Laura Rowland - The Assassin's Touch

“Not recently,” Koemon said.

“On the other hand, he could be someone who’s been here all along.” Sano favored this theory. “Maybe the killer is an enemy of the victims-or Lord Matsudaira-who’s hidden his secret knowledge of dim-mak until now.” Sano charged and slashed.

As Koemon leapt away, Sano’s blade grazed his sleeve. “Good, you’re warming up,” Koemon said. A thought altered his expression. “I just remembered something. Do you know the priest Ozuno?”

“The name doesn’t sound familiar,” Sano said as they struck and parried. “Who is he?”

“He’s a samurai from the old days. When he lost his master, he took religious vows. He entered the monastery at Enryaku Temple on Mount Hiei.”

Mount Hiei was the sacred peak near the imperial capital. Enryaku Temple had been a mighty Buddhist stronghold of fighting priests until some hundred years ago, when its political influence and military power had posed a threat to the warlord Oda Nobunaga and he’d leveled it. The temple had since been rebuilt, and traditions died hard.

“The priests taught Ozuno their ancient secrets.” Koemon’s sword battered Sano’s. “By the time he came down from the mountain, he was an expert at the mystic martial arts and much sought after as a teacher.”

“That story has been used by legions of samurai who are trying to boost their reputations or attract pupils,” Sano said. “If it’s true in this Ozuno’s case, why isn’t he famous?”

“He’s a loner who hates publicity. And he’s very selective about whom he chooses to teach. He takes on one pupil at a time and trains him for years. He makes all his pupils swear not to reveal that they’ve studied with him or give away the techniques that he teaches them.”

This aura of secrecy jibed with what Sano knew about dim-mak and its practitioners. Fatigued from defending himself, Sano ducked Koemon’s blade; it whistled over his head. “Where can I find Ozuno?”

“When he’s in town, he lives at one temple or another,” Koemon said. “I hear he has friends at them who give him a place to stay. I don’t know if he’s still teaching. He must be ninety years old. But he still roams the country when the wanderlust takes him.”

As Sano considered this promising lead, his attention drifted from the fight. Koemon’s blade whacked him across his stomach. Sano doubled over, wincing from the blow, humbled by the abrupt defeat.

“My apologies,” Koemon said, remorseful.

“No need,” Sano said. “You won a fair victory.”

They bowed to each other, hung their swords on the rack, then gulped water from a ceramic urn. Sano thanked Koemon for the information and the combat practice.

“Any time,” Koemon said. “I’ll put the word out that you’re looking for Ozuno and send you any news I hear.”

When Sano left the school, he found his detectives at a food stall, drinking tea and eating noodles. He joined them, and as he ate, he told them about the mysterious priest.

Marume, interested yet dubious, was shoveling noodles into his mouth with his chopsticks. “Even if this fellow is still in good enough shape to kill at age ninety, it doesn’t sound as if he has any connection to Chief Ejima and the others.”

“Or to Lord Matsudaira,” said Fukida.

“Maybe one of his secret pupils does. At any rate, I think he’s worth talking to.” Sano finished his meal and set aside his empty bowl. “We’ll go back to Edo Castle and mount a search for Ozuno. And maybe there will be some news from Hirata and Detective Tachibana.”

Reiko paced around the room in her father’s estate where she’d interviewed Yugao two days ago. When she’d arrived this morning, she’d asked Magistrate Ueda to let her speak to Yugao again, and he’d sent men to the jail to fetch her. It was almost noon by the time the door opened. Two guards brought in Yugao. Her hands were shackled; she wore the same dirty robe. She seemed surprised and displeased to see Reiko.

“It’s you again,” she said. “What do you want now?”

The guards shoved her to her knees in front of Reiko, then departed, closing the door behind them.

“I want to talk some more,” Reiko said.

Yugao shook her head, obstinate. “I’ve already said everything I have to say.”

She looked the worse for another night at Edo Jail. Flea bites dotted her neck, and her eyes were crusted, pink, and swollen. Reiko felt both revilement and pity toward her. “We have some new things to discuss.”

Raising her bound hands to scratch her flea bites, Yugao waited in suspicious silence.

“I paid a visit to your house yesterday,” Reiko said.

Yugao’s swollen eyes blinked in shock. “You went to the hinin settlement?” She sat up straight and stared at Reiko. “Why?”

“You wouldn’t tell me what happened the night your family was murdered,” Reiko said, “so I decided to find out for myself. I talked with the headman and your neighbors.”

Yugao shook her head in evident confusion. Her hands rubbed together, and her knees clenched spasmodically. Reiko thought that perhaps her efforts had convinced Yugao that she sincerely wanted to help. Maybe Yugao was relenting toward her and would now trust her enough to talk.

“The headman told me why your father was a hinin,” Reiko ventured.

Now Yugao’s face turned ugly with sudden rage. “You snooped into my business! You samurai people do whatever you want and you don’t care about anybody else’s privacy. I hate you all!”

This outburst disconcerted Reiko, who was chagrined because this conversation wasn’t going the way she wanted. But she continued, “For a man to commit incest with his daughter is not only a crime but a betrayal of her love for him. Did your father do it to you that night?”

“I won’t talk about my father,” Yugao said with bitter indignation.

“Then let’s talk about your mother and your sister. Did they do something to hurt you, too?” A new theory evolved in Reiko’s mind. “Were they cruel to you because they blamed you for the fact that they had to live as outcasts?”

“I won’t talk about them, either,” Yugao said.

While Reiko controlled her exasperation, she saw a possible reason why Yugao had refused to talk. Maybe she was so shamed by her sordid life that she would rather die than reveal it. Maybe she blamed herself for it and wanted to be punished even if she hadn’t killed her family. Because the law treated people as guilty for the transgressions of their kin and associates, it was logical for them to believe they really were.

“You should reconsider,” Reiko advised Yugao. “If you stabbed your father while he was forcing himself on you, that’s different from murder. If your mother and sister attacked you because you were protecting yourself, you had a right to fight back against them. Killing in self-defense isn’t a crime. You won’t be punished. The magistrate will set you free.”

Any other accused criminal that Reiko had ever seen would have gladly seized on this explanation as a chance to save his life. But Yugao turned her face away and said in a cold, recalcitrant voice: “That’s not what happened.”

“Then tell me what did,” Reiko said.

“I stabbed my father until he died. Then I stabbed my mother and my sister. I murdered them. I don’t have to say why.”

Reiko’s mind flashed back to the vision she’d had of the murders at the hovel. She pictured Yugao wielding the knife, heard the screams, smelled the blood. But her imagination plus Yugao’s confession didn’t necessarily equal the truth.

“Listen, Yugao,” she said. “My father bent the law by delaying the verdict at your trial. I’ve gone far out of my way for you.” She’d even risked putting Sano in jeopardy. “That obligates you to tell me the truth.”