Bundori: A Novel of Japan (16 page)

“What about her face? How did she dress her hair? Did she speak like a lady, or a peasant?”

“I’m sorry,
sōsakan-sama
. Her hair and face were veiled, and I spent only a moment with her. We get many women seeking shelter. I remember little about this one.”

Sano refused to give up. “Did anyone else see her?”

“No. She acted as if she didn’t want to be seen-she wouldn’t allow the servants into her room to serve her meal; they had to leave it outside the door.”

A witness who had seen something terrible enough to make her ring the huge bell-no small feat for a woman-and flee the temple. And no one knew who she was, or where she could be found. Sano cursed his luck.

“Did she leave any possessions behind?” he asked.

“Yes. A pair of kimonos.”

Sometimes, owning nothing else of value, women entering nunneries brought their best clothes as dowries to pay for their room and board. Perhaps this woman’s would provide a clue to her identity. “May I please see them?” Sano asked.

“Certainly. They are in my office.”

The abbot led the way to another, smaller precinct, where they followed a path between two dormitories-long, narrow buildings with barred windows, plastered walls, plank doors, and narrow verandas. A sound from the left-hand dormitory’s second floor caught Sano’s attention. He looked up and saw a window open and the shaven head of a boy perhaps ten years old appear. On his face, Sano saw the curiosity and excitement one might expect in a child under the circumstances-but something more. Shame? Guilt?

“Who is that boy?” he asked the abbot, pointing.

The abbot glanced toward the window. “That’s Kenji, one of our novices. A farmer’s son who came to Edo to seek his fortune when the family crops failed. One of our brethren found him dying in the street and rescued him.”

Catching sight of them, Kenji gaped, then slammed the shutters and disappeared. On impulse, Sano excused himself and returned to the main precinct. “Hirata,” he called.

Hirata left his examination of the ground around the bell cage and hurried over to Sano.

“There’s a novice named Kenji in the upper floor of the left-hand dormitory,” Sano said. “I think he knows something about the murder. See if you can find out what it is.”

The frightened peasant child might speak more freely to the young
doshin
than to him. Besides, Sano suspected that Hirata possessed abilities as yet untested, which perhaps included interviewing witnesses.

Inside the temple office-a spacious study with an elaborate coffered ceiling, and built-in cabinets and shelves containing books and scrolls-Sano examined the mystery woman’s kimonos. Both were made of fine, expensive silk. One was crimson, with a lavish embroidered design of white cranes and snowflakes, green pine boughs, and orange suns-appropriate for the New Year season. The other was a gray fall kimono printed with bluebells, patrinia, autumn grasses, bamboo, yellow clover, and wild carnations. Sano noted the hip-length sleeve panels typically worn by married women, or those past their youth. Both garments were in excellent condition, but he knew little about fashion, and he couldn’t tell if they were new outfits, or old ones worn only on special occasions. Nor could he tell whether they belonged to a samurai lady or a wealthy merchant’s woman.

Sano folded the garments and tucked them under his arm. “I’ll take these with me, and return them as soon as possible.” Maybe the Edo Castle tailors could tell him who had made the kimonos.

They left the office and started down the path. Sano saw Hirata coming to meet him, bringing a small, shaven-headed figure in a hemp robe: the novice Kenji.

“
Sōsakan-sama
, Kenji has something to tell you,” Hirata announced.

The novice, seeing the abbot, backed away, his eyes round with terror. Sano guessed that he didn’t want his superior to hear what he had to say. Turning to the abbot, Sano said, “I’d like to talk to Kenji alone, please.”

The abbot nodded. “I will be in my office if you need me.” His eloquent parting glance made it clear that he would allow the novice an unsupervised conversation with an outsider only because he feared adverse publicity.

“All right, he’s gone,” Hirata said to the novice. “Now tell the
sōsakan-sama
what you saw.”

Kenji gulped. His lips trembled. Sano squatted, placing himself at Kenji’s eye level, and gave the boy an encouraging smile. “Don’t be afraid,” he said.

Hirata’s method of eliciting speech was more aggressive. With a rough but affectionate gesture, he cuffed one of the ears that stuck out from Kenji’s head like jug handles. “Go on, talk! He won’t hurt you.”

