Sano experienced a sense of vindication because Magistrate Aoki hadn’t produced any new evidence against Nitta, and dismay that he sought to convict a man based on evidence that Sano had discovered and thought inadequate.
“How long was Treasury Minister Nitta in the Owariya that night?” the magistrate asked.
“Several hours, Honorable Magistrate,” said the proprietor.
“Even though he couldn’t have Wisteria and he knew she was upstairs with Lord Mitsuyoshi?” The wrinkles in Magistrate Aoki’s face expressed feigned surprise.
“Yes.”
The magistrate nodded in satisfaction. He said to the assembly, “Treasury Minister Nitta stayed because he wanted revenge on Lord Mitsuyoshi. He had ample opportunity to sneak upstairs and kill his rival.”
The next two witnesses were the guards from the Yoshiwara gate. Under Magistrate Aoki’s questioning, they testified that Nitta had bribed them to let him out after curfew.
“Obviously, Treasury Minister Nitta broke the law and left because he was anxious to flee the scene of his crime.” Turning to Nitta, the magistrate said, “Have you anything to say in your own defense?”
“I didn’t kill anyone.” Nitta’s high-pitched denial trembled with vehemence. “I’m a thief, but not a murderer.”
“A samurai who is depraved enough to rob his lord is capable of murdering his lord’s cousin,” Magistrate Aoki said. “I pronounce you guilty of the murder of Lord Mitsuyoshi.”
Nitta clambered to his feet, scattering the white sand. “I didn’t kill him!” he shouted. A ripple of excitement passed through the audience. “Whatever else I’ve done, I’m innocent of that!”
Two courtroom guards grabbed him and forced him to his knees. Whether Nitta was telling the truth, or was just trying to avoid further dishonor to his family name, Sano could keep silent no longer.
Rising, he said, “Honorable Magistrate, you mustn’t convict on such meager evidence.”
Magistrate Aoki glared as if he would like to throw Sano out of the court, but he couldn’t because of Sano’s high status. “It is the right of a magistrate to appraise evidence. I have decided that the evidence against Treasury Minister Nitta is worthy to convict him of the murder.”
“You can’t convict me!” Nitta struggled against the guards. “I’m innocent. I swear on my ancestors’ honor!”
“You’ve not even presented the evidence which indicates that he is innocent,” Sano protested.
He heard murmurs in the audience, saw faces avid with interest turned on him, and sensed the officials speculating on what would happen to him for taking the side of a confessed traitor. He knew there were people who would be eager to see him executed along with Nitta. His pursuit of the truth always led him into such peril! Yet he couldn’t allow the investigation to end with Nitta’s conviction and significant odds that the real killer might escape justice.
“I’ve presented all the evidence I deem relevant,” the magistrate said. “It’s more than enough to satisfy the law.”
This was true: Countless defendants were condemned, wrongly or rightly, on the basis of less evidence than Aoki had presented against Nitta, with the full sanction of the bakufu.
Sano said, “You’ve no witnesses to say that Treasury Minister Nitta went inside the room where Lord Mitsuyoshi died. And there was nothing in that room to prove he did.”
The magistrate dismissed this argument with an impatient wave of his hand. “Either he removed all traces of his presence, or you failed to find them. His love for Lady Wisteria is enough evidence that he seized his opportunity to murder the rival who spent that night with her.”
“I don’t love her!” Nitta wailed in desperation. “If I’d wanted her so badly, I would have bought her freedom and married her. She wanted me to, but I refused. And I would never kill my lord’s cousin for a prostitute!”
“There’s reason to believe he’s telling the truth,” Sano said, aware that his every word allied him more strongly with Nitta and impugned his loyalty to the regime. “The treasury minister enjoys other courtesans besides Wisteria. He even financed a ritual bedding display for one of them.”
“You see?” Nitta demanded of the magistrate.
“Quiet,” Magistrate Aoki said, then turned to Sano. “Whether he enjoys a million other courtesans is irrelevant. Yielding Wisteria to Lord Mitsuyoshi upset him enough to argue with the proprietor, then kill in revenge.”
“I was upset because the Owariya charged me for the appointment I lost,” Nitta said furiously.
