“I am glad that you came to see me,” he said finally. “It appears we have much to discuss.”

Sano tried to draw hope from the neutral statement. “Yes, Honorable Magistrate?”

“There is the small matter of a report that you have written.” Ogyu glanced down at an unfurled scroll on the desk before him.

With foreboding, Sano recognized his own writing and seal. It was the report classifying the deaths as suspicious.

“I am afraid this document does not reflect the understanding that we reached at our last meeting,” Ogyu continued.

Sano’s heart plummeted. Ogyu’s displeasure with the report would make him unreceptive to any suggestion.

“Also, you have issued a cremation order for Noriyoshi in defiance of the law which states that shinjū participants must endure public exposure as punishment for their crime. What have you to say for yourself, Yoriki Sano?”

“Please let me explain,” Sano said. He could almost feel the floor caving in under him. “When I heard of the deaths, I thought they required further investigation. That’s why I wrote that report.” Seeing Ogyu frown, he rushed on. He didn’t mention the cremation order and fervently hoped Ogyu would drop the subject. “Forgive my presumptiousness; I should not have disobeyed your orders. But now that I’ve made some inquiries, I believe that Yukiko and Noriyoshi were murdered. I beg your permission to finish my investigation, to find their murderer and bring him to justice.” He didn’t think it necessary to remind the magistrate that while the murder of a peasant might not warrant much official concern, that of a daimyo’s daughter couldn’t go ignored.

The frown lines in Ogyu’s forehead deepened, whether in surprise or irritation, Sano couldn’t tell. “And how do you know this?” he asked.

Sano drank some tea to calm himself. “I’ve learned that Noriyoshi didn’t like women, which means he probably would not have killed himself for the love of one. And he had enemies. At least one of them hated him enough to kill him.”

“And who might that be?” Ogyu sipped from his own bowl, then motioned for the servant to refill both it and Sano’s.

“Kikunojo, the Kabuki actor.”

“How did you learn of this… enemy?” The pause before the word conveyed Ogyu’s skepticism.

“I spoke with Noriyoshi’s close friend, a woman named Wisteria,” Sano answered. Giving Wisteria’s name to lend credibility to his story, he nevertheless hoped he wouldn’t have to explain what she did for a living.

But apparently Ogyu knew. Rumor said that he still frequented Yoshiwara’s pleasure houses, despite his age. He sighed and quoted an old proverb. “Two rare things: square eggs, and a yūjo’s sincerity.”

“I think she was telling the truth,” Sano said. Inadvertently he remembered last night. Wisteria’s grief; her plea to him to arrest Kikunojo for her friend’s murder; her passion… Sano’s blood stirred. He forced himself back to the present.

Ogyu was shaking his head. “Yoriki Sano.” How can you be so gullible? his tone implied. How dare you waste my time with such nonsense?

“Magistrate, when I went to the morgue, I saw a large bruise on Noriyoshi’s head, as if someone had struck him,” Sano said with growing desperation. “And he-didn’t look as though he’d drowned.” This was dangerous ground. What if Ogyu wanted to know more about his visit to the morgue?

Fortunately Ogyu’s refined sensibilities kept him from taking up the subject. He made a moue of distaste and said, “We will not talk of such things here.”

Having already presented his best arguments, Sano could think of nothing else to say. If Ogyu dismissed two and refused to discuss the other, what hope had he of succeeding?

Now Ogyu cleared his throat and signaled for another round of tea. Sano braced himself for a circumspect rebuke, perhaps an allusion to his patron, Katsuragawa Shundai. However, he soon found himself following the magistrate’s convoluted thought trail down a completely different path.

“There are many lessons to be learned from the animal kingdom,” Ogyu said. “When the tiger goes to the stream, the deer wait until he has drunk his fill and departed before they go to drink. When the hawk takes flight, small creatures hide until he has passed.”

Sano nodded, waiting for him to get to the point.

“When the dragonfly spreads his splendid wings, other insects dare not approach, lest they arouse his wrath,” Ogyu finished. He paused to let his meaning sink in.

This last scenario bore no resemblance to nature, but Sano got the message anyway.

“So you’ve heard of my visit to the Nius,” he said. The Nius, with their dragonfly family crest and their overshadowing power.

Ogyu winced at such bluntness. “Yoriki Sano, do you really need to be reminded of the dangers of offending a great daimyo family? Lady Niu called on me personally to complain about your intrusion.” His voice rose to its highest, most querulous pitch. “What stupidity, what foolhardiness could drive you to inflict yourself upon the Nius in such an impertinent manner, at such an unfortunate time?” A livid patch appeared on each of his sallow cheeks, and his eyes narrowed.

Sano accepted the insults stoically, although each one tore at his samurai spirit. His face burned with the shame of having angered his superior to the point of open fury. Through his misery he felt the cold, equally shameful touch of fear. What would Ogyu do to punish him? But the inquisitive, detached part of his mind wondered why Ogyu was so anxious to halt the investigation and placate the Nius.

“The Nius received me with all possible graciousness,” he said bravely. In spite of Ogyu’s displeasure, he still thought he’d done right to question them. He only regretted learning so little, “Lady Niu didn’t appear at all offended. And why should she be? All I did was ask a few questions, which she and young Lord Niu seemed glad to answer. Furthermore, if Miss Yukiko was murdered, why should the Nius object to an investigation? Wouldn’t they want to cooperate so that the murderer can be found? Wouldn’t they want justice-vengeance-for their family honor?”

“If Yukiko was murdered, Yoriki Sano.”

Ogyu’s resistance reminded Sano of something Wisteria had said last night: “No inquiry… to trouble the family of that girl, whoever she was.” Now he wondered if the Nius had some reason for not wanting Yukiko’s death investigated. Could it be that they didn’t want the murder discovered, or the murderer caught? Was Ogyu helping them to hide the truth? If so, why? Sano tried to close his mind against these thoughts. He wanted to believe that his superiors acted only on the highest moral principles. The Nius and Magistrate Ogyu just wanted to avoid the scandal that would arise if Yukiko’s part in the shinjū became common knowledge. That was all. But suspicion lingered, a queasiness in his soul.

“Yukiko and Noriyoshi died by their own hands,” Ogyu was saying. His voice was calm now, and his face had returned to its normal pallor. But he continued to speak with uncharacteristic directness, as if he didn’t want to take the chance that Sano might misunderstand. “The manner of their deaths makes this evident, as does the suicide note. There will be no more discussion of the matter. And now I must extract your promise not to trouble the Nius again, or to waste your time pursuing fantasies.”

Sano gathered his courage for one last try. Drawing a deep breath, he said, “Magistrate Ogyu, I am sure that Yukiko and Noriyoshi were murdered. I even have a suspect.” He knew he was speaking too aggressively and with too much emotion, but he couldn’t restrain himself. “I beg you to let me continue the investigation, and to let me explain to the Nius why it is necessary. The murderer is walking free, a danger to society. As a yoriki, I feel it’s my duty to apprehend him before he harms anyone else. And your duty as a magistrate,” he added recklessly.