I guess that about covers all the bases. But I do need to say a thing or two about that which occurred between the bases. This case, for me, began and ended with death. Those who cannot discern the qualitative distinction between the two modes of death exemplified here by Mary Ann Cunningham, on the one hand, and Holden Summerfield, say, on the other, will have found little meaning to this record and have probably wasted their time with it.
The difference, to me, and especially in the later reflections upon it, is both stunning and illuminating when viewed through the collective passions and paradoxes of mankind. Most every space-based religion, such as Judaism, Christianity, Moslem, Hindu, et al, have their analogs of "spirit" infusing matter to produce life on earth, the departure of that spirit into another reality as their explanation of death, and they all have their transfiguration stories in which this spirit is liberated from its entrapping matter through some direct, seemingly magical, agency. So I see no fundamental trespass, here, with most religious concepts—though I am sure there will be those who do.
In the same sense, the state of the physical sciences in this latter quarter of the twentieth century is such that the modern physicist is for all the world an alchemist and wizard, in constant touch with the abstracts of reality and daily lifting up the veils of existence to reveal a marvelously intricate and stunningly "smart" creation, yet none have physically touched the human mind, the instrument through which all understanding comes, nor has there been a productive grapple with the mysterious force that turns dumb matter to purposeful activity—so I see no fundamental trespass, here, with the speculative tenets of science, either, though—again—I am sure there will be those who do.
I need to say a word or two about Mary Ann Cunningham, since it was that unfortunate but coincidental death that propelled me into this case. I learned through a meeting with Souza and the L.A. police, a few days after I left Palomar, that Mary Ann had somehow discovered that Isaac was involved with fetus and embryo research, and she could not get out of her mind the possible connection with that and Isaac's role in her decision to abort her child. There was no connection, of course—hell, anyone interested in acquiring such specimens did not need to go out and recruit donors— but Mary Ann had voiced vague suspicions to co-workers at Griffith and seemed upset over the possibility that her "baby" was being kept alive in a test tube somewhere. The group had learned of all this and had dispatched Jennifer to Griffith to reassure Mary Ann and to explain the facts of fetal/embryo research. Jennifer, then, certainly had been among the last to see Mary Ann alive, because it was on that very day that Mary Ann's own life was senselessly and brutally aborted.
Her killer was apprehended, by the way, and the very thorough L.A. cops have it nailed. Several prominent criminal lawyers are right now vying for the limelight defense of this utterly indefensible serial killer—but what the hell, it's that kind of world, the one we've built for ourselves, so I guess we have to live with it. Perhaps that is not so important as what this killer has to die with—and what he will take with him to Holden's next crucible.
Why didn't I take that "trip" with the team? For the same reason that Mary Ann should not have been snatched away. I gave you, above, in the record of the case, a quotation from Vachel Lindsay given me by Holden. I looked up that poet, later, and I'd like to give you a few more lines from Lindsay, from The Congo and Other Poems:
Let not young souls be
smothered out before
They do quaint deeds and
fully flaunt their pride.
That is why I did not take the trip, I have not fully flaunted my pride, and that is why Mary Ann should not have died when she did and especially as she did. I did not think to ask Isaac whether his views on death had changed; you may recall the earlier record in which he is quoted as saying there is no such thing as a decent death. I am sure that he would amend that, now, and that he would regard his own "death" as the most "decent" act of his life. But, you see, Isaac had fully flaunted his pride, and he'd done many quaint deeds; in that context, death by any device could be regarded as a noble monument to an exhilarating adventure. In this particular context, "death" became a triumph.
Freud said that "the goal of all life is death" and spoke of a "death instinct"—but that does not define death, itself, and who among us can say what death truly is?
Henry Ward Beecher, on his deathbed, declared, "Now comes the mystery"—and Socrates, in his final summation, told his contemporaries, "And now the time has come when we must depart; I to my death, you to go on living. But which of us is going to the better fate is unknown to all except God."
I do not believe that the goal of life is death, not unless we find a new definition for death. The goal of life, as it has been evidenced in the play upon this planet, has been toward an ever-expanding expression of existence, the search for unfoldment, the sheer joy of experience. What we commonly perceive as death need not draw a curtain upon that play—except perhaps to set the stage for a new act and the progressive unfoldment of a brilliantly beautiful story.
Holden has not dropped in to visit, yet, not in any way that I could recognize, but I do have those moments when I feel that I am sharing a new perception with a very old friend who is delighted by the interchange; and, now and then, when I am looking at a sunrise or into a baby's eyes or at a magnificent work of art or watching lovers young and old with magic in their gazes, I find myself shouting to myself, "Ho! Bully!" It is a beautiful play, yes.
And that is where we are, you know, all of us.
###
About the Author
Don Pendleton (1927-1995) is creator of The Executioner: Mack Bolan Action/Adventure series and the Joe Copp, Private Eye Mystery Thrillers.
He also co-wrote, with his wife, Linda Pendleton, the nonfiction books To Dance With Angels and Whispers From the Soul: The Divine Dance of Consciousness, and the crime novel, Roulette.
Don Pendleton, (1927-1995)
Official Don Pendleton website: www.donpendleton.com
Visit the Don Pendleton Smashwords Profile Page for available books of Don Pendleton
The Ashton Ford Psychic Detective Series of six novels is available in print at Amazon.
Eye to Eye: Ashton Ford, Psychic Detective Page 19
