The Samurai’s Wife

3

Sano, Yoriki Hoshina, Marume, and Fukida walked west along a passage that bisected the palace compound, through the district of the kuge, court nobles who were hereditary retainers to the imperial family. Fences bounded some hundred estates packed side by side, where buildings clustered with scarcely a gap between roofs. As the dinner hour approached, charcoal smoke billowed from many chimneys; the noise of activity and conversation made a constant, muted din. Through the passages strolled courtiers dressed in the old-fashioned short jackets and black hats of imperial tradition. Everyone bowed to Sano and his party.

At the Konoe estate, near the northern wall of the imperial enclosure, black mourning drapery decorated the lattice fence and double-roofed gate. Hoshina rang a bell that dangled from the portal. After a moment, the gate swung open to reveal a courtier, who looked startled by the unexpected arrival of four samurai, then bowed politely.

“Greetings, Honorable Masters. How may I serve you?”

Hoshina introduced Sano and said, “The sōsakan-sama is investigating the death of Left Minister Konoe. You shall assemble the family for questioning and show us the left minister’s quarters.”

The courtier led Sano’s party along a flagstone path through a garden landscaped with pines. Within a gravel courtyard stood a mansion built in the same style as the palace. Wooden rain doors were raised to admit the mild evening breeze. Walking behind the courtier down hallways floored in polished cypress, Sano and his companions passed spacious parlors where cultured voices murmured and a samisen played behind paper partitions.

In the reception hall, screens decorated with forest scenes formed an enclosure; lanterns cast a soft glow.

The courtier invited the four samurai to sit on the dais, then left. Presently he returned, announcing, “I present the honorable Konoe clan.”

Sano watched in amazement as a long parade of people, young and old, filed into the room to kneel before the dais. The courtier introduced siblings, cousins, and other relatives of the dead man. Sano had known that court families were large but hadn’t expected quite so many people living under the same roof. The men wore traditional court costume. The women were dressed in multilayered pastel robes with voluminous sleeves and narrow brocade sashes; long hair flowed down to their waists. Sano recalled that Tokugawa Ieyasu had established "Laws Pertaining to the Emperor’s Retainers,” which consigned the noble class to the practice of scholarship and arts rather than politics. Isolated from the world during the seventy-six years that had followed, these people fulfilled little purpose except to preserve their obsolete way of life. They were virtual prisoners of the bakufu, which financially supported them along with the imperial family. Now they comprised a huge pool of potential witnesses.

“My detectives will question the servants,” Sano said to the courtier. “Is there a place where I can interview the family one at a time, in private?”

Evening immersed Miyako in tropical darkness. In the Market of the Dead, brightly lit stalls turned the streets into lines of multicolored fire where shoppers browsed among Obon supplies. Gongs rang, calling dead souls back to earth. On hillsides and along the Kamo River, bonfires burned, lighting the way for the spirits’ journey. Pine torches blazed at the thresholds of houses; incense smoked on windowsills. Citizens bearing lanterns converged on the cemeteries to visit ancestors’ graves. The air resounded with the clatter of wooden soles. On the boulevards fluttered the curtains of shops closed for the night, stirred by the wind… or passing ghosts.

In the city center stood the great bulk of Nijō Castle, built by Tokugawa Ieyasu eighty-nine years ago with funds levied from vanquished warlords. Its stone walls and five-storied keep loomed high above the surrounding houses. Gold Tokugawa crests crowned the curved roofs. No shogun had visited Miyako in more than five decades; since then, Nijō Castle had been occupied by a minimal staff of caretakers. A few sentries manned the gates and guard turrets above the wide moat. From the outside, the castle seemed an inert historical relic.

But deep inside its dark complex of barracks, gardens, and palace buildings, lights burned in the White Parlor, residence of visiting shoguns. There, in an austere room decorated with murals depicting winter landscapes, sat Chamberlain Yanagisawa and his chief retainer, Aisu.

Yanagisawa inhaled on his tobacco pipe, then expelled smoke in an impatient gust. Although circumstances required his present state of waiting, he hungered for action. Worry and anticipation consumed him.

“Are you sure Sano doesn’t know I’m here?” he said.

“Oh, yes, master,” said Aisu, who’d just returned from making covert inquiries on Yanagisawa’s behalf. “No one in Miyako knows, except your local agents. They received your message from Edo in plenty of time to carry out your orders. They told Shoshidai Matsudaira that the shogun had issued orders to renovate Nijō Castle, then brought in laborers and supplies as if it were true, not just a ploy to keep Sano away. No one else suspects anything. My spies have been watching Sano since he left Edo, and he’s completely oblivious. Oh, yes, the plan is working fine so far.”

