“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 Haru’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 façade. “If we wanted to protect anyone, we would have concealed Haru’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?
“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?