Black Lotus Page 10

  “She wanted to be the wife of a powerful bakufu official, so she seduced Oyama,” said Kumashiro. “When she found out that he had no intention of marrying her, she killed him for spite.”

  In Reiko’s mind rose an image of Haru glaring at Oyama and spitting on the ground at his feet, as clear as if she’d witnessed the incident that Oyama’s son had described to Sano. She remembered Abbess Junketsu-in saying that Haru had seduced novice priests. Had Oyama exploited Haru, or had Haru used sex to serve her ambitions—then committed murder and arson when her ploy failed?

  Reiko envisioned the case as a lotus bud slowly opening to reveal first a white petal, then a black one, then more whites and blacks, with Haru at the center. Every piece of information contradicted or complemented another, painting Haru as either victim or criminal.

  “You seem very certain of your theory,” Reiko said to Kumashiro, “but perhaps the crimes stemmed from other illicit activities in the Black Lotus Temple.”

  “Such as?” The priest smirked, as though humoring her, but the tendons in his neck tightened.

  “Such as the imprisonment and torture of novices. Or the breeding of children by nuns and priests. Or the construction of underground rooms, and the business that takes place there.”

  Reiko knew that by voicing these accusations she was putting the sect on its guard; yet she hoped to goad Kumashiro into an admission, because she couldn’t count on Sano to investigate the temple. Regardless of his promise to her and his dedication to the truth, he thought Haru was guilty and the Black Lotus a legitimate sect; he might overlook evidence that said otherwise. The realization that she was losing trust in her husband dismayed Reiko.

  “I wonder if the woman in the cottage was a novice who tried to escape, and the child an orphan who died from torture during religious indoctrination,” Reiko said.

  Kumashiro laughed, a sound like gravel scattering against steel. “Who told you those ridiculous rumors?”

  “There’s often truth in rumors.” To protect Pious Truth, Reiko added, “The metsuke has spies everywhere.”

  The tendons in the priest’s neck relaxed: Either he knew she had no proof to support her accusations, or he didn’t fear the Tokugawa intelligence service. “Don’t believe everything you hear,” he said derisively. Then he strode toward Haru. “Get up. You’re coming with me.”

  Whimpering, Haru scuttled backward on her hands and knees. Reiko stood between Kumashiro and the girl. “You’re not taking her anywhere,” Reiko told the priest.

  “She belongs to the temple.” Anger darkened Kumashiro’s swarthy complexion. “I’ll deal with her as I wish.”

  “She’s under my protection now,” Reiko said, “and I won’t let you torment her.”

  Veins bulged in the priest’s temples and rigid arms, as though swelling with fury. He spoke with quiet menace: “Those who interfere with the affairs of the Black Lotus sect always regret it.”

  “You dare to threaten me?” Reiko experienced a stab of fear despite her status as the wife of a high bakufu official and the protection of her guards. She saw in Kumashiro a truly dangerous man.

  “It’s not a threat,” Kumashiro said in that same menacing tone, “just a friendly warning.”

  The hard sheen of his eyes told Reiko that he was capable of murdering three people and framing an innocent girl. A shiver rippled her nerves. She said to her guards, “Escort him off the premises.”

  The men seized Kumashiro and propelled him out of the garden. The wind swirled fallen leaves and tossed boughs; raindrops pelted the ground. Reiko knelt beside Haru and put her arms around the girl. “It’s all right. You’re safe now.”

  Haru whispered, “I was so scared I wet my kimono.” Misery suffused her features. “It’s my only one.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Reiko said. “Let’s go inside.”

  As they walked together toward the convent, Reiko picked up the package she’d dropped.

  In Haru’s room, the orphan girl removed her soiled garment and washed herself. Reiko opened the package and unfolded a fresh white under-robe, a jade green cotton kimono printed with mauve asters, and a mauve sash.

  “Here,” Reiko said, “put these on.”

  Haru gasped in amazement. “They’re for me? But you’re too generous. I can’t accept.”

  “Oh, they’re just old things of mine.” In fact, the garments had never been worn. Although her kind gesture was sincere, Reiko hoped the gift would oblige Haru to be honest with her. She helped Haru into the clothes. “There. How pretty you look! Do you feel better now?”

