“We were around.”
“Where were you between nine and ten?”
They looked at each other and shrugged. “Around.”
“That’s bad,” Saito said cheerfully. “Real bad. If no one saw you between nine and ten, you are in trouble. You may have to spend the night here, and many other nights besides. This is a nasty place, eh, Sergeant?”
Yes, sir.
“Small cells, bad food, nothing to smoke. Do you fellows smoke?”
They nodded.
“You’ll have to give it up for a while.” He took out a cigarette. “But I’ll smoke for you. Did you go through their pockets, Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any knives?”
The sergeant stepped out of the room and came back carrying two yellow plastic trays, neatly labeled. There was a pack of cigarettes in each tray, plus a dirty handkerchief, a wallet, and a long knife sheathed in leather.
“Good. Please have one of your men have the knives checked for blood.”
“Blood?” the young man called Yoshida asked. “What blood?”
“A lady’s blood, a gaijin lady. Did you see her in the compound tonight?”
Kato answered, “An old lady or a young lady?”
“A young lady with long blonde hair, wearing white clothes.”
“Not tonight, but we know her. She came every evening to Ohno-san’s temple. She was a holy woman.” He sniggered and nudged his friend.
Saito jumped up, leaped across the room, and grabbed Kato by the shoulders, shaking him vigorously. “What do you mean, you punk! What do you mean?” He pushed Kato back on the bench and stood over him, one hand balled up.
“Nothing.”
“You meant something. Tell me, or...” He could feel the artificial rage turning into real rage. He would have to watch himself.
“I just mean that maybe the lady liked the priest. Me and Yoshida saw them together in the garden one afternoon last week, in the temple’s garden.”
“What were they doing?”
“Laughing, talking.”
“That’s all?”
“They weren’t kissing,” Yoshida said gruffly, “just enjoying a good conversation.”
Saito turned to the sergeant, who had returned. “Would you ask somebody to make me a pot of tea, Sergeant? And bring a chopstick, just one.”
The sergeant raised his eyebrows but bowed and left the room. He came back with the chopstick.
“Here,” Saito said. “You, Kato. You are a knife fighter, eh? Here is a knife. Now attack me.”
Kato hesitated and Saito waited. Kato got up and took the chopstick.
“Come on, attack me. Here I am, and you hold a knife. Show me that you can handle it.”
Kato got up and the sergeant’s hand dropped down and touched the revolver on his belt. The atmosphere in the room became tense. Kato spread his legs and hefted the chopstick. Saito waited, motionless. Then Kato yelled loudly and jumped. The hand holding the chopstick shot up. But Saito was no longer there — he had fallen sideways and his foot was against Kato’s shin. Kato fell too. The chopstick broke on the floor. Saito helped the young man back on his feet. “Fine. Sergeant, may we have another chopstick?”
Yoshida’s attack was more artful and took more time. He approached Saito, holding the chopstick low, but seemed to change his mind and feinted at the sergeant. The sergeant pulled his gun as the chopstick went for Saito’s stomach, but Saito’s arm effectively blocked it with a blow to Yoshida’s arm, knocking it aside.
A constable brought a pot of tea. Saito poured himself a steaming cup of tea and sat sipping it, eyeing his opponents. Kato was rubbing his shin and Yoshida was massaging his wrist. “Did I hurt you?”
Both shook their heads and tried to smile.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. But carrying knives with blades longer than three inches is illegal. The sergeant will charge you and you will be kept here for the night. Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow. If you want to see me you can tell the sergeant. Good night.”
He got up and went outside, beckoning the sergeant to follow him. “Now the other one, Tanaka, the boy who found the corpse.”
“He is waiting in the other room, sir.”
Saito smiled when he saw the boy. Young Tanaka was a good-looking young man, with a childish open face but wide shoulders and narrow hips. He wore his school uniform, and his cap was on the floor under his chair. He got up when Saito entered and he bowed.
“Thank you for reporting to us tonight, Tanaka-san,” Saito said, “that was very good of you. I am sorry to have you called in so late, but we have to work quickly. Did you know the gaijin lady at all?”
