Pairs of idle, bored-looking sentries manned gates at intervals along the wall; clearly, they didn’t expect anyone to break into police headquarters. Sano climbed over the wall, dropped into the deserted compound, and located the barracks, four long, single-story buildings with narrow verandas in front and privy sheds behind, arranged around a courtyard. Hoshina had a corner suite in the east unit. Just as Sano reached the rear door, he heard voices at the front of the building: Marume, talking with the guard who had escorted him into headquarters to wait for Hoshina. Presently Sano heard a door open and noises inside; the windows of Hoshina’s quarters lit up. The broad silhouette of Marume appeared on the paper panes and moved toward Sano. Then the door slid open.
Marume looked out, saw Sano, and nodded. Sano entered silently, following Marume into a bedchamber where Hoshina’s futon lay on the floor, through paper partitions to an office furnished with a desk and cabinets, then a parlor where a lantern burned above floor cushions and a low table. Marume knelt in the parlor and Sano on the other side of the partition in the shadow of a cabinet to wait for Hoshina.
Reiko heard the spirit cry from her room in Nijō Manor.
After Sano had left for the Imperial Palace, she’d lain down on the futon while waiting for him to come back, and had fallen asleep. The chilling scream jarred her into alertness. Around her, floors creaked as the inn’s other guests stirred; voices clamored.
“Did you hear that noise?”
“What was it?”
But Reiko knew instinctively what it was. She also knew for certain now that Lady Asagao wasn’t the killer, because the spirit cry had come from the direction of the palace. In the moonlight that shone through the windows, she saw that she was alone; Sano hadn’t returned. A rush of panic agitated Reiko. The spirit cry had heralded death once before. Not much time could have passed since Sano left; he could still be inside the palace. She had to make sure he was safe.
She dressed hurriedly, then ran out to the corridor. The innkeeper’s wife appeared, clad in a night robe.
“That was the same noise we heard the night the imperial left minister died,” said the woman. “Everyone knows he was killed by a ghost with magical powers.” This, then, was how the superstitious townspeople explained the scream and the murder. “You must stay in your room where you’ll be safe.”
“I have to see if my husband is all right.” Reiko started toward the door.
The innkeeper’s wife held her back. “But you can’t go out alone at night. Outlaws will attack you.”
“I’ll take my husband’s guards with me,” Reiko said, eager to reach Sano.
“You must stay.” Concern gave the woman’s manner authority. “Let me send a manservant to the palace to see what happened.”
Reiko reluctantly consented, less because of fear for herself than the thought that Sano was probably busy investigating another murder and would be upset if she interrupted him. The innkeeper’s wife dispatched the servant. Reiko lit a lamp in her room and sat drinking tea, wondering who had uttered the spirit cry and why the killer would strike again.
Alter an hour, the innkeeper’s wife reappeared and said, “The servant just came back. He spoke to the guards at the palace gate. All they told him was that there had been another death. They wouldn’t say who it was.”
Reiko felt a sudden stab of fear. “Thank you,” she said.
Alone in her room, she told herself it couldn’t be Sano who had died; she would have sensed if anything had happened to him. But wouldn’t he know she would hear the spirit cry? Wouldn’t he send a message to reassure her? Dread mounted in Reiko. The inn quieted as the other guests settled down to sleep, and in the stillness, the thudding of her heart echoed in her ears. The room was hot, but Reiko’s hands turned cold from an inner chill. She thought of sending one of Sano’s guards into the palace for news, then reconsidered. She wanted to know, yet she did not want to know.
Time dragged on. Then Reiko heard footsteps approaching her room. She threw open the door. There stood Detective Fukida. One look at his haggard face told her what she’d been dreading. She had a sensation of a black void absorbing all the light and warmth and joy in the world.
“No,” she whispered.
“We were on our way to see the emperor.” The young samurai’s voice trembled. “The killer ambushed us inside the palace, and-”
“No, it’s impossible. When he left, he said he would see me later.” Reiko heard herself forestalling the inevitable truth. She backed away from Fukida, glancing wildly around the room. “His things are still here. He can’t be-” She could not make herself say it.
Fukida came to her and grasped her hands. Because he would never touch his master’s wife under ordinary circumstances, the gesture convinced Reiko and pierced her heart. She pulled her hands out of Fukida’s and hunched low, arms clasped around herself.
“Honorable Lady Reiko, I’m sorry,” Fukida said, looking ready to weep. “Your husband is dead.”
“Where is he?” Now Reiko experienced a consuming need to be with Sano. Although she remained outwardly calm, emotion began building inside her, as if her spirit stood in the path of a violent storm. “Take me there.”
Fukida shook his head. “I can’t,” he said wretchedly. “There was such great injury to him…” The young detective gulped, then continued: “Before he died, he used his last breath to order me to spare you the sight of him. I’m sorry.”
“But I’m his wife. You can’t keep me away.” The storm inside Reiko gathered power; she could hear the gusting winds of grief and the thunder of outrage coming closer, and see the turbulent black clouds of despair lowering upon her. “Where is he? I demand that you take me to my husband immediately!”
Now the storm overpowered Reiko. Falling to her knees, she howled, “No. No. No!” Raised in samurai tradition, she’d been trained to value stoicism and practice self-control, but this terrible moment taught her that training was inadequate preparation for tragedy. She didn’t care if she compromised her dignity. With her beloved husband dead, what did social standards of behavior matter anymore?
Through the tears that streamed from her eyes, she saw Fukida standing by, helpless and shamefaced. He said, “I’ll get help,” then fled. Soon Reiko’s maids came. They hugged her, murmuring words of comfort that she barely heard above her own sobs and moans. They held her still while a local physician poured a bitter liquid down her throat. It must have been a sleeping potion, because the world grew hazy, and Reiko drifted into unconsciousness.
Temple bells tolled the next hour, and the next, while Sano and Marume waited for Yoriki Hoshina. At last Sano heard brisk footsteps cross the courtyard and mount the wooden stairs to the veranda. He stood in the shadow of the cabinet, braced for action. The front door opened. Now the shadow of a second figure appeared opposite Marume’s on the paper partition.
“Ah, Marume-san,” said Hoshina’s voice. “The sentries just told me you were here. I’m sorry you had such a long wait, but after I finished at the palace, I had to go to the shoshidai’s mansion to report what had happened.”
Both shadows bowed; Hoshina’s knelt. Marume said, “It’s I who should apologize for coming here without notice.”
“Under the circumstances, formality is unnecessary,” Hoshina said in a kind, forgiving tone. He obviously had no idea that he and Marume weren’t alone. “My condolences on the murder of your master.”
“Thank you,” Marume said sadly. “That’s why I’m here.”
“If you wish to take over the investigation, I’ll do everything in my power to help you identify the killer and obtain justice for the sōsakan-sama.” Hoshina’s sincerity grated on Sano’s nerves. The yoriki acted the part of the sympathetic, dutiful subordinate with perfection, no doubt rejoicing all the while.