Just then, the door opened, and Reiko slipped into the room. Sano beheld her in dismay. As she knelt behind the audience, her level gaze met his. Sano experienced a stab of alarm.
“Honorable Magistrate, I recommend that Haru be condemned,” Sano said, hiding his concern about what Reiko might do.
“Your counsel will be given serious consideration,” Magistrate Ueda said.
Yet Sano knew that Haru’s lack of apparent connection with the other victims was the major flaw in his case, which Magistrate Ueda wouldn’t miss. Because the murders were obviously connected, if she hadn’t committed them all, then perhaps she hadn’t committed any of them. As much as the magistrate wanted to serve justice, he required evidence to support a guilty verdict.
The men in the audience whispered among themselves. Reiko leaned forward, her expression avid. Haru sat meekly, the picture of wounded innocence. Sano fought rising anxiety as he observed the desperation on Hirata’s face. Time was speeding by; Midori was still inside the temple, and he might neither secure Haru’s conviction nor extract the truth from the girl.
“I shall now hear the defendant’s story,” Magistrate Ueda said.
An expectant hush descended upon the audience. Reiko clasped her hands tightly under her sleeves. Anger at Sano twisted inside her. How could he waste time persecuting Haru when he should be trying to rescue Midori? And he hadn’t even done Reiko the courtesy of telling her he’d scheduled the trial! She’d learned about it by chance, when she’d come to ask her father to use his influence to get Sano permission to enter the Black Lotus Temple, and a clerk had told her the trial was under way. But of course Sano didn’t want her to interfere with his destruction of Haru. He was cutting her out of the final stage of the investigation and ending her involvement in his work forever.
Yet Reiko wouldn’t give up her vocation without a fight. Nor could she let Haru suffer for the crimes of the Black Lotus while there was any chance that the girl was innocent. Might Reiko still ensure that her last investigation ended in justice? The flaws in Sano’s argument gave the girl a chance for reprieve, and Reiko wondered why he’d rushed the trial. Still, his haste favored her and Haru. Reiko hoped that Haru would make a good showing.
Magistrate Ueda turned to Haru. “What have you to say for yourself?”
“I didn’t do it.” Head bowed, the girl spoke in a low but distinct voice.
“Say specifically what you did not do,” Magistrate Ueda instructed her.
“Kill Commander Oyama.”
“What about the woman and boy?”
“I didn’t kill them, either,” Haru said, and Reiko could see her trembling with fear.
“Did you set fire to the cottage?” Magistrate Ueda asked.
“No, master.”
The magistrate seemed unaffected by Haru’s pained earnestness. “There has been much evidence presented against you,” he said gravely, “and in order to prove your innocence, you must refute it. Let us begin with the death of your husband. Did you burn his house?”
“No, master.” Haru sniffled, weeping now. Reiko saw Sano betray his disdain with a slight compression of his lips, but her father’s expression remained inscrutable.
“Did you go to the cottage the night before the fire?” the magistrate asked.
“No, master.”
“Then how did you come to be found there?”
“I don’t know.”
“What had you been doing previously?”
“I can’t remember.”
Reiko listened, upset that Haru was repeating the same story that hadn’t convinced Sano. It probably wouldn’t convince the magistrate, either. Reiko believed more strongly than ever that Haru did know something about the crimes and wished the girl would tell the truth, rather than forfeit her last chance to clear herself and take her secrets to the grave.
Magistrate Ueda thoughtfully regarded Haru. “If you expect me to believe in your innocence, then you must offer some explanation for why you were at the cottage and how three people died in your vicinity.”
Cowering, the girl shook her head. Reiko watched in anxious dismay. Surely Haru realized what a poor impression she was making. Was she concealing facts that would incriminate her?
“Have you anything more to say?” Magistrate Ueda said.
“I don’t know why I was there,” Haru mumbled. “I didn’t set the fire. I didn’t kill anyone.”
The magistrate frowned, clearly weighing her denials against the case Sano had presented. Reiko felt her heart pounding as she hoped her father would see that there wasn’t enough evidence to convict Haru. Yet she feared that Haru deserved conviction.
At last Magistrate Ueda said, “I shall now render my verdict.”
And his verdict would be final, Reiko knew, whether justice was served or contravened. Suddenly Reiko couldn’t watch passively any longer. “Excuse me,” she blurted.
Everyone stared in astonishment at the spectacle of a woman talking out of turn. Reiko, who had never spoken in a public assembly, experienced a daunting embarrassment.
“What is it?” Magistrate Ueda’s cold manner said that she’d better have a good reason for interrupting the trial.
Seeing Sano eye her with consternation, Reiko understood that what she intended to do would probably destroy any hope for a reconciliation between them. Sano would divorce her and keep their son, as he had the legal right to do. Her courage almost failed, until she thought of what would happen if she didn’t act. Haru would be convicted; the Black Lotus would go on to commit more attacks and murders; Sano would be blamed for failing in his duty to protect the public. The shogun would order Sano, Reiko, Masahiro, and their relatives and close associates executed as punishment. Only Reiko could save them all, by doing her best now.
Reiko forced herself to say, “I wish to speak on behalf of the accused.” She saw gladness dawn on Haru’s bruised face, as though the girl anticipated salvation.
“Honorable Magistrate, unsolicited witnesses should not be allowed to interfere with justice,” Sano hastened to say.
He believed that the magistrate had intended to decide in his favor, Reiko thought. Magistrate Ueda addressed her with polite formality: “What can you add to that which has already been said?”
“I-I can present evidence that indicates the crimes were committed by someone other than the accused,” Reiko faltered, intimidated by the audience’s stares.
Sano hadn’t presented this evidence because the law didn’t require him to do so. Reiko’s chest constricted with hope that her father would agree to weigh her testimony in his decision, and dread that he wouldn’t.
“Spurious accusations against other persons are neither evidence nor relevant to the trial of Haru,” Sano argued.
A fleeting, pained expression clouded Magistrate Ueda’s features: He was loath to take sides in a public dispute between Reiko and Sano. Then he said, “Since a life is at stake, I shall grant Lady Reiko the privilege of speaking.”
Rejoicing that his mercy had prevailed over Sano’s objections, Reiko rose and walked toward the dais. As she passed Hirata, she glimpsed his undisguised horror. She knelt beside the shirasu, and Haru welcomed her with a grateful smile. Sano fixed on her a look that seemed to say, Please don’t do this. Trust me, and soon you’ll understand.
Reiko ignored him. In a voice that quavered with nervousness, she described her impressions of Haru as troubled but harmless. She drew courage from her certainty that she was doing the right thing, no matter what Sano thought, and clung to her persistent feeling that events would somehow exonerate Haru. She told about Abbess Junketsu-in, Dr. Miwa, and Kumashiro’s suspiciously determined efforts to blame Haru for the crimes and prevent Reiko from making inquiries into the Black Lotus sect. Reiko mentioned her encounter with Pious Truth and his story of torture, slavery, and murder at the temple.