He followed the sound down a passage to a door that was open just enough for him to peer inside. He saw a young man kneeling and weeping, arms extended on the floor. Two older gangsters stood over him. 'I hear you've been keeping some of the money you collected from the vendors,' said a deep, scratchy voice. Hirata couldn't see the man who spoke, but he recognized the voice as Jirocho's. 'Did you really think I wouldn't find out?'
'I'm sorry,' the young man cried. 'I shouldn't have done it!'
Hirata knew that gangsters had a code of honor consisting of three rules: Don't touch the wife of a fellow member; don't reveal gang secrets to outsiders; and, above all, be loyal to the boss. If the boss says crows are white, you must agree, the saying went.
One of the two gangsters standing grabbed the young man and yanked him upright. The other shoved a heavy wooden table in front of him and offered him a cleaver. Even as he sobbed in fright, the young man took the cleaver in his left hand. He positioned his right hand with its little finger laid against the table, its others curled into a fist. He raised the cleaver, screamed, and hacked off the tip of his finger.
Hirata blinked. He'd seen many acts of violence, but this one shocked him even though he knew it was common among gangsters. One who broke the rules would lose a finger joint for each offense. Samurai who violated Bushido were punished by compulsory suicide, but Hirata thought this forced self-mutilation was bizarre.
Pale as death, the trembling young man accepted a white silk cloth from one of the other gangsters. He wrapped his severed finger in the cloth and offered the package to Jirocho.
'You're forgiven this time,' Jirocho said. 'Don't let there be a next time.'
Hirata silently slipped away and returned to the reception room. Soon Jirocho entered. 'Well, well, Hirata-san. This is a surprise.'
Now in his fifties, Jirocho had changed in the twelve or so years since he and Hirata had last met. Beneath the gaudy silk robes that he wore in private defiance of the sumptuary laws, his figure was pudgier because he sat around and gave orders instead of prowling the streets and fighting as he'd done in his youth. His hair had turned gray and he'd gone bald at the temples; his jowls sagged. But his sharp eyes gleamed with the familiar look of controlled aggression. His thick mouth wore the same predatory smile that Hirata remembered.
The biggest change had less to do with Jirocho than with Hirata's own expanded perception.
For the first time Hirata saw Jirocho's shield. It exuded a magnetic attraction as well as sheer ruthlessness. Once Hirata had wondered how Jirocho had climbed the ranks from petty thief to boss of his own gang. Now he knew. Jirocho drew weaker men like a magnet draws iron specks.
'Have you come to arrest me again?' Jirocho's smile broadened: He knew he was safe, protected by the same government that Hirata served.
'Not today,' Hirata said. 'I'm here about a crime, but not one that you committed.'
'What crime?'
'The kidnapping of your daughter.'
Jirocho's smile vanished. He abruptly turned away. 'I won't talk about that.'
'I'm afraid you'll have to,' Hirata said. 'Chamberlain Sano and I are investigating another kidnapping that may be related to your daughter's. We need information.'
'You'll have to get it somewhere else,' Jirocho said, his back turned, his voice cold.
'How about if I talk to your daughter?'
'My daughter Fumiko is dead.'
'What?' Hirata was surprised. 'The police say she was found alive.'
'She's dead to me.' Jirocho turned to face Hirata, who saw that his eyes were wet and ablaze with angry tears. 'Some filthy monster ruined my girl. She was disgraced.'
Her kidnapping had one more thing in common with Sano's cousin's, Hirata realized. Fumiko, too, had been raped.
'I had to disown her, for the sake of my clan's honor,' Jirocho said.
'Where is she?'
'I don't know. I threw her out of the house.'
'You threw a twelve-year-old girl out to fend for herself?' Hirata was horrified by Jirocho's attitude.
Jirocho gave him a hostile stare. 'I loved Fumiko with all my heart, but things have changed. Wait until it happens to your daughter, then let's see how you react.'
Hirata thought of little Taeko, whom he would always love and protect no matter what. But he wasn't as bound by conventions as Jirocho was in spite of his outlaw background. And he shouldn't criticize Jirocho if he wanted his cooperation.
'All right,' Hirata said, 'I understand. But I still need your help. Perhaps you would let me talk to Fumiko's mother?'
'Her mother died when she was a baby,' Jirocho said. 'I raised her myself.'
Hirata made one last try. 'Chamberlain Sano's cousin was kidnapped and violated, perhaps by the same man as Fumiko. We're seeking justice for her. Don't you want to avenge your daughter?'
'Oh, indeed, I do. Make no mistake.' Jirocho spoke with a savagery that darkened his face. This was the man who forced his henchmen to cut off their own fingers as punishment for crossing him. He would never let anyone get away with violating his daughter, even though he'd forsaken her. 'But I'll do it myself, my way.'
Things had been bad enough when Major Kumazawa had conducted a search for his daughter, offending and threatening people wherever he went. Now Hirata was appalled by the idea of the gangster boss out for blood.
'You stay out of this,' he ordered Jirocho. 'Let Chamberlain Sano and me handle it. Just tell me what you know about your daughter's kidnapping.'
Jirocho's face was stony, closed. 'With all due respect to you and Chamberlain Sano, this score is mine to settle personally. Now please leave.'
The gangster who'd escorted Hirata into the house escorted him out. When they reached the street, Hirata asked, 'Where can I find Jirocho's daughter?'
'If Jirocho won't tell you, neither will I,' the gangster said. 'I don't talk about his business.'
Hirata observed that the gangster's energy shield was weak. This was the kind of man he could manipulate. 'Where is she?' Hirata said, projecting the force of his will at the gangster.
'In the marketplace,' the gangster said obediently.
'Where was she kidnapped and found?'
'By Shinobazu Pond.' Now the gangster's eyes widened in fright because he realized he'd broken a gang rule.
'Thank you,' Hirata said. 'I won't tell your boss.'
The abbess led Sano into the convent's chapel, which was shaded by pine trees and darkened by closed shutters. Inside, a low altar held a gold Buddha statue that sat amid gold lotus flowers, lit candles, and brass incense burners that emitted pungent, bittersweet smoke. Before the altar knelt a nun, shrouded in a gray hemp robe, her head covered with a white drape. She rocked slowly back and forth.
'Since she was kidnapped, all she does is pray,' the abbess said in a quiet, sad voice. 'She won't talk to anyone. It's as if she's living in a world of her own.'
Now Sano understood why the other nuns considered her a problem. As he and the abbess moved toward her, he noticed someone else standing in an alcove, like a guardian deity. It was a girl in her teens, with an innocent, pretty face, her hair tied in a kerchief.
'That's Ume,' the abbess said. 'One of our novices. I've assigned her to watch over Tengu-in.' She whispered, 'When she first came home, she took a knife and cut her arm.'
Had she been trying to punish herself for the rape, which many people would consider her fault? Sano felt a terrible pity for the old woman. He knelt at the altar, far enough away from her that she wouldn't feel threatened by his presence, but close enough to see her clearly. Now he observed that her body was emaciated; her robes hung on her skeleton.
'She won't eat,' the abbess said, 'or sleep, either.'
Her profile was sharp with facial bones visible through taut, waxen skin. Her eyes were closed tight, their lids purplish. Her lips moved, but she made no sound.
'Tengu-in,' Sano said quietly.
She seemed not to notice him. Her lips kept moving; she rocked to some inner, secret rhythm.
