“Two days. Long enough for Madam Chizuru to hear Lady Harume’s complaint and notify my superiors so they could punish me.”
And long enough for Lieutenant Kushida to exact revenge on the woman who had rejected him. “Have you ever seen this before?” From his pouch Sano removed the ink jar-now empty and rinsed-and gave it to Kushida.
“I heard that it was a poisoned bottle of ink that killed her. So this is it?” Lieutenant Kushida cradled the jar in his palm, bending his head so that Sano couldn’t see his expression. His fingertip traced the gilt characters of Harume’s name. Then he handed the jar back to Sano, grimacing with impatience. “I know what you’re thinking: that I killed Harume. Weren’t you paying attention when I told you what happened between us? She despised me. She would never have tattooed herself for me. And no, I’ve never seen that jar before.” He added bitterly, “Harume didn’t make a habit of showing me gifts from lovers.”
Sano wondered if Kushida had lied about his relations with Harume. What if she had really welcomed his advances, and they’d become lovers? In spite of the disparaging reference to him in her diary, it wasn’t impossible that the lonely, bored concubine would have accepted an unattractive suitor if he was the only diversion available. Maybe she’d agreed to tattoo herself as proof of her love for Kushida, and he’d brought the ink. Then, afraid they would be discovered and punished, had she tried to break with him? When Lieutenant Kushida objected, Harume might have reported him in hopes of saving herself. But Sano still planned to question the lord of Tosa Province, of whom he believed Harume had written in her diary. And the lieutenant’s last remark offered another possible motive.
“You knew Harume had a lover, then?” Sano said.
“I’m only assuming now that she must have, because of the way she died.” Rising, Kushida leaned on the veranda railing, his face averted from Sano. “How could I have known before? She didn’t confide in me.”
“But you watched her, followed her, eavesdropped on her conversations,” Sano said, standing beside Kushida. “You might have guessed what was going on. Were you jealous because she not only rejected you, but had another man? Did you see them together when you escorted her away from the castle? Did you poison the ink he gave her?”
“I didn’t kill her!” Kushida snatched up his spear and brandished it menacingly. “I didn’t know about the ink. The rules forbid palace guards to go into the concubines’ rooms except during emergencies, and never alone.” Emphasizing his words by jabbing his spear in the direction of Sano’s face, Kushida said, “I did not kill Harume. I loved her. I would never have really hurt her. And I still love her now. If she had lived, she might have come to love me. I had no reason to wish her dead.”
“Except that her death resulted in the charges against you being dropped, and your reinstatement to your post,” Sano reminded him.
“Do you think I care about that?” Kushida shouted, his face livid with rage. Curious pedestrians stared. “What do position, money, or even honor mean to me now that Harume is gone?”
Sano backed away, hands raised palms outward. “Calm down, " he said, realizing how dangerously love, grief, and anger had unbalanced the lieutenant’s mind.
“Without her, my life is over!” Kushida yelled. “Arrest me, convict me, execute me if you will-it doesn’t matter to me. But for the last time: I did not kill Harume!”
Kushida forced the last words through bared teeth, spacing them with hissing breaths as if pumping himself up with ire. His face took on the ferocious expression he’d worn during the practice match. He lunged at Sano, spear thrusting. Sano grabbed the spear’s haft. As they grappled for control of the weapon, Kushida spat curses.
“No, Kushida-san. Stop!” Koemon and the other teachers rushed out the door. They grabbed the lieutenant, pulled him away from Sano, and seized his weapon. As Kushida howled and thrashed, they wrestled him to the veranda floor. It took five men to pin him down. Students watched in dismay. Bystanders hooted and cheered. Kushida burst into loud, hysterical laughter.
“Harume, Harume,” he wailed. Sobs wracked his body.
A castle messenger hurried up to the academy. A flag bearing the Tokugawa crest waved from a pole attached to his back. Bowing to Sano, he said, “A message for you, sōsakan-sama,” and proffered a lacquer scroll case.
Sano opened the case and read the enclosed letter, which had been sent to his house earlier that morning and forwarded to him. It was from Dr. Ito. Lady Harume’s corpse had arrived at Edo Morgue. Ito would perform the examination at Sano’s convenience.
“See that Kushida gets home safely,” Sano told Koemon. Later he would order the Edo Castle guard commander to delay Kushida’s reinstatement: Innocent or guilty, the lieutenant was in no shape for active duty.
After stopping to see his mother, Sano rode toward Edo Morgue while mulling over his interview with Kushida. How easily hurt and jealousy could have turned the disturbed lieutenant’s love for Harume to hatred. Yet there was one critical factor that argued against Kushida’s guilt. From what Sano had observed, his temper manifested itself in sudden, violent outbursts. The spear was Kushida’s favored weapon- if he wanted to kill, wouldn’t he use it? Lady Harume’s murder had required cold, devious forethought. To Sano, poisoning seemed more like a woman’s crime. He wondered how Hirata was doing on his interview with Harume’s rival concubine, Lady Ichiteru.
10
The Saru-waka-chō theater quarter was located near Edo’s Ginza district, named for the Tokugawa silver mint. Bright signs advertised performances; music and cheers rang out from the open upper-story windows of the theaters. In framework towers atop the roofs, men beat drums to attract audiences. People of all ages and classes lined up at ticket booths; teahouses and restaurants were filled with customers. Hirata left his horse at a public stable and continued on foot through the noisy crowd. On Sano’s orders, he’d already dispatched one team of detectives to search for the itinerant drug peddler Choyei, and another to search the Large Interior for poison and other evidence. Upon going to the women’s quarters to question Lady Ichiteru, he’d been informed that she was spending the day at the Satsuma-za puppet theater. Now, as he neared the theater, a growing apprehension sped his heartbeat.
He’d lied when he had told Sano everything was all right, trying to reassure himself that he was capable of handling the interview with Lady Ichiteru. Women didn’t always intimidate him the way Lady Keisho-in and Madam Chizuru had last night; he liked them, and had enjoyed many romances with maids and shopkeepers’ daughters. However, the ladies of powerful men tapped a deep sense of inadequacy within him. Usually Hirata took pride in his humble origin and what he’d achieved in spite of it. In courage, intelligence, and martial arts skill, he knew he equalled many a high-ranking samurai; thus, he could face his male superiors with aplomb. But the women…
Their elegant beauty inspired in him a hopeless longing. A bachelor at the late age of twenty-one, Hirata had deferred marriage in the hope of one day advancing high enough to wed a fine lady who would never have to slave like his mother had, keeping house and caring for a family without benefit of servants. As Sano’s chief retainer, he’d achieved that goal; his family had received proposals from prominent clans seeking a closer association with the shogun’s court, offering their daughters as Hirata’s prospective brides. Sano would act as go-between and arrange a match. Yet still Hirata delayed his wedding. Ladies of high class made him feel coarse, dirty, and inferior, as if none of his accomplishments mattered-he would never be good enough to associate with them, let alone deserve one as a wife.
Now Hirata stopped outside the Satsuma-za, a large, open-air arena comprised of wooden walls built around a courtyard. Above the entrance, five plumed arrows-symbol of the puppet theater-pierced a railing hung with indigo curtains bearing the establishment’s crest. Vertical banners announced the names of current plays. An attendant seated on a platform collected admission fees, while another guarded the doorway, a narrow horizontal slot in the wall that prevented theatergoers from entering without paying. Hirata made up his mind that he would not let Lady Ichiteru upset him as the shogun’s mother had. Poisoning- a devious, indirect crime-was the classic method of female killers, and Ichiteru was therefore the prime murder suspect.