Free The Iris Fan by Laura Joh Rowland Page B

concubine, Sano thought. “Why would you bathe at this hour?”
    Cringing, Tomoe shook her head.
    “Why did you lock yourself in?” Masahiro asked.
    “I heard screams.” She shivered. “I was afraid.”
    “Did anyone see you come in here?” Sano asked.
    “No.” Her eyes pleaded for mercy. She looked like a fawn sighted on by a hunter. “Everybody else was asleep.”
    Marume’s and Masahiro’s faces showed the same sympathy for the beautiful, vulnerable girl that Sano felt. Manabe waited in the doorway, his face impassive.
    “If she was in the bathtub when the shogun was stabbed, she couldn’t have done it,” Masahiro said.
    “She could have run in here after he was stabbed,” Sano pointed out.
    “To wash off his blood?” Caught between his inclination to believe Tomoe was innocent and the need for objectivity, Marume examined the floor. “I don’t see any.”
    Sano glanced at the sponge, a bag of rice bran soap, and a bucket on the wet floor by the drain hole in the wooden slats. He tried to picture Tomoe scrubbing and rinsing herself and bloody water trickling down the drain and failed. He couldn’t imagine her capable of stabbing anyone, but he was sworn to conduct an honest investigation; he’d dedicated his life to the pursuit of truth and justice. That was his personal code of honor, as important to him as Bushido.
    “She’s a suspect,” Sano said. “We have to treat her like one.” Masahiro and Marume reluctantly nodded. Sano called to Captain Hosono, who’d joined Manabe at the door. “Put her under guard, away from everybody else. Marume- san , continue searching for bloodstained socks and clothes.”
    Captain Hosono led the meek Tomoe away. As Sano and Masahiro headed down the corridor together, Masahiro said, “Aren’t we done questioning everybody?”
    “No.” Sano opened a door, and they looked through it across the snowy night to a little house attached to the Large Interior by a covered corridor and surrounded by an earthen wall and a narrow garden of bamboo thickets.
    Masahiro frowned. “Lady Nobuko. The shogun’s wife.”
    There was bad blood between Sano’s family and Lady Nobuko. She’d lured Sano into investigating the death of the shogun’s daughter, and their troubles had begun then. Furthermore, her actions had almost gotten Masahiro killed. Masahiro clearly hadn’t forgiven Lady Nobuko. Now here she was again, at the center of another crime they were investigating.
    “I’ll talk to Lady Nobuko by myself,” Sano said.
    Masahiro opened his mouth to object. Sano silenced him with a stern look and said, “Go talk to Dengoro, the boy who was sleeping with the shogun during the attack.”
    A hint of the usual tension between them returned. Sano knew that Masahiro’s chafing at his authority went deeper than just a young man’s natural desire for independence. After more than four years of watching Sano try and fail to prove that Lord Ienobu was guilty of murder and treason, Masahiro no longer trusted Sano’s judgment. That hurt.
    “The boy couldn’t have done it, could he?” Masahiro said. “Don’t the bloody footprints mean it was someone from the Large Interior?”
    Sano sensed that something else was bothering Masahiro, but they didn’t have time for a personal discussion. He also feared that Masahiro’s lack of faith in him would prove to be justified. They were several hours into the investigation, with no results in sight. Lord Ienobu’s threats loomed large.
    “It’s too soon to rule Dengoro out, and he’s an important witness,” Sano said. “Maybe he’s remembered something.”

 
     
    10
     
    MASAHIRO WENT TO the section of the palace where the shogun’s boys lived. It consisted of small chambers built around a courtyard, and a theater where the shogun and the boys performed in N ō plays with professional actors. Masahiro walked the deserted corridor, peering into the chambers that smelled of dirty socks and contained wooden swords,