Edo lived in settlements on the fringes of the city. The only people who ranked lower were the eta-hereditary outcasts due to their traditional link with death-related occupations, such as butchering, which rendered them spiritually unclean. One major distinction separated hinin from eta: The hinin could finish their sentences or be pardoned, obtain amnesty, and regain their former status, while the eta were permanent outcasts. But both classes were shunned by higher society.
“I suppose the police don’t waste their time investigating crimes among the hinin,” Reiko said.
Magistrate Ueda nodded. “Not when a case seems as clear-cut as this one. Especially these days, when the police are busy rounding up renegades and quelling disturbances.” Concern deepened the lines in his face. “My verdicts depend on information from them. When they provide so little, I find it difficult to render a just decision.”
“And you can’t tell any better than I can whether Yugao is guilty or innocent based on the testimony at her trial,” Reiko deduced.
“Correct,” said Magistrate Ueda. “Nor can I tell from what I was able to learn beforehand. When I heard of the case, I knew the police wouldn’t have conducted a thorough investigation, so I made a point of questioning Yugao myself. All she would say was that she killed her parents and sister. She declined to explain. Her demeanor was the same as you saw.”
He expelled a breath of frustration. “I can’t let a confessed murderess go free just because I’m not satisfied with the case against her. My superiors would disapprove.”
And his position depended on their good will, Reiko knew. Should they think him lenient toward criminals, he would be expelled from his post, a calamitous disgrace.
“Yet I can’t convict a young woman and sentence her to death on such incomplete information,” he said.
Reiko knew her father had a soft spot in his heart for young women; she supposed that he saw her in them. And unlike many officials, he cared about serving justice even when an outcast was involved.
“This brings me to the reason I invited you to the trial,” Magistrate Ueda continued. “I sense there’s more to this case than meets the eye. And I want to know the truth about the murders, but I haven’t the wherewithal to seek it myself. My schedule is packed with trials; my staff is fully occupied. Therefore, I must ask you a favor: Will you investigate the crime and determine whether Yugao committed it?”
Joy and excitement leapt in Reiko. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “I would love to!” Here was a new, unprecedented opportunity-a whole mystery of her own to solve, not just a part of one of Sano’s cases.
Magistrate Ueda smiled at her enthusiasm. “Thank you, Daughter. I know you’ve had time on your hands lately, and I decided you are the right person for the task.”
“Thank you, Father,” Reiko said, warmed by the respect that his words implied. Once he’d disparaged her detective abilities and thought she belonged at home tending to domestic duties; back then, he wouldn’t have allowed her to undertake a job usually reserved for men. No ordinary official would ask his daughter to do such a thing. No one except her father, who understood her need for adventure and accomplishment, would expect such a favor from the chamberlain’s wife.
“I’ll begin immediately,” Reiko said. “First I’d like to talk with Yugao. Maybe I can get her to tell me what really happened the night of the murders.”
Maybe Reiko would also have the satisfaction of proving a young woman innocent and saving her life.
3
Sano and Detectives Marume and Fukida hastened through the stone-walled passages that led down the hill from the palace, past checkpoints manned by sentries. They found two of Lord Matsudaira’s soldiers guarding the gate to the racetrack. The soldiers let them inside. As the gate shut behind them, they surveyed their surroundings.
A crowd of men, who looked to be spectators at the race, loitered in clusters or sat in the stands. Their gaudy robes made bright spots of color against the backdrop of dark green pines that fringed the premises. Lord Matsudaira’s soldiers hovered, watching everyone. A small band of them stood in a circle at one end of the bare, dusty oval track. Sano presumed they were guarding the corpse. Horses neighed in stables arrayed along one wall. The sky was still bright, but the sun had descended, and the hill above the compound cast a shadow over the track. The afternoon’s warmth had begun to cool as evening approached.
Now the spectators noticed Sano and rushed toward him. He recognized some as minor bureaucrats, the sort with vague duties and enough idle time to watch horse races. He experienced the surge of excitement with which he’d begun each new investigation when he’d been sosakan-sama. But he also felt sad because he missed Hirata, his chief retainer, who’d once lent his expert, faithful assistance to Sano’s investigations. Hirata now had other duties besides being at hand whenever Sano needed him.
A man stepped forward from the crowd. “Greetings, Honorable Chamberlain.” He was a muscular samurai in his forties, with a tanned, open face and a deferential yet confident manner. Sano recognized him as the master of the racetrack. “May I ask why we’ve been kept here?” Irate mutters from the spectators echoed his question. “What’s going on?”
Sano said, “Greetings, Oyama-san,” then explained, “I’m here to investigate Chief Ejima’s death. Lord Matsudaira thinks it was murder.”
“Murder?” Oyama frowned in surprise and disbelief. Low exclamations rose among the spectators. “With all due respect to Lord Matsudaira, that can’t be. Ejima fell off his horse during the race. I saw. I was standing by the finish line, not five paces away from him when it happened.”
“He seemed to faint in the saddle just before he dropped,” said a spectator. “It looked as if his heart had suddenly given out.”
Sano saw heads nodding, heard murmurs of agreement. Contradictory feelings beset him. If these observers were correct, then the death wasn’t murder, the other three probably weren’t either, and his inquiry would be short. He felt a letdown coming. Then he reasoned that at least this would mean the regime was safe, and he would be glad to put Lord Matsudaira’s fears to rest. But for now he must keep an open mind.
“My investigation will determine whether Ejima was a victim of foul play or not,” Sano said. “Until it’s finished, this is a case of suspicious death. The racetrack will be treated as a crime scene, and you are all witnesses. I must ask you all to remain here and give statements about what you observed.”
He saw irritation on the men’s faces. He sensed them thinking that Lord Matsudaira was too quick to see evil schemes everywhere and that he himself was wasting his time as well as theirs. But no one dared argue with the shogun’s second-in-command. Sano reflected that his new status had its advantages.
“Fukida-san, you start taking the witnesses’ statements. Marume-san, you come with me,” Sano told his men.
The thin, scholarly, serious detective began herding the crowd into a line. The brawny, jovial detective accompanied Sano as he strode along the track. The racetrack master followed them. As they neared the body, the soldiers surrounding it stepped aside. Sano and his companions halted and looked down at the dead man.
Ejima lay sprawled on his back, his arms and legs bent, against a wide, smudged black line painted across the track. His iron helmet covered his head and face. Sano could see his eyes, dull and vacant, through the open visor. Ejima’s metal armor tunic was dented. Blood and grime stained his blue silk kimono, trousers, white socks, and straw sandals.
“He looks like he’s been beaten,” Marume said.
“The horses trampled him,” Oyama explained. “He fell right under their hooves. It happened so fast, and the other riders were so close behind him, there was no time for them to steer clear.”
“At least he won his last race,” Marume said.
“Has his family been notified of his death?” Sano asked Oyama.
“Yes. My assistant went to tell them.”
“Did anyone touch him after he fell?” Sano said.
“I turned him over to see how badly he was hurt and try to help him. But he was already gone.”
“Has the track been cleaned since he died?”
“No, Honorable Chamberlain. When I sent the news to Lord Matsudaira, his troops came and brought orders