Looking somewhat reassured but still wary, Kenji spoke in a rapid mumble. “Yesterday I went begging in the city.” He had been collecting alms to support the temple, as did the other young clergy. “I stayed too late, and it was dark when I started walking home. When I got back, the others were already asleep. I climbed in the dormitory window. The priests didn’t miss me, because my friends had fixed my bed to look like I was in it. I didn’t mean to be late, honest. Please, master, you won’t tell the abbot, will you?” Hands wringing the front of his robe, he raised beseeching eyes to Sano.

“It’ll be our secret,” Sano said gravely.

“Oh, thank you, master!” Kenji’s radiant smile transformed him from a picture of abject misery to a happy, high-spirited child. “You see, master, I was late because I stopped to watch a juggler in Nihonbashi. He was amazing! He juggled knives, and flaming torches, and live mice-”

“The
sōsakan-sama
doesn’t want to hear about that!” Hirata interrupted. “Tell him what you saw on the road leading from Edo back to the temple.”

Sano’s heart skipped, then began a strengthening pulse in his throat. Was he looking at his first murder witness? “What did you see, Kenji?”

“A palanquin,” the novice said. “With four big men carrying it. I noticed them because all the pilgrims who come to the temple are gone by dark. When I’m out that late, I usually don’t meet any-”

Kenji clapped his hands over his mouth. “I’ve only been late a few times before, master. Honest!” He clasped his hands in penitence, but his eyes danced with mischief.

“Did you see who was in the palanquin?” Sano asked patiently.

“No. The doors and windows were shut.”

“Did you see the bearers’ faces?”

Kenji shook his head. “It was dark, and they wore big hats. And I was running to get back to the dormitory before anyone noticed I wasn’t there.”

Disappointment descended over Sano. Grasping at the receding vestiges of hope, he asked, “Can you remember anything at all about the palanquin or the bearers?”

“I’m sorry, master.” Then Kenji’s drooping head snapped alert; his eyes brightened. “Wait-I remember now. The moon was shining on the palanquin. And I saw a big dragon painted on the side!”

This information was better than none, but not much. Elaborate decoration signified a private, rather than a hired vehicle. If the palanquin had, as Sano suspected, conveyed the Bundori Killer to and from the temple, he need only call on the several thousand Edo citizens rich enough to own personal transportation.

“What color was the dragon?” he asked, seeking to narrow the field.

Kenji shrugged. “It was too dark to tell.”

“Would you recognize it if you saw it again?” Hirata interjected.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” The novice shivered, beating his hands against his arms. “Can I go now? I’m cold.”

After ascertaining that Kenji remembered nothing more about the palanquin and had seen nothing and no one else in or outside the temple complex the previous night, Sano dismissed him.

“I’m sorry he couldn’t tell us more,
sōsakan-sama
,” Hirata said. “I wanted to bring you evidence to make up for not having done you any good so far.” Self-contempt laced his voice.

“Don’t underestimate your achievement, Hirata,” Sano said, fighting his own disappointment. “Kenji’s testimony might eventually place a suspect near the crime scene. You’re a talented investigator. You got facts from the boy that I might not have.” Then, seeing Hirata flush with pleasure, he regretted his impulsive praise. He mustn’t encourage the young
doshin
’s attachment to him.

“Keep searching the grounds,” he ordered. “I’ll join you after I’ve finished questioning… three thousand possible witnesses and suspects.”

Sano spent the next hours in the temple’s assembly hall, interrogating an endless parade of frightened, shocked clergy and servants. Some priests he recognized as former teachers, or classmates who had taken orders and stayed at the temple. By the time he finished, he’d verified the abbot’s statement. No one but Kenji had seen anything. And Brother Endō himself had publicized his occupation. A gregarious man, he’d often stationed himself at the main gate to greet and chat with visitors. Any pilgrim-the killer included-could have learned his schedule directly from him.

Afterward Sano joined Hirata and a horde of priests in searching the temple for evidence. Carrying torches, they inspected paths, gardens, monuments, stairways, graveyards, the ground around every building and gate, the forest…

And found nothing.

At dawn, Sano and Hirata mounted their horses for the ride back to Edo. In addition to the killer’s boards, spikes, and tools, Sano’s saddlebags held the mystery woman’s two kimonos-the sole tangible reward for their labors.