Aisu’s nervous grin begged Yanagisawa to appreciate his efficiency, to see how much he deserved to keep his job despite the failed bombing. Yanagisawa had given him one more chance to prove his worth before dismissing him. Thus, Aisu’s fate, as well as Yanagisawa’s hopes, depended on the success of the plan.

“See that the operation proceeds along its present satisfactory course,” Yanagisawa said, then murmured to himself: “The results had better justify the trouble this venture may cause me.”

When the shogun had ordered Sano to investigate Left Minister Konoe’s death, Yanagisawa had recognized a perfect opportunity to rid himself of his enemy and permanently secure his position in Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s graces. He’d decided that he, too, must go to Miyako. Hence, he’d waited until the meeting with Sano ended and he was alone with the shogun, then proposed that he should go to Omi Province-where Miyako happened to be located-on a top-secret mission to investigate corruption among local officials. The shogun had vacillated, demurred, and finally been persuaded.

Yanagisawa spent the rest of that night conferring with Aisu and his other top retainers, issuing orders, collating secret records, and drafting communications to be sent by express messenger to Miyako, while servants packed his baggage. Before dawn the next day, Yanagisawa rode out of the castle, accompanied only by Aisu and a few attendants and bodyguards instead of his usual huge entourage. They’d worn plain clothing without Tokugawa crests, and gained passage through highway check-points with documents that identified them by false names. Riding fast, stopping rarely, and sleeping a mere few hours each night, they’d reached Miyako two days ahead of Sano. Yanagisawa’s agents had sneaked them into Nijō Castle disguised as carpenters. Yanagisawa and Aisu had made the necessary preliminary arrangements before Sano’s arrival, yet the fact that everything had worked out so far didn’t negate the inherent dangers of the plan.

Leaving the seat of power, even for a short time, was a perilous move for Yanagisawa. He’d impressed upon the shogun the confidential nature of his mission in Omi Province and the need for only the two of them to know about his absence from Edo, yet he didn’t trust the dull-witted Tsunayoshi to keep a secret. He’d sworn his staff to secrecy, threatening them with death should they fail to cover his absence, but what if people discovered he was gone? Yanagisawa pictured subordinates robbing his treasury, his spies taking a holiday from gathering the information he needed, rivals usurping his authority and turning Tsunayoshi against him. And what if the shogun learned that Yanagisawa had lied to him about the reason for this trip? The shogun cherished a deluded belief in his officials’ honesty; he wouldn’t forgive being tricked. When Yanagisawa got back, he might find himself in utter disgrace, stripped of his rank and wealth, and sentenced to death.

Still, the potential advantages of the move justified the risks. In Miyako, Sano was in a vulnerable position, without his political allies or detective corps to assist and protect him. He wouldn’t know to beware of sabotage by Yanagisawa. And operating in secret, away from the shogun and all the spies who scrutinized his every move in Edo, gave Yanagisawa the freedom he needed. Now he brooded, wishing he felt more comfortable with his choice. The smoke from his pipe hung in the stagnant air; ghostly moths flitted around the lanterns. Gongs rang in the distance; the incessant whine of insects came through the open doors. Yanagisawa shifted uncomfortably inside his sweat-drenched clothes. He hated Miyako and its awful heat. He longed to be back in Edo, secure in victory.

“Solving the mystery of Left Minister Konoe’s death from behind the scenes won’t be easy,” he said. “The need to stay hidden until the critical moment presents complications.”

However, secrecy wasn’t the only problem. Reports from Yanagisawa’s Miyako agents indicated that Konoe had been the victim of a bizarre murder. Yanagisawa had never investigated a crime, and he felt handicapped by his inexperience. But he’d set his scheme in motion, and he must follow it through to the end. He must apprehend the killer before Sano did, in a manner that created the impression that he’d happened along during the course of his inquiries in Omi Province, observed that Sano was making poor progress, and stepped in to solve the case. No one must guess that Yanagisawa had come here specifically to beat Sano at his own game, or think he’d won by underhanded means, because he didn’t want it publicly known that he’d resorted to such desperate tactics. By the time he was finished, Sano’s reputation as a great detective would be his.

“Let’s drink a toast for good luck,” Aisu said.

He clapped his hands. Female bodyguards-the only attendants allowed in this most private chamber-silently entered the room. On Aisu’s orders, they served wine, then silently departed.

Aisu raised his cup and said, “Here’s to your victory and the sōsakan-sama’s downfall.”

Yanagisawa and Aisu drank. From the street drifted the laughter and shouts of the Obon crowds; more gongs clanged. The tart, refreshing liquor invigorated Yanagisawa; he smiled.

