Abruptly Tokugawa Tsunayoshi went soft inside her. With a cry of dismay, he collapsed upon the futon. “Ahh, my dear, I am afraid I cannot proceed.”
Ichiteru sat back on her heels, ready to weep with disappointment and frustration, but she hid her emotions. “I’m sorry, my lord,” she said meekly. “Perhaps if I help you…?”
He made a gesture of dismissal, then pulled the quilt over himself and closed his eyes. “Another time. I’m too tired to try again now.”
“Yes, Your Excellency.” Ichiteru rose and straightened her disheveled garments. As she crossed the chamber, her resolve strengthened within her like flint in the bones and heart. Next time she would succeed. And until her future was secure, she must make sure her crime was never exposed.
Lady Ichiteru slipped out the door, closing it behind her. Memory and need intersected with a sudden click in her mind. She smiled in wicked inspiration. She knew just how to avoid the calamity of a murder charge and advance her position.
19
After a few hours sleep and a breakfast of fish and rice, Sano left his mansion early the next morning. Inside, Reiko still slept; servants cleaned up the mess in Sano’s office. The detective corps had left word that Lieutenant Kushida was securely imprisoned in his family home. Hirata had already left Edo Castle to check some leads on the drug peddler before finishing his interview with Lady Ichiteru. And Sano was taking a journey back in time.
Overnight, an autumn fog had billowed in from the river. White mist veiled the city, rendering the distant hills and the upper tiers of Edo Castle invisible. The sun was a pale circle floating in a sea of milk. As Sano headed toward the palace, patrolling sentries emerged out of the mist, only to disappear again. Moisture dripped off the stone walls of passages and slickened the paths. The thin cries of airborne crows and the drums summoning spectators to a sumo wrestling tournament sounded muted, as if strained through cotton mesh. The smell of wet stone, leaves, and earth dampened the tang of charcoal smoke. On such days when the sharp edges of reality blurred, the spirit world had an almost palpable presence for Sano. The ghostly trail into the past beckoned. What better time than now to follow it to hidden truths about Lady Harume’s murder?
Sano found Madam Chizuru in her office, a tiny room in the Large Interior. On the wall hung wooden plates bearing the names of officials and servants on duty. A window overlooked the laundry courtyard, where maids boiled dirty bedclothes in steaming pots. The harsh odor of lye drifted through the lattice. Chizuru, dressed in her gray uniform, knelt behind the desk, going over household account books.
“Madam Chizuru, may I speak with you a moment?” Sano asked from the doorway.
“Yes, of course.” The otoshiyori set aside her work and motioned for Sano to sit before her. Then she folded her hands and sat waiting, her masculine face impassive.
“What can you tell me about Lady Harume’s background?” Sano asked. Instinctively he believed that the concubine’s life held valuable clues about her death. Where she had come from, and who she’d been, could enlighten him more than witnesses, suspects, or evidence had yet.
Chizuru hesitated, then said, “The dossiers of His Excellency’s household are confidential. Special permission is required for me to release details.”
“I can get permission from the shogun and come back later,” Sano pointed out. Though annoyed by Chizuru’s resistance, he respected her adherence to the rules: If more people obeyed them, there would be less crime. “You might as well save us both some trouble by telling me now. And what does confidentiality matter now that Harume is dead?”
“Very well.” Madam Chizuru conceded with a brief lowering of her eyes. “Lady Harume was born in Fukagawa. Her mother’s name is Blue Apple; she’s a nighthawk.”
This was the poetic euphemism for unlicensed prostitutes, who serviced customers who couldn’t afford the expensive, legal Yoshiwara courtesans. No wonder Harume had felt out of place among the generally highborn women of the Large Interior. Confidential or not, personal information had a way of spreading. Had Lady Ichiteru, in particular, resented Harume’s presence enough to kill her? Hopefully Hirata would find out today.
“How was Harume chosen as a concubine?” Sano asked.
