The Perfumed Sleeve (20 page)

“How am I supposed to have killed Makino while entertaining my guests?” Yanagisawa gave Sano a sly glance as they walked. “I presume you’ve investigated my spy whose name was given you by our mutual friend in the
metsuke
?”

Sano had stopped by Makino’s estate before returning home tonight and questioned the guard Yanagisawa had employed to spy on Makino. The interview had negated the theory that the spy had assassinated Makino on orders from Yanagisawa. “Luckily for you, your spy was locked in the barracks that night,” Sano said, “and the patrol guards confirmed that he was in his bed. He couldn’t have killed Makino.”

“What about Lord Matsudaira’s spy?” Yanagisawa said in a tone of mild curiosity.

“He was stationed outside the front gate,” said Sano. “According to his partner, he never left until their shift ended at dawn.”

Torches in a guard turret above Sano and Yanagisawa briefly illuminated a smug expression on the chamberlain’s face. “Then your only evidence that the murder was committed by either faction is Daiemon’s presence at the scene of the crime. Daiemon is therefore your best suspect among us.”

“Not necessarily,” Sano said. “If Makino did defect, you could have hired someone else in his estate to kill him. And your elite troops are known for their skill at stealth.” Those troops were assassins whom Yanagisawa employed to keep himself in power. “They’d have had no problem invading Makino’s house—or killing him under his guards’ noses.”

“
If
I had sent them to kill Makino. But I didn’t,” said Yanagisawa.

They’d reached his compound. As they halted outside the high stone wall, their escorts stopped behind them.

“Trace the movements of my troops that night if you like,” he told Sano, “but it will be a waste of your time. Any evidence you find that implicates them in the murder will have been planted by my enemies. You’ll exhaust yourself trying to separate fact from fraud.” Yanagisawa shunned the notion with a flick of his hand. “There’s a better solution to your problems. Go along with the evidence that says Daiemon is guilty. It’s enough to convict him in the Court of Justice. Lodge an official accusation against him. Consider your investigation finished.”

“And join your campaign against his uncle?” Sano said.

“Would that be such a bad idea?” Yanagisawa responded to Sano’s lack of enthusiasm. “Remember that you’ve prospered during my time as chamberlain. I promise that if you ruin Daiemon and help me defeat Lord Matsudaira, you’ll enjoy a larger income and more authority when my power is secure.”

“I remember what my life was like before you agreed to a truce,” Sano said, alluding to Yanagisawa’s attacks on his person and reputation. “I also remember that you can call off our truce anytime you choose. And with all due respect, I would be a fool to believe a promise from you.”

“You would be a fool to think that Lord Matsudaira can give you better terms than I can,” Yanagisawa said. “Lord Matsudaira is more vulnerable than he seems. He’s going to lose our battle. Join me and be on the winning side.”

Sano felt the potent combination of will, menace, and charm by which Yanagisawa won allies and compelled their obedience. The vast, fortified bulk of his estate silently proclaimed his power. But despite his intelligence and his skill at manipulating people, Yanagisawa had never understood what motivated Sano. He couldn’t offer Sano anything that would atone for years of torment or induce him to compromise his principles.

“Winning isn’t as important to me as honor,” Sano said, although Yanagisawa would never believe him. “And I’ll serve honor by standing by the shogun, not conniving behind his back for control of the regime. Not with you, or with Lord Matsudaira.”

“You’ll be answering to one of us eventually.” A cunning smile hovered around Yanagisawa’s mouth. “At least you and I are old colleagues. You’re hardly acquainted with Lord Matsudaira at all.”

“And the familiar is better than the unknown?” Sano laughed at this argument that he recognized as a last resort. “Many thanks for your advice, Honorable Chamberlain, but I must go the way I’ve chosen.”

Yanagisawa laughed, too, but his laughter had a mirthless, steely ring. “You’re walking a dangerous path,” he said. “Sooner or later you’ll fall off on one side or the other. For your sake, it had better be my side. Because if you think you’ve already experienced the worst I can do to someone who opposes me, you’re sadly mistaken.”

Late that night, Sano lay wide awake in bed. He shut his eyes tight and willed sleep to come and replenish his strength for whatever challenges that tomorrow would bring. But images, conversations, and disturbing thoughts from the day seethed in his head. He turned under the heavy quilts, trying and failing to find a comfortable position. The bed felt cold and empty without Reiko. Wondering if she was safe increased his anxiety. His mind reprised the tense scene with Hirata and his doubts that things would ever again be right between them. He endlessly sorted through the results of his inquiries and tried to decide which of the suspects had most likely killed Makino, but all the facts he’d gleaned led him nowhere so far. The investigation seemed at an impasse.

When he heard footsteps in the corridor outside his room and Detective Marume call his name, he welcomed the distraction, even though he knew that a summons late at night usually meant trouble. “Come in,” he said, throwing off the quilt. “What is it?” The door slid open, revealing the bulky figure of Marume, lit by the flame of a lamp he carried. “I’m sorry to wake you,
Sōsakan-sama,
but there’s a message from one of your informants in town. Lord Matsudaira’s nephew Daiemon has just been murdered.”

