So Miyagi’s death had caused further misery. Perhaps the old people had also died because their only source of income was gone. “Was there anyone else?” he asked.
“She had a brother. He was a soldier up north. When Tokuzo mistreated her and she cried, I used to tell her to write to him. Miyagi could read and write a little. I don’t know if she did, but she never got any letters, and no brother ever came.”
“What was his name?”
She looked away. “She must have told me, but I don’t remember it. Sorry.” When Saburo said nothing, she added, “I expect he died a long time ago in the fighting. Or else he took a wife up north and won’t come back.”
Saburo looked at her steadily until she started fidgeting. “There must be someone else who killed Tokuzo,” she said nervously.
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Thank you. You’ve been a lot of help.” He got to his feet.
“Help? How?” she asked, looking up at him.
“I don’t know yet.” He hesitated, then said in a rush, “Perhaps some day when you’re free, you’ll allow me to buy you a meal somewhere?”
She blushed. “Maybe, but we’re not supposed to meet customers outside. You could come back here.”
“No,” said Saburo, with a glance around. “You deserve better.”
He left disappointed and strangely stirred by the encounter. She had told him what he wanted to know, even though she had not intended to do so. She had lied about not knowing the brother’s name, and he admired her for it.
It was a bad situation all around.
He went next to the city administration for the western wards. There he asked for the property lists of the ward where the Satake family had resided. He found them quickly: grandfather, grandmother, father, mother, two children. Father and mother had died the same year four years previously, perhaps during the epidemic. The grandparents had remained with the grandchildren: a boy, Narimitsu and a younger girl, Nariko. Nariko must be Miyagi’s real name. The property had changed hands last year, a few months after Miyagi died.
So far, he was no closer. He had merely confirmed what Shokichi had told him. And yet he was certain she had lied about something else.
What if the brother had returned to the capital after all, only to find his sister dead and the family home sold? It would surely make him a prime suspect in Tokuzo’s murder. But how was he to prove this? And where would he find the man?
In Akitada’s household, Saburo had learned to be meticulous. He made another search, this time for the whereabouts of Miyagi’s grandparents. This produced nothing and suggested the old people had left the city. Since he did not know where they might have gone, consulting tax registers was pointless.
It was time to change to another tack. Late that night, Saburo visited a small monastery in the northern foothills. He had to walk and did not reach his destination until well past the hour of the boar. He hoped to get his information and set out on the return journey in time to reach the capital at day break and steal a few hours sleep before reporting to his employer, the rice merchant.
The monastery was too insignificant for elaborate walls and gates, and it did not bother to lock people out. There was nothing to steal here. The monks who lived in this small outpost had other gifts.
As he passed between the wooden buildings, his steps mostly muffled by dewy grass, he looked for a light somewhere, a sign that one of the monks was awake even at this hour.
Instead, the hair on the back of his head suddenly tingled, and he jumped aside. The jump caused him to slip on the wet grass and come down hard on one knee and a hand. A black figure loomed momentarily, blocking out the starry sky. Then its weight crashed down on him.
Saburo grunted and struggled to free himself. In vain. The other man was bigger, younger, stronger. Giving up the unequal contest, he gasped, “Monkey on the roof.”
The other relaxed his grip slightly. “Shinobi?” he asked.
The voice was young. Feeling depressed by the difference between them, Saburo said, “Yes.”
The other jumped up and grasped Saburo’s wrist to pull him upright. In the darkness they faced each other. Their features were shadowy, but Saburo saw that the other was much taller and broader than he and felt a bit better.
His attacker reached for his face. “Mask?” he demanded.
“Ouch! No.” Saburo slapped the other’s hand away. “Mind your manners,” he growled.
“Sorry.” The young monk sounded contrite. “Didn’t know. What are you doing here?”
“I need information.”
“About what?”
“Let me speak to the abbot. Is it still the Reverend Raishin?”
“Yes. Come along then.”
They walked past several shadowy buildings and came to a smaller hall. All was dark inside, but the young monk stepped up on the veranda and cleared his throat. After a moment, a voice from inside asked, “Yes, what is it?”
“It’s Kangyo, Reverence. There’s a visitor here.”
They heard the sound of a flint, and then a soft golden glow seeped through the cracks of the door and a shuttered window. “Come in.”
Saburo followed the young monk through the door he held open. For a moment he blinked against the light, then he saw an elderly monk of astonishing size peering up at him. The abbot must easily be of Genba’s build, though in his case, his shoulders and chest bulged with muscles rather than fat.
“It’s you!” the abbot said, his eyes widening.
“It’s me,” Saburo agreed.
“Leave us, Kangyo. He’s one of us.”
“Yes, Reverence. So he said.” The young man hesitated, looking from the abbot to Saburo and back. “Will it be all right? Should I stay close?”
Abbot Raishin frowned. “No, no. Get back to your rounds.”
They waited until Kangyo had closed the door behind him. The abbot said, “Sit down, Saburo. You look tired. I’ve often wondered how you are managing.”
“Thank you. I manage,” Saburo said drily.
“But not easily, I bet. I grieved over what happened, but we had no choice.”
“I know. Once people see my face, they remember.”
“Yes. Why have you come?”
“A friend of mine is in trouble because of something done by a shinobi. I came to get information about the man.”
“You know I cannot give you information about our people.”
“I think this man may not be one of ours.”
“I see. That’s different. Tell me about it.”
Saburo told Genba’s story from his encounter with the stranger and the dropped needle to his being arrested for Tokuzo’s murder. Then he waited.
The abbot had listened with a lively interest. Now he smiled and said, “That was very careless of him.”
“To be fair, he probably didn’t expect to collide with a wrestler,” said Saburo. “There’s more. I also encountered him. At least I assume it was the same man, because we both had taken an interest in Tokuzo’s place. I got there before him and took the women’s contracts. When I was leaving, he jumped me in the dark hallway. When I came to, the contracts and the needle were gone.”
Abbot Raishin frowned. “It could have been another burglar.”
“He found the needle, though I carried it in the seam of my jacket. Only someone in our business would know where to look.”
“Perhaps. Still, it’s not proof. If this Tokuzo was as evil and as wealthy as you say, he could well have had several enemies.”
Saburo’s heart sank. “It’s all I have, except that Genba remembers the man smelled as if he’d just come from a bathhouse.”
Raishin sat up. “A bathhouse? Now I wonder. Needles. Hmm.”
“Yes,” said Saburo, hope rising again. “It occurred to me also. I agree it’s far-fetched, but there’s a link.” He told the abbot how he had ended up in the beggars’ guild and how none of the beggars had wanted to answer his questions or Tora’s.