Sano was interested to learn that Koheiji had once been an onnagata. Did he still impersonate women, perhaps in private if not onstage? The torn sleeve at the murder scene had come from a kimono belonging to Okitsu, but who had worn it the night Makino died?
“My memory is just fine,” the proprietor said angrily. Pointing at Ebisuya, he said, “You watch your mouth, or I’ll throw your lazy behind out in the street.”
Ebisuya shot Sano a glance that said his employer was daft, but he wanted to keep his job.
“I know who you’re talking about now,” the proprietor said to Sano. “I must have hired Koheiji ten or eleven years ago. I gave him his start in the theater, but he moved on to bigger and better things. What’s he done wrong?”
“Why do you think he’s done anything wrong?” Sano said.
“The shogun’s detective wouldn’t come asking about him otherwise.” Senile he might be, but the proprietor knew the ways of the world. “And all these actors are troublemakers.”
“Koheiji is a suspect in a murder,” Ibe cut in, impatient.
Another blank stare came from the proprietor. “Who was murdered?”
“His patron. Senior Elder Makino.” Ibe spoke in the emphatic, disdainful tone reserved for addressing idiots.
“Oh,” the proprietor said.
“Did Koheiji meet Senior Elder Makino here?” Sano said.
The proprietor’s expression turned vague. “Maybe. If not here, then in one of the teahouses. That’s the usual thing.”
Sano began to doubt that the man had a true recollection of who Koheiji was, let alone anything else about him. What he said about Koheiji probably applied to many actors.
“This is getting us nowhere,” Ibe said in exasperation.
Lord Matsudaira’s men voiced their agreement that Sano should end the interview. On stage, Ebisuya adjusted a new backdrop. He caught Sano’s eye and tilted his head toward the back door.
“We can go now,” Sano said, earning nods of approval from the Matsudaira contingent and a suspicious look from Ibe.
Outside the theater, Sano told his detectives, “Go talk to people around the district and find out what they know about Koheiji.” The detectives split up and headed down the street; Ibe’s and Lord Matsudaira’s men dogged their heels. Sano said to Ibe, “Please excuse me a moment.”
As if intending to use the privy, he strode down the alley between the theater and the neighboring teahouse. A young boy stood pressed against the wall, his kimono raised above his waist. A groaning, panting samurai thrust himself against the boy’s naked buttocks. Sano squeezed past the pair and turned the corner. Behind the theater were reeking privies in open wooden stalls. Near them slouched the onnagata. At first Sano didn’t recognize him-he’d removed his wig, female garb, and makeup. Ebisuya now sported black robes and cropped hair. Smoke rose from the pipe dangling in his fingers.
“You have something to tell me about Koheiji?” Sano said.
“I’ll help you if you help me,” Ebisuya said.
He was in his thirties-getting too old to have much hope of stardom. He held out his hand for money, and Sano saw scars on his arm-from self-inflicted cuts, meant to convince patrons of his love for them. Probably he, like many actors, had thereby sought to coax men into ransoming him from his contract with the theater that owned actors the way that brothels owned courtesan s. He was also getting too old to attract patrons much longer. His features were pretty but hard with the desperation that drove him to bargain with a Tokugawa official.
“Talk,” Sano said. “If your information is worthwhile, I’ll pay.”
Nodding sullenly, Ebisuya withdrew his hand. “I don’t like to tell tales on a fellow actor,” he said, “but I owe Koheiji a bad turn. I was an apprentice at the Owari when he was hired. Before he came, I had the best roles. Afterward, Koheiji played the lead parts that should have been mine.” Ebisuya’s eyes flashed resentment at his rival’s good luck. “He’s not more talented than I am-just better at sucking up to people.”
“People like Senior Elder Makino?”
“Him among others. Koheiji was a favorite with audiences, and not just for his performances onstage. He wanted to hook a patron who would buy his way into leading roles at a top theater.”
So Koheiji engaged in manly love in the past, thought Sano. Perhaps he’d lied when he said he hadn’t had sexual relations with Senior Elder Makino. If so, he could also have lied when he’d claimed he hadn’t been with Makino the night of the murder.
“He knew how to please men, even though he prefers women,” Ebisuya continued. “He gave his clients good sumata.”
In sumata-the “secret thigh technique”-one man thrust his organ between another’s thighs, simulating anal intercourse. Thus had Koheiji satisfied his clients with minimal discomfort to himself.
“Did his sumata win him the patronage of Senior Elder Makino?” Sano said.
Ebisuya gave Sano a look that scorned the idea. “Senior Elder Makino didn’t practice manly love. That’s not why he paid the Nakamura-za to hire Koheiji and make him a star.”
“Then why did he?”
“Koheiji found a way to attract men who didn’t want sex with him.” The onnagata’s tone conveyed reluctant admiration for his clever rival. “Makino was one of them. He liked the special performances that Koheiji put on after the theaters closed at night.”
“What sort of performances?” Sano said, intrigued.
“Koheiji would hire a female prostitute and make love to her in front of his clients. They were all rich, impotent old men who couldn’t make love to a woman themselves. Instead, they watched Koheiji do it.”
Sano imagined Koheiji and the woman naked and coupling while the elderly men looked on, their lined faces avid with their need for vicarious sexual gratification. “Did Senior Elder Makino become Koheiji’s patron after watching his act?”
“Yes,” Ebisuya said, “but he didn’t just watch. For an extra charge, Koheiji would give shows for only one client at a time. The client could join in the fun-if he got excited enough.”
“Makino paid for private shows?” Sano said.
“So I’ve heard. And he must have enjoyed them a lot, because not only did he become Koheiji’s patron, he also took him into his home. He probably wanted to save himself the trouble of a trip to Kobiki-cho every time he wanted a show.”
On the night of the murder, had Koheiji performed a sex show for his host? Sano envisioned the skull-faced Makino with Koheiji, both fondling a nude woman pressed between them. If this revolting scene had indeed occurred that night, who had she been? The torn sleeve pointed to the concubine Okitsu. But Makino’s wife had also shared his chambers, and perhaps his sexual proclivities. And Sano wondered whether a three-way encounter had any connection with Makino’s death. Ebisuya had portrayed Koheiji as a greedy, ambitious user of men, but no worse. Sano had heard nothing to suggest that he’d killed the patron on whom his career depended.
“But Makino wasn’t aware that he was risking his life every time Koheiji put on a show for him.” Ebisuya’s portentous tone announced that he’d come to the part of his story he most wanted to tell. “There were rumors that Koheiji played rough during those private shows. Some men liked it that way. But he went too far at least once.” Ebisuya inhaled on his pipe, blew out smoke, and continued: “It happened late at night about five years ago. I woke up to hear someone calling my name and knocking on the window beside my bed. I looked outside and saw Koheiji standing there.
“He said, ‘I need your help.’ When I asked him what was wrong, he wouldn’t tell me. He was all upset. He begged me to come with him. I was curious, so I went. He took me to a room at an inn. There was an old samurai lying naked inside. He was covered with bruises and blood. At first I thought he was dead, but then I heard him groan.”