. If word of this gets out, I’ll be ruined.’ ” Ebisuya panted and wrung his hands, reenacting Koheiji’s fright. “ ‘People know I rented this room. I can’t let him be found here. You have to help me move him out.’ ”
“Did you?” Sano said as Ebisuya paused to prolong the suspense.
“Yes,” Ebisuya said. “He paid me to help him and keep quiet about what had happened. We dressed the old man. We carried him to the highway and left him on the side of the road.”
Makino’s murder had elements in common with the other crime—the age and gender of the victim, his injuries. That Koheiji had covered up a crime in the past implicated him even more strongly in the death of Senior Elder Makino and the alteration of the murder scene.
“What happened to the old man?” Sano asked.
“I later heard that the highway patrol found him and took him home,” Ebisuya said. “I still see him hanging around the theaters.”
“Who is he?”
“Oyama Banzan.”
Sano recognized the name of a judicial councilor. “And the girl?” he said, in case he needed another witness to the incident.
“I don’t know. Koheiji didn’t tell me.”
“They didn’t report him to the police?”
Ebisuya shook his head in pitying contempt. “Oyama must have been too ashamed to admit he’d been beaten up during a sex game. The girl must have been too scared to talk.” A malicious grin curved Ebisuya’s mouth. “And I waited until now.”
When Koheiji was a suspect in a serious crime, and Ebisuya could do him the most harm, thought Sano.
“Was my story worth your while?” Ebisuya held out his hand and wiggled the fingers.
“Time will tell,” Sano said, but he opened the pouch he wore at his waist and handed over a gold coin from the stash he carried for occasions like this.
Ebisuya tossed the coin up in the air, then closed it in his fist. “A thousand thanks. Good luck with your investigation. May Koheiji get his just reward.”
He dumped ash from his pipe and ground out the sparks with his foot. He opened the theater’s back door and slipped inside. Sano walked down the alley to the street and found Ibe waiting for him in front of the theater.
“I was beginning to think you’d run out on me,” Ibe said.
“My apologies for taking so long,” Sano said.
He decided not to tell his watchdog what he’d learned from Ebisuya. Woe to him if Chamberlain Yanagisawa found out he’d withheld information! Yet Sano also feared what Yanagisawa might do to an informant who could vindicate Lord Matsudaira. Sano could find himself discovering who had killed Makino yet unable to prove his case because witnesses had mysteriously vanished.
“We’ll go to the Nakamura-za Theater and see what the people there have to say about Koheiji, while my detectives finish up here,” he said.
As he and Ibe mounted their horses, Sano looked up at the sky above the tawdry theater signs. The bright afternoon sun was still high but had begun its descent toward the west. Reiko should be employed in Senior Elder Makino’s house by now. Sano wondered what she was doing. He’d been trying to concentrate on his work and block out fears about Reiko, but now he couldn’t force them from his mind. Ebisuya’s story incriminated a man situated dangerously close to her. Even though she was supposed to spy on the women, she would cross paths with Koheiji, whose savage impulses had seriously harmed at least one person. And if Koheiji was the murderer, chances were he’d had a female partner during the crime and cover-up—an accomplice just as eager as he to hide the truth about Makino’s death.
Yesterday, Sano would have rejoiced at finding evidence that pointed away from Lord Matsudaira and Chamberlain Yanagisawa. Now he must hope, for Reiko’s sake, that the killer was someone within the warring factions instead.
* * *
16
Chamberlain Yanagisawa and Lord Matsudaira knelt facing each other in the great audience hall of the palace. Beside the chamberlain sat his chief retainer, Mori; beside Lord Matsudaira sat his nephew, Daiemon. Behind each pair stood attendants and armed guards. Yanagisawa read menace in the somber faces of Lord Matsudaira and Daiemon; he breathed the
fiery scent of battle fever in the atmosphere. Neither his high rank nor his bodyguards guaranteed his safety. The law against drawing weapons inside Edo Castle seemed a flimsy barrier to violence. And he saw, among Lord Matsudaira’s minions, one face that reduced the others to a blur.
Police Commissioner Hoshina stood in the first row behind his master. He regarded Yanagisawa with fierce, belligerent defiance. Yanagisawa averted his gaze from the onetime paramour he still loved with a passion and missed every moment.
“Why did you call this meeting?” he asked Lord Matsudaira in a deliberately calm voice.
