“Nobody knows who the woman and child were,” Dr. Miwa said.
Reiko saw his gaze slither away from her and his hands twist together. The fingers were abnormally elongated, scarred from burns, stained with brown spots.
“They must have been beggars who were taking shelter in the cottage,” Junketsu-in said, smoothing her robe and casting an envious glance at Reiko’s silk garments. “We didn’t know they were there, and Haru probably didn’t, either. She doesn’t care about other people. She wouldn’t have checked to see if the cottage was empty before she lit the fire.”
A movement behind Junketsu-in and Dr. Miwa caught Reiko’s attention. Looking toward the balcony, she saw a young monk peering over the rail. His shaven head was narrow, with ears that stuck out like handles. He was looking straight at Reiko. When their gazes met, he glanced at the room’s other occupants and put a finger to his lips. Instinctively, Reiko looked down at her tea bowl, hiding her surprise. She wondered why the monk had been eavesdropping.
“Did Haru know Police Commander Oyama?” When Reiko again glanced at the balcony, the monk had vanished.
Junketsu-in dismissed the notion with a sneer. “The orphans don’t associate with important officials.”
If Haru hadn’t known Oyama or the other victims, then she would have had no reason to kill them, and the idea that their deaths were an accidental result of her deeds was pure conjecture. Reiko noticed the abbess’s hands locked in a tight clasp, and Dr. Miwa’s averted gaze. Why, after casting aspersions upon Haru, would Junketsu-in and Dr. Miwa offer lies that favored the girl? Did they really not know who the dead woman and child were? Perhaps they wished to avoid further discussion of the victims for personal reasons.
“Did you know Commander Oyama?” Reiko asked them.
“I’ve met him on one or two occasions,” Junketsu-in said, adding, “I had no reason to wish him any harm. I spent the entire night before the fire in my quarters, and I didn’t go near the cottage until after the fire brigade came. My attendants will confirm that.” Her gesture encompassed the four mute, watchful nuns.
“And I was treating a sick priest, with the help of my nurses, from midnight until I heard the firebell,” Dr. Miwa said. “Commander Oyama often came to the temple for private rituals with High Priest Anraku, in which I had the privilege of assisting. Our relations were entirely amicable.”
They were quick to deny any possible motive for Oyama’s murder, and to offer alibis, Reiko observed. Under her scrutiny, Dr. Miwa wrung his dirty hands. Abbess Junketsu-in held Reiko’s gaze, but her expression was strained, defensive. Into the silence drifted the sound of muffled chanting. The atmosphere in the room was thick with the aura of hidden secrets and tensions. Reiko knew one good reason Junketsu-in and Dr. Miwa might incriminate Haru: to divert suspicion from themselves. What roles might they have played in the crime?
One thing was certain: They knew more than they were telling. Reiko acknowledged that she’d been too quick in wanting to trust Haru’s veracity, and if the stories she’d just heard about the girl had come from some other source, she might believe them, but Miwa and Junketsu-in seemed unreliable witnesses. At the very least, they were prejudiced against Haru.
Reiko said,“I’d like to talk to High Priest Anraku.” Haru credited the priest with saving her; he might be a better character witness for her than Junketsu-in and Dr. Miwa. “Would you please introduce me to him now?”
The abbess frowned. “High Priest Anraku is busy meditating, and he cannot be disturbed.”
“I shall tell His Holiness that you wish an audience with him,” Dr. Miwa said, “and let you know when would be convenient.”
“Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have business to discuss,” Junketsu-in said.
The curt dismissal infuriated Reiko, as did the pair’s refusal to let her interview their superior. But she was a mere woman, without official authority, outnumbered six to one, with no choice except to bow and rise. “Thank you for your cooperation,” she said, hiding her anger.
The abbess’s eyes signaled a wordless command to the nuns. Silently they accompanied Reiko out of the convent with the obvious intention of making sure she left the temple. Walking down the path, she saw Detective Marume enter a building, in the company of a priest: It looked as though the Black Lotus sect wasn’t allowing Sano’s men to conduct their investigation without official escorts. Reiko couldn’t trust Haru, but neither should she rely upon the damning testimony of two people who so clearly disliked Haru and had their own secrets to hide. She wouldn’t let the sect control the investigation or run her off the premises.
Stalling on the path, Reiko said, “Excuse me, but I must visit the place of relief.”
The nuns hesitated, then nodded and led Reiko to a wooden privy shed nestled among pines at the back of the convent. Mounting the two steps to the door, she told the nuns, “You needn’t wait.” She closed herself inside the dim, cramped space. A hole in the floor stank of human waste. After waiting a moment, Reiko opened the door a crack and peered outside. The nuns stood nearby, watching the privy. Reiko sighed in exasperation. How could she shake off her guards without creating a spectacle that would offend the sect, upset Sano, and intimidate the people she hoped to question discreetly?
At the sound of a soft tap-tap behind her, Reiko spun around. In the back wall was a window screened with wooden slats, and through the gaps between these Reiko saw a narrow head with prominent ears. It was the monk from the convent balcony.
“Please, Honorable Lady, I must speak with you,” he said in an urgent whisper. “I have important information.”
Hope banished Reiko’s initial fright. “About what?” she whispered back.
“Meet me outside the temple. Please.”
Then, with a rustle of quick footsteps on dry pine needles, he was gone.
5
They who are deeply attached to worldly love and desire
Cannot escape misery and suffering.
– FROM THE BLACK LOTUS SUTRA
Masahiro’s screams echoed through the house. Since his mother had left him several hours ago, the nursemaids had tried to pacify him with food, toys, and affection, but frequent tantrums continued. By noon, Midori, who had come to visit Reiko, learned that her friend had gone out, and stayed to help with Masahiro, could no longer bear the uproar. She and O-hana, the youngest maid, escaped into the garden. Sunlight filtered down on them through the red maples.
“Peace and quiet at last!” O-hana exclaimed. A girl of nineteen, she had a sharp, pretty face and a saucy smile. “Lucky you, being a lady-in-waiting. You don’t have to put up with squalling brats. You can just sit around with Lady Keisho-in all day long. I don’t understand why you want to be here, when the young master is driving us all mad.”
“Oh, I like coming here,” Midori said. She smoothed her pink silk kimono, disheveled from holding the baby. “Reiko and the sosakan-sama are so kind to me. And I like Masahiro.”
O-hana said slyly, “Is there someone else you like?”
Midori blushed to think that the maid had noticed her watching for Hirata. She’d met the sosakan-sama’s chief retainer three years ago, after hearing stories about his expedition to Nagasaki, where he’d saved his master’s life and captured a band of smugglers. He seemed like a samurai hero from history, and Midori had liked Hirata immediately. He was honest, kind, and, unlike other Tokugawa samurai, he didn’t scorn her family background.
She was a daughter of an “outside lord”-a daimyo whose clan had been defeated at the Battle of Sekigahara, then forced to swear allegiance to the victorious Tokugawa. Although Midori was pretty and the powerful Niu clan one of the wealthiest, she found herself left out of the flirtations and marriage negotiations between palace ladies- in-waiting from important families and young bakufu samurai seeking advantageous matches. The men ignored her in favor of girls with better connections to the shogun, and she lacked the beauty and guile required to lure them in spite of her circumstances. She’d grown resigned to marrying some unattractive man who had been rejected elsewhere.
