Angry Buddhist (9781609458867)

by Greenland, Seth

  Finally, Maxon says: “I’d love to sit here all day.”

  His relief is palpable when the visitor begins speaking.

  “I don’t want to lean on Randall right now but I need to tell you something.” Jimmy pauses here, makes sure he has Maxon’s full attention. “I know he wouldn’t blow his nose without running it by you.”

  “You flatter me. Your brother’s his own man.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not saying he was involved in the Nadine Never business, but having her dead didn’t hurt him, did it?” Jimmy can’t possibly know anything, can he? Has he gotten something out of Dale? The thought occurs to Maxon that he should have shipped the youngest Duke brother out of town the moment the plan went off the rails. “And I’d appreciate you don’t play dumb since I know Randall and you most likely already discussed it.”

  “Did you really just say that?”

  “I’m saying Randall is lucky, he’s always been lucky, and he probably thinks his luck’s gonna hold.”

  “Jimmy, it’s nice having this visit, but I’m not really sure why you’re here.”

  “If you know anything about what happened to Nadine Never, you ought to think about telling me now.” Maxon looks at Jimmy as if he’s lost his mind. Although he has attempted to convey the idea that this line of inquiry is completely out of bounds Jimmy presses on. “If there’s any kind of . . . I don’t want to say conspiracy, you understand, because that’s kind of a heavy word, but if you know anything and we find that out . . . ” He doesn’t bother to finish the thought.

  Maxon stares at him. His gaze is steady. He feels his heart rate increase. The residual taste of coffee in his mouth is bitter. Then he quietly says: “Your brother saved your ass once already. He is a member of the United States Congress. That police chief killed those people, Jimmy. Is there something wrong with you?”

  “We already know Nadine Never communicated with Kendra in the past week.”

  Maxon looks away from Jimmy, shakes his head. His eyes pan the kitchen, the neat counters, the gleaming appliances, everything in perfect order.

  “So you think there was a conspiracy to murder the woman? Jimmy, that is so ridiculous I don’t know what to say.”

  Maxon notices the way the light from the louvered windows is rendered as bars on the kitchen table. Jimmy’s coffee sits in front of him, untouched. Maxon senses that Jimmy is waiting to see if he will elaborate. He chooses not to. Why protest too much?

  “You don’t have to say anything. You can take your chances. The police like Marvin for the murders. He threatens the victim, she turns up dead, circumstantial evidence wrapped around his neck like a damn noose.”

  “But you don’t think he did it?”

  “No one’s that thick.”

  “You think that’s going to be Marvin’s defense?”

  “I don’t know what strategy his lawyer’s going to pursue. I’m telling you for your own edification.” Maxon nods. He’s waiting for Jimmy to bring this to a close. He’d like to throw him out, but that would likely be taken the wrong way. “Let me ask you a question.”

  “Go right ahead.”

  “Do you think anyone could be that stupid?”

  “Anything’s possible.”

  “The detectives are gonna take Kendra’s temperature. We’ll see how she does.”

  “Jimmy, this is ludicrous.” Again, Jimmy just stares at Maxon, waiting. “I have a lot to do today, so unless there’s something else to discuss . . . ”

  “When you talk to Randall, I want you to keep one thing in mind: he’ll kick you to the curb in a second. I’m not saying Randall’s involved, and I’m not saying there’s a conspiracy. I’m just giving you the benefit of my professional advice.”

  Maxon walks Jimmy to the door, opens it for him. The smile he delivers is practiced and empty. “The victory party’s at the Cahuilla Casino. Come celebrate.”

  Jimmy emits a hollow laugh as Maxon closes the door behind him. In the kitchen he opens a bottle of water and takes four quick gulps. Then he showers and gets dressed. He skips breakfast since his appetite has vanished.

  As Maxon is leaving, he hears a voice behind him, calling his name. It’s Dale. He has rolled himself out of the guest bedroom. Seated in his chair in his underwear, he regards Maxon suspiciously. “You leaving without saying goodbye?”

  “I was about to stick my head in your room. I thought you liked privacy. You missed Jimmy.”

  “What you think, I’d come out here and say hello? No need to talk to him right now.” Dale sounds no more bitter than usual. Maxon braces himself for whatever it is he plans to ask for next. “How am I supposed to get to work?”

  “I think you better take the next couple of days off, maybe just hang around here and watch television. You can call in sick. There’s food in the refrigerator.”

  “And the money?”

  “We’re going to have to wait until the election’s over, okay?”

  It is almost impossible for Maxon to comprehend that after what Dale has engineered, he has the audacity to hound Maxon for money to bail himself out of his self-created mess. Maxon supposes that he would have to bring this financial matter to Randall eventually, but not for a few days yet. In the meantime, he needs Dale to remain scarce. The delaying tactic works and Dale agrees to tell his boss at the RV dealership the campaign needs him today. When Maxon leaves, Dale is seated in front of the television in the living room, a bowl of cereal on his lap.

  Early afternoon and Kendra is in the powder room near the front door of her house checking her makeup. With a practiced hand she has applied foundation, berry stain lipstick, and a touch of blue-gray eye shadow. She reaches into her makeup bag for a mascara pencil and deftly applies it. If she is able to cry, the mascara will run. She is counting on that.

  The yellow sundress she wears has been selected to convey respectful cooperation without too much formality. Her delicately painted maroon toenails are set off against gold thong sandals that she hopes are not too flashy. Her hair is arranged in a chignon. She weighed herself again this morning and has dropped another pound. It is with no small degree of satisfaction that she imagines herself looking thinner in Randall’s victory pictures.

  Kendra is fixing a tiny smear on her cheek when the doorbell rings. Randall had told her it would look less suspicious to a couple of police detectives if she did not have a lawyer present during their visit, so she is alone in the house when she opens the door for Detectives Cali Pasco and Arnaldo Escovedo. Detective Pasco had called her a day earlier and asked if she and her partner might drop by after lunch. Kendra had inquired whether the detective could tell her what this was about and was informed that there was an ongoing murder investigation and they hoped she could shed some light on the victim. After feigning what she hopes is the correct degree of concern, Kendra tells her visitors she will do whatever she can to help.

  Now she leads them to the living room. As the detectives admire the view of the San Jacinto Mountains Kendra asks if they’d like some iced tea but the offer is declined. She excuses herself to go to the kitchen and pours a glass for herself. Upon her return she gestures to the steel and vinyl sofa, and the detectives take seats next to one another. Kendra sits on an Eames chair perpendicular to them. She leans back crossing one thigh over the other, her elbow resting on the back of the chair. The picture of relaxation she paints is attributable more to the two large glasses of Zinfandel with which she fortified herself prior to the detectives’ arrival, than any actual sense of ease.

  They make small talk for what feels to Kendra like half an hour but isn’t more than a minute, how long have you lived here, isn’t the desert beautiful this time of year. Three chatty people. She nods when Detective Escovedo apologizes for dragging her into what he calls “this nasty business.”

  Jimmy was right. He had done her a favor by visiting. It had been a dress rehearsal.

  “Detective Pasco told you about the situation at the convenience store,” Detective Escovedo sa
ys. Kendra nods, affects what she hopes is the correct level of sympathetic, non-neurotic concern.

  “How well did you know Nadine Never?”

  Kendra inhales through her nostrils. She spent some time considering how to play this question, too. She could be honest. That would help. Her lines would be easier to remember.

  “Nadine was my daughter’s tennis coach for a few months.”

  “Was she a good coach?” Detective Escovedo asks.

  Kendra says yes, she was. “I didn’t know her that long.” Kendra entwines her fingers and places her linked hands on her lap. She hopes she is conveying the reticence appropriate to the wife of a Congressman, the exact degree of degradation and chagrin congruent with being involved in something as sordid as a murder investigation, and a sincere desire to perform her civic duty, however painful that might be at this difficult juncture.

