An assistant hurried out and bowed. “Good day, sōsakan-sama. Are you seeking a new mount?”
“I’m here to see Jimba,” Sano said.
“Certainly. Come in.”
Taking the reins of Sano’s horse, the assistant led the way into the largest stable compound in Bakurochō. Gabled tile roofs crowned the fine Jimba family mansion, two stories of pristine white plaster walls, latticed windows, and railed balconies, with servants’ quarters at the rear. A far cry from the Fukagawa slum of Harume’s birth, Sano decided. Had the adjustment been difficult for her?
Opposite the mansion stretched the corral. Around this, poles supported straw dummies. The barn’s open doors revealed stablehands grooming horses. The assistant led Sano to a stall where three samurai stood around a dappled gray stallion. A big man dressed in dark brown kimono and wide trousers held the animal by the head.
“You can tell he’s healthy by the condition of his mouth,” Jimba said, prying the lips apart to expose huge teeth. His thick fingers moved with practiced skill. At Sano’s approach, he looked up; his face lit in pleased recognition. “Ah, sōsakan-sama. Good to see you again.”
In his mid-forties, Jimba looked as vigorous as his livestock. A thick, sinewy column of neck supported his squarish head. His hair, pulled back from a receding hairline and knotted at the nape, showed only a few white threads. In his coarse features and swarthy complexion Sano could discern no resemblance to Lady Harume.
Jimba grinned, revealing three broken front teeth: a permanent reminder of the one time a horse had gotten the better of him. “Congratulations on your marriage. Ready to enlarge your clan? Ha-ha. What can I do for you today?” Leaving the assistant to complete the sale, he led Sano down the row of stalls. “A good racehorse, perhaps? Impress your friends at Edo Castle. Ha-ha.”
Sano had never liked the ingratiating, overly familiar dealer, but he patronized Jimba’s stable for the same reason other affluent samurai did: The dealer knew horses. He always picked strong, healthy animals and trained them to be fast, reliable mounts. He gave good value for the price, and never tried to pass off inferior mounts as top quality.
“I’m here about your daughter,” Sano said. “As head of the investigation into her death, I must ask you some questions. But first, please allow me to express my sympathy for your loss.”
Stalking over to the fence that bordered the corral, Jimba punched it with his fist, muttering a curse. A scowl obliterated his customary genial expression as he stared at a trio of stablehands preparing a horse for a test ride in full battle regalia. They affixed a wooden saddle to its back, then attached the bridle. Sano, having witnessed angry grief in the parents of murder victims before, said, “I’ll do everything possible to deliver Harume’s killer to justice.”
Jimba waved away Sano’s words. “ Lot of good that will do. She’s gone; nothing can bring her back. Ten years of money and hard work I poured into that girl. When her mother died, I took her away from Fukagawa and raised her myself. Put nice clothes on her; hired tutors to teach her music, writing, and manners. I recognized her potential, you see-I know females, horses and women both. Ha-ha.” Jimba grinned proudly. “Harume was the prettiest of my three girls. She grew up to have what men like, if you know what I mean.” He gave Sano a sly look. “Took after her mother. She was my best chance of making a connection with the Tokugawa.”
Sano listened in dismay to the dealer’s callous reference to his daughter. He’d obviously considered her less a cherished legacy from a doomed love affair than another piece of livestock to train and trade.
In the corral, the stablehands covered the horse with body armor and a steel helmet shaped like a snarling dragon’s head. Two samurai helped the customer don armor tunic, leg guards, and helmet. Jimba continued, “Last winter, two of the shogun’s personal attendants came here to buy horses. They mentioned that they were seeking new concubines for His Excellency. I put Harume through her paces, showing them how well she could speak and sing and play the samisen. They took her to Edo Castle and paid me five thousand koban!
“I held a party to celebrate. Harume had good breeding capacity, and if she turned out to be anything like her mother was in the bedchamber, she could have borne His Excellency an heir. Even if he does prefer boys, ha-ha. I was all set to be the grandfather of the next shogun.”
With all the associated wealth, power, and privilege, Sano thought. Jimba’s greed disgusted him. Yet the horse dealer had only followed the example of many other Japanese, seeking to improve his position through a connection with the Tokugawa. Hadn’t Magistrate Ueda married Reiko to Sano with the same goal in mind? In this society, women were chattel to men’s ambition. Reiko was intelligent and courageous, yet people would always measure her worth by rank and childbearing ability. Now Sano began to understand her frustration. But after last night, he hoped more than ever that Reiko would obey his orders and stay safe at home.
“Now Harume is dead. I’ll never earn back my investment.” Jimba’s expression was morose; he sagged against the fence. Then he turned to Sano with a speculative glint in his close-set eyes. “On second thought, maybe it will do me some good if you find out who killed my daughter. I’ll make him compensate me for my loss!”
Hiding his aversion toward the horse dealer’s mercenary attitude, Sano said, “Perhaps you can help me catch the murderer,” then explained why he’d come. “What was Harume like?” When Jimba began describing her looks, Sano clarified, “No, I mean what sort of person was she?”
“Just like any other girl, I guess.” Jimba looked surprised at the notion that Harume had possessed other attributes besides physical ones. Then, as he watched the stablehands boost the armored rider onto the horse’s back, he smiled in reminiscence. “She was a tiny, sad little thing when I brought her here. She didn’t understand that her mother was gone, or why I was taking her away from everything she knew. And she missed her friends-the little slum children from Fukagawa. She never really fit in here.”
With a wry chuckle, Jimba said, “I’d never told my wife about Blue Apple, you see. Then suddenly, here was this child. She was furious. And my other children resented the attention Harume got. They mocked her for being the daughter of a whore. Her only friends were the maids. Considered them her own kind, I guess. But I put a stop to that. I wanted to separate her from low-class folk who would keep her down at their level. And when she got to be around eleven, the boys started coming around. She drew them like a mare in heat, ha-ha. She was the image of her mother.”
Nostalgia softened Jimba’s features: perhaps he had in his own way loved Blue Apple. After all, he’d supported their daughter, then adopted her when another man might have turned his back. “Harume started sneaking out of the house at night. I had to hire a chaperone so she wouldn’t go and get pregnant by some peasant boy. By the time she was fourteen, she was getting marriage proposals from rich merchants. But I knew I could do better with her.”
Imagining Harume’s lonely childhood, Sano pitied the concubine. She’d gone from being an outcast in Bakurochō to a similar situation in the Large Interior. As a young girl she’d found solace in the company of male admirers. Apparently she’d followed the same pattern during her months at Edo Castle. Had her past overlapped her recent life in any other way?