“The musician Fujio is also a suspect, as is Wisteria’s chaperone, Momoko, who is under arrest for the murder.” Sano advanced up the aisle between the rows of seated men, toward the dais. “You could just as well have prosecuted one of them.”
“But neither of them is a convicted traitor.” Magistrate Aoki regarded Sano with veiled glee.
That the treasury minister’s bad character made him a likelier culprit wasn’t the main reason Aoki had chosen him instead of the others, Sano understood. Magistrate Aoki wasn’t evil enough to condemn someone on a whim, and he didn’t want the blood of Fujio or Momoko on his hands because he realized they might be innocent. Treasury Minister Nitta, who’d already earned the death penalty by embezzling, was a safe scapegoat. The magistrate could tack a murder conviction on him with a clear conscience—and without much concern that the real culprit could be still at large.
If Lord Mitsuyoshi had been the killer’s sole target, the killer would have no reason to kill again. The shogun would be satisfied by the conviction of Treasury Minister Nitta. The magistrate would win the promotion he craved.
His ruthless scheming chilled Sano’s blood.
“Then condemn Treasury Minister Nitta if you will,” Sano said, “but delay the execution.” Given some time, he could learn the truth about the murder, and refute Nitta’s conviction if necessary. “A few days is all I ask.”
“You have already trespassed too far into the purview of the court,” Magistrate Aoki said, vexed. “Justice will not be delayed on your account.” Turning to Nitta, he said, “I sentence you to death by ritual suicide,” then nodded to the guards. “Take him to the execution ground.”
A series of gasps and moans came from Nitta. His eyes went wide with horrified realization that all hope was lost. As the guards hauled him toward the door, his legs crumpled; he dangled between the guards like a corpse.
In desperation, Sano stood in the aisle, blocking their progress. “Stop,” he commanded.
His four detectives rose and joined him. The guards halted, looking to Magistrate Aoki for orders, as more guards rushed to their aid. Confused murmurs swept the audience.
“I’m taking Treasury Minister Nitta into my keeping,” Sano told the magistrate.
He grasped the hilt of his sword; his detectives and the courtroom guards followed suit. As the two sides faced off, the spectators leapt up and pressed themselves against the walls, clearing space for a battle.
Magistrate Aoki’s eyes blazed with an ire that told Sano he’d made a permanent foe. “I’ll not allow bloodshed to foul my court,” he said. At a gesture from him, the guards let go of their weapons and released Nitta, who collapsed on the floor. “You can prevent his death by force if you wish. But I advise you to think hard before you do.”
Deadly quiet stilled the courtroom while Sano foresaw the potential consequences of his actions. Taking Nitta seemed the only way to buy himself time to solve the case. But he would face severe criticism for protecting a traitor. Whether Sano had the power to overrule Magistrate Aoki was beside the point. Interfering with the legal process would brand him an opponent of justice. His own loyalty to the regime would be questioned, his reputation ruined. The treasury minister was officially guilty of the murder of the shogun’s heir, and many people would therefore believe Nitta really was the killer. If the shogun believed it, Sano would be exiled at the least, but more probably executed. Even if the shogun spared Sano’s family, Reiko an
d Masahiro would share his disgrace. Their lives would be ruined.
For the sake of Treasury Minister Nitta, who might eventually prove to be the murderer after all.
Anger and frustration boiled within Sano. He shook his head at his detectives. Then, while Magistrate Aoki gloated, they all stood aside to let the guards bear Treasury Minister Nitta from the room.
20
“Treasury Minister Nitta has committed seppuku?” said Hirata.
Sano nodded unhappily. “The news is official.” Some two hours had passed since the trial. Now Sano, Hirata, and Reiko sat in Sano’s office. Reiko poured steaming tea into bowls for the three of them.
“What’s going to happen?” she said.
“The best outcome is that I can persuade the shogun to let me keep investigating the murder until I prove whether Treasury Minister Nitta really was the killer or Magistrate Aoki made a mistake.” Sano sipped tea; it scalded his mouth. “The worst is that the shogun will decide I made a mistake, failed in my duty, and offended the regime.”
He didn’t have to elaborate the consequences for Hirata and Reiko; their expressions said they understood.