“Yes, sir, I have seen her many times. She studied at Ohno-san’s temple. But I never spoke to her. And I didn’t know the corpse was the gaijin lady’s body. I was frightened, sir. I saw a body and there was nobody else around and I just ran to the police station.”
“So that’s why you said you saw a person.”
“Yes, sir. I just saw the legs and a hand.”
Saito tried to remember the corpse. There had been no polish on the nails, no colored polish anyway. He lowered his voice. “Now tell me, Tanaka-san, tell me and be honest. I know you have been in trouble with the police before. You know what I am referring to, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir. But I don’t do that any more. I used to, but that has gone.”
“What has gone?”
“The need to do that, sir.”
“You are sure, are you? You were in the alley, and the lady was in the alley. You were facing her and she was coming closer...”
“No, sir. The body was in the bushes.”
Saito turned to the sergeant. “May I have a chopstick, Sergeant?”
When the sergeant returned with the chopstick Saito gave it to the boy. “Imagine this is a knife. Can you do that?”
The boy held the chopstick. “Yes, sir. It is a knife.”
“And I am your enemy. I am a burglar sneaking into your room. I am going to attack you and you must kill me. Stick the knife into me. It is very important. Please do it for me.”
“Like this, sir?”
The boy raised his arm high, pointing the chopstick at Saito’s chest.
“Yes, you are very angry, very frightened. All you know is that you have to kill me.”
The chopstick hit Saito’s chest with force and broke.
“Thank you. You can go home now. Sleep well...”
When Saito left the police station, his driver came to attention and opened the rear door. The inspector shook his head. “No. I am going into the temple compound. I may be a while. You can wait in the station if you like. The tea isn’t bad.”
He walked until he found Ohno’s temple and stopped and looked about. He could feel the quietness of hundreds of years of solitude, of silent effort. The aspirin had dulled his headache, and his thoughts connected more easily.
The gate of the temple hadn’t been locked and he walked through it.
“Good evening.” The voice came from the shadows of the building.
“Good evening. My name is Saito. I am a police inspector. I have come to see the priest Ohno.”
“I am Ohno. Walk up the steps and come and sit next to me.”
Saito took off his shoes and walked across the polished boards of the porch. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he could see the shape of a man sitting upright with his legs folded. Saito bowed and a cushion slid toward him. He took the cushion and sat down.
“Do you know that Miss Davis died tonight?”
“I heard.”
“Who told you?”
“The old woman who cleans the temple. She heard a commotion in the alley and found out what had happened.”
“The death of the gaijin lady is unfortunate. She was killed with a knife. We are holding several suspects.”
He could see the priest’s face now. Ohno was still a young man — thirty years old perhaps, or a little older. The priest wore a simple brown robe. The faint light of a half moon reflected on his shaven skull.
“Who did you arrest?”
“Two young toughs, Yoshida and Kato. They have robbed in the Daidharmaji compound before but nothing could be proved. They couldn’t explain their movements at the time of Miss Davis’s death. They both carried knives. We are also holding a boy called Tanaka, who reported the crime. Excuse me, do you have a telephone?”
Ohno got to his feet and led his guest inside the temple. Saito dialed. A man in the laboratory answered.
“The knives? They both fit the wound but so would a million other knives. And they are both clean, no traces of blood.”
“Whoever did it could have cleaned the knife afterward.”
“He could. If he did, he did a good job.”
“Thank you.”
The priest invited Saito into his study and an old woman made them tea. Saito sipped slowly, enjoying the rich bitter taste.
“Very good tea.”
“A present from Mrs. Ingram. I couldn’t afford it myself.”
“You have only foreign disciples?”
“Yes. When gaijin come to Daidharmaji, the chief abbot usually sends them to me. I am the only priest who speaks reasonably good English. I spent several years in a temple in Los Angeles as the assistant to the teacher there.”
“I see. Did you get to know Miss Davis well?”
“A little. She was a dedicated woman, very eager to learn.”
“Did she learn anything?”
Ohno smiled. “There is nothing to learn. There is only to unlearn.”
Saito shook his head.
“You don’t agree?”
