The yoriki stopped and slowly turned toward Father Mateo.
Hiro shifted his weight to his toes and prepared to fight. No one accused a yoriki of corruption without consequence.
To Hiro’s surprise, the assistant magistrate didn’t draw his sword.
“The details of Chikao’s murder might cause violence within the brewers’ guild,” the yoriki said. “The shogun’s recent death has the samurai clans on the brink of war. I do not need a war among the artisans as well.
“Chikao died in a fight. Anyone who says otherwise will be punished.”
“The family will guess the truth,” Father Mateo said. “No one will believe those injuries came from a simple fight.”
“That is not your problem,” the yoriki said. “I allowed you to see the body as a courtesy. Do not repay my kindness by causing trouble.”
“We have no wish to cause trouble,” Hiro said. “We didn’t even know Chikao.”
“But you know Ginjiro.” The yoriki looked down the street and frowned. “Fools! I told them to send Ren to the Lucky Monkey.”
His gaze shifted back to Hiro and Father Mateo. “The dead man’s business partner is coming. One word out of place, and I’ll have you flogged.”
Hiro understood the yoriki’s wish to avoid more violence but disagreed with forcing Ginjiro to bear the blame. Not without more evidence of guilt. Hiro didn’t normally involve himself in other men’s business, but couldn’t abide a yoriki who blamed the innocent just to close a case.
Father Mateo’s chagrined expression suggested the Jesuit also had no intention of letting the matter drop. For once, Hiro agreed with the priest. They would conduct an investigation, with or without the yoriki’s permission.
Hiro just hoped that Father Mateo was smart enough not to say so.
He turned as footsteps approached behind him. Hiro stood several inches taller than Chikao’s business partner, but the sake brewer weighed substantially more. Muscled arms bulged the sleeves of the brewer’s striped kimono, and his waist was thick, but not with soggy fat. His slicked-back hair had a slight green tinge, suggesting its deep black color was not natural.
The brewer bowed to the yoriki. “A dōshin came to my home. He mentioned an accident and sent me here. Why are we at Ginjiro’s?”
“Thank you for coming so quickly, Ren.” The yoriki’s tight-lipped expression promised an unpleasant afternoon in store for the dōshin who delivered the incorrect message. “There has, indeed, been an accident, but I intended for you to meet me at your brewery, not this one. Unfortunately, the dōshin delivered my message incorrectly.”
After an awkward pause the yoriki added, “I need you to break the news to Chikao’s widow.”
“Widow?” Ren’s forehead wrinkled. “What happened to Chikao?”
“A fight—” the yoriki began.
Before he could finish Ren exclaimed, “Ginjiro killed Chikao?”
“We do not know that,” Father Mateo said.
The yoriki cut the Jesuit off with a glare.
“Ginjiro must be involved,” Ren said. “There’s no other reason to send me here, and I know they argued yesterday. Ginjiro hit Chikao and threatened worse. Where is my partner’s body? I want to see him.”
“The bearers have already carried him off,” the yoriki lied, his words surprisingly convincing. “Ginjiro is under arrest and will be punished, though the evidence shows the death was accidental.”
“Chikao is really dead?” Ren’s eyes reddened. “This will devastate Mina.”
The yoriki nodded. “All the more reason for her to hear the news from you and not a dōshin. Will you accept the responsibility?”
Ren dipped his head in consent. “Of course.” He clenched his jaw and looked away, fighting to keep his emotions under control. “How did this happen? How did he die?”
“The details remain under investigation,” the yoriki said. “I cannot tell you any more.”
“Would you like me to accompany you?” Father Mateo asked the brewer. “Often, a priest can make these burdens lighter.”
Ren looked at Father Mateo. “Thank you, but Mina would prefer a Buddhist priest.” He bowed to cover the need to wipe his tears. “Please excuse me, I have sad news to bear.”
He straightened and walked away.
Hiro doubted Chikao’s family and friends would accept the yoriki’s explanation quite so easily after the initial shock wore off. Still, grief came first. Questions would follow later.
When Ren had left, Father Mateo turned to the yoriki. “I trust your familiarity with the victim and his family didn’t influence your decision not to investigate the crime.”
Hiro stared at Father Mateo. Even a fool knew not to accuse a yoriki a second time.
The yoriki narrowed his eyes at Hiro. “Translate my next words with exceptional care.
“I need not defend myself to any man. However, I will explain—once more—because the magistrate respects this foreign priest.
“I know Chikao because I arrest his son on a regular basis, usually for fighting and public drunkenness. I know Chikao’s partner, Ren, because the profits from their brewery often go to pay young Kaoru’s fines. I assure you, I do not consider either man a friend. In truth, I regret it was the father—not the son—who died today.”
At the end of the Portuguese translation Hiro added, “Do not antagonize him further.”
Father Mateo held Hiro’s gaze just long enough to make the shinobi wonder if the priest would ignore the instruction. Finally, the Jesuit nodded. “Will the magistrate punish Ginjiro’s wife and daughter?”
The yoriki shook his head. “The brewer’s guilt will not extend to his family unless they played a role in the crime. Based on the facts, that seems unlikely. I will tell the magistrate they are innocent.”
Hiro’s attitude toward the yoriki softened slightly at those words, though he disagreed with the man’s conclusions about Ginjiro.
“Please excuse me,” the yoriki said, “I must report to the magistrate.”
“What about the body?” Father Mateo asked.
“The eta will see to the corpse.” The yoriki indicated a trio of men approaching from the north. They walked unusually close together, heads low and faces bowed to the ground. Strips of cloth around their heads identified them as members of the untouchable caste.
The yoriki walked away. He paused to give instructions to the untouchables, who nodded in understanding but did not speak or meet his eyes.
Father Mateo watched the silent men walk past and enter the alley. “Are they outcastes?” he asked with interest. “I’ve never met one, until now.”
“You won’t now, either,” Hiro said. “Not even beggars converse with their kind.”
Father Mateo looked disappointed. “No man is untouchable to God.”
“If you want to help Ginjiro, you will leave them unmolested.” Hiro started toward the brewery. “Besides, we need to speak with Ginjiro’s family.”
The shutters across the storefront rattled open as Hiro approached. Tomiko stood alone in the doorway. Despite her reddened eyes, she shed no tears. Instead, she gave Hiro the even look of a competent merchant. Unlike a samurai woman, she had no need to act demure.
“Good morning, Tomiko,” Hiro said in formal Japanese. “Please accept our condolences.”
“My father did not kill Chikao,” Tomiko said. “I need your help to prove it.”
Father Mateo joined Hiro at the door. “We will help in any way we can.”
“Have you evidence to prove your father’s innocence?” Hiro asked.
Tomiko’s shoulders drooped. She shook her head. “We were sleeping when the murder happened.”
“The yoriki claims your father argued with Chikao last night,” Father Mateo said. “Did you hear it? Do you know what happened?”
Tomiko shook her head again. “I didn’t work in the shop last night.”
“Don’t worry,” Hiro said. “I was here. I saw the argument.”