Sano Ichiro 10 The Assassin's Touch (2005) Page 6

  “Yes,” Dr. Ito said. “The ancient martial arts technique of delivering a single tap that is so light that the victim might not even feel it but is nonetheless fatal. It was invented some four centuries ago.”

  “The force of the touch determines when death occurs,” Hirata recalled from samurai lore.

  “A harder tap kills the victim immediately,” Dr. Ito clarified. “A lighter one can delay his death for as long as two days. He can seem in perfect health, then suddenly drop dead. And there will be no sign of why, except an extremely clear fingerprint where his killer touched him.”

  “But dim-mak is so rare,” said Detective Arai. “I’ve never heard of anyone using it—or killed by it—in my lifetime.”

  “Neither have I,” said Detective Inoue. “I don’t know of anyone in Edo who’s capable.”

  “Remember that anyone who is would not publicize the fact,” Dr. Ito said. “The ancients who developed the art of dim-mak feared that it would be used against them, or for other evil purposes. Hence, they passed down their knowledge to only a few favored, trusted students. The techniques have been a closely guarded secret, kept by a handful of men whose possession of it is known only among themselves.”

  “Doesn’t it take an expert martial artist to master the techniques?” Hirata asked.

  “More than that,” Dr. Ito said. “The successful practitioner of dim-mak must not only learn to concentrate his mental and spiritual energy and channel it through his hand into his victim; extensive knowledge of anatomy is required to target the vulnerable points on the body. The points are generally the same as those used by physicians during acupuncture. The energy pathways that convey healing impulses through the body can also convey destructive forces.”

  He touched the bruise with his gloved hand. “This bruise is located on a junction along a pathway that connects vital organs.” He continued, “The need for anatomical knowledge explains why the practitioners study medicine as well as the mystic martial arts.”

  “Do you really think Ejima died of murder by dim-mak?” Hirata said, skeptical though intrigued.

  “In the absence of any other symptoms besides the bruise, where the killer’s energy entered the body, it is probable,” Dr. Ito said.

  Hirata expelled his breath, awed by the import of Dr. Ito’s finding. “Chamberlain Sano will be interested to hear this.”

  “We should not be too hasty to inform him,” Dr. Ito cautioned. “The bruise isn’t definitive proof. If my theory is wrong, it could misdirect Chamberlain Sano’s inquiries. Before I can pronounce the cause of death, it should be confirmed.”

  “Very well,” Hirata said. “How do we do that?”

  Dr. Ito’s expression turned grave. “I must dissect the head and look inside.”

  A serious dilemma faced Hirata. He needed to tell Sano exactly how Ejima had died and establish beyond doubt that the death had resulted from foul play, but mutilating the corpse was a big risk. Hirata and Sano both had enemies who were waiting and watching eagerly for them to make a mistake. Should anyone notice signs of an illegal autopsy on a corpse from a case under their investigation, their enemies might get wind of it. Yet Hirata couldn’t fail in his duty to Sano. Casting about for a solution to his problem, Hirata found one that he thought would work.

  “Go ahead,” he told Dr. Ito. “I’ll take the responsibility. But please do as little damage as you can.”

  Dr. Ito nodded, then said, “Proceed, Mura-san.”

  Mura fetched a razor, a sharp, thin knife, and a steel saw. He trimmed and shaved Ejima’s hair in a narrow band from ear to ear across the back of the scalp, then made a cut that circled the head just above the eyebrows. He peeled back the flesh, exposing the moist, bloody skull, then began sawing the bone. The rasp of the saw grated loud in the silence that fell over his audience. Hirata watched, fascinated and repelled.

  In his lifetime he’d seen all kinds of gory spectacles—men’s faces cleaved in half and their bellies slit wide open during swordfights, their heads lopped off by the executioner, blood and innards spilled. Yet this methodical butchery disturbed him. It transformed a human into a piece of meat. It seemed the ultimate disrespect for life. Hirata began to understand why foreign science was outlawed, to protect society and its values, at the cost of advancing knowledge.

