Dismounting outside the fifth door, Sano knocked. When he received no answer, he tried the door, but it wouldn’t budge. He peered through the cracks in the window shutters. “Choyei?” he called.
The door of the next apartment creaked open. A thin, unshaven man came out. “Who are you?” he demanded. When Sano identified himself and stated the purpose of his visit, the man bowed hastily. “Greetings, sōsakan-sama. I’m the landlord, and it just so happens that I need to see the peddler, too. He owes me rent. I know he’s in there, with some man who came to see him. I heard them talking just a moment ago. The old rascal is just pretending he’s not home.” Pounding on the door, the landlord yelled, “Open up!”
Sudden intuition compelled Sano to action. He rammed his shoulder once, twice, three times against the door. The wooden panel gave way. From inside the room came wheezing, sucking noises, punctuated by groans. Alarm struck Sano’s heart. “No,” he said as comprehension spurted through him like ice water. “Please, no.”
“What’s wrong, sōsakan-sama?” the landlord cried. “What’s that sound?”
Sano burst into the room. At first it was too dark for him to see more than shadowy silhouettes. Then, as his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, the shadows became a chest, a cupboard, and a table. Bowls and jars covered every surface, including the floor. Pots steamed on a clay stove. The air was redolent with the medicinal odors of a pharmacist’s shop. In a far corner lay a human figure, the source of the terrible noise.
Sano tripped over a mortar and pestle. He pushed aside a frame of the sort worn by traveling peddlers, a wooden contraption with baskets suspended from crosspieces. He knelt by the prone figure.
“Give me some light!” he ordered.
The landlord opened the shutters and lit a lamp. Choyei flashed into vivid focus. He was ancient, but vigorous of physique. Dirty white hair straggled around his bald crown. Eyes bulging with terror stared up at Sano from a face as gray and creviced as sun-baked mud. Blood flowed out of his gaping mouth and poured from a wound in his chest, staining his ragged kimono. Wheeze, suck, groan. The noise continued as he arched in pain, fighting for breath.
“Oh, no, oh, no,” moaned the landlord, wringing his hands. “Why did this have to happen on my property?”
“Get a doctor,” Sano commanded. Then he examined the deep gash between Choyei’s ribs, made with a sharp blade, that alternately sucked and burbled blood. “Never mind, it’s no use.” Sano had seen this type of injury before, and recognized it as fatal. “Call the police instead.” Choyei’s visitor must have stabbed him and fled just moments ago. “Hurry!”
The landlord rushed out. Sano pressed his hand over Choyei’s wound, temporarily sealing the hole. The wheezing abated. Choyei inhaled and exhaled hungrily. Feeling the warm, wet suction of bloody flesh against his palm, Sano said, “Who did this to you?”
The peddler’s mouth opened and closed several times before his voice emerged. “Customer… bought… bish,” he gasped out. Red froth bubbled from his nose. “Came back today… stab…”
Bish: the arrow toxin that had killed Lady Harume. Elation rushed through Sano. The customer must have been her murderer, who had returned to prevent Choyei from ever reporting the purchase to the authorities. Sano cast an impatient glance toward the door, wishing the police would hurry. The killer was still in the area. He longed to give chase, but he needed the testimony of his only witness.
“Who was it, Choyei?” Urgently Sano gripped the dying peddler’s hand. “Tell me!”
Choyei emitted sickening gurgles. Blood continued to leak from the wound. His lips and tongue struggled around the syllables of a name that seemed caught in his throat.
“What did he look like, then?” Sano said.
“No… No!” Choyei’s hand clutched Sano’s. His mouth formed words, but no sound came.
“Easy. Relax,” Sano soothed him.
While the peddler struggled to speak, Sano’s mind raced through possibilities. The brutal stabbing argued in favor of Lieutenant Kushida. Had he escaped house arrest to assault Choyei?
“Did he use a spear?” Sano said, hiding his impatience.
Choyei’s body thrashed and his head rolled from side to side in a violent protest against impending death.
“What did he look like? Tell me so I can find him!”
Now the drug peddler seemed to accept his fate. His hold on Sano’s hand weakened while involuntary tremors shook him. With a great effort, he gathered a deep, rattling breath and whispered: “… thin… wore dark cloak… hood…”
That description could fit Lord Miyagi as well as Kushida. Or what about Harume’s secret lover? How Sano welcomed this evidence that pointed away from Lady Keisho-in!
Running footsteps clattered down the street. A doshin and two civilian assistants arrived at the door. Quickly Sano repeated Choyei’s description of the killer, then added his own of Lieutenant Kushida and Lord Miyagi. “It might be either of them, or someone else, but he can’t be far away. Go!” The police rushed off, and Sano turned back to the drug peddler. “Choyei. What else can you tell me? Choyei!”
Desperation tinged his voice as he felt the drug peddler go limp under his touch. The animation faded from Choyei’s eyes. One more faint moan, a last drool of blood, then the source of the poison-and Sano’s only witness to murder-was dead.
28
The house to which Lady Ichiteru’s letter had directed Hirata was built on a willow-shaded canal near the river, in a wealthy merchant district. Usually Hirata took pride in his knowledge of Nihonbashi, gained from years of police work. However, as he walked over an arched bridge and through the gate leading into the street, he found himself in unfamiliar territory. Age and affluence lay like a rich patina upon the district. Moss furred high stone walls; a green film lustered the copper-tiled roofs. Because of their fortunate proximity to water, the mansions had survived many fires, making them some of the oldest buildings in town. But Hirata felt his own luck-and confidence- draining away with every step toward his rendezvous with Lady Ichiteru.
In his fist he clutched like a talisman the list of questions he must make Ichiteru answer. Folded inside was her letter. He’d spent hours guessing at possible meanings of the last line: “It is with more than ordinary pleasure that I look forward to seeing you.” Now, as he unfolded his list to study it one final time, he saw with dismay that the sweat from his palm had run the ink of the two documents together. This interview might determine his fate and Sano’s; yet Hirata felt terribly unprepared, despite all his planning. He hungered for Ichiteru, but wished he’d brought another detective along, or sent one in his place.
Now he had reached the designated house, a miniature estate set off from the others by a large garden. The mansion seemed to lurk beneath spreading pine boughs that almost hid its low roof. It hadn’t escaped fire unscathed; smoke had darkened the walls. With his heart drumming the opposing rhythms of desire and doom, Hirata knocked on the gate.
It opened, and a young girl’s pretty face appeared. Hirata recognized Midori, whom he’d all but forgotten. “Detective Hirata-san!” she exclaimed in delight. “I was so hoping to see you again.” Eagerly she drew him into an overgrown jungle of weeds and unpruned shrubs, brown and lifeless with the waning season. An arbor draped with withered vines overhung the flagstone path to the veranda. Dressed in a kimono printed with red poppies, Midori was like a flower in a dead wilderness. She giggled in excitement. “What brings you here? How did you know where to find me?”