Concubine's Tattoo (25 page)

A picture of helpless uncertainty, the shogun looked from Keisho-in to Yanagisawa, then to Sano. Sano's ears thrummed with the pounding of his heart. The faces of the assembly blurred before him. His lips felt cold and numb under the pressure of the words he must speak to save the investigation and focus it on Lady Keisho-in. But the demands of honor and justice fueled his courage. His hand went to his sash, ready to produce the letter. In Bushido, the life of one lone samurai mattered less than the capture of a murderer and traitor.

Then, in a searing blaze of awareness, Sano remembered that he was no longer alone. Should he be condemned to death for treason, then Reiko and Magistrate Ueda would join him at the execution ground. He was willing to sacrifice himself to his principles, but how could he endanger his new family?

A new sense of connection filled Sano's spirit with a sweet, painful warmth. He let his hand drop from his sash. Through years of solitude, how he'd longed for marriage! Then came a surge of resentment. Marriage encouraged cowardice at the expense of honor. Marriage had brought new obligations that conflicted with prior ones. Now Sano understood Reiko's dissatisfaction even better. Both had lost their independence through marriage. Was there a way to make the loss bearable?

Would that they lived to find it!

At last Tokugawa Tsunayoshi spoke. "Sosakan Sano, you shall, ahh, continue the murder investigation. But you and your detectives must stay away from the Large Interior and the women. Use your ingenuity to catch the killer by other means. And when you do, we shall all, ahh, rejoice." Then he fell, weeping, upon his mother's bosom.

Looking straight at Sano, Lady Keisho-in grinned.

Out of the Large Interior filed the nine men Sano had assigned to the investigation there, ejected by the shogun's order. Sano and Hirata, waiting beside the palace door, fell into step with the detective in charge as the group trudged homeward through the night. "Did you find anything?" Sano asked.

Detective Ozawa, a man with flat features and a past career as a metsuke spy, shook his head. "No poison or any other clues anywhere."

Along the castle's walled passages, burning torches smoked in the misty air. Owls hooted in the forest preserve; across the city, dogs bayed. Autumn's melancholy charm had always appealed to the poet in Sano, but now its connotations of death worsened his spirits. "What about the interviews?"

"Nobody knows anything," Ozawa said, "which could mean they're telling the truth, they're afraid to talk, or someone ordered them not to. I'd bet on the last."

"Did you search Lady Keisho-in's chambers?" Sano asked.

Ozawa looked at him in surprise. "No. I didn't know you wanted us to, and we would have needed special permission from her. Why?"

"Never mind," said Sano, "that's all right."

"It's probably just as well that we quit," Ozawa said. "We could have spent the rest of the year in the Large Interior without learning anything."

That was little consolation to Sano, because the shogun's edict had deprived him of access to not only Lady Keisho-in's quarters and five hundred potential witnesses, but also another important suspect: Lady Ichiteru. Now the thought of her reminded Sano of an unpleasant task he must perform tonight.

When they reached Sano's mansion, the detectives headed for the barracks. Sano said to Hirata, "Let's go to my office."

There, warmed by charcoal braziers and cups of hot sake, they knelt facing each other. Hirata looked miserable, his head bowed in anticipation of punishment. Sano hardened his heart against pity. He'd let Hirata's dubious behavior slide for too long. Now it had compromised their work, perhaps irretrievably. Sano hated to risk damaging the friendship he valued above any other, but this time he meant to get some answers.

"What happened during your interview with Lady Ichiteru, and why did you let our superiors think we believe she's innocent?" Sano said.

"I'm sorry, sosakan-sama." Hirata's voice quavered. "There's no excuse for what I did. I-Lady Ichiteru-" He gulped, then said, "I couldn't get her to answer my questions, so I don't really know if she killed Lady Harume. She-she got me all mixed up..." His gaze turned luminescent with memory. Then he looked down, as if caught in a shameful act. "I shouldn't have spoken at the meeting. I made a bad mistake. You should dismiss me. I deserve it."

The news shook Sano. Accustomed to relying on his chief retainer, he felt as though an essential support beam had been yanked from the structure of his detective corps. But Sano's anger dissolved at the sight of Hirata's humility.