This night had forever changed his personal vision of Zōjō Temple. Now, when he thought of it, he would no longer picture a sunlit haven of prayer and learning, or recall the happy and sad times of his childhood. Instead he would see Brother Endō’s mutilated corpse, and remember his friends and teachers as potential witnesses and suspects. The investigation not only dominated his present and future; it had also damaged cherished memories.

“We got more from this murder scene than from any of the others,” Hirata said, as though trying to bolster his own spirits as well as Sano’s.

But what did they have? Confirmation of a theory that had as yet led nowhere. The description of a possible suspect’s palanquin. A missing witness, and only a pair of kimonos as clues to her identity.

And just four more days to catch the Bundori Killer.

Back in Edo, Sano and Hirata parted ways outside the Nihonbashi produce market, a sprawling complex of stalls, where vendors haggled with customers and porters carried baskets of vegetables, fruit, and grain on their backs. Maneuvering his horse into a quiet side street, Sano gave Hirata orders for the day.

“After you’ve rested, visit all the palanquin builders in town and find out who made a palanquin with a dragon design on it. Ask who bought it, but don’t say why you want to know. If that really was the killer Kenji spotted last night, we don’t want him to know he’s been seen and destroy the palanquin before we can use it as evidence.”

He paused to stop a newsseller who was trudging toward the market with a stack of broadsheets under his arm. “Here’s some news for you: ‘The shogun’s
sōsakan
says that the Bundori Killer seeks to destroy only the descendants of Endō Munetsugu, who should beware.’ ”

As the newsseller hurried away shouting the words, Sano said to Hirata, “While you make your rounds, spread that message to everyone you can. We want as many people as possible informed before another night falls.” If they didn’t catch the killer, at least the potential victims would be forewarned, and the citizens calmed.

“I’ll start now,” Hirata said. “I’m not tired.”

Indeed he did look fresh and lively, as if he, like Sano himself, was functioning on the peculiar energy that sleeplessness can induce. Wistfully stroking his mount’s mane, he said, “I guess you want your horse back.”

“Keep her for now,” Sano said. “I’ll pay her board at the police stables.”

Amazement and gratitude lit Hirata’s face. “Thank you,
sōsakan-sama
!”

Sano realized that while he’d merely intended the horse’s loan as a means of allowing Hirata to cover more ground faster, the young
doshin
interpreted it as an expression of trust and a deepening of their relationship. Now he couldn’t retract the offer without hurting Hirata.

“Should I keep looking for the tall, lame suspect with the pockmarked face?” Hirata asked.

While he pondered the question, Sano let his gaze wander to the market. The morning was unseasonably warm, with a humidity that intensified the odors of vegetable refuse and open drains. Beneath a bright, hazy sky that presaged the summer to come, the market seemed quieter and less crowded than usual, its atmosphere of cheerful commerce conspicuously absent. How long before news of the latest murder spread throughout the city? Would his own message be enough to counteract it? Sano dreaded the escalation of civil unrest more than the threat to his own life.

“Forget about the suspect for now,” he said finally.

He still believed in Aoi’s mystical powers, and intelligence. Her evocation of his father’s spirit and the courtesan Sparrow, her knowledge of the
hatamoto
Kaibara’s sorrow, and the circumstances of the
rōnin
Tōzawa’s death had convinced him that she could communicate with the spirit world. She’d identified the
eta
murder as a practice killing, and Kaibara’s status as last surviving clan member as a reason for the killer to revive General Fujiwara’s feud. So Sano had to consider the possibility that she’d deliberately misled him by failing to predict the murder at Zōjō Temple, and sending him to the marshes instead. He also began to doubt her description of the killer. With alarm, he discovered that although he no longer trusted Aoi, neither could he think of her without experiencing a desire that clenched his heart as it warmed his body.

“What should I have my assistants do?” Hirata asked.

Remembering the young
doshin
’s performance at the temple gave Sano an idea for making better use of Hirata’s time. “Have you any good informants that you use in your work?”

“A few.” The gleam in Hirata’s eyes belied his modest disclaimer.

“Then have your men look for the dragon palanquin. You ask your contacts if they can identify the man who attacked me. You have his description. Leave a message for me at the castle gate if you learn anything. I’ll send word to the police compound if I need you for anything else.”

“Yes,
sōsakan-sama”
.

