Laura Joh Rowland - Sano Ichiro Samurai Detective 02 - Bundori Page 10

  The guard opened the gate and stood aside for Sano to enter. "No," he said sadly, hanging his head. "If I had been, I would have kept my master inside and prevented his death."

  This answer perplexed Sano. It sounded as though the gate had been unguarded-surely an unusual occurrence in the bancho, and one that eliminated a possible witness to Kaibara's departure. And why should a retainer think it necessary to make sure his master didn't leave home?

  "I want to speak to the night sentry," Sano said. "But first, tell me why you didn't want Kaibara to go out."

  Shame filled the man's eyes, and Sano understood: No one had been on duty, and the loyal retainer didn't want to expose the private affairs of the Kaibara family.

  "That will be all, thank you," Sano said, leaving his horse with the guard and entering the gate. Perhaps the answers to these questions, and others, lay inside the house.

  He got an inkling of the truth when he entered the bare, deserted courtyard. The house was fairly large, with a wide veranda and generous entry porch. But cracks veined the walls; broken window lattices rattled in the breeze; weeds sprouted up through the flagstones of the path. No servant came out to greet him, or announce his arrival to the Kaibara, whose failure to maintain their property suggested financial hardship, which would also explain why they lacked men to staff and protect the house.

  Once inside, Sano had to pause and compose himself after removing his shoes in the entryway. The smell of incense, the sound of a woman weeping, the hollow drumbeats, the monotonous chanting, and the house's shuttered gloom all reminded him of his father's funeral vigil. He steeled himself to enter the main room and observe its occupants with professional detachment.

  An orange-robed priest chanted Buddhist scriptures, punctuating them with strokes upon a gourd-shaped wooden drum. Before him stood the coffin-an upright wooden box painted white. A low altar held a funeral tablet bearing Kaibara's name, a vase of flowers, burning incense sticks and candles, and offerings of rice, fruit, and sake. Although Sano had expected to see many mourners, only two women, one white-haired and elderly, the other about fifty, knelt near the priest. Both wore white mourning robes; the younger one wept as she clutched the stoic older woman's hand. They looked up at the sound of Sano's footsteps, while the priest continued chanting and drumming.

  Sano introduced himself, adding, "I'm sorry to disturb you at such a time, but since the shogun has charged me with the task of capturing Kaibara-san's killer, I must ask you a few questions."

  The room's hushed emptiness and musty odor saddened him. Cobwebs laced the ceiling corners, revealing the same neglect as the house's exterior. Sano sensed a desolation that predated the family's recent tragedy.

  "You were his wife?" he asked the older woman, who nodded. She had a deeply lined face with downturned eyes and mouth, and a hairline so high that her knotted white hair resembled a samurai's, shaven crown and all.

  "Whatever you wish to know, I will tell you if I can," she said. Her voice had the deep, sexless quality of old age. To the other woman, evidently her maid, she said, "Fetch our honored guest some tea." Then she fell silent, hands folded in dignified resignation.

  Sano knelt opposite her and waited until the maid had placed a tray of tea and cakes before him and withdrawn. The memory of his father's funeral made it hard for him to swallow, but he managed a few polite bites and sips. Then he said, quietly, so as not to interrupt the rites, "I've brought you something that belonged to your husband."

  From under his sash, he took Kaibara's pouch and gave it to the widow. "Have you any idea who could have wanted to kill him?"

  Slowly she shook her head, stroking the worn pouch. "No. You see, my husband had been dead for a long time already."

  Taken aback, Sano said, "I don't understand."

  "Little by little, with each passing day, my husband's spirit had been leaving his body. He lost his memory. Sometimes he didn't recognize the servants, our friends, or even me." The widow gave a barely audible sigh. "He cried and babbled like a child, and I had to feed and wash and dress him as if he were one. When he went outside, he got lost. Sometimes the police brought him back. We tried to keep him inside. "

  Her gaze wandered toward the door, and Sano now understood the guard's words. Senility had destroyed Kaibara's mind, leaving behind only a failing body: a common tragedy-

  "I must apologize for receiving you so poorly," the widow added. "In recent years, we've discharged most of our servants and retainers."

