Free Death of a Doll Maker by I. J. Parker

Hakata in a neat and substantial compound. Presumably, Mitsui’s daughter had no need for her parents’ money or property. They were admitted by a woman servant.
    The priest, a gray-haired man called Kuroda, received them in his study. “Ah, Maeda,” he said with a sigh. “I’ve been expecting you. How are you? The maid says you wish to see my wife also?”
    Tora recognized the priest, who had been part of the reception committee, and the priest recognized Tora. They bowed to each other. “I’m honored,” said Kuroda, looking from Tora to Maeda and back but sounding not in the least honored. “Has what happened to Mitsui’s wife attracted the attention of the governor?”
    “Not quite,” Maeda said gravely. “Perhaps your lady had best be called, sir.”
    The priest shot him a suspicious glance. “If you insist, but this is very unusual under the circumstances.” He sent for his wife.
    The woman who came was quite beautiful, many years younger than her husband, and dressed in the full Japanese robes of stiff silk, but over them she wore an embroidered Chinese jacket which would have tempted an imperial lady. She did not look particularly distraught.
    “Sergeant Maeda and an, er, official from the governor’s office want to speak to you,” her husband told her.
    She eyed them placidly.
    Maeda looked uncomfortable and cleared his throat. “It’s about your mother, Mrs. Kuroda. I’m afraid it’s complicated.” He paused.
    She stared at him with a frown.
    “Perhaps you should sit down. No? I’m sorry to tell you that she died from a very violent attack.”
    The news had little effect on the beautiful Mrs. Kuroda. She nodded and said, “The woman who died is not my mother. My father married again. It was some hoodlum, I suppose. I take it my father is seeing to the arrangements?”
    Tora cleared his throat. “I’m afraid your father has been arrested for her murder,” he told her bluntly. “We’re here to ask you some questions about your parents.”
    The priest gasped, turned pale, and sat down abruptly. “Arrested for murder? How terrible! What happened? A quarrel? An accident?” He gasped again and put a hand over his eyes. “My dear, some water. I feel faint.”
    His wife turned on her heel and left the room.
    Tora and Maeda exchanged looks.
    “Did the Mitsuis have frequent quarrels?” Maeda asked the priest.
    “How should I know? I rarely saw them. This is dreadful. A shrine priest cannot afford scandal.”
    The wife returned with a cup and handed it to her husband. “What happened to my father’s wife?” she asked Maeda.
    “She was stabbed many times while she slept. Your father claims he’s innocent. He says he wasn’t home, and someone must’ve broken in.”
    “Then why is he in jail?” she demanded.
    “There’s no sign anyone broke in, and he was covered with her blood.”
    She shuddered. “Horrible. It doesn’t feel real. Such things happen to other people.”
    “Did you visit your father’s house regularly?” Tora asked.
    “What do you mean by that?”
    “You’re his daughter. Surely you visited. Maybe they both came here to visit.”
    “No.”
    “No?”
    The priest put his cup down and struggled to his feet with his wife’s help. He said, “The Mitsuis lead very busy lives, and so do we. Different lives, I mean. If he says someone else murdered his wife, it must be so. You must find that murderer.”
    Tora frowned. “You mean to tell us neither of you had contact with them at all? Didn’t you know they were badly off?”
    The priest blustered. “If they were in want, they should have come to us. They didn’t.”
    Maeda asked, “Was there perhaps a disagreement between your families?”
    “Of course not,” snapped the priest.
    “But your wife doesn’t seem particularly troubled,” Tora pointed out. “What about her relationship with her father? Or her father’s wife?”
    She glared at him. “You have no right to judge me. I left home when I