  Now Mura finished cutting the skull all the way around and through the bone. He took hold of Ejima’s head and worked the top free, as though removing a tight lid from a jar. He inserted the knife blade into the skull and scraped the tissue that held its cap in place. Hirata watched Mura lift off the skullcap. Blood oozed out, red and viscous, thickened with clots. It bathed the grayish, coiled mass of the brain, glistened wetly in the lantern light, and soiled the table.

  “Here is our proof,” Dr. Ito said with satisfaction as he pointed to the blood. “When a death-touch is struck, its energy travels along the internal pathway that connects the point of contact to a vital organ. Ejima’s murderer targeted his brain. The touch on his head caused a small rupture to a vessel inside his brain, which gradually leaked blood and enlarged until it burst and killed him.”

  “And he had no other injuries that could have caused the bleeding?” Hirata said.

  “Correct,” said Dr. Ito. “Dim-mak was the cause of death.”

  Hirata nodded, but he felt as much apprehension as relief that they knew how Ejima had died. “We’ll go back to Edo Castle and report the news to Chamberlain Sano,” he told the detectives.

  “What about the body?” Inoue said. He glanced at Ejima’s corpse, which lay with its brain exposed, the skullcap beside it on the bloody table.

  “It goes with us.” Hirata turned to Dr. Ito. “Please have your assistant put Ejima’s head back together, wrap a bandage around it, clean him up, and dress him.”

  This was only the beginning of the effort to cover up the examination.

  * * *

  7

  When Sano finished inspecting the racetrack and questioning the witnesses there, he and Marume and Fukida interviewed the sentries and patrol guards who’d been in the vicinity at the time of Ejima’s death. By the time they returned to his estate, night had fallen. Sano was glad to see that the crowd of people outside his gate and in his anteroom had disappeared—they’d given up on seeing him today. But when he stopped at his office to see what had happened during his absence, his aides besieged him with urgent queries and problems. Sano found himself sucked back into the whirlwind of his life, until a servant brought him two messages: Lord Matsudaira demanded to know what was taking him so long, and Hirata had arrived.

  Sano went to his audience chamber and found Hirata kneeling on the floor. He was shocked to see how ill Hirata looked. Fresh guilt needled Sano.

  “Would you like some refreshment?” Sano said. He regretted that the usual courtesy due any guest was all he could offer Hirata; apology or sympathy would only hurt Hirata’s pride.

  “No, thank you, I’ve already eaten.” Hirata tacitly denied his obvious discomfort while reciting the polite formula.

  “Well, I haven’t, and I insist that you join me,” Sano said, although time was short. He summoned a maid and told her, “Bring us dinner, and put some healing herbs in the tea. I’ve got a headache.” He didn’t, but perhaps the medicine would make Hirata feel better. After the maid departed, Sano said, “What did Dr. Ito find out?”

  As Hirata told him, astonishment filled Sano. “Ejima was killed by dim-mak? Is Dr. Ito certain?”

  Hirata described the fingerprint-shaped bruise, the dissection, and the blood in the brain.

  “Well, I suppose there’s a first time for everything,” Sano said. “And Dr. Ito’s news jibes with what I’ve learned. All the witnesses say Ejima dropped dead for no apparent reason. The guards who were watching him through spyglasses during the race didn’t see anything hit him. No one fired a gun anywhere near the track; no bullet was found. Ejima wasn’t killed by any conventional means.” Sano felt trepidation as well as excitement.
“We now know that Ejima was murdered, and how it was done. But this seriously complicates the case.”

  Hirata nodded. “It means that the racetrack isn’t necessarily the crime scene. The death-touch could have been delivered to Ejima hours or days before it took effect.”

  “And the suspects aren’t limited to the people who were around the track when Ejima died,” Sano said.

  He and Hirata sat in silence, listening to the temple bells ringing and dogs barking in the night, the wind rising and insects singing in the garden. Sano said, “The killer is out there.” He anticipated the thrill of the hunt, but also an unprecedented challenge in the shape of an adversary who was far more skilled at martial arts than himself. “And we have no idea who he might be.”

  The maid brought them a dinner of rice balls, sashimi, and pickled vegetables. Sano noticed that Hirata hardly touched the food, but he gulped the tea and seemed to revive a bit. “We have two problems that are more immediate than catching the killer,” Sano said. “First, how are we going to hide the fact that Ejima’s body was dissected?”

