The Perfumed Sleeve Page 2

  Even though Sano shared many of the concerns of his wife and chief retainer, he felt a duty toward Makino that superseded reason. “A posthumous request from a fellow samurai is a serious obligation,” he said. “Refusing to honor it would be a breach of protocol.”

  “No one would fault you for refusing a favor to a man who treated you the way Makino did,” Hirata said.

  “You ignore protocol often enough,” Reiko said, wryly alluding to Sano’s independent streak.

  But Sano had more reason to grant the request, no matter the consequences. “If Makino was murdered, the fact may come to light regardless of what I do. Even if he wasn’t, rumors could arise that say he was.” Rumors, true and false, abounded in Edo Castle during this political crisis. “Suspicion will fall on all his enemies—including me. By that time, evidence of how Makino died, and who killed him, will be lost, along with my chance to prove my innocence if I’m accused.”

  Understanding dawned on Reiko’s and Hirata’s faces. “Your enemies have tried to frame you for crimes in the past,” Hirata recalled. “They would welcome this opportunity to destroy you.”

  “Most of your friends now belong to Chamberlain Yanagisawa or Lord Matsudaira,” Reiko said. “Since you won’t join either faction, you have the protection of neither. And if you’re accused of murder, you can’t count on the shogun to defend you.”

  Because the shogun’s favor was as inconstant as the weather, Sano thought. He’d known that by resisting pressure to choose sides, he stood alone and vulnerable, but now the high price of neutrality had come due. “So I either investigate Makino’s death, or jeopardize all of us,” Sano said, for his family and retainers would share any punishment that came his way.

  Reiko and Hirata nodded in resigned agreement. “I’ll do everything in my power to help you,” Hirata said.

  “Where shall we begin?” Reiko said.

  Their support gladdened Sano, yet misgivings disturbed him. Was Reiko ready to brave the hazards of this investigation so soon after her kidnapping? Sano also wondered how far he could trust Hirata, after Hirata had placed personal concerns above duty to his master during the kidnapping investigation. But Sano was in no position to turn away help.

  “As soon as I’ve washed and dressed, we’ll go to Makino’s estate and inspect the scene of his death,” Sano told Hirata.

  Hirata bowed. He said, “I’ll fetch some detectives to accompany us,” then left the room.

  “You must eat first and restore your strength,” Reiko said to Sano. “I’ll bring your breakfast.” She paused in the doorway. “Is there anything else you need me to do?”

  Sano read anxiety in her manner, instead of the eager excitement with which she usually greeted a new investigation. He said, “I won’t know until I’ve determined whether Makino was indeed murdered. Maybe Hirata and I will discover that he died of natural causes. Maybe I can dispel suspicion of foul play, and everything will be all right.”

  Senior Elder Makino’s estate was located on the main street of the Edo Castle official quarter. In accordance with his high rank, the estate was the largest of the compounds, surrounded by stone walls and retainers’ barracks, that lined the road. The gate boasted a double-tiered roof; sentries occupied guard booths outside its double portals.

  As Sano walked up to the gate with Hirata and four detectives, they passed officials hurrying about on business. A shrill pitch of anxiety rang from conversations Sano overheard between these men swirling at the periphery of the political maelstrom. The whole bakufu feared the consequences of the struggle between Chamberlain Yanagisawa and Lord Matsudaira. But Sano detected no sign of commotion around Makino’s estate. He surmised that the news of Makino’s death hadn’t yet been made public.

  After introducing himself to the guards in the booth, Sano told them, “I’m here to see the honorable Senior Elder Makino.”

  The guards exchanged uneasy glances. One man said, “I beg you to wait a moment,” and went inside the compound. Evidently, the guards knew their master was dead but had orders not to tell anyone. Sano and his comrades waited in the chill gray morning until the guard reemerged, accompanied by a man whom Sano recognized as Makino’s secretary.

  The secretary, a pale, sleek man with a deferential air, bowed to Sano. “Will you please come with me?”

  He led Sano, Hirata, and the detectives through the gate, between the barracks, through another gate to the inner compound, and up the stone steps to the mansion. Inside the entryway Sano and his comrades exchanged their shoes for guest slippers, then hung their swords on racks, according to custom when entering a private home. The secretary seated Sano, Hirata, and the detectives in a reception chamber and knelt opposite them.

