Although samurai awaiting execution were usually kept under house arrest in their own homes, Hoshina lived at Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s estate, where Yanagisawa had refused to have him. Condemned men were usually barred from Edo Castle, but the shogun valued Hoshina as insurance of Lady Keisho-in’s survival and wanted him close at hand. Therefore, the palace officials had hastily improvised a jail for Hoshina.

More guards unbarred the door at the top of the stairs and admitted Sano to the tower room. Inside, Hoshina crouched, his back against the wall, arms resting limp on his knees. As Sano entered, Hoshina looked up, eager and expectant.

“Greetings,” Sano said quietly.

Hoshina’s face fell. “Oh. It’s you,” he said.

Obviously, he’d hoped to see Chamberlain Yanagisawa. Sano pitied Hoshina’s disappointment and hated to tell him Yanagisawa wasn’t coming.

After the meeting at which the shogun had almost condemned Sano and Yanagisawa to execution along with Hoshina, the two of them had walked out of the palace together.

“Hoshina-san must be interrogated,” Sano had told Yanagisawa as they strode down the gravel path through the grounds.

“You do it,” Yanagisawa said, clearly intending to distance himself from Hoshina. His cool expression showed no sign that he’d just narrowly escaped death, nor guilt over how he’d treated his lover.

“Report to me afterward.”

“Then he and his guards left Sano and walked away.

First, Sano returned home and summoned his detectives to the courtyard. “I want to know who delivered the ransom letter,” he told them. “Interview the soldiers assigned to guard the castle perimeter last night. Ask them whether they saw who posted the letter on the wall, or anyone loitering outside the castle and acting suspicious. If they did, get a description of the person. If not, search the neighborhoods around the castle for witnesses. And if you find the person, arrest him and notify me at once. He may be our best lead to the kidnappers.”

Now Sano beheld the other possible lead. Hoshina seemed shrunken by despondency. His head drooped; anguish hollowed his eyes. Sano experienced a pang of concern for him. Many a samurai would consider suicide as a way to escape such ignominious circumstances.

“Is there anything you need?” Sano said. Pretending an interest in Hoshina’s physical comfort, he scrutinized the cell.

The palace officials who’d furnished the prison had paid respect to Hoshina’s rank. Tatami cushioned the floor, and a rolled-up futon occupied a corner. Incense smoked on the window ledges, repelling mosquitoes and masking the foul odor of the stagnant moat below the tower on the forest side. A black-and-gilt lacquer tray contained soup, rice, prawns, vegetables, and tea on matching dishware. Against the stone wall stood a lidded lacquer chamber pot. But Sano saw, to his relief, nothing that Hoshina might use against himself.

“Don’t worry-they took away my swords,” Hoshina said in a sardonic voice. “They won’t even give me chopsticks to eat with.” He flapped a hand at the untouched meal. “And the guards watch me every moment. No doubt someone has advised the shogun not to let me commit seppuku and deprive the kidnappers of the execution they want in exchange for his mother.”

The absent Chamberlain Yanagisawa formed a third, almost tangible presence in the room. Sano knew that Yanagisawa had specified the terms of Hoshina’s imprisonment, and obviously Hoshina had guessed.

“But I don’t intend to die by my own hand, or anyone else’s, just yet.” Hoshina straightened his posture as some of his old fight rekindled.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Sano said.

Hoshina snorted. “I’ll bet you are.”

His acrid tone implied that Sano only cared about him for selfish reasons, and Sano acknowledged this as the truth. Hoshina was the new key to the mystery of who had kidnapped the women, and he was important to Reiko’s survival.

“By the way, I suppose I owe you thanks for persuading the shogun to delay my death,” Hoshina said grudgingly. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t feel much like celebrating right now.”

Sano nodded, allowing Hoshina to vent his bitterness. Empathy diminished Sano’s hatred for his foe. A different turn of fate could have put him in Hoshina’s position.

“What brings you here, when everyone else is avoiding me like a fatal disease?” Hoshina said.

How quickly men in the bakufu ostracized colleagues in trouble, Sano thought. “I agreed to save your life,” he said. “I’m here to finish what I started.”

Hoshina gave him a look that mixed contempt with gratitude. “I might almost think you were the true epitome of honor, if I didn’t know you have an ulterior motive.”

“We all have our own interests,” Sano said, “but mine coincide with yours. I want to catch the kidnappers and rescue the hostages. You want me to do it before the shogun’s seven days are up and he executes you.”

Hoshina conceded with a wry twist of his lips.

“I need your help,” Sano said. “Will you answer some questions?”

“I’m your captive slave,” Hoshina said.

Sano crouched beside Hoshina. “Who do you think wrote this?” Reaching inside his surcoat, Sano removed the ransom letter.

“I have no idea.” Hoshina exhaled in hopelessness.

“Does the poem mean anything to you?” Sano asked.

He spread the letter on the floor. As they pored over the lines, Hoshina said, “Dragons symbolize power, fertility, good fortune. Every child learns the story of the Dragon King who rules the sea. But this poem makes no sense. Can it mean that the Dragon King is the kidnapper and he’s holding the women in his underwater palace?” Hoshina gave a humorless laugh. “It sounds like the rambling of a madman.”

Sano nodded, because who except a madman would kidnap the shogun’s mother to force the execution of the chief police commissioner? He could have added that dragons brought rain to grow crops and kept the forces of nature in balance. But although he thought the poem must contain clues, he and Hoshina needed to make progress, not discuss cosmology. “Do you recognize the writing?” Sano asked.

“No,” said Hoshina, “but then I never pay much attention to calligraphy.”

Another disappointment. Sano had hoped Hoshina would provide more information.

“If you wish I had all the answers, just think how much I wish I did,” Hoshina said with a grimace.

“Let’s move on to the question of what murder the letter refers to,” said Sano.

“I’m not a murderer,” Hoshina declared. Anger animated his voice, colored his pallid complexion. “That’s what’s so outrageous about this whole situation: Somebody I don’t know wants me punished for a crime I didn’t commit.”

Sano eyed him with skepticism. “You’ve never killed?”

“Well, of course I have.” Hoshina looked as though Sano had said something absurd. “I’m a police official. I’ve killed in the line of duty. That’s not murder, because it’s sanctioned by the law.”

“Many might think otherwise,” said Sano, “especially someone who blames you for a death and bears a grudge. The kidnapper appears to fit that category. Tell me the names of everyone you’ve killed, and their family members and associates. The details on when, where, and how you killed them might also help.”

Hoshina gave a dismal chuckle. “I hope you’ve got plenty of time, because this could take awhile.”

“I’ve got time.” Sano asked the guards to bring paper and writing supplies. Then, as Hoshina talked, Sano wrote a list. The final count spanned sixteen years and numbered thirty-eight men slain by Hoshina’s sword while he was trying to make arrests or maintain order. Some of their names he couldn’t recall. Information on their families and associates was sparse.

“That’s the best I can do,” Hoshina said.

Reviewing the list, Sano said, “These men you killed were gangsters, petty thieves, brawlers, and rioters. They were peasants, artisans, small-time merchants, a few rōnin-none wealthy, all members of the lower classes.”