Refilling the cups, Aisu proposed another toast: “May you capture Left Minister Konoe’s killer the way you did the Lion.”

Malice hardened Yanagisawa’s smile. “No,” he said, “not quite like the Lion. Remember, this time, Sano won’t get another chance to redeem himself.”

Aisu’s hooded eyes glistened; his sinuous body squirmed with anticipation. “How shall Sano die?”

“I don’t know yet,” Yanagisawa admitted reluctantly. “Nor can I predict the exact outcome of the investigation.”

He leapt to his feet and paced the room in a fever of impatient energy. "Everything depends on the case itself. I must see what happens and use whatever opportunities arise. I don’t have enough information to take the next step. However, that problem should be remedied very soon.” Yanagisawa halted by the door and gazed out at the dark, lush garden, listening for sounds that would herald the arrival of the news he awaited.

“Then I’ll decide what to do.”

Several long, unproductive hours later, Sano finished interviewing the Konoe clan members. They’d been shocked to learn that the left minister had been murdered, instead of dying from a mysterious disease as they’d thought. They hadn’t known he was a metsuke spy, and claimed no knowledge about which of the suspects might have killed him. All Sano managed to learn were two stray facts.

A cousin of Konoe’s said he’d heard on several occasions a much less powerful version of the spirit cry. Afterward, dead birds had been found in the garden. This confirmed Sano’s belief that someone in the palace did indeed have the power of kiai. Had he-or she-been practicing for the murder?

Fifteen years ago, Konoe’s secretary, a young man named Ryōzen, had been stabbed to death. This was presumably the crime that the bakufu had covered up in order to force Konoe to spy for the metsuke, but Sano found no apparent connection between the incident and Konoe’s murder. Nor did Detectives Marume and Fukida glean any clues from the servants.

Now Sano, Hoshina, and the detectives stood outside Konoe’s private chambers, which occupied two adjoining rooms in an inner section of the house. Mullioned paper walls enclosed the space, affording greater privacy than the open plan of classic imperial architecture.

“Has anything in there been disturbed since Left Minister Konoe’s death?” Sano asked the courtier who’d admitted him to the estate.

“The rooms have been cleaned, but his possessions are still there,” the courtier said. “That’s his office. This is his bedchamber.” He opened the door, and a musty smell rushed out. After lighting a lantern in the room, he bowed and left.

Sano entered and swept his gaze around the room. The tatami floor was bare; sets of lacquered tables and silk cushions were neatly stacked. Sano saw no personal articles. Presumably, these were inside the built-in storage cabinet and wardrobe.

“Search this room,” Sano told his detectives.

“What are we looking for?” Marume asked.

“Anything that can tell us about Konoe’s life, what kind of person he was, or his relationships.”

Marume began opening drawers in the cabinet. Fukida started on the closet. Sano and Hoshina moved through the connecting door to the office. There, an alcove contained a desk and built-in shelves of ledgers and books. Across the desk, open scrolls covered with calligraphy lay amid writing supplies. The doors of a cabinet stood ajar, revealing compartments full of clutter. A large wicker basket held paper scraps; fireproof iron chests stood three high.

While Hoshina watched, Sano scanned the scrolls on the desk. They concerned repairs to the palace walls. In the drawers Sano discovered Konoe’s jade seal and a tobacco pipe and pouch, but no diary. Sano took a ledger off a shelf. It bore the title, “Proceedings of the Imperial Council, Teikyō Year 3.” Although Sano doubted that the court archives contained what he was looking for, he examined each ledger for the sake of thoroughness. What a lot of words the imperial bureaucracy generated! Next, Sano went through the cabinet. He found official memoranda from the left minister’s colleagues, pronouncements issued by emperors, and long documents describing imperial law and protocol. The trash basket contained scribbled notes about the palace budget.

“If Konoe left behind any records about whom he spied on and what he learned, I don’t see them here,” Sano said to Hoshina. “Nor is there any evidence of any activities except official business.”

“Maybe your men are having better luck,” Hoshina said.

But when they returned to the bedchamber, Detective Fukida said, “There’s nothing here but clothes, bedding, toiletries, and the usual things that might belong to anybody. All we can tell about Konoe is that he dressed mostly in shades of brown.”

“It’s as though he lived and worked here without leaving any trace of himself, let alone the reason for his murder or the identity of his killer.” Sano shook his head in bewildered disappointment. A murder victim’s quarters were usually a source of valuable clues, but never had Sano seen any so devoid of personality. “Let’s do a more thorough search.”