“The bakufu decided that variety would benefit the Tokugawa succession,” Chizuru said.
Meaning that when ladies of samurai or noble blood failed to produce an heir, a peasant girl was worth a try, Sano interpreted. And Harume had succeeded in becoming pregnant, though the child’s paternity wasn’t established.
“What about Harume’s father?” Sano said.
“He is Jimba of Bakurocho. You may know him.”
“Yes, I do.” The man was a prominent horse dealer who supplied the stables of the Tokugawa and many powerful daimyo clans, and Sano had purchased mounts from him.
“When the shogun’s envoys were searching for new concubines, they came across Harume,” Madam Chizuru continued. “She had good looks, a little education, and adequate manners. She seemed promising, and was brought to Edo Castle. That’s all the records say about Harume.”
Later Sano would visit the dead concubine’s parents and learn more about her. But for now, perhaps the crime scene would reveal undiscovered secrets. “I want to look around Lady Harume’s room again. Are her things still there?”
Madam Chizuru nodded. “Yes. The floor has been cleaned, but otherwise, everything is just as it was when she died-I’ve not yet had a chance to send her belongings to her family. And her former chambermates have moved to other quarters. The room is vacant. Come.”
Rising, she led Sano through the Large Interior, which was gradually awakening. Palace officials and guards made morning rounds. Maids filed through the corridors, carrying tea trays and water basins. Behind the paper walls, bedclothes rustled and sleepy feminine voices murmured. A fusty odor of sleep and stale perfume soured the atmosphere. But the hallway outside Lady Harume’s room was deserted. Sano thanked Madam Chizuru, slid open the door, and shut himself inside the cell. He stood still for a moment, looking around, absorbing impressions.
The slatted window shutters admitted misty daylight. New tatami covered the floor. Furniture stood undisturbed. But under the clean smell of soap, Sano detected the lingering taint of blood and vomit. In his mind he saw Harume lying on the floor, hideous in unnatural death. Her spirit seemed to infect the air. Although Sano hadn’t known her, he got a sudden, vivid image of the living girl: bright-eyed, vivacious, with a merry laugh that echoed across the distance from the netherworld. A cold shiver rippled over him, as if he’d seen a ghost.
Shrugging off his fancy, Sano began a systematic search through the chests and cabinets. On his last visit, he’d been concerned mainly with finding the poison. Now, as he examined Lady Harume’s belongings, he asked himself: Who was she? Who were her friends? What had mattered to her? What traits had she possessed, what things had she done that might have inspired murder?
Sano took a closer look at the kimonos he’d casually inspected before, laying them out on the floor. Two were cotton, much creased, with no sign of recent wear-she’d probably brought them to the castle with her, then rejected them in favor of the six expensive silk ones, which she must have received as a concubine. All the fabrics shared an extravagance of color and design, a lack of fashionable elegance. Sano contemplated the most striking example of Harume’s taste: a summer garment whose garish yellow lilies and green ivy seemed to vibrate against a brilliant orange background.
The iron chest yielded a stack of papers tied with frayed string. Sano leafed through them, hoping to find personal letters, but they were merely old Kabuki theater programs and illustrated broadsheets hawked by Edo newssellers. There was also a good-luck charm from the Hakka Temple in Asakusa-a prayer printed on cheap paper. Harume must have collected these things as souvenirs of holidays away from the castle. In drawers Sano discovered jars of face powder, rouge, and perfume, gaudy sashes, and floral hair ornaments; playing cards; cheap knick-knacks; an old wooden doll with rope hair-probably a childhood toy. Sano sighed in frustration. There were nothing here to indicate Harume had been anything but a common young woman with no intellectual interests or special relationships. Why would anyone have wanted to kill such a nonentity?
Perhaps Magistrate Ueda’s theory was correct, and the murderer’s real target had been her unborn child and the Tokugawa line. Unless Harume’s parents supplied new leads, the investigation into her background was a dead
