The Concubine's Tattoo Read online

  “Why do we have to talk about it, when you must already know?” Kushida threw down his spear, drank deeply from his cup, then glared at Sano. “Why don’t you just arrest me? I’ve been suspended from duty; I’ve disgraced myself and my family name. How could things possibly get worse?”

  “The penalty for murder is execution,” Sano reminded him. “I’m giving you a chance to tell your side of the story—and perhaps escape further disgrace.”

  Sighing in resignation, Kushida put down his cup and leaned back on his elbows. “Oh, well,” he said. “When Lady Harume came to the castle, I was …attracted to her. Yes, I know the rules against improper behavior with the shogun’s concubines, and I’ve always obeyed them before.”

  Sano recalled what Kushida’s commander had told him when asked about the lieutenant’s character: “He’s a quiet, serious one—he doesn’t seem to have any friends or much of a life beyond work and martial arts. The other guards don’t like his air of superiority. Until now, Kushida has controlled himself around the concubines so well that everyone thought that he didn’t care for women. He assumed his post at age twenty-five, when his father retired from it. We were a little uneasy about letting such a young fellow loose in the Large Interior; usually we choose men who are past their prime. But Kushida has lasted ten years—longer than many other men, who’ve been transferred because they got too friendly with some lady.”

  “Never before had I ever allowed myself to be tempted by any of the women. But Harume was so beautiful, with such a lively, charming manner.” Kushida’s gaze softened in reminiscence. More to himself than to Sano, he said, “At first, I was content just to look at her. I listened to her talk to the other women and take her music lessons. Whenever she left the castle, I volunteered to be part of the military escort. Anything just to be near her.

  “But soon I wanted more.” His voice gained intensity; he seemed eager for confession. “I found excuses to start conversations with Harume. She was pleasant to me. Yet I still wasn’t satisfied. I wanted to see her naked body.” Lust burned behind the gaze Kushida turned on Sano. “So I started spying on her. I’d stand outside her room while she undressed, and watch her shadow move against the paper walls. Then one day she accidentally left the bathchamber door open a crack. And I saw her shoulders and legs and breasts.” Lieutenant Kushida’s voice grew hushed with awe, his expression bemused. “The sight drove all caution from me.”

  Had Harume really left the door open by mistake, or had she been playing the same game with Kushida as described in her diary? As yet, Sano had an incomplete sense of her character; he must learn more about her. But now, seeing on Kushida’s ugly face the haunted look of obsessive love, Sano felt his heartbeat quicken in excitement. Such obsession could lead to murder. “So you made advances toward Lady Harume?” he prompted.

  The lieutenant frowned, as though angry at himself for speaking too freely. Hunching over, arms folded upon his knees, he stared at the ground and said, “I sent Harume a letter, saying how much I admired her. But she never answered, and she began avoiding me. I was afraid I’d made her angry, so I wrote another letter, apologizing for the first one and begging to be her friend.” Kushida’s voice tightened; his fingers dug into his arms. “Well, she didn’t answer that one, either. I hardly ever saw her anymore; she stopped speaking to me.

  “I was so desperate, I cast aside discipline and wisdom. I wrote her another letter, saying I loved her. I begged her to run away with me so we could be with each other as man and wife for a night, then die together and spend eternity in paradise. Then I waited for her reply—for five whole, miserable days! I thought I would go mad.” A high, shaky laugh burst from Kushida. “Then, while I was patrolling the corridor, I happened to run into Harume. I grabbed her shoulders and demanded to know why she hadn’t answered my letters. She yelled at me to let go. I was past caring who saw or heard. I said I loved her and wanted her and couldn’t live without her. Then—”

  Kushida rested his forehead upon his arms. Palpable waves of unhappiness emanated from him. “She said I should have guessed from her behavior that she didn’t share my feelings. She ordered me to leave her alone.” The lieutenant raised his face, a mask of bleak misery. “After all my dreams, she rejected me! I became so angry my vision turned black. For that ungrateful whore I’d sacrificed discipline, risked my position and my honor!

  “I started shaking her. I heard my own voice saying, ‘I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you.’ Then she broke free and ran away. Somehow I managed to pull myself together and resume my duties. Eventually my commander told me Harume had reported everything that had happened. The guards threw me out. I never saw Lady Harume again.” Kushida exhaled forcefully and looked out on the busy street. “End of story.”