  -and one that had evidently brought such shame to the family that they had accepted reduced living conditions rather than expose it to the eyes of others. No wonder they had only one guard, not enough staff to tend the house, and few mourners at Kaibara's funeral.

  "So you see, there was no reason for anyone to hate my husband enough to kill him. But until last year, he still had days when he was himself again. Then our only son died."

  She looked toward the room's far end, where Sano saw another memorial altar. His skin rippled as he remembered the words that the spirit had spoken through Aoi. Was the son's death the "great sorrow" that had plagued Kaibara?

  The widow closed her eyes and clamped her mouth into a tight line, as if the memory of her son's death had joined with the fresh shock of her husband's to inflict unbearable pain. She clutched the pouch, making no sound, but the priest's mournful chanting, and the sound of the maid weeping in the other room, echoed her grief. Hating to cause her more anguish, Sano asked gently, "What was your husband doing in the pharmacists' district the night he died?"

  This brought tears coursing down her cheeks. Then she opened her eyes, dried them with her sleeve, and composed herself. "Our son served as a captain in the city's fire brigade, as did my husband in his day. Last year there was a terrible fire in Nihonbashi."

  Sano remembered that some two hundred people had died in the blaze.

  "Our son was killed when a burning house collapsed on him. Afterward, my husband returned again and again to the site. We tried to keep him home, but he always managed to sneak out." Her voice broke as she added, "In the end, his sly escapes were the only sign that he could still think."

  Now Sano knew why Kaibara had gone to Nihonbashi, and why he'd been such easy prey for the killer. But the widow had failed to identify anyone with a motive for the murder.

  "I'd like to speak with the other members of your family," he said. A needy relative might have killed in hopes of inheriting Kaibara's meager property, and arranged the crime so as to conceal the motive behind it.

  A spasm of pain stiffened the widow's features. "There are no other family members. Most of them died in the Great Fire of Meireki. Others have died of fever, in accidents. And with our son's death, my husband was the last of his clan."

  "I'm sorry." Sano allowed a moment of silence to lapse in respect for a venerable family line now ended. He was beginning to believe that the Bundori Killer had chosen his victims out of pure convenience. How tragic for the Kaibara clan! And how much harder for Sano to find the killer.

  The widow was literally sagging under the weight of her grief, and Sano concluded the interview with a last question. "Does the name Araki Yojiemon mean anything to you?"

  He didn't expect the name to have any connection with the Kaibara, or the old woman to possess a knowledge of history. So he was surprised when she said, "Why, yes. Araki Yojiemon was my husband's great-grandfather. He was head of the clan and served Tokugawa Ieyasu during the wars."

  As a history scholar, Sano knew that tracing samurai lineages was complicated because members of his class frequently changed their names for various reasons: Perhaps Araki's son had done so to celebrate a rise in status, to mark an important family event, or because a more auspicious set of syllables might bring good luck. And the new names often bore little similarity to the originals.

  "The family name was changed to Kaibara after the Battle of Sekigahara, when Ieyasu became shogun and the clan came to Edo with him," the widow explained, confirming Sano's
guess. "But what has this to do with my husband's murder?"

  That Sano couldn't answer, but he intended to find out. He thanked the widow for her help, repeated his condolences, and bid her farewell.

  Out in the street again, he mounted his horse, glad to leave the gloomy estate. He breathed deeply, willing away griefs debilitating onslaught. Once more he prayed to his father's spirit, seeking the wisdom to understand the new mysteries he'd uncovered. Again the spirit remained silent. He slapped the reins and started down the street in search of Hirata.

  He didn't have to look far. When he turned a corner, he saw Hirata running toward him, shouting and waving. Hard on his heels followed what looked like half the samurai in the bancho.

