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other table, delaying his first look at the body emerging from the shroud. Wrapped inside the blue trousers and kimono he found one straw sandal.
    â€œA poor man,” Sano remarked, fingering the coarse, cheap material of the clothes. The sandal, heavily worn on the inner heel, could have belonged to any commoner. He sighed. “The Nius would have opposed a marriage between him and Yukiko for that reason alone.” Had he risked Ogyu’s wrath and braved the jail’s horrors for nothing? “Maybe it was a love suicide after all.”
    â€œPerhaps Noriyoshi himself will tell us.” Dr. Ito laid aside hisbook and walked toward the now-exposed body. Although his posture was upright and authoritative, he moved gingerly. A spasm of pain crossed his face. “You may go now,” he said to the
eta
who had brought the body. “Mura-
san
, I’d like you to stay.”
    Unable to postpone seeing the body any longer, Sano looked toward the table.
    His first sensation was relief. The rigidity that held Noriyoshi’s limbs stiff, his toes pointed straight at the ceiling, and his mouth agape made him resemble a somewhat grotesque doll instead of a man who had once lived and breathed. He bore no resemblance to the mutilated corpses Sano had seen at the public execution grounds, or to the bloated carcasses pulled from the canals after a flood. Dirt and shreds of seaweed clung to his bare skin and his loincloth, but there was no blood and no sign of decay. Curious now, Sano approached the table for a closer look. The deep red bruises circling Noriyoshi’s wrists and ankles caught his attention.
    â€œBurns from the ropes that bound him to Yukiko,” Dr. Ito explained.
    Otherwise, Noriyoshi was unmarked. His stomach was paunchy and his face puffy, but his arms and legs were wiry and he had most of his teeth. Before his death, he’d apparently enjoyed at least fair health for a man of forty-odd years. If he had died by any means other than drowning himself, it didn’t show.
    â€œI’ve seen enough,” Sano said. “Thank you for—”
    But Dr. Ito didn’t seem to hear. Frowning at Noriyoshi, he said, “Mura-
san
. Turn him.”
    The
eta
obligingly rolled the body onto its side. Dr. Ito bent over it, scrutinizing the head and neck.
    Sano moved closer. Then he caught the body’s odor: a sweet, sickly butcher-shop scent, mixed with the fishy taint of the river. He moved back toward the open window. Ito gestured for the
eta
to turn Noriyoshi facedown.
    â€œWhat caused this?” Sano asked, pointing to what looked likea large reddish bruise discoloring Noriyoshi’s back, buttocks, arms, and legs.
    â€œThe blood settling after death.” Taking a cloth from inside his coat, Ito covered his hand with it. Then he began to probe Noriyoshi’s head. Despite being a doctor of progressive outlook, he apparently hadn’t overcome his own aversion to the dead.
    â€œMura-
san
, a knife and razor,” Ito ordered. Then, to Sano: “There is a flattened spot here at the base of the skull. We shall have a better look at it.”
    Sano looked, but saw nothing. He didn’t want to touch the head himself. He waited while Mura cut away a patch of hair and shaved the scalp bare where Ito had pointed. Then he saw the livid purple indentation. He shifted his gaze to Ito’s face and kept it there.
    â€œWhat caused it? A blow that killed him before he was thrown into the river?”
    â€œOr perhaps a rock or piling that struck him—when he jumped into the river.” Dr. Ito emphasized the last words. “Or during the first hour after death, when a blow could still produce a bruise. It is impossible for me to say. But there is a way to tell if he did drown.”
    Sano’s pulse quickened. Instinct told him that a murderer had inflicted Noriyoshi’s wound. He must know for certain. “How?” he asked eagerly.
    â€œIf he