“The horse is just a bit skittish today,” he explained. “Once she knows you’re her master, she’ll behave!”
Even a tame creature sometimes rebels against a lifetime of discipline, Sano thought. Jimba had trained the wildness out of Harume; yet she hadn’t been completely controllable. Sano believed that her message to Jimba hadn’t been a mere ruse. She’d made an enemy who had the power, opportunity, and temperament to harm a concubine of the shogun. Of all the murder suspects, who best fit the profile?
Beneath Sano’s sash, Lady Keisho-in’s letter burned him like a sheet of flame. She ruled the Large Interior and commanded the shogun’s love. With the help of allies within the Tokugawa regime, she could have easily managed the murder, as well as an earlier poisoning attempt, and a dagger thrown by a hired assassin in a crowded street.
Now Jimba’s evidence strengthened the case against her. Must Sano accuse Lady Keisho-in of murder-and bring grave peril upon himself?
22
The paper in Hirata’s hand read:
INTERROGATION PLAN
1. Determine Lady Ichiteru’s true feelings toward Harume.
2. Find out where Lady Ichiteru was during the dagger attack and possible earlier poisoning attempt on Harume.
3. Has Lady Ichiteru ever bought poison?
4. Had Lady Ichiteru been in Harume’s room after the ink bottle and Lord Miyagi’s letter arrived?
5. Check Lady Ichiteru’s statement by asking Midori the same questions.
As Hirata rode across the Ryogoku Bridge, he divided his attention between steering his horse past a band of porters hauling wood from the Honjo lumber yards and studying the plan for his second interview with Lady Ichiteru. He mumbled the directions scribbled in the margins. “Interview suspect at Edo Castle, not at the theater.” “Do not let suspect evade questions.” “If suspect makes lewd remarks, order her to stop.” “Do not think about sex while interviewing suspect.” “Above all, do not let suspect touch you!”
To fill a big hole in the fabric of the murder investigation, he must extract the relevant information from Lady Ichiteru. He had to correct his slip-up before Sano found out and lost trust in him. He wanted to rebuild his former image of himself as a good detective. And he desperately needed something to make up for the disappointing results of his other inquiries.
Yesterday the detective corps had failed to locate either the Indian arrow toxin or the elusive drug peddler, Choyei. This morning Hirata had sent them out to interrogate contacts within Edo ’s criminal underworld. He’d just revisited police headquarters, to no avail. There seemed little hope of solving the case by tracing the poison. Sano didn’t believe Lieutenant Kushida was guilty. Failure would bring severe punishment. Everything might depend on Hirata’s handling of the interview with Lady Ichiteru.
He’d spent a restless night, alternating between vivid, erotic dreams of her and wakeful bouts of self- recrimination. What a fool he was to let her trick him! After the capture of Lieutenant Kushida, he’d given up on sleep and formulated his plan for the interview. Now he would continue the search for Choyei while memorizing the plan and strengthening his resolve to withstand Lady Ichiteru’s charms.
Yet even as Hirata tucked the paper under his sash for later reference, he yearned for Lady Ichiteru. In his memory, he heard her soft, husky voice, felt the warmth of her seductive gaze and the thrilling touch of her hand. Immediately a wave of heat swept his body. And beneath the excitement, he experienced the humiliating knowledge of his social inferiority, the helplessness of his desire.
“Watch out, master!”
The warning, called out by a passing stranger, snapped Hirata out of his thoughts. He looked up and saw that he’d passed the end of the bridge. His horse was meandering down the street, trampling wares set out for sale by itinerant vendors. Quickly Hirata reined in his mount. “My apologies,” he said, increasingly worried about the upcoming interview. How would he get the truth from Lady Ichiteru if even the mere thought of her ruined his concentration?
Reaching the Honjo Muko Ryogoku entertainment district, he found the revelry undiminished by the dreary weather. A theater troupe improvised comedies in the street, before a large, noisy audience; business flourished in the teahouses and restaurants. But the freak show was closed, its platform empty and sliding doors pulled over the entrance. A sign outside read, NO performance today. Hirata’s spirits fell. If the Rat was out roaming the town, he could be gone for hours, even days. So much for leads on the poison dealer.
Then, as Hirata turned his horse back toward the bridge, he spotted a familiar figure amid the pleasure seekers. It was the bald giant who served as the Rat’s bodyguard and collected admission fees at the shows. He headed down the firebreak, past the gambling dens and curiosity shows. Hirata followed. Maybe the giant could tell him where the Rat was.
The giant vanished into a gap between the wild animal menagerie and a noodle stall. A mob of drunks reeled in front of Hirata, blocking his way, and by the time he reached the gap, the giant was nowhere in sight. Hirata dismounted and secured his horse to a post. He walked down the narrow passage, which smelled of urine and led to an alley that ran behind the buildings. Roars emanated from the menagerie; steam wafted from restaurant kitchens; stray dogs foraged in malodorous garbage bins. Otherwise, the alley was deserted.
Hirata hurried past the closed rear doors of businesses. Then he heard voices: the Rat’s rustic accent, and someone else’s muffled tones. They came from the back room of a teahouse. Hirata peered through the barred window.
Ceramic sake urns lined the room. The Rat knelt on the floor, his back to Hirata, his shaggy head nodding as he listened to the woman seated opposite him. A cloak veiled her hair and body. In the faint daylight from the window, Hirata could just make out her face: plain and not young, with blackened teeth.
“The deal will benefit both of us,” she said in a low, pleading voice. “My family will have peace, and your business will prosper.”
“All right. Five hundred koban, and that’s my final price,” answered the Rat.
The woman bowed her head. “Very well. If you’ll come with me, we’ll get it now.”
Having seen the Rat conduct this type of negotiation before, Hirata guessed what was going on. He raised a hand to knock on the door. Then a change in the atmosphere warned him of another human presence in the alley. He whirled. Strong hands grabbed his shoulders, lifting him off the ground. He found himself face to face with the Rat’s giant.
“I’m here to see your master,” Hirata explained, struggling in the man’s iron grip. “Put me down!”
An evil grin split the giant’s face. With dismay Hirata remembered that he was a deaf mute. He threw Hirata against the wall with a jarring crash. Hirata drew his sword. Then the door screeched open.
“What’s going on?” demanded the Rat. Seeing Hirata facing off against his servant, he rushed outside, ordering, “Stop, Kyojin!”
The giant made gurgling sounds while pointing at the window, trying to say he’d caught Hirata spying.
“This man is police.” Speaking with exaggerated lip movements, the Rat gestured in what seemed a private form of sign language. “Lay off before he kills you and arrests me!”
Glowering, the giant retreated. Hirata relaxed and sheathed his sword. “How nice to see you again so soon,” said the Rat, with an insincere grin. “What can I do for you today?”
“Have you found Choyei, the drug peddler?”
Glancing nervously toward the open door, the Rat pawed at his whiskers. “I don’t have time to talk now; I’m right in the middle of some business.” He did a double take and rushed into the teahouse’s back room, then came out muttering curses. “She’s gone-must have slipped out the other way.” Then he shrugged. “Oh, well. She’ll be back. She’s selling her deformed child to my freak show,” he explained, confirming Hirata’s guess. “Poor thing was born with no feet. Who else would want it except me? Now what were you saying?”
“The drug peddler,” Hirata prompted.
