Sato nodded agreement. She looked at Yoshiko, eyebrows raised in a silent request.
“I am sorry,” Yoshiko said, “but I cannot grant your request. Not without further evidence. If, by tomorrow, you have found this spy or have proof that he killed my father I will reconsider.”
“Thank you.” It was the only response Hiro could give.
“May I ask another question?” Father Mateo asked.
Yoshiko looked at the priest with interest.
“I apologize for my presumptuousness,” he said, “but I am curious about Japanese laws and customs. Will your father’s stipend continue after his death?”
“They usually do not,” Yoshiko said.
“Did he have other income?” the priest asked. “Business interests, or an inheritance?”
Yoshiko and Sato exchanged a look.
The older woman answered. “Hideyoshi was his father’s heir, but that money has been gone for many years. We are hopeful that the shogun will show mercy and allow us to retain his stipend.”
“How do Japanese address the issue of creditors?” Father Mateo asked.
Yoshiko tilted her head to the side. “I do not know what you mean.”
“Did your father owe anyone money when he died? Like rice merchants or tailors? Take the teahouse, for example. How will his final bill be paid? Will there even be a bill, since he died there?”
Hiro was impressed with Father Mateo’s unexpected subtlety. The shinobi had wondered how Hideyoshi managed to afford the Sakura on a subsistence-level stipend, but convention prohibited him from asking. He hadn’t thought to address the topic as a legal issue, not that the tactic would not have worked. Only a foreigner could ask such intrusive questions without causing serious offense.
“I would be … disappointed if Mayuri expected payment for the night my father died.”
“Did he have other debts?” Father Mateo asked. “How would they be paid?”
“We have a little savings,” Sato said, “and Nobuhide’s income.”
“The will mentioned support for Akechi Hidetaro,” Father Mateo said. “Will you still provide that support if the stipend is revoked?”
“It was my father’s wish,” Yoshiko said.
“Did your father support his brother during his lifetime?” the priest asked.
“It was his duty as the Akechi heir.”
“Did Hidetaro request more money recently?” Hiro asked.
Yoshiko seemed to realize that an informative conversation had just become an interrogation. She thought longer than usual before responding. “Yes, he did. He did not say why, but he came here the night my father died to ask for money. My father refused.”
“Do you know why he wanted it?” Hiro asked.
Yoshiko shook her head as she looked him in the eye. “No.”
“Did they argue about it?”
“No. Where there is no money, there is no point in argument.” Yoshiko leaned backward. “But your questions suggest that you suspect my uncle as well as an unknown spy.”
Chapter 29
“I apologize if my question held an inappropriate implication.” Hiro dipped his head in humility. “That was not my intention.”
Yoshiko nodded acceptance, but her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Father Mateo stood up and bowed. “Thank you for teaching me about your customs. May I pray again for your father before I leave?”
“I would like that,” Sato said quickly. Yoshiko’s lips pursed in objection but she said nothing.
Sato led them across the room and slid open the paneled door to Hideyoshi’s armory. The room looked almost exactly as it had the previous day, except that a bowl of cooked rice sat on the floor outside the coffin at the end nearest Hideyoshi’s head. A single chopstick stood upright in the rice. As Hiro entered the room he noticed a second object beside the bowl. A thin vase held a single hydrangea blossom, the same type and color as the ones in the room where Hideyoshi died.
The coincidence seemed too great for an accident. Hiro’s new theory about the spy gained momentum in his head.
Father Mateo knelt beside Hideyoshi and bowed his head in prayer. Hiro stood just inside the doorway and studied the room for anything out of place. He saw nothing else new or different.
His gaze lingered on the tokonoma. The
neko-te
seemed to mock him from their semicircle of pegs. He couldn’t shake the conviction that those claws had murdered their owner, despite Sato’s explanation for the broken blade.
The priest finished his prayer. As Yoshiko led them to the door Hiro said, “Your mother selected a fine set of funeral armor.”
The samurai woman glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “My mother did not select the armor. Nobuhide did.”
“Well, you have done a fine job preparing him for…” Father Mateo’s voice trailed off uncertainly.
“Cremation,” Yoshiko said. “My mother requested a Christian burial but Nobuhide insisted our father should not decay in the ground. I agree with that disposition, though not with the way my father appears.”
She paused as if consumed by an inner struggle. Hiro wondered what she wanted to say but felt that she should not.
“My father should have worn the armor he wore in battle,” she said at last, “not the ceremonial breastplate my brother chose.”
At last Hiro understood. A samurai did not criticize family members, but Yoshiko wanted him to know that the inappropriate armor was not her fault. He wondered why she cared what he believed. Given her earlier comment about women’s gaits, he sincerely hoped she didn’t have an interest in him beyond the investigation.
“By the time I returned from my morning ride and learned about Father’s death, Nobuhide had already washed and dressed the body,” she continued. “It was too late to change it.”
Hiro nodded. There was no point in platitudes or false reassurances. They both knew Nobuhide had chosen wrong, and that further handling would only dishonor the corpse. Some things could not be changed.
In the entry they exchanged bows.
“If I may ask,” Hiro said, “who knew about your father’s will before he died?”
“Only my mother,” Yoshiko said. “She was there when he wrote it. I saw it for the first time yesterday.”
“Yet you knew you were his heir?”
Yoshiko smiled. “My father has always favored me. I didn’t need a will to tell me his intentions.”
“Who knows about the will now?”
“Nobuhide, of course, and my uncle Hidetaro.”
“Who told Hidetaro?”
