The Perfumed Sleeve

23

This morning we’ll investigate Daiemon’s murder,” Sano told the detectives gathered in his office. “That crime is foremost in the shogun’s mind. The Makino case will have to wait.” Furthermore, Sano already had an array of suspects associated with the first crime, while the unexplored trail of the second was fast going cold. “We’ll search the area around the Sign of Bedazzlement for witnesses. We’ll try to find out who and where the woman is.”

A manservant came to the door. “Excuse me, master, but Ibe-san and Otani-san have arrived. They’re waiting for you.”

Sano went to the reception room, where the watchdogs sat side by side. Ibe said, “Before we begin the day’s business, we need to have a talk.”

The men’s sinister air put Sano on his guard. “About what?”

“Sit down, Sōsakan-sama,” said Otani.

Sano warily knelt opposite the men.

“The events of last night require a change in your procedure,” Ibe said.

“What kind of change?” Sano saw that the watchdogs knew he’d alienated Lord Matsudaira and Chamberlain Yanagisawa. Probably the whole bakufu would know before long. There would be no more visits from men courting him on behalf of either faction. Sano had hoped Ibe and Otani would stop trying to coerce him now that their superiors had realized that he was a lost cause, but they obviously had other ideas.

“You must conclude the investigation as soon as possible, with the minimum amount of fuss,” Otani said.

“From now on, you will not investigate Chamberlain Yanagisawa in connection with the murders of Daiemon and Senior Elder Makino,” said Ibe.

“Nor will you investigate Lord Matsudaira,” said Otani.

“On whose orders?” Sano demanded, amazed at how far they meant to stretch their interference.

A glance between Ibe and Otani united them. “On ours,” Ibe said.

Whatever obedience Sano owed Lord Matsudaira and Chamberlain Yanagisawa didn’t extend to their lackeys, whose hindrance had vexed him enough already. “I’ll not let you dictate whom I will or won’t investigate,” Sano said. “What makes you think you can command me?”

Otani gave Sano a condescending look. “You don’t seem to understand that the rules of the game have been changed by Daiemon’s murder and your own decision to cut yourself off from both Lord Matsudaira and Chamberlain Yanagisawa.”

“And you don’t seem to understand that following our orders will be to your advantage.” Scorn inflected Ibe’s voice. “Let me explain. Should you persist in investigating Lord Matsudaira or Chamberlain Yanagisawa, the outcome is sure to displease one of them. Steer clear of them both and save yourself a lot of trouble.”

Sano began to perceive the reason behind his watchdogs’ orders. “Somehow I don’t think my welfare is what concerns you most,” he said. “Do your superiors know about this?”

“Lord Matsudaira and Chamberlain Yanagisawa are very busy men,” Otani said. “They don’t bother themselves with everything their retainers do to serve their interests.”

“I’m sure that if one of them is responsible for killing Daiemon or Senior Elder Makino, he would prefer that I didn’t find out,” Sano said. “But I don’t think your superiors’ interests are your main concern, either. What do you gain from colluding together behind their backs?”

An unpleasant smile compressed Ibe’s mouth. "Let’s just say that we, as well as our masters, will benefit if the murders are no longer a factor in the crisis at hand.”

Enlightenment dawned. “What you mean is that you each fear that your superior is guilty of murder,” Sano said, “and neither of you wishes to be punished as an associate. You want Chamberlain Yanagisawa and Lord Matsudaira to be free to settle their differences on the battlefield because you’d rather take your chances on the outcome of a war than gamble on the result of the murder investigation.”

Silence was Ibe and Otani’s assent. Sano realized that Daiemon’s murder had left nothing unchanged and the repercussions continued. Although he had no intention of obeying his watchdogs, curiosity led him to ask, “What am I supposed to do while I’m not investigating Chamberlain Yanagisawa or Lord Matsudaira?”

“There are other suspects to occupy you,” Otani said. “We recommend that you concentrate on Senior Elder Makino’s women.”

“Why them?”

“They were in the private chambers the night Makino died,” Ibe said. “Chances are one is the murderer.”

“The same logic applies to Makino’s chief retainer and resident actor,” Sano said. “Are you warning me off them, too?”

