“I’m trying to reconstruct what happened to Haru, starting with the night before the fire, when she went to bed in the orphanage dormitory,” Reiko said. “I want to know if anyone saw her between then and the time when the fire brigade found her.”

Abbess Junketsu-in compressed her mouth in disgust. “Did Haru tell you that she can’t remember anything? Well, I have to warn you against believing what she says, because although Haru can be very appealing, she’s a shady character. If she said she went to bed when she was supposed to, she was lying. Her dishonesty, disobedience, and lack of respect for authority have been a constant problem.

“She’s always breaking rules. She talks during sacred rituals and refuses to do chores. She steals food from the pantry. She’s sloppy, rude, and trespasses in areas where the orphans aren’t allowed.” Disapproval saturated the abbess’s voice. “When she’s scolded for her misbehavior, Haru always denies any wrongdoing. She hates getting up early, so the nuns have to drag her out of bed for morning prayers. At night, she waits until everyone’s asleep and sneaks out of the orphanage. That’s what she did the night before the fire.”

“How do you know?” Reiko was disturbed by this picture of Haru, which was at odds with her own impression of the girl, and Haru’s portrayal of herself as a grateful orphan who loved her benefactors and got along well with everyone. The abbess’s claim that Haru had deliberately left the dormitory contradicted Haru’s version of events. Yet Reiko wondered whether Junketsu-in’s eagerness to blacken Haru’s reputation meant that the abbess had a personal stake in turning Reiko against Haru. “Did you see her?”

“No,” Junketsu-in said. “It’s not my duty to watch over the orphans.” She spoke with haughty disdain. “But the temple guards have caught Haru roaming the grounds after dark. Twice they found her consorting with male novices. This has raised serious doubts as to whether Haru is suited for religious life. That’s why she hasn’t yet entered the convent.”

The abbess laughed, a malicious trill. “I don’t suppose Haru told you why she lives in the orphanage with the children even though she’s a grown woman and old enough to be a nun.”

Nor had Reiko noticed the oddity of this circumstance. She’d considered Haru a child, and therefore hadn’t even wondered why she hadn’t taken religious vows as she’d expressed wanting to do. Reiko knew that unmarried lower-class girls did engage in sex, and she remembered Haru’s mature body, but the idea of Haru wantonly seducing young men shocked Reiko. Could the abbess be telling the truth about Haru? Had Reiko missed other significant facts during the interview? Maybe her detective skills had been dulled by the long hiatus from such work.

Hiding her dismay, Reiko said evenly, “I shall need other witnesses to confirm Haru’s alleged misbehavior.”

“There are four right here in this room.” Abbess Junketsu-in gestured at the nuns seated in the corners; they unflinchingly met Reiko’s gaze.

How convenient, Reiko thought. Obedient subordinates weren’t exactly independent witnesses, and Junketsu-in’s reluctance to let her seek others strengthened her suspicions about the abbess. “While the behavior you describe is unsuitable for a prospective nun, the information you’ve given me has no direct bearing on the arson,” she said, noting that she had no more reason to doubt Haru than Junketsu-in.

The abbess said with an air of smug triumph, “A nun in charge of the orphans told me that she checked on them during the night before the fire, and Haru wasn’t in bed.” Junketsu-in smiled at Reiko’s frown. “I’m not surprised that Haru has fooled you. She’s quite an accomplished liar. If she says she’s lost her memory of that night, it’s because she was up to no good and trying to hide the truth.”

Although shaken, Reiko wasn’t ready to accept the idea that Haru had lied to her, or the abbess’s implication that Haru had been out setting the fire. First she must reconstruct those missing hours of Haru’s life. Reiko said, “She could have been taken to the cottage against her will. There’s a lump on her head, and she’s covered with bruises.”

A sudden tension stiffened Junketsu-in’s posture. She sipped from her tea bowl, as if needing time to think of a reply. Maybe she hadn’t known about Haru’s injuries and was surprised by the news. But she recovered quickly, saying, “Haru must have done it to herself. She did it once before, when she wanted us to think that a monk she’d seduced had attacked her.”

Although it seemed improbable to Reiko that anyone would hurt herself so badly, Haru had displayed the wounds after her story of lost memory and claim of innocence hadn’t convinced Reiko. Had she set the fire, then tried to make herself look like a victim? Reiko’s sympathy for Haru vied with her knowledge that reliance on a suspect’s story could lead her astray. She must consider Junketsu-in’s accusations, but she wouldn’t let them go unchallenged.

“Did anyone see Haru pouring oil on the cottage and lighting it?” Reiko asked.

Junketsu-in’s slender hands, white and smooth as a highborn lady’s, closed tightly around her tea bowl. A calculating expression came over her features, but she shook her head. “Not that I know of.”

The answer brought Reiko a measure of vindication, although she knew that Sano’s detectives were examining the crime scene, questioning the temple residents, and might eventually connect Haru with the arson. “If you expect me to believe Haru is guilty, then you must either produce some definite evidence or allow me to interview more witnesses,” Reiko said to the abbess.

They regarded each other with mutual dislike. Then stealthy footsteps creaked the floor outside the room. There was a knock at the door, and Junketsu-in called in a sharp, irate tone, “Who is it?”

The door slid open. A man stood at the threshold. “My apologies, Honorable Abbess. I didn’t know you had a guest.”

He was tall and thin, with a large head that looked too heavy for the long stem of his neck. Sparse, graying hair receded from a bulbous forehead. He had a muddy, pitted complexion, and though he seemed in his late thirties, his stooped shoulders gave him a look of more advanced age.

Repugnance shadowed Junketsu-in’s face, but she politely introduced the man to Reiko: “This is Dr. Miwa, the temple physician.”

Upon hearing Reiko’s name and the reason for her visit, Dr. Miwa squinted at her. “I shan’t intrude,” he said, sucking air through unevenly spaced teeth. “I’ll come back at a more convenient time.”

“Yes, please do. ” Junketsu-in sounded more relieved at the prospect of his departure than enthusiastic about his later return.

Reiko said quickly, “I would be honored to have you join us.” She wanted to know why the Black Lotus sect employed a physician, which wasn’t a custom of Buddhist temples, and she wanted another witness to interview.

“If you like,” the abbess said with unconcealed bad grace.

Dr. Miwa slunk into the room and knelt near Reiko. She noticed stains and burns on his faded moss-green cotton kimono. A bitter chemical odor wafted from him.

“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.