“No.” She sniffled, weeping again. “The police took all my things when I was arrested. To pay back the people I stole from. Minami checks to make sure I don’t take anything from the house when I leave. And now that Spaen-san is dead, I have nothing left. Nothing.”

Sano doubted whether anyone could have smuggled a gun and knife past the Deshima guards. But although Peony’s grief seemed genuine, he couldn’t imagine a Japanese woman loving a barbarian. Could the same person who’d helped dispose of the body also have furnished the weapons?

“What happened next?” Sano asked.

“The guards took me to Spaen-san’s room. I went inside. He was there. We …” Sobbing, she gasped out, “We drank. Then we … pleasured each other. Afterward, I fell asleep. The next thing I knew, the guards were shaking me awake. Asking where Spaen-san was.”

The last part of her speech sounded rushed, as though she’d glossed over important details. “So you slept all night,” Sano said, “without hearing or seeing anything that happened in the room, or outside?”

“Yes.”

The reply, muffled behind her heavy hair, was barely a whisper. Sano, sensing a new wariness about her, pressed the point. “Didn’t the storm wake you? Peony. Look at me.” Grasping her chin, he forced her head up. “Tell me what happened to Director Spaen.”

Her features were blurred with weeping, her nose red and swollen, her cheeks blotchy. But her eyes darted slyly between their puffy lids.

“I had five cups of sake,” she mumbled. “I slept very soundly. I didn’t even hear the storm. But I wish it had wakened me. Because then I might have saved Spaen-san.”

Her face twisted, and she tried to turn away. Sano grabbed her shoulders. “Director Spaen treated you like filth. You didn’t love him—you hated him. That night, you decided to take your revenge. You shot Spaen and mutilated his body to make it look like he’d been stabbed to death. But you couldn’t have done it alone. Someone gave you the weapons after you were on the island. Someone opened the water gates for you.” Much as he feared this, he couldn’t ignore the obvious possibilities. “Who was it, Peony? A guard? Chief Ohira? Talk!”

“You’re hurting me,” Peony blubbered, writhing in Sano’s grip. “I didn’t kill him. I wouldn’t. I loved him. I didn’t see anything. I don’t know anything.” Pulling free, she crawled away and sat with knees hunched, head cradled in her arms. A high, keening moan rose from her as she rocked back and forth.

Sano sat back on his heels, frustrated and torn. If she was innocent, then he was needlessly brutalizing her. A Deshima guard might have conspired with deGraeff—or Dr. Huygens—to kill Spaen. However, if Peony knew something about the murder, he couldn’t stop now.