Hiro considered Akechi Yoshiko. Even without her geta, she stood taller than Chikao. A twig had a better chance of frightening a bonfire. Still, she admitted the assault, and Hiro didn’t need to prove the reason.
“I apologize for my error,” Hiro said. “After Akechi-san fended off Chikao, the brewer returned to his shop with a bruise on his eye and a lie on his lips. He told his wife and business partner that Ginjiro hit him. He also said Ginjiro threatened worse unless Chikao made a payment against Kaoru’s debt that night.”
“My father was not a liar,” Kaoru said. “Ginjiro struck him, not this … woman.”
“This samurai woman says she struck your father,” Hiro said.
“Why would my father lie?” Kaoru demanded.
“Would you admit to your wife and son that a woman bruised your face?” Hiro asked.
“I wouldn’t,” the magistrate said.
A ripple of amusement passed through the crowd.
Hiro waited for the laughter to subside before continuing. “Chikao spent the rest of the evening at his brewery. Didn’t he, Ren?”
Ren nodded. “Yes, that’s true.”
“Thank you,” Hiro said. “That night, after the Lucky Monkey closed, Chikao returned to Ginjiro’s. Finding it closed, Chikao went into the alley, intending to knock at the private door. Given their earlier argument, Chikao would not have cared about forcing Ginjiro out of bed.”
“That’s when Ginjiro killed him,” Kaoru said.
“You think so?” Hiro asked. “Then tell me: how did Ginjiro, acting alone, surprise Chikao from behind? The lethal blow was struck on the back of the head.”
“He did it somehow,” Kaoru said. “Maybe his daughter helped him.”
“A valid and intriguing possibility,” Hiro said, “and one I did consider for a while. However, Tomiko believed her father would never force her to marry you—and had she plotted with her father to kill Chikao, they would have left a murder weapon implicating bandits or planted a weapon belonging to someone else. That didn’t happen.
“In fact, the dōshin never found a murder weapon.”
“Yes, they did,” Ren said. “A broken flask, impressed with Ginjiro’s seal.”
Hiro smiled. “Thank you for correcting my mistake.”
Magistrate Ishimaki scowled at Ren. “Who told you about the flask and the seal?”
“No one told him,” Hiro said. “He knows because he killed Chikao and left the evidence there to ensure that your men would blame Ginjiro.”
“I did not!” Ren stepped backward. “That’s ridiculous.”
“No one knew about the flask except the yoriki and the dōshin,” the magistrate said.
“I knew, too!” Suke shouted from the crowd.
Hiro turned as the spectators parted to allow the filthy monk to approach the dais.
Suke bowed dramatically to the magistrate.
“You see?” Ren pointed. “Everyone knew about it, even drunks.”
Suke scowled. “I am not everyone. And it was my flask you stole!”
Magistrate Ishimaki shook his head. “I’m sorry, Matsui-san. Too many people knew about the flask. This man’s knowledge doesn’t prove his guilt.”
“That’s true,” Hiro said, “but it does prove more than you think. Ginjiro’s flask was not the murder weapon—it was left to throw the dōshin off the trail. The real murder weapon was a wooden flask, presumably from the Lucky Monkey.”
Hiro looked at Ren. “It took some time to figure out the truth. I always thought Ginjiro’s flask would break before it shattered Chikao’s skull. Later, I saw the wooden flasks at the Lucky Monkey Brewery, and Yoshiko mentioned her preference for wooden flasks—because they do not break. That’s when I realized Ginjiro’s flask was not the real murder weapon, that the killer saw it in Suke’s hands and used it to blame Ginjiro for his crime.
“At first I suspected Kaoru, but after listening to everyone talk about him, I realized he lacked the intelligence and the drive to plan the crime. Plus, I doubt he knew about the loan.”
“What loan?” Ren turned to the magistrate. “How long are you going to put up with this nonsense?”
Magistrate Ishimaki looked confused. “Loan? What are you talking about?”
“The Lucky Monkey didn’t make a measurable profit,” Hiro said, “and yet, somehow, Chikao intended to pay Ginjiro on the night he died. Despite my questions, no one actually explained how that was possible. Moneylenders wouldn’t loan Chikao and Mina silver to repay the debt, because the Lucky Monkey’s profits weren’t enough to back the loan. Kaoru couldn’t get a loan because of his reputation.
“And yet, just days before Chikao’s murder, someone from the Lucky Monkey did secure a loan, from a moneylender named Basho—a large enough loan that the lender himself had to hide from a debt collector because he couldn’t pay his bills.
“Neither Chikao’s wife nor Kaoru knew about that money. Mina would have mentioned it, and Kaoru would have spent it. By process of elimination, Ren arranged the loan.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ren said. “What loan? What money?”