  “When did you two meet?” Detective Pasco asks.

  “Nearly two years ago,” she says.

  “Did you have a falling out?” Detective Pasco asks.

  “No, nothing like that,” Kendra says.

  “At the time of her death were you still friends?” Pasco again.

  “Not really.”

  “Mind if I ask why not?” Pasco once more.

  “We didn’t have that much in common.”

  “But you went to Mexico together,” Pasco says.

  Kendra wonders if they are expecting a reaction to this revelation. She does not give them one. Instead, she says, “Didn’t you ever have a friend and after a while you just kind of stopped being friends?”

  “It happens,” Detective Escovedo says.

  “I have to ask you a personal question,” Detective Pasco says, “So I hope you don’t get offended.”

  “I’m a big girl.”

  “Were you lovers?”

  Kendra takes a moment before answering. This is intended to suggest modesty, discretion and most of all embarrassment.

  A long pause, then: “Yes.” Unsure if they were expecting her to lie, she had discussed it with Randall and he had advised her to not hide this since they might be able to figure it out anyway and if they caught her in a lie it could indicate a pattern of lying that would not help the cause. “Briefly. I ended it. But I certainly didn’t wish anything bad on her.”

  “Your husband know?” Escovedo.

  Kendra allows another lacuna to occur in the conversation, during which she tries to silently convey the ongoing pain in her marriage and the valiant effort she is making to deal with it. From the sympathetic look on the male detective’s face, she surmises that this is a good performance.

  “That was not a fun conversation.”

  The detectives pause in their questioning for a moment. Kendra senses they’re embarrassed on her behalf. She hopes that will make them more sympathetic to her plight.

  “How did the relationship end?” Detective Pasco asks.

  “It wasn’t a big thing,” Kendra says. “We fooled around a few times, went down to Mexico, kind of a mistake.”

  “Why?” From Escovedo.

  “My husband and I were trying to work on our marriage. I deeply regret my conduct.”

  “And there you are in a murder victim’s computer.” Escovedo again.

  “I guess I’m just lucky,” Kendra deadpans. Her voice does not waver. She delivers the line off-handedly, as if rehearsed. Which it is. She knows the detectives are going to establish the parameters of the discussion early and several responses have been readied. The one she delivered is the most tossed-off. She does not want to project an uncaring mien—two people, after all, have been murdered—but insouciance strikes her as the strongest tactical position to take. The two detectives exchange a glance without moving their heads.

  “The whole thing only lasted a month.”

  “And you never saw her again?” Pasco.

  Kendra has given some thought to denying the recent meeting had taken place but knows there are witnesses and telephone records. She composes herself, lets them know this is painful but she is forging ahead in the interests of justice.

  “Nadine called me on October 30th. I know because I checked my cell phone to make sure,” and although Kendra wants to add I’m sure you did, too she restrains the impulse. “We met for a drink at Melvyn’s. She told me she had some kind of incriminating emails from the police chief in Desert Hot Springs, Chief Marvin, and did I want to show them to my husband so he could use them in his campaign.”

  “Why did she think that could help your husband?” Detec­tive Escovedo asks.

  “He was working for Mary Swain and I guess Nadine thought something like that might embarrass her.”

  “What did you say?” Detective Pasco asks.

  “That Randall wouldn’t be interested.”

  “Did she tell you anything else?” Escovedo.

  Kendra hopes they think she’s deciding whether or not to come clean but she’s already made the decision. This is just stage management. “She told me . . . and I couldn’t believe this . . . that she might try to embarrass Chief Marvin in public.”

  “Did she threaten you in any way?” Escovedo again.

  “Absolutely not. She had nothing against Randall or me. She was angry with the police chief. She told me they had an affair.”

  “What did you do then?” Detective Pasco asks.

  “I left the restaurant and drove home.”

  “Did she contact you again?” Detective Escovedo asks.

  “She sent me a video of her dancing naked. It was mortifying. My daughter could have seen it.”

  “Do you think she was implying anything?” Detective Pasco asks.