“I decided that it’s time for a talk about the future,” Lord Matsudaira said, matching his tone.
Was this a hint that Lord Matsudaira wished to negotiate a truce? Although Yanagisawa had serious doubts that they could peaceably settle their differences, he was willing to try. Just today, his spies had sent him word of new enemy troops arriving in Edo. His own position grew more precarious, and Lord Matsudaira’s stronger, as time went on.
“Very well,” he told Lord Matsudaira. “Let’s talk.”
Lord Matsudaira nodded, then said, “If things continue in this direction, a war is inevitable.”
“True.” Yanagisawa felt Hoshina’s gaze piercing him. He realized that Lord Matsudaira knew about their bad blood and had brought Hoshina along to rattle his nerves.
“No man is invincible,” said Daiemon. Cunning and ambition shone on his youthful face; he ignored his uncle’s frown of displeasure that he’d interrupted the conversation. “Do you really want to risk dying in battle, Honorable Chamberlain?”
His sneer mocked Yanagisawa as a coward who feared death more than he wanted supreme power. Yanagisawa glared at Daiemon. Lord Matsudaira raised a hand to silence his nephew.
“Let us presume that neither of us wishes to die,” Lord Matsudaira said. “But let us not presume that the survivor will have an easy time. History has shown us that the result of a civil war is widespread poverty, famine, and disorder. To rule over a land in such condition would be a poor prize for the victor.”
Yanagisawa narrowed his eyes. Surely Lord Matsudaira didn’t expect to persuade him to back down because a war-torn kingdom wasn’t worth having.
“And the victor won’t rule unopposed,” Daiemon said, undaunted by his uncle’s authority. “What makes you think that you could keep our allies—or your own—under your thumb forever?” He grinned, belittling Yanagisawa’s chances of maintaining control over Japan even if he beat Lord Matsudaira.
“What makes you think you could do any better than I?” Yanagisawa forced himself to stay calm. The rude young upstart plagued him worse than did Lord Matsudaira. “You have quite a gift for offending people.”
“My nephew meant no offense, Honorable Chamberlain. Please excuse him.” Lord Matsudaira shot a warning glance at Daiemon, then addressed Yanagisawa in a conciliatory manner: “I didn’t bring you here to bait you. I’d hoped we could find a way to avoid a war that neither of us really wants.”
Yanagisawa would fight Lord Matsudaira to the death if necessary; but his fear for his life inclined him toward negotiation. And although he knew he shouldn’t let affairs of the heart influence his political decisions, he couldn’t help hoping that if they declared a truce, he and Hoshina might somehow reconcile.
“Suppose I do agree that peace is preferable to war,” he said cautiously. “What terms would you propose?”
A glance between Lord Matsudaira and Daiemon conveyed their mutual satisfaction that they’d lured him into bargaining. “I propose that we both disband our armies,” Lord Matsudaira said. “Afterward, we would undertake a reorganization of the government.”
“What sort of reorganization?” Yanagisawa said. He smelled an unfavorable deal, like a bad wind approaching.
“Uemori Yoichi will be promoted to Senior Elder Makino’s position,” said Lord Matsudaira. “The vacant seat on the council will be filled by Goto Kaemon.”
Yanagisawa stared in amazed disbelief. He’d expected Lord Matsudaira to offer him at least some concessions, but he was proposing to overload the nation’s highest governing body with men loyal to himself!
“In addition,” Lord Matsudaira said, “my nephew Daiemon will be appointed premier of the regime. He will oversee the relations between the shogun and his officials.”
Daiemon preened with self-importance. Outrage stunned Yanagisawa. This arrangement would give Lord Matsudaira and Daiemon complete control of the bakufu!
“That’s a very one-sided proposal,” he said sardonically. “What would I get in exchange for agreeing?”
“You would get to keep your position as chamberlain, your residence, and your personal wealth.”
Although Lord Matsudaira spoke as though bestowing a generous gift, Yanagisawa was not prepared to agree to terms that would reduce him to a feeble shadow of himself.
“Your terms are unacceptable,” he spat furiously. “That you would even think I’d consider your proposal is a gross insult to me.”
He surged to his feet. Swords clanked and armor creaked as his entourage stirred behind him. “This discussion is finished,” Yanagisawa announced.
