Sano Ichiro 10 The Assassin's Touch (2005) Read online

  “Really?” the shogun said. “When did he take office?”

  “About six months ago,” Sano said. Ejima had been appointed by Lord Matsudaira, who’d purged his predecessor, an ally of Chamberlain Yanagisawa.

  The shogun heaved a tired sigh. “There are so many new people in the, ahh, government these days. I can’t keep them straight.” Annoyance pinched his features. “It would be much easier for me if the same men would stay in the same posts. I don’t know why they can’t.”

  Nobody offered an explanation. The shogun didn’t know about the war between Lord Matsudaira and Chamberlain Yanagisawa, or Lord Matsudaira’s victory and the ensuing purge; no one had told him, and since he rarely left the palace, he saw little of what went on around him. He knew Yanagisawa had been exiled, but he wasn’t clear as to why. Neither Lord Matsudaira nor Yanagisawa had wanted him to know that they aspired to control the regime, lest he put them to death for treason. And now Lord Matsudaira wanted the shogun kept ignorant of the fact that he’d seized power and virtually ruled Japan. No one dared disobey his orders against telling the shogun. A conspiracy of silence pervaded Edo Castle.

  “How did Ejima die?” Sano asked Lord Matsudaira.

  “He fell off his horse during a race at the Edo Castle track,” Lord Matsudaira said.

  “Dear me,” the shogun said. “Horse racing is such a dangerous sport, perhaps it should be, ahh, prohibited.”

  “I recall hearing that Ejima was a particularly reckless rider,” Sano said, “and he’d been in accidents before.”

  “I don’t believe this was an accident,” Lord Matsudaira said, his tone sharp. “I suspect foul play.”

  “Oh?” Sano saw his surprise mirrored on his men’s faces. “Why?”

  “This isn’t the only recent, sudden death of a high official,” Lord Matsudaira said. “First there was Ono Shinnosuke, the supervisor of court ceremony, on New Year’s Day. In the spring, Sasamura Tomoya, highway commissioner, died. And just last month, Treasury Minister Moriwaki.”

  “But Ono and Sasamura died in their sleep, at home in bed,” Sano said. “The treasury minister fell in the bathtub and hit his head. Their deaths seem unrelated to Ejima’s.”

  “Don’t you see a pattern?” Lord Matsudaira’s manner was ominous with insinuation.

  “They were all, ahh, new to their posts, weren’t they?” the shogun piped up timidly. He had the air of a child playing a guessing game, hoping he had the right answer. “And they died soon after taking office?”

  “Precisely,” Lord Matsudaira said, surprised that the shogun remembered the men, let alone knew anything about them.

  They were all Lord Matsudaira’s trusted cronies, installed after the coup, Sano could have added, but didn’t.

  “These deaths may not have been as natural as they appeared,” said Lord Matsudaira. “They may be part of a plot to undermine the regime by eliminating key officials.”

  While Lord Matsudaira’s enemies inside and outside the bakufu were constantly plotting his downfall, Sano didn’t know what to think about a conspiracy to weaken the regime within a regime that he’d established. During the past six months, Sano had watched him change from a confident leader of a major Tokugawa branch clan to a nervous, distrustful man insecure in his new position. Frequent sabotage and violent attacks against his army by Yanagisawa’s outlaws fed his insecurity. Stolen power could be stolen from the thief, Sano supposed.

  “A plot against the regime?” Always susceptible to warnings about danger, the shogun gasped. He looked around as though he, not Lord Matsudaira, were under attack. “You must do something!” he exclaimed to his cousin.

  “Indeed I will,” Lord Matsudaira said. “Chamberlain Sano, I order you to investigate the deaths.” Although Sano was second-in-command to the shogun, he answered to Lord Matsudaira, as did everyone else in the government. In his haste to protect himself, Lord Matsudaira forgot to manipulate the shogun into giving the order. “Should they prove to be murders, you will identify and apprehend the killer before he can strike again.”

  A thrill of glad excitement coursed through Sano. Even if the deaths turned out to be natural or accidental, here was a welcome reprieve from paperwork. “As you wish, my lord.”

  “Not so fast,” the shogun said, narrowing his eyes in displeasure because Lord Matsudaira had bypassed his authority. “I seem to recall that Sano-san isn’t a detective anymore. Investigating crimes is no longer his job. You can’t ask him to, ahh, dirty his hands investigating those deaths.”

