Otani and Ibe nodded in disgruntled approval. They followed Sano and Hirata into the reception hall, where guests lined up in front of the dais, upon which lay the oblong wooden coffin. Below the dais, a kneeling priest with a shaved head, dressed in saffron robe and brocade stole, chanted prayers. Near him, Senior Elder Makino’s widow and chief retainer knelt by a table that held a wooden tablet inked with Makino’s name, a branch of Chinese anise in a vase, a smoking incense burner, oil lamp, offerings of water and food, and a sword to avert evil spirits. Tamura wore formal black robes. The widow was dressed in muted violet, her face pale with white rice powder, her hair rolled neatly atop her head. One by one, the guests approached the coffin, knelt, and bowed. Each lit an incense stick at the lamp and spoke ritual condolences to the senior elder’s chief retainer and wife: “Congratulations on the long, prosperous life that Makino-san lived. I hope we all enjoy similar good fortune.”

Sano, Hirata, and their watchdogs joined the line. When Sano reached the dais, he was startled to discover that the coffin was open, not closed according to custom. Inside reposed Makino, his head shaved bald. He wore a white silk kimono. A pouch hung around his neck contained a coin to pay his toll on the road to the netherworld. His sandals faced backward to signify that he would never return to the world of the living. Beside him lay a Buddhist rosary and a bamboo staff, almost buried in the powdered incense that lined the coffin and sweetened the smell of the corpse. Sano supposed that the open coffin gave Makino’s friends a chance to say good-bye and his enemies a chance to see that he was really dead.

When Sano reached the front of the line, the widow received him with the same wordless courtesy she’d shown everyone else, but Tamura grimaced in annoyance.

“Sōsakan-sama. I’ve been expecting you.” Obviously, Tamura had heard that Sano had pronounced Makino a victim of murder and the shogun had ordered the investigation to continue. “But I hoped you would choose a better time to come looking for the murderer.”

Hirata, Ibe, and Otani prayed briefly over the coffin and lit incense. Tamura bowed to Ibe, representative of Chamberlain Yanagisawa, who’d been his master’s master. He ignored Lord Matsudaira’s man Otani.

“I’m sorry to intrude on the funeral rites, but His Excellency has ordered me to proceed without delay,” Sano said. “I need to speak to the wife of Senior Elder Makino.”

Tamura’s slanted eyebrows bunched together in a scowl. “Surely you wouldn’t ask a widow to desert her duty to receive her dead husband’s colleagues.”

The widow murmured, “It’s all right… I must do the sōsakan-sama’s bidding.” Her hesitant voice was so quiet that it seemed to drift toward Sano from far away. She rose so gracefully that her body seemed made of pliant flesh without bone. She flowed up to Sano as if her feet under her trailing robes skimmed upon air above the floor.

Sano addressed Tamura: “I’ll want a word with you later. In the meantime, where are Senior Elder Makino’s houseguest and concubine?”

“I don’t know,” Tamura said with controlled calm. “Somewhere around the estate.” Mustering his dignity, he turned away to greet other guests.

“Find the concubine and houseguest and interview them,” Sano told Hirata. Then he said to the widow, “Is there a place where we can talk privately?”

She nodded, eyes modestly downcast. “I’ll show you, if you’ll come with me.”

Hirata moved toward the door. Ibe and Otani blocked his way, their expressions obstinate.

“This divide-and-conquer approach has gone too far,” Otani told Sano.

“You’re trying to avoid our observation by running too many inquiries at once.” Ibe’s suspicion of Sano allied him with his enemy counterpart.

“You must conduct the interviews one at a time,” Otani said, “so we can be present.”

Ibe nodded. Hirata looked to Sano, who realized that if he did as his watchdogs said, they would continue to dictate his every move. It was bad enough to have Chamberlain Yanagisawa and Lord Matsudaira trying to control the investigation, and Sano refused to bow to their lackeys.

“We’ll conduct the interviews simultaneously,” Sano said. “That’s final.”

Otani and Ibe glared. Ibe said, “I’ll tell the honorable chamberlain that you’re resisting his supervision.”

“Go ahead,” Sano said. “I’ll tell him-and Lord Matsudaira-that the two of you are hindering my progress.”

Indecision, and fear of their masters, blinked the men’s eyes. “I’ll accompany you,” Otani said to Sano.

“I’ll go with Hirata-san,” Ibe said.

“At the end of the day, I want a full report on the discoveries that I didn’t witness,” Otani said.

“Same here,” Ibe said. “And you’d better not leave anything out.”

Hirata and Ibe departed together. As Sano and Otani followed the widow down the corridor, Sano felt glad he’d established authority over his watchdogs, but his head had begun to ache. The widow led him and Otani to a smaller, vacant reception chamber. She gestured for them to sit in the place of honor before the alcove, which contained a verse on a scroll and bare branches in a black vase. She knelt and waited meekly.

Sano and Otani seated themselves. “My apologies for interrupting your husband’s funeral rites and intruding on you, Lady Agemaki,” Sano said. He recognized the name of a princess in The Tale of Genji, the famous novel of the Imperial Court, written some six centuries ago. Makino’s widow had a certain regal, refined air that suited the name to her. “But the circumstances give me no choice. I’m sorry to say that your husband was murdered.” Sano explained about Makino’s letter. “The shogun has ordered me to honor your husband’s wish that I bring his killer to justice and avenge his death. Now I need your help.”

Agemaki nodded, glancing at Sano from beneath lowered eyelids. “For the sake of my beloved husband… I will gladly help you.”

“Then I must ask you to answer some questions,” Sano said.

“Very well.”

“I understand that you live in Makino-san’s private quarters. Is that correct?”

“That is correct,” Agemaki whispered. Her speech had a prim, formal quality.

“Were you there the night he died?”

“Yes… I was there.”

“When was the last time you saw him alive?” Sano asked.

Agemaki hesitated. Sano had a feeling, based only on instinct, that she was deciding whether to tell the truth-or how much of it. “I believe I last saw my husband soon after the temple bells rang the hour of the dog,” she said. “That was his usual bedtime.”

“What happened?” Sano said.

“We bid each other good night,” Agemaki said. “I retired to my chamber.”

“You didn’t sleep in his?”

An indefinable emotion fluttered the woman’s eyelashes. “No.”

If she was telling the truth, then she wasn’t the woman who’d had sex with Makino that night, Sano thought. The fabric and style of the torn kimono sleeve didn’t match her age or marital status. He had no reason to doubt her word, except an unfounded hunch.

“Did you speak to your husband after you left him?” Sano asked Agemaki.

“No… I did not.”

“What did you do next?”

“I went to bed.”

“Did you hear any sounds from your husband’s chamber?”

Agemaki slowly inhaled, then exhaled, before she answered, “I heard nothing.”

“Would you please show me your chamber?” Sano said.

“Certainly.”

She led Sano out of the mansion, across the walkway and garden to the building that housed Makino’s private quarters. Otani shadowed them, frowning as he tried to discern Sano’s purpose. Inside the quarters they followed the corridor past Makino’s chamber and turned a corner. As Sano had noted yesterday, the building was roughly square, with the rooms arranged around the courtyard. Agemaki opened the door to a room adjacent to Makino’s. Upon entering, Sano saw furnishings appropriate for an aristocratic lady-a dressing table with mirror and jars of makeup, an expensive brocade kimono on a stand, a screen decorated with gilded birds, lacquer chests and silk floor cushions. Sano noted the lattice-and-paper partition that separated the chamber from Makino’s.