  “I regret to tell you that the honorable Senior Elder Makino just died,” he said in the hushed tone reserved for such an announcement. “If you had business with him, perhaps I may assist you on his behalf?”

  Sano said, “I already know about Makino-san. I would like to speak with whoever is now in charge here.”

  The secretary’s face reflected startled confusion. He said, “I’ll fetch Senior Elder Makino’s chief retainer,” then rose and edged out the door.

  Soon, a man dressed in austere gray robes strode into the room. He knelt and bowed to Sano. “Greetings, Sosakan-sama”

  “Good morning, Tamura-san,” replied Sano.

  They were casual acquaintances, with a mutual wariness that stemmed from Sano and Makino’s antagonism. Sano knew Tamura to be an old-fashioned samurai who considered himself as much a warrior as a bureaucrat; unlike many bakufu officials, he kept up his martial arts training. Although past fifty years of age, he had a hardy, muscular physique. His hands bore calluses and scars from combat. His features always reminded Sano of the carved wooden masks worn by villains in No plays: hard, shiny, prominent cheeks; a long nose with its sharp tip flattened downward; slanted eyebrows that gave him a severe expression.

  “I am responsible for Senior Elder Makino’s household and affairs,” Tamura’s voice—deep, raspy, and loud—befitted his appearance. “There are no male clan members in town, and until they can be summoned, it’s my duty to handle any business concerning my master.”

  Sano recalled hearing that Makino had feuded with his four sons and numerous relatives, whom he’d suspected of plotting to oust him from power, and had banished them to remote provinces.

  “I was just about to notify the shogun of Senior Elder Makino’s death,” Tamura said. “May I ask how you learned about it?”

  “His valet came and told me,” Sano said.

  Disapproval drew together Tamura’s slanted brows. “Everyone in the household was forbidden to spread the news until after the official announcement.”

  “Juro had permission, from his master,” Sano said, then explained. Tamura stared, obviously disconcerted; Hirata and the detectives watched him and Sano in alert silence. Sano handed Makino’s letter to Tamura. “The senior elder has requested that I investigate his death.”

  As Tamura read the letter, he shook his head in amazement. “I had no knowledge of this.”

  Was Tamura shocked, Sano wondered, because he’d prided himself on enjoying his superior’s confidence, only to learn of secrets kept from him? Or were there other reasons for discomfiture?

  Quickly regaining his poise, Tamura said, “I did know that the senior elder feared assassination. However, he died peacefully in his sleep.” Tamura gave the letter back to Sano. “Many thanks for honoring my master’s wish. You have no further obligation to him.” He bowed and rose, concluding Sano’s visit.

  Sano thought Tamura seemed a bit too hasty to get rid of him. Perhaps Makino had had good cause not to tell his chief retainer about the letter. Sano, Hirata, and the detectives stood, but held their ground.

  “I’d like to see for myself that Senior Elder Makino wasn’t a victim of murder,” Sano told Tamura. “Please take me to him.”

  Resistance swelled Tamura to his full height. “With
all due respect, Sosakan-sama, but I must decline. An official examination of my master would be a disgrace to him.”

  “The senior elder knew what my inquiries would entail. He cared less about disgrace than that I should discover the truth about what happened.” Sano observed the angry crimson flush spreading across Tamura’s shiny cheeks. He conjectured that Tamura might prove to be his first suspect in a murder investigation. “Now, if you’ll show me to Senior Elder Makino?” Sano paused. “Or do you want me to think you have something to hide?”

  Calculation flickered in Tamura’s eyes as he measured the threat posed by Sano against whatever was his actual motive for barring examination of the death scene.

  “Come this way,” he said at last. His courteous bow and gesture toward the door smacked of disdain.

  As they all trooped down the corridor, Sano experienced a growing sense that Makino’s death wasn’t as natural as it seemed. He anticipated that Tamura’s unwillingness to cooperate was only the first obstacle his inquiries would meet.