  "Sosakan-sama!" Hirata called. "There's been another murder! The Bundori Killer has struck again!"

  Chapter 10

  The rouged, pigtailed, perfumed, and mounted head resting on the ground at Sano's feet had belonged to a man perhaps forty years of age. He had heavy jowls, thick, bristly eyebrows, a lumpy, large-pored nose, and the shaven crown of a samurai. His glazed eyes stared straight ahead, and his thick lips had parted to reveal broken teeth. Even in death his features reflected the shock he must have experienced when the killer attacked.

  An hour's fast ride north out of the bancho, through the suburbs of Edo and the fields outside town, had brought Sano here to the Dike of Japan, a long, willow-shaded causeway that ran west from the Sumida River, paralleling the San'ya Canal, to the Yoshiwara pleasure quarter. News of the murder had spread along it via the men returning home to Edo after a night of revelry. Now, as Sano contemplated the trophy that the Bundori Killer had brazenly placed in the middle of the road, the bitter taste of guilt eclipsed his horror. There had been three murders, despite the extra security precautions he'd instituted. While no one could reasonably fault him for not solving the case in such a short time, or for not knowing where the killer would strike next, he berated himself for the poor service he'd rendered the shogun, and for costing this unknown man his life.

  Deploring his naive assumption that his investigation would pose little risk to others, he addressed the man beside him: a member of Yoshiwara's civilian security force, who'd greeted him upon his arrival at the scene. "Who is he?" Sano asked, gesturing to the head.

  "I don't know, sosakan-sama." The officer, dressed in a short cotton kimono and trousers, was a burly peasant who wore a wooden club at his waist. Unlike the Edo police, he'd been obviously glad to cooperate. Breaking up fights and ejecting rowdy drunks from the quarter comprised most of the Yoshiwara force's work. They weren't trained to handle any murders except the uncomplicated sort that resulted from street brawls and disputes over women. "But I've learned that he visited the Great Joy last night."

  The Great Joy was one of the quarter's largest pleasure houses. "Who discovered the remains?" Sano asked, fearing that a valuable witness might have escaped before his arrival.

  To his relief, the officer said, "A visiting samurai found the head; he's down the road. He alerted the guards at the gate, who fetched us." The officer indicated himself, and his four colleagues who stood in a circle around Sano and the trophy, holding off the growing crowd of spectators. "We found the body."

  Sano directed his attention to the surrounding scene. At this hour of the morning, the road to Yoshiwara was well traveled in both directions. Samurai and commoners moved toward the pleasure quarter, while last night's revelers still straggled homeward. To the southeast, beyond the fringe of willows at Sano's right where his horse stood, the San'ya Canal gleamed in the sunlight. Wild geese flew over the plowed but yet unplanted and unflooded rice fields on the opposite sides of the canal and the elevated dike where Sano stood. Ahead, tea stands lined the approach to Yoshiwara's gate. Beyond them rose the walls and rooftops of the pleasure quarter.

  "Has anyone reported seeing the murder?" Sano asked.

  "No, sosakan-sama."

  Anticipating another long search for witnesses, Sano wished he could have brought Hirata. But he'd left the young doshin to continue the as yet fruitless search for the suspect along the route leading from the bancho to the pharmacists' street. More than ever Sano felt the lack of manpower. A curse upon Chamberlain Yanagisawa!

  "I'll talk to the man who discovered the head," he told the officer, "and then you can show me the body."

  First, however, he bent to remove the label from the trophy's pigtail, and saw characters inked in the same hand as those from the one on Kaibara's head. " `Endo Munetsugu, '" he read, disconcerted.

  This new development weakened his theory that the killer bore a grudge against the Kaibara clan. Like Araki, Endo Munetsugu had lived during the Sengoku Jidai and fought under Oda Nobunaga. But as far as Sano knew, the Endo and Araki-Kaibara families were not related. Nor had they owed allegiance to the same lord-the Endo had served not Tokugawa Ieyasu, but Toyotomi Hideyoshi, the general who had succeeded to power after Oda's death. Despair replaced hope as Sano saw the scope of his case widen yet again. Another historical angle to complicate the investigation! Was the dead man Endo Munetsugu's descendant? Was the killer obsessed with samurai from the past, and if so, why?