As Sano watched his assistant go, a rueful smile tugged at his mouth. Hirata rode like an expert now, his posture confident as he steered the horse down the crowded street. He wore his pride like a battle flag attached to a soldier’s back. Sano was glad that the investigation was bringing happiness to one of them.

He headed for the castle to see whether Noguchi had located General Fujiwara’s descendants and show the mystery witness’s kimonos to the tailors. So many paths to follow, any or none of which might lead to the killer before the four days were up. But one thing was certain: He would see Aoi tonight, and demand an explanation from her.

In the Edo Castle archives, Noguchi ushered Sano past the main study, where clerks and apprentices pored over documents, and down the corridor to his private office. Inside, chests, stacked shoulder-high and three deep, lined the walls, partially obscuring the windows. Piles of paper occupied every shelf and most of the floor. Noguchi’s desk, cluttered with writing materials, formed a small island in the middle. With foreboding, Sano wondered what Noguchi had to say that he couldn’t in one of the mansion’s more comfortable public areas.

Noguchi cleared a space on the floor, knelt, and motioned for Sano to do the same. “I hope you are well?”

Sano recognized the formality as a stalling tactic: Noguchi didn’t want to get down to business-either his, or Sano’s. A furtive wariness had shadowed the archivist’s open, friendly manner.

“As well as can be expected,” Sano replied, explaining about the murder at Zōjō Temple.

“Oh, my, oh, no,” Noguchi murmured. Then he cringed and said, “Sano-
san
, I regret to tell you that I can no longer associate myself with you professionally. I think you can understand why not?”

Sano looked away to hide his hurt. He could see that Noguchi had heard about the council meeting and wanted to sever their ties to avoid sharing Sano’s misfortunes. He was losing the only friend he had at Edo Castle, when he most needed sympathy and support.

“However,” Noguchi continued, “you need not fear that I mean to end our personal relationship before you can arrange for someone to take my place. I will act on your behalf on this day, which is so crucial to you.”

Sano could have argued that every one of the next four days was crucial to him. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Today is your
miai
.” Noguchi’s forehead wrinkles began their ascent up his scalp. “Surely you’ve not forgotten?”

Sano had. Entirely. The event, to which he’d once looked forward so eagerly, couldn’t have come at a worse time. How could he interrupt his investigation to pursue a marriage that would never happen if he didn’t catch the killer by the shogun’s deadline?

“At the Kannei Temple this afternoon,” Noguchi reminded him anxiously. “Everything is arranged. The Ueda are coming. Castle palanquins will convey your mother and her maid to the temple. You will be there, won’t you?”

Sano longed to postpone the
miai
, but his father had wanted this marriage for him; it was an essential factor in their family’s rise to prominence. Sano couldn’t offend the Ueda by cancelling on such short notice.

“I’ll be there,” he said.

“Good.” Noguchi looked relieved. “Afterward you can engage a new go-between.”

Sano had no time to worry about finding someone to replace Noguchi. The
miai
would consume the afternoon. In more of a hurry than ever now, he turned the conversation to the reason for his visit. “Have you managed to locate General Fujiwara’s descendants?”

Noguchi dropped his gaze and suddenly became very busy fidgeting with an inkstone on his desk. Without looking at Sano, he said, “I am afraid you will have to discard your theory for lack of sufficient validity.”

“Discard it?” Sano echoed, bewildered. “But tonight’s murder confirmed my theory.” Then a disturbing thought struck him. “You couldn’t find the names.”

Now Noguchi met his gaze with one full of pity and chagrin. “I have the list here.” He removed a folded paper from his sash, then said with a sigh, “Oh, my. The role of harbinger of bad news is a thankless one. I hope you will not blame me for your disappointment.”

Sano snatched the list and eagerly unfolded it. As he read the names, disbelief and despair flooded him. Now he understood what Noguchi meant.

He recognized all four names, even without the descriptions Noguchi had included. All the suspects were prominent citizens- none of whom he could imagine as the Bundori Killer:

Matsui Minoru. Edo ’s foremost merchant; financial agent to the Tokugawa.

Chūgo Gichin. Captain of the Guard; one of Edo Castle ’s highest-ranking officers.

O-tama. Concubine to the commissioner of highways; subject of a famous scandal ten years ago.

To the last name, Noguchi hadn’t bothered to append a description. And he’d written it in smaller characters, as if reluctant to include it at all:

Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu.