“But Yukiko committed suicide,” Lord Niu continued, his smile widening into a grin that revealed perfect teeth. “So there is no need for further questions, is there?” His tone conveyed dismissal.

Sano had no alternative but to make his farewells and follow the guard back through the corridor and main reception room. Disappointment weighed heavily on him as he reclaimed his shoes and swords in the entry way. He’d learned nothing much of value during this call, except that Lady Niu and her son apparently accepted Yukiko’s death as suicide. Perhaps a bit too readily? Shouldn’t they want to explore the possibility of murder, which endangered the entire family? Sano reined in his imagination. Although jealousy and rivalry could provoke murder within the best of families, he had no reason to believe that one of Yukiko’s own relatives was involved in her death. The tensions he’d observed within the daimyo’s household probably stemmed from another source. The crying maid, the daughter’s gasp, and Lord Niu’s hint at an enemy in Yukiko’s past did not necessarily indicate otherwise.

Outside, the guard stopped to confer with another whom they met on the garden path. Sano waited, wondering if he would have better luck when he questioned Noriyoshi’s family. Then a low whistle turned his head. Not birdsong, but a snatch of classical melody.

Sano looked around. Except for himself and the two guards, the garden was deserted. The shuttered windows of the surrounding barracks gazed back at him like blind eyes.

“Sir!” a voice whispered urgently. “Sir!”

Then he saw a face peering out of a doorway in the mansion, not far from the main entrance; a young girl’s face, with long straight hair that fell around it from a center part and tossed in the wind.

“I have something to tell you,” she hissed. “Come with me. Quickly!” She thrust out a hand to beckon him, and Sano caught sight of her kimono. It was red, like the fold he’d seen sticking out from behind the lattice screen. Then she vanished through the doorway.

Sano hesitated. What would happen to him if he followed her? Men had suffered demotion, maiming, or exile as punishment for even the hint of improper behavior toward a lord’s daughter. He glanced at the two guards. Deep in conversation, they’d drifted down the path, their backs toward him. His desire to catch the killer gave him daring. The call of inescapable destiny beckoned. He took the risk.

Once through the doorway, he found himself in a long, narrow passage that ran between a high bamboo fence and the walls of the mansion’s other wings. Following it, he saw no sign of the girl or anyone else, but he could hear voices coming from inside the house. He quickened his pace, looking over his shoulder and expecting someone to accost him at any moment.

The passage angled left and came to an abrupt end at an open gate. Sano peered cautiously through it. All clear. He tiptoed across the threshold and into a garden. There the gnarled limbs of a tall pine blocked the sky and made the dull winter day seem even gloomier. A bridge made of a single stone slab lay across a pond whose surface was littered with pine needles and dead leaves. Several boulders, their sides brown with lichen and moss, stood on the bank of the pond.

She stepped from behind the largest boulder so suddenly that he cried out in surprise.

“Shhh!” The girl put a finger to her lips, casting a furtive glance toward a veranda at one side of the garden.

Now that he stood face to face with her, Sano could see that she was no more than twelve or thirteen years old. She had plump cheeks, full lips, and a round chin. Eyes that must normally sparkle with merriment now regarded him solemnly.

“Can I trust you?” she asked.

Surprised by her ungirlish boldness, Sano answered her as he might have done one of his pupils. “I can’t tell you who to trust and who not to trust,” he said. “Miss… Midori?”

Apparently his honesty satisfied her, and he’d guessed right about her name. She nodded, threw another glance at the veranda, and whispered, “Yukiko didn’t kill herself!”

“But your mother thinks she did.” Sano fought down a surge of excitement, striving for objectivity. “And so does your brother. And the magistrate, and everyone else but Dr. Ito and me.

Midori stamped her foot, small fists clenched at her sides. “She’s not my mother!” she cried. “Don’t ever call her that.” Her voice rose, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Then, in a whisper nearly as loud, she hurried on. “She’s my father’s second wife. My mother-Yukiko’s mother-was his concubine. She’s dead. And I don’t care what anyone thinks. Yukiko would never kill herself. Especially not that way, with a man. She didn’t know any men. At least, not… ” Blushing, she lowered her head so that her silky hair curtained her face.

Not as a lover, Sano thought, completing the sentence Midori was too embarrassed to finish.

“How do you know?” he asked. He reminded himself that she was a child, with a child’s unwillingness to believe the worst about a beloved older sister.

Something of his skepticism must have entered his voice, because she flung her head up, eyes blazing. “I know!” she stormed. “I can prove it.” She yanked on his sleeve so hard he thought the fabric would tear. “Someone killed Yukiko. Please believe me. You’ve got to-”

“Midori! What do you think you’re doing?”

Sano jumped at the sound of the harsh voice. Turning, he saw

Lady Niu standing on the veranda, the open door framing her. Fury distorted her beautiful face. Beside Sano, Midori let out a little moan. The three of them stood in frozen silence for a moment.

Then Lady Niu said, “Go to your room at once, Midori.” A deadly calm replaced the anger in her voice, but her expression did not alter.

Without looking at Sano, Midori scuttled off, head ducked, down a path leading out of the garden.

“As for you, Yoriki Sano,” Lady Niu continued, “I advise you to leave at once. And never to return.”

Sano heard footsteps behind him. He turned and saw his guard, looking angry and resentful.

“Take him away,” Lady Niu told the guard.

Sano let the guard escort him to the gate, feeling relieved and very foolish. How ironic if, after all the other risks he’d taken, he had ruined his career to indulge a fanciful child!

Once safely back on the street, he regretted not hearing Midori’s tale. It might have provided him with the evidence to convince Ogyu that more investigation was necessary. Maybe he would risk trying to question Midori again later, after he’d seen Noriyoshi’s family.

Midori ran through the inner gate and garden, up the steps to the door of the section of the women’s quarters that housed her bedchamber. But instead of going inside, she paused, shivering in the cold wind. Then, making an impulsive decision, she stepped out of her wooden-soled shoes. Carrying them by their thongs, she ran lightly along the veranda in her split-toed socks, past the row of doors beneath the roof’s overhanging eaves.

An open window brought her up short. Through it she could hear the maids chattering as they swept the inner corridor. Midori ducked beneath the window so they wouldn’t see her. As she turned the corner, more female voices filtered through the thin paper windows: her father’s concubines gossiping with their attendants as they groomed themselves or sewed. A baby cried. Someone began to play a tune on the samisen, then stopped suddenly.

“No, no!” she heard her younger sisters’ music teacher scold. “Too fast!”

The melody began again, slower this time. Midori slipped past the music room, thankful that the children were occupied and couldn’t tag along after her.

Finally she reached her destination, a door at the north end of the women’s quarters. She slid it open and peered cautiously inside. The corridor was empty. She darted across it and through another door that stood opposite-into Yukiko’s bedchamber, where Lady Niu had forbidden everyone to go.