“She’s not home, master. But she left this for you.”
The servant proffered a sealed letter.
Tearing it open, Sano read aloud:
“Honorable Husband,
I had a very interesting visit with Lord Miyagi, and I believe he killed Lady Harume. He and his wife have invited me to view the autumn moon with them at their summer villa tonight. I must use this opportunity to question the daimyo further and obtain proof of his guilt.
Don’t worry-I’ve taken Detectives Ota and Fujisawa along, as well as my usual escorts. We’ll be back tomorrow morning.
With love,
Reiko”
Suddenly the idea of investigating the daimyo’s wife didn’t seem so bad. If there was any chance that she was the killer, Sano didn’t want Reiko traveling to a remote location with her, even under armed guard.
“I guess Ichiteru can wait a little longer,” Sano said. “We’ll try to catch up with Reiko and the Miyagi before they leave town.”
In a thunder of hoofbeats, Sano and Hirata arrived at Lord Miyagi’s gate. Sano cast an anxious glance up and down the street. “I don’t see Reiko’s palanquin,” he said, "or her escorts.” Against his will, he began to believe that Hirata was right-Lady Miyagi was the killer they sought. And Reiko, who didn’t know about Danzaemon’s evidence, thought it was Lord Miyagi. A band of worry closed around Sano’s heart.
“Calm down,” Hirata soothed. “We’ll find her.”
Leaping off his horse, Sano accosted one of the two gate sentries. “Where’s my wife?” he demanded, grabbing the man’s armor tunic.
“What do you think you’re doing? Let go!”
The guard shoved Sano; the other gripped him in an armlock. Hirata rushed to explain. “The sōsakan-sama’s wife was supposed to go to the villa with Lord and Lady Miyagi. We want to talk to them. Where are they?”
At the mention of Sano’s title, both guards tensed and stepped away from him, but didn’t answer.
“We’re going inside,” Sano told Hirata.
The guards blocked the gate, expressions fearful but obstinate. Their defiance triggered an alarm in Sano: Something was wrong here.
“There’s no one home,” said a guard. “Everyone’s gone.”
Seized with an overwhelming fear that something had happened to Reiko in the house, Sano drew his sword. “Move!” The guards leapt aside, and Sano threw open the gate. With Hirata following, he ran across the courtyard, through the inner gate, and into the mansion, calling, “Reiko?”
Silence veiled the long, dim tunnel of the corridor. The ancient smell of the house filled Sano’s lungs like a noxious gas. He pounded along floors that groaned under his footsteps, calling his wife’s name. He heard the guards shouting at him to stop, and Hirata holding them off. Forging ahead, he found himself alone in the family living quarters. This wing was as cold, dark, and damp as a cave. The mullioned paper walls were gray squares of waning afternoon light. The Miyagi’s musky odor saturated the air. Pausing to catch his breath and get his bearings, Sano saw no one. At first he heard nothing except his own labored breathing. Then came a thin wail.
Sano’s heart lurched. Reiko! Panic burgeoned in him as he followed the sound, hurrying past the closed doors of unoccupied rooms. His aversion toward the Miyagi couple turned to fear as he imagined Reiko their victim. The wailing grew louder. Then Sano rounded a corner. He halted abruptly.
Lamplight spilled from an open doorway. Outside knelt the manservant Sano remembered from his first visit. Head bowed, the man wept. At Sano’s approach, he looked up.
“The girls,” he moaned. Tears glistened on his wrinkled face. Raising a shaky hand, he pointed into the room.
As Sano rushed through the door, a disturbing, familiar scent hit him: fetid, salty, metallic. At first he couldn’t make sense of the scene that greeted his dazed eyes. Twisted white shapes contrasted violently with black swirls and gleaming red puddles on the slatted floor. Then Sano’s vision focused. In a bathchamber furnished with a sunken wooden tub and bamboo screen lay the naked bodies of two women, curled side by side. Their wrists and ankles were bound with cords. Deep gashes across the throats had nearly severed their heads. Crimson blood drenched their long, tangled black hair and pale skin. It had splashed the walls, run over the floor, and dripped over the sides of the tub into the water.
Horror paralyzed Sano. He felt the turbulent thudding of his heart; a cold sickness gripped his stomach. As vertigo dizzied him, he clutched the door frame. He heard a rasping sound, like a saw against wood, and recognized it as his own breathing. With nightmarish clarity, the faces of the dead women stood out from the carnage. Both bore Reiko’s delicate features.
“No!” Sano blinked hard, rubbing his eyes to rid himself of what seemed a case of shock-induced double vision. “Reiko!” Moaning, he fell to his knees beside the women and seized their hands.
As soon as he touched the cold flesh, awareness penetrated his agony. Sano realized that his inner sense of Reiko remained intact. He was still attuned to her; he could perceive her life force, like a distant bell that was still ringing. The illusion dissolved. These women’s bodies were larger and fuller than Reiko’s. He didn’t recognize their faces. Sobs of relief wracked his body. Reiko wasn’t dead! His stomach convulsed, and he retched, as if trying to vomit up the needless terror and grief.
Hirata rushed into the chamber. “Merciful gods!”
“It’s not her. It’s not her!” In a frenzy of joy, Sano jumped up and threw his arms around Hirata, laughing and weeping. “Reiko’s alive!”
“Sōsakan-sama! Are you all right?” Hirata’s face was a picture of frightened bewilderment. He shook Sano hard. “Stop that and listen to me.” When Sano only laughed harder, he smacked Sano’s cheek.
The blow jolted Sano out of his hysteria. Quieting immediately, he stared at Hirata, surprised that his retainer would ever strike him.
“Gomen nasai-I’m sorry,” Hirata said, “but you have to get hold of yourself. The guards told me that Lady Miyagi killed her husband’s concubines. She tied them up. They thought it was a game. Then she cut their throats. When the guards and servants heard screaming and came to see what was wrong, she ordered them not to tell anyone. She and Lord Miyagi left to meet someone at the castle gate so they could travel to the villa together. That was two hours ago.”
Fresh horror drowned Sano’s relief. Though he couldn’t begin to fathom Lady Miyagi’s reasons for killing the daimyo’s concubines, her brutal act surely confirmed her, not Ichiteru, as the murderer of Lady Harume and Choyei. Gazing at the bloody tableau, Sano fought the resurgence of panic.
“Reiko,” he whispered.
Then he was running and stumbling out of the mansion, with Hirata supporting him.
38
Above the western hills outside Edo, a tapestry of golden clouds wove across a sky awash with fire, ensnaring the radiant crimson orb of the setting sun. The distant mountains were shadowy lavender peaks. On the plain below, the city lights flickered under a veil of smoke. The river’s great curve gleamed like molten copper. Temple bells echoed across the landscape. In the east rose the full moon, immense and bright, a mirror with the image of the moon goddess etched in shadow upon its face.
The Miyagi summer estate occupied a steep hillside off the main road. A narrow dirt trail led through the forest to the villa, two stories of vine-covered wood and plaster. A dense thicket of trees nearly obscured the roof. Lanterns burned in the stables and servants’ quarters, but the other windows turned blank, shuttered eyes to the twilight. Except for the evening songs of birds and the wind rustling dry leaves, quiet engulfed the property. Beyond the villa, the terrain climbed through more forest to a bare promontory. A small pavilion topped the rise. In this, Lord Miyagi, his wife, and Reiko sat facing a perfect view of the moon.