The Ninja's Daughter (5 page)

Satsu scrambled to his feet, bowed low, and led the men inside.

As he followed, Hiro wondered why Chou had answered the door. Satsu's daughter should have been helping her mother with the body.

Just beyond the narrow entry lay an enormous common room with a central hearth. The room would have seemed out of place in a standard home, or even a teahouse, but the size made sense for a theater troupe, where several generations of multiple families shared the space. Clean
tatami
covered the floor, and sliding doors in every wall led off to rooms beyond. A colored scroll hung in a decorative alcove across from the entry. The scroll depicted a scene from a play, though Hiro couldn't identify either the characters or the source.

A kettle hung above the fire, suspended from a chain attached to the ceiling beams. Chou removed the kettle and knelt beside a teapot and a tray of porcelain cups.

“Three cups, but the girl is alone in the room,” Father Mateo whispered in Hiro's ear. “Satsu knew we would return.”

Hiro had noticed that too, and didn't like it.

“May I offer you gentlemen tea?” Satsu asked.

“No,” Hiro said. “Just take us to the body.”

Satsu bowed. “As you wish, sir. Please follow me.”

He led them to a sliding door on the eastern side of the room, pulled it open, and stepped away so Hiro and Father Mateo could enter first.

A brazier cast a golden light across the room where Emi lay. Inexpensive tatami filled the air with the scent of grasses. A hint of sandalwood incense also lingered in the room, but faintly, like the ghost of a prayer almost forgotten.

Emi's body lay on a woven mat at the center of the tiny room. Nori knelt beside her daughter, head bowed down in grief.

“Nori,” Satsu said, “please leave us. Chou will pour you tea.”

The woman rose, bowed deeply to Hiro and Father Mateo, and left the room without a word.

Hiro walked to the body and bent to examine Emi's corpse.

The grass stains streaking the sides of Emi's kimono barely showed in the brazier's flickering light. Hiro would have missed them if he hadn't known to look. He pulled at the girl's kimono enough to reveal that the grass stains continued onto the back of the garment.

“What do you see?” Father Mateo asked.

Hiro withdrew his hand and gestured. “Grass stains, here—and on her back. The killer must have held her arms and dragged the body along the ground.”

“How can you tell?” the Jesuit asked.

“No stains on the sleeves,” Hiro said, “and none on her shoulders, suggesting those parts of her body didn't touch the ground while she was moved.”

He didn't mention, but did observe, that the stains conflicted with Jiro's story, unless the killer lured the girl away and then returned her corpse to Jiro's side without him waking up.

Hiro saw no open wounds on Emi's hands, but noted a pair of broken fingernails.

Father Mateo shuddered. “Do you know what happened to her eyes?”

The crimson blooms in the whites of her eyes retained their shocking impact even in the darkened room.

“Strangulation,” Hiro said. “It is common, in such cases, for the victim's eyes to bleed.”

Satsu nodded, confirming the words.

“You've seen it before?” the Jesuit asked.

“It's worse when the victim struggles,” Hiro said. “She struggled hard.”

Father Mateo turned away.

“Her neck confirms she died by strangulation,” Hiro said. “The marks from the leather strap, and the bruising. Also, see the scratch marks here, and there”—he gestured to vertical scratches on Emi's neck—“she tried to get away, but failed. Her fingernails made those moon-shaped cuts as she struggled to free herself from the killer's grip.”

Father Mateo didn't answer. Hiro wondered why the Jesuit wouldn't look at the murdered girl, though he doubted the priest's objections matched his own. Hiro considered strangulation messy, slow, and painful. He preferred a faster, simpler method when he had to kill.

Gentle footsteps approached the room. Chou appeared in the doorway, bowed, and stood at her father's side.

“Show me the coin,” Hiro said.

“I tucked it back where I found it,” Satsu said, “beneath her clothes.” He turned to his daughter. “Show him, Chou.”

The girl approached and knelt on the opposite side of her sister's body. She bowed her forehead to the floor. “Will you permit me to assist you, sir?”

Hiro made a noise to show assent.

Chou rose to a sitting position, but kept her face turned down to show respect. She tenderly slipped the end of the thong from under Emi's garment. As Satsu described, the leather strip passed through a hole at the center of a golden coin, allowing the coin to serve as a makeshift pendant.

Hiro spoke to Father Mateo. “The width of the leather strip is a match to the injuries on the victim's neck.” He looked at Satsu. “I will take the leather with me—along with the coin.”

Satsu nodded. “As you wish, sir.”

Chou attempted to untie the leather strip from her sister's neck. The knot that bound the thong had tightened, possibly during the murder; it proved difficult to loosen. When she finally freed the leather, Chou offered it to Hiro with both hands.

“Do you know where your sister got this?” Hiro asked as he accepted the coin.

Chou shook her head but did not look up. Something—likely her mother's slap—had made her remember that actors' daughters did not speak boldly to samurai.

“She didn't tell you about it?” Satsu asked. “You are certain of this?”

“I never saw it . . . before . . .” Chou's voice trailed off, and her eyes filled with tears as she looked at her sister's body.

Satsu gave Hiro a meaningful look. Chou's answer reinforced his assertion that Emi had not owned a golden coin.

Hiro retied the knot to keep the coin from sliding off and tucked the coin and thong into his sleeve. “Why did your sister go to the river yesterday, in the evening?”

“With respect, we did not know she went there,” Satsu said.

“I did not ask you.” Hiro let an edge of frustration creep into his voice. “I asked your daughter.”

CHAPTER 9

“She wouldn't—” Satsu began, but stopped as Chou began to speak.

“Sometimes Emi had trouble sleeping. She walked by the river to clear her head.” Chou turned to her father and bowed her face to the tatami. “I am so sorry. I should have told you.”

