The slits of Ogita's eyes opened wider in surprise. "What about?"
"I'm investigating a series of crimes," Hirata said. "I need your assistance."
If Ogita was alarmed, Hirata couldn't tell. "I'm at your service." Ogita spread his hands in the gesture of a man who had much to give and nothing to withhold.
"Then you'll be happy to answer a few questions." Bereft of the extra sense that usually aided him during interrogations, Hirata fell back on standard detective procedure. He asked Ogita his whereabouts on the days that Chiyo, Fumiko, and the nun had been missing.
He'd expected Ogita to claim he couldn't remember details from so long ago, but Ogita called to a clerk: "Bring me my calendar."
The clerk fetched a clothbound book and handed it to Ogita. Ogita paged to the dates Hirata had mentioned and reeled off a list of activities that included rice auctions at his teahouse, business meetings around the city, banquets, his son's wedding, and drinking parties with customers, friends, and government officials. He smiled and asked, "Is that good enough?"
"That only accounts for your days," Hirata said. "What about your nights?"
"I was at home with my family and my bodyguards." Ogita added, "A man in my position has plenty of enemies, and I'm a target for thieves. My bodyguards stay near me wherever I am."
Hirata didn't doubt that they would confirm his alibi. "May I ask why you're so interested in my business?" Ogita spoke with mild curiosity, without the caution of a man who was guilty of crimes and threatened by the law. Hirata despaired because he couldn't discern whether Ogita's manner was an act or not. Used to relying on the powers gained from strenuous training and magic rituals, he felt as if he'd regressed to his days as a mere, ordinary human.
"Three women were kidnapped, held prisoner, and raped during those time periods," Hirata said.
"And you think I'm responsible?" Ogita's expression said he thought the idea was so absurd that he couldn't bother to be offended by it. "I am certainly not."
"You haven't asked who the women are," Hirata pointed out. He wasn't so distracted that he hadn't noticed the omission. "Maybe that's because you already know."
Ogita glanced at the ceiling long enough to convey scorn. "No, I don't know, but I suppose I should find out who's been slandering me. Who are they?"
Was Ogita pretending ignorance? Hirata only wished he knew that. "One is the gangster Jirocho's daughter. The second is a nun named Tengu-in. The third is Lady Chiyo, wife of Captain Okubo and cousin of Chamberlain Sano."
The rice broker's greasy face showed no recognition, except a frown at Sano's name. "Well, my condolences to them, but I never laid a hand on them. I don't even know them."
"You should be familiar with Lady Chiyo," Hirata said. "Her father is Major Kumazawa. He's in charge of guarding the ware houses that hold the rice you sell."
"I know him. Not his daughter."
Hirata couldn't have said whether he was lying or telling the truth. "She grew up in the Kumazawa clan's house, which isn't far from here. You must have seen her."
"Seen her, maybe. Anything else, no." Ogita made a negative, adamant, slashing gesture with his hand. Annoyance crept into his expression. "If I want a woman, I don't have to kidnap or rape one. Here, let me show you something."
Ogita stalked to the dais and spread out the rice contracts that lay upon a table. He jabbed his ink-stained finger at the huge sums written on the contracts. "With what I earned today, I could buy ten women for each day of the year, to do whatever I want. You can't really think I would stoop to kidnapping anybody, especially a relative of a man important to my business."
Hirata couldn't deny that Ogita had a point. But a man could become sexually obsessed with a particular woman who was beyond his reach, and none other would satisfy. "There's a witness to the effect that you did."
"Oh? Who?" Anger tightened Ogita's double chin.
Hirata explained about Jinshichi, Gombei, and the proprietor of the Drum Teahouse.
"Never heard of them," Ogita said. "But I'm not surprised that they've said bad things about me. People like to shoot arrows at the highest apples on the tree."
Hirata gazed at the contracts, disturbed because he'd hoped to bring Sano more than the expected denials from this suspect, and to make up for the fact that his men had lost the oxcart drivers.
