Laura Rowland - The Perfumed Sleeve

“What I’ve told you should be enough to occupy you for a while.” Toda gave Sano a rueful smile that recognized him as a comrade in the same battle for survival. “If you need any more help, by all means ask me again.”

As Sano thanked Toda and rose to leave, the tension in him wound tighter; his misgivings about the investigation burgeoned. By this afternoon, Reiko would take her position in Makino’s estate, among four murder suspects.

Hirata and his comrades from Sano’s detective corps rode through the Nihonbashi merchant district. The shops that lined the narrow, winding streets crowded them together, and housewives, porters, and laborers on foot hindered their progress. After them hastened Otani, accompanied by Lord Matsudaira’s and Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s other men. As their horses trampled wares set outside for sale, shopkeepers cried out and mothers rushed to yank children out of their path. Hirata felt irritably conspicuous and hampered by his watchdogs in his efforts to solve the crime.

At least he didn’t have Ibe to rile him. And he did have an advantage that would help him investigate Makino’s concubine. The merchant named Rakuami, with whom Okitsu had previously lived, was an old acquaintance of Hirata’s.

Now Hirata arrived in a lane bordered on one side by a dignified row of substantial houses with heavy tile roofs, low earthen walls, and roofed gates-the abodes of prosperous merchants. Opposite stood a lone mansion. Its walls enclosed a spacious garden, and its eaves sported gay red lanterns. The gate was open, revealing a gravel path that led to the door. Samisen music and raucous laughter emanated from within the premises. As the detectives and watchdogs grouped around Hirata, a party of dandyish samurai strolled in through the gate.

“What kind of place is this?” Otani said.

“You’ll see,” Hirata said.

They secured their mounts to posts near the gate, then went inside the mansion. Beyond the entryway, which was filled with shoes and swords left by guests, men lolled on cushions in a parlor. Pretty young women dressed in colorful robes served the men drinks, flirted and played cards with them, or sat on their laps. A comely youth plinked the samisen, while maids circulated with trays of food. As Hirata and his companions paused at the threshold, a samurai and a girl walked together to a man who stood by a doorway. The samurai dropped coins into the man’s hand. The girl led the samurai through the doorway and down a corridor, from which came giggles, grunts, and moans.

“This is an illegal brothel,” Otani said.

“Good guess,” Hirata said.

Although prostitution in Edo was officially confined to the licensed Yoshiwara pleasure quarter, it flourished throughout the city. Private establishments served men who couldn’t afford the high prices in Yoshiwara or didn’t want to travel so far. This exclusive establishment catered to the wealthiest, most prominent clientele.

A man rose from amid the revelry. “Greetings, Hirata-san,” he called. His face was round, his head bald, his age nearing sixty, his manner genial. He wore a red-and-black-patterned dressing gown that exposed his bare chest, legs, and feet. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you hereabouts.”

“Greetings, Rakuami-san,” Hirata said. “Business is still thriving, I see.”

“Yes, yes.” Rakuami’s skin had an oily sheen, and his smiling lips glistened moistly, as if he ate so many rich meals that grease oozed from him. He added slyly, “Despite the police’s occasional attempts to arrest me and close down my operation.”

As a young, inexperienced patrol officer, Hirata had once raided the house and tried to enforce the law against prostitution outside Yoshiwara. He hadn’t realized that Rakuami had clients in high places who protected him from the law. Hirata’s mistake had earned him a reprimand from his superior and a cantankerous sort of friendship with Rakuami.

“To what do I owe the honor of a visit from you?” Rakuami said. “And aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

Otani elbowed Hirata aside. “My name is Otani,” he said with authoritative pomp. “I’m a retainer to Lord Matsudaira. I’m conducting an inquiry into the murder of Senior Elder Makino.”

“I’m conducting the inquiry,” Hirata said. Offended that his watchdog would try to seize control of the interview, he jostled Otani and reclaimed his position. “And I’ve come to ask for your assistance,” he told Rakuami.

Rakuami appraised Hirata and Otani with his shrewd, bright eyes. Then he smiled at Otani. “I’ll be delighted to give you all the help that I possibly can.”

Hirata saw, to his chagrin, that Rakuami was more concerned about pleasing an envoy from the powerful Lord Matsudaira than a retainer to the shogun’s detective. “Is there someplace quiet we can talk?” Hirata said, asserting his own authority.

“How about a drink?” Rakuami asked Otani.

“No, thank you,” Hirata said loudly.

“That would be most appreciated,” said Otani.

“Right this way.”

Rakuami ushered Otani to a corner of the parlor. Otani’s men followed, as did those sent by the chamberlain. Rakuami seated everyone and beckoned the maids, who poured the men cups of sake. The festivities continued noisily around them. The detectives looked at Hirata.

“Come on,” he told them. Resentment simmered inside him as he squeezed in beside Rakuami and the detectives sat at the edge of the group.

“Was a girl named Okitsu ever one of your courtesans?” Otani was saying to Rakuami.

“Yes,” Rakuami said. Eager to please Otani, he added, “I bought her from a broker who was selling farm girls.”

Brokers traveled the country, buying daughters from impoverished peasant families to sell to pleasure houses in the city. The prettiest girls went to Yoshiwara for high prices. The others ended up in places such as Rakuami’s, or worse.

“Okitsu was a sweet little thing.” Rakuami’s lewd smile suggested that he’d partaken of her favors himself. “I hope she’s not in any trouble?”

“She’s a suspect in the crime,” Hirata said.

“You don’t say!” Rakuami glanced at Hirata, then turned back to Otani. “I can’t believe little Okitsu had anything to do with the murder.”

“She never caused problems here?” Otani said.

“None at all,” Rakuami said. “She was pleasant-natured and obedient. Everybody liked her. She was very popular with my guests.”

“That should be enough to settle whatever doubts you have about her character and clear her of suspicion,” Otani said, condescending to address Hirata.

“But of course Rakuami would speak well of her,” Hirata said angrily. “He wouldn’t want to get a reputation for employing troublesome girls.”

Otani and Rakuami exchanged a glance that deplored Hirata’s temper. Rakuami said, “Hirata-san, you take life too seriously. You need to relax.” He called to a saucy girl in a bright pink kimono: “Come entertain my young friend.”

The girl knelt behind Hirata and began massaging his shoulders. “Go away,” Hirata ordered. “Leave me alone!”

The other men chuckled at his discomfiture. Even the detectives hid smiles as the girl continued her attentions and giggled. That Rakuami was making a fool of him in front of everyone increased Hirata’s anger. His onetime friend was paying him back for that long-ago raid. Hirata put the girl firmly aside. He said to Rakuami, “Did Senior Elder Makino meet Okitsu here?”

“Yes. Makino was a regular guest here. And Okitsu was one of his favorite girls.”

Although Rakuami still twinkled with mirth at Hirata’s expense, a cautious note in his voice suggested that he would rather not discuss the relations between Makino and Okitsu. Scenting a clue, Hirata said, “Was Makino one of Okitsu’s favorite clients?”