  Sano tucked the label in his sash for later contemplation. Then, leading his horse, he accompanied the officers along the causeway toward Yoshiwara. Soon they reached the tea stands, each of which displayed a red lantern bearing the name of a pleasure house. There customers waited in line to buy sake or arrange liaisons with their favorite courtesans. Against the rear wall of the last stand on the canal side, a figure slumped dejectedly. Sano left his horse in the officers' care and headed toward the samurai, who roused at his approach.

  Dressed at the height of dandified fashion for a trip to Yoshiwara, he wore a white silk kimono and trousers, white surcoat, shoes, and wide-brimmed hat, and ivory-hilted swords. Beside him stood his white horse. But these affectations failed to evoke the intended glamour. The samurai looked much the worse for his experience.

  "Ah, His Excellency's sosakan-sama." Slurring his words, he lifted a glum face to Sano. "It's about time. I've been waiting for hours."

  In his late twenties, he had a round, bleary-eyed face flushed by drink. He sat low on his spine with his legs sprawled awkwardly before him. A brown stain covered the front of his kimono; he'd evidently vomited on himself. Despite his sad condition, he held a sake decanter.

  "Your name?" Sano asked.

  "Nishimori Saburo. I serve Lord Kuroda." Nishimori attempted to sit upright, then moaned, clutched his stomach, and bobbed his head in lieu of bowing. "Forgive me, but I've had the most terrible time. That head. "

  Shakily he gulped from the decanter, shuddered, coughed, and wiped his lips on his sleeve. "Have some?" he said, offering the decanter to Sano.

  "No, thank you." Sano winced inwardly at the stench of liquor and vomit. "Tell me how you found the head."

  Nishimori's queasy expression indicated his reluctance. Then his eyes focused on the Tokugawa crest on Sano's garments. "Oh, all right. Left Yoshiwara at dawn, first one out the gate. Had to get back to my post, and besides, my time was up." There was a two-day limit on customers' stays in Yoshiwara. "Glad to go, really. What money I didn't spend on those overpriced women, I lost gambling. Then I get out here, and I find a. Now I ask you: Could there be a worse way to end what was supposed to be a good time?" His wet mouth pouted.

  "Did you recognize the man?" Sano asked patiently.

  "Can't say as I did. One meets so many people, but not looking like that."

  "Did you see anyone nearby when you found the head?"

  Nishimori closed his eyes. Saliva dribbled down his chin. "No."

  Sano deduced that the killer must have committed the murder and placed the bundori last night, after the Yoshiwara gates had closed. But what had the victim been doing on the road? Had the killer somehow lured him to his death? And from where had the killer come? Along the causeway from Edo, from a nearby village, or from Yoshiwara itself? Where had he prepared the bund
ori?

  "I go looking for fun," Nishimori complained, "and look what happens. I'm broke. Sick. A witness in a murder case." With the decanter, he gestured toward Yoshiwara. "And they call that place lucky," he said bitterly.

  Sano pondered the allusion. Yoshiwara had originally been dubbed "reedy plain" for the land it occupied, but someone had changed the characters of the name to read "lucky plain," because men went there hoping for luck. Now Sano wondered whether mere bad luck had situated the victim in the wrong place at the wrong time as the killer roamed in search of prey. Or had he been the target of a planned ambush?

  Dismissing Nishimori, Sano rejoined the security force and continued toward Yoshiwara. Beyond the tea stands, before the road sloped down toward the pleasure quarter, stood the famous "Primping Willow," where visitors stopped to groom themselves after their journey. Today the men gathered under the tree weren't dusting off their garments or smoothing their hair. Avidly they peered into the field below the embankment.