“But we won’t know which it will be for a while yet,” Sano said. “The shogun is ill, and has issued orders that he doesn’t want to be disturbed. I wrote a report explaining what I did at the trial and left it with the shogun’s secretary. But Magistrate Aoki will have sent a report, too. We’ll just have to wait and hope that when the shogun reads the reports, he likes my side of the story better than Aoki’s.”
Dread pervaded the atmosphere as they sat holding their tea bowls. To boost morale, Sano said, “For now we’ll proceed as if the investigation will continue. I’ve got some new leads.” He told of his visits from officials who wanted to incriminate their enemies. “They may be spurious, but we’ll have to check them. What have you learned today?”
“I’ve found no trace of Lady Wisteria or her Hokkaido lover,” Hirata said, eyes downcast. “They weren’t at any of the Suruga teahouses or Fukagawa noodle shops, and I searched them all. I’m beginning to wonder if the man doesn’t exist, and the pillow book isn’t genuine.”
Disappointment burdened Sano’s spirits, because if he was to convince the shogun that the inquiries should go on, he needed better justification than a lot of dead ends. “It’s too early to give up,” he told Hirata. “Keep looking.”
Reiko said, “I may have found something important.” Her manner was cautious but hopeful. She described meeting Lady Wisteria’s family, and what she’d heard at their home. “That Wisteria tried to steal her mother’s husband, and ruined her mother’s clothes as revenge for selling her into Yoshiwara, shows her to be a selfish, mean person.”
“And therefore a good murder suspect, even if what happened when she was young has no direct bearing on Lord Mitsuyoshi’s death,” Hirata said, looking cheered by the new development.
However, Reiko’s description of Wisteria disturbed Sano profoundly. The courtesan had lied to him about her past, and he realized that he knew even less about her than he’d thought. The idea that his former lover was the killer revolted Sano. But if he proved that Treasury Minister Nitta was innocent, the list of suspects would shrink, and the odds that Wisteria was guilty would rise.
“I may also have some clues to where Lady Wisteria has gone,” Reiko said. “She had a childhood friend named Yuya. After I left her mother’s house, I questioned the neighbors. They said Yuya works in a bathhouse somewhere in town. Maybe Wisteria took shelter with her.”
“I’ll have my detectives search the bathhouses,” Sano said.
“A man bought Wisteria’s freedom about four years ago,” Reiko said. “Her mother doesn’t know how Wisteria got back in Yoshiwara, or the name of the man. But he was rumored to be a high-ranking samurai official. I think I should try to find out who he is, because he might be able to lead us to Wisteria, if Yuya can’t.”
Dismay jarred Sano. A hum of alarm began in his head as a bad day turned worse. Just as he’d feared, Reiko’s inquiries concerning Lady Wisteria had led to him.
A little frown of uncertainty puckered Reiko’s forehead as she sensed the change in atmosphere. “Is something wrong?”
Sano noticed Hirata watching him to see whether he would tell Reiko about his relationship with Lady Wisteria. Must he now reveal what he’d hidden from his wife? If they were to proceed with the investigation together, what choice had he? Panic besieged him.
Just then, a manservant appeared in the doorway. “Excuse me, master,” he said to Sano, “but a letter has just arrived for you. The messenger said it’s urgent.” He proffered a scroll case made from a short cylinder of bamboo, sealed with wooden plugs at the ends.
“Thank you,” Sano said. Never had an interruption been so timely. Awash in relief, he opened the case, unrolled and read the letter.
If you want to learn something important about the murder of Lord Mitsuyoshi, go to the house in the hills that belongs to the hokan Fujio.
There was no signature on the message, but it did include directions to the house.
Sano, Hirata, and a squadron of detectives and troops followed the directions into the hills north of Edo. They rode along a winding highway that climbed the forested slopes. Frigid wind ripped the smoke from their lanterns and the breath from their lungs. The horses galloped on hard earth that had borne little traffic since summer, when Edo’s citizens took to the hills for relief from the heat. The cold fire of sunset burned above the leafless trees; patches of snow reflected pink upon the ground. In the darkening sky rose the moon, a radiant silver crescent filigreed by shadows, suspended amid stars.
“When I told Fujio that I wanted to search his house, I had a feeling he was hiding something,” Sano said to Hirata. “Now I think he didn’t want me to know he has another house besides the one in Imado where he lives.”