Rapid footsteps thumped in the outer room.

Hiro drew his sword and leaped to the doorway. He pressed the katana's blade to the neck of the man who appeared in the entrance.

The newcomer froze, terrified by the unexpected steel against his skin. His eyes went wide, but he did not move or speak.

“Who are you?” Hiro demanded.

The man had a delicate build, effeminate features, and a mane of shimmering hair that nearly reached his waist. His narrow chin could not yet grow a beard.

He straightened. “I am Yuji, shite of the Yutoku-za.” His red-rimmed eyes had the look of recent tears.

Hiro did not like the arrogant tone in the young man's voice. “You lie. The shite of this troupe is named Botan.”

“I am his eldest apprentice, betrothed to his granddaughter,” Yuji said.

Satsu bowed. “It is the truth.”

Father Mateo extended his hands to Yuji. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

Hiro narrowed his eyes but sheathed his sword.

“My loss?” Yuji looked confused and frightened in equal measure.

“You haven't heard? Oh . . .” Father Mateo ran a hand through his hair. “I am so sorry.”

Understanding transformed Yuji's face. “I am betrothed to Botan's
eldest
granddaughter—Chou.” After a pause, he added, “Not that Emi's death does not upset me.”

“Why were you running?” Hiro asked.

Yuji's eyes filled with tears as he saw the corpse. “I learned of the tragedy only now, after I finished my lesson with Master Botan. I had to see . . .” He raised a hand to his mouth and shook his head.

“I told Haru—my son—to wait outside the practice room and deliver the message after the lesson finished,” Satsu said.

Father Mateo looked horrified at the thought of delaying such important news.

Hiro accepted that actors didn't behave like normal people. “How old is your son?”

“Haru?” Satsu asked. “He is eight, sir.”

The answer eliminated the boy as a suspect. A child that age could not subdue and strangle a woman of Emi's size.

“Very well. We have what we came for.” Hiro glared at Yuji. “Clear the way!”

The young man scuttled sideways, like a crab, and Hiro left the house with Father Mateo following in his wake.

When they reached the bridge at Shijō Road, Hiro started across the river.

“Where are we going?” Father Mateo asked.

Hiro didn't answer. The samurai guarding the bridge had already started in their direction.

“Good morning,” the samurai said.

Hiro bowed. “Good morning. I believe I dropped my dagger on the other side of the river.”

“You were the ones who spoke with the yoriki earlier,” the samurai said.

Hiro nodded. “I just noticed the dagger missing, so we returned. It's a family heirloom.”

The samurai looked over his shoulder. “The priests haven't come to cleanse the ground. You might still find your dagger there, assuming a beggar hasn't found it first.” He stepped away. “I hope you find it.”

“Thank you.” Hiro continued across the bridge with Father Mateo.

When they reached the western bank of the river, Hiro walked off the path and past the place where they had first seen Emi's body.

“What are you doing?” Father Mateo asked.

Hiro frowned at the grass. “Trying to see where the murder happened, and failing.” He shook his head. “It's useless. There's broken grass near where she lay, but the trail fades away too quickly. I cannot tell how far the killer dragged her.”

Father Mateo looked at the river. “Why would the killer risk moving her back to Jiro?”

“Your question assumes Jiro isn't the killer,” Hiro replied without looking up.

“Why do you doubt his story?” Father Mateo asked. “I think Satsu lied to us. He may be your uncle, but I don't trust him.”

“I already told you, I don't trust him either,” Hiro said.

“Why help him, then?” the Jesuit asked.

“Three reasons.” Hiro held up a matching number of fingers. “First, because the code of the ryu requires it. Second, because he
is
my uncle, which also makes his daughter my cousin. And, finally, because someone may have identified Satsu as a shinobi from the Iga ryu. If one of us is compromised, the rest could be in danger.”

“That's an assumption,” Father Mateo said.

“Perhaps you cannot understand, but I have an obligation,” Hiro said. “Why do you object to helping Satsu?”

“Because I think he killed the girl himself.” Father Mateo crossed his arms. “I think he learned about Jiro, and he couldn't allow his daughter to love a merchant.”

“If that's the case, he wouldn't ask for help.” Hiro palmed his dagger and pretended to pick it up from the ground, in case the guard was watching. “What's truly the problem? You've never reacted this way to a murder before.”

Father Mateo shook his head and ran a hand through his hair again.

Normally, Hiro disapproved of the Jesuit's nervous gesture, which samurai would consider a sign of weakness. Now, however, it revealed that something about the crime was unusually troubling to the priest. Hiro didn't press the issue. He could bring it up again when time had given the Jesuit some distance.

“I can hunt for Emi's killer alone,” Hiro said, “if you would rather not participate.”

Father Mateo turned away from the river, but didn't answer.

CHAPTER 10

Hiro matched Father Mateo's pace as they followed the Kamo River north, toward home. As they walked, he listened to the muffled crunch of dirt and fallen leaves beneath their sandals. The autumn air had a tang of smoke, along with the musky scent of dead and decomposing leaves.

Father Mateo didn't speak until they had almost reached the bridge at Marutamachi Road.

“I will help,” the Jesuit said.

“With the investigation?” Hiro asked.

Father Mateo nodded. “Emi deserves it, whether or not her father does.”

As Hiro hoped, the Jesuit's normally helpful nature had reasserted itself.

“Where should we start?” Father Mateo asked.

Hiro deferred his answer until they had crossed the bridge and entered the empty street beyond. Once they were alone he said, “We start with the coin. The killer left it behind for a reason, and Satsu suggested we follow that link. Whether or not he lied to us, it's the logical place to begin.”