expected. The crucial witness was, of course, the wife. She wore a clean robe today and her hair was twisted neatly in back and tied with a white ribbon. She presented the image of a respectable housewife and mother. When it was her turn, she knelt and prostrated herself, reciting, “This insignificant person is called Yuzuki, wife of the stonemason Shigehiro, of the eighth ward.”
Masakane regarded her benevolently. “You know that you must speak the truth or suffer a beating,” he warned. “Now, take a look at the defendant. Have you seen him before?”
She sat up on her heels and eyed Tora. “Yes, Your Honor. He was the lover of the dead woman Tomoe, the one who killed her.”
“Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere. You saw him kill her?”
She giggled nervously. “Well,” she said, “I’ve seen him when he went to her, and then I saw him later with the bloody knife in his hand, standing over her lifeless body.”
The judge frowned. “And between the time that you saw him arrive and the time you saw him standing over her dead body, what happened?”
She flushed. “Why, I’m not sure. I’ve got my household to look after and my children to tend. We’re poor and work hard. I can’t watch all the time. And I couldn’t know he was going to do her in, could I?”
“No, of course not.” Masakane pursed his lips. “So you say you had no reason to suspect him. Tell me, had he visited the woman Tomoe before?”
“Yes. At least three times. She was the type.”
“Ah. What type is that?” asked the judge, smiling thinly.
“Why, the kind of slut who brings men home and lies with them.”
There was a gasp of protest from the nun, but when people turned to look at her, she ducked her head and pulled the veil across her face.
“You say she was a prostitute?” Masakane liked his testimony clear.
The stonemason’s wife fidgeted. “Well, not that exactly. Not regular. She was too ugly for that.”
Tora lost his temper. “You’re a filthy liar, woman,” he roared, “and I shall make you eat your words.”
“Silence!” shouted Masakane, slapping down his baton. This time the whip caught Tora across the back. He gritted his teeth against the pain and resumed his rigid self-control.
When Masakane turned back to the woman, he studied her for a moment, pushing his thin lips in and out. Then he asked, “On the night of the murder, where were you when you saw the defendant arrive?”
She looked up quickly and then back down. “I was in the yard,” she said in a rush, “taking in laundry. It was already dark and he didn’t see me. He knocked on her door, and she let him in.”
Tora made a derisive noise and caught another stroke of the whip. Masakane eyed him sourly. “Well, since you cannot keep your mouth shut, did you or did you not enter the dead woman’s room from the yard that night?”
Tora said, “I did, but Tomoe did not let me in. The door was open. Tomoe was already dead.” He turned and pointed a finger at the stonemason’s wife. “That one’s a liar. I don’t believe she was in the yard. I think she and her coward of a husband were hiding from the real killer. Or maybe they did it themselves.”
The woman burst into angry denial at this, the crowd muttered, and Tora got whipped again. But this time Masakane glowered at Tora’s guard. “How dare you use your whip when the prisoner merely answered my question!” The guard knelt and muttered an apology.
Masakane asked Tora, “Did you kill the woman Tomoe or not?”
Tora looked him squarely in the eyes. “I did not, Your Honor.”
Masakane turned to Akitada, “Since you are his master, do you believe him?”
Akitada was a bit startled but managed to say, “Of course. I have known Tora for many years. He is a courageous fighter but incapable of killing a helpless blind woman in such a cowardly fashion. On the contrary, Tora was trying to protect her.”
Masakane raised his brows. “Protect her? From whom?”
“She had told him she feared for her life because she had overheard plans of a crime. He went to see her that night to attempt once again to get her to tell him the details of the plan and the names of the criminals.”
“Hmmph.” Masakane stared at Akitada, then at Tora, who stared back at the judge defiantly. Akitada held his breath.
Masakane heaved a sigh. “Lieutenant Ihara?”
Ihara stepped forward.
“It seems that the case is far from clear. Do I understand that you are still investigating it?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Very well. In that case, I shall remand the defendant into his master’s custody until you have completed your investigation.” The judge turned to Akitada. “Perhaps you can be of assistance? I am told you take an interest in crime.”
Akitada bowed. “Yes. Thank you, Your Honor.”
“You understand, of course, that you are responsible for the defendant’s behavior during this time and that you will produce him for trial if that becomes necessary?”
“I do.”
It was over. Akitada barely waited to see the chains taken off Tora. He turned to Kobe. “There’s a nun in the audience who seems to take a strong interest in the case. I want to have a word with her before she leaves.”
Kobe nodded. “I saw her, too. Go on! I’ll look after Tora.”
But when Akitada searched the crowd for the nun, she was gone. He pushed past people and started running. Outside in the courtyard he saw only the usual redcoats and a few people arriving for the next case. No sign of a nun anywhere. He was about to curse himself for not having kept a better eye on her, when he caught a bit of white disappearing beyond the gate, and rushed after it.
Too late he realized that he had not even thanked Kobe.
CHAPTER EIGHT
At first Akitada had no difficulty following the slender figure in white. She moved at a quick but steady pace, walking first toward the west and then turning south. In the heat of the afternoon there were few other people about, and she evidently knew her way.
This area, like Akitada’s own quarter on the opposite side of the city, had been intended for public offices and the homes of court officials. Building plots were generous and the streets broad. Numerous canals carried fresh water from the river and fed into the many gardens of the area. Behind high bamboo fences or mud walls, earlier generations had laid out fanciful landscapes with bubbling streams and small lakes and built their homes among them. But the early hopes of the city planners had never been fulfilled in the western city. The decline was less noticeable in this quarter, close to the Greater Palace enclosure, but even here Akitada saw empty spaces, open fields, and groves of tangled brush and trees where villas or large compounds once had stood. But many homes, substantial and in good repair, remained and were occupied by officials or wealthy country gentry who kept a residence in the capital.
Akitada cast a knowledgeable eye around. Wherever she was going, it was not to a temple or nunnery. There were none here. She must be visiting one of the families who had held on to their family plots and maintained their homes with sufficient funds to guard against the bands of thieves who roamed the streets at night.
When she turned a corner, he increased his speed. He did not want to frighten her, but looked for a chance to catch up or see where she lived.
She was halfway up the street, walking along a plain whitewashed wall without gates. On the other side of the street, three young louts lounged against a broken fence, but straightened up with interest when they saw the nun. Akitada did not like the way they looked at her, and neither did she apparently, for she walked more quickly. The three conferred briefly, then crossed the street to cut her off.
Upper-class residential quarters were generally quiet and peaceful in this part of town. Akitada’s father-in-