Free Assassin's Touch by Laura Joh Rowland

two problems that are more immediate than catching the killer,” Sano said. “First, how are we going to hide the fact that Ejima’s body was dissected?”
    “I’ve already taken care of that,” Hirata said. “I had Dr. Ito’s assistant wrap up its head. Then I took it home and had my servants dress it in a white silk robe and lay it in a coffin filled with incense. When I delivered it to Ejima’s family, I told them that I’d prepared it for the funeral. The reason I gave was that I wanted to spare them the sight of Ejima’s terrible wounds. I also said I would pay for a grand funeral. I gave the family a quick look at Ejima, then sealed up the coffin. They were so grateful that I don’t think they’ll open it for a closer look.”
    “Well done,” Sano said, impressed by Hirata’s ingenuity. “But I’ll pay for the funeral.” That was a small price for keeping the examination a secret.
    “What’s the second problem? How to tell Lord Matsudaira that Ejima was murdered by dim-mak without saying how we found out?” Hirata said.
    Sano nodded as he set aside his chopsticks. “But I have a solution. I’ll tell you on the way to the palace.”
    A waxing crescent moon adorned the indigo sky over the peaked tile roofs of the palace. Flames glimmered in stone lanterns around the complex of half-timbered buildings and along the white gravel paths that crossed its lush, still gardens. Frogs sang in ponds while gunshots echoed from night target practice at the martial arts training ground. Patrolling guards wore Lord Matsudaira’s crest, asserting his place in the heart of the Tokugawa regime.
    When Sano, Hirata, and detectives Marume and Fukida arrived in search of Lord Matsudaira, the sentries at the palace door directed them to the shogun’s private quarters. There they found a party in progress. Handsome boys dressed in gaudy silk robes played the samisen, flute, and drum; others danced. The shogun lolled on cushions while more boys chattered around him and plied him with wine. His taste for young males was public knowledge. That he preferred them to his wife and concubines explained why he’d failed to produce a blood heir. Near the shogun sat Lord Matsudaira and two members of the Council of Elders, which comprised the shogun’s chief advisors and the regime’s principal governing body. Lord Matsudaira knelt with his arms folded and his expression grim: He disapproved of such frivolous entertainment. The elders sipped wine and nodded their heads in time to the music.
    “Well?” Lord Matsudaira said eagerly as Sano and his companions approached, knelt, and bowed. “Was it murder?”
    “It was,” Sano said. The elders frowned in concern. The shogun dragged his attention away from the dancers and regarded Sano with befuddlement. His face was flushed from the wine; his hand fondled the knee of the boy seated beside him.
    This was Yoritomo, the shogun’s current favorite. He was a youthful, strikingly beautiful likeness of his father, the former chamberlain. Although Lord Matsudaira had exiled Yanagisawa and his family, Yoritomo remained in Edo because the shogun had insisted on keeping him. He had Tokugawa blood—from his mother, a relative of the shogun—and rumor said he was heir apparent to the dictatorship. The shogun’s fondness protected Yoritomo from Lord Matsudaira, who wanted to eliminate everyone connected to his rival. Yoritomo smiled shyly; his large, liquid black eyes, so like his father’s, glowed with happiness at seeing Sano.
    “So I was right.” Gratification swelled Lord Matsudaira’s countenance. “I knew it.”
    “Who are you talking about?” the shogun said.
    “Ejima, chief of the metsuke .” Lord Matsudaira barely hid his impatience. “He died this morning.”
    “Ahh, yes,” the shogun said with an air of dim recollection.
    “I thought Ejima took a fall at the racetrack,” said one of the elders. He was Kato Kinhide, who had a broad, leathery face with slit-like