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    A kettle hung above the fire, suspended from a chain attached to the ceiling beams. Chou removed the kettle and knelt beside a teapot and a tray of porcelain cups.
    â€œThree cups, but the girl is alone in the room,” Father Mateo whispered in Hiro’s ear. “Satsu knew we would return.”
    Hiro had noticed that too, and didn’t like it.
    â€œMay I offer you gentlemen tea?” Satsu asked.
    â€œNo,” Hiro said. “Just take us to the body.”
    Satsu bowed. “As you wish, sir. Please follow me.”
    He led them to a sliding door on the eastern side of the room, pulled it open, and stepped away so Hiro and Father Mateo could enter first.
    A brazier cast a golden light across the room where Emi lay. Inexpensive tatami filled the air with the scent of grasses. A hint of sandalwood incense also lingered in the room, but faintly, like the ghost of a prayer almost forgotten.
    Emi’s body lay on a woven mat at the center of the tiny room. Nori knelt beside her daughter, head bowed down in grief.
    â€œNori,” Satsu said, “please leave us. Chou will pour you tea.”
    The woman rose, bowed deeply to Hiro and Father Mateo, and left the room without a word.
    Hiro walked to the body and bent to examine Emi’s corpse.
    The grass stains streaking the sides of Emi’s kimono barely showed in the brazier’s flickering light. Hiro would have missed them if he hadn’t known to look. He pulled at the girl’s kimono enough to reveal that the grass stains continued onto the back of the garment.
    â€œWhat do you see?” Father Mateo asked.
    Hiro withdrew his hand and gestured. “Grass stains, here—and on her back. The killer must have held her arms and dragged the body along the ground.”
    â€œHow can you tell?” the Jesuit asked.
    â€œNo stains on the sleeves,” Hiro said, “and none on her shoulders, suggesting those parts of her body didn’t touch the ground while she was moved.”
    He didn’t mention, but did observe, that the stains conflicted with Jiro’s story, unless the killer lured the girl away and then returned her corpse to Jiro’s side without him waking up.
    Hiro saw no open wounds on Emi’s hands, but noted a pair of broken fingernails.
    Father Mateo shuddered. “Do you know what happened to her eyes?”
    The crimson blooms in the whites of her eyes retained their shocking impact even in the darkened room.
    â€œStrangulation,” Hiro said. “It is common, in such cases, for the victim’s eyes to bleed.”
    Satsu nodded, confirming the words.
    â€œYou’ve seen it before?” the Jesuit asked.
    â€œIt’s worse when the victim struggles,” Hiro said. “She struggled hard.”
    Father Mateo turned away.
    â€œHer neck confirms she died by strangulation,” Hiro said. “The marks from the leather strap, and the bruising. Also, see the scratch marks here, and there”—he gestured to vertical scratches on Emi’s neck—“she tried to get away, but failed. Her fingernails made those moon-shaped cuts as she struggled to free herself from the killer’s grip.”
    Father Mateo didn’t answer. Hiro wondered why the Jesuit wouldn’t look at the murdered girl, though he doubted the priest’s objections matched his own. Hiro considered strangulation messy, slow, and painful. He preferred a faster, simpler method when he had to kill.
    Gentle footsteps approached the room. Chou appeared in the doorway, bowed, and stood at her father’s side.
    â€œShow me the coin,” Hiro said.
    â€œI tucked it back where I found it,” Satsu said, “beneath her clothes.” He turned to his daughter. “Show him, Chou.”
    The girl approached and knelt on the opposite side of her sister’s body. She bowed her forehead to the floor. “Will you permit me to assist you, sir?”
    Hiro