Otani inclined his head in an almost imperceptible nod, which Sano interpreted to mean that Tamura had friends in the Yanagisawa camp, and Koheiji had enthusiasts in both factions, who might object if they were incriminated.

“And you needn’t investigate Daiemon’s murder at all,” Otani said. “It’s most certainly connected to the murder of Senior Elder Makino. The same culprit will do for both.”

“Then you expect me to pin the murder on Agemaki or Okitsu, and which one doesn’t matter, because they’re both nobodies as far as you’re concerned. You don’t care if they’re innocent and the killer goes free. All you want is to protect your own skins.” Sano’s voice rose with his mounting anger. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’ll conduct this investigation as I see fit, according to my orders from the shogun.”

Otani and Ibe shared a glance that said they’d underestimated Sano’s capacity for defiance. Ibe said, “His Excellency will like our solution to the crimes.”

“If Lord Matsudaira comes out on top, I’ll put in a good word for you with him,” Otani said.

“I’ll put in a good word for you with Chamberlain Yanagisawa, should he win,” Ibe said.

“Do as we advise, and everyone will be happy,” Otani said.

“Not I,” Sano declared, furious now. “What you advise is a travesty of justice. I’ll take no part in it.”

Otani and Ibe nodded to each other, as if resigned to a course of action they’d predicted to be necessary but hoped to avoid. “Our apologies, but you will,” Ibe told Sano.

Armed troops barreled past the doorway, pursued by Sano’s detectives. Voices rose in loud argument as the detectives tried to stop the intruders. Sano leaped to his feet. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

“Force often persuades when reason fails,” Otani said, smug as well as regretful.

Hirata, accompanied by Detectives Marume and Fukida, rushed into the room. “Ibe’s and Otani’s troops got past the gate sentries,” Hirata said. “By the time we found out and tried to stop them, they’d already overrun the estate.”

“Get them out of my house!” Sano ordered. As Hirata, Marume, and Fukida hastened off to obey, Sano turned to Otani and Ibe. “Go call off your troops!”

The watchdogs remained seated, nervous yet steadfast. Sano rushed toward the door, then stopped as two soldiers walked into the room. Masahiro toddled between them, his little hands clasped in their large, armor-gloved ones. He smiled as though delighted to have two new friends. They grinned as if they’d just captured a valuable prize. Horror stabbed Sano.

“Let go of my son!” he shouted.

The soldiers held tight to Masahiro, whose face puckered in confusion at his father’s outburst. Ibe addressed the soldiers: “Where is Lady Reiko?”

“We couldn’t find her,” replied a soldier.

“Never mind,” Otani said. “The boy will serve our purpose well enough.”

Incensed, Sano grabbed Otani by the front of his surcoat. “Tell me what’s going on!”

Otani wrenched Sano’s hands off him and stood. “Our men will keep your son company during the investigation.”

“Which ought to ensure that you do as we say,” Ibe added as he rose.

“You’re holding my son hostage.” Disbelief filled Sano even as he couldn’t deny the obvious truth.

“Yes, if you must put it so bluntly,” Ibe said.

“Papa?” Masahiro said.

His plaintive voice trembled with fright because he sensed that something was amiss even if he didn’t understand what. Sano’s horror escalated because he must choose between justice and his son’s safety. For once he was glad that Reiko was gone. Perhaps she was safer in Senior Elder Makino’s estate than here.

Hirata rushed into the room, followed by a horde of detectives, shouting, “Release my master’s son!”

He and the detectives drew their swords. So did Ibe and Otani. Their troops crowded through the door, brandishing their weapons. The room went silent except for the sound of rapid, harsh breathing; antagonism permeated the air. Masahiro stared, wide-eyed, at everyone. His throat contracted as he bravely tried not to cry. Sano stood paralyzed, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Otani and Ibe faced him down. Sano realized that they were serious enough in their wish to subjugate him that they would risk a fight. He also realized that unless he wanted combat in his house-and Masahiro accidentally wounded or killed-he must submit.

“Everybody, put away your weapons,” he said, dropping his hand from his own sword.