  The girl nodded, her eyes bright with happiness. Stroking the fabric, she said, “I’ve never worn anything so beautiful. A thousand thanks.”

  Although Reiko hated to spoil Haru’s pleasure, it was time for serious business. “Haru-san,” she said, “we must talk.”

  Haru knelt opposite Reiko. Apprehension furrowed her brow.

  “Were you and Commander Oyama lovers?” Reiko asked, keeping her voice gentle.

  Haru twisted the ends of her new sash. “No. I only said so because that was what Kumashiro wanted me to say.”

  Tentative relief eased the doubt that the priest had fostered in Reiko. “Then you weren’t with Oyama the night before the fire? You didn’t go to the cottage to meet him?”

  “No, I wasn’t. I didn’t.”

  In her mind Reiko heard Kumashiro’s voice: “Don’t believe everything you hear”—and Sano’s: “Don’t be too quick to take the side of a suspect.” Reiko said, “If you don’t remember anything from that night, how can you be sure what you did?”

  Hurt and confusion welled in Haru’s eyes; her lips trembled. In a high, teary voice she said, “I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t set the fire. I could never do those terrible things.”

  Feeling like a bully, having serious misgivings about the girl, Reiko forced herself to continue: “Why is Kumashiro so determined to make you confess?”

  “He’s afraid that people will think he killed Commander Oyama,” Haru said. “They hated each other. I don’t know why, but I often saw them arguing. And he hates me. He wants to get me in trouble so I’ll have to leave the Black Lotus Temple.”

  If Kumashiro and Oyama had indeed been enemies, the priest had a motive for at least one of the murders. But Reiko could not ignore the inconsistency in Haru’s story. “Yesterday you said that you love everyone in the temple, and they all love you. Why didn’t you tell me about Kumashiro?”

  Haru squirmed, twisting the sash; her gaze darted. She ventured hesitantly, “I forgot about him?”

  The flimsy excuse increased Reiko’s misgivings. “I’ve spoken with Abbess Junketsu-in and Dr. Miwa,” she said, then related the pair’s description of Haru as a troublemaker. “They think you’re unfit to be a nun, and they blame you for the fire. Did you forget them, too?”

  Reiko heard her voice rising in agitation, while Haru looked crestfallen. “Are they inventing lies to get you in trouble,” Reiko pressed, “or did you do the things they said?”

  Tension vibrated the atmosphere in the room. Rain pattered on the roof and dripped off the eaves. Reiko heard Haru’s rapid breathing. Then the girl hung her head and mumbled, “It was so long ago … I thought I’d counteracted my bad karma.”

  Buddhists believed that a person’s actions produced karma—energy that affected life in present and future existences—and that misdeeds could be exorcised by doing good. Foreboding touched Reiko’s heart.

  “What bad karma?” she said, wary of what she was going to hear.

  “When I first came to the Black Lotus orphanage, I was a very difficult girl,” Haru said in a voice laden with shame. “I had no religious faith. I only went to the temple because I had nowhere else to go. I was upset about my parents dying, and angry at my bad fortune. I hated the food and the chores. I wouldn’t obey the rules. I was rude and disobedient. I was so lonely that I … I would meet boys at night and let them touch me.”

  Reiko’s fac
e felt numb, as if too many shocks had obliterated the sensation in her skin. But inside, painful emotions roiled. “You should have told me these things yesterday, when I asked about your life at the temple and who might want to hurt you,” she said. “Instead, you misled me.”

  “But I didn’t,” Haru protested. She must have seen disbelief in Reiko’s expression, because she hurried to explain: “I mean, I’m different now. I don’t do those things anymore. High Priest Anraku showed me that I was wrong to act the way I did.” Her eyes glowed with the same joyful radiance as when she’d spoken of the sect leader yesterday. “He taught me that I must rid myself of worldly desires and follow the path of the Black Lotus out of suffering to Buddhahood. So I reformed. I worked hard to make up for the trouble I’d caused and prove I could be a good nun.”

  A part of Reiko wanted to excuse Haru’s behavior as the actions of a grieving child who’d had trouble adjusting to convent routine and wanted to forget a difficult period of her life. Still, Reiko was disappointed in Haru for withholding important information, and angry at herself for minimizing the possibility that Haru might be lying. Had the abbess and doctor neglected to mention the change in Haru, or had Haru not really reformed?

