Gizaemon said, “I hope you’re satisfied. I told you this was a waste of time.”

Sano was disappointed nonetheless. He’d hoped for any clue that might help him solve the case. As they returned to the path and resumed walking, Fukida said, “Where is the spring-bow now?”

“Lord Matsumae hacked it apart with an axe and burned the pieces. He needed something to punish.”

So much for examining the murder weapon for clues. Sano said, “Where was the body found?”

Gizaemon paced some twenty steps farther. Sano and Fukida marched alongside him, stopped when he did. Gizaemon grinned. “Right where you’re standing.”

Sano looked down and saw a mental image of the woman now enshrined in the tea cottage. Tekare lay, her black hair fanned out, against ground covered with pine needles and leaves. Her body was robust, youthful, and ripe instead of withered. Her face was smooth and beautiful instead of decayed. The blood from her wound gleamed red, newly spilled, dotting the path between her body and the place where she’d tripped the spring. The image was so vivid that Sano could feel the essence of the woman, passionate and tempestuous. He blinked. Her image disappeared. He was gazing at blank snow.

“That’s where she fell,” Gizaemon said. “She was strong, to get this far before the poison on the arrow killed her.”

“Who found her?” Sano asked.

“You’re talking to him,” Gizaemon replied.

Now we’re getting somewhere, Sano thought. “How did you happen to be the one to find Tekare?”

“That morning, Lord Matsumae wanted her company. She wasn’t in the women’s quarters. Her bed hadn’t been slept in. We looked for her all over the castle, no sign of her. I led the search party that checked this path.”

“Why was it your party that came out here?”

Gizaemon shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess.”

But the person who discovered the body often turned out to be the murderer. Maybe Gizaemon had known where to find Tekare because he’d set the spring-bow for her. Maybe he’d wanted to be first on the scene to see if his trap had worked. If he was the killer, that would explain why he wanted to prevent Sano-or Reiko-from finding evidence. But if he wasn’t, then he was an important witness.

“Tell me what you saw when you found Tekare,” Sano said.

“The spring-bow, the loose string.” Gizaemon pointed at the places he’d seen them. “The arrow lying on the ground where she left it after she pulled it out of herself. A trail of blood leading to her body.” ‘Was there anyone around?“

“Not that I saw.” Gizaemon regarded Sano with disdain. “The killer could have set the trap at any time before she came along the path. That’s the advantage of the spring-bow. You don’t need to be there to bring down your prey.”

“Some killers like seeing their victims die,” Sano said.

“Well, if that was the case, he could have watched and been long gone by the time I came,” Gizaemon said. “Tekare’s body was cold and stiff. She’d been dead since the night before.”

The circumstances of the murder troubled Sano. “You indicated at other women besides Tekare used this spring?”

“That’s right.”

“Then the trap could have been set for someone else.”

“Maybe,” Gizaemon said, “except that she liked to come here at night. But even if she wasn’t the person meant to die, what does it matter? You still have to find out who killed her.”

“True,” Sano said, but it did matter. If Tekare hadn’t been the intended victim, then he’d wasted yesterday on inquiries related to her. If a different woman was the killer’s actual target, there were motives, suspects, and clues he had yet to discover. Even worse, what if the killer hadn’t had a particular victim in mind? What if he was like a hunter who didn’t care which deer he bagged as long as he got one? How could logical detective work solve such a random crime?

But Sano thought it best to proceed under the theory that Tekare had been the intended victim, unless he found out otherwise. With all the enmity and strong passions Tekare had inspired, she seemed the perfect target for murder.

And the man beside Sano seemed a perfect suspect. “How did you know that Tekare liked to bathe in the hot spring at night?”

“General knowledge.”

“But maybe you knew Tekare’s habits because you watched her. Followed her. Stalked her like game in the forest.”

“After me again, are you?” Gizaemon said, irritated. “I told you I didn’t kill Tekare. But if you’re so good at making up theories, explain this: Why would I kill the woman Lord Matsumae loved? He’s the most important person in the world to me.” His expression filled with proud, fierce tenderness. “How could I hurt him?”

Sano didn’t have an answer. That was the biggest weakness in his case against Gizaemon.

Gizaemon laughed. “I thought so. Maybe now you’ll believe me when I tell you that it was an Ezo who killed Tekare.”

“If I believe you, that would give you more than an excuse to subjugate the natives and take over Ezogashima.”

Gizaemon ignored Sano’s hint that he was guilty and diverting the blame for the murder onto innocent people in order to avoid punishment himself. “They’re a shifty, dishonorable people. The opposite of samurai.” Fukida rolled his eyes at Sano: They’d met too many samurai who were a disgrace to the Way of the Warrior. “And they don’t respect Japanese law. One of theirs misbehaves, they take care of the problem in their own fashion. That rule applied to Tekare.”

“The Empress of Snow Country?” Sano said. “The wife who sold her favors to men in exchange for gifts, then left her husband to come to the city as a mistress to Japanese men?”

Sardonic humor wrinkled the leathery skin around Gizaemon’s eyes. “I see that Hirata-san got an earful from the gold merchant. You should listen, Honorable Chamberlain. It’ll lead you to her killer.”

“Urahenka?” Sano said, recalling the young Ezo’s passionate claim that he’d loved his wife, wanted her back, and had come to Fukuyama City to rescue her. His angry denial that he’d murdered her had seemed more credible yesterday, before the gold merchant had shown Tekare in a bad light.

“Not him. He doesn’t have the authority to act on his own. The chieftain’s the one I mean.”

“Why would he have killed Tekare? She was the village shamaness. He wanted to bring her home for the good of the tribe.”

“If you believe him, then I’ll sell you the hot spring to take back to Edo.” Gizaemon turned and stalked down the path the way they’d come. “No, he wanted to punish her.”

“Punish her for what?” As Sano kept pace with Gizaemon, he felt lost in this land of unfamiliar customs.

“For everything she did wrong. The Ezo believe that the shamaness keeps the village in balance with the cosmos. If she’s a good girl, fortune will smile upon them. If not, the spirits will send them sickness, famine, and death. Tekare had upset the natural order. The only way for the Ezo to restore it was to destroy her. And that was the chieftain’s duty.”

Sano frowned. Chieftain Awetok had impressed him as straight-forward and honest, but maybe Sano was misjudging the man due to his ignorance about the Ezo. Maybe he was viewing them as savages who didn’t have motives or relationships as complicated as Japanese had. Maybe he was too ready to think them incapable of subterfuge.

Were they hiding secrets behind the barrier of cultural differences? Understanding the Ezo might be critical to solving the crime, but Sano understood his fellow Japanese very well. Gizaemon behaved like a decoy soldier planting false tracks for enemy troops to follow.

“You said Tekare upset the natural order. Did she do that here? Did she cause trouble for you?” Sano said.

Gizaemon snorted as they walked down the path. He seemed to imply that a mere Ezo woman was too trivial to bother him. “She didn’t know her place in the world. But that wasn’t my business. She was the barbarians’ problem. And their chieftain dealt with her.”