Metal rasped as blades slid into scabbards. Sano felt the tension in the air slacken but not dissipate, like a rope stretched between two men who have relaxed their grip without letting go. Triumph marked the faces of the aggressors. Sano saw his own defeat and humiliation reflected in his men’s eyes. He also saw that while the scope of the investigation had widened to include two murders, his watchdogs had seriously impaired his ability to solve either.

“A wise decision, Sōsakan-sama,” said Otani. “We really wouldn’t like to harm you. And you don’t want to find out what will happen to your son should you resist us.”

“Are you really going to follow Otani and Ibe’s orders?” Hirata asked, incredulous because he’d never seen Sano back down for anyone. Yet he knew from experience that a man can be driven beyond the bounds of honor by the need to protect his kin.

“As long as they’re holding my son hostage, what else can I do?” Sano said with bitter resignation.

Hirata and Sano stood in the stable, where Sano had gone to fetch his horse while Otani and Ibe waited for him outside the gate. Sano had covertly signaled Hirata to follow him. After a short delay, Hirata had slipped past the troops now occupying the estate and joined Sano. Horses snorted and munched feed; stableboys shoveled manure out of the stalls, while a groom saddled a mount for Sano.

“Now I can better understand what you did at the Dragon King’s island,” Sano said.

Hirata derived no satisfaction from seeing his master put in the same position that had led himself to ruin. He didn’t want Sano forced to compromise himself. He counted on Sano to uphold the honor of the samurai class.

“My hands are tied.” But even as Sano admitted defeat, cunning inspiration gleamed in his eyes. “But yours aren’t.”

Hirata felt a sudden resurgence of the hope that he’d thought impossible.

“You’re officially banned from the investigation,” Sano continued. “No one is watching you. You can go places and talk to people that I can’t. I need you to reinvestigate Koheiji and Tamura in the light of what we’ve learned about them. I need to know if they have any connection to Daiemon’s murder. But I can’t do it with Otani and Ibe shadowing me and ready to harm my son if I step out of line. Therefore, I’m ordering you to act on my behalf.”

Joy exhilarated Hirata. Here was a new chance to solve the case and atone for past mistakes. The murder of Daiemon had begotten good fortune as well as bad. Hirata stifled an urge to cheer. Bowing solemnly, he said, “I’ll do my best.”

“Keep your inquiries as discreet as possible,” Sano warned. “Don’t let Otani or Ibe get wise to you.”

“Yes, Sōsakan-sama.” Hirata understood the responsibility that came with his new chance. Now it wasn’t just his life or reputation at risk, but the welfare of his master’s child. “But what if I discover evidence against Tamura or Koheiji-or someone in the factions? That would displease Otani and Ibe.”

“Let’s just solve the crimes and hope that everything somehow turns out all right.”

Hirata saw that Sano didn’t feel much optimism. Neither did Hirata. But he had his new chance. He swore to himself that he wouldn’t blow it.

Business in the theater district was well under way by the time Hirata arrived. Clad in plain garments that obscured his rank and a wide wicker hat that hid his face, he rode down Saru-waka-cho. Drummers in the wooden framework towers called theatergoers to the plays. People laden with quilts to keep them warm filed into the buildings. Gay music and fluttering banners spangled the cold, gray morning. Vendors did a brisk trade in hot tea and roasted chestnuts. But Hirata observed that the crowds seemed thinner than usual, minus the samurai who’d been mobilized for the coming battle between Chamberlain Yanagisawa and Lord Matsudaira. Distant war drums pulsed in counter-rhythm to the drums in the towers. A dangerous energy in the air heightened the urgency of Hirata’s own mission. He dismounted outside the Nakamura-za Theater, secured his horse, bought a ticket, and entered through the door beneath a huge poster of Koheiji.

Inside, the theater was sparsely peopled, the stage empty except for musicians tuning their instruments: The play was late in starting. So much the better, Hirata thought-he could snare Koheiji now instead of waiting out the play. The actor still didn’t strike Hirata as the best suspect, but Sano wanted him reinvestigated, and Hirata and Koheiji had things to settle.