  “I’m sorry,” Haru quavered. Tears watered her eyes. “I should have told you.”

  . Reiko’s shaky self-confidence waned. Maybe her break from detective work had impaired her judgment, and she should quit the investigation, as little as she liked the idea. Abruptly she rose and walked to the window. The rainy landscape outside blurred before her eyes as she sorted out her thoughts. Before admitting her mistake to Sano, she must correct it, or he would have every right to forbid her to continue the investigation.

  She turned to Haru, who huddled on the floor, watching her anxiously. “Tell me about Commander Oyama,” Reiko said.

  Haru shook her head. “I didn’t—”

  Reiko silenced her with a warning gaze. “If you want my help, you have to tell me the truth. Did you know Oyama?”

  Drawing a deep, tremulous breath, Haru lowered her eyes and nodded. “I met him in the summer,” she said. “He would talk to me when I was doing my chores. All the while, his eyes would be looking over me. He made me nervous, and I wished he would leave me alone. But he was an important patron, and I had to be polite to him. So when he asked me to come to the cottage one night, I obeyed.”

  Uneasiness stole through Reiko as she wondered if the incident Haru was describing had happened months ago, or right before the fire.

  “When I got there,” Haru continued, “he was waiting in the room. The lanterns were lit. There was a futon on the floor. He told me to sit, and he offered me some sake from a jar on the table. I said, ‘No, thank you; I’m not allowed to drink.’ So he drank the sake himself. Then he started undressing. I looked away and said, ‘I think I should go back to the dormitory.’ He said, ‘Not yet.’

  “Then he started touching my body. I begged him to stop, but he tore off my clothes and threw himself on top of me. I struggled, but he was too strong. Then he—he—”

  Haru entwined her legs and crossed her arms over her bosom, as if trying to defend herself against the remembered attack. Reiko winced as she vicariously experienced Haru’s pain and terror. She said, “Why didn’t you tell me this yesterday?”

  “I couldn’t.” Sobs heaved Haru’s chest. “I was afraid you would think I killed Commander Oyama.”

  Reiko pondered the evidence against Haru. The girl had been in the cottage and raped by Oyama at least once. That gave her reason to hate him. What if he’d raped her again on the night before the fire? That would explain Haru’s bruises. Maybe, while struggling with the girl, Oyama had fallen and hit his head. Then Haru had panicked, set fire to the cottage, and later blocked out the memory.

  Or maybe Haru had plotted revenge, lured him to the cottage, and struck him down in cold blood.

  Weeping into her sleeve, Haru said, “I’m innocent, but everyone will think I’m guilty. It’s no use hoping to be saved. I know what I must do.” She lifted her head and spoke bravely: “I’m going to confess.”

  “What?” Reiko said, surprised.

  “I owe a great debt to the Black Lotus sect for taking me in. If they want to blame me for killing those people and burning the cottage, then it’s my duty to confess,” Haru explained. Bowing, she said, “Thank you for trying to help. I’m sorry to cause you so much trouble, but I must ask a favor. Will you take me to the police? I’m afraid to go alone.”

  Reiko was caught between opposing impulses. On one hand, she now had much proof of Haru’s dubious character, but none of anyone else’s involvement in the crimes. Maybe Haru was guilty, and Reiko should let her accept the punishment she deserved. On the other hand, Reiko still thought that Kumashiro, Abbess Junketsu-in, and Dr. Miwa warranted further inquiries, as did the two unidentified victims. She wanted to know what High Priest Anraku had to say about the crimes, and whether Sano had discovered more suspects or anything to substantiate the novice monk’s claims, before she made up her mind about Haru. She shouldn’t condemn someone on the strength of inconclusive evidence or denouncements from enemies.

  Reiko faltered. “I don’t think you should confess.”

  “Then you believe I’m innocent?” Eager hope gleamed in Haru’s streaming eyes.

  “The investigation isn’t finished,” Reiko said, compromising between honesty and tact.

  Desolation shadowed Haru’s face: She wasn’t deceived by Reiko’s hedging. She hurried to the cabinet and removed a worn cotton blanket, a comb, a pair of chopsticks, and a wooden bowl. She spread the blanket on the floor and set the other items on top of it.