Lord Matsudaira and Daiemon also rose. “Don’t be in such a hurry to reject our deal,” Lord Matsudaira said. All his pretense at conciliation vanished; his manner turned dictatorial. “It’s the best you’re going to get.”
“I’ll take my chances.” Yanagisawa headed for the door.
“You can’t win a war against us,” Daiemon said. Now that his sly barbs had failed to intimidate Yanagisawa, he resorted to outright bluster. “We’ll crush you like an insect.”
Yanagisawa feared that Daiemon was right. He’d never commanded a full-scale war, and his talent for politics didn’t compensate for a lack of military experience. Yet his foes’ eagerness for a truce gave him heart. They’d never fought a war either.
He said, “If you were so sure you can beat me, you wouldn’t have called this meeting.” He locked stares with Daiemon. “And a man in a position as vulnerable as yours should know better than to threaten the man who controls the intelligence service.”
Lord Matsudaira looked puzzled by this remark, but wariness sharpened Daiemon’s features. Yanagisawa smiled as he watched Daiemon recalling that he had dangerous secrets and wondering how much Yanagisawa knew. But instead of showing his hand, Yanagisawa chose to hoard his knowledge for a time when he had even greater need—or better use—for a weapon against Daiemon.
“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Yanagisawa said, “I’ve more important things to do than listen to nonsense.”
“You won’t get another opportunity to save your neck,” Lord Matsudaira said, his fists clenched and his face dark with anger, “I’ll show no more mercy toward you!”
“Nor will I toward you, when we meet on the battlefield,” Yanagisawa retorted. He now realized that there had never been a possibility that he and Lord Matsudaira could reach a truce on terms acceptable to them both. “May the better man win.”
As he strode from the audience hall, his entourage in tow, Yanagisawa glimpsed Hoshina. The hatred in Hoshina’s eyes told him there had never been any chance that they would reconcile. Yanagisawa experienced an awful sense of embarking on a path toward a fatal destiny.
But he projected regal self-confidence as he walked through the castle grounds to his estate. Inside, he secluded himself in his office and sat at the desk. A mere moment passed before his poise shattered. Tremors wracked his muscles; his lungs expelled harsh gasps as he released pent-up tension. His head throbbed painfully from the pressure of the blood inside his skull. With jittering fingers he massaged his temples. Eventually, his body calmed, but his spirit remained troubled by other problems besides Lord Matsudaira.
The murder investigation could destroy him even before a war began. If Sano were to discover that Yanagisawa had known about Senior Elder Makino’s defection, Yanagisawa could find himself the primary suspect in the crime. Lord Matsudair
a would leap to influence the shogun and the entire bakufu against him. He could bid farewell to his plans to bring Japan under his control, place his son Yoritomo in line for the succession, and rule the nation through him.
The very thought raised a tide of nausea in Yanagisawa. How could he protect himself against the evil forces closing in on him? As he pondered, he suddenly noticed his wife standing in the doorway.
“What do you want?” he lashed out at her. She was always hanging around him, always spying on him through peepholes that she thought he didn’t know about. He let her spy because he didn’t care. He tolerated her presence because her adoration had been a balm to his pride after Police Commissioner Hoshina had left him. But now she was a convenient target for his frustrations. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”
Her homely face blanched; she shrank from his anger. “I—I’m sorry,” she whispered. “If you don’t want me, I’ll go.” She backed away, her gaze lingering on him, as if wanting to keep him in sight for as long as possible.
Inspiration struck Yanagisawa with a stunning, radiant force. His needs suddenly meshed with the circumstances surrounding him. His scowl relaxed into a smile.
“Wait,”he told her. “Don’t leave. I want you to stay.”
She hesitated, distrusting his change in mood.
“I’m sorry I spoke harshly to you.” Yanagisawa had never before thought to use his charm on his wife, but now he must. “Please forgive me.” Even a devoted slave would balk at what he wanted her to do. To secure her cooperation would require all his persuasive powers. He hastened to her and put his arm around her.
“Come,” he said, leading her into an adjacent chamber comfortably furnished with floor cushions and seascape murals.
He felt her shiver with delight at his touch, and her breathing quickened. As he seated her, she looked up at him, her face dazed, as if unable to believe she was receiving the rare, wonderful gift of his attention. He settled himself opposite her, so close that their knees touched. He poured two cups of wine and placed one in her trembling hands.
Sano Ichiro 9 The Perfumed Sleeve (2004) Page 15