"After all we've been through together, I won't dismiss you for one mistake," he said. Overcome with relief, Hirata blinked moist eyes. Tactfully Sano busied himself with pouring them each another drink. "Now let's concentrate on the case. We've lost our chance for an official interview with Lady Ichiteru, but there must be other methods of getting information on her."

They drank, then Hirata said hesitantly, "We might still be able to talk to Ichiteru." From under his kimono he removed a letter and handed it over.

As Sano read, excitement eclipsed his depression. "She has information about the murder? Maybe this is the break we need."

"You mean you think I should go?" A wild joy flared in Hirata's eyes before consternation clouded them. "To see Lady Ichiteru, alone, at this place she describes?"

"It's you she's asking for," Sano answered. "She might not be willing to speak to anyone else. And we can't endanger her-or defy the shogun's orders-by meeting in the castle."

"You trust me with such a critical interview? After what I've done?" Hirata sounded incredulous.

"Yes," Sano said, "I do." His purpose for sending Hirata to the rendezvous was twofold: he wanted Lady Ichiteru's information, but he also wanted Hirata to regain his self-confidence.

"Thank you, sosakan-sama. Thank you!" Fervent with gratitude, Hirata bowed. "I promise I won't let you down. We'll solve this case."

After Hirata had gone, Sano went to his desk. Reading reports from his detectives, he wished he could share Hirata's faith. His men had questioned every member of the Miyagi household; no one admitted to tampering with the ink, or seeing anyone do so. They'd traced the bottle's path to Lady Harume. The messenger who had delivered it claimed he'd neither opened the sealed package nor made any stops along the way. Interviews with the castle guard who'd taken in the package, the servant who'd carried it to the Large Interior, and numerous individuals with possible access to the bottle while in transit had proved inconclusive.

Sano rubbed his temples, where a dull headache throbbed-he shouldn't have imbibed liquor on an empty stomach. His journey into Lady Harume's past had made the case more perplexing instead of less; he still believed that the facts of her life related to the murder, but couldn't make the connection. Sano felt drained of energy, in need of solace. Where was the comfort he'd expected to find in marriage?

Then Sano felt Reiko's presence: a mental sensation vaguely akin to the ripple of a distant stream. He realized he'd been feeling it ever since arriving home, like an undercurrent beneath his thoughts. In the space of a mere three days, he had become attuned to his bride. He would always know when she was near. Marriage had worked this strange magic despite the conflicts that divided them. Did Reiko feel it, too? The thought gave Sano hope for a chance of mutual understanding and harmony. Now, as the sensation grew stronger and he heard the creak of the floorboards under her soft footsteps, he forgot the cares of the day. She was coming to him. His heart pounded; his mouth went dry in anticipation.

A knock at the door: three quiet, firm raps. "Come in." Sano's voice hoarsened with nervousness, and he had to clear his throat.

The door slid open. Reiko entered the room. She wore a red dressing gown printed with gold medallions, its lush folds emphasizing the delicate yet seductive curves of her figure. Her knee-length hair swathed her like a shimmering black cape. She looked utterly beautiful and unapproachable. In her proud posture, Sano could see generations of samurai ancestors. Reiko's gaze was cool as she knelt a good distance away from Sano and bowed, her voice level when she said, "Good evening, Honorable Husband."

"Good evening," Sano said, chilled by her formality. "Did you have a good day?"

"Yes, thank you."

Where did you go? Sano wanted to ask. What did you do? But those questions would sound like an interrogation, and probably cause another quarrel. Sano controlled his tendency to batter against any obstacle that stood between him and the truth. Marriage was teaching him patience. He felt as though he'd aged years since his wedding, slowly, painfully maturing into the role of husband. Instead he waited for Reiko to speak. Didn't her visit indicate a desire for his company?

"My father paid a call while you were out," Reiko said. "He wishes to see you tomorrow morning at the hour of the dragon, in the Court of Justice."

Realizing that she'd come only to deliver this message, Sano experienced the heavy letdown of disappointment. "Did he say why?"

"Only that there's a trial that he believes will interest you. I asked if it had anything to do with your investigation, but he refused to say." A bitter smile twisted Reiko's mouth. "Like you, he thinks it's none of my business."

With difficulty, Sano resisted the bait. "Thank you for bringing me the message."