  “Honestly, I have no idea what that was about. Nadine was a pretty unhappy woman. She seemed kind of unbalanced.”

  Detective Escovedo asks: “Did you tell your husband?”

  “Immediately.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He said it’s not a threat so . . . ”

  “It was a threat,” Detective Pasco says.

  “He thought maybe she just wanted to start seeing me again.”

  The detectives look at each other. Kendra takes a sip of her iced tea. She clinks the ice cubes in the tall glass.

  “Is that what you thought?” Detective Pasco asks.

  “I was just completely weirded out by it.”

  “Why didn’t you report it?” Detective Escovedo asks.

  “Honestly?”

  “We’d like that,” Detective Escovedo says.

  The icy plunge: “It’s nearly Election Day and this was not going to help my husband. I don’t know if you’ve heard but he’s in a tight race.”

  The pair is silent for a moment. Kendra hopes this is caused by shock at her forthrightness. It’s remarkable, she reflects, what a powerful weapon the truth can be, as long as it is used sparingly.

  “But when someone is making veiled threats,” Detective Pasco says “It’s always good to notify the police.”

  “You’re right,” Kendra says. “We probably should have. But it’s impossible to control leaks. I don’t mean to imply you two . . . ” Detective Escovedo shakes his head, of course not! “But there are people who’d probably like to embarrass my husband. You understand.”

  Now the tears arrive exactly on schedule, and not off a specific revelation, but as a result of the accumulated indignities and general stress, tears announcing that this woman, this baton twirler, singer of pop tunes and chirpy political wife has taken all she can take from these messengers from a far shadier world than the one in which she dwells. The detectives pause. They’re accustomed to waterworks. Detective Pasco reaches for a packet of tissues she keeps in her pants pocket for these occasions and hands it to Kendra who removes one and dabs her eyes, careful to allow her mascara to run a little. Between sniffles she says, “When I learned it was Nadine, I flipped out.”

  They wait to see if Kendra will pick up the thread but the only thing forthcoming at this moment is sniffles.
Detective Escovedo presses ahead: “Did you have any contact after she sent you the video?” Kendra shakes her head no.

  “Nadine was a good person,” she manages to choke out. “Just confused.”

  “She didn’t deserve what she got,” Detective Pasco says, “And neither did that poor clerk.”

  Kendra collects herself, blows her nose. “Do you have any idea who might have done it?” It doesn’t bother her that she’s heard that line in a hundred television shows. She expects the detectives have heard it, too.

  Detective Pasco informs her they have a few leads. Kendra tells her interlocutors she’d like to help them any way she can and they should not hesitate to call. Detective Pasco tells her they’ll be in touch. As they stand to leave, Detective Escovedo asks: “Do you have any idea who killed those two people?”

  Kendra quickly responds “Of course not.” Wonders if she should have played it differently, been quiet for a moment as if stunned by the question. But her voice remains strong and her gaze sure. “Why would I?”

  “You never know,” Detective Pasco says

  Kendra smiles as if to say I know you’re just doing your job and all of us want to catch whatever monster did this. After showing her visitors out and gently closing the door behind them Kendra pours a third glass of Zinfandel and sits at the kitchen table. She reflects on her performance and concludes it went well. For not a single moment did she feel compromised in any way. The house is quiet. Her pulse rate feels normal. Realizing she does not actually need the wine, Kendra pours the contents of the glass back in the bottle and places the bottle in the refrigerator.

  Driving to school to pick up Brittany, she examines her reflection in the rearview mirror and after daubing her eye makeup with a tissue, concludes she is holding up relatively well. Then the gossamer membrane that barely restrains her roiling emotions bursts and she begins to sob with such force she has to pull to the side of the road. She thinks about Nadine: whether she had a family—they’d never talked about it—whether a death notice would appear in the paper to recount her life as something other than a murder victim, who would claim the body and if there would be a funeral. If there were some way to find out she would. And send money to defray the expenses. It was the least she could do.