  “I’ve already taken care of that,” Hirata said. “I had Dr. Ito’s assistant wrap up its head. Then I took it home and had my servants dress it in a white silk robe and lay it in a coffin filled with incense. When I delivered it to Ejima’s family, I told them that I’d prepared it for the funeral. The reason I gave was that I wanted to spare them the sight of Ejima’s terrible wounds. I also said I would pay for a grand funeral. I gave the family a quick look at Ejima, then sealed up the coffin. They were so grateful that I don’t think they’ll open it for a closer look.”

  “Well done,” Sano said, impressed by Hirata’s ingenuity. “But I’ll pay for the funeral.” That was a small price for keeping the examination a secret.

  “What’s the second problem? How to tell Lord Matsudaira that Ejima was murdered by dim-mak without saying how we found out?” Hirata said.

  Sano nodded as he set aside his chopsticks. “But I have a solution. I’ll tell you on the way to the palace.”

  A waxing crescent moon adorned the indigo sky over the peaked tile roofs of the palace. Flames glimmered in stone lanterns around the complex of half-timbered buildings and along the white gravel paths that crossed its lush, still gardens. Frogs sang in ponds while gunshots echoed from night target practice at the martial arts training ground. Patrolling guards wore Lord Matsudaira’s crest, asserting his place in the heart of the Tokugawa regime.

  When Sano, Hirata, and detectives Marume and Fukida arrived in search of Lord Matsudaira, the sentries at the palace door directed them to the shogun’s private quarters. There they found a party in progress. Handsome boys dressed in gaudy silk robes played the samisen, flute, and drum; others danced. The shogun lolled on cushions while more boys chattered around him and plied him with wine. His taste for young males was public knowledge. That he preferred them to his wife and concubines explained why he’d failed to produce a blood heir. Near the shogun sat Lord Matsudaira and two members of the Council of Elders, which comprised the shogun’s chief advisors and the regime’s principal governing body. Lord Matsudaira knelt with his arms folded and his expression grim: He disapproved of such frivolous entertainment. The elders sipped wine and nodded their heads in time to the music.

  “Well?” Lord Matsudaira said eagerly as Sano and his companions approached, knelt, and bowed. “Was it murder?”

  “It was,” Sano said. The elders frowned in concern. The shogun dragged his attention away from the dancers and regarded Sano with befuddlement. His face was flushed from the wine; his hand fondled the knee of the boy seated beside him.

  This was Yoritomo, the shogun’s current favorite. He was a youthful, strikingly beautiful likeness of his father, the former chamberlain. Although Lord Matsudaira had exiled Yanagisawa and his family, Yoritomo remained in Edo because the shogun had insisted on keeping him. He had Tokugawa blood—from his mother, a relative of the shogun—and rumor said he was heir apparent to the dictatorship. The shogun’s fondness protected Yoritomo from Lord Matsudaira, who wanted to eliminate everyone connected to his rival. Yoritomo smiled shyly; his large, liquid black eyes, so like his father’s, glowed with happiness at seeing Sano.

  “So I was right.” Gratification swelled Lord Matsudaira’s countenance. “I knew it.”

  “Who are you talking about?” the shogun said.

  “Ejima, chief of the metsuke.” Lord Matsudaira barely hid his impatience. “He died this morning.”

  “Ahh, yes,” the shogun said with an air of dim recollection.

  “I thought Ejima took a fall at the racetrack,” said one of the elders. He was Kato Kinhide, who had a broad, leathery face with slit-like eyes and mouth. The other was Ihara Eigoro. They’d opposed Lord Matsudaira and supported Yanagisawa during the faction war. They, and some of their allies, had survived the purge by latching onto Yoritomo, who was alone at court and depended on his father’s friends for protection. But Sano knew that the protection worked both ways: Yoritomo’s influence with the shogun protected Kato, Ihara, and their clique from Lord Matsudaira. He was their foothold in the regime, the promise of another chance at gaining control over it.

  “The fall didn’t kill Ejima,” Sano said.

  “Then what did?” Ihara said. Short and hunched, he had a vaguely simian cast. He and Kato resented Sano because he’d declined to take their side during the faction war, and now worked closely with Lord Matsudaira. They envied him for rising above them in rank.

