“Are you sure you didn’t hear anything that night?” Sano asked Agemaki.

She stood by the door, hands folded in her sleeves. “I am quite sure.”

Sano wondered how she could not have heard Makino having sex on the other side of the flimsy partition or being beaten to death one room away. Agemaki murmured, “I took a sleeping potion. I slept very soundly.”

A reasonable explanation, Sano thought; but he pictured her sliding open the partition and stealing into Makino’s room in the dark of that night.

Her face suddenly contorted; tears flooded her eyes. She dabbed them with her sleeve. “I wish I had heard something,” she said, her voice broken by a sob. “Maybe I could have saved my husband.”

Sano pitied her even as he wondered if her grief was an act. “Have you any idea who killed him?”

She shook her head. “If only I did.”

“May I look around your room?” Sano said.

Agemaki gestured, granting him permission. He opened cabinets and chests, surveyed neatly folded garments and paired shoes. Otani stuck close by him, peering over his shoulder. While Sano searched for a murder weapon and bloodstained clothes, Agemaki watched mutely, indifferent. He found neither. Maybe she was the blameless, grieving widow she seemed.

“How long had you and Senior Elder Makino been married?” Sano asked her.

“Six years,” she said sadly.

Sano had known she wasn’t a first, longtime wife to Makino, whose sons were in their forties. She was too young to have borne them, and at least three decades younger than Makino.

“Were there any problems between you and your husband?” Sano said.

“… None whatsoever.”

“Had you quarreled recently?” Sano prodded.

“We never quarreled,” Agemaki said with pride. A fresh spate of weeping seized her. “We were devoted to each other.”

But they hadn’t shared a bed. And Makino had had a young, beautiful concubine, as did many rich husbands. Marital troubles often arose from such a situation. Sano wondered if Agemaki knew he was seeking a motive for her husband’s murder. If so, she would also know to deny any reason for killing him, as well as protect herself by appearing to cooperate with Sano’s inquiries.

“Who is your family?” Sano asked, curious about her.

“The Senge. They’re retainers to Lord Torii.”

Sano recognized the clan as a large, venerable one, and Lord Torii as daimyo of Iwaki Province in northern Japan. “Have you any children by Senior Elder Makino?”

Agemaki sighed. “I regret to say that I have none.”

“What will you do now that your husband is dead?” Sano doubted that Makino’s clan, which was notoriously venal and exclusive, would support a widow from a brief marriage who had no strong political connections to it. “Will you go back to your family?”

“No. My parents are dead, and I haven’t any close relatives. I will stay here until my official period of mourning is done. After that, I will live in a villa that my husband owned in the hills outside Edo. He left me the villa, along with an income to provide for me.”

Sano’s detective instincts roused. “How much is the income?”

“Five hundred koku a year.”

She spoke as if mentioning a trivial sum. Perhaps she didn’t realize that it equaled the annual cost of the rice necessary to feed five hundred men, a fortune large enough to maintain her in affluence for the rest of her life. But Sano had seen Makino’s villa, an opulent mansion with beautiful woodland surroundings and a breathtaking view. Even a gentlewoman, ignorant of finance, would recognize the value of such an inheritance.

“When did you learn that your husband had left you the property and income?” Sano asked.

“He showed me the document the day after we married.”

So she’d known before Makino died. The legacy hadn’t been an unexpected windfall. Agemaki might have decided long ago that she preferred freedom and inheritance over marriage to a decrepit husband. And perhaps she’d gained them by killing Makino the night before last. Yet there was no proof, and Sano still had other suspects to investigate.

“That will be all for now,” he told Agemaki.

As he and Otani crossed the walkway from the private quarters toward the main house, Otani said, “That woman doesn’t look capable of murder. She seems genuinely upset about Makino’s death. And if she’s responsible, she wouldn’t have told you about her legacy. Even an ignorant female must know that would direct suspicion 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 sōsakan-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?”