“What time did Kaoru leave two nights ago?” Hiro asked.
“At closing,” Eba said, “about three hours after midnight.”
“Did he stay in the teahouse all evening?” Father Mateo asked. “Did he leave alone?”
Eba considered the questions. “He might have come and gone—I wasn’t watching. Sometimes he does, sometimes he stays all night. As far as leaving, I think Basho and a couple of others stayed that late. Half a dozen of them left at closing time.”
“Did they leave together?” Father Mateo asked.
“Not that I noticed, but then, I don’t pay attention unless there’s a fight.”
Hiro nodded to end the conversation. “Thank you. We appreciate your help.”
“If I helped.” Eba looked from Hiro to Father Mateo. “You never did say who it was that Kaoru killed.”
“I did not,” Hiro confirmed, “and I don’t intend to.”
“Fair enough,” Eba said. “Killer or no, Kaoru isn’t welcome in my teahouse anymore. Not after this. I’d appreciate your telling him so, when and if you see him. Again, no offense intended.”
“None taken,” Father Mateo replied.
After Eba closed the door, the Jesuit turned to Hiro and said, “I guess the apprentice told the truth about where Basho went.”
“About the teahouse,” Hiro said. “I’m still not sure he took the Tōkaidō.”
He had more to say, but the words died out on his lips when he saw Akechi Yoshiko step out of a building across the street.
She noticed Hiro a moment later.
Yoshiko squared her shoulders and stalked toward Hiro, wearing the glare of a furious tiger. Her left hand gripped the hilt of her katana.
“Matsui Hiro!” she declared. “You stop right there!”
Hiro sensed no immediate danger, though Yoshiko’s disposition indicated the conversation would not be pleasant.
“What does she want?” Father Mateo whispered in Portuguese.
“No idea,” Hiro replied in kind. “She does look angry.”
“What did you do?” Father Mateo asked, but Yoshiko reached them before the shinobi could answer.
She didn’t bow.
“How dare you?” she demanded.
“Good morning, Akechi-san.” Hiro kept his expression neutral. “I am sorry, I don’t understand your question.”
“You lied, and you betrayed me!”
Hiro suspected the samurai woman had talked with Mayuri but feigned ignorance until he knew for sure. “In what way do you believe I have betrayed you?”
“I can’t afford to lose this job.” Yoshiko gripped her katana far too tightly for someone intending to draw it. “My father’s pension ended upon his death, and my share of the Sakura’s profits does not cover my family’s bills.”
Her nose turned red as she added, “I considered you a friend.”
Hiro hoped she wouldn’t cry. He hated it when women cried, especially in public.
Fortunately, she controlled herself before any tears could fall.
“Matsui-san,” Yoshiko said, “you accused me of attacking innocent men—and committing murder. Do not deny it. Mayuri told me everything.”
I doubt that, Hiro thought. Aloud, he said, “I did not accuse you of murder.”
“I only strike the men who refuse to pay,” Yoshiko said. “Recalcitrant debtors are not innocent men.”
Her glance flickered over Hiro’s shoulder toward the Golden Buddha. “What are you doing in Pontocho?” She paused. “You do believe I killed Chikao. You lied to me last night.”
Father Mateo gave Hiro a startled look, but to his credit the Jesuit didn’t speak.
Hiro chose his next words carefully. “I did not tell Mayuri that I thought you killed Chikao.”
“How could you, of all people, believe me guilty of murder?” Yoshiko’s lower lip trembled. Hiro caught the injury in her voice.
Silence stretched between them. As it grew awkward Hiro said, “You do not know what I believe. You make an assumption.”
Yoshiko straightened and raised her chin. “A reasonable one, I think. You made me trust you, and then you lied to me and betrayed my trust.”
“That can’t be true.” Father Mateo stepped forward. “Hiro would never betray a woman’s trust.”
“This is not about trust,” Hiro said. “And it’s not about you, Akechi-san. We are merely using logic to solve a crime. Exactly the way we did with your father’s murder.”
“Then seek logical answers, which don’t involve me.” Yoshiko removed her hand from her sword. “I have nothing to gain from Chikao’s murder. In fact, it disadvantages me severely.”
“Disadvantages you?” Hiro repeated.
“Kaoru will never pay his debt. He’s never paid a debt in his life.” Yoshiko made a frustrated gesture. “You didn’t have to go to Mayuri. I would have told you the truth if you asked. Yes, I saw Chikao the night he died. And yes, we spoke of Kaoru’s debt.”
“His blackened eye suggests he refused to pay.” Hiro spoke with candor. He doubted Yoshiko would ever speak with him again anyway.
On the positive side, he had finally rid himself of her affections.
“Yes, I struck him,” Yoshiko said, “but he had no serious injuries when I left him.”
“Why did you strike him?” Hiro asked.
“He said he didn’t have the money, too many other debts to pay. I didn’t believe him, but when he didn’t change his story after I hit him … I decided it must have been the truth.”
“What changed your mind?” Hiro asked.
Yoshiko shrugged. “Most men pay up to avoid a second strike.”
“How did you learn about Chikao’s death?” Hiro watched her carefully, expecting her to lie.
Yoshiko smiled, though her eyes revealed regret. “I saw you in the prison yard. The dōshin told me who you’d come to see and why. I feigned surprise because I didn’t want to admit to asking about your business.”
To Hiro’s chagrin, he couldn’t tell if Yoshiko spoke the truth.
“I would not have killed Chikao,” she continued. “Losing a father is not a thing I would wish on any man. Not even such a worthless one as Kaoru. Chikao would have paid the debt, in time, but even if he refused to pay I would not kill him—or any other man—over money.”
She met Hiro’s gaze without faltering.
“What brings you into Pontocho this morning?” Father Mateo asked, a bit too brightly.
Yoshiko turned to the priest. Her eyes went cold. “I’m afraid that’s not your business. Please excuse me. I have matters to attend to.”
Hiro and Father Mateo bowed as Yoshiko turned away and started off toward Sanjō Road. After half a dozen paces she turned back. “My mother and I will not be able to host you at our home. Regrettably, it appears our plans have changed.”