  “Ejima was a victim of dim-mak,” answered Sano.

  “The death-touch?” Lord Matsudaira stared in amazement, as did the elders and Yoritomo. The shogun merely looked confused. The music and dancing continued while the boys joked and laughed together.

  “That’s difficult to believe,” Kato said, always ready to deride Sano and raise doubts about his judgment. “Dim-mak is a lost art.”

  “What evidence do you have?” Ihara said.

  “When Ejima’s body was prepared for the funeral, a bruise was observed on his head. It had the shape and markings of a fingerprint.” This was the story Sano had invented to cover up the illegal dissection. “According to the martial arts literature, this is a sure sign of the death-touch.”

  “Books are hardly adequate confirmation,” Kato scoffed.

  “One can find something in them to support any argument whatsoever,” Ihara said, backing up his comrade.

  Sano understood why they were so anxious to dispute that Ejima’s death was murder. “Nonetheless, I stand by my opinion. But let us defer to His Excellency to settle the issue.”

  The shogun looked pleased to be consulted, yet daunted. He turned to Lord Matsudaira.

  “Chamberlain Sano is the expert on crime,” Lord Matsudaira said. “If he says it was dim-mak, that should suffice.”

  Sano also understood that Lord Matsudaira was so eager to confirm that Ejima was murdered that he would accept an unusual method whether or not he believed in it.

  “Well, ahh, then so be it,” the shogun said, clearly glad that Lord Matsudaira had spared him the need to think. “The, ahh, official cause of the death is as Chamberlain Sano says.”

  Lord Matsudaira nodded in approval. Kato and Ihara tried to hide their displeasure, and Sano his relief that his ploy had worked and the autopsy remained a secret. He wondered how long his luck would hold.

  Yoritomo flashed a congratulatory smile at Sano. During the past six months they’d become friends, despite the fact that Sano had once been Yoritomo’s father’s enemy. Sano had taken pity on Yoritomo, and had found him to be a decent, thoughtful young man who deserved better than a life as the shogun’s sexual plaything and a pawn of his father’s cronies, especially since his status as heir to the regime was by no means certain. That Yanagisawa had produced such a fine son amazed Sano, who had acquired yet another responsibility—as mentor to his former enemy’s child.

  “What about the three other recent deaths?” Lord Matsudaira asked Sano. “Were
they also caused by dim-mak?”

  Kato interrupted, “Do you mean the supervisor of court ceremony, the highway commissioner, and the treasury minister?”

  “I do,” said Lord Matsudaira.

  “All those deaths can’t possibly be murder,” Ihara protested.

  Sano observed Ihara and Kato growing nervous at the turn the discussion had taken.

  “We’ll see about that,” Lord Matsudaira said in an ominous tone. “Chamberlain Sano?”

  “Whether Supervisor Ono, Commissioner Sasamura, or Treasury Minister Moriwaki were murdered hasn’t been determined yet.” Sano earned a grunt of disappointment from Lord Matsudaira, and relieved looks from the elders.

  “I’ll investigate their deaths tomorrow,” Hirata spoke up.

  “At least someone recognizes the need to investigate before jumping to conclusions,” Kato said under his breath.

  Lord Matsudaira asked Sano, “Have you any idea who killed Ejima?”

  “Not yet. Tomorrow I’ll begin looking for suspects.”

  “Maybe you needn’t look very far.” Lord Matsudaira fixed an insinuating gaze on the elders.

  They tried to hide their consternation. “Even if you believe that someone in this day and age has mastered the technique of dim-mak, you can’t think it’s anyone in the regime,” Ihara said. Sano knew that he and Kato had feared all along that Lord Matsudaira would accuse them of killing his officials in order to undermine him.

  “Anyone who doesn’t have the skill or the nerve to commit murder could have hired an assassin who does,” Lord Matsudaira said.

  “The same goes for anyone who accuses others,” Kato retorted. “Some men are not above committing crimes in order to strike at their enemies.”

  Lord Matsudaira’s gaze turned wary because Kato had fired his accusation back at him.

  “Maybe we should examine Chamberlain Sano’s own motive for designating the deaths as murders and conducting an investigation.” Ihara eyed Sano.