“You’ve never been outside?” Reiko said.

“On four occasions during my lifetime, when the court was evacuated from the palace because of fires. But I’ve not left the compound in sixteen years.”

Reiko believed that she herself would go mad under such circumstances. “Do you mind very much?”

Her expression serene, Jokyōden shrugged. “Although I sometimes crave different scenery and a wider acquaintance, there’s no lack of stimulation here. The palace is the world in miniature, with all the excitement of human drama.”

“And crime,” Reiko said, seizing the opportunity to turn the conversation to the subject of her interest.

“Then you know something about the murder that your husband is investigating?” Jokyōden asked coolly.

Aware of a sudden tension, Reiko said, “All I know is that the imperial left minister was killed by a spirit cry, in the Pond Garden. My husband prefers that I have nothing to do with his business here, but I can’t help being curious. Did you know the left minister?”

“Yes, of course.” Abruptly, Jokyōden set down her tea bowl and rose. “Shall we walk in the park?”

They descended the steps from the veranda. Jokyōden was taller than Reiko, her stride quick yet fluid. While they strolled together along a path that wound between trees, Reiko conjectured that Jokyōden had disrupted their conversation because she needed time to think about what Reiko’s interest in the murder meant and how to respond. Surely, Jokyōden was wondering if everything she said would be reported to Sano.

Feigning chagrin, Reiko said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up the murder.” She must convince Jokyōden that she wouldn’t tell Sano about their conversation. “My husband would be very angry if he found out I distressed you by prying into matters that are none of my business.”

Lady Jokyōden walked in silence, contemplating a group of courtiers who had gathered for a picnic on the miniature mountain. “There’s no need for apology,” she said at last. Perhaps she’d decided there was no harm in discussing the murder with Reiko, because she explained, “I’ve suffered no personal loss. I frequently saw Left Minister Konoe when he was advising my son, and I often spoke with him about the administration of the palace, but our relationship was not close.”

Reiko could detect no falseness in Jokyōden’s neutral tone or manner, yet she understood that the sudden rapport between the two of them didn’t preclude dishonesty. Just as Reiko was deceiving Jokyōden, so might Jokyōden be deceiving her.

“What kind of person was the left minister?” In case her interest seemed too avid, Reiko said, “I never knew anyone who was murdered. I’m interested to learn why someone could hate a man enough to kill him.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Jokyōden replied, “He was more respected than liked. Underneath his handsome looks and charm, he had a selfish, ambitious spirit and a great need for power over other people. He couldn’t tolerate anyone defying him, or admit he was wrong.”

Those qualities could have easily provoked violence. “How did you get along with him?” Reiko asked.

“We had no quarrels.” As they passed under a vine-covered arbor, the sudden dimness obscured Jokyōden’s face. “I didn’t always approve of the way he managed the palace finances or handled my son, but it wasn’t my place to question his judgment. It was my duty to obey his orders.”

Yet Reiko observed that Jokyōden’s description of Konoe might very well fit Jokyōden herself. Had they clashed over control of the court? If so, Konoe would have won by grace of his rank and sex. Had Jokyōden then taken revenge by killing him?

“Didn’t the left minister mind having a woman in a position of influence?” Reiko asked.

“He tolerated the situation,” Jokyōden said, “because he knew it was temporary. When the emperor is mature enough to rule the court himself, my efforts will no longer be necessary.”

Reiko recalled Jokyōden presiding over the meeting of the Imperial High Council. Maybe Konoe had viewed her as a threat to his own domination of the court. Had she sought to protect her position for however short a time that remained? How much had she gained by Konoe’s death?

They emerged from the arbor into the open space around a pond. Jokyōden bent her shrewd gaze upon Reiko, who felt exposed and transparent in the hot sunlight. Surely, Jokyōden could guess what bearing her relationship with Konoe might have upon the murder case.

“Imperial politics can be brutal even though times have changed and courtiers fight over rank and privileges instead of control of the nation,” Jokyōden said firmly. “Left Minister Konoe had numerous enemies, including certain high-ranking nobles.”

But they, along with almost everyone else in the court, had alibis for the night of Konoe’s murder, according to Yoriki Hoshina’s report, which Reiko had read yesterday evening. “Who do you think killed him?” Reiko asked.

“It’s hard to envision any of one’s associates as a murderer.”

Reiko believed that Jokyōden must have some ideas about potential culprits-if she hadn’t killed Konoe herself. As if in idle thought, Reiko said, “The killer must be an expert martial artist, to have mastered the power of kiai.”

“Indeed he must,” Jokyōden said, ignoring Reiko’s unspoken invitation to speculate.

“You said ‘he,’ " Reiko observed. “You believe the killer was a man.”

“Only because men have the freedom to move about at will,” said Jokyōden, “whereas the imperial women are confined under strict supervision.”

Although Reiko saw the logic of this reasoning, she also realized that it benefited Jokyōden, as well as Lady Asagao, by eliminating them as suspects. And the lack of freedom also applied to the emperor, who would be constantly surrounded by attendants and seldom left the palace. That left the emperor’s cousin as the killer. Of course Jokyōden would prefer to see Prince Momozono convicted of murder than herself, her son, or his consort.

“Who might have been in the Pond Garden with the left minister that night?” Reiko said, hoping that her interest would pass for natural curiosity.

“Left Minister Konoe had ordered everyone to stay away from the garden. There are very few people who dared disobey him and risk punishment.”

Reiko noted Jokyōden’s repeated evasion of questions. She realized that Konoe’s orders had informed all the suspects that he would be alone in the garden. Had one of them taken advantage of the circumstances? She voiced another possibility: “Perhaps the killer had arranged to meet the left minister for a private rendezvous.”

“As far as I know, Left Minister Konoe never told anyone why he wanted the garden to himself,” Jokyōden said, gazing at the circular green lotus leaves that covered the pond. She added, “I didn’t see him at all that night. The weather was very hot; I couldn’t sleep. So I took a walk around the summer pavilion, which is north of the Pond Garden. 1 was sitting outside, watching the moon, when I heard the scream.”

“Did you see anyone else around?” Though aware that these questions might give away her ploy, Reiko needed the answers.

“No. The area around the pavilion was deserted. And I didn’t take any attendants with me or tell them I was going out because I desired solitude.”

This story explained why Jokyōden hadn’t been in her chambers and had no witness to give her an alibi. Still, Reiko found herself pleased that Jokyōden had no apparent motive for the murder. Meeting Jokyōden, she realized with concern, had altered her hopes for the investigation.

She’d come to the palace bent upon pursuing a killer, wanting it to be one of the suspects she interviewed. Now she didn’t want Jokyōden to be guilty of murder because she felt a sense of kinship with her. But she couldn’t let her feelings toward a suspect compromise her judgment.