Black Lotus (6 page)

"No," Junketsu-in said. "It's not my duty to watch over the orphans." She spoke with haughty disdain. "But the temple guards have caught Haru roaming the grounds after dark. Twice they found her consorting with male novices. This has raised serious doubts as to whether Haru is suited for religious life. That's why she hasn't yet entered the convent."

The abbess laughed, a malicious trill. "I don't suppose Haru told you why she lives in the orphanage with the children even though she's a grown woman and old enough to be a nun."

Nor had Reiko noticed the oddity of this circumstance. She'd considered Haru a child, and therefore hadn't even wondered why she hadn't taken religious vows as she'd expressed wanting to do. Reiko knew that unmarried lower-class girls did engage in sex, and she remembered Haru's mature body, but the idea of Haru wantonly seducing young men shocked Reiko. Could the abbess be telling the truth about Haru? Had Reiko missed other significant facts during the interview? Maybe her detective skills had been dulled by the long hiatus from such work.

Hiding her dismay, Reiko said evenly, "I shall need other witnesses to confirm Haru's alleged misbehavior."

"There are four right here in this room." Abbess Junketsu-in gestured at the nuns seated in the corners; they unflinchingly met Reiko's gaze.

How convenient, Reiko thought. Obedient subordinates weren't exactly independent witnesses, and Junketsu-in's reluctance to let her seek others strengthened her suspicions about the abbess. "While the behavior you describe is unsuitable for a prospective nun, the information you've given me has no direct bearing on the arson," she said, noting that she had no more reason to doubt Haru than Junketsu-in.

The abbess said with an air of smug triumph, "A nun in charge of the orphans told me that she checked on them during the night before the fire, and Haru wasn't in bed." Junketsu-in smiled at Reiko's frown. "I'm not surprised that Haru has fooled you. She's quite an accomplished liar. If she says she's lost her memory of that night, it's because she was up to no good and trying to hide the truth."

Although shaken, Reiko wasn't ready to accept the idea that Haru had lied to her, or the abbess's implication that Haru had been out setting the fire. First she must reconstruct those missing hours of Hani's life. Reiko said, "She could have been taken to the cottage against her will. There's a lump on her head, and she's covered with bruises."

A sudden tension stiffened Junketsu-in's posture. She sipped from her tea bowl, as if needing time to think of a reply. Maybe she hadn't known about Haru's injuries and was surprised by the news. But she recovered quickly, saying, "Haru must have done it to herself. She did it once before, when she wanted us to think that a monk she'd seduced had attacked her."

Although it seemed improbable to Reiko that anyone would hurt herself so badly, Haru had displayed the wounds after her story of lost memory and claim of innocence hadn't convinced Reiko. Had she set the fire, then tried to make herself look like a victim? Reiko's sympathy for Haru vied with her knowledge that reliance on a suspect's story could lead her astray. She must consider Junketsu-in's accusations, but she wouldn't let them go unchallenged.

"Did anyone see Haru pouring oil on the cottage and lighting it?" Reiko asked.

Junketsu-in's slender hands, white and smooth as a highborn lady's, closed tightly around her tea bowl. A calculating expression came over her features, but she shook her head. "Not that I know of."

The answer brought Reiko a measure of vindication, although she knew that Sano's detectives were examining the crime scene, questioning the temple residents, and might eventually connect Haru with the arson. "If you expect me to believe Haru is guilty, then you must either produce some definite evidence or allow me to interview more witnesses," Reiko said to the abbess.

They regarded each other with mutual dislike. Then stealthy footsteps creaked the floor outside the room. There was a knock at the door, and Junketsu-in called in a sharp, irate tone, "Who is it?"

The door slid open. A man stood at the threshold. "My apologies, Honorable Abbess. I didn't know you had a guest."

He was tall and thin, with a large head that looked too heavy for the long stem of his neck. Sparse, graying hair receded from a bulbous forehead. He had a muddy, pitted complexion, and though he seemed in his late thirties, his stooped shoulders gave him a look of more advanced age.

Repugnance shadowed Junketsu-in's face, but she politely introduced the man to Reiko: "This is Dr. Miwa, the temple physician."

Upon hearing Reiko's name and the reason for her visit, Dr. Miwa squinted at her. "I shan't intrude," he said, sucking air through unevenly spaced teeth. "I'll come back at a more convenient time."

"Yes, please do." Junketsu-in sounded more relieved at the prospect of his departure than enthusiastic about his later return.

Reiko said quickly, "I would be honored to have you join us." She wanted to know why the Black Lotus sect employed a physician, which wasn't a custom of Buddhist temples, and she wanted another witness to interview.

"If you like," the abbess said with unconcealed bad grace.

