Laura Rowland - The Samurai’s Wife

“Let’s drink a toast for good luck,” Aisu said.

He clapped his hands. Female bodyguards-the only attendants allowed in this most private chamber-silently entered the room. On Aisu’s orders, they served wine, then silently departed.

Aisu raised his cup and said, “Here’s to your victory and the sōsakan-sama’s downfall.”

Yanagisawa and Aisu drank. From the street drifted the laughter and shouts of the Obon crowds; more gongs clanged. The tart, refreshing liquor invigorated Yanagisawa; he smiled.

Refilling the cups, Aisu proposed another toast: “May you capture Left Minister Konoe’s killer the way you did the Lion.”

Malice hardened Yanagisawa’s smile. “No,” he said, “not quite like the Lion. Remember, this time, Sano won’t get another chance to redeem himself.”

Aisu’s hooded eyes glistened; his sinuous body squirmed with anticipation. “How shall Sano die?”

“I don’t know yet,” Yanagisawa admitted reluctantly. “Nor can I predict the exact outcome of the investigation.”

He leapt to his feet and paced the room in a fever of impatient energy. "Everything depends on the case itself. I must see what happens and use whatever opportunities arise. I don’t have enough information to take the next step. However, that problem should be remedied very soon.” Yanagisawa halted by the door and gazed out at the dark, lush garden, listening for sounds that would herald the arrival of the news he awaited.

“Then I’ll decide what to do.”

Several long, unproductive hours later, Sano finished interviewing the Konoe clan members. They’d been shocked to learn that the left minister had been murdered, instead of dying from a mysterious disease as they’d thought. They hadn’t known he was a metsuke spy, and claimed no knowledge about which of the suspects might have killed him. All Sano managed to learn were two stray facts.

A cousin of Konoe’s said he’d heard on several occasions a much less powerful version of the spirit cry. Afterward, dead birds had been found in the garden. This confirmed Sano’s belief that someone in the palace did indeed have the power of kiai. Had he-or she-been practicing for the murder?

Fifteen years ago, Konoe’s secretary, a young man named Ryōzen, had been stabbed to death. This was presumably the crime that the bakufu had covered up in order to force Konoe to spy for the metsuke, but Sano found no apparent connection between the incident and Konoe’s murder. Nor did Detectives Marume and Fukida glean any clues from the servants.

Now Sano, Hoshina, and the detectives stood outside Konoe’s private chambers, which occupied two adjoining rooms in an inner section of the house. Mullioned paper walls enclosed the space, affording greater privacy than the open plan of classic imperial architecture.

“Has anything in there been disturbed since Left Minister Konoe’s death?” Sano asked the courtier who’d admitted him to the estate.

“The rooms have been cleaned, but his possessions are still there,” the courtier said. “That’s his office. This is his bedchamber.” He opened the door, and a musty smell rushed out. After lighting a lantern in the room, he bowed and left.

Sano entered and swept his gaze around the room. The tatami floor was bare; sets of lacquered tables and silk cushions were neatly stacked. Sano saw no personal articles. Presumably, these were inside the built-in storage cabinet and wardrobe.

“Search this room,” Sano told his detectives.

“What are we looking for?” Marume asked.

“Anything that can tell us about Konoe’s life, what kind of person he was, or his relationships.”

Marume began opening drawers in the cabinet. Fukida started on the closet. Sano and Hoshina moved through the connecting door to the office. There, an alcove contained a desk and built-in shelves of ledgers and books. Across the desk, open scrolls covered with calligraphy lay amid writing supplies. The doors of a cabinet stood ajar, revealing compartments full of clutter. A large wicker basket held paper scraps; fireproof iron chests stood three high.

While Hoshina watched, Sano scanned the scrolls on the desk. They concerned repairs to the palace walls. In the drawers Sano discovered Konoe’s jade seal and a tobacco pipe and pouch, but no diary. Sano took a ledger off a shelf. It bore the title, “Proceedings of the Imperial Council, Teikyō Year 3.” Although Sano doubted that the court archives contained what he was looking for, he examined each ledger for the sake of thoroughness. What a lot of words the imperial bureaucracy generated! Next, Sano went through the cabinet. He found official memoranda from the left minister’s colleagues, pronouncements issued by emperors, and long documents describing imperial law and protocol. The trash basket contained scribbled notes about the palace budget.

“If Konoe left behind any records about whom he spied on and what he learned, I don’t see them here,” Sano said to Hoshina. “Nor is there any evidence of any activities except official business.”

“Maybe your men are having better luck,” Hoshina said.

But when they returned to the bedchamber, Detective Fukida said, “There’s nothing here but clothes, bedding, toiletries, and the usual things that might belong to anybody. All we can tell about Konoe is that he dressed mostly in shades of brown.”

“It’s as though he lived and worked here without leaving any trace of himself, let alone the reason for his murder or the identity of his killer.” Sano shook his head in bewildered disappointment. A murder victim’s quarters were usually a source of valuable clues, but never had Sano seen any so devoid of personality. “Let’s do a more thorough search.”

While Marume cleared out the cabinet and probed the walls, seeking hidden objects or drawers, Fukida lifted the tatami to check for secret compartments in the floor. Sano and Hoshina went into the office. Hoshina sifted through official reports in search of stray personal papers. Sano pulled books off the shelf, shaking each one upside down in case Konoe had hidden something between the pages. Then, on a bared space of wall behind the shelf, Sano saw two horizontal cracks, a hand’s span apart, crossing a vertical wooden wall panel. He inserted his fingernail into the top crack and pulled. Out popped a rectangular section of panel. From the shallow space behind it Sano withdrew a sheaf of papers.

“What’s that?” Hoshina asked.

Sano examined the documents. “Letters,” he replied with a thrill of gratification. “There are more than a hundred in all, with dates going back ten years.” So carefully preserved and hidden, the letters might represent the key to the elusive Konoe’s life, and murder. All bore the signature and seal of the left minister. All were addressed to the same person: Lady Kozeri, at Kodai Temple.

“Who is Lady Kozeri?” Sano asked Hoshina.

The yoriki’s eyes widened in recognition. “After Konoe died, I reviewed the metsuke dossier on him.” The intelligence agency kept records on all prominent citizens, and Hoshina had again demonstrated his initiative. “Kozeri is his former wife. She left him to become a nun.”

Sano scanned a few pages. “These are love letters.” As he continued reading, he discovered that the one-sided correspondence consisted of endless variations on the same theme. He read sample passages aloud:

‘How could you leave me? Without you, every day seems a meaningless eternity. My spirit is a fallen warrior. Anger corrupts my love for you like maggots seething in wounded flesh. I long to strangle the wayward life out of you. I shall have my revenge!’

‘We are two souls distilled from the same cosmic essence. I knew as soon as I looked upon you. When I held your body close to mine, our union made us one spirit, one self. How can you not value my love and understand that I only did what was right?’