“I did, yesterday, when he came to pay his respects and to pray for my father’s soul. I do not believe in gods myself, though I understand that some people find comfort in faith.”
“How long did he pray?”
She looked up at the door frame, thinking. “Half an hour, perhaps? He may not have prayed the entire time. I left him alone with my father and saw him only when he left.”
Hiro bowed. “Thank you again for your courtesy.”
* * *
As they approached the Kamo River bridge, Nobuhide rode toward them on a dappled gray gelding. He appeared to be heading home, but when he saw the foreigner he pulled his horse to a halt and glared.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“This is a public road,” Hiro said. “We are walking on it.”
“You are walking away from my house,” Nobuhide accused. “The magistrate’s order gives you no right to harass my mother.”
“Or your sister,” Hiro added.
Nobuhide snorted. “That fox spirit can take care of herself. I suppose she told you how she cheated me out of my inheritance.”
“She showed us your father’s will,” Hiro said. “Have you reason to suspect a trick?”
“Not a new one.” Nobuhide scowled. “She has always been his favorite, but I never suspected he would give her the inheritance too. No wonder he kept his will a secret.”
He pointed at the priest. “But I still have the right of vengeance, and I intend to carry it out. Tomorrow your head will roll.”
“Not if we find the real killer first,” Hiro said.
“I’ll help you out,” Nobuhide replied. “The killer is at the teahouse, under guard.”
“Perhaps,” Hiro said. “Perhaps not. Did you know a man from Nagoya visited the Sakura the night your father died?”
Nobuhide looked startled. “What are you talking about?”
“And when was the last time you saw your father’s brother?”
“Hidetaro?” Nobuhide’s nose wrinkled as though the name carried an odor. “Do you think he had something to do with my father’s death?”
“We are investigating several possibilities. The point is that the answer is far from clear.”
“It seems clear enough to me.”
“What about your sister?” Hiro asked. “Do you know where she was the night your father died?”
“At home, as usual.” Nobuhide paused. “She said she told you that yesterday.”
“She did. I was just making sure you didn’t have something to tell us, since she isn’t here now.”
“Do you think I’m afraid of a woman?” Nobuhide’s scowl returned with a vengeance. “I would have no problem calling her a liar. That is, if she ever lied.”
“And where were you, exactly, two nights ago?”
Nobuhide’s left hand released the reins and went to the hilt of his katana. “I am a
yoriki,
assistant to Magistrate Ishimaki, and a servant of the shogun. How dare you imply that I would kill my father.”
“I merely asked your whereabouts. I intended no implication.”
Nobuhide sniffed. “If you must know, I was at the House of the Floating Plums all night. I stayed with a girl named Umeha. Speak with her if you wish.”
Hiro bowed. “That will not be necessary.”
Nobuhide smiled without humor or goodwill. “Make sure the priest shows up at the teahouse tomorrow. I will kill you both if I have to chase him down.”
After Nobuhide rode away Hiro turned south along the Kamo River road.
“We’re not going home?” Father Mateo asked.
“No time,” Hiro said. “I need to talk with Sayuri.”
“Sayuri? Why?”
“I need to know more about her relationship with Hidetaro. Our Nagoya spy might not have left town after all.”
Chapter 30
“Is Hidetaro the spy?” Father Mateo sounded incredulous. “What made you think of that?”
“I’m not certain what I think,” Hiro said, “but this murder is more complex than it seems. Yoshiko claims she was home that night but her geta are covered in mud. Hidetaro had mud on his sandals and on his kimono. A man from Nagoya shows up and then disappears, and Mayuri burns her ledgers the next morning. I’d say that something is not what it seems, but that doesn’t begin to describe the situation.”
They walked down the river a little way and Father Mateo asked, “Did you know Sato was a Christian?”
Hiro nodded. “That’s why I thought she might give us the extra time.”
“How did you know? I had no idea.”
“Her clothing gave the first clue. Some Japanese wear black in mourning but no woman wears a kimono and obi that match. The colors always contrast, and the inner kimono must be a third color since the inner hem shows above the neckline of the outer one. Yesterday, and again today, Akechi Sato wore all black, like a crow … or a Christian in mourning.
“Her reaction to you reinforced that initial impression. She showed no fear or wonder. She didn’t startle or stare, and she showed no concern that your presence might defile her husband’s body. On the contrary, she thanked you for your prayers.
“Only a woman comfortable with foreigners would react to you that way, and since samurai women don’t engage in outside business she had to have experience with priests.”
“She could have seen me in the road,” Father Mateo pointed out, “or heard about me from Nobuhide.”
“Who no doubt praised you in the highest possible terms.”
Father Mateo laughed. “Probably not, at that. Still, it was a very good guess on your part. I thought you didn’t deal in assumptions.”
“I don’t. Sato also wears a Christian cross on a chain around her neck. I saw it when she bowed.”
Father Mateo lifted his head as though he had an interesting thought. “What if Sato killed Hideyoshi?”
Hiro blinked. “You don’t think Sayuri could kill because she’s a Christian, but you believe that elderly woman could? How do you reconcile that?”
“Christians believe in monogamy. Sato might have been jealous of Sayuri, and she didn’t have to hold the knife.”
“
Neko-te,
” Hiro corrected. “I’m sure that’s the type of weapon that killed him.”
“Sato could have given the claws to whoever impersonated the spy.”
“Possible but doubtful. From what I could tell, she actually believes in gods and wouldn’t want to anger them. And if I remember correctly, your Jesus isn’t very big on murder.”
“But her husband was involved with another woman!”
Hiro laughed. “You don’t know much about Japanese wives.”