“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?”
Nearly five minutes passed before Saito could bring himself to walk through Ohno’s gate again. He found the priest where he had found him before, on the porch. Saito didn’t say anything but sat down.
“Yes?”
“I am sorry, I have come to arrest you.”
Ohno didn’t reply. Saito sat quietly.
Several minutes passed.
“Please come with me, Ohno-san.”
The priest turned and faced the inspector. “No. I will have to ask you a favor. Let me go inside and please wait half an hour. I will leave a confession and you can close your case.”
Saito smiled, but the smile was neither positive nor negative. It was very quiet on the porch.
Ohno cleared his throat. “Would you mind explaining why you chose me?”
“Because you killed her. She was killed by an amateur, by someone who doesn’t know how to handle a knife. A knife fighter will hold his weapon low and thrust upward, so that the knife pierces the soft skin of the belly and so its point will travel upward, behind the ribs. To stab downward is silly — the ribs protect the heart. Much unnecessary force is needed. And the attacker who holds his knife high has no defense, his own body is left open.”