Dr. Miwa slunk into the room and knelt near Reiko. She noticed stains and burns on his faded moss-green cotton kimono. A bitter chemical odor wafted from him.

"How did you come to be employed at the temple?" Reiko asked, puzzled by Dr. Miwa's poor grooming. In her experience, physicians were clean and neat, and she couldn't think of any herbal remedy that might produce his strange smell.

"I studied medicine with a prominent physician in Kamakura. After finishing my apprenticeship, I decided to seek my fortune in Edo. When I arrived, I had the good luck of meeting High Priest Anraku, and he offered me a post." The hiss of sucked air punctuated the doctor's sentences. He spoke with his head partially turned toward Reiko, as though unwilling to look straight at her. Perhaps he didn't want to offend her with his ugliness, but she sensed apprehension in him.

"What are your duties?" Reiko said.

"I am honored to assist High Priest Anraku with healing sick, blind, crippled, and insane people who come to him for salvation." Pride infused Dr. Miwa's voice. "I also treat the nuns, priests, novices, and orphans when they become ill."

"Then you know Haru?" Reiko said.

Junketsu-in shot Dr. Miwa a warning glance, which Reiko noted. "Why, yes," Dr. Miwa replied cautiously.

"What do you think of her?"

"Haru is a most interesting case." Hiss,
exhale
. The doctor's sidelong gaze moved over Reiko, who felt an unpleasant, creeping sensation. "She suffers from an extreme imbalance of the two aspects of nature, the six external factors, and the seven emotions."

According to the principles of classic Chinese medicine, maintaining equilibrium among these elements was essential to good health, Reiko knew.

In a pedantic tone, Dr. Miwa explained, "Haru has too much yin, the active aspect. She is excessively influenced by
han
and
huo
, external and internal heat. Her dominant emotions are nu and
ching
." Anger and surprise, Reiko translated. "Although Haru is physically well, her spirit is unhealthy. I've been administering treatment in an effort to cure her symptoms."

"What are her symptoms?" Reiko said, realizing with dismay that Dr. Miwa's statement wasn't going to help Haru.

"Willfulness, selfishness, dishonesty, and delusions," Dr. Miwa said. "Sexual promiscuity, disregard for duty, and a lack of respect for authority."

He'd corroborated Junketsu-in's assessment of Haru, lending it the weight of his medical expertise. "Do you think Haru set the fire?" Reiko said.

Another glance passed between the abbess and the doctor, her expression commanding, his at once meek and resentful. "In my professional opinion, yes. Certainly Hani's hot nature gives her a strong affinity for fire and violence."

Despite their personal antagonism, Dr. Miwa and Abbess Junketsu-in were evidently united in their aim to incriminate Haru. Reiko saw lust smoldering in Dr. Miwa's squinty eyes as his furtive gaze licked at her. She stifled a quiver of revulsion and noticed Junketsu-in watching her with narrowed, angry eyes: While the abbess didn't like Dr. Miwa, she clearly wanted to be the focus of male attention and didn't welcome competition. Now she lifted her chin and fingered the loose skin underneath. Reiko had noticed similar behavior in older women who envied her for being young, pretty, and desirable.

"I'm interested to know why you're so eager to convince me that Haru is an arsonist and murderer," Reiko said to the doctor and the abbess.

"We don't want you to be taken in by her lies," Junketsu-in said.

"We want the investigation finished as soon as possible, and the culprit arrested, so that the Black Lotus Temple can recover from this distressing incident," Dr. Miwa said.

"Are you trying to protect someone?" Reiko asked bluntly.

The abbess regarded her with open scorn, as though their undeclared rivalry had stripped away her polite facade. "If we wanted to protect anyone, we would have concealed Hani's history from you, because in spite of the trouble she's caused, Haru is one of us."

"The Black Lotus is a law-abiding sect. We do not harbor criminals," Dr. Miwa added, hissing.

"I don't see that Haru has ever hurt anyone or damaged property before," Reiko said, growing impatient with the pair's attempts to prejudice her even as she considered the possibility that they were right about Haru. Although the doctor and the abbess struck her as untrustworthy and their presence in the sect raised questions about its nature, perhaps they were acting with the good intentions they claimed. "Why would Haru burn the cottage?"

"For revenge," the abbess said. "We don't put up with disobedience, and we've punished Haru by making her go without meals and shutting her in a room by herself to pray. Discipline makes her angry. The fire was her way of getting even."

Dr. Miwa nodded in agreement. Reiko hid her distress. If Haru really was the sort of person they claimed, then revenge was a logical reason for her to commit arson. Was it also her motive for murder?
J

"Did Haru know the victims of the fire?" Reiko asked.

"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 Hani'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.