Saito snapped, “There’s nothing wrong with our business practices. They’re strictly standard in the city. Because we deal with unscrupulous people who’ll take our money and refuse to pay it back, we carry a big risk that they’ll run away with it.”

“And so you charge how much?”

They balked at answering. Finally Manjiro said, “A third or maybe a half in very risky cases.”

His sister added, “We barely break even at that. People are so unreliable.”

Saburo grimaced. At those rates, there should be a wide field of suspects. “Can you list those who were most desperate or might have reason to feel angry?”

Again Manjiro and Saito exchanged glances, then Manjiro nodded and got up. His sister finally recalled herself to her duties as a hostess and brought some wine and cups. The wine was atrocious. Saburo noticed that Saito did not drink it.

Saburo asked him, “Are there any others who might have had personal reasons to hate your partner? I believe he was quite well-known in the amusement quarter. Perhaps there was a woman whose husband or boyfriend resented him?”

Saito gave him a pitying look. “The women in the quarter work for money. Why should they or their relatives be resentful?”

Nakamura’s daughter shook her head when Saburo turned to her. “They’re cheap sluts,” she said in a venomous tone.

Saburo thought this interesting. Had her father’s amorous escapades threatened her security? It was another thing he could not ask about, so he said nothing.

Eventually Manjiro returned with a list of names. This he passed first to Saito, who scrutinized it, nodded, and handed it to Saburo.

As expected, it was long. Saburo heaved a mental sigh. He handed it back to Manjiro. “Mark those who might be most likely.”

Manjiro passed it to Saito who took the list and studied it. Then he rose and went to the desk to make marks next to several names.

Saburo asked a few more questions about the “marked” persons, and promised to return if he uncovered anything.

Outside, the rain had started. It was getting colder, and Saburo huddled into his robe as he hurried along.

*

The first of the desperate borrowers was a schoolmaster. His house was not far. As it turned out, it was not only modest, but in terrible condition. The roof was missing thatch and looked as though it was ready to collapse in places. The fence had been mended cheaply, and so had the gate.

Saburo opened it and splashed through puddles toward the house. Before he could reach the door, it opened and a woman looked out. She was pale, thin, highly pregnant, and accompanied by two small, skinny children who clung to her worn cotton gown.

Blinking against the rain, she ran a hand over her hair that was coming loose from the twist at her neck. “Yes?” she asked instead of a greeting. She looked frightened.

“Mrs. Kajiwara? My name’s Saburo. I work for Lord Sugawara.”

“Yes?” she said again, now looking puzzled rather than afraid.

“Would your husband be in?”

She nodded. “What is this about?”

Saburo gestured at the rain. “May I come in? It’s about Nakamura Minobe.”

Now the fear was back. Surely he could not have found his killer already. He looked at her and at the wide-eyed little children and hoped not.

She stepped aside, pulling the children with her, and gestured for him to come in.

The house was dark and—in the way of poor homes—smelled of cheap oil, cabbage, and beans. She led the way to the back.

There, in a larger room mostly empty of furnishings, they found the schoolmaster bowed over a desk. He was writing. Beside him lay a small stack of closely written pages. Somewhere, rainwater dripped from the ceiling.

“What is it, Hatsuko?” the schoolmaster asked without looking up.

“This man has come from Nakamura-san.”

The schoolmaster straightened up and turned. Saburo saw that he was near middle-age, thin and pale, with a clean-shaven face. He regarded Saburo with distaste and said, “I don’t have the money. Tell your master I’m working day and night to earn it, but the children have to eat.”

Apparently, the man did not know about Nakamura’s murder.

Saburo said, “I don’t work for Nakamura, sir. I’m here because he was murdered this morning.”

There was a moment’s utter relief on the other man’s face. His wife cried out, “Thank the gods and Amida!”

Her husband said, “I’m ashamed of you, Hatsuko. How can you say such a thing when a man has died?”

“He was an evil man,” she protested.

“Even so.”

Saburo asked, “May I sit down, sir.”

The schoolmaster apologized. “I’m afraid we didn’t expect this news. Forgive my manners. Also forgive the lack of hospitality. We have nothing to offer a guest but water.”

“Water would be very refreshing.”

His wife ran out to get the water, and the schoolmaster studied Saburo for a moment. Then he said, “But surely your purpose for coming here wasn’t to inform me of this murder. Why are you here?”

In answer, Saburo brought out the list Nakamura’s son had made. This he passed to Kajiwara. “The police have arrested a blind shampoo girl, but it’s likely she’ll be cleared. I work for Lord Sugawara and decided to speak to the dead man’s family and his partner. They suggested that the people on this lists might be suspects. Your name was at the top.”

There was a crash. Mrs. Kajiwara had dropped the earthenware pitcher of water. “Oh, husband!” she wailed. “Not more misfortune!”

“Calm down, my dear,” said her husband. “This gentleman will surely explain. Do we have another pitcher?”

She shook her head and crouched to clean up the shards. Saburo got up and took some coppers from his sash. “As it was me who caused the accident,” he said, “allow me to pay for the damage. And I’m not at all thirsty any more. Thank you for your trouble.”

She glanced at her husband, blushed, and took the money. “Thank you, sir. You are kind.”

Her husband muttered, “There was no need.”

Saburo resumed his seat, and the schoolmaster’s wife left the room. Saburo looked at the dim, chilly room, listened to the sounds of water dripping through a torn roof somewhere, and eyed the pages of writing beside the school master. “You’re trying to earn money doing copying work?”

The other man nodded. “I’ll never make enough to pay back all I owe. I should never have gone to Nakamura, but no one else would lend us money. You see, our youngest child got sick this past winter. We tried everything, and in the end the cost of the doctor and his medicines got so high that I borrowed twenty pieces of silver from Nakamura to pay what I owed.” He brushed tears from his eyes. “My little daughter died anyway. Nakamura was very kind and offered me money for her funeral. And after that, he said, ‘Look, you need to get back on your feet. I’ll advance you another twenty. Take your time repaying it.’ I did. Then his partner showed up and demanded repayment. Suddenly I owed more than two hundred pieces of silver. I’ve paid back the first twenty and the second twenty, but I still owe one hundred and sixty. It’s hopeless. I’ve thought of killing myself, but I cannot leave my family with this debt. I’m going to sell the house and we’ll go away, someplace where there are no men like Nakamura and Saito.” He bowed his head and wept.

“I’m very sorry,” said Saburo. “Why aren’t you teaching? Surely that pays better than copying.”

“I lost my post teaching the children in the household of a nobleman. One of the servants accused me of making lewd remarks to one of his lordship’s daughters. It wasn’t true, but no one will let me teach children now.”

His wife had come back quietly. She went to kneel beside her husband. Putting a hand on his, she said, “It was a foul lie. My husband would never do what they said. That man was angry because I refused to sleep with him.”

Kajiwara squeezed her hand. “Ssh! Saburo doesn’t need to know all of our troubles.” He looked at Saburo. “So now I’m accused of murder? Will the police show up on my door step next?”