“How did you learn so much about death?” Father Mateo asked as he helped the shinobi turn Chikao onto his stomach.
“A shinobi has to understand the body and how it works,” Hiro said.
“Yes,” the Jesuit countered, “but the skills required to kill a man aren’t quite the same as the ones you use to reconstruct the death of a total stranger. I’ve wondered this before but never found a good time to ask. How did you learn to read a corpse so well?”
Hiro shifted his gaze to the body. “You do not want to know.”
“If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t ask.”
Hiro glanced at the priest. “Then I choose not to tell you.”
He bent forward and touched the flattened area at the base of Chikao’s skull. The fractured bone moved beneath his fingers as he palpatated the injury.
“The lower left side of his skull is shattered.” Hiro withdrew his hand. “I can’t tell exactly how badly, but the extent of the injury doesn’t matter. This is the one that killed him. The first blow probably knocked him unconscious. It might or might not have cracked his skull. Chikao fell to the ground, and the killer struck him several times—substantially more than necessary to kill him.”
“That probably rules out bandits,” the Jesuit said.
Hiro nodded. “Only an angry killer does this much damage.”
“Or, possibly, someone who hated him?” Father Mateo asked.
“Perhaps, but hatred tends to express itself in calculating ways.” Hiro gestured toward Chikao’s broken skull. “It’s fury that doesn’t know when to stop attacking.”
“What can you tell about the weapon?” Father Mateo asked. “Could Ginjiro’s stoneware flask have caused this damage?”
“The flask is a problem,” Hiro said. “I can’t be sure.”
Father Mateo considered this. “Could the killer have known how to swing the flask in a way that prevented its breaking long enough to kill Chikao?”
“Perhaps,” Hiro said. Which looks bad for Ginjiro.
He indicated the tear in Chikao’s scalp. “Look closely. What do you see?”
Father Mateo leaned forward. “Not as much blood as I would expect from a head wound. He died before the cut occurred.”
Hiro smiled. “Yes, but we already established that in the alley. This suggests another fact as well. Would you like to guess?”
Father Mateo thought for a moment and shook his head, defeated. “Nothing comes to mind, except that only a coward attacks a man from behind.”
“Exactly,” Hiro said. “I’ve seen what I needed. Let’s turn him over.”
“We haven’t seen anything new,” Father Mateo protested as he helped return Chikao’s corpse to its former position.
“We confirmed the killer’s rage,” Hiro said, “which means the motive probably wasn’t debt.”
“That eliminates Yoshiko as a suspect,” Father Mateo said.
“Not completely,” Hiro said, “but, if Yoshiko killed Chikao, it was not because he owed her money.”
* * *
As Mina walked the men to the door, she asked, “Did your examination reveal anything of interest?”
“Nothing useful,” Hiro lied.
“We apologize for troubling you.” Father Mateo hesitated.
Hiro recognized the earnest, hopeful look on the Jesuit’s face—the expression of a man who yearned to talk about his god.
Mina noticed the priest’s expression too. “I see you have something more to say. Please say it.”
“Would you allow me to return and speak with you before you become a nun?” Father Mateo asked. “I would like to hear more about your faith and tell you about mine.”
“I will consider it.” Mina opened the door that led to the street.
Hiro admired her subtle denial. He also doubted that Father Mateo understood her words were a rejection.
“Will you open the Lucky Monkey tonight?” Father Mateo asked.
Mina shook her head. “The shop is closed, at least until after my husband’s funeral. People do not drink sake under a roof that shelters the dead.”
* * *
Hiro and Father Mateo left the alley and walked east toward the Kamo River. As they turned north onto the road that followed the river, Hiro appreciated the late-summer afternoon. The sun felt warm on his head and shoulders. Familiar smells from the river filled the air.
“Do not use my faith as a diversionary tactic.” Father Mateo’s angry voice interrupted Hiro’s reverie.
“What?” It took the shinobi a moment to process the comment.
“You wanted me to tell Chikao’s wife I would pray for her husband, as if my efforts could change the fate of the unsaved dead.”
“I didn’t do it,” Hiro said.
“Only because the circumstances made your plan unnecessary.” Father Mateo’s voice held a warning edge the shinobi had never heard. “If Mina hadn’t offered us tea, you would have done it, regardless of my opinions on the matter.”
“Is your god so weak that a lie can hurt him?” Hiro asked.
“It isn’t God I need to protect,” Father Mateo said. “A blasphemous lie is a mortal sin. I worry about your soul.”
Hiro raised an eyebrow at the priest. “Well, I suppose that one of us should.”
Anger shone in Father Mateo’s eyes, though he sounded calm. “I do not require you to share my faith, but if you wish to continue in my company, I expect you to refrain from shaming God—or me—in public in the future.”