Bundori: A Novel Of Japan

himself and returned to the main precinct. “Hirata,” he called.

Hirata left his examination of the ground around the bell cage and hurried over to Sano.

“There’s a novice named Kenji in the upper floor of the left-hand dormitory,” Sano said. “I think he knows something about the murder. See if you can find out what it is.”

The frightened peasant child might speak more freely to the young doshin than to him. Besides, Sano suspected that Hirata possessed abilities as yet untested, which perhaps included interviewing witnesses.

Inside the temple office-a spacious study with an elaborate coffered ceiling, and built-in cabinets and shelves containing books and scrolls-Sano examined the mystery woman’s kimonos. Both were made of fine, expensive silk. One was crimson, with a lavish embroidered design of white cranes and snowflakes, green pine boughs, and orange suns-appropriate for the New Year season. The other was a gray fall kimono printed with bluebells, patrinia, autumn grasses, bamboo, yellow clover, and wild carnations. Sano noted the hip-length sleeve panels typically worn by married women, or those past their youth. Both garments were in excellent condition, but he knew little about fashion, and he couldn’t tell if they were new outfits, or old ones worn only on special occasions. Nor could he tell whether they belonged to a samurai lady or a wealthy merchant’s woman.

Sano folded the garments and tucked them under his arm. “I’ll take these with me, and return them as soon as possible.” Maybe the Edo Castle tailors could tell him who had made the kimonos.

They left the office and started down the path. Sano saw Hirata coming to meet him, bringing a small, shaven- headed figure in a hemp robe: the novice Kenji.

“Sosakan-sama, Kenji has something to tell you,” Hirata announced.

The novice, seeing the abbot, backed away, his eyes round with terror. Sano guessed that he didn’t want his superior to hear what he had to say. Turning to the abbot, Sano said, “I’d like to talk to Kenji alone, please.”

The abbot nodded. “I will be in my office if you need me.” His eloquent parting glance made it clear that he would allow the novice an unsupervised conversation with an outsider only because he feared adverse publicity.

“All right, he’s gone,” Hirata said to the novice. “Now tell the sosakan-sama what you saw.”

Kenji gulped. His lips trembled. Sano squatted, placing himself at Kenji’s eye level, and gave the boy an encouraging smile. “Don’t be afraid,” he said.

Hirata’s method of eliciting speech was more aggressive. With a rough but affectionate gesture, he cuffed one of the ears that stuck out from Kenji’s head like jug handles. “Go on, talk! He won’t hurt you.”

Looking somewhat reassured but still wary, Kenji spoke in a rapid mumble. “Yesterday I went begging in the city.” He had been collecting alms to support the temple, as did the other young clergy. “I stayed too late, and it was dark when I started walking home. When I got back, the others were already asleep. I climbed in the dormitory window. The priests didn’t miss me, because my friends had fixed my bed to look like I was in it. I didn’t mean to be late, honest. Please, master, you won’t tell the abbot, will you?” Hands wringing the front of his robe, he raised beseeching eyes to Sano.

“It’ll be our secret,” Sano said gravely.

“Oh, thank you, master!” Kenji’s radiant smile transformed him from a picture of abject misery to a happy, high-spirited child. “You see, master, I was late because I stopped to watch a juggler in Nihonbashi. He was amazing! He juggled knives, and flaming torches, and live mice-”

“The sosakan-sama doesn’t want to hear about that!” Hirata interrupted. “Tell him what you saw on the road leading from Edo back to the temple.”

Sano’s heart skipped, then began a strengthening pulse in his throat. Was he looking at his first murder witness? “What did you see, Kenji?”

“A palanquin,” the novice said. “With four big men carrying it. I noticed them because all the pilgrims who come to the temple are gone by dark. When I’m out that late, I usually don’t meet any-”

Kenji clapped his hands over his mouth. “I’ve only been late a few times before, master. Honest!” He clasped his hands in penitence, but his eyes danced with mischief.

“Did you see who was in the palanquin?” Sano asked patiently.

“No. The doors and windows were shut.”

“Did you see the bearers’ faces?”

Kenji shook his head. “It was dark, and they wore big hats. And I was running to get back to the dormitory before anyone noticed I wasn’t there.”

Disappointment descended over Sano. Grasping at the receding vestiges of hope, he asked, “Can you remember anything at all about the palanquin or the bearers?”

“I’m sorry, master.” Then Kenji’s drooping head snapped alert; his eyes brightened. “Wait-I remember now. The moon was shining on the palanquin. And I saw a big dragon painted on the side!”

This information was better than none, but not much. Elaborate decoration signified a private, rather than a hired vehicle. If the palanquin had, as Sano suspected, conveyed the Bundori Killer to and from the temple, he need only call on the several thousand Edo citizens rich enough to own personal transportation.

“What color was the dragon?” he asked, seeking to narrow the field.

Kenji shrugged. “It was too dark to tell.”

“Would you recognize it if you saw it again?” Hirata interjected.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” The novice shivered, beating his hands against his arms. “Can I go now? I’m cold.”

After ascertaining that Kenji remembered nothing more about the palanquin and had seen nothing and no one else in or outside the temple complex the previous night, Sano dismissed him.

“I’m sorry he couldn’t tell us more, sosakan-sama,” Hirata said. “I wanted to bring you evidence to make up for not having done you any good so far.” Self-contempt laced his voice.

“Don’t underestimate your achievement, Hirata,” Sano said, fighting his own disappointment. “Kenji’s testimony might eventually place a suspect near the crime scene. You’re a talented investigator. You got facts from the boy that I might not have.” Then, seeing Hirata flush with pleasure, he regretted his impulsive praise. He mustn’t encourage the young doshin’s attachment to him.

“Keep searching the grounds,” he ordered. “I’ll join you after I’ve finished questioning… three thousand possible witnesses and suspects.”

Sano spent the next hours in the temple’s assembly hall, interrogating an endless parade of frightened, shocked clergy and servants. Some priests he recognized as former teachers, or classmates who had taken orders and stayed at the temple. By the time he finished, he’d verified the abbot’s statement. No one but Kenji had seen anything. And Brother Endo himself had publicized his occupation. A gregarious man, he’d often stationed himself at the main gate to greet and chat with visitors. Any pilgrim-the killer included-could have learned his schedule directly from him.

Afterward Sano joined Hirata and a horde of priests in searching the temple for evidence. Carrying torches, they inspected paths, gardens, monuments, stairways, graveyards, the ground around every building and gate, the forest…

And found nothing.

At dawn, Sano and Hirata mounted their horses for the ride back to Edo. In addition to the killer’s boards, spikes, and tools, Sano’s saddlebags held the mystery woman’s two kimonos-the sole tangible reward for their labors.

This night had forever changed his personal vision of Zojo Temple. Now, when he thought of it, he would no longer picture a sunlit haven of prayer and learning, or recall the happy and sad times of his childhood. Instead he would see Brother Endo’s mutilated corpse, and remember his friends and teachers as potential witnesses and suspects. The investigation not only dominated his present and future; it had also damaged cherished memories.

“We got more from this murder scene than from any of the others,” Hirata said, as though trying to bolster his own spirits as well as Sano’s.

But what did they have? Confirmation of a theory that had as yet led nowhere. The description of a possible suspect’s palanquin. A missing witness, and only a pair of kimonos as clues to her identity.

And just four more days to catch the Bundori Killer.