  Lord Matsudaira hastened to correct his mistake: “Sano-san is obliged to do whatever you wish, regardless of his position. And you wish him to protect your interests, don’t you?”

  Obstinacy set the shogun’s weak jaw. “But Chamberlain Sano is too busy.”

  “I don’t mind the extra work, Your Excellency.” Now that Sano had his opportunity for action, he wasn’t going to give it up. His spiritual energy soared at the prospect of a quest for truth and justice, which were fundamental to his personal code of honor. “I’m eager to be of service.”

  “Many thanks,” the shogun said with a peevish glare at Lord Matsudaira as well as at Sano, “but helping me run the country requires all your attention.”

  Now Sano remembered the million tasks that awaited him. He couldn’t leave his office for long and risk losing his tenuous control over the nation’s affairs. “Perhaps His Excellency is right,” he reluctantly conceded. “Perhaps this investigation is a matter for the police. They are ordinarily responsible for solving cases of mysterious death.”

  “A good idea,” the shogun said, then asked Lord Matsudaira with belligerent scorn, “Why didn’t you think of the police? Call them in.”

  “No. I must strongly advise you against involving the police,” Lord Matsudaira said hastily.

  Sano wondered why. Police Commissioner Hoshina was close to Lord Matsudaira, and Sano would have expected Lord Matsudaira to give Hoshina charge of the investigation. Something must have gone wrong between them, and too recently for the news to have spread.

  “Chamberlain Sano is the only man who can be trusted to get to the bottom of this matter,” Lord Matsudaira declared.

  It was true that during the faction war Sano had remained neutral, resisting much pressure to take sides with Yanagisawa or Lord Matsudaira. Afterward, he’d loyally served Lord Matsudaira in the interest of restoring peace. And long before the trouble started, he’d earned himself a reputation for independence of mind and pursuing the truth even to his own detriment.

  “Unless the murderer is caught, the regime’s officials will be killed off until there are none left,” Lord Matsudaira said to the shogun. “You’ll be all alone.” He spoke in a menacing voice: “And you wouldn’t like that, would you?”

  The shogun shrank on the dais. “Oh, no, indeed.” He cast a horrified glance around him, as though he envisioned his companions disappearing before his eyes.

  If Lord Matsudaira allowed attacks on his regime, he would lose face as well as power, and Sano knew that was worse than death for a proud man like him. “Then you must order Chamberlain Sano to drop everything, investigate the murders, and save you,” Lord Matsudaira said.

  “Yes. You’re right.” The shogun’s resistance wilted. “Sano-san, do whatever my cousin suggests.”

  “A wise decision, Your Excellency,” Lord Matsudaira said. A hint of a smile touched his mouth, expressing contempt for the shogun and pride at how easily he’d brought him to heel. He told Sano, “I’ve sent men to secure the racetrack and guard the corpse. They have orders that no one leaves or enters until after you’ve examined the scene. But you’d better go at once. The crowd will be getting restless.”

  Sano and his men bowed in farewell. As they left the room, Sano’s step was light, no matter what calamities might strike during his absence from the helm of the government. Never mind how much work would accumulate while he looked into Chief Ejima’s death; he felt like a prisoner released from jail. Here
was his chance to apply all the might and resources of his new position to the cause of justice.

  * * *

  2

  Sentries at the Edo Castle main gate swung open the massive, ironclad portals. Out came a procession of mounted samurai, escorting a palanquin carried by husky bearers. Inside the palanquin, visible through its window, rode Lady Reiko, wife of Chamberlain Sano. Her delicate, beautiful young lace shone with eager anticipation.

  A message she’d received this morning from her father had read, “Please come to the Court of Justice at the hour of the sheep today. There is a trial that I would like you to see.”

  Reiko was glad of the prospect of something to enliven her existence. Since Sano had become chamberlain, she’d had little to do except take care of their son Masahiro. Before, when Sano had been sōsakan-sama, she’d helped him solve his cases, hunting clues in places he couldn’t go, using her contacts in the world of women. But she couldn’t help him run the government, and he was so busy she seldom saw him except when he came home exhausted at night. Reiko missed the old days, even though she was proud of her husband’s important position. Facing danger and death seemed preferable to whiling away her life as did other women of her class. It didn’t help that the danger of the times had kept her cooped up inside Edo Castle for most of the past six months.

