feared he was physically unable to work. Mortification sickened Hirata. He couldn’t let Sano think him weak and useless.
“It will be an honor to serve you,” Hirata said. He would help Sano or die trying. “Where do you want me to start?”
“You can start by taking Ejima’s body to Edo Morgue,” Sano said in a low voice that the witnesses and soldiers wouldn’t overhear. “Ask Dr. Ito to examine it.”
Once a prominent, wealthy physician, Dr. Ito had been sentenced to lifelong custodianship of Edo Morgue as punishment for conducting scientific experiments that derived from foreign lands, a crime strictly forbidden by Tokugawa law. He’d helped Sano on past investigations.
“Have him find out the exact cause of death,” Sano clarified. “That’s key to establishing whether it was murder.”
“I’ll go right away,” Hirata said.
He sounded as eager as ever to do Sano’s bidding. But Sano saw the pain and worry he tried to hide, and sensed him wondering if he could withstand the journey to Edo Morgue, all the way on the other side of town. Sano, who hadn’t seen Hirata in a while, had been dismayed to observe how fragile he still was. Sano didn’t want Hirata taxing his health or getting hurt again for Sano’s sake. But although Sano would rather go to Edo Morgue himself, it was too big a risk: Should the chamberlain of Japan be caught participating in the forbidden science of examining a corpse, he would fall much farther than Dr. Ito had. Nor could Sano take back his request and shame Hirata. He needed Hirata as much as Hirata apparently needed to prove himself capable of the duty that the bond between samurai and master required.
“Bring the results of Dr. Ito’s examination to me as soon as possible,” Sano said. “If I’ve finished questioning witnesses by then, I’ll be at my estate.” He couldn’t let the government collapse while he investigated a murder that might not be murder. “Then we’ll report to Lord Matsudaira. No doubt he’s anxious for news.”
5
One wing of the Court of Justice contained rooms where the magistrate and his staff conferred with citizens seeking to resolve disputes that involved money, property, or social obligations. Here Magistrate Ueda had sent Yugao. As Reiko walked down the passage, she heard raucous male laughter from an open door. She peered inside.
The room was a cell enclosed by sliding paper-and-lattice walls, furnished with a tatami floor and a low table. Yugao stood between the two guards that Reiko liked the least in her father’s retinue. One, a thickset man with squinty eyes, pawed Yugao’s cheek. The other, athletic and arrogant, groped under the skirt of her hemp robe. Yugao scrambled away, but the men caught her. They yanked at her robe, squeezed her buttocks and breasts. She strained at the shackles that bound her hands while she kicked her bare feet at the men. They only laughed more uproariously. Her face was tense with helpless anger.
“Stop that!” Reiko exclaimed. Bursting through the door, she ordered them, “Leave her alone!”
They paused, annoyed at the interruption. Their faces showed dismay as they recognized their master’s daughter.
“The magistrate will be displeased to hear that you’ve been taking advantage of a helpless woman in his house,” Reiko said, her voice sharp with ire. “Get out!”
The guards slunk off. Reiko shut the door and turned to Yugao. The woman slouched, her face concealed behind her tousled hair, her robe hanging off her shoulder. Pity filled Reiko.
“Here, let me fix your clothes,” she said.
As she touched Yugao, the woman flinched. She tossed back her hair and stared at Reiko. “Who are you?”
Reiko had expected Yugao to be thankful for her protection from the guards, but Yugao was wary, hostile. Seeing her at close view for the first time, Reiko noticed that her complexion was ashen from fatigue and malnourishment, her flinty eyes shadowed underneath, her lips chapped. Harsh treatment by the jailers had surely taught her to be leery toward everyone. Although she was accused and perhaps guilty of a serious crime, Reiko felt her sympathy toward Yugao increase.
“I’m the magistrate’s daughter,” Reiko said. “My name is Reiko.”
A long gaze of mutual curiosity passed between them. Reiko watched Yugao appraise her tangerine-colored silk kimono printed with a willow tree pattern, her upswept coiffure, her carefully applied white makeup and red lip rouge, her teeth blackened according to fashionable custom for married women of her class. Meanwhile, Reiko perceived Yugao’s jailhouse stink of urine, oily hair, and unwashed body, and saw resentment and envy in Yugao’s eyes. They looked at each other as though across a sea, the highborn lady on one shore, the outcast on the opposite.
“What do you want?” Yugao said.
Her rude tone surprised Reiko. Maybe the woman had never been taught good manners. Reiko wondered what station in society Yugao had originated from and what she’d done to become a hinin, but it didn’t seem a good time to ask.
“I want to talk to you, if I may,” Reiko said.
Suspicion hooded Yugao’s gaze. “About what?”
“About the murder of your family,” Reiko said.
“Why?”
“The magistrate is having trouble deciding whether to convict you,” Reiko said. “That’s why he postponed his verdict. He’s asked me to investigate the murders and find out if you’re guilty or innocent.”
Yugao wrinkled her brow, clearly perplexed by the situation. “I said I did it. Isn’t that enough?”
“He doesn’t think so,” Reiko said, “and neither do I.”
“Why not?”
This conversation reminded Reiko of the time when Masahiro had stepped on a thistle and she’d had to pull the spines from his bare foot. “One reason is that we need to know why your parents and sister were killed,” Reiko said. “You didn’t say.”
“But…” Yugao shook her head in confusion. “But I was arrested.”
Reiko could sense her thinking that her arrest should have guaranteed a conviction, as everyone knew it would have under ordinary circumstances. “Just because you were caught at the scene of the crime doesn’t prove you did it,” Reiko explained.
“So what?” Anger tinged Yugao’s query.
“That’s another reason my father wants me to investigate the crime.” Reiko was increasingly puzzled by the woman’s attitude. “Why were you so eager to confess? Why do you want us to believe you killed your family?”
“Because I did,” Yugao said. Her tone and expression implied that Reiko must be stupid not to understand.
Reiko stifled a sigh of frustration and a growing dislike of the ill-natured woman. “All right,” she said, “let’s suppose for the moment that you stabbed your parents and sister to death. Why did you?”
Sudden fear glinted in Yugao’s eyes; she turned away from Reiko. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Reiko deduced that whether or not Yugao had killed her family, the motive for the murders lay at the root of her odd behavior. “Why not? Since you’ve already confessed, what harm is there in explaining yourself?”
“It’s none of your business,” Yugao said, her profile stony and unrelenting.
“Were there problems between you and your mother and father and sister?” Reiko pressed.
Yugao didn’t answer. Reiko waited, knowing that people sometimes talk because they can’t bear silence. But Yugao kept quiet, her mouth compressed as though to prevent any words from leaking out.
“Did you quarrel with your family that night?” Reiko asked. “Did they hurt you in some way?”
More silence. Reiko wondered if there was something wrong with Yugao besides a bad attitude. She seemed lucid and intelligent enough, but perhaps she was mentally defective.
“Maybe you don’t understand your situation. Let me explain,” Reiko said. “Murder is a serious offense. If you’re convicted, you’ll be put to death. The executioner will cut your head off. That will be the end of you.”