20

The building was a commonplace two-story wooden structure, located in the Nihonbashi merchant district, on a street that paralleled the nearby rice warehouses along the Sumida River. Bamboo shades screened the balcony; shutters covered the windows. A short blue curtain hung over the recessed doorway, where two soldiers whose armor bore the crest of the Matsudaira clan stood guard. Opposite were run-down shops and teahouses, the doors closed over their storefronts. A crowd of townspeople had gathered outside the building. In the sky, a faint ruddy glow in the east presaged dawn. Lanterns shone at neighborhood gates at either end of the street. As Sano rode through a gate with Marume, Fukida, and three other detectives, the crowd parted to let them pass. They dismounted outside the building.

“What is this place?” Marume said.

“It’s a house of assignation,” Sano said. He remembered the house from his days as a police commander of this district. “Lovers come here to engage in illicit affairs. It’s called the Sign of Bedazzlement.”

Here, in this seedy, disreputable place, had died Daiemon, the ambitious upstart of the Matsudaira faction and heir apparent to the shogun.

Sano, Marume, and Fukida climbed the steps and went into the house. The sounds of men muttering and women crying greeted them. The house’s proprietor, a frightened old man, huddled in the entryway.

Beyond this, more Matsudaira troops stood along a lamp-lit passage. Police Commissioner Hoshina came striding down the passage toward Sano and the detectives.

“
Sōsakan-sama.
What are you doing here?” Hoshina said in a tone that branded Sano as a trespasser.

“I heard that Daiemon was murdered,” Sano said. “I’ve come to investigate.”

Hoshina spread his arms, planted his hands on the walls of the passage, and blocked Sano’s way. “There’s no need. My officers have already begun inquiries. This is police business.” And none of yours, said his hostile expression.

“Daiemon was a suspect in a crime that the shogun ordered me to investigate,” Sano said. Hoshina never ceased his petty squabbling over what crimes comprised whose territory. He grasped every chance to enlarge his sphere of authority and diminish Sano’s. The war between the factions had only aggravated his sense of rivalry. “That makes his murder my business.”

Indecision broke Hoshina’s gaze; he seemed to recall that Lord Matsudaira, his master, needed as many allies as possible and particularly wanted Sano. “Very well,” he said grudgingly.

He let Sano and the detectives pass, but he dogged their heels as they moved down the corridor, which was lined with dim chambers enclosed by wooden partitions. Through the open doors of several chambers Sano saw couples, shamefaced and disheveled, guarded by Lord Matsudaira’s troops. Sano recognized an army official and a prominent banker. Although Hoshina was more interested in politics than in police practice, at least he’d trapped the potential witnesses.

“He’s in the last room on the left,” Hoshina said.

Sano preceded Marume and Fukida into the room. More troops loitered against walls painted with crude, gaudy landscape murals. A cold draft wavered the flame inside a torn paper lantern suspended from the ceiling. Furniture consisted of a charcoal brazier, a washbasin behind a cheap wooden screen, and a lacquer table that held a sake decanter and cups. On the
tatami
floor Daiemon lay, covered by a striped quilt, upon the futon. Only his face showed; his eyes were closed and his handsome features blank as if in sleep. Beside him knelt his uncle, clad in an opulent padded satin cloak and an armor helmet studded with gold. Lord Matsudaira looked up at Sano.

“Honorable Lord Matsudaira,” Sano said, bowing, “please accept my condolences on the death of your nephew.”

The man’s eyes blazed with rage and grief. Tears streaked glistening trails down his cheeks. He seemed mute and stunned, like a warrior who’d taken a severe blow during battle. Sano felt an eerie echo of the past. A year ago he’d investigated the murder of Lord Matsudaira’s son, a former favorite of the shogun. Being heir apparent brought bad luck, Sano reflected. Now Lord Matsudaira had lost another important kinsman.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Sano said.

“See for yourself,” Lord Matsudaira said in a tight, bitter voice. He flung back the quilt that covered Daiemon.

Air saturated with the metallic smell of blood billowed up at Sano. Nausea clenched his stomach. Daiemon’s torso was twisted and his limbs bent as if he’d crumpled onto the bed where he lay. Wet, gleaming blood stained the front of his silk kimono and the white cotton cover of the futon. The hilt of a dagger, bound in plain black cord in a crisscross pattern, protruded from his chest. Sano observed that the blade had been driven under his breastbone at an upward angle, beneath the rib cage, and into his heart.

Turning away from the gory sight, Sano said, “Was Daiemon here with a woman?”

Lord Matsudaira regarded Sano as if he thought the question idiotic. “That’s what this place is for.”

“Who was she?” Sano said.

“I have no idea.”

“Where is she?”

Police Commissioner Hoshina said, “There was no sign of her when we arrived. Daiemon was alone.”

More echoes from the past resonated through Sano. The murder of Lord Matsudaira’s son had also involved a missing woman. “Go question the other people in the house,” Sano told Marume and Fukida. “Bring me anyone who knows anything about the woman, or saw or heard anything.”

