So this was the theft Hoshina had mentioned, thought Sano; not a serious crime, but a girl’s foolish impulse.
“Emiko wasn’t a thief,” Naraya said, passionate in his conviction. “She would have soon realized she’d done wrong and returned the kimono. Unfortunately, Hoshina-san happened to come riding along the street. He saw Emiko clutching the kimono, running away. He chased her and caught her. He marched her back to the shop. The proprietor identified the stolen merchandise. Hoshina arrested Emiko and took her to jail.”
Fury resonated in Naraya’s voice. “When I heard what had happened, I went to police headquarters. That was when I first met Hoshina-san. I tried to explain that Emiko had just made a mistake. But Hoshina-san said she was a criminal and would be sent to work as a courtesan in the pleasure quarter.”
Forced prostitution was the usual sentence for female thieves.
“I offered Hoshina-san a bribe to free my daughter,” said Naraya, “but he refused, even though the police usually will take bribes when the crime is minor.” Naraya glared through tears of outrage. “Later, I learned that Hoshina-san had just been promoted to the rank of commander, and he wanted to show everyone how tough he was. He wanted to make an example of Emiko, as a warning to other would-be thieves.”
This sounded just like Hoshina, and Sano detested him all the more. Sano had already begun having second thoughts about his decision to protect his enemy. He grew less confident that forestalling Hoshina’s death would prolong Reiko’s life. Would he have done better to renege on his promise and let the shogun comply with the ransom demand? What if the investigation proved that neither Naraya nor the Kii clan had taken the women?
“The next day, while Emiko was awaiting her trial, a fire started in the neighborhood around the jail,” Naraya said. “The warden let out the prisoners.”
Tokugawa law decreed that when fire threatened, all prisoners should be released so that if the jail burned, they wouldn’t die-a rare example of mercy in a cruel penal system. After the danger passed, the prisoners were supposed to return voluntarily to the jail, and most did.
“But Emiko stayed behind. After the fire was out and everyone came back to the jail… ” Naraya puffed deep, tremulous breaths, and tears trickled down his droopy cheeks. “The warden found Emiko lying dead in a horse trough full of water. She had drowned.”
Even while Sano pitied the man, excitement quickened his heartbeat. Naraya’s daughter had perished in the same manner as the unnamed woman in the poem in the ransom letter. Was her death the murder that had precipitated the demand for Hoshina’s execution?
“There was no official explanation given for what happened to my daughter.” Naraya spoke with extreme rancor. “Maybe she fell in the trough. Maybe someone pushed her. But I think she drowned herself because she couldn’t bear her disgrace.”
“And you think Police Commissioner Hoshina indirectly caused her suicide?” Sano asked, controlling his excitement.
“If not for that scoundrel, Emiko would be alive today,” Naraya said. Animosity burned his tears dry. “I wouldn’t have lost my only child. My wife wouldn’t have died of grief seven years ago. Every day Hoshina-san lives is a big, big insult to their memory. Every day I pray for him to suffer the same agony and humiliation that we did.”
Contrary reactions beset Sano. He had more sympathy for Naraya than respect for Hoshina, and he found himself wanting Naraya to be innocent almost as much as he wanted him to be the kidnapper. He would rather see Naraya win vengeance for his daughter than punished for the massacre and abduction.
Naraya abruptly donned a semblance of his normal good cheer. “But the past is water under the bridge,” he said. “We must accept what fate deals us and move forward into the future.” Naraya paused, then said carefully, “May I ask what my old grudge against Hoshina-san has to do with the kidnapping of the shogun’s mother?”
“His Excellency has received a letter from the kidnapper,” Sano said. “It demanded that Hoshina be denounced and executed as a murderer, in exchange for the return of Lady Keisho-in.”
Naraya’s eyes bulged and his mouth dropped. He looked as though he’d just swallowed a rock that had lodged in his throat. Obviously, he realized how his story had incriminated him. Then he threw back his head and burst into laughter.
“So Hoshina-san has finally reaped his comeuppance!” Naraya exulted. “There’s justice in this world after all.” He jumped up and down in glee. “When he’s executed, I’ll be there to watch.” Delight burbled from Naraya; he rubbed his hands together, then raised them skyward. “Praise the gods for answering my prayers. Someone has brought down that villain at last!”
“Was it you?” Doubt pierced Sano because Naraya appeared genuinely surprised by the news about the ransom demand. Could even an expert actor fake such a response? If Naraya had kidnapped the women, he should be alarmed that Sano had traced the letter to him, worried that his plot against Hoshina had failed, and afraid he would be punished for the crime, instead of rejoicing over Hoshina’s downfall.
“I almost wish it were me,” Naraya said. “Such a clever, clever retaliation for the wrongs Hoshina-san has done.” He pumped his fists and chortled; then belated prudence sobered him as he comprehended his dangerous position. “But I didn’t kidnap those women off the Tōkaidō. I haven’t even left Edo in months. Ask anyone here.” He gestured toward the factory.
But Sano knew that the workers owed Naraya their loyalty and would lie for him. “When did you learn that Lady Keisho-in was going on her trip?” Sano asked.
“Not until the news broadsheets announced that she’d been kidnapped,” Naraya said. “I couldn’t have done it.” Sudden thought narrowed his eyes. “Besides, didn’t I hear that Lady Keisho-in’s entourage was massacred? A hundred people killed?” Naraya shook his head, deploring the carnage. “I could never, never shed blood-not even to avenge my daughter’s death. And I’m not foolish enough to commit treason just to strike back at Hoshina-san.”
Sano thought of how Magistrate Ueda had compromised his professional honor and bent the law for Reiko’s sake. Sano knew that he himself would risk whatever danger and pay whatever price necessary to punish anyone who hurt Masahiro. Paternal devotion was stronger than prudence, and Naraya’s denials didn’t convince Sano.
“Maybe you wouldn’t kill or kidnap with your own hands,” Sano said. “But you wouldn’t have needed to leave Edo or do your own dirty work.”
Naraya snorted in disdain. “I don’t have the men or the money to carry off an ambush like that.”
Yet although Sano knew that hired muscle came cheap, and Naraya could afford it, he wondered whether Edo ruffians could have so easily slain Tokugawa troops. Sano’s misgivings about Naraya’s guilt increased. Shifting course, he said, “When did you move to Edo?”
The merchant blinked, disconcerted by the abrupt change of subject. “Two years ago,” he said.
“Your family ran the business in Miyako for many generations. Why did you relocate it here?”
“Competition was tougher every year,” Naraya said, and Sano watched him squint as he tried to figure out the point of the questions. “Business is much, much better in Edo.”
“Your decision had nothing to do with the fact that Hoshina-san had moved here the year before?” Sano said.
“No.” The merchant frowned in perplexity, then acquired an owlish look of wisdom. Pointing a finger at Sano, he said, “You think I followed Hoshina-san. You think I came to Edo to do him harm. But I didn’t. The day I heard he’d left Miyako, I celebrated because he wouldn’t foul the place anymore. If there were any other city as big as Edo, I’d have gone there instead, so I wouldn’t have to breathe the same air as him.”