“That’s a good question,” Reiko said.
Yugao was a mystery that she must solve before she could solve the crime. Maybe the woman’s secrets lay in the life she’d led before she came to the hinin settlement.
“How are you going to answer it?” Kanai asked.
“I think I’ll take a journey into the past,” Reiko answered.
13
Temple bells boomed in a dissonant music across Edo, heralding noon. Colorful kites spangled the sunlit sky above the rooftops. On the street children played with broken spears dropped by warriors fallen during a clash between rebel outlaws and the army. Inside Edo Castle, Sano sat in his office, interviewing people who’d had contact with Chief Ejima in the two days before his death. He’d already spoken with the guests from the banquet as well as Ejima’s subordinates at metsuke headquarters. Now he dismissed the last of the men who’d had private appointments with Ejima. He turned to Detectives Marume and Fukida, who knelt near his desk.
“Well, this has certainly turned up enough potential suspects,” Sano said.
Fukida consulted notes he’d taken during the interviews. “We’ve got subordinates who were mad at Ejima because he was promoted over them. We’ve got the new metsuke chief, who benefited from his death. We’ve got names of men who were demoted or executed because of flimsy evidence that he brought against them, who left sons and retainers eager for blood.”
“He had lots of enemies,” said Marume, “even though they won’t admit knowing dim-mak. Any of them could have sneaked up on Ejima and touched him.”
“Everybody claims he’s innocent, as we might have predicted,” Fukida said. “Almost all of them dropped hints that incriminated somebody else. There are so many feuds left over from the war that I’m not surprised to hear people accusing each other.”
Sano was troubled because already the murder was fueling political strife that could lead to another war, and he was no closer to solving the case. “Too many suspects are as bad as too few. And we’ve had neither sight nor word of Captain Nakai, our best candidate.”
“I wonder why it’s taking so long to locate him,” Fukida said. “He should be on duty at his post in the Edo Castle main guard station.”
“Shall we start tracking down Ejima’s informants?” Marume asked.
Sano’s principal aide peeked in the door. “Excuse me, Honorable Chamberlain. The sōsakan-sama is here to see you.”
When Hirata entered the office, Sano was again dismayed at how ill he looked. He saw sympathy, quickly veiled, on Marume’s and Fukida’s faces as Hirata awkwardly knelt and bowed. But the most they all could do was ignore Hirata’s condition.
“What have you to report?” Sano said.
“Good news,” Hirata said, weary but satisfied. “I’ve investigated the deaths of Court Supervisor Ono, Highway Commissioner Sasamura Tomoya, and Treasury Minister Moriwaki. And I’ve discovered a suspect.” He described his visit to the bathhouse where Moriwaki had died.
Sano leaned forward, elated. “Now we know that at least one of those men was killed by dim-mak.”
“It’s not too far a stretch to believe that so were the others,” Fukida said.
“And Captain Nakai’s name has come up again.” Sano told Hirata that Nakai had had a private appointment with Ejima. “Now we know he had contact with two victims.”
“Captain Nakai might have accosted the other men on the street, too.” Hirata seemed proud that he’d linked the cases and turned up evidence against the primary suspect.
Sano was moved and pained by how much Hirata still wanted his approval, after everything he’d been through for Sano’s sake. “It’s more important than ever to find Captain Nakai.”
“Something else has come up that I should mention,” Hirata said. “Police Commissioner Hoshina is after your blood.”
Sano frowned. “Again?”
Hirata described his encounter with Hoshina at the bathhouse.
“Many thanks for the warning,” Sano said.
“What should we do about that scoundrel?” Marume said.
“If I were like my predecessor, I would have his head cut off. But I’m not, so there isn’t much we can do until he makes his move, and it’s more important than ever to solve this case fast. If we don’t, Hoshina will have more ammunition to use against me.”
Young Detective Tachibana rushed into the office. “Excuse me, Honorable Chamberlain. I’ve found out where Captain Nakai is. He didn’t show up for duty today, so I went to his house. His wife said he went to the sumo tournament. Shall I go fetch him?”
“Good work. But I’ll go myself.” Sano rose, stretching muscles cramped from sitting. “It’ll save time.”
Hirata, Marume, and Fukida rose to accompany him. Sano noticed how stiffly Hirata moved. “If you have other important business, you’re excused,” Sano said, giving Hirata a graceful way out of a long, uncomfortable ride.
“I’ve nothing else as important as this,” Hirata said staunchly. “And I want to see what Captain Nakai has to say.”
Although glad for his company, Sano experienced fresh guilt. “Very well.”
The sumo tournaments were held at the Eko-in Temple in Honjo district, across the Sumida River. Sano and Hirata rode with Detectives Marume, Fukida, Arai, Inoue, and Tachibana along the canals that veined Honjo. They passed vegetable markets, residences of minor samurai officials, a few Tokugawa warehouses and the suburban villas of daimyo, the feudal lords. Smoke rose and heat shimmered from kilns where ceramic roof tiles were baked. Through the streets marched men who beat a huge drum, announcing the sumo tournament. Sano heard a deeper, louder pulse from the drum in the tall scaffold outside the temple. Crowds streamed toward its gates, which loomed ahead.
Eko-in Temple had been built thirty-eight years ago, after the Great Fire of Meireki, to commemorate the hundred thousand people who’d died in the disaster. Its grounds contained the city’s official wrestling arena. Sumo had evolved from a Shinto fertility rite to popular entertainment. Since the beginning of the Tokugawa regime almost a century ago, there had been periodic edicts banning sumo because it was violent, bloody, and often fatal. But the authorities had realized that sumo served a purpose. It gave rōnin a place in society, and the officially sanctioned, tightly regulated tournaments gave society a way to blow off steam. Sano noted that the crowds seemed bigger than usual after the war.
He and his men left their horses at a stable and walked into the arena, a vast, open-air space. From its walls extended double tiers of balconies covered with bamboo canopies. The lower tiers were already full of people; newcomers climbed ladders to the upper levels. In the center stood the ring, defined by four pillars with cords strung between them. Thousands more spectators sat crammed together on the ground, pressed up against the ring. Straw rice bales filled with clay had been placed around it to keep the wrestling area clear. Referees and judges knelt at its edge. Vendors selling refreshments waded through the crowds.
“How are we ever going to find Captain Nakai in this?” Hirata asked as he and Sano scanned the noisy, chaotic arena.
“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” Sano said.
The drumbeats quickened. Into the ring paraded the wrestlers. Their naked chests and limbs bulged with muscle and fat. They wore ceremonial fringe and silk ropes around their waists, and brocade aprons that sported the family crests of the lords of Kishu, Izumo, Sanuki, Awa, Karima, Sendai, or Nambu. Those lords recruited wrestlers for their private stables. Sano noticed larger teams than usuaclass="underline" The war had created more rōnin, who swelled the ranks of the sumo wrestlers.
The audience cheered as the wrestlers threw down salt to purify their sacred battlefield. They stamped their feet and clapped their hands to show off their strength and drive off evil spirits. A referee held up placards bearing their names. Gazing up at the balconies, Sano noticed a strange phenomenon. The top tiers were packed except for a vacant spot directly opposite the ring. In its middle sat a lone samurai.