The detectives bowed and went. Sano had brought them because Hirata was in bad odor with the factions, and Sano couldn’t risk employing him in anything that involved them. Now Sano missed his chief retainer. He hoped Marume and Fukida would do as good a job as Hirata had always done. Inspecting the room, Sano found Daiemon’s shoes and swords on the floor by the door, where he’d apparently left them. There was no trace of anyone else’s presence. Examining the window shutters, Sano found the latches intact and no sign that the killer had forced his way into the room from outside.

“Is the room just as you found it?” Sano asked Lord Matsudaira.

Lord Matsudaira stared in bitter silence at his dead nephew. Hoshina said, “We didn’t change anything, except to cover the body.”

Sano crouched and peered at Daiemon’s hands. They were smeared with blood, as though from clutching his wound before he’d fallen, but uninjured. Daiemon apparently had not tried to defend himself against the dagger. As Sano rose, Detectives Marume and Fukida returned, bringing the proprietor of the house.

“None of the couples saw Daiemon or his lady,” said Fukida. “They were too busy to notice anything going on in this room.”

Marume pushed the proprietor toward Sano and said, “He’s the only witness. He rented the room to Daiemon and the woman. He discovered the body.”

“Who was the woman?” Sano asked the proprietor.

The proprietor had bulging eyes that bulged wider as he shrank fearfully from Sano. “I don’t know her name.”

“What does she look like?” Sano said.

“I don’t know. She’s been here many times, but she always hides her face.”

“Does anyone come with her?”

“No, master. She always comes by herself.”

“By palanquin?”

“On foot.”

Sano gave up the notion of identifying the woman through her vehicle or escorts. If she’d had them, she’d left them where they wouldn’t be seen. “What time did she come?”

“At half past the hour of the boar,” said the proprietor.

Late evening, the time preferred for secret assignations. Sano said, “What happened when she arrived?”

“She knocked on the door, as usual,” the proprietor said. “I showed her to the room. It was reserved and paid for in advance, as usual.”

“Was Daiemon already here when she arrived?” Sano said.

“No,” said the proprietor. “He always came later.”

“Tell me what happened when he came.”

“I let him in the door, but I didn’t show him to the room. He went by himself. He knew where it was—they always used the same one. That was the last time I saw him alive.”

“Were there any noises from this room after he went in?”

The proprietor hunched his shoulders. “Maybe some whispering or cries. But that’s normal here. And they could have come from my other customers.”

The sounds of lovemaking had obscured whatever sounds Daiemon or his killer had uttered during the stabbing, Sano observed. “How did you happen to discover the murder?”

“I was passing by the door and I looked through the peephole.” A guilty, sheepish look came over the proprietor’s face. “All the doors have peepholes. I like to check the rooms once in a while, to make sure everything is all right.”

And he probably enjoyed watching the lovers. Sano said, “So you looked inside this room. What happened next?”

“I saw him like that.” The proprietor glanced at the corpse, gulped, and averted his gaze.

“You fetched the police?”

“No.” The proprietor hastened to add, "Of course I was going to fetch them, but I didn’t have a chance. First I thought I should tell my customers what had happened and give them time to leave.”

Sano knew that the illicit lovers wouldn’t have wanted to be caught here, by the police, at the scene of a crime; nor would the proprietor have wanted to expose them to scandal and lose their business.

“But just then, I heard banging on the door,” the proprietor said, “and voices shouting, ‘Police! Let us in!’ When I opened the door, they ran straight to this room—they seemed to already know about the murder.”

Sano cut his gaze to Police Commissioner Hoshina, loitering nearby. “How did they?”

“The local patrol officer was patrolling his territory with his civilian assistants, when they heard someone shouting, ‘The Honorable Lord Matsudaira Daiemon has been murdered at the Sign of Bedazzlement!’ ” Hoshina said. “They didn’t see who shouted. Whoever it was ran away. They came here and found Daiemon. They notified me. I notified Lord Matsudaira. We came immediately.”

This strange story of an anonymous herald sounded unlikely to Sano. He hesitated to believe anything Hoshina said, but perhaps the killer had wanted the murder discovered and thus had told the police.

“The woman was gone when you found Daiemon?” Sano asked the proprietor.

“Yes, master.”

“Did you see her go?”

“No, master. She must have left through the secret passage.” The proprietor slid aside a partition camouflaged by the mural on a wall, revealing a closet. From a square black hole in the floor issued a cold draft that smelled of earth and drains. “It leads to the alley behind the house.”

Sano turned to his detectives. “Marume-
san
, tell our men outside to search the neighborhood for the woman,” he said, although he knew she could have gotten far away during the time that had elapsed since the murder. “Fukida-
san
, examine the secret passage and the alley for clues she might have left.”

Marume departed. Fukida borrowed a lamp from the proprietor and jumped into the passage that the illicit lovers used to escape when necessary. Lord Matsudaira got to his feet like a pile of rubble coalescing into a mountain. His stunned expression vanished; anger focused his eyes as his combative spirit returned.