While Marume cleared out the cabinet and probed the walls, seeking hidden objects or drawers, Fukida lifted the tatami to check for secret compartments in the floor. Sano and Hoshina went into the office. Hoshina sifted through official reports in search of stray personal papers. Sano pulled books off the shelf, shaking each one upside down in case Konoe had hidden something between the pages. Then, on a bared space of wall behind the shelf, Sano saw two horizontal cracks, a hand’s span apart, crossing a vertical wooden wall panel. He inserted his fingernail into the top crack and pulled. Out popped a rectangular section of panel. From the shallow space behind it Sano withdrew a sheaf of papers.

“What’s that?” Hoshina asked.

Sano examined the documents. “Letters,” he replied with a thrill of gratification. “There are more than a hundred in all, with dates going back ten years.” So carefully preserved and hidden, the letters might represent the key to the elusive Konoe’s life, and murder. All bore the signature and seal of the left minister. All were addressed to the same person: Lady Kozeri, at Kodai Temple.

“Who is Lady Kozeri?” Sano asked Hoshina.

The yoriki’s eyes widened in recognition. “After Konoe died, I reviewed the metsuke dossier on him.” The intelligence agency kept records on all prominent citizens, and Hoshina had again demonstrated his initiative. “Kozeri is his former wife. She left him to become a nun.”

Sano scanned a few pages. “These are love letters.” As he continued reading, he discovered that the one-sided correspondence consisted of endless variations on the same theme. He read sample passages aloud:

‘How could you leave me? Without you, every day seems a meaningless eternity. My spirit is a fallen warrior. Anger corrupts my love for you like maggots seething in wounded flesh. I long to strangle the wayward life out of you. I shall have my revenge!’

‘We are two souls distilled from the same cosmic essence. I knew as soon as I looked upon you. When I held your body close to mine, our union made us one spirit, one self. How can you not value my love and understand that I only did what was right?’

‘Yesterday I came to you, but you refused to see me. Today another of my letters came back unread. But your attempts to sever our connection will ultimately fail. For I mean to have you, and someday I shall!’ ”

Hoshina grimaced. “Ten years of that?”

Sano marveled at the strength and longevity of this unrequited love. “Such obsessive passion can be dangerous. Might it have somehow led to Left Minister Konoe’s death?”

Hoshina said, “Kozeri left the palace a long time ago. Nuns cease all contact with their worldly lives when they enter the convent, and it sounds as if that’s what Kozeri did.”

“There are no replies from her to Konoe,” Sano admitted.

“Nor have we evidence of any relationship between Kozeri and the left minister besides the one that existed in his mind,” Hoshina said. “And remember, there were no outsiders in the compound on the night Konoe died. I can’t imagine that Kozeri is relevant to the murder.”

Sano again sensed the potential for trouble between himself and the yoriki, even as he concurred with Hoshina’s logic. Turning to the last page, he silently read more repetitive ramblings of love, lust, and rage that ended with a passionate declaration:

‘Resist me, defy me, torture my heart all you wish, but we are destined for each other. Soon the forces of defense and desire will clash upon the lofty, sacred heights where spires pierce the sky, feathers drift, and clear water falls. Then you shall be mine again.”

The letter’s overblown sexual symbolism offered nothing new, but Sano said, “This is dated just seven days before Left Minister Konoe died. We can’t ignore the possibility that Kozeri spoke with him during that critical period, or that she knows something important.” He tucked the letters inside his kimono. “I’ll call on her after I interview the suspects.”

“Yes, Sōsakan-sama,” Hoshina said, yielding once again. Sano checked the secret compartment for more clues, but it was empty. He and Hoshina systematically dismantled the rest of the office, examining walls, furniture, and ceiling, to no avail. Then Detectives Marume and Fukida joined them.

“We found these sewn inside the padded lining of a winter cloak,” Marume said, holding out his open palm. Upon it lay three identical round copper coins. “There was nothing else.”

Sano took a coin. Its face bore the crudely stamped design of two crossed fern leaves. The reverse side was blank.

“This isn’t standard Tokugawa money,” Fukida said, then turned to Hoshina. "Maybe they’re local currency?”

Studying a coin, the yoriki shook his head. “I’ve never seen any like these before.”

“Marume-san, Fukida-san: Each take a coin and show them around town tomorrow,” Sano said. “I want to know what they are, where they came from, and why Left Minister Konoe had them.”

Hoshina slipped the third coin into the leather drawstring pouch at his waist. "I’ll make some inquiries, too.”

Sano surveyed the shambles they’d made of Konoe’s quarters. A sudden tide of fatigue swept over him. “We’d better restore some order here,” he said. “Then we’ll go to Nijō Manor for food and rest. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”