  Senior Elder Makino’s mansion had the same layout as other samurai estates, with family living quarters at the center. A separate building, with half-timbered plaster walls, heavy wooden shutters over the windows, a broad veranda, and surrounding gardens, housed his private chambers. Tamura, Sano, Hirata, and the detectives crossed a covered walkway built above raked white sand studded with low shrubs and mossy rocks. Two guards stood outside the building. Inside, a corridor encircled the chambers. Tamura slid open a panel in the lattice-and-paper wall, admitting Sano and his men into a spacious room heated by sunken charcoal braziers. Across an expanse of tatami floor, a platform extended below a mural that depicted treetops and clouds. On a bed on the platform lay Senior Elder Makino, covered by quilt. But Sano’s immediate attention focused on the people in the room.

  Two women knelt, one on either side of Makino’s head. A man crouched at his feet. All turned toward Sano, Hirata, and the detectives. Sano had a sudden impression of vultures feeding on a corpse, interrupted by a predator.

  “This is Makino-san’s widow,” Tamura said, introducing the older of the women.

  Although Sano estimated her age at forty-five years, her face’s elegant bone structure testified to the beauty she must have once possessed. A rich burgundy silk dressing gown embossed with medallions clothed her slim figure. Her hair fell in a long plait over her shoulder. She bowed to Sano, her features set in rigid lines of grief.

  “That’s his concubine.” Tamura indicated the other woman.

  She was small and very young—no more than fifteen, Sano guessed—yet voluptuous of body. Her scarlet kimono, gaily patterned with winter landscapes, looked out of place at a deathbed. But her round, pretty face was tear-streaked, her eyes red and swollen. As she bobbed a clumsy bow at Sano, she pressed a white kerchief to her nose.

  “And that’s the senior elder’s houseguest.” Tamura nodded at the man by the foot of the bed.

  The houseguest rearranged his tall, agile figure in a kneeling position and bowed. He was in his twenties, clad in a plain brown robe, and stunningly handsome. His bold, lustrous eyes appraised Sano. Lively spirits flashed behind the somber expression on his strong, clean features. He wore his oiled black hair in a topknot above his shaved crown. Recognition jarred Sano, but he couldn’t think where he’d seen the man before. He had a notion that the man wasn’t a samurai, despite his hairstyle.

  “Leave this building,” Tamura ordered the three.

  The concubine glanced at the houseguest. He jerked his chin at her, then rose and stepped off the platform. The concubine scrambled up, and together they hastened from the room. The widow glided after them. While Tamura stood by the door and the detectives waited at the end of the room, Sano and Hirata mounted the platform and gazed down at Makino.

  He lay on his back with his legs straight and hands atop his chest under the quilt. A jade neck rest supported his head, which wore a white nightcap. His withered, sallow skin spread across his ugly face, delineating the skull beneath. Wrinkles wattled his scrawny neck above the collar of a beige silk robe; purplish shadows tinged his closed eyelids. He looked much the same as when alive, Sano thought. Except that Makino had never shut his eyes in the presence of other people because he was always on the lookout for threats, or for advantages to seize. And he’d had too much pride to let his mouth drop open like that. Sano experienced a mixture of sadness at the spectacle of human mortality and relief that his enemy was really dead.

  “Who found him?” Sano asked Tamura.

  “I did. I came to wake him, as usual, and there he was.” Arms folded, Tamura spoke in tone of resigned forbearance.

  Sano noted the quilt draped smoothly over Makino, his head balanced on the neck rest, his body in serene repose. “Was he in this exact position? Or did anyone move his body?”

  “He was just as you see him,” Tamura said.

  Sano and Hirata exchanged glances, sharing the thought that Makino looked too neat and composed even if he’d died naturally, and that the person who discovers the body is often the killer. Now that he had more reason to doubt Tamura’s word, Sano felt his heart beat faster with the excitement that a new investigation always brought him along with qualms about his next step.

  In order to determine how Makino had died, an examination of the body was imperative. But Sano couldn’t just strip Makino naked and look for wounds, as that would transgress Tokugawa law forbidding practices associated with foreign science, including the examination of corpses. Sano had broken the law often enough, but he couldn’t do it here, in the presence of Tamura, a hostile witness. He needed to get Makino away from the estate. Besides, even if Sano examined the body, he might not be able to tell what had caused the death. He needed expert advice. His mind raced, formulating a ploy.

