Claws of the Cat (6 page)

“Foreigners have no jurisdiction here. This is a police matter.” His knuckles whitened as he clutched the
jitte
.

“A police matter?” Hiro asked. “Under your jurisdiction?”

The older man’s eyes shifted downward. The younger one drew his shoulders back and said nothing.

“Who is your supervisor?” Hiro asked. He knew the answer. The question served a different purpose.

“I don’t have to tell you that.”

Hiro looked at the older
d
ō
shin,
raised an eyebrow, and waited.

“Akechi Nobuhide,” he said, “
Yoriki
of Pontocho.”

“Pontocho.” Hiro glanced over his shoulder toward the bridge. “This teahouse lies outside Pontocho.”

“That’s none of your business,” the younger
d
ō
shin
snapped. “Go away before I call the magistrate.”

The words rolled off his tongue with the facility of frequent use.

“A fine idea,” Hiro said politely.

The
d
ō
shin
’s eyes went wide as Hiro continued. “Magistrate Ishimaki ordered full police cooperation with the priest’s investigation, but I’m sure he won’t mind you interrupting his morning audience to ask for repetition of those instructions.”

The young
d
ō
shin
narrowed his eyes and seethed. His older companion shifted from foot to foot. Policemen did not disagree with their partners in public, but the more experienced man seemed on the verge of speaking.

At the garden gates, the other two men watched the scene with interest. They were too far away to hear the conversation, but would close the distance instantly if anyone drew a sword.

The young
d
ō
shin
pointed his
jitte
at Hiro’s chest. “No funny business. When you leave, you leave alone. No companions and no parcels. Is that clear?”

Hiro wanted to take the bully down a notch or two, but pragmatism required otherwise, for the moment at least. He bowed slightly and allowed the tension to defuse.

“Thank you for your cooperation. You are indeed an example for your companions.”

What kind of example, Hiro didn’t say.

Instead, he nodded to the older
d
ō
shin
and followed the Jesuit up the path to the teahouse.

Chapter 7

Mayuri opened the door just as Father Mateo reached out to knock. He withdrew his hand awkwardly and lowered it to his side. Mayuri lowered her own hands even faster, but not before Hiro saw the dark smudges on her fingers and an angry burn on her left hand that hadn’t been there earlier in the day.

Father Mateo noticed too. “Are you injured?”

Mayuri pulled her hand into her sleeve. “It is nothing. I burned myself lighting a fire. The servant ran away when she heard about the murder—superstitious little fool. Why do you think I’ve answered the door myself all morning?”

She cast a harried glance toward the road as though hoping the servant would return. As her eyes shifted back to Hiro, she forced a smile. “Did you forget something earlier?”

Father Mateo bowed. “We hoped to speak with Sayuri.”

“And also the other women who work in the house,” Hiro added.

Mayuri’s smile wavered. “No one saw or heard anything. I spoke with each of them myself.”

“Then it will be a short conversation,” Hiro said. “Thank you for accommodating us.”

“It will take some time,” Mayuri said. “We are not prepared for company so early.”

“We can talk with Sayuri while we wait.” Hiro smiled pleasantly, knowing the teahouse owner could not refuse without bringing more suspicion on herself.

When she realized Hiro had no intention of leaving, Mayuri tilted her head in consent and turned to lead the men into the house. Her kimono rustled slightly, like a mouse in a sack of grain.

As Mayuri turned, Hiro noticed a scrap of paper caught on the back of her kimono. The trailing end of her obi had trapped it just above the hem. Hiro bent and plucked the paper from her dress, slipping it into his sleeve as he straightened. He said nothing. Teahouse culture valued neatness and beauty above all else. Mayuri would have been mortified to learn she was trailing scraps, and, although Hiro didn’t care about her feelings, he also saw no reason to cause her unnecessary embarrassment.

Mayuri led the men to the first door on the western side of the large common room. As she knelt she said, “You may speak with Sayuri here, but please do not take too long. I have priests coming to purify the house.”

Father Mateo entered the room as soon as Mayuri opened the door, but Hiro paused just long enough to ask, “You will tell me when the other girls are ready?”

Mayuri’s mouth pressed shut in a very thin smile. “Of course.”

Hiro stepped over the threshold and joined the Jesuit inside.

The room was identical to the adjacent one except for a welcome lack of blood and the absence of a corpse. An unspoiled vase of hydrangeas adorned the tokonoma. The flower arrangement showed more skill than the one in the room where the murder occurred. Hiro recognized it as a master’s work. The spoiled arrangement was likely the work of a student.

Sayuri knelt in front of the alcove, facing the door, with her back to the vase of flowers. She had bathed and changed into a simple kimono of patterned silk. Without her makeup, she looked younger than before, and also more beautiful.

A shamisen lay on the floor to her right. The lack of ornate decoration suggested a practice instrument, something to pass the time.

“Make a useful comment,” Hiro said in Portuguese.

Father Mateo recognized the coded cue at once. “What something would you have me say? Do you need more than this or have I said enough already?” He kept his voice even so the questions would sound like statements.

“That will do.” Hiro turned. Mayuri knelt in the doorway as though she intended to stay.

“I apologize for the foreign exchange,” Hiro said. “Father Mateo does not know the proper words for his request.

“His religion has a rite called ‘confession,’ in which an accused person speaks confidentially with a priest. Father Mateo requests permission to have confession with Sayuri now.”

Mayuri frowned. “Is privacy required?”

Hiro nodded. “A translator may assist if necessary, but no one else is permitted to remain.”

Mayuri looked at Sayuri. To Hiro’s surprise, the girl nodded in agreement.