  But was it? Sano wondered. A forbidden love, nurtured over a period of eight months, didn’t just suddenly die, even after official censure. Deprived of all hope, it could fester into an equally obsessive hatred.

  “How much time passed between that encounter with Lady Harume and your expulsion from Edo Castle?” Sano asked.

  “Two days. Long enough for Madam Chizuru to hear Lady Harume’s complaint and notify my superiors so they could punish me.”

  And long enough for Lieutenant Kushida to exact revenge on the woman who had rejected him. “Have you ever seen this before?” From his pouch Sano removed the ink jar—now empty and rinsed—and gave it to Kushida.

  “I heard that it was a poisoned bottle of ink that killed her. So this is it?” Lieutenant Kushida cradled the jar in his palm, bending his head so that Sano couldn’t see his expression. His fingertip traced the gilt characters of Harume’s name. Then he handed the jar back to Sano, grimacing with impatience. “I know what you’re thinking: that I killed Harume. Weren’t you paying attention when I told you what happened between us? She despised me. She would never have tattooed herself for me. And no, I’ve never seen that jar before.” He added bitterly, “Harume didn’t make a habit of showing me gifts from lovers.”

  Sano wondered if Kushida had lied about his relations with Harume. What if she had really welcomed his advances, and they’d become lovers? In spite of the disparaging reference to him in her diary, it wasn’t impossible that the lonely, bored concubine would have accepted an unattractive suitor if he was the only diversion available. Maybe she’d agreed to tattoo herself as proof of her love for Kushida, and he’d brought the ink. Then, afraid they would be discovered and punished, had she tried to break with him? When Lieutenant Kushida objected, Harume might have reported him in hopes of saving herself. But Sano still planned to question the lord of Tosa Province, of whom he believed Harume had written in her diary. And the lieutenant’s last remark offered another possible motive.

  “You knew Harume had a lover, then?” Sano said.

  “I’m only assuming now that she must have, because of the way she died.” Rising, Kushida leaned on the veranda railing, his face averted from Sano. “How could I have known before? She didn’t confide in me.”

  “But you watched her, followed her, eavesdropped on her conversations,” Sano said, standing beside Kushida. “You might have guessed what was going on. Were you jealous because she not only rejected you, but had another man? Did you see them together when you escorted her away from the castle? Did you poison the ink he gave her?”

  “I didn’t kill her!” Kushida snatched up his spear and brandished it menacingly. “I didn’t know about the ink. The rules forbid palace guards to go into the concubines’ rooms except during emergencies, and never alone.” Emphasizing his words by jabbing his spear in the direction of Sano’s face, Kushida said, “I did not kill Harume. I loved her. I would never have really hurt her. And I still love her now. If she had lived, she might have come to love me. I had no reason to wish her dead.”

  “Except that her death resulted in the charges against you being dropped, and your reinstatement to your post,” Sano reminded him.

  “Do you think I care about that?” Ku
shida shouted, his face livid with rage. Curious pedestrians stared. “What do position, money, or even honor mean to me now that Harume is gone?”

  Sano backed away, hands raised palms outward. “Calm down,” he said, realizing how dangerously love, grief, and anger had unbalanced the lieutenant’s mind.

  “Without her, my life is over!” Kushida yelled. “Arrest me, convict me, execute me if you will—it doesn’t matter to me. But for the last time: I did not kill Hammer

  Kushida forced the last words through bared teeth, spacing them with hissing breaths as if pumping himself up with ire. His face took on the ferocious expression he’d worn during the practice match. He lunged at Sano, spear thrusting. Sano grabbed the spear’s haft. As they grappled for control of the weapon, Kushida spat curses.

  “No, Kushida-san. Stop!” Koemon and the other teachers rushed out the door. They grabbed the lieutenant, pulled him away from Sano, and seized his weapon. As Kushida howled and thrashed, they wrestled him to the veranda floor. It took five men to pin him down. Students watched in dismay. Bystanders hooted and cheered. Kushida burst into loud, hysterical laughter.

  “Harume, Harume,” he wailed. Sobs wracked his body.

  A castle messenger hurried up to the academy. A flag bearing the Tokugawa crest waved from a pole attached to his back. Bowing to Sano, he said, “A message for you, Sōsakan-sama” and proffered a lacquer scroll case.

