He trudged toward the poorer section of the quarter and a modest inn that he remembered from his student days. There, for an exorbitant price that would use up all the money he’d brought, he could catch a few hours’ rest while he waited for dawn and the opening of the gates.
Later, as he lay on a straw pallet listening to the boozy snores of nine other men who shared the room with him, he experienced a new uneasiness. He recognized it as guilt for having taken his pleasure from a lonely and bereaved woman. The memory of her grief made him wish he’d had the strength to refuse her. Their coupling hadn’t brought her comfort. Now he felt as if he owed her compensation for the extra pain he’d caused.
That compensation could cost him his family’s honor. But what had he to offer her except his best effort to bring Noriyoshi’s killer to justice?
Chapter 8
This time Sano’s interview with Magistrate Ogyu took place not in the Court of Justice, but in Ogyu’s private office. The morning sun streamed through the translucent windows, dispelling any resemblance to the courtroom’s dim gloominess. No doshin, defendants, or witnesses were present, only Ogyu’s elderly manservant, who shuffled about serving tea. Sano didn’t have to face Ogyu across the white sand of truth like a condemned man awaiting his sentence. They knelt on silk cushions like any two officials engaged in a civilized meeting. But Sano still felt as if he were on trial.
“Honorable Magistrate, I respectfully request your permission to continue the investigation into the deaths of Niu Yukiko and Noriyoshi,” he said.
He’d debated whether to approach Ogyu today, or wait until he had more facts to support his case. Guilt had finally prompted him to speak now: candor was the least he owed his superior.
Ogyu said nothing. Instead he cradled his tea bowl in both withered hands, sniffing the steam that rose from it. Today he wore his ceremonial clothes-a black haori with broad padded shoulders over a black kimono stamped with circular gold family crests. The stark garments made his skin seem especially pallid and desiccated. Against the wall mural’s colorful landscape, he looked like an ancient pen-and-ink ancestor portrait.
“I am glad that you came to see me,” he said finally. “It appears we have much to discuss.”
Sano tried to draw hope from the neutral statement. “Yes, Honorable Magistrate?”
“There is the small matter of a report that you have written.” Ogyu glanced down at an unfurled scroll on the desk before him.
With foreboding, Sano recognized his own writing and seal. It was the report classifying the deaths as suspicious.
“I am afraid this document does not reflect the understanding that we reached at our last meeting,” Ogyu continued.
Sano’s heart plummeted. Ogyu’s displeasure with the report would make him unreceptive to any suggestion.
“Also, you have issued a cremation order for Noriyoshi in defiance of the law which states that shinjū participants must endure public exposure as punishment for their crime. What have you to say for yourself, Yoriki Sano?”
“Please let me explain,” Sano said. He could almost feel the floor caving in under him. “When I heard of the deaths, I thought they required further investigation. That’s why I wrote that report.” Seeing Ogyu frown, he rushed on. He didn’t mention the cremation order and fervently hoped Ogyu would drop the subject. “Forgive my presumptiousness; I should not have disobeyed your orders. But now that I’ve made some inquiries, I believe that Yukiko and Noriyoshi were murdered. I beg your permission to finish my investigation, to find their murderer and bring him to justice.” He didn’t think it necessary to remind the magistrate that while the murder of a peasant might not warrant much official concern, that of a daimyo’s daughter couldn’t go ignored.
The frown lines in Ogyu’s forehead deepened, whether in surprise or irritation, Sano couldn’t tell. “And how do you know this?” he asked.
Sano drank some tea to calm himself. “I’ve learned that Noriyoshi didn’t like women, which means he probably would not have killed himself for the love of one. And he had enemies. At least one of them hated him enough to kill him.”
“And who might that be?” Ogyu sipped from his own bowl, then motioned for the servant to refill both it and Sano’s.
“Kikunojo, the Kabuki actor.”
“How did you learn of this… enemy?” The pause before the word conveyed Ogyu’s skepticism.
“I spoke with Noriyoshi’s close friend, a woman named Wisteria,” Sano answered. Giving Wisteria’s name to lend credibility to his story, he nevertheless hoped he wouldn’t have to explain what she did for a living.
But apparently Ogyu knew. Rumor said that he still frequented Yoshiwara’s pleasure houses, despite his age. He sighed and quoted an old proverb. “Two rare things: square eggs, and a yūjo’s sincerity.”
“I think she was telling the truth,” Sano said. Inadvertently he remembered last night. Wisteria’s grief; her plea to him to arrest Kikunojo for her friend’s murder; her passion… Sano’s blood stirred. He forced himself back to the present.
Ogyu was shaking his head. “Yoriki Sano.” How can you be so gullible? his tone implied. How dare you waste my time with such nonsense?
“Magistrate, when I went to the morgue, I saw a large bruise on Noriyoshi’s head, as if someone had struck him,” Sano said with growing desperation. “And he-didn’t look as though he’d drowned.” This was dangerous ground. What if Ogyu wanted to know more about his visit to the morgue?
Fortunately Ogyu’s refined sensibilities kept him from taking up the subject. He made a moue of distaste and said, “We will not talk of such things here.”
Having already presented his best arguments, Sano could think of nothing else to say. If Ogyu dismissed two and refused to discuss the other, what hope had he of succeeding?
Now Ogyu cleared his throat and signaled for another round of tea. Sano braced himself for a circumspect rebuke, perhaps an allusion to his patron, Katsuragawa Shundai. However, he soon found himself following the magistrate’s convoluted thought trail down a completely different path.
“There are many lessons to be learned from the animal kingdom,” Ogyu said. “When the tiger goes to the stream, the deer wait until he has drunk his fill and departed before they go to drink. When the hawk takes flight, small creatures hide until he has passed.”
Sano nodded, waiting for him to get to the point.
“When the dragonfly spreads his splendid wings, other insects dare not approach, lest they arouse his wrath,” Ogyu finished. He paused to let his meaning sink in.
This last scenario bore no resemblance to nature, but Sano got the message anyway.
“So you’ve heard of my visit to the Nius,” he said. The Nius, with their dragonfly family crest and their overshadowing power.
Ogyu winced at such bluntness. “Yoriki Sano, do you really need to be reminded of the dangers of offending a great daimyo family? Lady Niu called on me personally to complain about your intrusion.” His voice rose to its highest, most querulous pitch. “What stupidity, what foolhardiness could drive you to inflict yourself upon the Nius in such an impertinent manner, at such an unfortunate time?” A livid patch appeared on each of his sallow cheeks, and his eyes narrowed.
Sano accepted the insults stoically, although each one tore at his samurai spirit. His face burned with the shame of having angered his superior to the point of open fury. Through his misery he felt the cold, equally shameful touch of fear. What would Ogyu do to punish him? But the inquisitive, detached part of his mind wondered why Ogyu was so anxious to halt the investigation and placate the Nius.