A wry smile quirked Sano’s mouth as he recalled his brief tenure as a police detective. The yoriki were a hereditary class of Tokugawa retainers, famous for their grand style, but Sano, an outsider in the close-knit group, had been more interested in serving justice than in keeping up appearances. He’d been shunned by colleagues, criticized by superiors, and dismissed from the police force for insubordination, but his unconventionality and a twist of fate had ultimately won him a promotion to his current elevated post.

He finished eating and rode through a dense warren of townspeople’s dwellings, to the samurai enclave surrounding police headquarters, which occupied a site in the southernmost corner of Edo ’s administrative district. Here stood the Oyama family home. Above a high wall surfaced with white plaster rose the tile roofs of a two-story mansion, retainers’ and servants’ quarters, storehouses and stables. Watchtowers overlooked the smaller residences of other police officials. Sano guessed that the enclave had been built with ill-gotten money: the yoriki were also famous for taking bribes. Outside the double gate swathed with black mourning drapery, Sano dismounted and identified himself to the guards.

“I’m investigating the death of Honorable Commander Oyama,” he said, “and I must speak to the family.”

The immediate family consisted of Oyama’s two sons and daughter. Because the house was filled with friends and relatives who had come to comfort the bereaved, they received Sano in a covered pavilion in a garden of boulders and raked sand. There they knelt in a row opposite Sano. The elder son, Oyama Jinsai, was in his early twenties. With his slight frame and sensitive features, he bore no resemblance to his father, except for his straight brows. Fatigue shadowed his intelligent eyes; a black kimono and the sun slanting through the pavilion’s lattice walls accentuated his sickly pallor. He had the dazed look of a person overwhelmed by sudden responsibility. When a maid brought tea and a smoking tray, he lit his silver pipe with unsteady hands and inhaled deeply, as if eager for the calming effect of tobacco.

“My mother and grandparents died years ago,” he explained, “so now the three of us are the only surviving members of the main Oyama family.” He introduced the siblings seated on either side of him. The stocky younger brother, Junio, wore his hair in the long forelock of a samurai who hadn’t quite attained manhood. The sister, Chiyoko, was a plain-faced woman in a modest brown kimono, somewhere between her brothers in years.

“Please allow me to express my condolences on the death of your honorable father,” Sano said.

“Many thanks.” Jinsai regarded him with anxious confusion, obviously wondering why Sano had come. Since Sano hadn’t been close to Commander Oyama or worked with him in years, there was no apparent personal or professional connection to justify a visit. “Is there something we can do for you?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you at such a time, but I must ask you some questions relating to your father’s death.”

Jinsai looked mystified. “Excuse me if I don’t understand. I’ve heard that you’re investigating the fire at the Black Lotus Temple, but my father was killed because he happened to be in the cottage when it burned. His death was an accidental result of the arson. What questions could there be?”

“I regret to say that your father’s death wasn’t an accident. It was murder.” Sano explained about the blow that had killed Commander Oyama.

“I see.” Comprehension darkened Jinsai’s features. Sano knew he’d served as his father’s assistant; he would be familiar with basic police procedure. “The murder victim’s family are the first suspects because they’re usually the ones with the strongest grievances against him and the most to gain from his death.” Jinsai inhaled on his pipe, expelled the smoke in an unhappy sigh, and shook his head. “But if you expect to find the killer here, you’ll be disappointed. It’s true that we had good reason to be upset with my father, but his death has brought this household many more troubles than benefits.”

“Can you explain?” Sano asked.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The sound of low voices drifted from the house; the air smelled of incense from the funeral altar. In the garden, boulders cast stark shadows across the sunlit sand. The younger brother and sister bowed their heads in misery. Jinsai’s expression reflected his reluctance to air private family matters or speak ill of the dead, and the knowledge that he must protect himself and his siblings.

He said in a strained voice, “My father was a lavish spender. He squandered money on drink, parties, gambling, and women. He also gave large donations to the Black Lotus sect. The family finances were… in dire straits.”

By tradition, samurai lived frugally, disdained money, and avoided discussing it. Sano pitied Jinsai, whose face was flushed with the shame of confessing his sire’s extravagance. “I begged my father to economize, but he wouldn’t. Now that he’s dead, moneylenders have demanded full payment of his debts. My brother and sister and I inherited nothing except this house, which we can’t afford to maintain. We’ll have to move to a smaller place and dismiss most of the retainers and servants, who will find themselves out on the streets.”

He added grimly, “Money is often a motive for murder, but it wasn’t for anyone here. Our family fortune was large, built over many generations, and there should have been enough of it left to support the household even after the debts are settled, except my father bequeathed twenty thousand koban to the Black Lotus sect.”

Many lay worshippers believed they could gain merit by assisting religious orders and thereby achieve blessings in life and nirvana in some future existence during the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth, Sano knew.

“For many years, my father suffered from terrible stomach pains,” Jinsai explained. “Nothing relieved them. Then he went to the Black Lotus Temple, and the high priest cured him. It was a miracle. My father was so grateful that he joined the sect. Now I must honor his will and deliver his fortune to the Black Lotus.”

Sano would have to find out whether the sect leaders had known about the will, since twenty thousand koban gave them a strong motive for Commander Oyama’s murder. Maybe Haru was an innocent bystander at the crime scene. Sano wondered whether Reiko had succeeded in coaxing the girl to talk. Yet he wasn’t ready to eliminate Oyama’s family as suspects; financial gain wasn’t the only motive for murder.

“As the oldest son, you inherit your father’s post in the police department, don’t you?” Sano said to Jinsai. “And his position as head of the clan.”

A bitter smile twisted the young man’s mouth as he smoked his pipe. “You’re asking if I killed my father because 1 wanted his status, his government stipend, and his power.” Throughout history, samurai had often advanced themselves by destroying their own relatives. “Well, I didn’t kill him, but even if I had, I would have known better than to expect to become chief police commander, even though my father was training me to take over his duties when he retired.

“Yesterday evening, a bakufu delegation came and told me that I’m too inexperienced for such an important post. Another man will get it, and I’ll be his assistant, with my same small stipend, until I prove myself worthy of a promotion.” Jinsai said in a tone laden with regret, “It would have been better for me if my father had lived another ten years, so I could grow into his job. And although I am head of the family now-” Jinsai spread his hands in a gesture of despair “-there’s little triumph in ruling a disgraced, impoverished clan.”

He added, “In case you were thinking that my brother or sister wanted my father dead, I can assure you that his murder was even more untimely for them than me.”