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Christian.”
    “She’s also a liar.”
    “I don’t like you saying that, even if you think it’s true.”
    “Almost everything she told us was a lie,” Hiro persisted, “and the way she looked at Mayuri suggests they both know what really happened. They’re covering something up.”
    “Impossible,” Father Mateo said. “You have no proof of that.”
    “But I do. Someone moved the body shortly after the crime. Given the bloodstained kimono, I’m guessing it was Sayuri.”
    “Why would she do that?” the priest asked. “And even so, moving him doesn’t mean she killed him. She could have moved him this morning when she woke up and discovered him dead.”
    “The evidence says otherwise.” Hiro made a sweeping gesture. “Neck wounds spray blood everywhere. You saw the droplets on the wall and on the floor.
    “Hideyoshi was facing the tokonoma when someone attacked him from behind. The drops all sprayed in the same direction, which means he didn’t fight. He probably didn’t have time. Blood spattered the wall and pooled on the floor in front of the alcove, but there were only minor bloodstains on the futon, the kind that happen when blood has ceased to flow actively through the veins.
    “Had Sayuri moved him hours after death, as her story implies, there would have been no blood on the futon at all.”
    “Maybe the killer moved him after the attack.”
    “Why would a killer do that?” Hiro waited, but the priest didn’t answer. “A killer who rips out throats and gouges eyes doesn’t stop to arrange the victim on a futon.”
    “Unless he wanted to throw suspicion on Sayuri,” Father Mateo said.
    “Did he smear blood on her kimono while she slept?” Hiro shook his head. “If you want to discover who killed the samurai, you have to stop accepting lies as truth.”
    “But how will we find the truth? If we can’t trust Sayuri, who can we trust?”
    “Trust the evidence,” Hiro said. “Facts don’t lie, and when people do, their stories still lead to the truth eventually. Follow a lie far enough and you will reach a fact.
    “We know where and when the killer struck, but why that time and place? Why did someone want Hideyoshi dead? If we can answer those questions I think we can find the killer, but you must understand, if Sayuri is guilty I will turn her over to Nobuhide and you must not interfere.”
    “Agreed,” Father Mateo said, “but Sayuri is innocent. You will see.”
    *   *   *
     
    Four samurai stood guard outside the Sakura Teahouse, one at each of the garden gates and two more leaning against the stone dogs near the path. They wore baggy trousers and wide-shouldered surcoats, like Nobuhide’s but more cheaply made. All four wore swords and carried hooked jitte , which identified them as d ō shin, low-ranking policemen undoubtedly under Nobuhide’s command.
    The dead man’s son had wasted no time putting his underlings on guard.
    Hiro leaned toward Father Mateo as they approached. “Speak Portuguese if you have to speak at all.”
    Three of the d ō shin had graying hair and the confident calm of experienced policemen. The fourth was no more than twenty, with the rounded face and slightly overweight build of a pampered son. His scraggly mustache, grown to show his manhood, had the opposite result.
    The older d ō shin nodded as Hiro reached the walk. The younger man leaned back against his statue, withholding respect to reinforce his authority.
    “What is your business here?” the young d ō shin demanded. “No one enters this house today.”
    Father Mateo began to bow but Hiro stopped him with a look.
    “Is the house under quarantine?” Hiro asked.
    The older d ō shin glanced at his young companion, but the silent warning went unnoticed. The young man raised his jitte to block the path. The weapon shone like new, in sharp contrast to the d ō shin ’s fraying sleeves and faded trousers.
    “We are guarding this establishment. There has been a