“I hope we find something worthwhile.” Hirata echoed Sano’s hopes.
Yet they both harbored skepticism about the clue. Before leaving town, they’d tried to discover who had sent it. A castle messenger had delivered the letter, which the guards at the main gate had given him. The guards said a man had brought them the letter; but they couldn’t recall anything about him because they took so many messages from so many people. The letter was written on cheap, common paper, in a hand unfamiliar to Sano. Although he and Hirata feared a trick, they couldn’t afford to ignore the message.
The sunset faded to a dull red edge on the horizon, and darkness clothed the hills. Sano saw the shape of a house with a peaked roof and jutting veranda, clinging to a nearby hillside. “There it is,” he called to his companions.
They left the horses, with two soldiers to guard them, at the bottom of a steep, narrow trail. As Sano climbed the trail with Hirata, the detectives, and his troops, the cold worsened; curves in the path obscured what lay ahead. Tree trunks and underbrush confined the light from the lanterns in a minuscule space around Sano and his men. Nothing else moved in the forest; the only sounds were their footsteps in the rocky path, the huffing of their breath, and the distant ripple of a stream. But Sano recalled the many attacks on him since he’d become the shogun’s ssakan-sama.
Was the anonymous message the lure for an ambush?
The trail abruptly ended in a clearing. There stood the house, a dilapidated shack. It appeared to be an ordinary, cheap summer retreat, yet Sano’s instincts prickled, sensing evil.
“Beware,” he whispered to his men.
The guards led the advance, cautiously panning their lanterns as they stole through knee-high grass that rustled underfoot. Sano and Hirata followed, while the detectives brought up the rear, their alert gazes sweeping the area for signs of trouble. A lull in the wind stilled the forest; the stream rippled. Somewhere, a dog or wolf howled. As the group neared the house, the lanterns revealed weathered plank walls, a thatched roof, latticed windows, and a door framed by a webbing of vines.
Pausing near the threshold, Sano motion
ed for the guards to circle and scout the building. They obeyed, then returned, shaking their heads to indicate they’d seen no threats. At a gesture from Sano, they opened the door and shone the lanterns into the dark space within. The light penetrated a narrow, empty passage. Sano nodded; the guards preceded him and the others inside, along a bare, creaking wooden floor, beneath low rafters. The lanterns splashed their shadows across paper walls. Sano inhaled, trying to scent danger, but the cold had numbed his nose: He smelled nothing.
“There’s nobody here,” Hirata said, voicing what Sano perceived.
A slithering sound caused Sano’s heart to lurch; everyone started. Hands grasped swords. A guard flashed his lantern into a kitchen furnished with cooking utensils on shelves, and a plaster-encased hearth. It was vacant, the sound probably caused by vermin seeking food. Breaths fogged the air as everyone relaxed; yet as they moved to the doorway of the opposite room, Sano’s instincts blared a continuous warning.
Inside the room, tatami covered the floor; dried flowers bloomed from a vase in the alcove. A table held a cricket cage, sake jar, and folding fan—relics of summer. On a lacquer chest lay a few papers. Hirata fetched them and gave them to Sano.
They were musical scores, signed by Fujio.
One more room remained. As the group approached this, dread slowed Sano’s steps. Whatever he was meant to find must be there.
The cramped space he saw from the threshold appeared as abandoned and lifeless as the rest of the house. A swath of white muslin mosquito net hung from the ceiling and draped a futon. The futon held what at first looked to be a large, crooked bundle of fabric. Then Sano saw, protruding from one end of the bundle and out of the mosquito net, an arm that extended to a hand with curled fingers. The bundle was a human body, slender and curved and female, dressed in a patterned kimono and sprawled on the futon. That she lay so still, in this freezing, isolated house, could mean only one thing.
“Merciful gods,” Sano said.
He and his comrades rushed into the room. Sano flung back the mosquito net, and everyone exclaimed in horror. The body was headless, the neck an ugly stump of mangled flesh, clotted blood, and hacked bone. In his memory Sano heard a girlish voice saying, “She wore a black kimono with purple wisteria blossoms and green vines on it.” The garment on the dead woman was surely the one described by the kamuro, Chidori.
The Pillow Book of Lady Wisteria Page 18