Bundori: A Novel Of Japan

He started down the street, motioning for his men to follow. The crowd withdrew to let them pass. Sano realized with alarm that the shogun’s orders had become garbled during their passage through administrative channels. Without the necessary clearances, he had no right to commandeer police manpower. But he couldn’t afford to wait for them. The killer’s trail was already growing cold.

“I insist on your cooperation, Hayashi-san.” He blocked the yoriki’s path and looked him straight in the eye.

Hayashi’s nostrils flared in anger. “Okashii-ridiculous! Now get out of my way.” His eyes shifted craftily.

Sano knew Hayashi didn’t want to yield, especially in front of his subordinates and the townspeople, but he also didn’t want to risk the possible consequences of disobeying the shogun’s favored retainer. Sano wasn’t sure how far his new authority extended, but he pressed his advantage. “We’ve much work to do. Let’s get started.”

Face taut with fury, Hayashi jerked his head at one of the doshin. “Tsuda. See that the sosakan-sama gets the assistance he needs.” Then he stalked down the crowded street toward his richly caparisoned horse.

Sano’s relief faded when he recognized Tsuda as the doshin who’d once helped frame him for murder. Now Tsuda’s prominent jaw jutted out farther as he shot a resentful glance after the departing Hayashi. He clenched his jitte, as if longing to use it against both Sano and the superior who had shifted an unwanted burden to him. Then his face relaxed in a grin no more reassuring than his usual sullen expression.

“You, Hirata,” he said to the other doshin. “Assist the sosakan- sama.” His tone made the title an insult. He fixed Sano with a triumphant leer.

Hirata stepped forward. In his early twenties, he had a wide, innocent face, an earnest gaze, and the stocky body and suntanned skin of a healthy peasant. His three assistants, all men even younger than he, clustered around him.

Sano’s dismay must have shown on his face, because Tsuda guffawed, evidently not caring if he offended. “Investigate all you want,” he said. “But don’t bother looking for the dead man’s remains. They’re already on their way to Edo Morgue.” He kicked the ground in a derisive gesture, laughed again, ducked his head in a perfunctory bow, and left with his assistants.

Sano looked down at the spot Tsuda had indicated. His spirits plummeted lower when he saw that the street’s packed earth was damp and freshly scrubbed. This must be where Kaibara Toju’s body had fallen, yet no trace of it remained-no clues, if any had existed, and nothing for him to give Aoi for her ritual. He had a field of suspects that potentially encompassed all Edo ’s citizens, and until the shogun reissued the orders to the police, he had no help other than four young men with probably no more expertise than he. Remembering his earlier optimism, Sano couldn’t believe his investigation had begun so badly. Duty, however, demanded his immediate best effort; justice and honor awaited his service.

Cupping his hands around his mouth, Sano shouted, “Attention!” The crowd quieted; heads turned his way. “Will the persons who discovered the dead man’s remains please step forward.” If they hadn’t already left the scene!

To his relief, two men and a woman emerged from the crowd. They immediately fell to their knees and bowed, mumbling, “Honorable Master,” over and over.

“Rise,” Sano said, embarrassed by their lavish display of respect. Peasants always deferred to samurai, who could kill them and earn no more punishment than a reprimand. But since he’d begun wearing the Tokugawa crest, the courtesies shown him were more than a man of his humble origins could feel comfortable receiving.

To Hirata, he said, “Clear the street if you can, while I interview the witnesses.” More gawkers had swelled the crowd; some, with tattooed arms and chests, looked like hoodlums. In rowdy Nihonbashi, any incident could spark a brawl, which was the last thing he or the city needed.

With unexpected efficiency, Hirata and his assistants began dispersing the crowd. Sano turned to the witnesses. Two were an old peasant couple, huddled shoulder to shoulder, who looked enough alike to be brother and sister-both small, thin, and bent, with missing teeth, gray hair, and age-spotted skin. They wore identical dark blue kimonos and straw sandals, and the same pattern of wrinkles lined their faces. The other man was some twenty years younger, thickset, with flabby jowls and short hair that stood up in a cowlick. His bamboo-handled spear and leather armor tunic marked him as a sentry, one of the civilians who manned Nihonbashi’s gates.

Sano addressed the old man. “Your name?”

“Taro, master. Proprietor of this pharmacy.” He pointed at the shop. “My wife and I found the body.”

“And you?” Sano asked the sentry.

“Udoguchi,” he whispered. Obviously distraught, he kept rubbing his hands on his short gray kimono. “I found the head.”

Despite Hirata’s efforts, an audience had gathered around them. Sano turned to the old man. “May we talk inside your shop?”

After exchanging awestruck glances with his wife, the proprietor nodded. “Of course, master.” He lifted the indigo cloth that hung from the pharmacy’s eaves and extended halfway to the ground. Sano entered.

The pharmacy’s layout fit the general pattern of most Edo shops-a central aisle between raised plank floors, a low ceiling with skylights to supplement the light from the open storefront. It was crammed with medicines: ceramic urns containing plant extracts; trays of dried ginseng root; bins of herbs, nuts, sliced reindeer horn, and various powders; shelves stacked with boxed remedies. Bitter, sweet, sour, and musky scents filled the air. Having taken stock of his surroundings, Sano sat on the edge of the raised floor and bade the witnesses join him.

The old woman spoke for the first time. “Father, where are your manners? We must offer our guest some refreshment!” To Sano, she said, “Master, please honor us by drinking tea in our humble store.”

Sano reflected that rank gave him advantages he hadn’t enjoyed during his first investigation; namely, cooperation from witnesses. “Very good,” he said after ginseng tea had been served and he’d taken a sip. His hosts relaxed and smiled, settling themselves on the floor. “Taro-san, how did you happen to find the body?”

“Well,” said Taro, “when we opened our doors this morning, there it was, lying in a pool of blood in the street.” Unlike the sentry, he showed no sign of shock or discomfort. Perhaps he’d seen so many terrible things in his long life that the murder hadn’t disturbed him unduly.

“What time was this?” Sano asked.

“Oh, before dawn,” Taro said. “Ours is always the first shop on the street to open in the morning, and the last to close at night. That’s why business is so good.” He gestured toward the entrance, where Hirata was explaining to some customers that the shop was closed for the moment.

“Did you see or hear anything suspicious last night?”

The couple adopted thinking poses that were comically similar: finger on cheek, eyes narrowed. Then they shook their heads regretfully as the pharmacist answered, “No, master. We work very hard all day and sleep very well at night.”

The old woman sighed. “That poor man. Such an awful thing to happen to someone so harmless.”

“You mean you knew Kaibara?” This surprised Sano, for what acquaintance could these peasants have had with a Tokugawa hatamoto who probably employed servants to do his shopping?

“Oh, yes,” the pharmacist said. “Not by name-until today, that is-but since last year, he has walked often in this street. At night, as well as in the daytime.”

Now Sano wondered whether Kaibara’s murder represented, as the shogun believed, an attack on the Tokugawa, or one aimed specifically at Kaibara, committed by someone who knew his habits and had followed him here last night.

“Did Kaibara say why he came here?” he asked. “And did he come at any particular times?”

The old woman shook her head. “He never spoke to anyone. He would just smile and nod. And we never knew when we would see him. Sometimes every day for a while, then not again for a month. But he always came back.” She sighed. “Though he won’t anymore.”

The necessary check into Kaibara’s background was more important than ever now, Sano realized as he turned to the sentry.

“Just a few questions, Udoguchi-san, then you can go,” he said, noticing that the man looked physically ill, his complexion pasty and his mouth trembling. “How and when did you find Kaibara’s