Okitsu gave Agemaki a peevish look. Agemaki smirked. Okitsu said, “Koheiji told me not to worry about her because he could keep her quiet. So we did as he said. We pretended we didn’t know how Makino died. Later, Koheiji told me to say I’d seen Daiemon in the study.” She lifted her clasped hands, then let them plop apart on her lap. Disillusionment and tears clouded her charcoal-grimed face. “Things didn’t work out the way we planned. But we didn’t kill Makino.” She addressed Sano in a timid, pleading voice: “I swear it’s the truth.”
Hirata, Ibe, and Otani nodded, accepting Okitsu’s confession. But although Sano believed that she’d finally revealed all she knew-and she truly believed all she’d said-Makino hadn’t died the way Okitsu claimed. She and Koheiji weren’t as innocent as she thought.
“Makino’s death was nothing but an accident brought about by his own lust,” Otani said with relief. “And Daiemon didn’t conspire to assassinate him. Lord Matsudaira will be glad to know that he and his clan are no longer under suspicion.”
“Because Makino wasn’t murdered,” Ibe said, disgruntled. “The investigation has proved that no one is guilty.”
“I disagree,” Sano said. “Makino didn’t die when he collapsed during the game. He was alive until Koheiji hit him with the pole. The dead don’t bleed.” Nor do their bodies bruise when struck. “He must have had a fit and passed out while having sex. Koheiji’s beating finished him off.”
Okitsu gasped. “I didn’t know,” she wailed. “I thought he was already dead!”
Otani blew out his breath through pursed lips with an expression that said, What next? A smile glimmered around Agemaki’s mouth. “So Koheiji did do it,” she said triumphantly. “And Okitsu helped him cover up what happened. I told you she was an accomplice. I was right.”
“Makino’s death was murder after all,” Ibe said in a tone of stunned comprehension.
“Accidental murder,” Sano said. "Koheiji didn’t realize Makino was still alive when he beat him. He didn’t intend to kill Makino; he made a mistake. So did Okitsu.”
“A mistake that cost Makino his life,” Ibe said. “If Koheiji hadn’t beaten Makino to a bloody pulp after he fainted, and if this stupid girl had fetched a doctor instead of going along with that no-good actor, Makino might have survived.”
“Okitsu is guilty of interfering with an official investigation at the very least,” Hirata told Sano.
“And Koheiji is guilty of killing Makino whether he meant to or not,” Ibe said. “He should pay for Makino’s death and all the trouble it’s caused.”
“Someone has to,” Otani added.
They were right, Sano knew. Although he hated to punish anyone for an honest error of judgment, the shogun would expect retribution for Makino’s death from everyone involved. Sano summoned four of his detectives. As he told them to take Okitsu to jail, she wept. Agemaki watched with delight.
“You’re going, too,” Sano told her. “You’re just as guilty of interfering with the investigation as she is. And you’ll be tried for the murder of Makino’s first wife.”
She fumed and Okitsu sobbed as the detectives led them away. Sano experienced a massive relief because the end of this difficult investigation was in sight. Soon the only task left to him would be to solve the murder of Daiemon.
“Let’s catch Koheiji’s last performance at the theater,” he said to Hirata and the watchdogs.
“I want to see Lady Yanagisawa,” Reiko said to the guards stationed outside the chamberlain’s compound.
The guards opened the gate. Reiko marched in, followed by four of Sano’s detectives she’d brought. She hungered for her clash with Lady Yanagisawa as a warrior headed into combat hungers for blood. Attendants led her and her escorts to a reception hall in the mansion. Here, on painted murals along the walls, lightning bolts pierced clouds that floated above the expanse of tatami floor. Reiko could hear gunfire, war drums, and conch trumpets echoing from the distant battlefield. Soon Lady Yanagisawa hurried into the room.
“Welcome, Reiko-san,” she said breathlessly.
Reiko stared at Lady Yanagisawa. The woman had undergone an astonishing transformation. She wore a satin kimono printed with orange and crimson flowers instead of her customary drab garments. Its neckline and the white under-robe dropped low around her shoulders, exposing creamy white skin. A blood-red flush colored her cheeks and lips. Her bearing was sinuous instead of rigid as usual. She looked almost pretty, but she gave off an air of corruption that repelled Reiko.
“Have you come to tell me your decision?” Her gruff voice had acquired a strange, husky sweetness.
“Yes,” Reiko said, wondering what in the world had happened to Lady Yanagisawa since the previous day.
Lady Yanagisawa’s broad lips moved in a sensual smile. “May I assume that you will do as my husband wishes?”
“You may not,” Reiko said.
For a moment Lady Yanagisawa looked disconcerted. Then cruelty radiated like poison from her. “You’ll live to regret your defiance. If you’ll excuse me, I have something to tell your husband.” She moved toward the door.
Reiko stepped in front of Lady Yanagisawa. She said, “I, too, have something to tell my husband. He’ll be very interested to hear that you were at the Sign of Bedazzlement the night Lord Matsudaira’s nephew was murdered there.”
Lady Yanagisawa’s features jerked, as if someone had sneaked up behind her and startled her. She said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you do,” Reiko said. “I have a witness who saw you coming out of the house shortly after Daiemon went in.”
“It must have been someone else who looks like me.” But Lady Yanagisawa’s eyes shifted away from Reiko’s, as if they were windows through which she feared Reiko might glimpse the dark places in her mind and her memory of the crime she’d committed.
“The witness followed your palanquin home,” Reiko said. “He saw you in the courtyard with Kikuko.”
Lady Yanagisawa’s face acquired a look that Reiko had seen when she was cornered once before. The skin tightened around her eyes, narrowing them. She resembled a cat with its ears pricked back in alarm.
“You stabbed Daiemon because your husband told you to, didn’t you?” Reiko said. Lady Yanagisawa wheeled in a circle, avoiding Reiko’s scrutiny. Reiko shifted her own position, keeping them face to face. “There’s no use denying it.”
Suddenly Lady Yanagisawa flung up her head. “You think you’re so clever.” Sardonic amusement and naked malice shone in her eyes. “You must be congratulating yourself because you think you’ve found out something that you can use against me. What good fortune you always have!”
Quickening breaths hissed from her like steam; her cheeks flushed redder. She moved closer to Reiko. “But you’re not the only clever, lucky one.” A reckless daring swelled her countenance. “Would you like to know how I did it?”
34
A mob was gathered outside the Nakamura-za Theater when Sano arrived with Hirata, a squadron of detectives, the watchdogs, and their troops. People surged, yelling and shoving, toward the entrance, where police officers tried to hold them back.
As a chorus of wild shouts issued from the building, more crowds hurried down the street, eager to join the excitement. Sano and his companions leaped off their horses and pushed their way through the mob toward the theater.
“What’s going on in there?” Sano called to the police.
“Some crazy samurai jumped on the stage during the play,” the officer said as he shoved at men trying to scramble through the door. “He’s up there threatening one of the actors.”
Sano had planned to walk into the theater, wait until the show ended, and make a peaceful arrest of Koheiji. Now his smile mocked his notion that anything about this investigation should turn out the way he’d expected. The mob pressed in on him. Nearby, Hirata and the detectives jostled boisterous spectators; the watchdogs and their men floundered at the edges of the crowd.