  Her procession moved through the Hibiya administrative district, where the regime’s high officials lived and worked in stately mansions enclosed by high walls. In the streets, more soldiers than usual patrolled, on the lookout for fugitive outlaws from the Yanagisawa faction. Reiko glimpsed an estate that had burned down; only a heap of rubble remained. Arson was a favorite weapon of the outlaws.

  A news-seller, hawking broadsheets, strolled amid the officials, clerks, and servants who thronged the district. “Outlaws robbed a wealthy merchant and his family who were traveling on the Eastern Sea Road yesterday!” he cried. “They killed him and violated his wife!”

  The fugitives were desperate for money to support themselves and their cause, and they often brutalized citizens who had the bad luck to encounter them. Reiko wore a dagger under her sleeve, ready to defend herself if necessary.

  The procession halted outside Magistrate Ueda’s mansion, which housed the Court of Justice. Guards at the gate confronted Reiko’s entourage. “State your names,” they ordered. “Show your identification documents.”

  As her escorts complied, other guards peered suspiciously into her palanquin. Recently an outlaw had disguised himself as a porter, sneaked into an estate, pulled a dagger from the crate he carried, and slain five people before he was captured. Security had tightened everywhere. Now the guard recognized Reiko and let her procession through the gate. In the courtyard she climbed out of her palanquin. More police than usual stood guard over more than the usual number of prisoners awaiting trial. The prisoners were mostly samurai who appeared to be troops from Yanagisawa’s army. Shackled by heavy chains, they were disheveled and bloody, as if they’d fought savagely while resisting capture. No matter that Yanagisawa had been an evil, harsh master, Bushido—the samurai code of honor—demanded their unwavering loyalty to him. Reiko’s bodyguards led her past them and other prisoners, tough-looking commoners. Crime was rampant among the townspeople; many had taken advantage of the general disorder and an overworked police force.

  Inside the low, half-timbered mansion, Reiko entered the Court of Justice and found the trial ready to begin. On the dais at the end of the long hall sat her father, Magistrate Ueda, portly and dignified in his black ceremonial robes, one of two magistrates who maintained law and order and settled disputes in Edo. A secretary, equipped with a desk and writing implements, sat on either side of him. Except for the courtroom guards, only two other people were present. One was a doshin—a police patrol officer. Clad in a short kimono and cotton leggings, he knelt near the dais. At his waist he wore a single short sword and a jitte—a steel wand with two curved prongs above the hilt, used for parrying and catching the blade of an attacker’s sword. The other was the defendant, a woman dressed in a hemp robe. She knelt before the magistrate on a straw mat on the shirasu, an area of floor covered by white sand, symbol of the truth. Her hands were chained behind her; her long black hair straggled down her back.

  Magistrate Ueda acknowledged Reiko’s presence with a slight nod. He signaled one of his secretaries, who announced, “The defendant is Yugao from Kanda district.”

  Reiko knelt at the side of the room, where she had a view of the woman’s face. It was sternly beautiful, with a high forehead and cheekbones, a thin, elegant nose, and carved lips. Yugao seemed a few years younger than Reiko’s own age of twenty-five. She sat with her head bowed, her gaze fixed on the white sand. Her slender body was rigid under the baggy robe.

  “Yuago is charged with the murders of her father, her mother, and her sister,” the secretary said.

  Shock jarred Reiko. Murdering one’s family was a heinous crime that repudiated the morals of society. Could this young woman have really done it? Reiko wondered why her father had wanted her to see this trial.

  “I will hear the evidence against Yugao,” said Magistrate Ueda.

  The doshin came forward. He was a short man in his thirties, with blunt, weathered features. “The victims were found lying dead in their house,” he said. “Each had been stabbed many times. Yugao was found sitting near the bodies, holding the knife. There was blood all over her.”

  That a daughter could commit such an atrocity against her parents, to whom she owed the utmost respect and affection! For one sister to slay another! Reiko had seen and heard of many terrible things, but this exceeded them all. Yugao neither moved nor changed expression; she gave no sign of innocence or guilt. She appeared not to care that she was accused of a crime for which the penalty was death and that most trials ended in convictions.

