Was the anonymous message the lure for an ambush?
The trail abruptly ended in a clearing. There stood the house, a dilapidated shack. It appeared to be an ordinary, cheap summer retreat, yet Sano’s instincts prickled, sensing evil.
“Beware,” he whispered to his men.
The guards led the advance, cautiously panning their lanterns as they stole through knee-high grass that rustled underfoot. Sano and Hirata followed, while the detectives brought up the rear, their alert gazes sweeping the area for signs of trouble. A lull in the wind stilled the forest; the stream rippled. Somewhere, a dog or wolf howled. As the group neared the house, the lanterns revealed weathered plank walls, a thatched roof, latticed windows, and a door framed by a webbing of vines.
Pausing near the threshold, Sano motioned for the guards to circle and scout the building. They obeyed, then returned, shaking their heads to indicate they’d seen no threats. At a gesture from Sano, they opened the door and shone the lanterns into the dark space within. The light penetrated a narrow, empty passage. Sano nodded; the guards preceded him and the others inside, along a bare, creaking wooden floor, beneath low rafters. The lanterns splashed their shadows across paper walls. Sano inhaled, trying to scent danger, but the cold had numbed his nose: He smelled nothing.
“There’s nobody here,” Hirata said, voicing what Sano perceived.
A slithering sound caused Sano’s heart to lurch; everyone started. Hands grasped swords. A guard flashed his lantern into a kitchen furnished with cooking utensils on shelves, and a plaster-encased hearth. It was vacant, the sound probably caused by vermin seeking food. Breaths fogged the air as everyone relaxed; yet as they moved to the doorway of the opposite room, Sano’s instincts blared a continuous warning.
Inside the room, tatami covered the floor; dried flowers bloomed from a vase in the alcove. A table held a cricket cage, sake jar, and folding fan-relics of summer. On a lacquer chest lay a few papers. Hirata fetched them and gave them to Sano.
They were musical scores, signed by Fujio.
One more room remained. As the group approached this, dread slowed Sano’s steps. Whatever he was meant to find must be there.
The cramped space he saw from the threshold appeared as abandoned and lifeless as the rest of the house. A swath of white muslin mosquito net hung from the ceiling and draped a futon. The futon held what at first looked to be a large, crooked bundle of fabric. Then Sano saw, protruding from one end of the bundle and out of the mosquito net, an arm that extended to a hand with curled fingers. The bundle was a human body, slender and curved and female, dressed in a patterned kimono and sprawled on the futon. That she lay so still, in this freezing, isolated house, could mean only one thing.
“Merciful gods,” Sano said.
He and his comrades rushed into the room. Sano flung back the mosquito net, and everyone exclaimed in horror. The body was headless, the neck an ugly stump of mangled flesh, clotted blood, and hacked bone. In his memory Sano heard a girlish voice saying, “She wore a black kimono with purple wisteria blossoms and green vines on it.” The garment on the dead woman was surely the one described by the kamuro, Chidori.
“Lady Wisteria,” Sano said, aghast.
Reiko lay in bed, where she’d fallen into a restless sleep hours after Sano left for Fujio’s house. Quiet footsteps in the corridor impinged on her consciousness, and she jerked awake, breath caught, eyes widevopen in the darkness of her room.
She knew the estate was well guarded, but ever since the Black Lotus case, noises at night conjured up terror of attack. She snatched up the dagger she kept beside the bed. Silently she crept down the corridor, shivering with cold and fear. Lamplight glowed from the bathchamber; a human shadow moved inside. Peering cautiously through the open door, Reiko saw Sano. He was undressing. Her body sagged in relief. She lowered the dagger and entered the room.
“I’m glad you’re home,” she said.
Sano nodded without looking at her, his features set in a frown. He dropped his sash on the slatted wooden floor, then stripped off his trousers. He tore off his robes and socks. Reiko noticed his hands shaking; the sculpted muscles of his stomach contracted in spasms as he shed his loincloth. He squatted, emptied a bucket of water over himself, and shuddered in the icy splash.
Worried by his strange behavior, Reiko laid down the dagger and crouched near Sano. “What happened at Fujio’s house?”
Sano picked up a bag of rice-bran soap and violently scrubbed his torso. His voice emerged from between chattering teeth: “We found the dead body of a woman.”
“Oh.” Reiko now understood why Sano would bathe in the middle of the night. He wanted to cleanse himself of the spiritual pollution from his contact with death. Postponing more questions, she said, “Let me help you.”
She lit the charcoal braziers. Luckily, the water in the round, sunken wooden tub was still warm, heated earlier for her own bath. She washed Sano’s back and rinsed him. He climbed into the tub, groaning as he immersed himself up to his chin and closed his eyes. Reiko knelt beside the tub. Moments passed. Gradually Sano ceased shuddering.
“The body was wearing the kimono that Lady Wisteria had on the night she vanished,” he said wearily.
Dismayed, Reiko said, “But you don’t know for sure if the body is hers?”
“The woman’s head was missing.”
Reiko sucked air through pursed lips. “Did she die from decapitation?”
“I don’t know yet. I had my men take the body to Edo Morgue for Dr. Ito to examine. But this clearly wasn’t a natural death. She was murdered.”
“Was there a weapon?”
Sano opened hollow eyes that looked unfocused, as if he saw the murder scene instead of Reiko. “We searched the house,” he said, “but we didn’t find anything. Her killer could have taken the weapon, or thrown it away in the woods. The same possibilities apply to her head.”
A feeling of distance between her and Sano troubled Reiko. Tonight the investigation, which she’d hoped would unite them, seemed to have separated them further. But perhaps this was just a temporary effect caused by Sano’s upsetting experience.
“Do you think Fujio killed Wisteria?” Reiko asked.
“She was in his house,” Sano said. “That implicates him.”
Reiko sensed that Sano was upset about more than discovering the body and losing a witness. She wanted to ask what it was, but his reticence prevented her. Instead she said, “How did Wisteria get there?”
“Fujio could have smuggled her out of Yoshiwara and hidden her in his house.” Sano spoke as if forcing out each word; he stared at the water before him.
“Wouldn’t he have known better than to kill her on his own property, leave her corpse there, and incriminate himself?”
“He might have thought no one would find her there. I never would have, if not for that message.”
Reiko also sensed that Sano wasn’t telling her everything. “If Fujio did kill Wisteria, does that mean he also killed Lord Mitsuyoshi?”
“Perhaps.”
“Could someone else have found Wisteria and killed her?” Reiko hated coaxing Sano to talk when he would obviously rather not; but they needed to determine what the new murder meant to the case.
“Anything is possible,” Sano said in that same reluctant tone. “But who besides Fujio would have known she was in the house?”
“Perhaps a traveler who happened upon her?” Reiko said.