  Sano opened the case and read the enclosed letter, which had been sent to his house earlier that morning and forwarded to him. It was from Dr. Ito. Lady Harume’s corpse had arrived at Edo Morgue. Ito would perform the examination at Sano’s convenience.

  “See that Kushida gets home safely,” Sano told Koemon. Later he would order the Edo Castle guard commander to delay Kushida’s reinstatement: Innocent or guilty, the lieutenant was in no shape for active duty.

  After stopping to see his mother, Sano rode toward Edo Morgue while mulling over his interview with Kushida. How easily hurt and jealousy could have turned the disturbed lieutenant’s love for Harume to hatred. Yet there was one critical factor that argued against Kushida’s guilt. From what Sano had observed, his temper manifested itself in sudden, violent outbursts. The spear was Kushida’s favored weapon—if he wanted to kill, wouldn’t he use it? Lady Harume’s murder had required cold, devious forethought. To Sano, poisoning seemed more like a woman’s crime. He wondered how Hirata was doing on his interview with Harume’s rival concubine, Lady Ichiteru.

  10

  The Sara-waka-cho theater quarter was located near Edo’s Ginza district, named for the Tokugawa silver mint. Bright signs advertised performances; music and cheers rang out from the open upper-story windows of the theaters. In framework towers atop the roofs, men beat drums to attract audiences. People of all ages and classes lined up at ticket booths; teahouses and restaurants were filled with customers. Hirata left his horse at a public stable and continued on foot through the noisy crowd. On Sano’s orders, he’d already dispatched one team of detectives to search for the itinerant drug peddler Choyei, and another to search the Large Interior for poison and other evidence. Upon going to the women’s quarters to question Lady Ichiteru, he’d been informed that she was spending the day at the Satsuma-za puppet theater. Now, as he neared the theater, a growing apprehension sped his heartbeat.

  He’d lied when he had told Sano everything was all right, trying to reassure himself that he was capable of handling the interview with Lady Ichiteru. Women didn’t always intimidate him the way Lady Keisho-in and Madam Chizuru had last night; he liked them, and had enjoyed many romances with maids and shopkeepers’ daughters. However, the ladies of powerful men tapped a deep sense of inadequacy within him. Usually Hirata took pride in his humble origin and what he’d achieved in spite of it. In courage, intelligence, and martial arts skill, he knew he equalled many a high-ranking samurai; thus, he could face his male superiors with aplomb. But the women…

  Their elegant beauty inspired in him a hopeless longing. A bachelor at the late age of twenty-one, Hirata had deferred marriage in the hope of one day advancing high enough to wed a fine lady who would never have to slave like his mother had, keeping house and caring for a family without benefit of servants. As Sano’s chief retainer, he’d achieved that goal; his family had received proposals from prominent clans seeking a closer association with the shogun’s court, offering their daughters as Hirata’s prospective brides. Sano would act as go-between and arrange a match. Yet still Hirata delayed his wedding. Ladies of high class made him feel coarse, dirty, and inferior, as if none of his accomplishments mattered—he would never be good enough to associate with them, let alone deserve one as a wife.

  Now Hirata stopped outside the Satsuma-za, a large, open-air arena comprised of wooden walls built around a courtyard. Above the entrance, five plumed arrows—symbol of the puppet theater—pierced a railing hung with indigo curtains bearing the establishment’s crest. Vertical banners announced the names of current plays. An attendant seated on a platform collected admission fees, while another guarded the doorway, a narrow horizontal slot in the wall that prevented theatergoers from entering without paying. Hirata made up his mind that he would not let Lady Ichiteru upset him as the shogun’s mother had. Poisoning—a devious, indirect crime—was the classic method of female killers, and Ichiteru was therefore the prime murder suspect.

  “One, please,” Hirata told the attendant, offering the requisite coins.

  Ducking through the door, he found himself in the theater’s entry way. He’d come in at an intermission during the daylong series of plays, and the space was jammed with patrons buying tea, sake, rice cakes, fruit, and roasted melon seeds from food stalls. Hirata left his shoes beside a row of others and eased his way through the crowd, wondering how to find Lady Ichiteru, whom he’d never met.