Hirata climbed onto the runway that extended from the stage, between rows of seating compartments, to a curtained door at the side of the room. He pushed through the curtain into a corridor, past actors lining up to go onstage. Walking down the corridor, Hirata peered into rooms where more actors fussed while attendants adjusted their costumes and makeup. Gaudy courtesans and strutting samurai abounded among the cast. Hirata came to the last door along the passage. A man’s breathy grunts and a woman’s moans issued from inside the room. Hirata lifted the curtain that screened the door.

Costumes on wooden stands, a dressing table and mirror, and theatrical props jammed the small space. On a futon in the corner, Koheiji lay, his kimono hiked above his bare buttocks, his trousers fallen around his knees, atop a woman who sprawled nude in a tangle of her long hair and brightly colored robes. He panted while thrusting into her; she bit on a cloth to stifle her moans. Hirata cleared his throat. The lovers’ heads turned toward him, and the lust on their faces turned to dismay. The woman squealed.

“Who are you?” Koheiji demanded, springing to his feet and glaring at Hirata through a mask of white face powder, painted black eyebrows, and rouged cheeks and lips. “How dare you barge in here?”

The woman scrambled into her robes, then ran out the door. Hirata tilted back his hat. “You remember me,” he said. “I’m here for a little talk with you.”

The actor’s face showed alarm as he recognized Hirata. He seemed to decide against arguing with the chief retainer of the shogun’s sōsakan-sama. Nodding sullenly, he straightened his clothes. “All right, but please be quick.” He looked in the mirror, checking his makeup, then hung two wooden swords at his waist. “I have to go onstage in a few moments.” Sudden anxiety colored his expression as he faced Hirata. “Hey-I hope you won’t tell anyone what you just saw?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Hirata said.

“She’s the wife of the theater owner,” Koheiji said. “If he found out about us, he would fire me.”

The explanation sounded credible, but Hirata heard a tinny, discordant note in Koheiji’s voice. Instinct told Hirata who the actor was really afraid would learn about the affair, and the reason why. Hirata tucked the knowledge into the back of his mind for future use. “I might be persuaded to keep quiet,” he said, “if you tell me what you were doing the night Senior Elder Makino died.”

Koheiji’s eyes gleamed, wary and sharp, from within the mask of theatrical makeup. He leaned against the wall near the door and folded his arms. “I already told you, when we talked the day before yesterday.”

“You told me at least one lie then,” said Hirata. “You said there was no sex between you and Makino. Did you forget to mention the sex shows that he hired you to perform for him? Or do you think they don’t count?”

The actor cursed under his breath. “There’s no privacy in this town. Everybody talks about everybody else. I should have known you’d find out about my little business.”

“Then why did you try to hide it from me?”

“I thought it would make me look guilty.”

“You look even guiltier because you lied.”

“So what if I did?” Koheiji pushed himself away from the wall, defensive and belligerent now. “I told the truth when I said I didn’t kill Makino. And so what if I put on sex shows for him? That’s not a crime.”

“What about when you almost beat a judicial councilor to death during one of your shows?” Hirata said. “That was a crime.”

Alarm flashed in Koheiji’s eyes, but he quickly blinked it away. He said, “That never happened,” and slouched against the door with carefree nonchalance. But his nonchalance was obvious fakery. He was, as Hirata recalled the watchdog Ibe saying, not an especially good actor. “Who told you it did?”

Hirata didn’t answer. He waited, knowing that people would often spill compromising facts just because they can’t tolerate silence when under pressure. From the theater came the smack of wooden swords clashing and voices shouting in a duel scene.

“It must have been that pitiful, second-rate actor, Ebisuya. He was always jealous of me. He’ll say anything to get me in trouble.” The need to excuse himself superseded wisdom in Koheiji. He blurted, “Things got out of control. I didn’t hurt the judicial councilor that much. He lived.”

“Senior Elder Makino didn’t,” Hirata said. “Did things get out of control with him, too? Did you beat him to death during one of your sex shows?”

Efforts at nonchalance failed Koheiji. He stood rigid with anxiety, his back, hands, and heels pressed to the wall. “I didn’t kill Makino. There was no show that night.”

“Who was the woman?” Hirata said. “Was it Okitsu? Did her sleeve get torn when things got rough?”

