The quarrel with Sano still weighed heavily on her spirits. His mother was in jail, Sano’s time for exonerating her was growing shorter by the moment, and what new evil did Lord Matsudaira have in store for them? Reiko’s mind swirled with images from the capture of the spy and the ambush in the city. Another day seemed like more than she could endure, but she washed, dressed, put on her makeup, then called a maid to bring her breakfast. She ate mechanically, fueling her strength. She must put on a brave guise for the sake of her family.
Sano looked around the room where Egen lay dead. Among the things piled against the walls were lacquer chests, folded clothes in bright printed cotton fabric, pairs of new sandals, and wooden boxes open to reveal gold statuettes, porcelain vases, and musical instruments.
“He went on a shopping spree after he betrayed my mother,” Sano said.
“This collection is a big step up from the trash at his old place,” Hirata said. “It would be hard to tell if anything was taken, but note this box full of coins. This wasn’t a robbery.”
“I don’t see any signs of a fight.” Sano detected surprise on Egen’s face. “The killer must have attacked him while he was asleep.” Sano addressed the proprietor, who stood on the veranda outside. “Did you see anyone come in here last night?”
“No,” the proprietor said, wringing his hands, upset because a murder had occurred on his premises. A young peasant appeared beside him. “This is the night watchman. Ask him.”
When Sano repeated the question, the watchman scratched his chest, yawned, and shook his head. He had a bloated, red-eyed face. The proprietor said, “You’ve been drinking! Did you fall asleep on duty? You useless oaf!”
“I’m sorry,” the watchman said sheepishly. “He had a party. He invited me, and all the guests.” He pointed into the room and saw Egen. His bloodshot eyes goggled; his complexion turned green. “Is he dead?”
“He is, no thanks to you,” the proprietor said. “You’re supposed to protect our guests. But that sounds just like him.” His glare turned on the dead man. “He acted as if this were a teahouse in the pleasure quarter. Singing and playing the samisen, hiring girls to dance-”
“And pouring the sake,” the watchman said.
“I would have thrown him out today even though he paid for ten days in advance,” the proprietor said.
Sano said to Hirata, “A junk peddler moves into an expensive inn and buys all new things. He has money left to squander on parties. How did he come by his newfound wealth?”
“That’s a good question,” Hirata said.
“But not the only one,” Sano said.
“Here are two more: Who killed him, and why?”
Sano thought about the events of the last day in the tutor’s life. “I’m beginning to have some ideas.”
The inn’s guests had heard the commotion and they straggled out of their rooms, curious to see what it was about. Some twenty men gathered below the veranda where Sano and Hirata stood outside the dead man’s room. Sano noted their bloodshot eyes and hungover expressions. Four were accompanied by sluttish women with smeared makeup.
“What happened?” asked one fellow with a bald head and his kimono open to display his potbelly and loincloth.
“The host of your party has been murdered,” Sano said. Mutters of dismay and ghoulish interest came from the crowd. “How well did you know Egen?”
“I just met him yesterday, when he showed up here,” the bald man said.
The other men made sounds of agreement. One of the women spoke up: “He said he was new in town. He’d only arrived a few days ago.”
Sano supposed that Egen hadn’t wanted his new friends to know he was a lowly Edo junk peddler. But Sano had a hunch that something wasn’t right. “Arrived from where?”
“He didn’t say.”
“What else do you know about him?” Sano asked the crowd.
Heads shook. A man said, “He told a lot of stories and jokes, but he didn’t talk about himself.”
“He did mention that he’d had a lucky break,” said the bald man. “That’s why he threw the party.”
Sano had a hunch about Egen’s sudden wealth and extravagance. He said to Hirata, “Someone paid him for incriminating my mother.”
“It’s not hard to guess who,” Hirata said.
“Lord Matsudaira does come to mind,” Sano agreed.
“But I just found Egen yesterday, and I took him straight to the castle. How did Lord Matsudaira get to him?”
Before Sano could hazard a guess, a new crowd poured into the scene. Five samurai clad in leggings and short kimonos carried jitte-steel wands with two curved prongs above the hilt for catching the blade of an attacker’s sword. The weapons were standard equipment for the doshin, police patrol officers. Their leader was a tall, haughty man armed with a lance. He swished toward Sano in flowing silk trousers and a wide-shouldered surcoat made of gaudy silk fabric in the latest style.
“Just when we thought things couldn’t get worse,” Sano said under his breath to Hirata. “Greetings, Yoriki Yamaga-san.”
Edo contained more than a million people, but those Sano least wanted to see kept cropping up like bad coins. He and the police commander had been colleagues on the police force some eleven years ago. Yamaga had never forgiven Sano for being promoted out of their ranks. He never missed an opportunity to do Sano a bad turn.
“Greetings, Honorable Chamberlain.” His thin lips twisted in a familiar, sarcastic smile. “Perhaps you should enjoy your title while it lasts.”
When the conflict between Sano and Lord Matsudaira had started, Yamaga had hurried to jump aboard Lord Matsudaira’s ship. The five doshin smirked. Sano refused to dignify the barb with a response in kind. “What brings you here?”
“I heard there’s been a murder,” Yamaga said. “I came to investigate.”
Sano exchanged glances with Hirata. Here was another instance of events moving faster than made logical sense. “How did you find out?” Sano asked.
“I received a tip from an informer.”
“Who might that be?”
“His identity is confidential,” Yamaga said pompously. Beckoning the doshin, he strode up the steps and past Sano, who caught his familiar odor of wintergreen oil. Many samurai used the oil on their hair, but Yamaga’s valet must apply it with a trowel. Yamaga bumped shoulders with Sano on his way into Egen’s room. He and his men grouped around the corpse.
“So this is the witness who changed his story about your mother.” Yamaga had obviously heard about the fiasco and had just as obviously enjoyed it. He prodded Egen with his lance, as if to make sure the man was really dead. “Ugly fellow, wasn’t he? Look at those pockmarks all over him. But he got you good.”
He turned a suspicious gaze on Sano. “How did you find out about the murder?”
The commander wasn’t so busy gloating that he’d forgotten to ask the important question. Things had changed for the better in the police force since Sano’s day. “I discovered the body,” Sano said.
“Ah.” Interest flared in Yamaga’s not-too-intelligent eyes as he recalled that the first person at a crime scene is the first suspect.
The doshin began carrying out statues, lacquer chests, and dishware, helping themselves to the victim’s possessions. Things hadn’t changed so much in the police force after all.
“How did you happen to find the body?” Yamaga asked.
Sano had had enough questions from the gadfly. He had questions of his own. “That’s none of your business,” Sano said. “You’re dismissed. Get out.”
His tone reminded Yamaga that however shaky his political position, he was still the shogun’s second-in-command and Yamaga’s superior. After an insolent pause, Yamaga swept out of the room with his men, who snatched up a few last items. They all knew Sano still had an army strong enough to avenge insults against him-if Hirata didn’t break their necks first.