  “Hirata-sarc?”

  He turned at the sound of a female voice calling his name. Before him stood a young lady several years his junior. Clad in a bright red silk kimono printed with blue and gold parasols, she had glossy shoulder-length black hair, round cheeks, and bright, merry eyes. She bowed, then said, “I’m Niu Midori.” Her voice was high, lilting, girlish. “I just wanted to convey my respects to your master.” A smile curved her full, rosy lips and dimpled her cheeks. “He once did me a big favor, and I’m truly grateful to him.”

  “Yes, I know—he told me.” Hirata smiled back, charmed by her unaffected manner, which he hadn’t expected from a woman of Midori’s social status. Her father was an “outside lord”—a daimyo whose clan had suffered defeat at the Battle of Sekigahara and later sworn allegiance to the victorious Tokugawa faction. The Niu, though stripped of their ancestral fief and relocated to distant Kyushu, remained one of the wealthiest, most powerful families in Japan. But Midori seemed as natural as the girls Hirata had romanced. Feeling suddenly lighthearted and cocky, he bowed and said, “I’m delighted to meet you.”

  “The pleasure is all mine.” Now Midori’s expression grew wistful. “Is the Sōsakan-sama well?” When assured that Sano was in perfect health, she said, “So he’s married now.” Her sigh told Hirata that she liked Sano and had once cherished hopes of a match with him. Then she regarded Hirata with lively interest. “I’ve heard lots about you. You were a policeman, weren’t you? How exciting!”

  At a food stall, Midori bought a tray of tea and cakes. “Here, let me help you,” Hirata said.

  She dimpled. “Thank you. You must be very brave to be a detective.”

  “Not really,” Hirata said modestly. They moved to a vacant spot, and he related some heroic tales of his police career.

  “How wonderful!” Midori clapped her hands. “And I’ve heard how you helped capture a band of smugglers in Nagasaki. Oh, I do wish I could have seen that.”

  “It was nothing,” Hirata said, preening under her frank admiration. She was really very pretty and sweet. “Now I’m investigating the murder of Lady Harume, and I need to speak with Lady Ichiteru. I have some que
stions for you, too,” he added, recalling Sano’s instructions.

  “Oh, good! I’ll tell you whatever I can.” Midori smiled. “Come and sit with us. We can talk until the play starts.”

  As Hirata followed her into the theater, his confidence soared. He’d found it so easy conversing with Midori; he should do just fine with Lady Ichiteru.

  In the sunny theater courtyard, tatami mats covered the ground. Charcoal braziers warmed the air. The audience knelt in chattering groups. At the front, the stage consisted of a long wooden railing, from which hung a black curtain to conceal from view puppeteers, chanter, and musicians. Midori led Hirata toward the choice seating area directly in front of the stage, which was occupied by a row of richly dressed ladies with their maids and guards.

  “That’s Lady Ichiteru at the end.” Suddenly Midori seemed shy, uncertain. “Hirata-san. Please forgive me if I’m interfering, but—I must warn you to be careful. I don’t know anything for sure, but I—” She continued stammering, but just then, Lady Ichiteru turned and caught Hirata’s eye.

  With a long, tapering face, high-bridged nose, and narrow, tilted eyes, she was a classic beauty from ancient court paintings—or from the cheap booklets advertising the courtesans of the Yoshiwara pleasure quarter. Everything about her reflected this startling combination of high-class refinement and common sensuality. Dainty red lips had been painted over a mouth that was full, lush, and not quite hidden beneath the white makeup that covered her face. Her hairstyle, looped up at the sides and long in the back, was simple and severe, but anchored with an elaborate ornament of silk flowers and lacquer combs in the style of a high-ranking prostitute. Her burgundy brocade kimono slid off her shoulders in the latest, provocative fashion, yet the skin of her long neck and rounded shoulders looked pure, white, and untouched by any man. Ichiteru’s gaze was at once veiled and remote, sly and knowing.

  Hirata felt his knees tremble, and an embarrassing flush spread heat over his body. Like a dream walker he moved toward Lady Ichiteru. He was barely conscious of Midori performing introductions and explaining his presence. His surroundings receded into blurry shadow, while Ichiteru alone remained vivid and distinct. A profound arousal stirred in his loins. Never before had he been so immediately attracted to a woman.