Hiro turned to the magistrate. “When the yoriki searched Ginjiro’s, did they find a large sum of money?”
“Not a substantial one,” Magistrate Ishimaki said. “Some coins in a cash box, nothing more than a brewery of that size would take in on a normal night.”
“Why would I take out a loan, with or without Chikao’s knowledge?” Ren raised his hands. “I have no debts. I have no need to borrow money. More importantly, why would I kill my business partner?”
Hiro smiled. “You took the loan because you had better credit than Chikao. You intended to use the money to buy Ginjiro’s, but I’d guess you had a backup plan to use it for a brewery of your own if Kaoru’s bad behavior ruined Chikao’s chance to join the guild.
“When Ginjiro threatened to withdraw his support for your application, you realized you’d never succeed in partnership with Chikao. You went along with the plan to vandalize Ginjiro’s brewery, because you’d rather own that shop than buy another. Would you still have killed him if the plan succeeded?”
Ren looked nervous. “I had no reason to kill Chikao.”
“Not until the night he died,” Hiro said. “That’s when he changed the plan and decided to use the money you borrowed to pay off Kaoru’s debt instead of saving it to buy Ginjiro’s or another brewery. That’s why he had the money to make a payment on the loan—he took the coins you were saving, probably without consent. You couldn’t let him do that, so you followed him and killed him.
“Don’t make Magistrate Ishimaki send his men to search your room—we both know they’ll find the money there.”
“Why would I steal back my own money?” Ren pointed at Yoshiko. “You said yourself she carries a wooden flask—and she hires herself out as a brewery guard. Ginjiro must have hired her to protect his brewery that night. She must have killed Chikao!”
“The evidence says otherwise,” Hiro said. “If she killed Chikao, she would have taken the money and probably credited it toward Kaoru’s debt. She could have claimed he gave it to her earlier, before he died. However, she claims the debt remains unpaid.”
“The debt has not been paid.” Yoshiko glared at Ren. “And I did not kill Chikao.”
“She didn’t!” Suke jumped forward. “Hiro-san, I can prove it! The night you asked me to go to Ginjiro’s and listen to the patrons … I overheard Tomiko talking with Akechi-san about the murder.
“Tomiko said she felt guilty about sleeping through the night. She thought, if she’d stayed awake, she might prove her father’s innocence. Akechi-san told Tomiko not to blame herself—and then confessed to falling asleep while waiting for a debtor in Pontocho the very night Chikao was killed. She said she should have watched, but she slept all night and missed the man entirely. She said that sometimes people err and that we cannot blame ourselves for our mistakes.
“Akechi-san could not have killed Chikao—she was sleeping on the job instead!” Suke looked embarrassed. “That’s the important thing that I forgot.”
It figured the only useful clue the monk uncovered was one he forgot to reveal.
Yoshiko’s cheeks flushed red. She bared her teeth at Suke, furious that the monk had revealed her secret.
For a moment, Hiro thought she might attack.
Yoshiko’s anger vanished just as quickly as it came. “It’s true,” she said. “I didn’t want to admit it, because it makes me seem unfit for my job, but I did fall asleep in Pontocho that night.”
Hiro turned to Ren. “Leaving only you to kill Chikao.”
Ren’s nervousness changed to an angry glare. “Chikao was a stupid fool. He paid off Kaoru’s debts long after a reasonable man would have thrown his worthless son into the street. Owning Ginjiro’s would make us rich, but wasting that money on Kaoru’s debt would ruin us forever.”
He turned to the magistrate and raised his hands in a pleading gesture. “Killing Chikao was the only way to stop him.”
“Why didn’t you keep the loan a secret?” Hiro asked. “Or keep the money where your partner couldn’t get it?”
“Thieves break into rooms like mine,” Ren said. “The brewery was safer, even though I had to tell Chikao about the money. He understood, or said he did, and agreed to keep the secret from his wife—and from Kaoru. We planned to use the silver to buy Ginjiro’s, after we forced the sale. He had no right to change the plan!”
“You killed my father over a bag of silver?” Kaoru drew a dagger and lunged at Ren.
Hiro grabbed the young man’s wrist and pressed a thumb between the bones of Kaoru’s hand. Chikao’s son gave a cry of pain and dropped the dagger.
“Stop,” Hiro said. “The magistrate will deal with Ren.”
“He killed my father,” Kaoru said.
“Silence!” Magistrate Ishimaki shouted. Lowering his voice, he continued, “I declare the brewer innocent. Release him, with apologies for this unfortunate misunderstanding.”
The dōshin standing behind Ginjiro cut the ropes that bound his limbs and helped him to his feet.
Ginjiro bowed to the magistrate. “Thank you for your wisdom and your mercy.”
The magistrate turned his gaze to Ren. “Seize the murderer and bring him forward.”