  “Are you done?” Tamura asked impatiently.

  “I’m not yet satisfied as to how Senior Elder Makino died,” Sano said. “I must order you to delay reporting his death. No one will leave here.” Sano sent one detective to begin securing the estate and another to fetch more troops to help. He didn’t want the news to spread and visitors overrunning the premises before he could examine them. As Tamura gaped in outrage, Sano added, “And I must confiscate Makino-san’s body.”

  “What?” Tamura’s outrage turned to incredulity. He stalked across the room to the platform and stared at Sano. “Why?”

  “The funeral rites must be postponed until my investigation is done and the pronouncement of the cause of Makino-san’s death is official,” Sano improvised. “Therefore, I shall take him into safekeeping.”

  Tamura’s expression said he thought Sano had gone mad. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. What law allows you to do this?”

  “Bring me a trunk large enough to carry the body,” Sano said, eager to end the argument before it revealed his explanation as completely spurious.

  Fists balled on his hips, Tamura said, “If you take my master, you’ll displease many people.”

  Sano wondered whether Tamura was afraid of what he might see on the body. “If you stand in my way, you’ll suffer,” Sano said. “Get the trunk.”

  They were at an impasse. Sano knew that Makino’s family and powerful friends—including Chamberlain Yanagisawa—could punish him for confiscating the body, especially if they guessed why he wanted it. But Tamura knew that Sano could have him stripped of his samurai status for disobeying orders. Hirata and the detectives moved closer to Sano, aligning themselves against Tamura. Evidently recognizing that the threat to him was more immediate than the one to Sano, the man visibly deflated. Surliness replaced his ire.

  “As you wish,” he said to Sano, then slunk out of the room.

  Sano expelled his breath. The investigation had barely begun, and already the difficulties were mounting. He beckoned his two remaining detectives, Marume and Fukida, and whispered to them, “Take Senior Elder Makino to Edo Morgue.”

  The young, slight, serious detective and the jovial, bra
wny one nodded. They understood from past cases what Sano intended. They also knew the dangers involved and the caution necessary.

  Tamura returned with two servants hauling a long wooden trunk. Marume and Fukida peeled the quilt off Makino, lifted his stiff body, placed it inside the trunk, and carried it away. Sano offered a silent prayer for its safe, secret arrival at Edo Morgue. Then he ordered Tamura, “Wait outside while I examine the senior elder’s chambers.”

  As soon as Tamura was gone, the search for evidence of murder began.

  “There’s no sign of a struggle,” Hirata said, walking around the chamber. “In fact, the room seems too neat. Just as Makino’s body did.”

  Sano, pacing the platform, nodded. “Teapot, bowl, and lamp arranged in a precise triangle on the table near the bed,” he said, pointing. His finger moved to indicate the room below the platform. “Cushions, lacquer chests, and kimono stand pushed against the walls. Not a thing out of place.”

  Hirata felt the tension between him and Sano, like a turbulence running under the smooth flow of their words and actions. Ever since Sano had reprimanded him for disobedience, he’d felt maimed and diminished, as though part of him had died.

  He said, “And not an obvious mark anywhere on the tatami. If someone rearranged Makino’s body after he died, whoever it was could also have cleaned up signs of what really happened in here last night.”

  “But maybe not all the signs,” Sano said.

  He crouched by the bed where Makino had lain. Hirata began opening drawers of the cabinets along the wall. Misery weighed upon him as his mind wandered to the circumstances that had caused his troubles.

  While pursuing the man who’d kidnapped their women and the shogun’s mother, he’d placed the safety of his pregnant wife Midori above his duty to Sano. Thus, he’d violated Bushido, the samurai code of loyalty. He’d not only lost the trust Sano had once placed in him, but his reputation had suffered too. Colleagues aware of his misdeed ostracized him. Half of Sano’s detectives sympathized with Hirata; the rest thought Sano should have thrown him out. The controversy had undermined Hirata’s authority and the harmony within the corps. Now, lifting folded robes from a drawer, Hirata covertly eyed Sano, who was inspecting the puffy silver-green satin quilt. Although Hirata deeply regretted the rift between them, and his lost honor, a part of him believed that his disobedience had been justified.