“No!” Vehemence raised Koheiji’s voice. “Makino brought in courtesans for me to use. But not that night.” Again Hirata heard the tinny note in the actor’s voice that signaled lies. “I didn’t see Makino at all. Okitsu will tell you-she and I were together the whole night.”

Frustration filled Hirata because Koheiji seemed determined to stick to his story. The actor had no reason to tell the truth when lying would protect him better. Under different circumstances, Hirata would have applied physical force to make Koheiji talk. But Sano didn’t approve of forced confessions because even innocent people would incriminate themselves if hurt or frightened enough. Furthermore, he’d told Hirata to be discreet in his inquiries, and Hirata meant to do everything right this time.

“What about last night?” Hirata said, switching the interrogation to a different course. “Where were you and what were you doing then?”

Koheiji’s painted face went blank with confusion. “I was here, at the theater,” he said slowly, as if to give himself time to figure out where the conversation was heading. “We were rehearsing a new play.”

“When did you begin and when did you finish?” Hirata said.

“The rehearsal started around the hour of the boar. We worked long past midnight. We slept in the dressing rooms until it was time to get ready to perform this morning.”

“Were you with the rest of the cast during the whole rehearsal?”

Koheiji nodded. “I’m the star. I’m in every scene. I may have slipped outside between acts a few times, but…” His posture had gradually relaxed since Hirata had dropped the subject of Makino’s murder, but he spoke with caution: “Why are you asking me all this? What’s so important about last night?”

“Last night Lord Matsudaira’s nephew Daiemon was murdered,” Hirata said. He watched emotion contract the muscles of Koheiji’s face under the garish makeup. But he couldn’t tell whether the actor was surprised by the news or worried about why Hirata had brought it up.

“Hey, I’m sorry to hear that,” Koheiji said in the tone appropriate when speaking of the death of a prominent citizen. “How did it happen?”

Either he didn’t know or he thought it wise to feign ignorance, Hirata speculated. “Daiemon was stabbed.”

“Oh,” Koheiji said. Tilting his head, he regarded Hirata with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. “What does his death have to do with me?”

“Did you know him?” Hirata said.

“Not very well. I met him at parties where actors were hired to entertain the guests. But wait just a moment.” Koheiji thrust his hands palms up toward Hirata and waggled them. “You don’t think I had something to do with…?” He chuckled nervously as he dropped his hands. “I haven’t seen Daiemon in months. Not since a party at his uncle’s house.”

But here was a connection between Koheiji and Daiemon, and perhaps a link between the two murders. Hirata said, “Daiemon was in Senior Elder Makino’s estate the night Makino died. You didn’t see him then?”

Although Koheiji shook his head, his face acquired a queasy expression. “I had no idea he was there.”

But even if Koheiji hadn’t seen Daiemon, Daiemon might have seen him, Hirata conjectured.

“Besides,” Koheiji said, “why would I kill him, when we barely knew each other?”

And what, Hirata wondered, might Daiemon have seen Koheiji doing? Beating Makino to death? Maybe the actor had later, somehow, found out that Daiemon had seen him, and killed Daiemon to keep him quiet. Yet if Daiemon had witnessed the murder, why hadn’t he said so when Sano interrogated him? Hirata began to lose hope that solving one murder would solve both.

“Look,” Koheiji said, “you’ve got the wrong man. I’m sure your boss would be happy to have you pin both murders on me, but I didn’t kill Daiemon any more than I killed Makino. Okitsu will swear to it. So will the people at the theater.”

Despite his adamant denial, he’d lost his cockiness. His samurai garb and makeup contrasted pathetically with his fear of ruin. Just then, the curtain over the door lifted. A scowl-faced man stuck his head inside the room.

“It’s time for you to go onstage. Get out there right now!” the man told Koheiji, then vanished.

Koheiji breathed a glad sigh, as though reprieved at the brink of disaster. He scuttled past Hirata, who let him go, for the time being. Before darting out the door, he said, “If Daiemon really was in Makino’s estate that night, maybe he killed Makino. Just because he’s dead, it doesn’t mean he’s innocent. Why don’t you look into his business?”

That was exactly what Hirata must do, after he’d talked to Tamura, the other suspect Sano had sent him to investigate.