  Reiko frowned, perplexed. “What are you doing?”

  “I can’t stay here. Kumashiro will come back. If I don’t confess, he’ll kill me.” The words poured from Haru in a frantic rush as her fingers fumbled to tie the blanket around her meager possessions. “I must go.”

  “But where?” Reiko said, dazed by events happening too quickly, spinning out of her control.

  “I don’t know.”

  Likely, she would end up begging in the streets. The thought appalled Reiko, as did the idea of letting Sano’s only suspect go. Perhaps Haru was manipulating her by volunteering to confess, then threatening to run away, yet she saw only one possible course of action.

  “Come with me,” Reiko said, taking the bundle from Haru. She put her arm around the girl’s trembling shoulders, although aware that her affection for Haru had waned. “I’ll take you to a safe place.”

  Afterward, she must continue investigating the Black Lotus sect—even if it meant breaking her promise to Sano.

  10

  There is only one truth.

  There are not two, nor three, nor a million.

  The others are not the truth.

  —FROM THE BLACK LOTUS SUTRA

  “Well, Ssakan Sano, what progress have you made in your, ahh, investigation?” said the shogun.

  He sat on the dais of Edo Castle’s Grand Audience Hall, whose floor was divided into two levels. On the higher level immediately below the dais, in a row to the shogun’s right, knelt the five members of the Council of Elders, Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s chief advisers and Japan’s supreme governing body. Sano knelt near the end of this row. Opposite knelt the abbot of Zj Temple and four high priests. On the lower level sat a delegation of Edo’s city elders: commoners who relayed communications between the townspeople and officialdom and supervised the neighborhood headmen. Sentries guarded the doors. Secretaries occupied desks along the walls. The shogun’s personal attendants awaited his orders, while servants poured tea for the assembly and brought metal baskets of lit coals for tobacco pipes.

  Sano said, “I’ve learned that all three victims were murdered before the fire,” and described their injuries. “The woman and boy haven’t been identified yet; citywide inquiries have begun. So far, the orphan girl remains the only suspect. There are reports that Haru is a troublemaker who had
a grudge against Commander Oyama.” Sano related the statements of Abbess Junketsu-in, Dr. Miwa, and Oyama’s son. “However, she claims that she can’t remember anything between the time she went to bed and the time she was found at the fire. One of my detectives is working with her to recover her memory.”

  The thought of Reiko stirred lingering worry inside Sano. Their compromise last night hadn’t restored their intimacy. Reiko had spurned his amorous advances, saying she was tired, but this morning he’d watched her practicing kenjutsu. Her every movement seemed to proclaim her determination to prove she was right about Haru. Now Sano wondered uneasily what would happen when Reiko visited Haru today.

  “We’re continuing the search for witnesses and other suspects,” Sano finished. “I shall have more to report soon.”

  His audience’s reaction confirmed his fear that his results sounded paltry. The priests and the Council of Elders regarded Sano with veiled disapproval; the shogun took his cue from the others and frowned. The city elders watched their superiors in complicit silence.

  “I expected better from you, ssakan-sama,” remarked Senior Elder Makino Narisada, whose pallid skin stretched over the prominent bones of his face. Since the truce between Sano and Chamberlain Yanagisawa, he’d taken over the role of Sano’s chief detractor. “You should certainly have solved the mystery by this time; yet you’ve accomplished very little.”

  Murmurs of agreement came from the other council members. Sano’s spirits began a familiar descent. Men in the bakufu were always trying to gain by making someone else look bad.

  “Also, your activities have thoroughly disrupted the temple district,” Makino said. “Isn’t that correct, Honorable Abbot?”

  “Our routines have been interrupted by detectives searching for clues and interviewing everyone.” The abbot of Zj Temple spoke reluctantly, in a humming voice trained by years of chanting sutras. He was a serene, statuesque priest whom Sano had met many years ago when he’d been a student at the Zj Temple school. Now he gave Sano an apologetic glance: While he didn’t want to make trouble for Sano, he couldn’t contradict a man as powerful as Makino, and he was understandably concerned about the effect of the investigation upon his domain. “But of course, the ssakan-sama has our full cooperation, and we trust that the matter will be concluded quickly.”