  “Did Yugao say anything when she was arrested?” said Magistrate Ueda.

  “She said, ‘I did it,’ ” the doshin replied.

  “Is there any evidence to the contrary?” Magistrate Ueda said.

  “None that I saw.”

  “Have you any witnesses who can prove that Yugao did indeed commit the crime?”

  “No, Honorable Magistrate.”

  “Have you looked for or identified any other suspects?”

  “No, Honorable Magistrate.”

  Reiko began to have a strange feeling about this trial: Something wasn’t right.

  “The law allows accused persons to speak in their own defense,” Magistrate Ueda told Yugao. “What have you to say for yourself?”

  Yugao spoke in a flat, barely audible voice: “I killed them.”

  “Is there anything else?” Magistrate Ueda asked.

  She shook her head, apparently indifferent to the fact that this was her last chance to save her life. The doshin looked bored, waiting for Magistrate Ueda to pronounce Yugao guilty and send her to the execution ground.

  A frown darkened Magistrate Ueda’s face. He contemplated Yugao for a moment, then said, “I will postpone my verdict. Guards, take Yugao to an audience chamber.” He turned to his secretaries. “There will be a recess before the next trial. Court is adjourned.”

  Now Reiko knew something unusual was going on. Her father was a decisive man, and as quick to serve justice as the law demanded. She’d watched many of his trials and never before seen him delay a verdict. Nor, it seemed, had the secretaries and the doshin, who gazed at him in surprise. Yugao’s head jerked up. For the first time Reiko got a full view of her eyes. They were flinty black, inside curved slits beneath smooth lids. They blinked in confusion. As the guards led her from the courtroom, she went meekly. The secretaries departed; Magistrate Ueda stepped off his dais. Reiko rose, brimming with curiosity, and hurried over to join him.

  “Thank you for coming, Daughter,” he said with a fond smile.

  They’d always been closer than most fathers and daughters, and not just because Reiko was his only child. Reiko’s moth
er had died when Reiko was a baby, and the magistrate cherished her as all that remained of the wife he’d adored. Early in her life, he’d noticed her intelligence and given her the education normally reserved for sons. He’d employed tutors to instruct her in reading, calligraphy, history, mathematics, philosophy, and the Chinese classics. He’d even hired martial arts masters to teach her sword fighting and unarmed combat. Now they shared an interest in crime.

  “What did you think of the trial?” Magistrate Ueda asked.

  “It was certainly different from most,” Reiko said.

  The magistrate nodded agreement. “In what way?”

  “To begin, Yugao confessed so readily,” Reiko said. “Many defendants claim they’re innocent even if they’re not, to try to avoid punishment. Yugao didn’t even speak in her own defense. Maybe she was too shy or frightened, as women sometimes are, but if so, I couldn’t tell. She showed so little emotion.” Most defendants were beset by remorse, hysteria, or otherwise agitated. “She didn’t seem to feel anything at all, until you delayed the verdict. I sensed that she didn’t exactly welcome a reprieve, which is also strange.”

  “Go on,” Magistrate Ueda said, pleased by Reiko’s astute observations.

  “Yugao never said why she killed her family, if in fact she did. Criminals who confess tend to make excuses to justify what they’ve done. This is the first trial I’ve seen where a motive for the crime wasn’t presented. The police don’t seem to have looked for it.” Puzzled and disturbed, Reiko shook her head. “They seem to have arrested Yugao because she was the obvious suspect, despite the fact that the evidence against her isn’t proof of her guilt. In fact, they seem to have done no investigation at all. Have they become so negligent lately?”

  “This is a special case,” Magistrate Ueda said. “Yugao is a hinin.”

  “Oh.” Comprehension flooded Reiko.

  The hinin were “non-humans”—citizens demoted to an outcast class near the bottom of the social order as punishment for crimes that were serious but not bad enough to warrant the death penalty. These crimes included theft and various moral transgressions. Hinin were prohibited from dealings with other citizens; the few thousand in Edo lived in settlements on the fringes of the city. The only people who ranked lower were the eta—hereditary outcasts due to their traditional link with death-related occupations, such as butchering, which rendered them spiritually unclean. One major distinction separated hinin from eta: The hinin could finish their sentences or be pardoned, obtain amnesty, and regain their former status, while the eta were permanent outcasts. But both classes were shunned by higher society.