“Very well.” Mayuri sighed. “I have business to attend to anyway.”

Hiro remained by the door to ensure that her shadow disappeared.

Sayuri burst into tears the moment the door closed. “I’m sorry. This is my fault. I would not have asked you to come if I thought Nobuhide would kill you too.”

“Don’t worry,” Father Mateo said. “Hiro and I will find the real killer.”

Sayuri stopped crying and looked up through her tears. “Do you really think you can?”

Hiro fought the urge to laugh at her attempt to manipulate the priest until he realized, with dismay, that it had worked.

“Of course we will,” Father Mateo said, “but we need you to tell us what really happened last night.”

“I already did. I woke up and Akechi-san was dead.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” Father Mateo’s unexpected firmness made Hiro wonder if the Jesuit saw through Sayuri’s performance after all. “Are you scared to tell the truth? Has someone threatened you?”

“Of course not,” she said, a bit too quickly for the truth. “A shinobi must have killed him.”

“Who would want to assassinate Akechi Hideyoshi?” Hiro asked.

Sayuri looked at him, wide-eyed. “I don’t know. Akechi-san was a good man. Mayuri says he always paid his bills.”

“He was wealthy?” Hiro asked.

Sayuri thought it over. “He didn’t buy me presents like the other girls get sometimes, but then, he wasn’t my patron, just a regular visitor.”

“Did he ever bring guests to the teahouse?”

Sayuri smiled. Her eyes sparkled. “He brought his brother, Hidetaro.”

Hiro found it curious that Sayuri’s first genuine smile came at the mention of Hideyoshi’s brother. Nothing in teahouse culture prohibited a girl from entertaining both a man and his relatives, though a girl who accepted a man as her patron would generally refuse separate visits from his brothers or male relations.

“Anyone else?” Hiro asked.

Sayuri squinted at the ceiling. Her forehead wrinkled in thought. “A couple of months ago he entertained a cousin from out of town. Masuhide? No, but something like that.”

“You don’t remember?” Hiro asked. Entertainers were trained to remember names, to make a client’s friends feel special on subsequent visits.

“No.” Sayuri pushed a stray hair behind her ear as her cheeks turned pink with embarrassment. “I got the impression they had only met a couple of times. They didn’t seem close, and Hideyoshi said the cousin was just passing through on business. I didn’t think I would need to remember his name.”

“What about Hideyoshi’s brother … Hidetaro? Did he visit you often?”

“A few times, with Hideyoshi.” Sayuri’s radiant smile returned, but faded quickly. “Hidetaro can’t afford teahouses. But he’s very nice.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Hiro asked.

Sayuri looked at the floor. “Several weeks ago.”

“What about Nobuhide?” Father Mateo asked.

“He’s not allowed here anymore.” Sayuri’s eyes widened. She lowered her voice. “He got drunk and forced himself on one of the girls. We’re not that kind of house. It made Mayuri furious. She told Hideyoshi his son was not welcome anymore.”

“Do you know the girl’s name?” Hiro asked.

“Umeha?” Sayuri shook her head. “I think it was Umeha, but I’m not sure. She hasn’t worked here in over a year. I think—”

The door rustled open and Sayuri cut herself off midsentence.

Mayuri knelt in the doorway.

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” she said, in a tone that said the opposite. “My women cannot speak with you this morning. It appears you have waited for nothing.”

Chapter 8

Father Mateo started to protest but Hiro bowed and said, “Thank you. We will come back later.”

Mayuri stood up to lead them out. Father Mateo gave Hiro a confused look. The shinobi shook his head slightly and followed Mayuri without argument.

When they reached the front of the teahouse Hiro said, “Since the other girls cannot speak with us, perhaps you can tell us where to find Umeha.”

Mayuri’s smile disappeared. Her lips parted in surprise, but she recovered almost immediately. “I’m afraid I don’t know that name.”

“You are afraid because you do,” Hiro corrected, “and either you tell me where to find her, or I let it slip to our friends in the yard that she has information about Hideyoshi’s death that you have tried to hide. We’ll see how long it takes them to find her for me.”

“They already know where to find her.” Mayuri’s smile faded and her expression hardened as she looked past Hiro at the
d
ō
shin
standing in the yard. “You can find her at the House of the Floating Plums in Pontocho.”

Father Mateo said nothing until they reached the bridge. As they crossed the river he said, “Why did we leave? We need to talk with the other women. Someone must have heard something.”

“Do you think they would tell us the truth?” Hiro didn’t wait for a response. “Mayuri is hiding something and her women will back her up, at least until we know enough to persuade them otherwise.”

“Well, at least Mayuri helped us find Umeha,” the priest said, “though I’m not sure why you want to know.”

“When a dead man’s heir has violent tendencies, it’s helpful to find out how deeply they run.”

*   *   *

The House of the Floating Plums lay deep within the shadows of Pontocho, a tiny two-story teahouse squeezed between seedy-looking brothels. The overhanging upper floors of the buildings kept the earthen road in near-perpetual twilight, making it difficult to read the signs that identified businesses. Sunset would transform the dingy alley into a glittering paradise of paper lanterns, silk kimonos, and painted faces, but daytime Pontocho reminded Hiro of an aging prostitute without her makeup on.

“This is it?” Father Mateo asked as they paused before the door.

Hiro tried to see the teahouse as it looked through the Jesuit’s eyes. The pine façade had weathered to brownish-gray, with darker patches of rot beneath the eaves. The second story hung over the alley, almost touching the upper floor of the brothel across the street. No stone dogs or cherry trees adorned the entry. Instead, a hand-painted board read
FLOATING PLUMS
.