“The false case against Lady Keisho-in and Priest Ryuko was primarily Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s doing,” Sano said, “with coincidental supporting evidence from the diary, Harume’s father, and Choyei’s murder. But another person contributed to the fiasco that could have cost us our lives, if not for my wife’s independent investigation: Lady Ichiteru.”
His expression grave, Sano spoke with reluctance, obviously no more eager for this conversation than Hirata. “You were responsible for questioning Ichiteru, but somehow you managed to learn nothing at all during your first interview with her. When I asked you what the problem was, you avoided answering. It isn’t like you to be evasive-or incompetent-but I let the matter go because I trusted you to work things out yourself. I trusted your detective instincts and accepted Ichiteru’s statement without corroborating testimony, as you did. Now I see that I made a mistake.”
Shame assailed Hirata. He’d betrayed his master’s trust, an unforgivable sin. A long night spent in self- recrimination had increased his guilt. Now Sano’s words tore his spirit. The beauty of the day, the sunlight that sparkled on the canals, seemed to mock his woe. He longed to die on the spot.
“Something’s wrong,” Sano said, “and I can’t ignore it any longer. When Ichiteru told you about overhearing Keisho-in and Ryuko plotting to kill Harume, what made you so ready to believe her? You know that criminals often lie to incriminate other people and divert suspicion from themselves. What happened between you and Ichiteru?”
Hirata saw that Sano was less angry than concerned, more intent on understanding than chastising. Sano’s sympathy made him feel even worse, because it required an explanation when he would have preferred a sound beating. Reluctantly he poured out the whole miserable tale of Ichiteru’s seduction, his own gullibility. He forced himself to watch the dismay on Sano’s face. When he finished, he said, 'There’s no excuse for what happened. I should have known better. Now I’ve disgraced myself and let you down.
Blinking away tears, Hirata drew a deep, tremulous breath. “I’ll leave today.” He would find a private place to commit seppuku, thereby redeeming his honor.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Alarm blared in Sano’s voice and eyes: He knew what Hirata was thinking. “You’ve made a bad mistake, but it’s the first since you entered my service. I’m not going to dismiss you, and I forbid you to leave!”
Then he said more calmly, “You’re punishing yourself harder than I I ever could. I forgive you; now, you do the same. We’ve no time to waste dwelling on what’s past. I need you to go to Daikon Quay and see if you can pick up any leads on Choyei’s murder. Then visit the scene of the dagger attack on Lady Harume-maybe something there will point us to her killer.”
“Yes, sosakan-sama.” Relief eased the constriction inside Hirata; he could breathe again. Sano was giving him another chance! “Thank you.”
Yet his guilt remained. Opposing purposes warred in him. He must make up for the trouble he’d caused. Lady Ichiteru had nearly ruined the most important thing in his life-his relationship with his master. He was furious at her for manipulating him, and craved revenge, but he still wanted her. And though her lies made her a stronger suspect than ever, he wanted to believe in her innocence, because if she turned out to be the killer he would doubt his own judgment forever. He would never again trust himself to decide whether someone was guilty; he would dread missing clues. He would anticipate failure, making it inevitable.
Forcing a semblance of rationality, Hirata said, “We know that it was a man who stabbed Choyei, so Lady Ichiteru is innocent of that crime.” Hirata suppressed the thought that she could have hired someone to buy the poison, then assassinate the drug peddler. “Still, she probably knows something about Harume’s murder. I request permission to confront Lady Ichiteru and get the truth out of her.”
Instead of answering at once, Sano gazed into the distance, watching an oxcart toil up the road. Then he said, “I’m ordering you to stay away from Lady Ichiteru. You’ve already lost your objectivity toward her, and the penalty for consorting with the shogun’s concubine is death; you can’t let it happen again. Reiko will question Ichiteru. While you’re investigating Choyei’s murder and the attack on Harume, you can look for connections to Ichiteru, but leave her alone.” He added, “I’m sorry.”
A fresh wave of misery and shame overwhelmed Hirata. Sano didn’t trust him anymore. Would that he’d never met Ichiteru! The need for revenge consumed him.