"That's more money than you'll see in your lifetime," Ogita said crassly, mistaking Hirata's somber expression for envy. He lowered his voice. "I'm going to offer you a deal. You leave me out of your investigation, and I'll make it worth your while."
Hirata stared in disbelief. "Are you trying to bribe me?"
"Let's just call it a little private business arrangement." Ogita smiled. Nobody had offered Hirata a bribe since his police days. His longtime reputation for incorruptibility, and Sano's, were well known. "Forget it," Hirata said. "You can't stop me from investigating you by paying me off."
"Suit yourself." Ogita's smile persisted, but turned as menacing as a mouth carved in an armor face guard. "If you don't like that deal, then how about this one?
"Three of Chamberlain Sano's biggest allies owe me a lot of money. If you cause me any trouble, I'll call in their debts. They'll be ruined financially, and I'll make sure they know you're to blame. Think about where that will leave Chamberlain Sano."
The allies would surely withdraw their support from Sano. They would also try to influence the shogun to throw him out of the regime, and they would look for another leader.
Who would that be but Yanagisawa?
If three major allies defected from Sano, the balance of power would tip in Yanagisawa's favor, which could give Yanagisawa the impetus to resume his campaign to destroy Sano. Hirata faced a serious dilemma.
"Well?" Ogita said.
In his mind Hirata heard Sano's voice: I won't give in to blackmail. If I lose my allies and Yanagisawa makes his move, so be it. I'll take the risk for the sake of justice. Hirata admired Sano for his principles, but his own principles were different in this case. As Sano's chief retainer, Hirata was duty-bound to protect Sano even if it meant going against his wishes. He couldn't allow Ogita to make good on his threat.
As he vacillated, another thought confused the issue: Maybe Ogita wasn't responsible for the kidnappings or rapes. If so, Hirata would have put his master in jeopardy for nothing.
Hirata never knew what he would have said. Just then, the menacing pulse of energy vibrated through the air, striking him dumb. His whole body snapped to sudden, fearful attention. As his nerves began that ominous tingling and his blood raced, he forgot Ogita. His enemy was close at hand. Ears pricked and nostrils flared to catch the man's scent, Hirata silently vowed that this time he would find his enemy; this time they would fight, and he would win.
The pulse emanated from the teahouse's back room. Drawing his sword, Hirata advanced toward the curtained doorway.
"What are you doing?" Ogita said, puzzled.
Detective Arai said, "Hirata-san?"
Ignoring them, Hirata yanked the curtain aside. Beyond the doorway was a spacious room for parties. Two maids were rolling fresh tatami mats onto the floor. The pulse drew Hirata to another doorway. Ogita and the detectives followed.
"Is something wrong?" Detective Inoue said.
Hirata shushed him with a gesture of his hand. He peeked through the second curtain and saw a large, dim storeroom. Sake barrels were stacked in rows. Three servants unloaded more barrels from a handcart. Hirata slowly put one foot after another into the room. Screeches and howls resounded from other dimensions that impinged on his mind.
A bright flare of energy erupted from behind a row of barrels. Hirata lunged around them toward the energy. The servants yelled in fright, running for cover. Ogita cried, "Have you gone mad?"
Hirata slashed his sword at the place where he thought his enemy was hiding. But there was no one. His sword cut through a sake barrel. Pungent liquor spilled. Sensing the presence behind him, Hirata whirled, charged, and slashed. His blade cleaved more barrels. The space between the rows was vacant.
"Don't just stand there," Ogita said to the detectives. "Stop him before he wrecks my place!"
The detectives grabbed Hirata, but he threw them off. He kept attacking empty air. He didn't know whether he imagined feeling the energy or his foe had projected it toward him, a trick that only the most expert martial artists could manage.
Now the presence seemed to move outside the teahouse. Hirata rushed through the back door, into a yard where fireproof store houses with iron roofs stood. The daylight on their whitewashed walls struck his eyes. Blinded and reckless, he followed the pulsating energy down a path between the store houses. At the end of the path, cornered by a bamboo fence, stood a dark figure holding a sword.
Anticipation and a thirst for blood raged within Hirata. He rushed forward and swung his sword with all his strength.