When he heard footsteps in the corridor outside his room and Detective Marume call his name, he welcomed the distraction, even though he knew that a summons late at night usually meant trouble. “Come in,” he said, throwing off the quilt. “What is it?” The door slid open, revealing the bulky figure of Marume, lit by the flame of a lamp he carried. “I’m sorry to wake you, Sōsakan-sama, but there’s a message from one of your informants in town. Lord Matsudaira’s nephew Daiemon has just been murdered.”

20

The building was a commonplace two-story wooden structure, located in the Nihonbashi merchant district, on a street that paralleled the nearby rice warehouses along the Sumida River. Bamboo shades screened the balcony; shutters covered the windows. A short blue curtain hung over the recessed doorway, where two soldiers whose armor bore the crest of the Matsudaira clan stood guard. Opposite were run-down shops and teahouses, the doors closed over their storefronts. A crowd of townspeople had gathered outside the building. In the sky, a faint ruddy glow in the east presaged dawn. Lanterns shone at neighborhood gates at either end of the street. As Sano rode through a gate with Marume, Fukida, and three other detectives, the crowd parted to let them pass. They dismounted outside the building.

“What is this place?” Marume said.

“It’s a house of assignation,” Sano said. He remembered the house from his days as a police commander of this district. “Lovers come here to engage in illicit affairs. It’s called the Sign of Bedazzlement.”

Here, in this seedy, disreputable place, had died Daiemon, the ambitious upstart of the Matsudaira faction and heir apparent to the shogun.

Sano, Marume, and Fukida climbed the steps and went into the house. The sounds of men muttering and women crying greeted them. The house’s proprietor, a frightened old man, huddled in the entryway.

Beyond this, more Matsudaira troops stood along a lamp-lit passage. Police Commissioner Hoshina came striding down the passage toward Sano and the detectives.

“Sōsakan-sama. What are you doing here?” Hoshina said in a tone that branded Sano as a trespasser.

“I heard that Daiemon was murdered,” Sano said. “I’ve come to investigate.”

Hoshina spread his arms, planted his hands on the walls of the passage, and blocked Sano’s way. “There’s no need. My officers have already begun inquiries. This is police business.” And none of yours, said his hostile expression.

“Daiemon was a suspect in a crime that the shogun ordered me to investigate,” Sano said. Hoshina never ceased his petty squabbling over what crimes comprised whose territory. He grasped every chance to enlarge his sphere of authority and diminish Sano’s. The war between the factions had only aggravated his sense of rivalry. “That makes his murder my business.”

Indecision broke Hoshina’s gaze; he seemed to recall that Lord Matsudaira, his master, needed as many allies as possible and particularly wanted Sano. “Very well,” he said grudgingly.

He let Sano and the detectives pass, but he dogged their heels as they moved down the corridor, which was lined with dim chambers enclosed by wooden partitions. Through the open doors of several chambers Sano saw couples, shamefaced and disheveled, guarded by Lord Matsudaira’s troops. Sano recognized an army official and a prominent banker. Although Hoshina was more interested in politics than in police practice, at least he’d trapped the potential witnesses.

“He’s in the last room on the left,” Hoshina said.

Sano preceded Marume and Fukida into the room. More troops loitered against walls painted with crude, gaudy landscape murals. A cold draft wavered the flame inside a torn paper lantern suspended from the ceiling. Furniture consisted of a charcoal brazier, a washbasin behind a cheap wooden screen, and a lacquer table that held a sake decanter and cups. On the tatami floor Daiemon lay, covered by a striped quilt, upon the futon. Only his face showed; his eyes were closed and his handsome features blank as if in sleep. Beside him knelt his uncle, clad in an opulent padded satin cloak and an armor helmet studded with gold. Lord Matsudaira looked up at Sano.

“Honorable Lord Matsudaira,” Sano said, bowing, “please accept my condolences on the death of your nephew.”

The man’s eyes blazed with rage and grief. Tears streaked glistening trails down his cheeks. He seemed mute and stunned, like a warrior who’d taken a severe blow during battle. Sano felt an eerie echo of the past. A year ago he’d investigated the murder of Lord Matsudaira’s son, a former favorite of the shogun. Being heir apparent brought bad luck, Sano reflected. Now Lord Matsudaira had lost another important kinsman.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Sano said.

“See for yourself,” Lord Matsudaira said in a tight, bitter voice. He flung back the quilt that covered Daiemon.

Air saturated with the metallic smell of blood billowed up at Sano. Nausea clenched his stomach. Daiemon’s torso was twisted and his limbs bent as if he’d crumpled onto the bed where he lay. Wet, gleaming blood stained the front of his silk kimono and the white cotton cover of the futon. The hilt of a dagger, bound in plain black cord in a crisscross pattern, protruded from his chest. Sano observed that the blade had been driven under his breastbone at an upward angle, beneath the rib cage, and into his heart.

Turning away from the gory sight, Sano said, “Was Daiemon here with a woman?”

Lord Matsudaira regarded Sano as if he thought the question idiotic. “That’s what this place is for.”

“Who was she?” Sano said.

“I have no idea.”

“Where is she?”

Police Commissioner Hoshina said, “There was no sign of her when we arrived. Daiemon was alone.”

More echoes from the past resonated through Sano. The murder of Lord Matsudaira’s son had also involved a missing woman. “Go question the other people in the house,” Sano told Marume and Fukida. “Bring me anyone who knows anything about the woman, or saw or heard anything.”

The detectives bowed and went. Sano had brought them because Hirata was in bad odor with the factions, and Sano couldn’t risk employing him in anything that involved them. Now Sano missed his chief retainer. He hoped Marume and Fukida would do as good a job as Hirata had always done. Inspecting the room, Sano found Daiemon’s shoes and swords on the floor by the door, where he’d apparently left them. There was no trace of anyone else’s presence. Examining the window shutters, Sano found the latches intact and no sign that the killer had forced his way into the room from outside.

“Is the room just as you found it?” Sano asked Lord Matsudaira.

Lord Matsudaira stared in bitter silence at his dead nephew. Hoshina said, “We didn’t change anything, except to cover the body.”

Sano crouched and peered at Daiemon’s hands. They were smeared with blood, as though from clutching his wound before he’d fallen, but uninjured. Daiemon apparently had not tried to defend himself against the dagger. As Sano rose, Detectives Marume and Fukida returned, bringing the proprietor of the house.

“None of the couples saw Daiemon or his lady,” said Fukida. “They were too busy to notice anything going on in this room.”

Marume pushed the proprietor toward Sano and said, “He’s the only witness. He rented the room to Daiemon and the woman. He discovered the body.”

“Who was the woman?” Sano asked the proprietor.

The proprietor had bulging eyes that bulged wider as he shrank fearfully from Sano. “I don’t know her name.”

“What does she look like?” Sano said.

“I don’t know. She’s been here many times, but she always hides her face.”

“Does anyone come with her?”

“No, master. She always comes by herself.”