“Your meal, Honorable Captain.”
“Set it there.” Chūgo knelt on the mat and pointed to the space before him. The office was warm, and he opened his kimono and rolled up the sleeves. No wounds marked his limbs or torso; he’d either evaded Brother Endō’s spear during combat, worn armor, or never fought at all. To Sano, he said, “If you’re asking me if I’m a murderer, I’m not. And my ancestors are none of your business. Besides, the past is dead.”
But was it, Sano wondered as Chūgo unpacked the lunchbox. “Dried chestnuts, kelp, and abalone,” he remarked as each item appeared. “Do you always choose the foods eaten by soldiers before battle?” Perhaps Chūgo wasn’t so indifferent to the past as he pretended. He was certainly familiar with war rituals.
Chūgo shrugged. He ate like a man fueling his body for combat: grimly, washing down each mouthful with a gulp of sake from a battered metal flask. “I eat what I please.”
Having gotten nowhere by subtly probing this impenetrable man, Sano tried a blunt query. “If you’re not the Bundori Killer, then where were you last night?”
“That’s none of your business, either. But I’ll tell you anyway. I was here. At the castle. Where I’ve been for the past fifteen days. I never leave during my duty shift. Any of my men will tell you that.”
Sano tilted a pained glance at the ceiling. Here was another alibi, just as dubious as Matsui’s and even harder to break. The Edo Castle guards, including the gate sentries, owed allegiance to their captain. They would corroborate any story he told, take his side in any dispute, especially one with a retainer who’d lost the shogun’s favor. Even if Sano managed to find a brave or disgruntled individual willing to say otherwise, thousands more would swear to Chūgo’s presence in the castle during all four murders. No magistrate would convict him without more proof. Sano thought of the two kimonos, which he had yet to show the tailors, and of the mysterious missing woman. He wondered if Hirata was having any luck finding the dragon palanquin’s maker, or learning the assassin’s identity.
“Do you own a palanquin with a dragon design on it?” he asked.
“No. I use the castle’s.” These bore no ornamentation except the Tokugawa crest.
“Have you ever hired a mercenary swordsman?”
This time, one corner of Chūgo’s mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. “If I wanted to kill someone, I’d do it myself.”
“What would you say if I told you a witness saw you outside the castle last night?” Sano bluffed.
Chūgo chewed, swallowed, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “That you’re lying. Or your witness is.”
Sano’s frustration mounted. Chūgo had betrayed neither concern, nor knowledge of the witness’s gender.
Finishing his meal, Chūgo said, “Enough false accusations, sōsakan-sama. Time for you to go.”
He rose and strode to the door. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted for his lieutenants in a voice that could have carried across a battlefield. Suddenly the two men were dragging Sano out of the command post while Chūgo returned to his work.
“Let go!” Sano shouted. He managed to shake his captors loose, but more men came to their aid. They hoisted him onto their shoulders, carried him across the compound, and dumped him, stomach down, upon his horse. Someone slapped its rump. Sano barely managed to sit upright in the saddle before his mount bolted. The entire command provided a resounding send-off of cheers, hoots, and laughter.
Fuming, Sano rode away, plotting the revenge he would take by seeing Chūgo arrested, convicted, and executed for the Bundori Murders. The captain’s character, swordsmanship skill, and knowledge of war rituals all warranted more suspicion than his alibi could dispel. But for now, Sano turned his horse toward the Official Quarter. He had no time to waste on thoughts of personal retribution. If he didn’t hurry, he would be late for hismiai.
In the passageway, he stopped a castle messenger. From his sash he took the letter he’d written in a stationer’s shop on Suruga Hill. It detailed his plan for tonight, a course of action he’d hoped would be unnecessary, but now deemed crucial-especially because it could eliminate the need for investigating Chamberlain Yanagisawa. He gave the letter to the messenger, along with a generous tip to ensure quick delivery.
“Take this to doshin Hirata at the police compound immediately,” Sano said.
Then he hurried home to prepare for his miai.
Chapter 22
Kannei Temple, located in the hilly, rural Ueno district north of the castle, was one of Edo ’s most popular sites for viewing cherry blossoms. Every spring, citizens flocked there to enjoy the lovely scenery while contemplating the transience of life, so poignantly symbolized by the short-lived flowers. Across the temple’s grassy slopes, the luxuriant leafless blossom clusters hovered in masses of pink cloud beneath the pale sky. Petals fell like snowflakes upon the paths and grass, the heads of the strolling crowds, and wafted toward Shinobazu Pond’s pine-fringed silver expanse.
Sano, having left his horse outside the temple’s wall, barely noticed his surroundings as he hurried along the gravel paths, past halls, pagoda, and pavilions, and wove through the crowds. He was very late for his miai. He ignored the cries of Ueno’s famous crows as they circled overhead, and the colorfully dressed picnickers: beautiful women; playing children; drunken men who danced, sang, and cavorted on the lawns. The pressures of his work and this all-important social rite drained all pleasure from the outing that so many others were enjoying.
At last the Kiyomizu Hall came into view, a stately structure painted bright red, with a blue tile roof and a balcony overlooking Shinobazu Pond. Sano followed the wide promenade along the lake. Muttering apologies, he squeezed past a procession of chattering women carrying identical green and white paper parasols. He dodged more pleasure seekers and sprinted down the promenade, then came to an abrupt stop at the grassy hill that sloped upward to the hall. He winced at the social gaffe he’d committed.
According to plan, he should have arrived early, joining his mother and Noguchi for a seemingly casual stroll along the promenade, then meeting Magistrate Ueda and his daughter as if by accident. The charade would have allowed both parties to pretend that a miai had never taken place, thus saving face, should the marriage negotiations fail. Sano’s tardiness had made all pretense impossible.
Everyone had already assembled at the designated meeting place on the promenade, beneath the famous Moon Pine, named for the branch that looped in a perfect circle: His mother, leaning on her maid Hana’s arm; Noguchi; Magistrate Ueda, a stout, middle-aged samurai dressed in black ceremonial robes decorated with gold family crests. And a slender young lady with silky black hair that fell to her knees, dressed in a lavish red and white kimono and accompanied by two female attendants: Ueda Reiko, the prospective bride. All of them, despite their natural poise, must be suffering agonies of embarrassment on Sano’s account.
Arriving sweaty and breathless, Sano said, “Please excuse my late arrival. I meant no offense, and I’m sorry for any inconvenience you’ve suffered.” He bowed to those he knew. “Noguchi-san. Mother. Hana.”
His mother smiled a gentle rebuke. She looked thinner and weaker, but more placid than when he’d last seen her. Noguchi’s frown-wrinkles slid up his scalp as he said with false joviality, “Well, you’re here now, and that’s what counts.” He turned to the other man. “Magistrate Ueda, may I present Sano Ichirō, His Excellency’s sōsakan-sama.”