“I have no wisdom,” Saito said. “I am a policeman; my level of investigation is shallow. I have small questions and need small answers. Yoshida and Kato weren’t helpful. The boy Tanaka tried, but he couldn’t tell me much. Mr. McGraw and the old ladies who study with you tried to clarify my confusion. But I am still confused and now I have come to see you.”
“I know the two young men, Yoshida and Kato,” Ohno said. “I know their parents too — they often come to these temples. The boys have lost their way, but only for the time being. They will find the way again. They may have robbed people but they have never killed anyone. They watch movies and try to imitate images of what they think is admirable.”
“In the movies many images get killed. Yoshida and Kato carry knives, killing knives with slits in the sides so that the blood will drain easily.”
“They didn’t kill tonight.”
“And the boy Tanaka, do you know him too?”
“Very well. When his mind was sick, his parents came to see me. They live close by and they often bring gifts to this temple. They knew the priest who lived here before and now they come and visit me. The boy was mad, they said, but I didn’t think so. The boy came too sometimes — he liked to help me in the garden. He placed the rocks and we planted moss.”
“He would show himself when he met women, right here, in this holy compound.”
“I know.”
“You don’t think that is a bad thing to do?”
“It is embarrassing, for the women and for the boy himself. But he had a need to reveal himself to that which he loved. I wanted to help him but I didn’t know what to do and I spoke to the old priest in the temple next door. Young Tanaka likes to paint and draw, and the old priest is an accomplished artist. So we agreed that he would try to lead Tanaka away from his compulsion. Since then the boy’s trouble has faded away. There have been no more complaints.”
Saito got up. He wanted to say something noncommittal before he left. He looked around and saw several cameras on a shelf and another on the floor. “Do you like photography, Ohno-san?”
“Yes, it is my hobby.” The priest picked up the camera. “I use a new method now. I make instant photographs and if I succeed in obtaining a well-balanced picture I try again with a conventional camera that can be adjusted to a fine degree of perception. One day when you have time you should come and see some of my photographs — if you are interested, that is.”
“I would very much like to. Thank you.”
Saito looked at his watch. It was past one o’clock but he might as well go on. He was very close now, but there were still important questions.
The temple next door was dark and the gate had been locked, but he found a side door and made his way into the courtyard, using his flashlight. He took off his shoes and climbed the steps and knocked on the door of the main building. Within seconds a light came on inside and shuffling steps approached. The priest was old and bent — and sleepy.
“Yes?”
Saito showed his identification. “Inspector Saito, Criminal Investigation Department. I am sorry, sir, but I have to bother you for a few minutes. May I come in?”
“Of course. I heard about the lady’s death. Most regrettable. Please come in, Inspector-san.”
In view of the late hour, Saito decided that it would be impolite to be polite. He came to the point.
“You are teaching a boy called Tanaka?”
“That is correct.”
“He draws and paints. Please tell me what his favorite subjects are.”
“Women. He only draws women. I don’t allow him to paint yet. He sketches. I showed him copies of famous paintings and he seemed most interested in portraits of Kwannon, the goddess of compassion. He has been drawing her for months now and doesn’t tire.”
Saito smiled. “Tanaka-san is in love with the goddess?”
The priest looked serious. “Very much so. And that is good for the time being. I want him to continue, to approach perfection. Later he will see that her real shape is truly perfect and then perhaps he will meet and know her. But first he must do this. He is talented. I am grateful he was brought to me.”
“May I see the drawings?”
“Surely. Follow me, please.”
The sketches were all in the same vein, although the postures and moods of the divine model were different. The boy clearly had only one type of woman in mind, and the woman was Japanese, with a long narrow face, thick black hair, a small nose, and enormous slanting eyes.
“Thank you.”
“Not at all.”
“One last question, sir. Do you know Ohno-san well?”
The old priest nodded.
“Does Ohno-san engage in any of the martial sports? Judo? Sword fighting? Bowshooting, perhaps?”
The old priest tittered. “Oh, no. Ohno-san likes to fuss in his garden, to make photographs, and to meditate, in that order. He once came to help me chop some wood for my bathhouse. He broke two axe handles in one hour. I had no more axes so we had tea instead. No, Ohno-san is, shall we say, a little clumsy?”