How he ached to touch her! He could imagine the silken sheen of her hair on his fingers, the soft pliancy of her body against his. The tantalizing scent of jasmine wafted across the distance between them. Oddly, her strength of will only increased the attraction she held for him. To win the love of this proud wife would be a greater conquest than domination of a weaker woman. The battle would require less brute muscle than intelligent strategy-the skill on which he prided himself in his detective work. His warrior spirit rose to the challenge.

Reiko bowed, signaling her intention to leave. Seeking a way to keep her with him, Sano said the first thing that came into his head. "About last night-I'm sorry if I hurt you when I pushed you out of Lieutenant Kushida's way."

"You didn't hurt me." Reiko's voice remained cool, her expression implacable. "And you needed my help more than I needed your protection. Why don't you just admit it?"

This was getting them nowhere, except further apart. In desperation, Sano blurted, "I admired that stroke you used against Kushida."

Now Reiko's eyes rounded in surprise at the compliment. "Thank you, but it was nothing, really." A becoming flush of pleasure bloomed in her cheeks. "It's just something I learned from a martial arts treatise by Kumashiro."

"You've read Kumashiro's works?" Now it was Sano's turn to be surprised. The great swordsman, who had lived two hundred years ago, was a hero of his own. Now his love of the history of martial arts prevailed over his belief that a wife shouldn't practice them. He found himself and Reiko discussing kenjutsu. Because she'd read as widely as he, this was one of the most satisfying conversations he'd ever had on the subject. Reiko's intelligence impressed him, and he enjoyed watching her glow with enthusiasm. She moved closer; her posture relaxed; her smile mirrored his pleasure in their mutual interest. Sano believed that she'd come here because she'd wanted to see him: after all, she could have sent a maid to deliver her father's message. She, too, felt the attraction that sparked between them.

Then, in the middle of a passionate argument about the merits of a particular style of swordsmanship, Sano realized he was making the same mistake that Magistrate Ueda rued: encouraging Reiko's interest in unfeminine pursuits.

His expression must have shown his dismay, because Reiko stopped talking in the middle of a sentence. Sadness quenched the sparkle in her eyes; she'd read his thoughts. "It's late," she said regretfully. "I shan't interrupt your work any longer." As their camaraderie died, the room seemed to grow suddenly colder. "Good night, Honorable Husband." Reiko bowed and rose.

"Wait," Sano said. When she paused at the door, a question in her eyes, he wanted to say: Investigating Lady Harume's life has opened my eyes. I understand what it's like to be female in a world ruled by men. I realize the cruelty of a society that limits a woman's existence. I know how you feel!

Yet how could he claim to understand Reiko's position, while still maintaining his own? He didn't want her involved in a murder investigation that had grown even more perilous with Lady Keisho-in's emergence as a suspect. He still doubted her ability to accomplish anything worth the risk of her life. Knowing this, Reiko would surely repudiate his sympathy as a mere ploy to win her affection against her will. Sano cast about for a neutral topic of conversation, but anything he might say could lead to the central issue of her independence-his authority- and another quarrel.

"Good night, " Sano said at last.

With a swish of silk garments and a whiff of jasmine, Reiko slipped out the door, closing it softly behind her. More despondent than ever, Sano sat alone at his desk. Her presence still lingered: a clear, rippling stream slowly carving its path through the bedrock of his soul. Yet unless they could somehow get beyond this terrible impasse, they were doomed to live like strangers, together yet apart. Love seemed a hopeless dream.

Against his better judgment, Sano poured himself another cup of sake. Then, sipping the lukewarm liquor, he turned his thoughts to another unhappy lover, Lieutenant Kushida. The palace guard represented Sano's best chance to conclude the murder investigation quickly, and with his life intact. However, as he scanned the detectives' report on Kushida, his spirits waned further. No incriminating evidence had been found in his background or his quarters. That left Sano right where he'd started: with Kushida's statement, and the attempted burglary.

Sano reached over to the built-in shelves of his study niche and removed Lady Harume's diary. Riffling through the pages, he again wondered why Lieutenant Kushida had wanted to steal them. Then Sano noticed something he'd missed before. He held the open diary near the lamp for closer scrutiny.