Sano heard uncertainty in her voice. In the past Reiko had been quick to make up her own mind, and he realized how much self-doubt the Black Lotus case had instilled her. During that investigation he’d battled her convictions and wanted her to yield to his; yet he now regretted that she was deferring to his judgment at a time when he needed an independent opinion. Sano wished he could be sure of the pillow book’s authenticity, for he had his own doubts about it.

“Would you please read a page aloud?” he said to Reiko.

She complied. Sano listened, frowning because what he’d noticed while reading the words grew more apparent upon hearing them. They didn’t sound like Wisteria, though he couldn’t define exactly why not.

Reiko ceased reading. “What is it?” she said, looking curiously at Sano.

What he’d omitted telling Reiko about the case now enmeshed him in a thickening tangle of deceit. He couldn’t voice his concerns about the pillow book without admitting he’d known Wisteria. If he did admit he’d known the courtesan, Reiko would ask why he hadn’t said so before. And if she learned the reason now, his evasiveness would hurt her more than honesty would have at the start.

“It’s too bad the pages came without the cover,” he said. “That would have been easily recognized by people who’d seen Lady Wisteria’s pillow book.”

Reiko wore a quizzical expression that told him she knew he hadn’t said what he was really thinking and wondered why. But she didn’t ask. Sano saw Hirata watching him. Hirata had known about Sano’s relationship with Wisteria since Sano had told him on the way home from Yoshiwara that first day, and Sano was glad he could trust Hirata to keep the secret, even from Reiko.

“I searched for the cover,” Hirata said, “but the garbage had been taken away and burned, and the alley swept clean. If the cover was ever there, it’s gone now.”

“That brings us to the question of why the pages were in the alley,” Sano said.

“Wisteria could have thrown them away,” said Hirata. “Maybe she didn’t need to write anymore because she was starting a new life. But she didn’t want anyone to read her private thoughts, so she tore up the book, then put the pages in the garbage as she and her lover were leaving the Owariya.”

“But she was a runaway courtesan,” Reiko said, “and she would know her master would look for her.” Brothel proprietors hired searchers to track down fugitives, and added the cost of the search to the debt of women who got caught. “Why would she leave clues to where she planned to go? Why not take the book with her, or burn it?”

“Maybe she wasn’t smart enough to think of that,” Hirata said.

“The book could be a fake, with misleading details about her lover and her plans, that she put in the alley, to thwart anyone looking for her,” Reiko said.

Hirata defended his find: “Maybe she just didn’t think anyone would care enough about getting her back that they would bother looking for her pillow book.”

“Probably no one would have cared that much, if Wisteria hadn’t left Lord Mitsuyoshi dead in her room.” Sano followed this line of reasoning to a thought that disturbed him. “What if she didn’t know he’d died? That would explain why she carelessly tossed away the pages-if indeed she did. Maybe she’d already left Yoshiwara by the time Mitsuyoshi was stabbed. Certainly, there’s nothing in the pillow book to indicate that she witnessed the murder.”

Reiko and Hirata’s somber silence acknowledged the possibility that he was right.

Sano picked up the pages, then set them down. “In that case, these would do us no good, even if they’re for real, because finding Wisteria won’t help us identify the killer.”

The house was so quiet that they could hear the coals in the braziers crumbling into ash. The lantern’s flame flickered as the oil burned low. Yet Sano needed to keep hope alive.

“Still, I believe Lady Wisteria was in some way involved with the murder and does have knowledge that’s critical to our investigation,” he said. “The pillow book could be a genuine clue to her whereabouts. We’ll treat it as such, while we try to verify whether it is or isn’t.

“Hirata-san, tomorrow I want you to check out the Suruga teahouses and the noodle shops of Fukagawa. Also, send out a notice to the neighborhood headmen throughout Edo, ordering them to report any men from Hokkaido seen in their areas. I’ll send search parties out on the northern highway to look for a traveling couple, in case Wisteria and her lover have already left town.”

“Shall I find out if any of the women I know have heard anything about Wisteria’s secret lover from Hokkaido?” Reiko said. She looked chastened by her failure to learn anything today, and eager for a second chance.

“That’s a good idea,” Sano said. “The lover is a potential witness, and his name, or even a description of him, would help us find him and Wisteria.”

Nodding, Reiko smiled in thanks.

“We’ll keep the pages a secret,” Sano said. “Police Commissioner Hoshina is shadowing every bit of ground I cover, interrogating the same people. The pillow book is the one clue we have that won’t fall into his hands.”

Sano rose, adding in grim conclusion, “It could also be our only hope of beating him to the solution to the case before he sabotages us.”

Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s estate was isolated in a separate compound in Edo Castle, high on the hill and near the palace. Around this fortress within a fortress, spikes protruded from the top of the stone wall to discourage trespassers, and the cold, clear night vibrated with the alertness of many guards at the gates, perched on the roofs of the buildings, and hidden in the grounds. The mansion they protected was a maze of interconnected wings, with soldiers’ barracks surrounding principal retainers’ quarters. At the center lay the private domain of the chamberlain.

Here, Police Commissioner Hoshina stood at the threshold of the bedchamber. The doorway framed a view of Yanagisawa, who reclined on cushions inside, his elegant profile outlined by the lantern-light. With his silk kimono, trousers, and surcoat arranged in still, lustrous folds, he looked as perfectly composed as a painting. Deep in thought, he didn’t appear aware that Hoshina had come. Yet Hoshina knew Yanagisawa had heard the alarm given by the nightingale walk-the specially constructed floor that emitted loud chirps under approaching footsteps. Yanagisawa knew whose arrival the alarm signaled, because Hoshina was the only person welcome in his bedchamber.

But their relations had been strained since the murder of Lord Mitsuyoshi, and Hoshina hesitated, wondering whether to interrupt Yanagisawa’s reverie.

Then Yanagisawa lifted a silver tobacco pipe to his lips. He exhaled smoke, and turned toward Hoshina. As their gazes met, Hoshina felt his heartbeat quicken and his senses come alive, as they always did when he was with Yanagisawa, even after two years together. But Yanagisawa wore an air of abstracted calm; he merely gestured for Hoshina to join him.

“I looked for you earlier,” Hoshina said, entering the room and kneeling near Yanagisawa.

“I had business to attend to,” Yanagisawa said.

That he didn’t say where he’d been irked Hoshina. Although Hoshina accepted that he was accountable to Yanagisawa while the chamberlain owed him no explanations, Hoshina often found his subordinate status difficult to bear. His passionate love for Yanagisawa only worsened the damage to his pride and the hurt caused him by Yanagisawa’s cool greeting.

Nonetheless eager to please his master, Hoshina said, “I spent the day investigating the murder, and I’ve turned up some interesting facts. Treasury Minister Nitta has implicated a hokan named Fujio. Unfortunately, Sano got to Fujio before I did. But what Sano doesn’t know is that one of my spies-a maid at the Owariya-saw Fujio on the stairway just before the murder was discovered. She saved the information for me.”