“Well, then,” Sano said, adjusting his plans, “give me her name and address so I can find her.”
The abbot shook his head. “I am sorry to say that she gave no information about herself.”
“She wouldn’t tell you who she was or where she came from? And you took her in anyway?” Sano’s disappointment turned to anger at the abbot. “She might have been a runaway wife or daughter-or a fugitive from the law!”
“Sōsakan-sama.”Annoyance tightened the abbot’s smooth features. “We don’t turn away those who come to us seeking sanctuary. Your criticism shows a deplorable lack of understanding of the charity and mercy that we practice in our faith.”
“My apologies, Your Holiness.” Inwardly Sano berated himself for letting the pressures of the investigation make him behave like an ignorant boor. “Perhaps if you describe this woman and tell me what she said, I can trace her.”
“Certainly.” Mollified, the abbot unfocused his gaze, remembering. “She was rather small, and not young. She wore a plain black kimono with no crest. She said she wanted to enter a nunnery because she was unhappy in her marriage.”
“Unhappy in what way?” Sano prompted. “Did her husband beat her? Was he a drunk, or a lecher, or a miser? Were her in-laws cruel?”
The abbot shook his head. “She didn’t say, and I didn’t press for an explanation. After all, she was leaving those problems behind by coming here.”
“What about her face? How did she dress her hair? Did she speak like a lady, or a peasant?”
“I’m sorry, sōsakan-sama. Her hair and face were veiled, and I spent only a moment with her. We get many women seeking shelter. I remember little about this one.”
Sano refused to give up. “Did anyone else see her?”
“No. She acted as if she didn’t want to be seen-she wouldn’t allow the servants into her room to serve her meal; they had to leave it outside the door.”
A witness who had seen something terrible enough to make her ring the huge bell-no small feat for a woman-and flee the temple. And no one knew who she was, or where she could be found. Sano cursed his luck.
“Did she leave any possessions behind?” he asked.
“Yes. A pair of kimonos.”
Sometimes, owning nothing else of value, women entering nunneries brought their best clothes as dowries to pay for their room and board. Perhaps this woman’s would provide a clue to her identity. “May I please see them?” Sano asked.
“Certainly. They are in my office.”
The abbot led the way to another, smaller precinct, where they followed a path between two dormitories-long, narrow buildings with barred windows, plastered walls, plank doors, and narrow verandas. A sound from the left-hand dormitory’s second floor caught Sano’s attention. He looked up and saw a window open and the shaven head of a boy perhaps ten years old appear. On his face, Sano saw the curiosity and excitement one might expect in a child under the circumstances-but something more. Shame? Guilt?
“Who is that boy?” he asked the abbot, pointing.
The abbot glanced toward the window. “That’s Kenji, one of our novices. A farmer’s son who came to Edo to seek his fortune when the family crops failed. One of our brethren found him dying in the street and rescued him.”
Catching sight of them, Kenji gaped, then slammed the shutters and disappeared. On impulse, Sano excused himself and returned to the main precinct. “Hirata,” he called.
Hirata left his examination of the ground around the bell cage and hurried over to Sano.
“There’s a novice named Kenji in the upper floor of the left-hand dormitory,” Sano said. “I think he knows something about the murder. See if you can find out what it is.”
The frightened peasant child might speak more freely to the young doshin than to him. Besides, Sano suspected that Hirata possessed abilities as yet untested, which perhaps included interviewing witnesses.
Inside the temple office-a spacious study with an elaborate coffered ceiling, and built-in cabinets and shelves containing books and scrolls-Sano examined the mystery woman’s kimonos. Both were made of fine, expensive silk. One was crimson, with a lavish embroidered design of white cranes and snowflakes, green pine boughs, and orange suns-appropriate for the New Year season. The other was a gray fall kimono printed with bluebells, patrinia, autumn grasses, bamboo, yellow clover, and wild carnations. Sano noted the hip-length sleeve panels typically worn by married women, or those past their youth. Both garments were in excellent condition, but he knew little about fashion, and he couldn’t tell if they were new outfits, or old ones worn only on special occasions. Nor could he tell whether they belonged to a samurai lady or a wealthy merchant’s woman.
Sano folded the garments and tucked them under his arm. “I’ll take these with me, and return them as soon as possible.” Maybe the Edo Castle tailors could tell him who had made the kimonos.
They left the office and started down the path. Sano saw Hirata coming to meet him, bringing a small, shaven-headed figure in a hemp robe: the novice Kenji.
“Sōsakan-sama, Kenji has something to tell you,” Hirata announced.
The novice, seeing the abbot, backed away, his eyes round with terror. Sano guessed that he didn’t want his superior to hear what he had to say. Turning to the abbot, Sano said, “I’d like to talk to Kenji alone, please.”
The abbot nodded. “I will be in my office if you need me.” His eloquent parting glance made it clear that he would allow the novice an unsupervised conversation with an outsider only because he feared adverse publicity.
“All right, he’s gone,” Hirata said to the novice. “Now tell the sōsakan-sama what you saw.”
Kenji gulped. His lips trembled. Sano squatted, placing himself at Kenji’s eye level, and gave the boy an encouraging smile. “Don’t be afraid,” he said.
Hirata’s method of eliciting speech was more aggressive. With a rough but affectionate gesture, he cuffed one of the ears that stuck out from Kenji’s head like jug handles. “Go on, talk! He won’t hurt you.”
Looking somewhat reassured but still wary, Kenji spoke in a rapid mumble. “Yesterday I went begging in the city.” He had been collecting alms to support the temple, as did the other young clergy. “I stayed too late, and it was dark when I started walking home. When I got back, the others were already asleep. I climbed in the dormitory window. The priests didn’t miss me, because my friends had fixed my bed to look like I was in it. I didn’t mean to be late, honest. Please, master, you won’t tell the abbot, will you?” Hands wringing the front of his robe, he raised beseeching eyes to Sano.
“It’ll be our secret,” Sano said gravely.
“Oh, thank you, master!” Kenji’s radiant smile transformed him from a picture of abject misery to a happy, high-spirited child. “You see, master, I was late because I stopped to watch a juggler in Nihonbashi. He was amazing! He juggled knives, and flaming torches, and live mice-”
“The sōsakan-sama doesn’t want to hear about that!” Hirata interrupted. “Tell him what you saw on the road leading from Edo back to the temple.”
Sano’s heart skipped, then began a strengthening pulse in his throat. Was he looking at his first murder witness? “What did you see, Kenji?”
“A palanquin,” the novice said. “With four big men carrying it. I noticed them because all the pilgrims who come to the temple are gone by dark. When I’m out that late, I usually don’t meet any-”
Kenji clapped his hands over his mouth. “I’ve only been late a few times before, master. Honest!” He clasped his hands in penitence, but his eyes danced with mischief.