search Ichiteru’s room?” she asked.
“Hmmm.” Eri looked tempted, then frowned and shook her head. “Better not take the chance. It’s against the rules to bring an outsider into the Large Interior. Even your husband will need special permission-though I doubt that he’ll find anything. Ichiteru is smart. If she’s the murderer, she would have gotten rid of any leftover poison.”
Reiko was disappointed, but not unduly. She would just have to find a way around the rules, lies, and subterfuge that protected the Large Interior.
Eri was watching her with concern.”Cousin, I hope you won’t go too far with playing detective. There are other men in the bakufu besides your husband who don’t like women interfering in matters that are none of their business. Promise me you’ll be sensible.”
“I will,” Reiko promised, though Eri’s slighting reference to her pursuit bothered her. When a man investigated murder, it was considered work, for which he earned money. But a women could only “play” at the same job. Impulsively, Reiko said, “Eri, I think it would be wonderful to have a real job in the castle, the way you do. Are you glad you became a palace official instead of marrying?”
Her cousin’s mouth twisted in a smile of affectionate pity for her naivete. “Yes, I’m glad. I’ve seen too many bad marriages. I enjoy my authority. But don’t idealize my position, Reiko-chan. I got it by pleasing a man, and I serve under the rule of other men. Really, I’m no more free than you, who serve only your husband.”
This depressing truth further convinced Reiko that she must find her own path through life. Then, seeing a sudden distracted expression on Eri’s face, she said, “What is it?”
“I just remembered something,” Eri said. “About three months ago, in the middle of the night, Lady Harume became violently ill with stomach pains. I gave her an emetic to make her vomit, then a sedative to put her to sleep. I thought that her food must have disagreed with her, and didn’t bother reporting the illness to Dr. Kitano because she was better by morning. And Harume was almost struck by a flying dagger in a crowded street in the Asakusa district, on Forty-six Thousand Day.” This was a popular temple festival. “No one knows who threw it. I never thought the two events were related, but now…”
Reiko saw Eri’s point. In hot summer weather, spoiled food often caused sickness. Weapons let loose during battles between gangsters or dueling samurai endangered innocent bystanders. However, in view of Harume’s murder, another possible explanation connected her two earlier misfortunes.
“It looks as though someone had been trying to kill Harume even before yesterday,” Reiko said.
But was it Lady Ichiteru, Lieutenant Kushida, or some other, unknown person?
13
After leaving the Satsuma-za puppet theater, Hirata rode aimlessly around town. Hours slipped by while he relived every moment spent with the woman he desired but could never have. He couldn’t think of anything except Lady Ichiteru.
Eventually, however, his physical excitement subsided enough for him to grow aware of his actions. Instead of working on the murder investigation, he’d wasted a whole morning on hopeless daydreams! And he’d automatically traveled to his old territory: police headquarters, located in the southernmost corner of Edo ’s administrative district. Seeing the familiar high stone walls and the stream of doshin, prisoners, and officials passing through the guarded gates restored Hirata’s wits. He realized what had happened, and cursed himself for a fool.
Lady Ichiteru had avoided answering every single one of his questions. How would he explain to Sano why he’d failed to establish whether Ichiteru had motive or opportunity for Lady Harume’s murder? He’d made a complete mess of the crucial interrogation of a prime suspect. Now he could admit that Ichiteru’s evasion indicated her guilt. And, Hirata thought miserably, a woman of Lady Ichiteru’s class wouldn’t dally with a man of his, unless for unscrupulous purposes.
Still, the knowledge didn’t stop Hirata from wanting her, or from hoping she was innocent-and that she wanted him, too. Though he feared another episode of failure and humiliation, he longed to see her again. Should he go back to the theater and demand straight answers? Hot blood filled his loins at the thought of being with Ichiteru, of finishing what they’d started. Reluctantly he decided he was in no shape to conduct an objective interrogation; he must first regain control over his feelings. And Hirata had other leads to investigate besides Lady Ichiteru. Fortunately his detective instincts had brought him to a good starting place.
Hirata entered the police compound. After giving his horse to a stableboy, he crossed the yard lined with the barracks where he’d once lived as a doshin, then went inside the main building, a rambling wooden structure. Officers signed on or off duty and delivered criminals in the reception room. From a raised platform, four clerks dispatched messages and dealt with visitors.
“Good day, Uchida-san,” Hirata greeted the chief clerk.
Uchida, an older man with a humorous face, gave Hirata a welcoming smile. “Well, look who’s here again.” The police station was always a font of information, and Uchida, across whose desk all this information passed, had proved a valuable source many times. “How’s life at Edo Castle?”
After exchanging pleasantries, Hirata explained why he’d come. “Any reports of an old peddler selling rare drugs?”
“Nothing official, but I heard a rumor you might be interested in. Some youths from wealthy merchant families in the Suruga, Ginza, and Asakusa districts have supposedly gotten hold of a substance that induces trances and makes sex more fun. Since there’s no law against it, and the users aren’t suffering or causing any harm, the police haven’t arrested anyone. The dealer is reportedly a man with long white hair and no name.” Uchida chuckled. “The doshin are looking for him, mainly, I think, so they can try the drug themselves.”
“A man with pleasure potions might also have poisons,” Hirata said. “It sounds like he could be the one I’m looking for. Let me know if there’s any word on his whereabouts.”
“Be glad to-if you’ll recommend me to your important friends when they hand out promotions.” Uchida winked.
Hirata left police headquarters, mounted his horse outside the gate- and immediately thought of Lady Ichiteru. He forced himself to concentrate on the work at hand. Suruga, Ginza, and Asakusa were separated by considerable distance; apparently the nameless drug dealer ranged all over Edo, and might have moved on by now. Instead of questioning the doshin who had reported on him, Hirata would exploit a better, albeit unofficial, source of information.
Perhaps the activity would keep his mind off Lady Ichiteru.
The great wooden arch of the Ryogoku Bridge spanned the Sumida River, linking Edo proper with the rural districts of Honjo and Fukagawa on the eastern banks. Below, fishing boats and ferries glided along the water, a shimmering mirror that reflected the vivid autumn foliage along its banks and the blue sky above. Temple bells tolled, their peals sharply vibrant in the clear air.
The hooves of Hirata’s mount clattered on the bridge’s wooden planks as he joined the stream of traffic bound for the far end of the bridge, an area known as Honjo Muko-“Other Side”-Ryogoku. This had developed in recent years as Edo ’s population had overflowed the crowded city center. Marshes had been drained; warehouses and docks now lined the shore. In the shadow of the Temple of Helplessness – built upon the burial site of the victims of the Great Fire thirty-three years ago-a flourishing merchant quarter had sprung up. Honjo Muko Ryogoku had also become a popular entertainment center. Peasants and ronin thronged the wide firebreak, patronizing teahouses, restaurants, storyteller’s halls, and gambling dens where men played cards, wagered on turtle races, or hurled arrows at targets to win prizes. Lurid signs above a menagerie depicted wild animals. Barkers shouted come-ons; peddlers sold candy, toys, and fireworks. Hirata headed for a popular attraction, where a large crowd had gathered before a raised platform. There stood a man of remarkable appearance.
He wore a blue kimono, cotton leggings, straw sandals, and red headband. Coarse black hair covered not only his scalp, but also the other exposed parts of his body: cheeks, chin, neck, ankles, the backs of his hands and tops of his feet, and the wedge of chest at the neckline of his garment. Shaggy brows nearly obscured his beady eyes; a sharp-toothed mouth grinned within his whiskers.
“Come to the Rat’s Freak Show!” he called, waving toward the curtained doorway behind him. “See the Kanto
