“Possibly. His servant said he left with a saddlebag, and was dressed for a journey. He may have rented a horse. Did he have any creditors outside the capital?”
“Yes. He sometimes bought art objects from temples and from country manors. I’m afraid he kept business details to himself, perhaps because he did not want me to help him out.”
“The last time I was here, I asked you to think about your sister-in-law.”
Kojiro rubbed his face as if to remind himself of his own problems. “I don’t know what you have heard, so I had better tell you what I saw and thought of her.” He told about his encounters with Nobuko, from their first meeting to the calamitous trip to the temple. He described her beauty and said he had distrusted her for marrying his middle-aged brother, but had accepted her when he saw his brother’s happiness and pride in his young wife’s talents.
“She could play the zither like a professional and knew wonderful songs. Sometimes she even danced for us. My brother was completely enchanted, and in time so was I. I was stunned, appalled, when she approached me one day to suggest we become lovers because my brother was … inadequate and she wanted a child. Torn between disgust and pity, I stopped my visits to my brother’s house. But he sent for me and I went back reluctantly. To my relief, my sister-in-law was cold and distant. I assumed she was embarrassed about the incident.”
“Could she have been angry with you for rejecting her advances?”
Kojiro nodded. “She may have been. At the time I said some things to her that I regret now, but I meant to shock her into having more sense.”
“Do you think she could have found another lover?”
He shook his head. “I have wondered, but don’t see how. My brother never entertained, and the only men who came to his house were clients who never met his wife.”
“What about her life before her marriage? Were there any men in it?”
Kojiro shook his head helplessly. “I know only what she or my brother told me about her family life. Her father is a retired scholar. He moved to Kohata after his wife’s death. Nobuko was raised in the country, but she received a good education from her father. From what she said, I gathered that her life must have been entertaining. They had celebrations on all the festival days, sometimes with singers and musicians, and her father encouraged her to ride and took her with him on hunting trips. I always thought that she must be dreadfully bored in my brother’s house.”
Akitada pulled his earlobe and pondered. “Surely your brother showed her the famous sites of the capital? Or took her to the palace for horse races, and to temples for the festival dances and play performances?”
“No. My brother used to take an interest in theater in his younger years, but lately he considered public entertainments unsuitable for a man in his position and he would never have taken his wife. I thought she had settled for children and a quiet family life.” He flushed a little.
“There were some actors staying at the temple where she died. Uemon’s Players, they called themselves. It may not mean anything, but I knew of your brother’s interest and now you tell me your sister-in-law also may have met such performers.”
Kojiro looked blank. “I did not see them and know nothing of this.”
In the hallway outside the cell, steps and voices approached, followed by the grating of a key in the door. It opened and Kobe stepped in. Kojiro rose, his mouth set and his face expressionless.
Kobe nodded to him and turned to Akitada. “They told me you were here. Does Kojiro know?”
“I only told him what I knew. Was the report correct?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. Sorry, Kojiro. Your brother was found bludgeoned to death near the southern highway. You have my sympathy.”
The prisoner looked down at his shackled hands. They were clenched so tightly that the knuckles showed white against the sun-darkened skin. “Thank you, Superintendent,” he said tonelessly. “I can only hope it was not my arrest and imprisonment which caused my poor brother to undertake this tragic journey.” He grimaced, then looked up at Kobe. “I don’t suppose you would let me out to find the bastards who killed him?”
“You know I cannot do that. There is still a murder charge against you.”
Akitada said, “All the evidence we have points away from Kojiro and to someone else. Now that Nagaoka himself has been killed—and Kojiro certainly could not have done that—is it not likely that the two murders are connected?”
“Why? From all accounts, the man carried money, which has disappeared. He must have been set on by bandits.”
Akitada sighed and rose. It was all too likely. “How is it that you are back so early?” he asked.
“I met my sergeant at the city gate. He was bringing back the body. I suppose you would like to see it for yourself ?”
“Yes.” Akitada turned to Kojiro. “I promise to do my best to find who is responsible for this. I liked your brother, you know. His knowledge of the antique trade was admirable, and he had great affection for you.”
Kojiro struggled to his feet. “I know. Thank you,” he said with a bow.
Akitada and Kobe crossed the prison courtyard to the same small building which had held the corpse of Nagaoka’s wife only a month earlier.
Nagaoka lay in much the same spot. He, too, had suffered dreadful wounds to the head, but his thin, sharp features were untouched and looked strangely noble in death. He wore the clothes the servant had described, but there was something odd about the way the body lay, and Akitada stared for a moment before he realized what bothered him.
“Are his legs broken?”
Kobe looked, then bent to manipulate one of them. “No.”
Behind them the door opened, admitting Dr. Masayoshi, the coroner.
“A new case?” He came forward and stared at Akitada. “You again? Do you make a habit of visiting the dead?”
“And a good day to you, Doctor.” Akitada made him a tiny bow, which the coroner returned in the same deliberately rude manner. Akitada pointed. “What is wrong with this man’s feet?”
Masayoshi looked at the corpse, briefly felt one of the legs, then grinned. “Your little joke, my lord? Forgive me, but it was rather puerile even for you.”
Akitada stared, then flushed at the insult. Controlling his fury with an effort, he walked to the body and jerked off one of the boots. Nothing at all was wrong with Nagaoka’s leg. His boots had been put on the wrong feet. Akitada’s eyes flew to Masayoshi’s face and caught the moment the coroner realized that it had not been a joke after all, but a mistake. Masayoshi’s eyebrows rose mockingly.
Akitada was tempted to wipe the sneer off the man’s face, but he clenched his fists and turned his back abruptly on the grinning coroner. He told Kobe, “Did your men do this?”
But they had not, and it changed everything. Even Kobe could not see bandits taking off their victim’s boots and then replacing them.
Kobe scratched his head. He removed the other boot and looked at Nagaoka’s feet. They wore clean white socks. “Strange!” he muttered. “I thought they might have tortured him. Maybe they tried on his boots and they didn’t fit.”
“Nonsense! They would not have bothered to put them back.”
Masayoshi had knelt to examine the head wound, probing it gently with his fingers. He was pursing his lips. Moving forward, he lifted the dead man’s eyelids and then smelled his mouth. He got to his feet with a satisfied grunt. “Even stranger than the boots,” he said, “is the fact that this man died from poison.”