They’d reached the junction with the highway leading north out of Edo, and Sano said, “I’m off to Asakusa. I’ll see you back at the house later.” He peered at Hirata with concern. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, sosakan-sama,” Hirata said, then watched Sano ride away. But he wasn’t all right, and he wouldn’t be until he regained Sano’s trust. As he headed toward Daikon Quay, he decided that the only way to do that was to uncover the evidence that would ultimately identify Lady Harume’s killer.
Several hours of canvassing the area around the scene of Choyei’s murder eroded Hirata’s hopes for salvation. The rooms in the adjacent lodging houses belonged to single males-dockworkers and laborers-who were away at their jobs when Hirata called, and had probably been absent during the murder, too. Thus Choyei’s killer had slipped through the alleys unobserved. In the nearby commercial district, Hirata had no better luck. He questioned people who recalled seeing many men dressed in cloaks and hoods for yesterday’s cold weather. The killer had easily blended with the crowd. By noon, Hirata was tired, discouraged, and hungry. Above a row of storefronts off the quay, he noticed a sign advertising fresh eel. He went inside to fortify body and spirit.
The small dining room at the front was jammed with customers who sat on the floor, scooping food into their mouths with chopsticks. In the rear kitchen, huge rice pots simmered. Cooks flung wriggling eels on chopping blocks, split them from gill to tail, cut off the heads, and extracted the bones. The long strips of meat, skewered on bamboo sticks and basted with soy sauce and sweet sake, roasted over an open fire. Clouds of pungent smoke whetted Hirata’s appetite and evoked a sharp pang of nostalgia. The restaurant reminded him of establishments he’d frequented during happier days as a doshin. He’d been so confident then; how could he have known his career would founder upon a woman’s treachery?
Hirata sat, then ordered a meal from the proprietor, a stout man with missing finger joints on both hands. Customers and staff exchanged gossip. The place was clearly a popular local meeting place. Maybe this trip didn’t have to be a waste of time after all.
The proprietor brought Hirata’s food: chunks of grilled eel and pickled eggplant on rice, with a pot of tea. Hirata introduced himself, then said, “I’m investigating the murder of a peddler not far from here. Have you heard about it?”
Wiping his sweaty brow with a rag, the man nodded. “Lots of bad things happen nowadays, but it’s still a shock when it’s someone you know.”
Hirata’s interest stirred. “You knew him?” This was the first person to admit an acquaintance with Choyei, who seemed a recluse without friends or family.
“Not very well,” the proprietor confessed. “He never talked much; kept to himself. But he ate here often. We had a deal: he let me buy things cheap, and I took messages from his customers. He roamed all over town, but word got around that he could be reached here.” The proprietor glanced at the Tokugawa crests on Hirata’s garments, then said, “Mind if I ask why a high-ranking official like you is interested in an old peddler?”
“He supplied the poison that killed the shogun’s concubine,” Hirata said.
“Hey. Wait. I don’t know anything about poison.” The proprietor raised his hands defensively. “As far as I knew, the old man sold only healing potions. Please, I don’t want any trouble!”
“Don’t worry,” Hirata said, “I’m not after you. I just need your help. Did a man wearing a dark cloak and hood come looking for the peddler yesterday?”
“No. I can’t recall that anyone asked for him then.”
Disappointment descended upon Hirata: Perhaps this lead was a dead end after all. Reluctantly he said, “Were any of his customers women?”
“Oh, yes. Many, including fine, rich ladies. They bought medicine for female troubles.”
The proprietor relaxed, glad to turn the conversation away from murder, but Hirata’s heart sank. “Was one of the ladies tall, very beautiful and elegant, about twenty-nine, with a large bosom and lots of hair ornaments?”
“Could be, but not recently.” Eager to dissociate himself from the crime, the proprietor added, “Come to think of it, there haven’t been any messages or visitors for the old man in ages.”
A young, pimple-faced waiter, passing by with a tray of food, interjected, “Except for that samurai who came here just after we finished serving the morning meal yesterday.”
