toward her.”
“True,” Sano said, although he supposed that a clever one might volunteer the information, which he would have discovered sooner or later anyway. Her openness might be a ploy to make him think her innocent.
“What’s next?” Otani said.
“It’s time for a talk with Makino’s chief retainer,” Sano said.
“You’d better learn more from Tamura than you did from the widow.” Otani’s tone hinted at the wrath that Lord Matsudaira would inflict upon Sano if he didn’t prove someone else guilty of the murder and do it fast. “You were so easy on her that even if she’s guilty, you wouldn’t have gotten a confession. Talking to her was a waste of time.”
But Sano thought perhaps not, because of something that Otani didn’t appear to realize. Agemaki hadn’t seemed the least bit curious about how her husband had died. Maybe she was too shy and reticent to ask. Maybe she already knew because the information had filtered from the palace to her household. Or had she not needed to ask, because she knew firsthand what had happened to Senior Elder Makino?
7
After a lengthy search of Makino’s estate, Hirata located the concubine and houseguest in a room designed as a Kabuki theater. A raised walkway extended along one wall to the stage, a platform flanked by pillars supporting an arched roof. Striped curtains hung open from the roof and framed a backdrop painted with blue waves to represent the ocean. When Hirata and Ibe-Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s representative-entered the room, they found the handsome young houseguest and pretty girl standing below the stage, at opposite ends. Hirata sensed that they’d quickly moved to these positions from elsewhere when they heard him and Ibe coming. A furtive air surrounded them.
“Koheiji-san?” Hirata said.
The young man bowed. Today he wore robes in somber shades of blue, appropriate for funeral rites. “That’s me,” he said with a nervous smile that flashed strong white teeth.
Hirata looked toward the girl. “Okitsu?”
She bowed silently, with eyes downcast. Her hands fidgeted with her purple-gray sash that bound a kimono of lighter tint.
Hirata introduced himself, then said, “I’m assisting the sosakan-sama with his investigation into Senior Elder Makino’s death. I must ask you both to cooperate in my inquiries.”
“We’re at your service.” Koheiji made an expansive gesture that indicated his willingness to fall all over himself to help Hirata, if necessary. “Aren’t we?” he asked Okitsu.
The concubine bent at the knees, as if she would rather sink into the floor. Her lovely eyes were wide and fearful.
“Hey, I heard that Senior Elder Makino was murdered,” Koheiji said to Hirata. “Is it true?”
“Yes,” Hirata said, wondering if the man had reason to know already. But Koheiji’s nervousness didn’t necessarily mean he’d been involved in the murder. Anyone, whether guilty or not, would be nervous when chosen for questioning in connection with a crime punishable by death.
“Oh.” Koheiji hesitated, digesting the news. “May I ask how Senior Elder Makino died?”
Hirata thought Koheiji was a little too eager to learn how much he knew. “By violence,” he said, deliberately vague.
Koheiji seemed about to press for an explanation, then changed his mind. “Have you any idea who killed Senior Elder Makino?”
“I’ll ask the questions,” Hirata said. 'First, who are you?”
“I am a Kabuki actor and star of the Nakamura-za Theater,” Koheiji said. He struck a brief pose, lifting and turning his head at an angle that flattered his profile. “Don’t you recognize me?”
Okitsu gazed at him in admiration. Ibe leaned against the walkway and looked bored. Hirata said, “Sorry, I don’t see many plays.” Kabuki was popular among people from all classes of society, but Hirata had little time for entertainment. “What was your relationship with Senior Elder Makino?”
“He was my patron,” Koheiji said.
Wealthy Kabuki enthusiasts often gave money and gifts to their favorite actors, Hirata knew. “What were you doing in this estate on the night Senior Elder Makino died?”
“He hired me to give private performances to his household. I’ve been living here for, oh, about a year.”
What a cozy, lucrative situation, Hirata thought. Makino had been generous to his protege, despite a reputation for stinginess. But Hirata wondered why Makino, a man so concerned about security, had moved Koheiji into his home, when actors were renowned as unscrupulous ruffians.
“What did you do to deserve the honor of sleeping in Senior Elder Makino’s quarters?” Hirata said.
Caution veiled Koheiji’s brash countenance. “I was his friend.”
Hirata eyed the actor skeptically, because friendship wasn’t the usual reason that a man wanted a handsome youth nearby at night. “Were you also his lover?” Hirata said, recalling Makino’s injured anus.
“Oh, no,” Koheiji said. Then, as Hirata looked askance at him, he added, “Makino didn’t practice manly love. Neither do I. There was never any sex between us.”
As Hirata counted more denials than necessary, he heard a squeak from Okitsu. She clapped her hands over her mouth. Her eyes bulged with alarm at the involuntary sound she’d made. Did it mean she knew the actor was lying?
Koheiji must have read Hirata’s thought, because he spoke with defensive haste: “Hey, maybe I don’t seem like the kind of person that Senior Elder Makino would have for a friend, but sometimes he got tired of the other people he knew. He liked to drink with me and talk about the theater instead of government business.” Koheiji moved, blocking Hirata’s view of Okitsu. “It was a nice change for him.”
This explanation didn’t convince Hirata. Had Koheiji penetrated Makino during sex that night and caused the anal injury? Had a quarrel later arisen between them and led to Makino’s death? If Koheiji should turn out to be the killer, what a letdown! The actor was a nobody and an unworthy opponent, in Hirata’s estimation.
Yet Hirata must conduct as thorough an investigation of Koheiji as Sano would expect. He must obey Sano’s slightest wish, or mire himself deeper in disgrace. “When did you last see Senior Elder Makino alive?” he asked Koheiji.
“The evening of the day before he was found dead,” Koheiji answered, too readily. “At dinner, I performed for him and some of his retainers.”
“You didn’t have any contact with him after the performance?” Hirata said.
“None whatsoever.” Koheiji spread empty hands. “I haven’t the faintest idea what happened to him later.”
Hirata peered around Koheiji. He saw Okitsu’s queasy expression. “You didn’t speak to Senior Elder Makino, or go into his chamber that night?” Hirata pressed Koheiji.
“No, I didn’t,” Koheiji said. “If you’re hinting that I killed him, you’re wrong. With all due respect,” he added, giving Hirata a courteous bow and another dazzling smile. “I had no reason to murder my own patron.”
Ibe, who’d been listening in silence, now said, “That’s a good point.” He sauntered over to Koheiji. His nose twitched, testing the actor’s air. “Now that the senior elder is dead, you won’t get any more money or gifts from him, will you?”
“Sad but true.” Koheiji sighed.
“And you’ll have to move out of Edo Castle,” Ibe said.
“Yes,” Koheiji said.
Consternation filled Hirata. “Excuse me, Ibe-san, but I’m conducting this interview.”
Undaunted, Ibe said to Koheiji, “I’ve seen you in plays. Your acting is good but nothing special.” Koheiji drew back from Ibe, miffed at the slight. “Without Makino’s patronage, you’d never have gotten your starring roles.”
“You’re just supposed to observe,” Hirata said, angry even though his own direction of thought paralleled Ibe’s. “Stay out of this.”
“In fact, Makino was worth more to you alive than dead, wasn’t he?” Ibe asked the actor. When Koheiji nodded, Ibe turned to Hirata. “Therefore, this man didn’t kill Makino.”
