Free Jimm Juree 01; Killed at the Whim of a Hat by Colin Cotterill

we were police it would be known as Internal Affairs. The reason I am not down there with them, even though this is my temple – my wat – is that I am being investigated. In fact it would appear I am the chief suspect in a murder inquiry.”
    Good line.
    In fact it was several seconds before I realized my jaw had dropped.
    “Whose murder?” I asked.
    The nun had taken up a curled, feline pose on the step beneath ours. It made me feel uncomfortable but I wasn’t about to get involved in stage direction. The abbot continued.
    “The monks from the Pra Vinyathikum arrived here two days ago with an abbot. His name was Tan Winai. In fact I’d met him many years before. We’d developed a friendship then but had gone our separate ways. But he had been sent here by the council to investigate a complaint – about me. Before he left Bangkok we had spoken on the telephone so I knew he’d be coming. I told him he was welcome. They have the power to disrobe monks, but there is nothing they can do to an abbot apart from put in a report to the RAD: the Religious Affairs Department. The RAD would then conduct an inquiry of its own. So, this was a very initial investigation and none of us thought too seriously about it.”
    “So the visiting abbot gave you details of the complaint against you?” I asked.
    “He was very open. We discussed the matter at great length.”
    “But you weren’t able to talk him out of pursuing the complaint.”
    “It was an interesting debate. A very contentious area. One that is not clearly laid out in the Buddhist doctrines. In many respects I could see his side of the matter. I was keen to hear all of the arguments and make my own.”
    “And you would have abided by his decision?”
    “Of course.”
    “What was the complaint?”
    Both the abbot and the nun smiled.
    “You speak your mind,” the nun said. She got to her feet and put her hand on my arm. It was my signal to walk with her. “You could very well be a southerner.”
    That didn’t automatically register as a compliment and I was unhappy about being steered away before my question was answered. But I’d always been uncomfortably aware of rituals and unwritten rites in temples. I seemed to be the only one who didn’t know all the secrets. As children, Mair had hurried us in and out of ceremonies as if some spell might infect us if we lingered too long. Consequently I always felt like a foreigner with only a basic grasp of the language.
    “So?” I pushed.
    We were behind the half-painted wall. The nun’s voice dropped to a hush no louder than the swish of her robe.
    “Abbot Kem here was accused by one of his flock of fornication,” she said.
    I looked at her and took a stab.
    “With you?”
    “Yes.”
    Nuns and monks and fornication. Is it any wonder I avoided it all? When I was at primary school we learned the golden rules by rote. None of them came to mind right now but…abbots sleeping with nuns didn’t seem to be OK.
    “And did you?” I asked. “Did he?”
    “No.”
    “But you used to have…something.”
    “We have known each other for many years,” said the nun. “We cared for each other. Before all this, before religion overwhelmed us, we had the most beautiful and pure friendship two people could ever know. We were, and remain, as close as any two creatures on this earth. We saw through one another’s eyes, breathed the same breaths.”
    Perhaps I was being a bit dumb here and this probably wasn’t the right time to ask about sex, but it was all relevant.
    “So even with all that eye sharing and co-breathing, it was still platonic?”
    “Yes.”
    “And you had this really nice connection but nothing came of it and you went your own ways and found religion?” I hoped I wasn’t being cynical.
    “Yes.”
    “And by chance, even though there are forty thousand wats in Thailand, by some quirk of fate, you ended up here together.”
    She smiled again. “Of course not. We have always been in touch: letters,